The Ponson Case. Dolores Gordon-Smith
thirty yards above the stones. These were heading downstream, and the owner had evidently not troubled to diverge to the stones, but had walked right through the water. The soil at the place was spongy, and the tracks were not clear, but Tanner, by following them back, was able to identify them as those of this same fifth man.
The Inspector at first was somewhat puzzled by the neglect of the stepping-stones. Then it occurred to him that one of two things would account for it. Either the downward journey had been made at night when the unknown could not see the stones, or he had been too perturbed or excited to consider where he was going. And Tanner could not help recognising that anyone hastening from the scene of the murder would in all probability show traces of just such agitation.
He continued his search of the bank, seeing no traces of an approach to the river, but finding here and there prints of the four men going downstream, and of the fifth leading in both directions.
About a hundred yards before he reached the boathouse a paling went up at right angles to the river, separating the rough, uncared for bank along which he had passed from the well-kept lawn he was approaching. The grass on this latter was cut short, and looking up under the fine oaks and beeches studded about, he could see the façade of the house. A gravel path connected the two buildings, leading from the Dutch garden in front of the terrace straight down to the door of the boathouse. From the latter point another path branched off at right angles to the first, running upstream along the river bank. This, Tanner remembered from his examination of the map, afterwards curved round to the left, and joined the narrow walk from the house at the road gate. A third short path ran round the boathouse, and terminated in a flight of broad landing steps, leading down into the river.
A careful search of the ground near the boathouse revealed occasional impressions on the closely cut sward. The Inspector spent over an hour moving from point to point, and was at last satisfied as to what had taken place. The four men whom he had assumed were Austin and the servants, had evidently come down the path from the direction of the house. They had turned to the right before reaching the boathouse, thus approaching the river diagonally, and had crossed the paling bounding the lawn close to the water’s edge. These men had walked together and the tracks were exactly in accordance with the statement of their movements they had made to the sergeant.
The fifth man had crossed the paling almost at the same place as the others—it was the obviously suitable place—but instead of turning up towards the house, his steps led direct to the boathouse! Another line of the same steps led back from the boathouse to the fence—in neither case continuously, but here and there, where the grass was thin. And at two points along these tracks the Inspector gave a chuckle of satisfaction. At one there was a perfect impression of part of the right sole, and at another of the remainder and the heel. Tanner decided he must take plaster casts of these prints before they became blurred.
Passing the boathouse—he felt that marks in it, if any, would keep—he continued his careful search of the bank above flood level. Very painstaking and thorough he was as he gradually worked his way up, but no further traces could he find. At last after a good hour’s work he reached the Old Ferry. Here the track approaching the ruined pier was hard; and he recognised that, shut in as it was by trees, it would have made an ideal place for disposing of the body. He thought he need hardly expect traces above this, but, as he wished to cross the river, and he could do so no nearer than the London road bridge at Halford, he continued along the bank, still searching. Then, reaching the bridge, he crossed and worked in the same way down the left bank till he reached the other bridge at the Cranshaw Falls. When the work was completed, he felt positive the body could only have been set adrift at either the boathouse or the Old Ferry.
It was now eleven o’clock, and he had been at it for over five hours. Taking the bicycle, he rode back into Halford, where he had a hurried meal. Then he left again to attend the inquest at Luce Manor.
A long, narrow room, with oak-panelled walls, and three deep windows, had been set aside for the occasion. Round the table, which ran down the centre, sat the jury, looking self-conscious and important. At the head was the Coroner, and near him, but a little back from the table, were Austin and Cosgrove Ponson, Dr Ames, the butler, valet, boatman, sergeant, and a few other persons. As Tanner entered and slipped quietly to a seat, the Coroner was just rising to open the proceedings.
He made a brief speech deploring the unhappy event which had robbed their neighbourhood of so worthy and so useful a man as Sir William, and expressing on his own behalf and that of those present the sympathy which they felt for the surviving members of the family. Then he lamented the fact that the law required an inquest, and promised that on his part at least the proceedings should be conducted so as to give the least possible amount of annoyance and pain. Partly on that account, and partly because the authorities for technical reasons required some information which there had not as yet been time to obtain, he did not propose to complete the inquest that day, but after formal evidence of identification had been taken he would adjourn the proceedings to a more convenient date.
The speech was cleverly worded. While it stated nothing explicitly, its whole suggestion was that as every one knew an accident had happened, further inquiry must be mere waste of time. He touched but slightly on the adjournment, proceeding at once to call the roll and swear in the jury.
While he was speaking Tanner ran his sharp eyes over the faces of those present, memorising their features, and noting their demeanour. There sat Parkes, the butler, solemn and ponderous, surveying the scene with grave and decorous interest. Innes, sharp-eyed and alert, seemed to be watching the proceedings with an eye for flaws in the Coroner’s law. Smith, the gardener-boatman, somewhat overawed with his surroundings, was evidently there, a plain man, to tell a plain man’s tale. After registering a mental picture of each, Tanner’s gaze passed on, but when it reached Austin Ponson it halted and remained steady.
The son and nephew were seated together. There was a considerable similarity in their appearance. Of middle height, both had blue eyes, clear complexions, and clean-shaven chins. Their features were not unlike, but Austin was stouter, and seemed younger, and more easy going. Cosgrove looked as if he had lived hard. He was thin, and lines radiated from the corners of his eyes while the hair near his temples showed slightly grey. He had the indefinable stamp of a society man, which Austin lacked. But both were well looking enough, and would have passed unnoticed among any crowd of well-dressed Englishmen of the upper classes.
But it was not on these points of superficial resemblance that Tanner’s gaze rested. He was a reader, so far as he was able, of hearts. And it was the expressions of the cousins which had specially attracted his attention.
That both were shocked and upset by the tragedy there could be no doubt. But, while this seemed the sum total of Cosgrove’s emotion, the detective’s keen eye recognised something more in Austin’s face and bearing. He was anxious—unquestionably anxious—and he was trying to hide it. And when the Coroner mentioned the adjournment he started, and a look of undoubted fear showed for a moment in his eyes. Inspector Tanner’s interest was keenly aroused. That Austin knew something he felt sure, and he decided his first business must be to learn what it was.
Accordingly, when the body had been viewed and formally identified, and the proceedings had come to an end, he sought out his victim, and quietly introduced himself.
‘I am exceedingly sorry, Mr Ponson,’ he said politely, ‘to intrude myself upon you at such a moment, but I have been sent here by Scotland Yard to make certain inquiries into this unhappy occurrence, and I have no option but to carry out my instructions. Could you spare me a few moments?’
Austin’s face paled as the other made his occupation known, and again the look of fear showed in his eyes. But he answered readily enough:
‘Certainly, Inspector. I am at your service. Come in here; we shall not be disturbed.’
He led the way into a small study or office on the left of the hall, plainly furnished in mahogany, with dark red leather upholstering. Drawing forward two arm-chairs he motioned his visitor to a seat.
‘I should feel