“My lord!” exclaimed the Sergeant involuntarily. A few minutes later, when they had left the building, he said: “It's the man himself, Chief. Somehow or other Brown managed to tip him off. And if you want to know what I think, when we've laid our hands on Mr Vanishing Hyde we'll have got Gregory Matthews' murderer. You think it over: first, there's —”
“Thanks, I am thinking it over,” said Hannasyde. “I can see that Hyde's the likeliest person to have inserted the notice of his own death—if he wanted to disappear. I can see that there would have been nothing easier for him to have done than to have made a Will appointing a fictitious person as his executor. But what I do not see is why it should have been necessary to darken his face, and pretend to be someone else merely to get his own papers out of his own safe. If you've got an answer to that, let me have it!”
“Well, I have,” said the Sergeant briskly. “The notice of his death wasn't meant for the safe-deposit people, Super. It was meant for us. He wants us to think he's dead, and we wouldn't be very likely to do that if we found he'd walked into that place and taken out his papers with his own hands, would we? He's got brains, this bird, that I will say. When you asked them at the safe-depository to describe John Hyde they didn't say one word about any sun-glasses. Seems as though he only wore them in Gadsby Row. All you got out of those fellows was that Hyde was a middle-aged man, and nothing particular to look at. Now how I look at it is this: in case you hit on the notion of a safe-deposit Hyde wanted to have it on record that it wasn't him who'd taken the stuff out of his safe. But though I wouldn't call those blokes we've been talking to an observant lot, it stands to reason they'd know John Hyde if they saw him. So he provides for that by putting on his spectacles, darkening his skin, and calling himself Hyde's brother. Neat, I call it.”
Hannasyde said nothing for a few minutes, but walked on beside the Sergeant, frowning. “You may be right,” he said at last. “But I can't see my way. Look here, Hemingway! Go and see Brown, and try and scare him into telling you what Randall Matthews wanted that day. I'm going to see Randall himself.”
“I might scare Brown,” said the Sergeant, “but it's my belief that it would take a herd of wild elephants to scare young Randall. What's more, I can't make out what he wants with Hyde anyway. Or his blooming papers, if it comes to that. You can't have it both ways, Chief. Seems to me that's what we're trying to do.”
“If you mean that the case is in a muddle, I know that,” said Hannasyde bitterly.
“It always was in a muddle,” replied the Sergeant. “The trouble is the more we go into it the worse the muddle grows. Proper mess, that's what it is. But what I mean is, if Hyde's the man we're after—for reasons at present unknown—Randall's out of it. If Randall pulled the murder, Hyde's out of it.”
“Somewhere there's a connection between them,” Hannasyde said. “There must be. I don't pretend to know what it is, but I've got to find out.”
The Sergeant scratched his nose. “Well, I'm bound to say I don't see it,” he confessed. “Friend Randall's motive for doing his uncle in is as plain as a pikestaff. We don't know what Hyde's motive may have been, but how it can have had anything to do with helping Randall to a nice little fortune has me beat. It don't make any kind of sense, Super.”
“I know, I know, but I've got to follow up the clues I've got. Randall didn't want me to pursue investigations into Hyde. He talked about mares' nests, and tried to make me believe he was not interested in Hyde. But he was sufficiently interested to pay a call on Brown, and to stay for nearly an hour in his shop.”
“Yes,” admitted the Sergeant. “And I wouldn't wonder but what he knows one or two members of the Cavalry Club.”
“Nothing more likely,” said Hannasyde. “I've got to try and rattle him.”
“It's him that'll do the rattling,” said the Sergeant darkly. “He's the nearest thing to a snake I've seen outside of the Zoo.”
On this pronouncement they parted, the Sergeant boarding an omnibus bound for the Bank, and Hannasyde making his way westwards to St James's Street.
He found Randall at home, writing letters at his desk. Randall, as Benson ushered the Superintendent into the room, said without looking up from his task: “Do come in, and make yourself quite at home, my dear Superintendent. We are becoming almost boon companions, I feel. You will find cigarettes on the table by the sofa. Forgive me if I finish this letter, won't you?”
“Please do finish it,” said Hannasyde. “For I want your undivided attention, Mr Matthews!”
“You shall certainly have it,” replied Randall, his hand continuing to travel across the paper. He signed his name, enclosed the letter in an envelope, and sealed it. Then he took the telephone receiver off its hook, and dialled a number, and while waiting for an answer wrote the direction on the envelope. After that he picked up a newspaper, folded open at the racing news, and spoke into the telephone. Having placed three bets with his bookmaker he laid down the receiver, and got up. “The more arduous of the day's tasks being accomplished, I am now almost entirely at your disposal, Superintendent,” he said. “Which reminds me that I have to thank you for the removal of the brown-booted gentleman. That was most considerate of you, but you need only have given him a pair of black boots. I had no personal feeling against him, I assure you. In fact, I thought he had a nice, kind face.”
“He would no doubt be flattered to hear you say so,” replied Hannasyde. “I am sorry if his presence hampered your movements in any way. That was not my intention.”
“Of course it wasn't,” agreed Randall affably.
Hannasyde looked directly across at him. “Perhaps you have guessed why I have come here today, Mr Matthews?”
“Well, no, I don't think I have,” said Randall. “Unless, of course, it is to ask me what I was able to discover from the unsavoury gentleman in Gadsby Row?”
Hannasyde felt all at once a strong desire to take Mr Randall Matthews by the throat and choke him. Instead he answered in his most even tones: “Yes, it is to ask you that, Mr Matthews.”
“Delighted,” murmured Randall. “But I'm afraid I didn't discover anything of very much importance.”
“My information,” said Hannasyde, “is that you asked Brown if he knew where Hyde kept his papers.”
It was a bold stroke, but if its design was to make Randall betray the least sign of uneasiness it failed. “And does your information include Brown's answer?” inquired Randall politely.
“I am waiting for you to tell me what that was, Mr Matthews. And I think you would be wise to do so.”
“My dear Superintendent, you mustn't—you really mustn't utter veiled threats to me,” said Randall with gentle reproach. “They are quite unnecessary, believe me. If you don't know where Hyde's papers are—but I find that almost incredible—I will tell you. They are in a safe-deposit. Now, isn't that disheartening? I paid ten pounds for the knowledge, too.”
“Why didn't you bring this news to me, Mr Matthews?”
“But why should I?” asked Randall, very bland. “Surely if I could discover it, you clever experts could do so too?”
“We experts,” said Hannasyde, nettled, “are not allowed to resort to bribery!”
“Ah, I daresay that hinders you considerably,” nodded Randall.
“What made you take so sudden an interest in Hyde?” asked Hannasyde. “When last I saw you you were at pains to convince me that you had no interest in him.”
“You infected me with some of your own enthusiasm, Superintendent,” said Randall, with a graceful bow.
“Did I indeed?” said Hannasyde grimly. “And was it my enthusiasm which made you anxious to find out where Hyde's papers were kept?”
“Strictly speaking,” said Randall, “I wasn't anxious about his papers. But it is my business as executor to my late uncle to wind up his estate. I think Mr Hyde wants winding up with the rest, don't you?”