18 - Case With Nine Solutions by Alfred Walter Stewart

Penned by Alfred Walter Stewart under the pseudonym J.J. Connington, Case With Nine Solutions introduces us to the astute and highly regarded police professional, Sir Clinton Driffield. Thrust into a tangled web of murder, Driffield and his loyal sidekick, Inspector Flamborough, must sift through nine possible scenarios to uncover the truth. This complex case brings a beguiling temptress, her unsuspecting husband, a clandestine admirer, and a smitten young man into the mix. As the pair delve deeper into the mystery, they navigate a labyrinth of scientific evidence, cryptic messages, and rely on their sharp deductive reasoning skills to solve the murder.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eighteen of The Case with Nine Solutions by J. J. Connington.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The connecting thread.
I don't see how you did it, Markfield began, but
you've got to the root of things when you traced
a connection between me and Vonn Silverdale. I'd never expected that,

(00:22):
and considering how we kept our affairs quiet for years,
I thought I'd be safe at the end of it all.
It was in nineteen twenty five, as you said that,
the thing began just after Silverdale came to the Croft Thornton.
There was a sort of amateur dramatic show of foot then,
and both of Hon and I joined it. That brought
us together first. The rest didn't take long. I suppose

(00:44):
it was the case of the attraction of opposites. One
can't explain that sort of thing on any rational basis.
It just happened. He hesitated for a moment, as though
casting his mind back to these earlier times. Then he continued,
once at that happened, I did the thinking for the
pair of us clearly enough. The thing was to avoid suspicion.

(01:06):
That meant that people mustn't couple our names, even casually,
and The way to prevent that was to see as
little of each other as possible in public. I dropped
out of things, cut dances, left the theatrical affair, and
posed as being engrossed in work. She advertised herself as
dance mad. It suited her well enough. Result. We hardly

(01:27):
ever were seen in the same room. No one thought
of linking our names in the remotest way. I gave
her no presence. Think again, Sir Clinton interrupted, You gave
her at least one present, Markfield reflected. For some moments,
Denis face showed more than a trace of discomfiture. You
mean a signet ring, Good Lord, I forgot all about

(01:50):
it that night at the bungalow. So that's where you
got your story about the initial b from. I never
thought of that, Sir Clinton made no comment, and after
a few seconds, Markfield continued. In the early days, we
wrote letters to each other. Just a few later on
I urged her to burn them for safety's sake, but

(02:11):
she treasured them, apparently, and she wouldn't do it. She
said they were quite safe in a locked drawer in
her bedroom. Silverdale never entered her room. You know, it
seems safe enough. It was these damned letters that landed
me in the end. Yvon and I hadn't any reason
to worry about Silverdale. He'd lost all interest in her
and gone off after Avis deep Car. Oh, that was

(02:34):
all quite respectable and above board. She's a decent girl.
Nothing against her. We'd have been quite glad to see
him marry her, except that it wouldn't have suited our book.
My screw was good enough for a single man. It
wouldn't have kept two of us, not on the basis
we needed anyhow, and a Dvor's case might have got
me chucked out of the croft Thornton. Where would we

(02:56):
have been then? So you see that Alley was barred
by and Bye Young Hassendein turned up. When I found
he was getting keen on Yvonne, I encouraged her to
keep him on her string. She had no use for
the boy except as a dancing partner, but we used
him as a blind to cover the real state of affairs.
So long as people could talk about him and her,

(03:17):
they weren't likely to think of her and me. So
she let him on until the brat thought he was indispensable.
I suppose he fell in love with her in a way.
We never imagined he might be dangerous. That was the
state of things up to ten days before the affair
at the Bungalow. There seemed to be no reason why
it shouldn't have lasted for years. But just then Yvonne

(03:40):
got news of this money that had been left to her,
about twelve thousand pounds. That put a new light on
the affair. It gave her an income of her own.
We could afford to let Silverdale divorce her. Then I
could have chucked the crof Thornton, married her and set
up in private practice somewhere. Her money would have kept
us going until I had scraped the business together, and

(04:02):
no one cares a damn about the matrimonial affairs of
a chemical expert in private practice. We talked it over
and we practically made up our minds to take that course.
It seemed a bit too good to be true. Anyhow,
It would have got us out of all the whole
and corner business. After three years of that we were
getting a bit sick of it. Another week or two

(04:23):
in wester Haven would have had all the scandal it needed.
If it was inclined that way, we'd have got each
other and Silverdale could have married his girl with all
the sympathy of the town. Ideal eh. He puffed savagely
at his pipe for a moment or two before speaking again.
Then that young skunk Hassendin. He must needs get above

(04:44):
himself and ruin the whole scheme. Damn him. I can
only guess what happened. He got to know about the
properties of hiocene. There was plenty of it at the
craft Thornton. He must have stolen some of it and
used it to drug Yvon that night. However, that's going
a bit fast. I'll tell you what happened, as it
seemed to me. Markfield paused and glanced inquiringly at the inspector.

(05:08):
It's all right, Flamborough reassured him. If you don't speak
quicker than that, I can take it down easily. Markfield
leaned over and gave the contents of his flask a
gentle shake before continuing his narrative. That night, I'd been
out late at the research station on a piece of work.
I mean, I'd gone there after dinner for a few minutes.

(05:28):
When I finished, I came in by the Lizard Bridge
Road in my car. It was a bit foggy and
I was driving slowly. Just after I passed the bungalow,
I met an open car. We were both crawling owing
to the fog, and I had a good look at
the people in the other car. One was young Hasthendeine,
the other was Yvaughne, and even as I passed them,

(05:49):
I could see there was something queer about the business. Besides,
what would she be doing with that young whelp away
out of town? I knew her far too well to
think she was up to any hanky panky with him.
It looked queer, So as soon as I went past them,
I turned my car, meaning to follow them and stand by. Unfortunately,
in the fog, I almost ditched my car in turning,

(06:11):
and it gave me some trouble to swing round when
wheel got into the trench at the edge of the road.
It was a minute or so before I got clear again.
Then I went off after them. I saw the car
at the door of the bungalow and some lights on
in the place which hadn't been there when I'd passed
them on my way down. So I stopped my car
at the gate and walked up to the bungalow door.

(06:31):
It was locked. I didn't care about hammering on the door.
That would only have put hassendein on the alert and
left me still on the wrong side of the door.
So I walked round to the lighted window and managed
to get a glimpse of the room through the curtains.
Yvon was lying back in an armchair facing me. I
thought she fainted or something like that. The whole affair

(06:53):
puzzled me a bit. You see, that young skunk Hassending
was wandering about the room, evidently in a devil of
a state of nerves about something or other. Just as
I was making up my mind to break the window,
he bolted out of the room, and I thought he
meant to clear off from the house, leaving hivon there hill.
Perhaps that made me pretty mad, and I kept my

(07:14):
eye on the front door to see that he didn't
get away without my catching him. That prevented me from
breaking the window and climbing into the room. Then a
bit to my surprise, the young swine came back again
with something in his hand. I couldn't see what it was.
Then he walked over to where Yvaughan was in the chair,
lifted his arm and shot her in the head. Deliberately,

(07:36):
nothing like an accident, remember, And there before my eyes
I saw the whole of our dreams collapsing, just when
we thought they were going to come true. Pretty stiff,
wasn't it. He bent forward and made a pretense of
knocking the ashes from his pipe. When he looked up again,
his face was set once more. I'm no psychologist to

(07:57):
spin you a yarn about how I felt just then
he contained. In fact, I doubt if I felt anything
except that I wanted to down that young hound. Anyhow,
I broke the glass, got my hand inside, undid the catch,
and was through the curtain before he knew what was happening.
I don't know what he thought when he saw me.
His face was almost worth a sheer amazement and terror.

(08:19):
He was just bringing up his pistol when I dropped
on him and got his wrist. Then there was a
bit of a struggle, but he hadn't a chance against me.
I shot him twice in the body, and when he
dropped with blood coming from his mouth, I knew I'd
got him in the lung, and I didn't bother further
about him. He seemed done for I hoped he was

(08:40):
Markfield's voice in the last few sentences had expressed the
bitterness of his emotions, but when he continued, he made
a successful effort to keep his tone level. One think's
quick enough in a tight corner. First thing I did
was to look at Yvon. He shrugged his shoulders to
express what he seemed unable to put into words. That

(09:00):
dream was done for. The only thing to do was
to clear myself. I had another look at Hassendein. He
seemed to have had his gruel. I'd a notion of
shooting him again, just to make sure, but it didn't
seem worth while. Besides, there had been row enough already.
Four shot might draw some passerby, so I left him.
I picked up the pistol and cleaned my finger marks

(09:22):
off it before putting it on the floor again. Then
I did the same for the window hasp. These were
the only two things I'd touched, so I wasn't leaving traces.
Then I remembered something. Silverdale was always leaving his cigarette
holder lying about the lab. He'd put it down on
a bench or a desk and wander off, leaving the
cigarette smoldering. That happened continually that very afternoon. He left

(09:46):
the thing in my room, and I'd pocketed it meaning
to give it back to him. When I saw him again,
there it was in my vest pocket. In this world,
it's a case of every man for himself. My business
was to get out of the hole I was in.
If Silverdale got into a hold himself, it was his
affair to get out of it. Besides, he'd probably have
an alibi, whereas I hadn't. In any case, the more

(10:10):
tangled the business was, the better chance you fellows had
of getting off my scent. If the whole story came out.
I didn't see how I was to persuade a jury
it had been pure self defense when I knew myself
that it wasn't that really. Besides, there were these infernal
love letters waiting at Van's house, all ready for the
police and pointing straight to me as a factor in

(10:31):
the affair. I'd have had awkward questions to answer about
the contents of them. The net result was that a
clean Silverdale's cigarette holder with my handkerchief to take off
any finger prints, and I dropped it on the floor
to amuse you people. It had that fly in the amber,
absolutely unique and easily identifiable. Then I switched off the lights,

(10:52):
got out of the window again, closed it behind me
in case it should attract the passer by. I used
my handkerchief to grip the hasp when I closed it,
so as not to leave any finger prints there. In fact,
as I walked down to my car, I felt I'd
done remarkably well on the spur of the moment. As
I drove in toward Westerhaven, I conned things over and

(11:13):
it struck me I'd be none the worse of seeing
someone as soon as I could. My housekeeper was away
nursing a sick relation, so no one could swear whether
I'd been at home in the evening or not. If
I could drop in on someone, there was always the
chance of creating some sort of alibi. The bother was
I knew I wasn't quite normal, that was only natural.

(11:34):
But if I called on someone who saw me every day,
they might spot that I was a bit on edge,
and that might lead to anything, you know. Then it
flashed into my mind that Ringwood had come here lately.
I hadn't seen him for years. He wouldn't see anything
funny in my manner, even if I was a bit abnormal.
I drove to his house and there I had a
bit of luck, a perfect gift from the gods. From

(11:56):
a telephone message he got while I was in the
room with him, I learned that Silverdale was out that night,
one of his maids was in bed, and the maid
wanted Ringwood to call it once. One's mind works quickly,
as I told you, and I saw in five seconds
what a chance i'd got. I offered to pilot Ringwood
over to Heatherfield. That meant at a perfectly sound excuse

(12:17):
if I was seen in the neighborhood of the house.
I dropped him at the end of Lauderdale Avenue, as
I expect he told you. During the run, I'd had
time to think things over. There was only one solution
that I could see. I had to get hold of
these letters, cost what it might. I calculated that Ringwood's
visit wouldn't be a long one, and as soon as

(12:38):
he gone, I meant to drop into Heatherfield, silence the
maid and get the packet of letters. I must have
run a bigger risk than I intended for. Evidently I
got into Heatherfield between Ringwood's visit and yours. Can you
wonder I was a bit pleased with my luck when
it all came out, I made the tourniquet while I
was waiting about Then I went up to Silverdale's house,

(13:00):
rang the bell and asked for Silverdale. Of course he
wasn't there, but the maid knew me and let me
in to write a note for him. Once she seen
my face and recognized me, it was all up with her.
One's own skin comes first. I might have risked it
if it hadn't been that the drawer was locked and
I had to burst it open. That meant leaving traces,

(13:21):
and since she knew me, that meant losing the game.
So he made a gesture as if using the tourniquet.
I went home after that and destroyed these letters. Then
I sat down to do the hardest bit of thinking
I've done in my life. Time meant a good deal
to me just then, for I had to have everything
cut and dry before any questions were asked. Then the

(13:42):
notion of a double game came into my mind. Why
not follow up the cigarette holder move and do my
best to throw discredit on Silverdale. It was up to
him to clear himself. That gave me the notion of
anonymous letters, and obviously if I wanted any attention paid
to them. I'd have to make a good start art
that suggested giving the police the earliest information about the

(14:04):
Bungalow affair. Yet they got that from Justice, then they'd
pay real attention to anything else he'd liked to send them.
So I hit on the telegram ideas being the safest
and the quickest, And as a sequel to that, the
obvious thing was to make a show in public of
being on Silverdale's side, so that you wouldn't suspect me
of having any possible connection with the anonymous letters. You

(14:26):
overdid it just a trifle, Sir Clinton commented in a
dry tone. Mackfield made a non committal gesture, but did
not argue the point. Then he continued, just as I
thought I'd fixed everything neatly, this creature wholly descended on me.
He'd taken the number of my car at the gate
and faked up a yarn about an accident so that
he could get me identified for him. He called on

(14:49):
me and started blackmail. I paid him, of course, to
keep him quiet, but naturally I couldn't let him stand
on my way. After all I'd gone through safely. He
wasn't a very valuable life at the best I gather. Anyhow,
I got him up here one night my housekeeper was
still away, and throttled him without too much trouble. Then
I took the body down into the garage, put it

(15:10):
in my car, and drove out the Lizardbridge Road a
bit before tipping him into the ditch. I left the
tourniquet beside his body. It was a specially contrived one,
meant to throw some more suspicion on Silverdale. I forgot
to say that our borreled Silverdale's lab coat to wear
during the operation in case of there being any blood,
and I tore off a button and left it in

(15:31):
Wally's hand. Then I put the torn jacket back on
Silverdale's peg, ready for the police. Naturally, I was quite
pleased to hear that Silverdale had been arrested. That was
his lookout after all, and he seemed to be in
trouble over an alibi, which was better new Still, the
next thing was to clinch the business if possible. I've
told you that once upon a time I played some

(15:53):
parts in an amateur dramatic show. I was reading not that,
and it struck me after I'd seen you once or
twice the claim, and that I could make myself up
into a very fair copy of you. We are about
the same height to start with. I wouldn't have risked
it with any one who knew both of us. But
I'd learned that Avis deep Car was out of town,
and I thought I could manage to take in her

(16:14):
maid easily enough, so I rated her place, posing as
Sir Clinton Driffield. I'd had some notion of the sort
in my mind for a while, and had cards printed
in London already, one of these printing while you wait
places which left no traces behind in the way of
an address or an account. In my rate, I got
a valuable document. It was a clever enough fake, doctor Markfield,

(16:36):
Sir Clinton said reflectively, But you left one or two
things in it that we took hold of easily enough.
By the way, I suppose you simply traced missus Silverdale's
writing from some old letters when you put the faked
address on the code advertisements you sent to the newspapers.
Markfield nodded. You don't seem to have missed much, he admitted.

(16:57):
He rose slowly to his feet and put down his pipe.
I think that's the whole story, he said, indifferently. If
you've got it all down now, Inspector, I'll sight it
and initial it for you. Then I suppose it'll be
a case of ringing up the Black Maria or something
like that. He glanced at Sir Clinton. You wouldn't care
to tell me how you worry the thing out? I suppose, no,

(17:20):
said the Chief Constable bluntly. I don't feel inclined to.
Markfield made a gesture as though regretting this decision. He
drew his fountain pen from his pocket, unscrewed the cap deliberately,
and moved round the table toward the sheets of paper
which the Inspector had spread out for signature. A thought
seemed to occur to him as he did so, and

(17:40):
he bent forward to the apparatus on the tray. His
manner was so unconcerned in the gesture, so natural, that
neither Sir Clinton nor the inspector thought of interfering. Before
it was too late. Markfield put his hand on the
tap of the funnel, and as he did so, his
face lighted up with malicious glee. Now, he exclaimed, he

(18:01):
turned the tap, and on the instant, the whole house
shook under a terrific detonation end of Chapter eighteen,