Treasure by Degrees Read online

  Treet was not a particularly compassionate man but he was moved to a display of genuine sympathy by these sorry admissions. He stood up, and taking Miss Stopps’s arm, helped her out of her chair. ‘I’m sure you’ve nothing to reproach yourself with, ma’am. If Mrs Hatch was going to do herself . . . to do away with her life, she’d have found occasion, no doubt.’

  ‘You think it was suicide, Inspector?’

  ‘Too early to say yet.’ But only just; Superintendent Bantree was standing in the doorway. ‘Would you like someone to see you home, Miss Stopps?’

  ‘Thank you, no. Most kind, but I have my car.’ Treet and Bantree stood aside to allow Miss Stopps to leave. She gave them both an approving nod before setting off down the corridor to the hallway, her limp perceptibly improved.

  ‘That’s the last of the principals, sir,’ said Treet, consulting the list of names in his hand. ‘Except for Mr Gregory, and we still have some students to see, but . . .’

  ‘Never mind that for the moment, Alan; things are on the move.’ Bantree related the information he had received following the police autopsy.

  ‘So it’s murder, sir.’

  ‘Well, people don’t cut their throats when they’re laid out by strong sedatives. She’d taken – or been given – ten times the normal dose of the stuff, fifteen to twenty minutes before her throat was cut. Doctor says she must have been semi-conscious at the very best – more probably out like a light.’

  ‘Was it tablets, sir, or what?’

  ‘Liquid – it comes in ‘00 mg. capsules. She’d had the contents of at least ten – in alcohol; rum. It couldn’t have tasted very nice but rum’s pretty pungent, and if she knocked it back fast . . .’

  ‘So we’re assuming it was involuntary, sir.’

  ‘She drank it; that’s all we know for sure. We shan’t have the full autopsy report until the morning; so far the timings sound wrong. She comes in from the fireworks in a panic at six-thirteen or fourteen, and locks the Common Room door behind her . . .’

  ‘Because the students have scared her stiff.’

  Bantree nodded. ‘She takes a quick snort to calm her nerves; maybe she adds the sedative herself but gets the dosage wrong. Fifteen minutes later her throat’s cut and she dies almost immediately. Mr Treasure and the others broke into the room at six forty-four.’

  The Inspector glanced at his note-book. ‘I was there at six forty-eight, sir. The body was very warm; the timing . . .’

  ‘The body was parked in front of a large fire. The timing or the doctor’s wrong. According to him, Mrs Hatch died about six o’clock.’

  CHAPTER XIII

  ‘BUT, COLIN, you haven’t met the chap – I have. I tell you he’s no more capable of murder than you are.’

  ‘The most improbable people find criminal capacities – given the right motive.’

  Treasure and Bantree were once more closeted in the Bursar’s Office. The remains of some ham sandwiches with three coffee cups lay on the desk between them. Inspector Treet had left a moment before – and promptly on the telephoned news that the doctor who looked after the medical needs of the College had returned home. ‘Promotion’s made you pompous.’

  ‘But not half-witted. Gregory had the motive; he found himself with the opportunity, so he took it. Impulsive sort of chap, is he?’

  Treasure shook his head. ‘Don’t know him well enough. But what you suggest is pure speculation.’

  ‘Partly, I agree, but it has a factual base. According to his girl-friend, his mother was a Hatch – incidentally, d’you really know her father?’

  ‘Mm, we were at school together; he’s a stockbroker – older than me.’

  ‘Well, let’s not allow the system to cloud our judgement.’ In return for this jibe Treasure made a gesture indicating what he thought of inverted snobbery; Bantree’s background — unlike his own – had been short on privilege. ‘Witaker says if Gregory is the right kind of Hatch he comes into one and a half million dollars now the old girl’s dead.’

  ‘So does Witaker’s daughter, and eight other people.’

  ‘But they’re not all here. Not that I didn’t fancy Mr Witaker in the role of crooked family lawyer. We’ll keep him in fail-back position – but he’s a long way behind our golden boy from Australia.’ Bantree checked a note on some papers under his coffee cup. ‘Gregory – seen at five forty-five or thereabouts storming out of the JCR after a slight tiff with the lovely Fiona. Next sighted at eight-ten when he was fished out of a swimming pool at London Airport lightly disguised as a wet Arab. Now detained for questioning at West Drayton Police Station until I decide what to do with him.’ Treasure tried to interrupt. ‘I haven’t finished; you wanted the facts. Prints taken from various parts of Gregory’s rooms match those on the used glass found at the scene of the crime, now known to have contained rum and knock-out drops. OK – now for deduction, or if you prefer, supposition. Gregory is not seen by anyone either at the fireworks or in the crowd watching the bomb scare diversion – so he gets zero for interest and curiosity if he didn’t have something pretty important to do.’

  ‘Would you watch fireworks if you weren’t made to?’

  ‘Maybe not, but if I was on the staff here – hell, even if I wasn’t — I’d find a bomb disposal unit, plus a ruddy helicopter, fairly compulsive viewing.’

  ‘Perhaps he was in the crowd and nobody saw him.’

  ‘Or perhaps he was in the SCR – correction; we know he was in the SCR at some point, ready to comfort Mrs Hatch with rum. Possibly he pours the stuff down between her quivering lips, waits a decent interval, and slits her gizzard. He then, as they say, makes good his escape in cahoots with a Middle Eastern prince – God knows why, and the prince ain’t telling.’

  ‘No jury would . . .’

  ‘We’re a long way from a jury, Mark, but if Gregory’s innocent he’s behaving in a very strange way.’

  ‘The same applies if he’s guilty. He’s not stupid, you know. Why should he have gone out of his way to call attention to himself like this if. . .’

  ‘Panic, remorse – you seem to think he’s a decent chap at heart.’ Bantree finished with a smirk.

  ‘Nonsense – I mean, your whole scenario’s absurd. Are you seriously suggesting Gregory organized the student demonstration and the bomb scare on the long chance of getting Mrs Hatch to himself in the SCR so he could do her in?’

  ‘Somebody organized ’em . . .’

  ‘But with the certainty of getting Mrs Hatch into that room – alone?’

  ‘With the certainty that all but the geriatrics would be fighting for ringside seats elsewhere.’ ^

  ‘So he managed to trip up Miss Stopps as well?’

  ‘Miss Stopps’s fall may have saved her life.’

  ‘You mean he’d have done for them both? Well, Miss Stopps doesn’t drink rum.’

  ‘How d’you know?’

  ‘I don’t, but she was drinking sherry before lunch.’

  ‘If you were an old lady scared out of your wits, what would you take – rum or sherry?’

  ‘Tea.’

  ‘Don’t be obtuse – one of your favourite expressions. The whole point of having the chloral hydrate handy was so he could cope with more than one victim at leisure – knock ’em out, then cut ’em up . . .’

  ‘Relying on the necessary fifteen uninterrupted minutes for the drug to take.’

  ‘Hence the second diversion — the bomb scare.’

  ‘Colin, it’s all too elaborate and . . . and risky. I mean, what if the Vicar and I had gone round to that window a few minutes earlier; we’d have met the chap coming out.’

  ‘Pity you didn’t. As it was, you couldn’t have missed him by much.’

  ‘Unless the killing was earlier than we think – and incidentally it has to be a hell of a lot later than your police surgeon says.’

  ‘Doctors are far from infallible – remember I married one.’

  ‘Audrey’s a highly qualified paediatrician.’
r />   ‘They’re the worst.’ Bantree snorted. ‘She was certain I had an ulcer last summer – had me X-rayed, barium mealed, sucking pills the size of dinner plates. D’you know what it was? Constipation. God, what I owe to AllBran.’

  ‘So you’re not buying the police surgeon’s timing?’

  ‘Well, obviously I’m not buying six o’clock or earlier as the time of death. It’ll be later than that when we get his report tomorrow – you’ll see. He knows already the corpse was watching fireworks at six-ten observed by you, the Vicar, Miss Stopps and heaven knows how many others before it beat a miraculous retreat into the Hall, also impressively witnessed. Pity I told him that when I rang him again; got him back-pedalling like mad – started mumbling about over-compensating for the effects of fire on body heat. Anyone’d think we’re investigating arson. Come in.’

  A uniformed policeman entered holding three closely-typed sheets of headed paper. Bantree looked pleased. ‘Intelligence from West Drayton, no doubt.’ He glanced at the top sheet. ‘Yup, this is Gregory’s statement . . . ho, ho, plus a line or two volunteered by your friend the Sheikh via the Abu B’yat Legation via the Foreign Office. Protocol has been observed. What is it, Jones?’ He looked up at the policeman who was still standing beside the desk.

  ‘Young gentleman waiting to see you, sir, one of the students, name of. . .’

  ‘Put him on to one of the sergeants.’

  The policeman persisted, ‘Name of Prince Faisal, sir. Says it’s important, sir.’

  Bantree glanced at Treasure. ‘Ask him if he’d mind waiting a moment, will you? Outside, is he?’ The officer nodded and withdrew. ‘So; the missing heir.’

  ‘D’you want me to clear out?’ asked Treasure, making to rise.

  ‘No, you know him, and that might help. Besides, you can stop me putting my foot in it – like you did earlier. We’ll make it informal; I can always get a proper statement later. But let’s see what Gregory has to offer first.’ The Superintendent began scanning the report. ‘Mm . . . left die JCR at five-forty-five – that checks – heading back to his rooms . . . went into the SCR to pick up a book . . . place was empty . . . helped himself to a drink . . . neat rum . . . put used glass on table by the window . . . left by the casement door which was latched back – ‘ Bantree looked up – die assumed on die order of higher authority so he left it that way . . . reached his rooms, he thinks, at five-fifty . . . felt drowsy, and the next thing he knows, he’s in the Sheikh’s car approaching London Airport . . . believed at the time he was being kidnapped . . . now thinks differently – very convenient – shocked to hear about Mrs Hatch . . . et cetera, et cetera. Medical test shows high content of unspecified sedative in his bloodstream.’

  ‘So he dosed himself with chloral hydrate to get over the shock of murdering Mrs Hatch,’ remarked Treasure impassively. ‘What’s the Sheikh say?’

  Bantree turned to the last sheet. ‘His son found Gregory unconscious in his bedroom at about six-fifty-five – after the bomb scare business was over . . .’

  ‘And after die news was out about Mrs Hatch,’ Treasure interrupted.

  ‘Bight. Oh, here’s the juicy bit. His Highness decided to get Gregory to a doctor – and since he had a Harley Street man waiting at London Airport he drove him straight there . . . doesn’t know’ why Gregory broke away but appreciated he was in a highly nervous state.’

  ‘That’s not nearly so incredible as you may think, Colin. Rich Arabs fly two thousand miles and more to see Harley Street doctors. A fast drive to Heathrow for the same purpose would have seemed perfectly logical to a chap like Al Haban.’

  The Superintendent appeared unconvinced. ‘And you suppose he has expensive medical attendants permanently hanging about at Heathrow on die off-chance . . .’

  ‘Oh, of course he sent for the chap, but so what?’

  ‘So there’s more to it. And why did he dress Gregory up like a Bedouin?’

  ‘Why not ask his son?’

  ‘Good idea.’ Bantree stood up and walked to the door. ‘Prince Faisal – how d’you do, sir. Come in, won’t you? I believe you know Mr Treasure.’

  Witaker lay fully clothed on the bed in the UCI guest suite. It was not a particularly luxurious apartment, but it did have its own bathroom so that no one had seen or heard him being sick. The reaction had been predictable — it had been that way since he was a boy. How he had staved it off for three hours – what was it now, yes, nine o’clock – he would never know. He told himself to be calm; it was all over. Pray God he would never have to go through such an experience again. God our very help in trouble. God helps those who help themselves. God protect me. Yes, settle for protection; forgiveness was for those who couldn’t justify their actions. He, Irvine J. Witaker was justified. He was also in the clear; that was a comforting thought. Hang on to that – relax or you’ll be sick again: forget Cyrus.

  The police interview had been the worst bit; but his urbanity had seen him through. Ribble, the Dean, had been a good deal less obsequious now his million dollars a year endowment had evaporated. Bad luck, Mr Ribble; it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, though. Cyrus used to say that. Get Cyrus out of your head. Stay the night, Ribble had said – pyjamas and shaving gear would be provided. Other arrangements could be made in the morning; thank you for nothing because you are getting nothing. Use the telephone in my room; you will need to telephone America. No mention of charges; you could see it in the man’s eyes, though – mean, count-the-cost, money-grubbing eyes; like Cyrus.

  They had been shocked in Pittsburgh; they had been shocked. Precisely what time did you leave the Common Room? To be precise – drop dead, you peasant policeman, because you are pinning nothing on me, because there is nothing you can pin on me. You may keep your severed heads – your unspeakable obscene photographs. No bargains now; no need for bargains; no money for this down-at-heel apology for a university. Feed it to the Arabs with the sheep’s head – sheep’s eyes. You are safe; stop shaking. It’s all in the mind; the haunting is in the mind. The eyes, that ghastly head. Cyrus is dead.

  ‘Nice chap.’

  ‘You handled him very well.’

  ‘You mean I haven’t upset international relations.’

  Treasure smiled at his friend. For someone who affected not to be impressed by inherited rank Bantree had been perceptibly deferential to the young prince. If the attitude had been a calculated one it had certainly paid a dividend. ‘Does the bit about his father intending to smuggle out Gregory as Prince Faisal have to go in the record?’

  ‘Not if you think it’ll stop our oil supplies.’

  ‘It’s not that; Faisal will be in terrible trouble with his father for losing him face. After all, they didn’t even reach the airport.’

  ‘Felonious intent – and they thought they were helping a murderer to escape: he didn’t admit that, but it’s pretty obvious.’ The Superintendent quickly held up his arms in a gesture of surrender in response to Treasure’s look of exasperation. ‘All right, I’ll go quietly. It wasn’t my fault, me lud,’ he mimicked, ‘it was a rich bankin’ interest wot made me suppress the evidence.’

  ‘Thank you, Colin,’ said Treasure seriously, and not entirely unconscious that he had just done a service for a prospective client. ‘It was a fair swop, you know,’ he added in self-mitigation. ‘The boy was pretty forthright – I would judge totally honest in what he told us; granted he left a bit unsaid – but he still told us a lot.’

  Bantree nodded. ‘Agreed. If Al Haban thought Gregory had bumped off Mrs Hatch it’s pretty certain he hadn’t arranged for one of his own people to do it.’

  ‘They’re all accounted for anyway, you know. They were all there when I left the Sheikh at five-forty.’

  ‘Except the chauffeur.’

  ‘Who you said was having high tea with the porter and his wife before the two of them were sent for over the bomb scare.’

  ‘Right. You left when the French tutor arrived . . .’

  ‘He came fi
ve minutes before he was due, that’s why I noted the time. Dithering old chap.’

  ‘Yes, he only does private tutoring, ex-schoolmaster who lives locally. He’s all there, though. He witnessed Al Haban take the phone call about the bomb just after six. Up to then the Sheikh and the two bodyguards never left the room. Prince Faisal tactfully withdrew to the bedroom for five minutes while the old guy was making his report . . .’

  ‘Which is how Faisal came to see Peter Gregory leaving the SCR.’

  ‘Well, he says he did . . . at ten to six. I want that reenacted. It was dark, there were a lot of people about.’

  ‘Yes, but Faisal admitted he only thought it was Gregory at first and wasn’t sure until he’d crossed the lawn and walked under a light near his window.’

  ‘After the anonymous phone call Prince Faisal went to get Gregory but figured he’d gone out again . . .’

  ‘He only looked into the sitting-room and called out. The police must have done the same when they were evacuating the building later.’

  ‘And all the time Gregory was flaked out on the bedroom floor. It fits together all right. The whole group was under the eye of the police from about six-twenty.’

  ‘Which gets them and Gregory off the hook whatever time the murder was done.’

  ‘I’m not moving that fast,’ said the Superintendent cautiously, ‘but I admit it looks that way. Lucky Al Haban detests fireworks, otherwise they’d just be part of the communal alibi. When did the Prince say he missed the dagger? – four o’clock, was it?’

  ‘Yes – when he and his father got back from their constitutional. Why d’you suppose the murderer risked pinching it?’

  ‘Well, it’s sharp for one thing – and it’s wasted a good deal of our time for another. As far as I can see, half the College were in that room some time today, and I dare say the other half could have been if they’d wanted, and no one the wiser.’