No Mask for Murder Read online

  “Are you suggesting that I’m insane?”

  “That’s the kindest explanation I can think of.”

  “The kindest explanation of what?”

  “Of your behaviour this morning—and other things.”

  “What other things?”

  “Why were you so interested in what Susan and I were doing on Fiesta night?”

  “I’m not in the least interested.”

  “Susan says you talked about it.”

  “I tell you she can’t be well,” said Garland. “We never mentioned the subject.”

  “I see,” said Martin. “And I suppose you didn’t ask her what game she was playing with you?”

  “Why should I? What game could she be playing? You’re talking gibberish.”

  “Perhaps. Dr. Garland, what were you doing yourself on Fiesta night?”

  “I was at Darwin Bay, sleeping quietly, though what it’s got to do with you I’m damned if I know.”

  “Yet you tell me all the same! You weren’t by any chance in Fontego City?”

  “Oh, go to hell! I’ll not answer your questions. You’re all crazy.”

  “You’ll have to answer a lot more questions before long. Superintendent Jarvis will ask them. I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Garland, but whatever it is you went too far this morning. You’ve started something you can’t stop.”

  Garland’s face had turned purple with anger and his hands were clenched. “You chattering fool!” he shouted. “By God, I’ll shut your mouth if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “It will be the last thing you do. There happen to be people in the house.”

  Garland suddenly turned, climbed into the car, and drove off without another word.

  Martin walked slowly back to the house. A most illuminating conversation! It ought to lead to action of some sort. He went in to tell Susan.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Garland was driving bard toward Fontego City. He knew that a crisis was imminent. In the course of a single morning the situation had got completely out of hand. He had given himself away to Susan utterly. Having gone so far, he ought to have silenced her while he could. Now the position was irretrievable.

  No doubt plenty of people would believe his account of what had happened, if it came to rebutting charges, but West would never believe him. West was in love with Susan, and he was angry. He accepted her story, and all sorts of suspicions had been aroused in his mind. No wonder! The clues in that fatal talk with Susan had been plain as a signpost to anyone interested in them. If West now started to delve, as he would, there was no telling what might turn up.

  The only course, Garland decided, was to get out of Fontego at once. The more he struggled, the deeper he seemed to sink into the bog. There was nothing more he could do here. It was no good trying to eliminate any more people—there were too many involved. Susan would tell her father, and West would tell Jarvis. Questions would be flung at him, dangerous questions that could tie him in knots. He’d had a hint of what could happen in that brief talk with West.

  No, the thing to do was to leave. He could pack up now and clear out before the storm broke. The job on the Spencer estate was finished; it would seem quite natural that he should go on leave. He had already told people that he and Celeste were going to Honolulu. Well, they could go to Singapore instead and pick up the money. To-night if possible. Directly he got back he would contact the air terminal and reserve two places on the night plane. Celeste would be delighted, and once abroad they needn’t come back. He could plead a sudden breakdown, and send his resignation by post. Perhaps, after all, things weren’t as bad as he feared. He would have money and Celeste, and provided he wasn’t available to be questioned, they wouldn’t get far with the case.

  After all, he reflected, suspicion was one thing but proof was quite another. They couldn’t arrest him on suspicion. It wasn’t as though, he was an obscure person, a nonentity. Adrian Garland, the Secretary of Health, was well known as one of the Colony’s mainstays—the only man with guts and drive in the whole place. They’d need cast-iron proof before they dared to touch him—something much more convincing than the tale of a hysterical girl. If he continued to deny everything charged against him that morning, he’d be safe enough. They’d have to assume that Susan had been mistaken. They’d have to.

  But what about other evidence? What could West dig up? Garland thought back over the past, trying to reassure himself. Everything had become so complex. The Johnson Johnson incident, at least, was closed for ever. The dinghy was sunk in twenty fathoms and could never be recovered. There couldn’t possibly be a shred of evidence. The verdict of the coroner’s jury would stand. There was nothing to worry about there.

  What about Dubois? That was a different matter. The situation had changed for the worse. Previously, when Jarvis had been searching for clues, there had been nothing to connect Garland with the case. Now there might be, if West went on using his imagination. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to,” he’d said. But he obviously had a shrewd idea.

  West was a disaster. He knew more than he thought he knew. That episode after the storm had shaken his faith in Garland. Sooner or later he might fit Tacri into the rest of the jigsaw. Garland couldn’t see how, but he might. No good worrying about that, though. The thing to concentrate on now was making sure that no material clues had been left behind anywhere.

  Garland thought back to his interview with Jarvis. There had been one or two bits of evidence, harmless enough as long as Garland was under no suspicion, but possibly significant now. That piece of paper from the department’s files, for instance. The police had assumed at the time that Dubois had taken it to the Pool with him, but now they could equally assume that Garland might have brought it. Still, there really wasn’t much in that. It was a pointer, perhaps, but no more.

  They would check his movements over Fiesta, of course. They would ask where he had been, and unlike West they would be in a position to insist on an answer. All the more reason for getting away quickly, out of their reach. In any case he had his story. If he declared that he had spent all the time on his boat, what could they do? No one had seen him except in disguise.

  Suddenly, with a pang of fear, he remembered the Base. He’d overlooked the Base! The number of his car would have been taken on the double journey. What a crass fool he’d been! They would know now that he had been in town. He felt his wet shirt clinging to the back of the seat.

  Well, what of it? They still couldn’t prove anything. He could invent some reason why he’d driven back; he could even say that he’d had an itch to take a look at the Fiesta crowds. There was time to think of something. He could do it at his leisure in Singapore, just in case they ever caught up with him. Any explanation would do. They needed proof.

  The shock of his oversight had passed, but he was more anxious now about other things. What else could they do? They might search the boat. It was a pity that it hadn’t been sunk in the storm, instead of being driven ashore. Garland wished now that he’d been more thorough in destroying all traces. The blanket and towel might look harmless enough, but it would have been better if they hadn’t been there at all. A smart policeman—supposing there was one!—with the Moslem disguise in mind might take a second look at such likely raw material. There wasn’t anything else, though. The absence of the knife would cause no comment. Now that Johnson was dead, no one knew that he had had one.

  Garland thought of the mask. Had he been careful enough about that? He had rather taken it for granted that no one would ever look for clues on the boat. He remembered giving a few cuts to the canvas from which the mask had been made. They were lying there now in the locker, those few shapeless pieces of canvas. But were they shapeless? Suppose some busybody, with the mask in mind, began to try to fit the pieces together. The shape of the mask might suddenly emerge. That would be proof, by God. Conclusive proof. He had been careless. He cursed aloud, shouting above the noise of the engine.

  Time was
precious, but he would have to go to the boat and destroy that evidence, at least. He would go there after he had completed his jobs in Fontego City. It was going to be a tight schedule. First he must make sure of the plane reservations. And he must call in at the office and leave everything tidy there. He would see Celeste, and get her started with the packing, and then later in the day he would drive to the boat and clean up. There’d still be time to get the plane.

  He brought the car up sharply outside his house and strode quickly across the garden. It was good to be back. He felt an urgent need to hold Celeste’s smooth body, to get his sense of proportion back. She didn’t seem to be about; probably she was lunching at the Club. He called “Salacity!” and the maid appeared, smiling a welcome.

  “Yo sho back early, sah,” she said. “Missus say yo no comna home befo’ to-morrer.”

  “Where is your mistress, Salacity? Out?”

  Salacity nodded. “She bin go out in de auto de mornin’ early. She no say wey she go.”

  “Did she say when she’d be back?”

  “She say in de evenin’, sah.”

  “For dinner?”

  “Ah nah know, sah.”

  “Blast!” exclaimed Garland. “All right, I’ll be having lunch here.” He went to the telephone with a scowl, and dialled the air terminal.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  There was an air of satisfaction about Susan as she hung up the receiver and joined her father and Martin in the garden. “Well, we were right—he was in town,” she announced. “Station wagon X-707 passed through the Base four times during Fiesta, twice each way. What do you think of that?”

  “It’s certainly a point,” conceded her father.

  The Colonial Secretary was hunched in his chair and his face showed lines of strain. Susan’s story had been a tremendous shock to him. Though she was safe now, he still felt shaken by the narrowness of her escape.

  It had hardly occurred to him to question the accuracy of her recollections. Her vivid and detailed account had been only too convincing. Against all his inclinations, almost against his reason, he had to accept the fact that the Secretary of Health had intended that morning to make a murderous attack upon his daughter, and had almost done so.

  And as though that wasn’t bad enough, there was just the possibility that Garland was already a murderer, that the episode had been the result not of madness but of criminal intent. Horrifying!

  Anstruther passed a hand across his forehead in a dazed manner. “It still seems incredible to me,” he said. “I’d have trusted Garland implicitly.”

  “So would I,” said Susan, “until this morning.” She leaned over the back of his chair and for a moment laid her face against his. “Poor Daddy! It is all rather a shock, isn’t it?”

  “It’s appalling,” he said. “I’m not quite sure what we ought to do. If it were a clear case of mental collapse, there would be no great problem, but the mere possibility of deliberate murder makes things very difficult We’ll have to be most careful. I think before we do anything at all I’d better have a quiet word with H. E.”

  “Isn’t it a bit late for discretion?” said Susan. “I think he ought to be arrested at once.”

  “It’s never too late for discretion, my dear. The greater the crisis, the more need for caution.”

  “You wouldn’t say so if you’d had the sharp edge of a cutlass brandished at you,” persisted Susan.

  He smiled at her. “I don’t expect you to look at the matter quite as I do, Susan, but I can’t break the habits of a lifetime. The immediate danger has passed, and now we must consider the matter coolly.”

  “There is the possibility that he may get away,” put in Martin.

  “And I’m not so sure that the danger has passed,” said Susan. “He knows now that we’re suspicious. He may have another try. After this morning, I should think that Martin’s a potential victim, as well as me. If the man has one or two murders on his conscience already, what is there to hold him back? I think we should tell Jarvis everything, and leave it to him.”

  Anstruther shook his head. “It’s no good being impetuous, Susan. Whatever we may think or suspect, we can’t go levelling capital charges at a man like Garland, or anyone else, without at least a good prima facie case. What actually is the case against Garland? What are we going to tell the police if we go to them?”

  “We can start by telling them that Garland threatened me with a cutlass.”

  “And he” ll deny it. He’s already denied it to Martin. He’s made it quite clear what line he proposes to take. You were feeling the heat, and you imagined things. You’ll say that you saw a dangerous look in his eye, and that he raised the cutlass. He’ll reply that you were mistaken about the look and that he was merely examining the cutlass.”

  “But——” began Susan indignantly.

  “I’m merely trying to look at the thing from the police point of view,” said Anstruther. “It’ll be your word against Garland’s. You have some status here, and your word will command respect, but they’ll never arrest Garland on the strength of your word alone. We couldn’t expect them to. After all, nothing actually happened. It would be different if Garland had struck you.”

  “It certainly would!” Susan exclaimed. “In the interests of justice it does seem a pity that I wasn’t slightly mangled.”

  Her father put his arm around her. “That’s the position, anyway. What do you think, Martin?”

  “I agree,” said Martin, “if we take that incident by itself. It isn’t even as though Garland shows any obvious signs of insanity. He’s sane enough, and clever enough, to make us all look pretty foolish.”

  Anstruther nodded. “And we’d get nowhere. Well, what else have we got against Garland? You two have persuaded yourselves that he killed Dubois. What’s the evidence for that?”

  “At the very least, suspicious behaviour,” said Martin. “The police might be interested, I should think. He lied about what he was doing over Fiesta—there’s obviously some thing on his conscience.”

  “It might not be murder,” said Anstruther dryly. “There could be a dozen explanations for that.”

  “He was in town, anyhow,” said Susan. “He could have killed Dubois.”

  “I dare say,” said Anstruther. “Let’s agree that he had the opportunity. That’s not going to get us very far. So did about fifty thousand other people.”

  “Yes,” persisted Susan, “but look at the way he’s behaved since. It’s as plain as can be that he’s worried about something he thinks Martin and I saw at the Blue Pool. Why should he worry if he wasn’t there?”

  “He could have been there without killing Dubois,” said Anstruther.

  “Well, he’d hardly try to murder me simply because he thought I’d seen him having a quiet drink. I believe he killed Dubois, and for some reason or other imagined that I knew and wanted to shut me up.”

  Anstruther stared thoughtfully at the ground. “It’s pure surmise, you know. I agree that that conversation this morning was most curious, but I suppose it could bear some other interpretation. Parts of it, certainly. Men like teasing pretty women, and Garland may have been doing only that.”

  “Teasing! with a cutlass at the end of it! Oh, Daddy!”

  Her father stirred restlessly. “I know, Susan, but everything else is so unsubstantial. You may be right about the significance of his remarks—you may easily be right—but they’re far from constituting a case. They’re puzzling, intriguing, suggestive, but by themselves entirely insufficient. In the hands of a good lawyer I’m sure they could be given several innocent interpretations. Besides, as I said before, Garland denies the whole thing. As evidence, that conversation is almost useless. In any case, why would Garland kill Dubois? So far there isn’t a hint of motive. We’ve nothing solid to go on at all.”

  Susan looked despondent. “I suppose you are right,” she admitted. “And yet I’m so sure that man’s a murderer. To me, there couldn’t be any stronger evidence than wha
t I saw in his eyes. Couldn’t the police show a bit of your discretion, Daddy, and make inquiries privately?”

  “You know Fontego,” said Anstruther with a little smile. “How long do you think it would be before Garland found out that we’d made allegations against him? I can see him suing us all for slander in no time.”

  “Not if he’s guilty,” said Susan.

  “More than ever if he’s guilty. He couldn’t afford not to. And he’d win his case, you know. At the moment, there isn’t a shred of evidence to put before a jury.”

  “So what do we do?” demanded Susan. “Just sit around and wait for him to carve up someone else?” She caught her father’s pained expression. “I’m sorry, Daddy, but you can’t expect me to feel very amiable about Dr. Garland. We must do something.”

  “The only thing I can think of at the moment,” said Anstruther, “is that I should offer him protracted leave of absence on health grounds, and hope that he’ll leave the Colony. Considering everything that’s happened, he might jump at it.”

  “He rather gave me the impression that he could use some sick

  leave,” said Martin, “after we’d had our row over Tacri.”

  Anstruther looked up sharply. “I didn’t know you’d had a row.”

  “Oh, we patched it up. It was after the storm. Garland refused to move some desperate cases to the mainland for fear it should undermine public faith in Tacri. I threatened to appeal to you, and he gave way.”

  “Extraordinary!” said Anstruther. “I must say he has been behaving in a most peculiar manner, one way and another. His attitude over Tacri has often puzzled me.”

  “It absolutely defeats me,” said Martin. “I’m completely at sea.”