`That was rather more difficult an undertaking than it sounds. He knew positively, from what he had heard at the house, that his uncle didn't connect the theft of the manuscript with the theft of, the hat. Suppose, then, Driscoll simply put it into an envelope and sent it back to his uncle by post? Too dangerous! Driscoll knew Arbor was in the house. He had heard Arbor's broad talk at the dinner table. He knew that his uncle would never believe Arbor had first stolen the manuscript, and then posted it back again. And if Arbor were eliminated… you:' see?’
'Yes. If Arbor were eliminated, the only person who could have stolen it was a member of his own household.'
`Then what follows? Sir William would know it hadn't been one of the servants; he ridiculed that idea when he talked to us. There would remain Lester Bitton, Laura Bitton, Sheila, and Driscoll. Lester and Laura Bitton were definitely several hundred miles away when it was stolen. Only four people could have known about that manuscript, and two of them were in Cornwall; Of the other two, Sheila could hardly have been regarded as the culprit. Inevitably Driscoll must come to be suspected, and be thought to have sent it back in a fit of conscience — which would be precisely like Driscoll, anyway. Rest assured Driscoll knew all this, and he knew that his uncle would suspect it if he posted back that manuscript. But what was he to do? For the same reasons, he couldn't slip into the house and drop the manuscript somewhere so that it would be found. Sir William knew damned well it hadn't been mislaid.'
`I'm hanged if I can see what he could do,' the chief inspector confessed. `Unless he simply sat tight and let his uncle suspect Arbor. But a nervous type like Driscoll would always have the horrible fear that his uncle might, somehow find out. What he'd want most to do would be get the thing out of his hands — quickly.'
`Precisely! And that,' said Dr Fell, rapping his stick on the floor, `is where, for a second, he completely lost his head. He wanted to get it out of his hands. It was almost literally burning his fingers. He went out, on that misty day, and paced the streets. And with every step he was gravitating towards his uncle's house, with possibilities multiplying and whirling in his brain, until he lost his head altogether.
`Hadley, do you, remember what time Sir William arrived this afternoon at the bar where he met us? It was close on two o'clock. And when he described the theft of his second hat to us, he said, 'It happened an hour and a half ago, and I'm still boiling.'' It happened, then, roughly, at about twenty minutes to one. Sir William was ready to make his monthly round of calls, as he told us and, as he also told us, they rarely varied. It was the afternoon for his monthly call on Driscoll, by the way. I believe be pointed that out…. His car was standing in the mist at the kerb. His chauffeur had gone down to buy cigarettes, and Sir William had not yet stepped out of the house. And Driscoll was there at the corner, watching it.'
`I'm beginning to remember a lot of things Bitton said,' the chief inspector answered grimly. `He told us he saw somebody with his arm through the window of the car,
fumbling with the side pocket' You mean — `Driscoll couldn't stand it any longer; and he wanted to shove the manuscript into the pocket of the car?'
`I do. And he was prevented by Sir William's instant arrival on the scene. Sir William thought he was a sneak-thief. He didn't mind chasing sneak-thieves: He yelled, 'Hi!' and charged — and Driscoll (probably instinctively) did the only piece of quick thinking I've known him to-do yet. He snatched Sir William's hat and darted away in the mist,
'You mean…'
`Instinctive experience, my boy. Because he knew the old man wouldn't chase him.'
`Good,' said Hadley, in a low voice, after a pause. `Damned good. But you're forgetting one thing. He may really have put that manuscript into the pocket of the car and it may still be there.'
Dr Fell blinked sadly at the mouse he had resurrected' from the floor:
`Sorry, I'm afraid you're about eleven hours too late. You see, even in the rush of going to the Tower in Bitton's car, I didn't neglect to examine the pockets this afternoon. It wasn't there. Driscoll never put it in.'
There was a faint smile on Hadley's face.
`Now, then, let me reassemble my facts,', he suggested. 'You say Driscoll went out comparatively early this morning and never came back?'
`Yes.'
`He took the manuscript. But the stolen top-hat was here?'
`probably.'
`Also… the crossbow bolt was here?' `Yes.'.
`Then,' said Hadley, with sudden grimness, `our case is complete. Lester Bitton came over here to see Driscoll this morning, when Driscoll was out. He let himself in with a key he borrowed from his brother, and returned to his home at noon, where Miss Bitton saw him coming in… what did she say?…. 'shaken and laughing'.
`Anybody could have taken that crossbow bolt from the Bitton house. But only Lester Bitton could have stolen it from this flat. Anybody might have stolen Sir William's top hat. But, only Lester Bitton could have taken that top-hat from this flat to put on the head of the man he stabbed at the Tower of London, so that he could give Driscoll the fulfilment of his wish. And Driscoll did die in, a top-hat, with at least one woman to weep at his grave.'
Dr Fell let his glasses fall on their black ribbon, and,massaged his eyes fiercely. `Yes,' he said from between his hands, in a. muffled voice. `I'd thought of that, too. I'm afraid it rather sews him up. That's why I asked Miss Bitton whether he was carrying anything when he returned.'
They had not realized, in the slow passing of hours, how imperceptibly the night noises of London had faded. Even the muted roar, always in the background, had died until their voices sounded unnaturally loud. They had not been aware of the creaking of boards, or how sharply rose the singing of tyres when a late car hummed in the square. But even through a closed door they could hear the telephone bell.
Sheila Bitton's voice could be heard, too, when she answered it. And in a moment she thrust her face round the door.
`It's for you, Mr Hadley,' she said. `Something about a Mr Arbor. Is that our Mr Arbor?'
Hadley almost broke into a run.
16. What Was Left in the Fireplace
Sheila Bitton jumped in astonishment when she saw the expressions on the faces of those who crowded past her. Her own expression indicated that it was undignified. She had discarded hat and coat, to show fluffy yellow hair tousled about; her head, and a dark frock with the sleeves now rolled up about the wrists.
Hadley was at the telephone, and Dr Fell bent over him' in the little, study. On the doctor's face was an expression Rampole had never seen before he ' could not decide whether it was nervousness, or fear, or hope. But Dr Fell was certainly nervous. Rampole never forgot the weird picture they presented in that time…. Hadley listening intently to a buzz where words were almost distinguishable in the silent room; Dr Fell bent forward against the line of the bookshelves; the black ribbon on his glasses dangling, his shovel-hat on the back of his head.
Silence, except for the faint, rapid voice in the telephone. Hadley spoke only twice, in monosyllables. Then, without hanging up the receiver, he turned.
'Well?' demanded Dr Fell.
`It worked. Arbor, left his friends, the Spenglers, early in the evening, and Spengler walked with him to his cottage. Our plain-clothes man was watching from the garden; he'd got his instructions already, and he seems to have played up to them. First Arbor went through the cottage, switching on all the lights, but he immediately closed the shutters after he'd done it. There are diamond-shaped holes in the bottoms of the shutters, though, and the constable worked close enough so that he could look in through the holes.
`Arbor and his friend were in one of the front rooms, where the covers hadn't been taken off the furniture. They were sitting in front of the fire, playing chess, with a bottle of whisky beween them, and Arbor looked nervous. This, I judge, was about two hours ago. Then the constable got busy. He walked up and down loudly on the gravel, and then dodged round the side of the house. In a moment Arbor's friend, Spengler, opened the shutters and looked out then he closed them again. That sort of game went on for some time. They phoned for a policeman and the
