'Ah, I see!' smiled Giles. 'You want the corpse discovered in situ, with the incriminating letter in the wastepaper basket, the gla.s.s (with traces of poison) on the table, and everything under lock and key until you arrive.'

Hannasyde gave a reluctant laugh. 'Well, you'll admit it would be a lot easier to handle. By the way, you've got the dead man's keys, haven't you?'

'Yes, but I only took charge of them on Friday. Randall gave them to me, pending the result of the investigation.'

Hannasyde stared at him. 'Thinks of everything, doesn't he? Very proper behaviour on the part of Mr Randall Matthews. And the rest of the family hates him.' He tapped his fingers on Giles' desk for a moment. 'Get the Department to look into Mr Randall Matthews. Are you busy, Mr Carrington?'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Go with me to Gregory's office.'

Giles glanced at his watch. 'All right, but I must be back at five. I've got an appointment.'

A taxi bore both men to a big block of flats in the City. During his lifetime Gregory Matthews had rented a single room on the fourth floor where he had apparently transacted his business. It was a small apartment, containing a desk, and a couple of leather chairs, a table with a typewriter on it, a large waste-paper basket, a filing-cabinet, and a safe. It was very tidy, and smelled stuffy from having been shut up.

'No torn-up letters here, Hannasyde,' Giles remarked. 'One of those nice modern buildings where the charwoman lets herself in with a pa.s.s-key, and cleans the place each morning before you arrive.' He sat down at the desk, and began to inspect the keys on the ring he was holding. 'What would you like first? Desk, safe, or cabinet?'

Hannasyde had picked up a diary from the table, and was looking through it. 'I don't mind. Desk,' he said absently. 'Parker and Snell-they sound as though they might be his brokers. Apparently he had an appointment with them on the 14th May. Doesn't tell us much.'

'Yes, they're his brokers,' said Giles, fitting a key into the top drawer of the desk. 'Here you are.'

'Just a moment.' Hannasyde was turning the leaves of the diary backwards. 'Practically no engagements recorded. Share prices jotted down each day. Seems to have had a catholic taste in investments... Monday 13th May: Lupton, 12.0 p.m.' He lowered the book. 'Lupton? That's the brother-in-law. I wonder what he wanted to see him about?'

'Was Lupton the desiccated little man with the overpowering wife?' asked Giles.

'That's the fellow. Now why did Matthews make an appointment with him here when they lived in the same place? Might be useful to know that.'

Giles regarded him in some amus.e.m.e.nt. 'You have a fearful and a wonderful mind, Hannasyde. I can think of a dozen reasons.'

'Oh, so can I, but you never know. Do you happen to know anything about a lady called Gladys Smith, living at 531 Fairleigh Court, Golders Green?'

'Never heard of her,' answered Giles, picking up some papers from the drawer he had opened. 'Has she got anything to do with the case, or are you going to tell me an anecdote?'

'Her name and address are written here on the 9th May, that's all. No time mentioned, so it may not necessarily have been an appointment.'

'You seem to be catching at straws,' remarked Giles, glancing cursorily through the papers in his hand.

Hannasyde made a note of Mrs Smith's address. 'Not much else to catch at. Sometimes important, too-straws. What have you got there? Anything?'

'Nothing of interest,' Giles said.

They went through the rest of the desk together, and turned next to the safe. Very little of importance was discovered there, but Hannasyde commandeered a Bank book, and a big ledger, and retired with them to the desk, and studied both for some time in silence.

Giles began to fill a pipe, and presently remarked: 'I call this boring.' Hannasyde grunted. 'Anything in the Bank book?' inquired Giles.

'Not at first glance. Seems to have kept his records a bit casually. Doesn't always show what he sold in order to buy some of these blocks of shares.' He sighed, and closed the book. 'I shall have to go into it more thoroughly. Let's take a look at his filing cabinet.'

This revealed nothing of any interest. They went quickly through the little that was contained in it, and Giles, yawning, remarked that he was glad he was not a member of the C.I.D.

'A lot of people would be surprised if they knew how dull most of our work is,' replied Hannasyde. 'I want to take charge of the Bank book, and the ledger, and that diary, Mr Carrington. I don't think there's anything else here. We'll hope for better luck at his house. Could you meet me at the Poplars at ten o'clock tomorrow morning?'

'I'll motor you down there,' said Giles. 'I suppose you're now going to call on Gladys Smith?'

'Gladys Smith wants explaining,' answered Hannasyde imperturbably. 'Who is she, and why does she figure all amongst Stock Exchange quotations, and appointments?'

'I don't know, but I'm sure you'll find out,' said Giles cordially. 'You'll probably find she's a typist who applied for a job with Matthews, but I admire your zeal.'

'No sign that he ever employed a typist.'

'That doesn't prove that he wasn't going to,' retorted Giles.

'You're probably right,' said Hannasyde placidly.

But on the following morning, when he got into Giles' car, he said: 'My straws are beginning to make a rope, Mr Carrington. She wasn't a typist in search of a job.'

'What?' said Giles. 'Oh, Gladys Smith! So you did go and see her! What was she like?'

Hannasyde struck a match, and began to light his pipe. 'She's a pretty little woman. Not very young, and distinctly common. What you might describe as a comfortable creature. Nice eyes, and a motherly smile.' He paused, and added between puffs. 'She'd never heard of Gregory Matthews.'

Giles burst out laughing. 'Oh, that's even better than I expected! My poor Hannasyde, what a blow for you!'

'I didn't take it like that,' said Hannasyde, pressing the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with one square thumb. 'I thought it the most interesting circ.u.mstance that has yet come to light. You're not doing yourself justice, Mr Carrington. Don't you think it's a trifle odd that she should never have heard of a man who has her name and address written down in his diary?'

'Perhaps she knows him under an a.s.sumed name,' suggested Giles lightly. 'Strong aroma of intrigue about this. Was there a liaison?'

'Oh no, she didn't even recognise his photograph,' said Hannasyde. 'No doubt about that.'

'I admit it does seem a trifle queer,' said Giles. 'Not altogether helpful, though. Where does the rope you mentioned come in?'

'She took me into her drawing-room,' said Hannasyde. 'Cosy little room. Lots of cushions and knick-knacks. You know the style, I expect. There was a large portrait of a man bang in the middle of the mantelpiece. She told me it was her husband.'

'Perhaps it was,' said Giles charitably.

'I don't think so,' replied Hannasyde in his unemotional way. 'It was a photograph of Mr Henry Lupton.'

Chapter Six.

'Henry Lupton?' repeated Giles, a little blankly. 'You don't mean the hen-pecked brother-in-law? Is he keeping a mistress? How extremely funny!'

'May not be so funny,' said Hannasyde. 'That's about the size of it, though. I didn't get much out of Gladys Smith. She said her husband was a commercial traveller, and often away from home. Great air of respectability about the whole thing. Poor devil!'

'Who? Henry? Seems to have found consolation.'

'Not much consolation if it comes to his wife's ears.'

'Well, what's it all about? What have Lupton's peccadilloes to do with Matthews' death?'

'Perhaps nothing. But if you remember, Mr Carrington, Gladys Smith figured in Matthews' diary on May 9th. On the 13th he had an appointment to see Lupton. Doesn't that seem to you to hang together?'

Giles frowned. 'Yes, it might, I suppose. Matthews found out about Gladys Smith and threatened Lupton with exposure if he didn't jettison her. Is that what you mean? Was he very fond of his sister?'

'He seems to have been fonder of her than of the rest of his family. And from what I've heard of him a ruthless piece of blackmail like that would have been just about his mark.'

'He looked a bit of a brute,' commented Giles. 'I take it Lupton now steps into the role of Chief Suspect, as Kenneth would say. I'm sorry about that: I had some news I hoped would please you.'

'What's that?' Hannasyde asked.

Giles smiled. 'Oh, only your friend Randall. He rang me up last night to find out what you were up to-or so I gathered. Anyway, he's meeting us at the Poplars today.'

'What for?' demanded Hannasyde.

Giles shrugged. 'Well, he has every right to be present when you go through Matthews' papers. He's one of the executors, you know.'

'Oh, I've no objection,' Hannasyde said. 'But I'd like to know why he wants to be there.'

'You'd better ask him,' replied Giles. 'I didn't.'

'Quite right,' approved Hannasyde, and relapsed into meditative silence.

Randall's car was not to be seen when they arrived at the Poplars, but the first sound that met their ears when they were admitted into the house was that of Mrs Lupton's voice. A man's hat lying on the table beside a pair of brown leather gloves seemed to indicate that her husband might also be present. Hannasyde looked at the hat without appearing to do so, and turned to greet Miss Harriet Matthews, who came out of the library towards him. She was looking fl.u.s.tered, and annoyed, and spoke in an even more disjointed fashion than usual. 'Oh, you've come!' she said. 'Well, I'm sure it's nothing to do with me-oh, how do you do, Mr Carrington? I didn't see you!-but I must say I can't see what poor Gregory's private papers have to do with the police, and I consider it most officious-not that anyone pays the least heed to what I say. You needn't think you're going to find anything, because I know perfectly well there's nothing to find, and if there did happen to be any letters about the Brazilian business it proves nothing at all, whatever my sister may have told you to the contrary, as I've no doubt she did!'

Mrs Lupton came out of the library in the middle of this speech, followed by her husband, and said with her customary air of majesty: 'Do not make yourself ridiculous, Harriet. Good-morning, gentlemen. I understand you wish to inspect my brother's papers?'

'It has nothing whatever to do with you, Gertrude!' said Miss Matthews excitedly. 'I won't be treated like a cypher in my own house! You've no business here at all, behaving as though you were the one who had to be consulted! No one asked you to come, and no one wanted you!'

'Ah, good-morning, Mr Carrington!' cooed a voice from the stairs. Mrs Matthews had made her appearance, and bestowed a gracious smile on Giles, and a more formal one on the Superintendent. 'Such a lovely morning, isn't it? Dear Gertrude! What a surprise! And Henry, too!'

Miss Matthews eyed her with smouldering resentment. 'Well, you're down very early, Zo!' she said. 'Quite remarkable! Of bourse, none of us can guess why. Oh, no!'

'Perhaps it was not quite wise of me,' agreed Mrs Matthews. 'But on a day like this one feels glad to be alive.' Her smile was once more directed towards Giles. I'm afraid they will tell you that I am rather a hopeless old crock, Mr Carrington.'

'If you mean me, Zo,' said Mrs Lupton witheringly, 'I should not tell Mr Carrington anything of the sort. I do not propose to discuss you with him at all, but were I to do so I should not describe you as a hopeless crock, but as a malade imaginaire. Mr Carrington, I believe you are in charge of my brother's keys. Kindly come this way.'

Mrs Matthews gave a shudder. 'All these sordid details! I suppose it has to be.'

'Yes, I'm afraid it has,' said Giles in his pleasant way.

'If anyone has a right to object it is I, and certainly not my sister-in-law!' snapped Miss Matthews. 'Not that I do object. Why should I?'

At this moment Randall Matthews walked into the house. Apparently he was in time to overhear his aunt's remarks, for he said as though he had been taking part in the conversation: 'No one has any right to object. Dear me, what can have brought my dear Aunt Gertrude here, I wonder?'

'You don't know what we were talking about!' said Miss Matthews angrily.

'No, but I feel sure my answer was the right one,' replied Randall. His gaze returned to Mrs Lupton. 'You are not unexpected, my dear aunt, but, believe me, superfluous.'

'I shall not pretend to be ignorant of your meaning, Randall,' announced Mrs Luton. 'In your eyes I've no doubt I am superfluous, but I suppose I am concerned at least as much as you are with my brother's death. If light is shed by his private papers I expect to be told of it.'

'If so singular a phenomenon occurs the whole world shall be told of it,' promised Randall. 'Carrington, you have the key to Bluebeard's chamber. Do come and open it!'

A storm of protest broke out at this piece of flippancy. Without paying the least heed to it Randall conducted Giles and Hannasyde to his uncle's study, and waited unconcernedly while the key was fitted into the lock.

As one making civil conversation Hannasyde said: 'I'm sorry the ladies should be distressed about this, Mr Matthews. These things are always rather painful for the rest of the family.'

Randall's eyes flickered to his face. 'Well, you never know, do you?' he said. 'Lots of little things in our lives we should prefer to bury in decent oblivion.'

'Such as, Mr Matthews?'

'I haven't seen my uncle's correspondence yet,' replied Randall sweetly.

Giles turned the key in the wards, and pushed open the door. They went into the study, a square room with a Turkey carpet, and solid furniture. Randall strolled to the window, and opened it, and remained there, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders propped against the wall. He evinced no interest in the discoveries made by Hannasyde, which were not, indeed, of an interesting nature. There were some bills, many receipts, several typewritten letters referring to Guy Matthews' future in Brazil, and one brief note from Henry Lupton, dated 13th May. Giles, finding it, handed it to Hannasyde without comment.

It seemed to have been written in haste, and began abruptly: 'Further to our conversation of even date, I must see you again before doing anything. I trust you have by this time thought better of it, and warn you you will have cause to regret it if you drive me to take desperate action.'

Hannasyde read this through, and was about to fold it up when Randall moved away from the window, and came forward. 'Ah, do you mind?' he murmured, and took the letter out of his hand.

'It is of no particular moment,' Hannasyde said, a little shortly.

'I expect that was why you were interested,' said Randall in his most dulcet voice. He read the letter, and gave it back. 'Dramatic little man,' he said.

'Do you know to what this letter refers, Mr Matthews?'

'Do you?' smiled Randall.

'Yes, Mr Matthews, I think I do.'

'Then why ask me?' inquired Randall. He glanced down at the drawer Giles had pulled out. 'How very disappointing! I'm afraid my uncle must have destroyed his more lurid correspondence.'

The drawer held an untidy collection of oddments. Hannasyde turned over a packet of labels, disclosing a pair of horn-rimmed sun-gla.s.ses underneath, a scattering of paper-clips, and a tube of seccotine. For the rest there was a quant.i.ty of stamp-paper, some sealing wax, a pen-knife, a bottle of red ink, and a roll of adhesive tape. These articles the Superintendent turned out on to the desk, but there was nothing hidden under them.

Randall was looking at the heterogeneous collection, a slight frown between his eyes.

'The usual odds-and-ends drawer,' said Giles, beginning to put the things back.

Randall's eyes lifted. 'As you say,' he agreed politely. 'It is all very disheartening.'