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Invisible Weapons
John Rhode
A classic crime novel by one of the most highly regarded exponents of the genre.The murder of old Mr Fransham while washing his hands in his niece’s cloakroom was one of the most astounding problems that ever confronted Scotland Yard. Not only was there a policeman in the house at the time, but there was an ugly wound in the victim’s forehead and nothing in the locked room that could have inflicted it.The combined efforts of Superintendent Hanslet and Inspector Waghorn brought no answer and the case was dropped. It was only after another equally baffling murder had been committed that Dr Lancelot Priestley’s orderly and imaginative deductions began to make the connections that would solve this extraordinary case.
JOHN RHODE
Invisible Weapons
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by Collins Crime Club 1938
Copyright © Estate of John Rhode 1938
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1938, 2018
John Rhode asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008268817
Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780008268824
Version: 2017-01-02
Table of Contents
Cover (#u365b8580-462b-5bad-b7d5-6cc6bf6ab0d8)
Title Page (#uf6e5b9f4-3fbe-52e6-8f70-83164e502c94)
Copyright (#u2683e3e0-81e3-5ccb-8c8d-e13bf740bc33)
Part One: The Adderminster Affair (#ued8e1176-39ed-5349-8bfa-df1a5e593a57)
Chapter I (#ub9b9a75a-e253-5f04-b22a-c2062999a7ce)
Chapter II (#u7c1798a9-43a7-57e0-86f2-6eca22226bfa)
Chapter III (#u9791bb65-5b8c-55b6-a89d-02dddcfb5bbf)
Chapter IV (#u59569978-ac83-51e2-be2b-bd184c2e9a67)
Chapter V (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VI (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VII (#litres_trial_promo)
Part Two: Death Visits Cheveley Street (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter I (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter II (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter III (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter IV (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter V (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VI (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VII (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter VIII (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter IX (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PART ONE (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
CHAPTER I (#u34dbf89f-eca2-5482-ac80-b4de7b6e871f)
It was very hot in the charge-room of Adderminster Police Station. Sergeant Cload mopped his head with one hand while he held the telephone receiver with the other.
‘Yes, sir, yes, sir,’ he repeated at intervals. ‘Certainly, sir, I will take the necessary steps at once. I’m very sorry that you have been subjected to this annoyance. Good-morning, sir.’
He put the instrument aside and growled. ‘Alfie Prince again!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t know what we’re going to do about that chap, Linton.’
‘What’s he been up to now?’ asked Constable Linton, the only other occupant of the room.
‘Oh, the same old game. Going round to people’s houses asking for fags and cursing if he doesn’t get them. This time it’s Colonel Exbury. It seems that he went round there and that the colonel had the devil of a job to get rid of him. He’s not a bit pleased and wants to know what we mean to do about it.’
‘I can’t make Alfie out,’ said Linton, scratching his head. ‘He’ll do a day’s job with anybody in the town when he feels like it. And then all of a sudden he’ll take it into his head to go round annoying folk. And it isn’t that he gets drunk, for I’ve never heard of anybody who’s seen him the worse for liquor.’
‘He’s not right, that’s what it is,’ replied the sergeant confidently. ‘I don’t mean that he’s out and out mad, but he comes over all batty now and then. I wonder, now!’
Again the sergeant mopped his face with that enormous pocket handkerchief. ‘Damn this heat!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s enough to drive anyone batty. What I was wondering is whether the folk at the asylum could do Alfie any good if he went in there for a bit.’
Linton shook his head. ‘He’d never go, not unless he was forced to,’ he replied. ‘As it is he’ll never sleep within four walls if he can help it.’
‘I know. That’s just the difficulty. Still, something might be done if we went the right way about it. I tell you what, Dr Thornborough would help us. He’d never mind being asked to do a thing like that.’
‘Like what?’ Linton asked.
‘I’m coming to that. It’s not a bit of good our bringing Alfie before the Bench, for you know as well as I do what would happen. They’d fine him with the option. Alfie’s mother would pay the fine and we shouldn’t be any further forward than we were before. He’d go on pestering folk and giving us a lot of trouble.’
‘We’ll have to do something. It wouldn’t do to upset the colonel.’
‘That’s just it. Now if we could get Alfie put away for a bit it wouldn’t do any harm and might do a lot of good. And that’s just where Dr Thornborough comes in.’
The sergeant glanced at the clock as he continued. ‘It’s just a quarter to one now; the doctor always gets home for lunch round about one o’clock. Jump on your bike and slip up to his place in Gunthorpe Road. I never can pronounce the name of it. Tell him what we think about Alfie and ask him if he can manage to have a quiet chat with him. And then if he thinks that Alfie ought to be put away we’ll know what to do about it.’
This conversation took place on Saturday, June 12. Linton mounted his bicycle and rode through the little town until he reached Gunthorpe Road on its outskirts. He passed the public gardens and museum on his right, and a single small detached house on his left. Thus he reached a new and substantial-looking house which bore upon its drive gates the unusual name Epidaurus.
The gates were open and Linton turned in at the first he came to. He dismounted, left his bicycle at the end of the short semi-circular drive, and walked to the front door. It was opened by a smart and capable-looking parlourmaid who smiled as she recognised him. ‘Good-morning, Mr Linton,’ she said primly.
‘Good-morning, miss,’ Linton replied with official gravity. ‘I was wondering if I could speak to the doctor for a moment.’
‘He’s not back from his rounds yet, though he’s sure to be in before long. Mrs Thornborough is in, if you’d like to see her?’
‘I’d rather wait and see the doctor, if there’s no objection.’
The parlourmaid stood aside to let him enter and, as she did so a young and remarkably pretty woman appeared in the hall. ‘Hullo, Linton,’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s your business? Anything I can do for you?’
‘Thank you, mam,’ Linton replied. ‘But I’ve got a message from the sergeant for the doctor.’
‘Then you’d better wait for him in the consulting-room. Take Linton in there, will you, Lucy, and see that he has a glass of beer while he’s waiting.’
The parlourmaid showed Linton into the consulting-room and a few moments later appeared with a glass and a jug on a tray. ‘Can’t stop and share it with you, as I’m busy,’ she said as she frisked out again. In her haste she omitted to shut the door properly and it remained slightly ajar.
The consulting-room lay at the back of the house, and its window, which was open, commanded a view of the kitchen garden and of the garage at the end of it. Linton noticed that the garage was empty and that its doors were propped back. He poured himself out a glass of beer, sampled it and then sat down.
The door being ajar he could hear sounds of activity within the house. From the dining-room came a subdued clatter of plates and cutlery. Lucy was obviously laying the table for lunch. The kitchen premises were divided from the rest of the house by a baize door, impervious to sound or smell. The notes of a piano, strummed softly but ably, reached Linton from the drawing-room. And then as he took a second draught of beer the soft purr of an approaching car reached his ears. That must be the doctor, of course.
The car entered the drive and stopped outside the front door. Linton wiped his lips and stood up ready to greet Dr Thornborough. But, contrary to his expectations, he did not hear the front door open. An instant later, an electric bell rang insistently somewhere in the back premises.
The clattering in the dining-room came to an immediate stop. Linton heard Lucy hasten with tripping steps to the front door and open it. Next a deep voice which Linton did not recognise, and a heavy step in the hall. A visitor, obviously. Whoever it was, Lucy must have shown him into the drawing-room, for the piano stopped abruptly. Before the drawing-room door closed again, Linton heard Mrs Thornborough’s voice raised in a tone of complete amazement. It seemed, then, that the visitor must be unexpected.
A minute later Linton heard the sound of a car being driven down the carriage way beside the house towards the garage. Was it the doctor’s car this time? No, it wasn’t. As soon as it came in sight Linton saw that. It was a very smart-looking Armstrong-Siddeley limousine, driven by an elderly and rather surly-looking chauffeur. It came to rest inside the garage. The chauffeur dismounted, and walked slowly round it. Then he produced a packet of cigarettes from an inside pocket, chose one and lighted it. Having thrown away the match, he propped himself negligently against the garage door-post.
The drawing-room door opened again and a heavy footstep crossed the hall. Linton heard the sound of another door being opened. It was shut immediately and the click of a lock followed. Somebody left the drawing-room and hurried into the dining-room. This must be Mrs Thornborough, for Linton recognised her voice as she gave instructions to Lucy. Something about it being very awkward. Cook should be asked to hold back lunch for ten minutes. And of course, another place must be laid. Oh yes, and Coates. He must be asked in to have his lunch in the kitchen. Better tell cook about it at once.
Linton heard her go upstairs slowly, step by step, as though upon some errand she disliked. The baize door opened and shut as Lucy went into the kitchen to break the news to cook. From somewhere on the ground floor the faint but unmistakable sound of a plug being pulled.
Followed a silence of a couple of minutes. Then an indeterminate and not very distinct sound, something between a thud and a crash. Linton supposed that cook, flustered by the arrival of this unexpected guest, had dropped something in the kitchen. He took out his watch and looked at it. Seven minutes past one. Something must have detained the doctor, for, as Linton knew, he always tried to get home by one o’clock.
A further silence of two or three minutes, then the sound of Mrs Thornborough coming downstairs again. She went into the drawing-room, leaving the door open behind her.
Then again Linton heard the sound of an approaching car. There was no doubt about it this time. It came straight in and drove rapidly down the carriage-way. Linton recognised the doctor’s car with the doctor himself at the wheel. The car pulled up suddenly just short of the garage, and Dr Thornborough got out. Again Linton looked at his watch, to find that the time was now twelve minutes past one.
The surly-faced chauffeur threw away his cigarette and touched his cap. Dr Thornborough seemed to question him eagerly, to which he gave some replies. Linton could hear the sound of their voices but not what they said. Dr Thornborough hurried towards the house, which he entered by the garden door beside the consulting-room.
At the sound of this door being opened, Mrs Thornborough ran out of the drawing-room and met her husband in the hall just outside the consulting-room door. Linton could not help overhearing their conversation.
It was Mrs Thornborough who spoke first. ‘Oh, Cyril, Uncle Bob’s here!’ she exclaimed reproachfully. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me that he was coming?’
‘I know he’s here, for I’ve spoken to Coates in the garage,’ the doctor replied. ‘But how could I have told you that he was coming when I didn’t know myself?’
‘You didn’t know he was coming? But he had a letter from you this morning asking him to drive down to lunch today as you particularly wanted to see him.’
‘My dear Betty! One or both of you must be suffering from delusions. I haven’t written to him for weeks as you know very well. Besides, just now—’
‘I know. It’s absurdly thoughtless of you. I’m very much afraid that there’ll be ructions.’
‘Well, it can’t be helped. We shall have to make the best of it. Where is Uncle Bob, by the way?’
‘In the cloakroom, washing his hands. He’ll be out any minute now, for he’s been there quite a long time. Oh, and by the way, I almost forgot to tell you. Linton’s waiting in the consulting-room to see you. He’s got a message or something from the sergeant for you. You’ll have time to see him before lunch because I’ve asked cook to put it back a few minutes.’
The door of the consulting-room opened and Dr Thornborough walked in. He was tall and slight and looked younger than his age, which was thirty-five. His normally cheerful expression was obscured by a slight frown as he greeted the constable. ‘Well, Linton, what’s the matter?’ he inquired brusquely.
Linton started to explain the situation which had arisen regarding Alfie Prince. But before he had got very far, the doctor, whose attention was obviously elsewhere, interrupted him.
‘Alfie Prince? I saw him just now as I drove in at the gate. But look here. Excuse me a minute, there’s a good fellow. I must see …’ And he hurried out of the room, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Linton heard him go to the door of the cloakroom and rattle the handle. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called. And then a second or two later, ‘Uncle Bob! Unlock the door, will you? It’s only me, Cyril. I want a word with you.’
Followed a pause in which every voice in the house seemed to be hushed: then Dr Thornborough battered on the door of the cloakroom with his fists. ‘Uncle Bob!’ he called once more.
Silence, broken only by the doctor’s footsteps crossing the hall. He re-entered the consulting-room, frowning more deeply than before. ‘I don’t like it, Linton,’ he exclaimed abruptly. ‘My uncle, Mr Fransham, is in the cloakroom, and I can’t get him to answer me.’
‘He’s been in there a good ten minutes or more, sir,’ Linton replied.
‘Eh!’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘How the devil do you know that?’
‘While I was in here waiting for you, sir, I heard a gentleman go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind him.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, look here. Fransham’s heart is inclined to be dicky. And I’m a little bit afraid this hot weather may have upset him. I’d like to get the door open, but I don’t know how to manage it.’
‘Perhaps there’s a window that you could climb in by, sir?’ Linton suggested.
Dr Thornborough shook his head impatiently. ‘No good!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve thought of that already. The window’s barred, and, if it wasn’t, it doesn’t open wide enough to let anybody through. Do you think you could manage to force the door?’
