We were back in the Waggoner's Rest just before ten o'clock. Hardanger was waiting for us in a deserted corner of the lounge along with a dark-suited unknown man who turned out to be a police stenographer. The superintendent was studying some papers and scowling away into the middle distance from time to time, but the craggy face broke into a beam of pleasure when he looked up and saw us. Mary, rather. He was genuinely fond of her and found it difficult to understand why she had thrown herself away on me.
I let them talk for a minute or two, looking at Mary's face and listening to her voice and wishing vaguely for the hundredth time that I had tape and film to record the soft lilting cadences of the voice and the fascinating shift and play of expression in case the day should ever come when that would be all I would have left of her. Then I cleared my throat to remind them that I was still here. Hardanger looked at me, touched an internal switch and the smile vanished.
"Turn up anything startling?" he asked.
"In a way. The hammer that laid out the alsatian guard dog, the pliers that cut the wire and apparent proof that Dr. Hartnells moped was in the vicinty of Mordon last night."
He didn't bat an eyelid. He said, "Let's go up to your room." We went, and once there Hardanger said to a man accompanying him, "Johnson, your notebook," and to me, "From the beginning, Cavell."
I told him everything that had happened that night exactly as it had been, omitting only what Mary had learned from Chessingham's mother and sister. At the end, Hardanger said, "You are convinced that it's a frame-up on Hartnell?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?"
"Hadn't it occurred to you that there might be a double twist to this? That Hartnell planted it on himself?"
"Yes. But it's hardly possible. I know Hartnell. Outside his work he's blundering, nervous, unstable and an ass— hardly the basic material for the ruthless calculating criminal. And he'd hardly go the length of picking his own padlock. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I've told him to stay at home meantime. Whoever stole the botulinus and the Satan Bug did so for a purpose. Inspector Wylie's pretty keen to get into the act. Let him have his men keep a round-the-clock watch on the house to see that Hartnell stays put. Hartnell, even if guilty, wouldn't be so mad as to keep the viruses in the house. If they're elsewhere and he can't get at them, that's one worry less. I also want a check made on his supposed moped trip of last night."
"There'll be a watch kept and check made," Hardanger promised. "Chessingham tip you off in any way about Hartnell?"
"Nothing useful. Just my own hunch. Hartnell was the only person I knew of in number one lab in a position to be blackmailed or coerced. The point is that someone else knows it too. He also knew that Tuffnell was from home. That other man is the man we want. How did he find out?"
"How did you find out," Hardanger demanded.
"Tuffnell himself told me. I was here for a fortnight some months ago helping Derry check on a bunch of newly arrived scientists. I asked him to give me the names of all Mordon employees who were coming to him for financial assistance. Hartnell is only one of a dozen."
"Did you ask or demand?"
"Demanded."
"You know that's illegal," Hardanger said heavily. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that if he didn't I'd enough information to put him behind bars for years to come."
"Had you that information?"
"No. But a shady character like Tuffnell has always a great deal to hide. He co-operated. Tuffnell may have talked about Hartnell. Or his partner, Hanbury."
"How about other members of his staff?"
"There are none. Not even a typist. In a business like that you can't trust your own mother. Apart from them, Cliveden, Weybridge — possibly — Clandon and myself knew. And Easton Derry of course. No one else had access to the security files in Mordon. Derry and Clandon are gone. How about Cliveden?"
"That's ridiculous. He was at a War Office meeting till after midnight last night. In London."
"What's ridiculous about Cliveden having this information and passing it on to someone else?" Hardanger was silent and I went on, "And Weybridge. What was he doing at zero hour last night?"
"Asleep."
"Who told you? Himself?" Hardanger nodded and I went on, "Corroboration?"
Hardanger looked uncomfortable. "He lives alone in the officers' block. He's a widower with an orderly to look after aim."
"That helps. How about the other check?"
"Seven others," Hardanger said. "One, as you said it would be, was a night guard. Been there only two days— and his transfer was a complete surprise to him. Sent from his regiment to take the place of a sick guard. Dr. Gregori was at home all last night — he lives in a kind of high-class boarding-house outside Alfringham and half a dozen people will swear he was there until at least midnight. That lets him out. Dr. MacDonald was at home with friends. Very respectable friends. Playing cards. Two of the technicians."
"Verity and Heath, were at the dance in Alfringham last night. They seem in the clear. The other two, Robinson and Marsh, were out on a double date with their girl friends, Cinema, cafe, then back to their homes."
"So you've turned up nothing at all?"
"Not a damn' thing."
"But how about the two technicians and their girl friends?" Mary asked. "Robinson and Marsh — they provide each other's alibis. And there was a girl used as a decoy."
"Nothing there," I said. "Whoever is responsible for this lot is far too smart to fall into the elementary error of self-supporting alibis. If either of the two girls was a stranger to those parts there might just be possibly something in it. But if Robinson and Marsh haven't changed their girl friends since the last time we checked on them then they're just a couple of harmless local girls. The superintendent here would have had the truth out of them in five minutes flat. Probably two."
"Two it was," Hardanger agreed. "Nothing there. We've sent all their footwear to the lab for a check — that fine red loam soil gets into the tiniest cracks and would be a dead giveaway — but it's purely routine. Nothing will come of it. You want a copy of all those statements and witnesses' reports?"
"Please. What's your next move?"
"What would yours be?" Hartnell countered.
"I'd have Tuffnell, Hanbury, Cliveden and Weybridge questioned to see if they've ever spoken to anyone about Hartnell's financial difficulties. Then I'd have Gregori, MacDonald, Hartnell, Chessingham, Cliveden, Weybridge and the four technicians questioned — separately of course — about the extent of their social life with the others. Whether they had ever been in each others' homes is a question that might be tossed in casually. And I'd have fingerprint squads move into all their houses at the same time to print as much of every house as possible. You'd have no trouble getting warrants for that little lot. If X maintains he's never been in Y's home and you find prints proving him a liar — well, someone is going to have some interesting explaining to do."
"Including General Cliveden's and Colonel Weybridge's homes?" Hardanger asked grimly.
"I don't care whose feelings are wounded. This is no time to consider anyone's hurt pride."
"It's a long long shot," Hardanger said. "Criminals with something to hide, particularly the connection between them, would never meet in each other's homes anyway."
"Can you afford to ignore even such a long shot?"
"Probably not," Hardanger said. "Probably not."
Twenty minutes after their departure with the polythene bags I climbed out of the window, clambered to the ground via the porch, picked up my car where I'd left it parked in a side street and set off for London.
CHAPTER SIX