Invisible Weapons. John Rhode

basin and a few inches from it in the horizontal direction. The basin itself was half full of soapy water, still warm.

      Linton examined the dead man’s hands and found that they were damp and soapy. This, together with the position in which the body was lying, suggested that Mr Fransham must have been actually washing his hands when he was struck. A cake of soap still moist was lying on the floor beneath the basin. Two clean towels hung on a rail nearby. Their appearance indicated that neither of them had been used.

      Linton took up his position in front of the basin as though he were about to wash his hands in it. Looking straight in front of him he found that his head was on a level with the open pane of the window. Further, his view of the wall on the opposite side of the carriage-way was not obstructed by the protecting bars. From the centre of the basin to these bars was a matter of thirty inches, measured horizontally.

      Linton entered these facts in his notebook and shook his head forebodingly. He didn’t at all like the way in which things were shaping. But for the moment he had done everything that could be expected of him. It was time that he got into touch with his superiors.

      He opened the door of the cloakroom and peeped out. There seemed to be nobody about, though he could hear the sound of voices behind the closed door of the dining-room. He went to the telephone instrument which stood on a table in the hall, and rang through to Sergeant Cload, keeping his eye on the cloakroom door meanwhile.

      His report to the sergeant was very guarded, since he was not sure who might be listening to him.

      ‘I’m speaking from Dr Thornborough’s, sir. Mrs Thornborough’s uncle has been found dead under rather suspicious circumstances.’

      It took Cload some seconds to realise the full import of this message. ‘What on earth do you mean!’ he exclaimed at last. ‘Let’s have the particulars, man.’

      ‘I’d rather you came and saw them for yourself, sir,’ Linton replied firmly.

      ‘Are you trying to hint that there’s been a murder at Dr Thornborough’s?’ the sergeant asked.

      ‘It looks very like it, sir. But least said, soonest mended.’

      ‘I see. This is a job for the super. I’ll get on to him at once and tell him what you’ve told me. Meanwhile you stay where you are and see that nothing’s interfered with.’

      Linton remained in the hall, awaiting further instructions. From the dining-room came the sound of a woman sobbing and the voice of Dr Thornborough apparently trying to comfort her. From time to time another voice—that of a woman—chimed in. The news of the tragedy had not apparently reached the kitchen, judging by the sounds of merriment which penetrated the baize door. Linton approached this on tiptoe and pushed it gently open an inch or so. He heard two women laughing, apparently at something which was being said by a man with a hoarse voice. The latter was presumably the surly-faced chauffeur and the two women were Lucy and the cook.

      Linton had not long to wait for his instructions. Before many minutes had passed a car turned at high speed into the drive and pulled up with a squeaking of brakes outside the front door. Linton, recognising the sound, opened the front door and saluted. Superintendent Yateley, expectant and alert, confronted him. ‘Where?’ he asked.

      ‘This way, sir,’ Linton replied.

      He led the superintendent into the cloakroom and secured the lock behind them. Yateley glanced at the body and then rapidly round the room. ‘Who found him?’ he asked.

      ‘Dr Thornborough and I between us, sir.’

      ‘Good. Now tell me what you know about it.’

      Linton gave an account of his sojourn in the consulting-room and of the events which followed it. Yateley listened attentively.

      ‘You’ve done pretty well so far, Linton,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s get the main facts perfectly clear. You heard this Mr Fransham go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind him?’

      ‘I heard somebody go in, sir, but of course I couldn’t see who it was.’

      ‘You did not hear the door open or shut again until you broke it down?’

      ‘No, sir.’

      ‘There was nobody in the room but the dead man when you broke in?’

      ‘No, sir. I’m perfectly certain of that.’

      ‘You have found no trace of any weapon which could have caused this wound?’

      ‘No trace at all, sir. But I haven’t moved the body to look underneath it.’

      ‘Quite right.’ The superintendent took a piece of chalk from his pocket and drew a line round the body as it lay on the floor.

      ‘Now help me to lift him on one side,’ he said.

      Removal of the body disclosed nothing whatever and Yateley frowned.

      ‘He can’t have been struck by any sort of missile, or it would be still in the room,’ he said. ‘All right, Linton, you stay here and have another search. Look through all those coats on the pegs, in the dead man’s clothing and everywhere. I’m going to get statements from everybody on the premises. Where’s the doctor, to begin with?’

      ‘In the dining-room, sir, with Mrs Thornborough and another lady.’

      Yateley left the cloakroom, walked across the hall and opened the dining-room door. Dr Thornborough looked up as he did so, and the superintendent beckoned to him. With an anxious glance at his wife, who was sitting bowed in a chair with an older woman bending over her, the doctor stepped out into the hall.

      ‘Bad business, this, doctor,’ said Yateley sympathetically. ‘I’d like to hear what you can tell me about it, if you don’t mind. Where can we have a quiet talk?’

      ‘Better come into the consulting-room,’ Dr Thornborough replied, absently running his fingers through his hair. ‘But I can’t tell you anything about it, I’m afraid. It’s as much as I can do to bring myself to realise that it has happened.’

      Yateley made no reply until they were both in the consulting-room with the door shut behind them. ‘This must have been a terrible shock to you, doctor,’ he said then. ‘The dead man was your wife’s uncle, I understand?’

      Dr Thornborough nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he replied. ‘My wife is naturally terribly upset. She has always been very fond of him.’

      ‘You told Mr Linton that Mr Fransham lived in London. He drove down here at your invitation, I presume?’

      ‘That’s just what I can’t understand. He told my wife when he arrived that he had a letter from me asking him to come down to lunch today. But I assure you that I had never written him any such letter. In fact, his coming here this week might have been very awkward.’

      ‘Why was that, doctor?’

      ‘Because my wife’s mother happens to be staying with us. Fransham was her brother-in-law, but they never managed to hit it off and they’ve avoided one another for years.’

      ‘What was the reason for this mutual dislike?’

      ‘I don’t think there was any real reason. Fransham didn’t approve of his brother Tom’s choice when he married, and that didn’t tend to amicable relations. Then Tom got killed in the war while Robert, my wife’s uncle, stayed at home and made a lot of money in munitions. Robert Fransham didn’t take much interest in his brother’s widow and it was a grievance on her part that he didn’t make her a handsome allowance. Add a certain amount of mutual antipathy to all this and you’ll get some idea of the situation. I may say that my mother-in-law is a woman of decided views and doesn’t mince matters if anything upsets her.’

      ‘Was Mr Robert Fransham married?’

      ‘No, he had never been. He was what is known as a confirmed bachelor. Before and during the war he was a partner in Fransham and Innes, Brass