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 Y
FL
AM
TE

Team-Fly®
RELIABILITY OF
COMPUTER SYSTEMS
AND NETWORKS
RELIABILITY OF
COMPUTER SYSTEMS
AND NETWORKS
Fault Tolerance, Analysis, and
Design

MARTIN L. SHOOMAN
Polytechnic University
and
Martin L. Shooman & Associates

A Wiley-Interscience Publication
JOHN WILEY & SONS, INC.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks.
In all instances where John Wiley & Sons, Inc., is aware of a claim, the product names appear
in initial capital or ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. Readers, however, should contact the appropriate
companies for more complete information regarding trademarks and registration.
Copyright  2002 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., New York. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including uploading, downloading,
printing, decompiling, recording or otherwise, except as permitted under Sections 107 or 108
of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without the prior written permission of the Publisher.
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John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158-0012, (212) 850-6011, fax
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This publication is designed to provide accurate and authoritative information in regard to the
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services of a competent professional person should be sought.

This title is also available in print as ISBN 0-471-29342-3.

For more information about Wiley products, visit our web site at www.Wiley.com.
To Danielle Leah and Aviva Zissel
CONTENTS

Preface xix

1 Introduction 1
1.1 What is Fault-Tolerant Computing?, 1
1.2 The Rise of Microelectronics and the Computer, 4
1.2.1 A Technology Timeline, 4
1.2.2 Moore’s Law of Microprocessor Growth, 5
1.2.3 Memory Growth, 7
1.2.4 Digital Electronics in Unexpected Places, 9
1.3 Reliability and Availability, 10
1.3.1 Reliability Is Often an Afterthought, 10
1.3.2 Concepts of Reliability, 11
1.3.3 Elementary Fault-Tolerant Calculations, 12
1.3.4 The Meaning of Availability, 14
1.3.5 Need for High Reliability and Safety in Fault-
Tolerant Systems, 15
1.4 Organization of the Book, 18
1.4.1 Introduction, 18
1.4.2 Coding Techniques, 19
1.4.3 Redundancy, Spares, and Repairs, 19
1.4.4 N-Modular Redundancy, 20
1.4.5 Software Reliability and Recovery Techniques, 20
1.4.6 Networked Systems Reliability, 21
1.4.7 Reliability Optimization, 22
1.4.8 Appendices, 22
vii
viii CONTENTS

General References, 23
References, 25
Problems, 27

2 Coding Techniques 30
2.1 Introduction, 30
2.2 Basic Principles, 34
2.2.1 Code Distance, 34
2.2.2 Check-Bit Generation and Error Detection, 35
2.3 Parity-Bit Codes, 37
2.3.1 Applications, 37
2.3.2 Use of Exclusive OR Gates, 37
2.3.3 Reduction in Undetected Errors, 39
2.3.4 Effect of Coder–Decoder Failures, 43
2.4 Hamming Codes, 44
2.4.1 Introduction, 44
2.4.2 Error-Detection and -Correction Capabilities, 45
2.4.3 The Hamming SECSED Code, 47
2.4.4 The Hamming SECDED Code, 51
2.4.5 Reduction in Undetected Errors, 52
2.4.6 Effect of Coder–Decoder Failures, 53
2.4.7 How Coder–Decoder Failures Effect SECSED
Codes, 56
2.5 Error-Detection and Retransmission Codes, 59
2.5.1 Introduction, 59
2.5.2 Reliability of a SECSED Code, 59
2.5.3 Reliability of a Retransmitted Code, 60
2.6 Burst Error-Correction Codes, 62
2.6.1 Introduction, 62
2.6.2 Error Detection, 63
2.6.3 Error Correction, 66
2.7 Reed–Solomon Codes, 72
2.7.1 Introduction, 72
2.7.2 Block Structure, 72
2.7.3 Interleaving, 73
2.7.4 Improvement from the RS Code, 73
2.7.5 Effect of RS Coder–Decoder Failures, 73
2.8 Other Codes, 75
References, 76
Problems, 78

3 Redundancy, Spares, and Repairs 83

3.1 Introduction, 83
3.2 Apportionment, 85
 CONTENTS ix

3.3 System Versus Component Redundancy, 86

3.4 Approximate Reliability Functions, 92
3.4.1 Exponential Expansions, 92
3.4.2 System Hazard Function, 94
3.4.3 Mean Time to Failure, 95
3.5 Parallel Redundancy, 97
3.5.1 Independent Failures, 97
3.5.2 Dependent and Common Mode Effects, 99
3.6 An r-out-of-n Structure, 101
3.7 Standby Systems, 104
3.7.1 Introduction, 104
3.7.2 Success Probabilities for a Standby System, 105
3.7.3 Comparison of Parallel and Standby Systems, 108
3.8 Repairable Systems, 111
3.8.1 Introduction, 111
3.8.2 Reliability of a Two-Element System with
Repair, 112
3.8.3 MTTF for Various Systems with Repair, 114
3.8.4 The Effect of Coverage on System
Reliability, 115
3.8.5 Availability Models, 117
3.9 RAID Systems Reliability, 119
3.9.1 Introduction, 119
3.9.2 RAID Level 0, 122
3.9.3 RAID Level 1, 122
3.9.4 RAID Level 2, 122
3.9.5 RAID Levels 3, 4, and 5, 123
3.9.6 RAID Level 6, 126
3.10 Typical Commercial Fault-Tolerant Systems: Tandem
and Stratus, 126
3.10.1 Tandem Systems, 126
3.10.2 Stratus Systems, 131
3.10.3 Clusters, 135
References, 137
Problems, 139

4 N-Modular Redundancy 145

4.1 Introduction, 145
4.2 The History of N-Modular Redundancy, 146
4.3 Triple Modular Redundancy, 147
4.3.1 Introduction, 147
4.3.2 System Reliability, 148
4.3.3 System Error Rate, 148
4.3.4 TMR Options, 150
x CONTENTS

4.4 N-Modular Redundancy, 153

4.4.1 Introduction, 153
4.4.2 System Voting, 154
4.4.3 Subsystem Level Voting, 154
4.5 Imperfect Voters, 156
4.5.1 Limitations on Voter Reliability, 156
4.5.2 Use of Redundant Voters, 158
4.5.3 Modeling Limitations, 160
4.6 Voter Logic, 161
4.6.1 Voting, 161
4.6.2 Voting and Error Detection, 163
4.7 N-Modular Redundancy with Repair, 165
4.7.1 Introduction, 165

Y
4.7.2 Reliability Computations, 165
FL
4.7.3 TMR Reliability, 166
4.7.4 N-Modular Reliability, 170
4.8 N-Modular Redundancy with Repair and Imperfect
AM
Voters, 176
4.8.1 Introduction, 176
4.8.2 Voter Reliability, 176
4.8.3 Comparison of TMR, Parallel, and Standby
TE

Systems, 178
4.9 Availability of N-Modular Redundancy with
Repair and Imperfect Voters, 179
4.9.1 Introduction, 179
4.9.2 Markov Availability Models, 180
4.9.3 Decoupled Availability Models, 183
4.10 Microcode-Level Redundancy, 186
4.11 Advanced Voting Techniques, 186
4.11.1 Voting with Lockout, 186
4.11.2 Adjudicator Algorithms, 189
4.11.3 Consensus Voting, 190
4.11.4 Test and Switch Techniques, 191
4.11.5 Pairwise Comparison, 191
4.11.6 Adaptive Voting, 194
References, 195
Problems, 196

5 Software Reliability and Recovery Techniques 202

5.1 Introduction, 202
5.1.1 Definition of Software Reliability, 203
5.1.2 Probabilistic Nature of Software
Reliability, 203
5.2 The Magnitude of the Problem, 205

Team-Fly®
 CONTENTS xi

5.3 Software Development Life Cycle, 207

5.3.1 Beginning and End, 207
5.3.2 Requirements, 209
5.3.3 Specifications, 209
5.3.4 Prototypes, 210
5.3.5 Design, 211
5.3.6 Coding, 214
5.3.7 Testing, 215
5.3.8 Diagrams Depicting the Development Process, 218
5.4 Reliability Theory, 218
5.4.1 Introduction, 218
5.4.2 Reliability as a Probability of Success, 219
5.4.3 Failure-Rate (Hazard) Function, 222
5.4.4 Mean Time To Failure, 224
5.4.5 Constant-Failure Rate, 224
5.5 Software Error Models, 225
5.5.1 Introduction, 225
5.5.2 An Error-Removal Model, 227
5.5.3 Error-Generation Models, 229
5.5.4 Error-Removal Models, 229
5.6 Reliability Models, 237
5.6.1 Introduction, 237
5.6.2 Reliability Model for Constant Error-Removal
Rate, 238
5.6.3 Reliability Model for Linearly Decreasing Error-
Removal Rate, 242
5.6.4 Reliability Model for an Exponentially Decreasing
Error-Removal Rate, 246
5.7 Estimating the Model Constants, 250
5.7.1 Introduction, 250
5.7.2 Handbook Estimation, 250
5.7.3 Moment Estimates, 252
5.7.4 Least-Squares Estimates, 256
5.7.5 Maximum-Likelihood Estimates, 257
5.8 Other Software Reliability Models, 258
5.8.1 Introduction, 258
5.8.2 Recommended Software Reliability Models, 258
5.8.3 Use of Development Test Data, 260
5.8.4 Software Reliability Models for Other Development
Stages, 260
5.8.5 Macro Software Reliability Models, 262
5.9 Software Redundancy, 262
5.9.1 Introduction, 262
5.9.2 N-Version Programming, 263
5.9.3 Space Shuttle Example, 266
xii CONTENTS

5.10 Rollback and Recovery, 268

5.10.1 Introduction, 268
5.10.2 Rebooting, 270
5.10.3 Recovery Techniques, 271
5.10.4 Journaling Techniques, 272
5.10.5 Retry Techniques, 273
5.10.6 Checkpointing, 274
5.10.7 Distributed Storage and Processing, 275
References, 276
Problems, 280

6 Networked Systems Reliability 283

6.1 Introduction, 283
6.2 Graph Models, 284
6.3 Definition of Network Reliability, 285
6.4 Two-Terminal Reliability, 288
6.4.1 State-Space Enumeration, 288
6.4.2 Cut-Set and Tie-Set Methods, 292
6.4.3 Truncation Approximations, 294
6.4.4 Subset Approximations, 296
6.4.5 Graph Transformations, 297
6.5 Node Pair Resilience, 301
6.6 All-Terminal Reliability, 302
6.6.1 Event-Space Enumeration, 302
6.6.2 Cut-Set and Tie-Set Methods, 303
6.6.3 Cut-Set and Tie-Set Approximations, 305
6.6.4 Graph Transformations, 305
6.6.5 k-Terminal Reliability, 308
6.6.6 Computer Solutions, 308
6.7 Design Approaches, 309
6.7.1 Introduction, 310
6.7.2 Design of a Backbone Network Spanning-Tree
Phase, 310
6.7.3 Use of Prim’s and Kruskal’s Algorithms, 314
6.7.4 Design of a Backbone Network: Enhancement
Phase, 318
6.7.5 Other Design Approaches, 319
References, 321
Problems, 324

7 Reliability Optimization 331

7.1 Introduction, 331
7.2 Optimum Versus Good Solutions, 332
 CONTENTS xiii

7.3 A Mathematical Statement of the Optimization

Problem, 334
7.4 Parallel and Standby Redundancy, 336
7.4.1 Parallel Redundancy, 336
7.4.2 Standby Redundancy, 336
7.5 Hierarchical Decomposition, 337
7.5.1 Decomposition, 337
7.5.2 Graph Model, 337
7.5.3 Decomposition and Span of Control, 338
7.5.4 Interface and Computation Structures, 340
7.5.5 System and Subsystem Reliabilities, 340
7.6 Apportionment, 342
7.6.1 Equal Weighting, 343
7.6.2 Relative Difficulty, 344
7.6.3 Relative Failure Rates, 345
7.6.4 Albert’s Method, 345
7.6.5 Stratified Optimization, 349
7.6.6 Availability Apportionment, 349
7.6.7 Nonconstant-Failure Rates, 351
7.7 Optimization at the Subsystem Level via Enumeration, 351
7.7.1 Introduction, 351
7.7.2 Exhaustive Enumeration, 351
7.8 Bounded Enumeration Approach, 353
7.8.1 Introduction, 353
7.8.2 Lower Bounds, 354
7.8.3 Upper Bounds, 358
7.8.4 An Algorithm for Generating Augmentation
Policies, 359
7.8.5 Optimization with Multiple Constraints, 365
7.9 Apportionment as an Approximate Optimization
Technique, 366
7.10 Standby System Optimization, 367
7.11 Optimization Using a Greedy Algorithm, 369
7.11.1 Introduction, 369
7.11.2 Greedy Algorithm, 369
7.11.3 Unequal Weights and Multiple Constraints, 370
7.11.4 When Is the Greedy Algorithm Optimum?, 371
7.11.5 Greedy Algorithm Versus Apportionment
Techniques, 371
7.12 Dynamic Programming, 371
7.12.1 Introduction, 371
7.12.2 Dynamic Programming Example, 372
7.12.3 Minimum System Design, 372
7.12.4 Use of Dynamic Programming to Compute
the Augmentation Policy, 373
xiv CONTENTS

7.12.5 Use of Bounded Approach to Check Dynamic

Programming Solution, 378
7.13 Conclusion, 379
References, 379
Problems, 381

Appendix A Summary of Probability Theory 384

A1 Introduction, 384
A2 Probability Theory, 384
A3 Set Theory, 386
A3.1 Definitions, 386
A3.2 Axiomatic Probability, 386
A3.3 Union and Intersection, 387
A3.4 Probability of a Disjoint Union, 387
A4 Combinatorial Properties, 388
A4.1 Complement, 388
A4.2 Probability of a Union, 388
A4.3 Conditional Probabilities and
Independence, 390
A5 Discrete Random Variables, 391
A5.1 Density Function, 391
A5.2 Distribution Function, 392
A5.3 Binomial Distribution, 393
A5.4 Poisson Distribution, 395
A6 Continuous Random Variables, 395
A6.1 Density and Distribution Functions, 395
A6.2 Rectangular Distribution, 397
A6.3 Exponential Distribution, 397
A6.4 Rayleigh Distribution, 399
A6.5 Weibull Distribution, 399
A6.6 Normal Distribution, 400
A7 Moments, 401
A7.1 Expected Value, 401
A7.2 Moments, 402
A8 Markov Variables, 403
A8.1 Properties, 403
A8.2 Poisson Process, 404
A8.3 Transition Matrix, 407
References, 409
Problems, 409

Appendix B Summary of Reliability Theory 411

B1 Introduction, 411
B1.1 History, 411
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
him he thought of my position. He's a married man—at least he was
a married man then—and some people would have twisted the
whole business into something very unpleasant for me, I'm sure. So
I think, knowing him well, that he very likely didn't want to give me
away. He knew he'd had nothing to do with the murders, and I
expect he imagined that the real murderer would be detected
without his having to give any precise account of his doings on that
night. If I'd known that he was running the risk of arrest, of course,
I'd have insisted on his telling what really happened; but I've been
out of town and I'd no idea things had got to this pitch.”
Flamborough intervened as she paused for a moment.
“Your maid was away that night? Then you've got no one else
who could give evidence that Dr. Silverdale was with you during that
crucial period?”
Avice seemed to see a fresh gulf opening before her.
“No,” she admitted, with a faint tremor in her voice. “We were
quite alone. No one saw us go into the house and no one saw him
leave it.”
“H'm!” said Flamborough. “Then it rests on your own evidence
entirely? There's no confirmation of it?”
“What confirmation do you need?” Avice demanded. “Dr.
Silverdale will tell you the same story. Surely that's sufficient?”
Before Flamborough could make any comment on this, Sir Clinton
turned the interview back to its original subject.
“I should like to be clear about the other matter first, if you
please, Miss Deepcar. With regard to this police raid on your house,
as you called it, can you tell me something more about it? For
instance, you say that I produced my card. Was that card
preserved?”
“No,” Avice admitted. “My maid tells me that you only showed it
to her; you didn't actually hand it over to her.”
“Then anybody might have presented it?”
“No,” Avice contradicted him. “My maid recognised you. She'd
seen your photograph in a newspaper once, some months ago, and
she knew you from that.”
 “Ah! Indeed! Can you produce this maid? She's not out of town
at present or anything like that?”
“I can produce her in a few moments,” Avice retorted with
obvious assurance. “She's waiting for me somewhere in this building
at the present time.”
Sir Clinton glanced at Flamborough and the Inspector retired
from the room. In a very short time he returned, bringing with him a
middle-aged woman, who glanced inquisitively at Sir Clinton as she
entered.
“Now, Marple,” Avice Deepcar demanded, “do you recognise
anyone here?”
Mrs. Marple had no hesitation in the matter.
“That's Sir Clinton Driffield, Miss. I know his face quite well.”
Flamborough's suspicion that his superior had been moving in
the background of the case were completely confirmed by this
evidence; but he was still further surprised to catch a gleam of
sardonic amusement passing across the face of the Chief Constable.
“You recognise me, it seems?” he said, as though half in doubt as
to what line to take. “You won't mind my testing your memory a
little? Well, then, what kind of suit was I wearing when I came to
your house?”
Mrs. Marple considered carefully for a moment or two before
replying:
“An ordinary suit, sir; a dark one rather like the one you've got
on just now.”
“You can't recall the colour?”
“It was a dark suit, that's all I can remember. You came in the
evening, sir, and the light isn't good for colours.”
“You didn't notice my tie, or anything like that?”
“No, sir. You'll remember that I was put about at the time. You
gave me a shock, coming down on me like that. It's the first time I
ever had to do with the police, sir; and I was all on my nerves’ edge
with the idea that you'd come after Miss Avice, sir. I couldn't hardly
get to believe it, and I was all in a twitter.”
Sir Clinton nodded sympathetically.
 “I'm sorry you were so much disturbed. Now have a good look at
me where the light's bright enough. Do you see anything that strikes
you as different from the appearance I had that night?”
He moved across to the window and stood patiently while Mrs.
Marple scanned him up and down deliberately.
“You haven't got your eyeglass on to-day, sir.”
“Ah! Did you say eyeglass or eyeglasses?”
“Eyeglass, sir. I remember you dropped it out of your eye when
you began to read Miss Avice's letters.”
“Apart from the eyeglass, then, I'm much the same?”
“You've got quit of your cold now, sir. You were quite hoarse that
night you came to the house—as if you'd got a touch of sore throat
or something like that.”
“That's true. I've no cold now. Anything more?”
Mrs. Marple subjected him to another prolonged scrutiny.
“No, sir. You're just like you were that night.”
“And you recognised me from some newspaper portrait, it
seems?”
“Yes, sir. I saw your picture in the evening paper once. It was
just a head-and-shoulders one; but I'd have recognised you from it
even if you hadn't shown me your card.”
Sir Clinton reflected for a moment.
“Can you remember what was on that card?” he asked.
Mrs. Marple consulted her memory.
“It said: ‘Sir Clinton Driffield (and some letters after the name),
Chief Constable.’ Then in the left-hand corner was the address:
‘Police Headquarters, Westerhaven.’ ”
Sir Clinton caught Flamborough's eye and they exchanged
glances. The Inspector had little difficulty in seeing that his first
impression had been wrong. It was not the Chief Constable who had
ransacked Avice Deepcar's house.
Sir Clinton took out his card-case and handed a card to Mrs.
Marple.
“It wasn't that card I showed you, was it?”
Mrs. Marple scanned the card for a moment.
“Oh, no, sir. This one reads quite different.”
 Sir Clinton nodded and took back the card.
“I think that's really all I want to know, Mrs. Marple. Perhaps
Inspector Flamborough may want to ask you a question or two later
on.”
Avice Deepcar seemed by no means satisfied at this close to the
interview.
“That's all very fine, Sir Clinton,” she said, “but you seem to think
you've satisfied me. You haven't. You can't invade my house in this
way and then pass the whole thing off as if it were part of your
routine. And you can't carry away a pile of my private letters and
keep them without my consent. I insist on having them back. If you
don't, I'll see my solicitor at once about the matter. And may I
remind you again that you owe me some apology for your
proceedings?”
Sir Clinton seemed in no way ruffled.
“Of course I apologise for anything I've done which may have
inconvenienced you, Miss Deepcar. I'm quite sincere in saying that I
very much regret that you should have been worried in this way.
Nothing that I have done has been meant to throw any suspicion on
you, I can assure you. As to the letters, I think your best plan will be
to consult your solicitor as you suggest. Ask him to ring me up at
once, and I'll try to settle the matter as soon as we can. I've no wish
to cause you any trouble—none whatever.”
Avice glanced suspiciously from him to the Inspector. It was
evident that this solution did not satisfy her; but obviously she
realised that nothing would be gained by attempting to argue the
point.
“Very well,” she said at last, “I'll go straight to my solicitor now.
You'll hear from him very shortly.”
Sir Clinton held the door open for her and she passed out of the
room, followed by Mrs. Marple. After a few seconds, the Chief
Constable turned to Flamborough.
“What do you make of it all, Inspector?”
“Well, sir, that Mrs. Marple seems to me honest enough, but not
very bright.”
Sir Clinton nodded in assent.
 “She recognised her visitor from his resemblance to some blurred
newspaper portrait; and she recognised me from my resemblance to
her visitor. That's your idea?”
“It looks like it. I never saw you wearing a single eyeglass, sir.
And it occurs to me that a single eyeglass helps to change the
normal expression of a face owing to the wrinkling that you make in
holding it in your eye. Also if it's an unfamiliar thing, one would drop
it when one began to read documents, so as not to be hampered by
it.”
“True. I suppose that satisfies you—along with the faked visiting-
card which was meant to impress her with the fact that a high
official had descended on her—that I personally wasn't mixed up in
the business. I've the best of reasons for knowing that myself, of
course, since I know I was elsewhere at the time. But what do you
make of the raid?”
“Documents were what the man was after, obviously, sir.”
“It seems clear enough that he expected to get hold of
something compromising amongst her correspondence. If you ask
me, Inspector, Mr. Justice doesn't seem to stick at much in his self-
appointed task.”
“I was pretty sure it was some of his work, sir. The Deepcar girl
and Silverdale had a common interest in getting Mrs. Silverdale out
of the way; there's no doubt about that. And some people are
perfect fools in what they put down on paper. It's quite on the cards
that Mr. Justice thought he might find something useful amongst
Silverdale's letters to Avice Deepcar.”
“He evidently found something which he thought worth taking
away, at any rate,” Sir Clinton pointed out. “I had a notion that once
you arrested Silverdale, things would begin to move faster. If Mr.
Justice has got hold of any evidence, it'll be in our hands before
long, I'm prepared to bet.”
“He's saving us some trouble, if there is anything in writing,” the
Inspector said, with a grin. “We would hardly have raided the
Deepcar house on such a long chance as that; and he's done the job
for us.”
 “A most useful and altruistic person, evidently,” Sir Clinton
commented ironically. “Now what about the rest of the affair,
Inspector? If you accept Miss Deepcar's evidence, then the bottom's
out of your case against Silverdale. He couldn't be with her and at
the bungalow simultaneously.”
“Why should we accept her evidence at all?” Flamborough
demanded crossly. “She had as much interest in getting Mrs.
Silverdale out of the way as Silverdale himself had. Their interests
are absolutely at one in the affair. It's more than an even chance
that she was his accomplice in the business—standing ready with
this tale of hers to prove an alibi for him. I don't reckon her
statement was worth that!”
He snapped his fingers contemptuously.
“There's something else, sir,” he continued. “This Mrs. Marple
wasn't at the house that night. What evidence is there that
Silverdale and the Deepcar girl ever went home at all after they'd
dined down town? There's no corroboration of that story. Why not
assume that the Deepcar girl was an actual accomplice on the spot?
She and Silverdale may have driven out to the bungalow after
dinner, and she may have stood at the window during the whole
affair. There's nothing against that, if you discount her story. My
reading of the Deepcar girl is that she may be surface-shy, so to
speak, but she's got good strong fibre in her character underneath.
Look how she faced up to you not ten minutes ago. Not much
shyness about that.”
“I think I'd have been a bit stirred up myself, Inspector, if you
came along in my absence and pawed over all my private
possessions. One isn't necessarily a scoundrel if one turns peevish
over a thing of that sort.”
The Inspector let the point pass.
“Have you any notion who this Mr. Justice can be, sir?”
“I've a pretty fair notion, but it's only a notion. Who stands to
profit by the affair?”
Some recollection seemed to cross the Inspector's mind.
“Spratton, of course, sir. And now I come to think of it, if you
shaved off your moustache, he's very like you in face and build. If
Spratton's going to collect his insurance on young Hassendean, then
murder's got to be proved.”
“Well,” said Sir Clinton lightly. “I trust Mr. Spratton will get what
he deserves in the matter.”
 Chapter XVI.
Written Evidence
Inspector Flamborough had to wait a couple of days before his
unknown ally, Justice, made any further move. It so happened that
Sir Clinton was not at headquarters when the post brought the
expected communication; and the Inspector had plenty of time to
consider the fresh evidence, unbiased by his superior's comments.
As soon as the Chief Constable reappeared, Flamborough went to
him to display the latest document in the case.
“This came by the midday post, sir,” he explained, laying some
papers on the table. “It's Mr. Justice again. The results of his raid on
the Deepcar house, it seems.”
Sir Clinton picked up the packet and opened out the papers.
Some photographic prints attracted his attention, but he laid them
aside and turned first to a plain sheet of paper on which the now
familiar letters from telegraph forms had been gummed. With some
deliberation he read the message.

“I enclose photographs of part of the correspondence which has

recently taken place between Dr. Silverdale and Miss Deepcar.
“Justice.”

Sir Clinton gazed at the sheet for a moment or two, as though

considering some matter unconnected with the message. At last he
turned to the Inspector.
“I suppose you've tried this thing for finger-prints? No good, eh?
I can still smell a faint whiff of rubber from it—off his gloves, I
suppose.”
 Flamborough shook his head in agreement with Sir Clinton's
surmise.
“Nothing on it whatever, sir,” he confirmed.
The Chief Constable laid down the sheet of paper and took up
one of the photographs. It was of ordinary half-plate size and
showed a slightly reduced copy of one page of a letter.

that things cannot go on any

longer in this way.
The plan we talked over last
seems the best. When I have given
Hassendean hints about the use of
hyoscine, he will probably see for
himself how to get what he wants.
After that, it merely means watching
them, and I am sure that we shall soon
have her out of our way. It will be
very easy to make it seem intentional
on their part; and no one is likely
to look further than that.

Flamborough watched the Chief Constable's face as he read the

message, and as soon as he saw that Sir Clinton had completed his
perusal of it, the Inspector put in his word.
“I've checked the writing, sir. It's Silverdale's beyond any doubt.”
The Chief Constable nodded rather absent-mindedly and took up
another of the prints. This showed a largely-magnified reproduction
of the first two lines of the document; and for a minute or so Sir
Clinton subjected the print to a minute scrutiny with a magnifying
glass.
“It's an original, right enough,” Flamborough ventured to
comment at last. “Mr. Justice has been very thorough, and he's given
us quite enough to prove that it isn't a forgery. You can see there's
no sign of erasing or scraping of any sort on the paper of the
original; and the magnification's big enough to show up anything of
that sort.”
 “That's true,” Sir Clinton admitted. “And so far as one can see,
the lines of the writing are normal. There are none of those halts-in-
the-wrong-place that a forger makes if he traces a manuscript. The
magnification's quite big enough to show up anything of that sort. I
guess you're right, Inspector, it's a photograph of part of a real
document in Silverdale's own handwriting.”
“The rest of the things make that clear enough,” Flamborough
said, indicating several other prints which showed microphotographic
reproductions of a number of other details of the document. “There's
no doubt whatever that these are all genuine bits of Silverdale's
handwriting. There's been no faking of the paper or anything like
that.”
Sir Clinton continued his study of the photographs, evidently with
keen interest; but at last he put all the prints on his desk and turned
to the Inspector.
“Well, what do you make of it?” he demanded.
“It seems clear enough to me,” Flamborough answered. “Look at
the contents of that page as a whole. It's as plain as one could wish.
Silverdale and the Deepcar girl have had enough of waiting. Things
can't go on any longer in this way. They've been discussing various
ways of getting rid of Mrs. Silverdale. ‘The plan we talked over last
seems the best.’ That's the final decision, evidently. Then you get a
notion of what the plan was. Silverdale was going to prime
Hassendean with information about hyoscine, and practically egg
him on to drug Mrs. Silverdale so as to get her into his power. Then
when the trap was ready, Silverdale and the Deepcar girl were to be
on the alert to take advantage of the situation. And the last sentence
makes it clear enough that they meant to go the length of murder
and cover it up by making it look like a suicide-pact between young
Hassendean and Mrs. Silverdale. That's how I read it, sir.”
Sir Clinton did not immediately endorse this opinion. Instead, he
picked up the full copy of the manuscript page and studied it afresh
as though searching for something in particular. At last he appeared
to be satisfied; and he slid the photograph across the desk to the
Inspector.
 “I don't wish to bias you, Inspector, so I won't describe what I
see myself. But will you examine the word ‘probably’ in that text and
tell me if anything whatever about it strikes you as peculiar—
anything whatever, remember.”
Flamborough studied the place indicated, first with his naked eye
and then with the magnifying glass.
“There's no sign of any tampering with the paper that I can see,
sir. The surface is intact and the ink lines run absolutely freely,
without the halts and shakes one would expect in a forgery. The only
thing I do notice is that the word looks just a trifle cramped.”
“That's what I wanted. Note that it's in the middle of a line,
Inspector. Now look at the word ‘shall’ in the fifth line from the
bottom of the page.”
“One might say it was a trifle cramped too,” Flamborough
admitted.
“And the ‘it’ in the third line from the foot?”
“It looks like the same thing.”
Flamborough relapsed into silence and studied the photograph
word by word while Sir Clinton waited patiently.
“The word ‘the’ in the phrase ‘about the use of hyoscine’ seems
cramped too; and the ‘to’ at the start of the last line suffers in the
same way. It's so slight in all these cases that one wouldn't notice it
normally. I didn't see it till you pointed it out. But if you're going to
suggest that there's been any erasing and writing in fresh words to
fit the blank space, I'll have to disagree with you, sir. I simply don't
believe there's been any thing of the sort.”
“I shan't differ from you over that,” Sir Clinton assured him
blandly. “Now let's think of something else for a change. Did it never
occur to you, Inspector, how much the English language depends on
the relative positions of words? If I say: ‘It struck you,’ that means
something quite different from: ‘You struck it.’ And yet each
sentence contains exactly the same words.”
“That's plain enough,” Flamborough admitted, “though I never
thought of it in that way. And,” he added in a dubious tone, “I don't
see what it's got to do with the case, either.”
 “That's a pity,” Sir Clinton observed with a sympathy which hardly
sounded genuine. “Suppose we think it over together. Where does
one usually cramp words a trifle when one is writing?”
“At the end of a line,” Flamborough suggested. “But these
crampings seem to be all in the middle of the lines of that letter.”
“That's what seems to me interesting about them,” Sir Clinton
explained drily. “And somehow it seems to associate itself in my
mind with the fact that Mr. Justice hasn't supplied us with the
original document, but has gone to all the trouble of taking
photographs of it.”
“I wondered at that, myself,” the Inspector confessed. “It seems
a bit futile, true enough.”
“Try a fresh line, Inspector. We learned on fairly good authority
that Mr. Justice took away a number of letters from Miss Deepcar's
house. And yet he only sends us a single page out of the lot. If the
rest were important, why doesn't he send them. If they aren't
important, why did he take them away?”
“He may be holding them up for use later on, sir.”
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“My reading of the business is different. I think this is Mr.
Justice's last reserve. He's throwing his last forces into the battle
now.”
“There seems to be something behind all this,” Flamborough
admitted, passing his hand over his hair as though to stimulate his
brain by the action, “but I can't just fit it all together as you seem to
have done, sir. You can say what you like, but that handwriting's
genuine; the paper's not been tampered with; and I can't see
anything wrong with it.”
Sir Clinton took pity on the inspector's obvious anxiety.
“Look at the phrasing of the whole document, Inspector. If you
cared to do so, you could split it up into a set of phrases something
after this style: ‘that things cannot go on any longer in this way. . . .
The plan we talked over last seems the best. . . . When I have
given . . . Hassendean . . . hints . . . about the . . . use of . . .
hyoscine . . . he will probably see for himself how . . . to get what he
wants. . . . After that, it merely means . . . watching them . . . and I
am sure that . . . we shall soon have . . . her . . . out of our way. . . .
It will be very easy . . . to make it seem . . . intentional . . . on their
part . . . and no one is likely . . . to look further than that.’ Now,
Inspector, if you met any one of these phrases by itself, would you
infer from it inevitably that a murder was being planned? ‘Things
cannot go on any longer in this way.’ If you consider how Mrs.
Silverdale was behaving with young Hassendean, it's not astonishing
to find a phrase like that in a letter from Silverdale to the girl he was
in love with. ‘The plan we talked over last seems the best.’ It might
have been a day's outing together that he was talking about for all
one can tell. ‘He will probably see for himself how my wife is playing
with him.’ And so forth.”
“Yes, that's all very well,” Flamborough put in, “but what about
the word ‘hyoscine?’ That's unusual in love-letters.”
“Miss Deepcar was working on hyoscine under Silverdale's
directions, remember. It's quite possible that he might have
mentioned it incidentally.”
“Now I think I see what you mean, sir. You think that this
document that Mr. Justice has sent us is a patchwork—bits cut out of
a lot of different letters and stuck together and then photographed?”
“I'm suggesting it as a possibility, Inspector. See how it fits the
facts. Here are a set of phrases, each one innocuous in itself, but
with a cumulative effect of suggestion when you string them
together as in this document. If the thing is a patchwork, then a
number of real letters must have been used in order to get
fragments which would suit. So Mr. Justice took a fair selection of
epistles with him when he raided Miss Deepcar's house. Further, in
snipping out a sentence here and there from these letters, he
sometimes had to include a phrase running on from one line to
another in the original letter; but when he came to paste his
fragments together, the original hiatus at the end of a line got
transferred to the middle of a line in the final arrangement made to
fit the page of the faked letter. That's what struck me to begin with.
For example, suppose that in the original letter you had the phrase:
‘he will probably see for himself how’; and the original line ended
with ‘probably.’ That word might be a bit cramped at the end of the
line. But in reconstructing the thing, ‘probably’ got into the middle of
the line, and so you get this apparently meaningless cramping of the
word when there was space enough for it to be written uncramped
under normal conditions. Just the same with the other cases you
spotted for yourself. They represent the ends of lines in the original
letters, although they all occur in the middle of lines in the fake
production.”
“That sounds just as plausible as you like, sir. But you've got the
knack of making things sound plausible. You're not pulling my leg,
are you?” the Inspector demanded suspiciously. “Besides, what
about there being no sign of the paper having been tampered with?”
“Look at what he's given us,” Sir Clinton suggested. “The only
case where he's given a large-scale reproduction of a whole phrase
is at the top of the letter: ‘Things cannot go on any longer in this
way.’ That's been complete in the original, and he gives you a large-
scale copy of it showing that the texture of the paper is intact. Of
course it is, since he cut the whole bit out of the letter en bloc.
When it comes to the microphotographs, of course he only shows
you small bits of the words and so there's no sign of the cutting that
was needed at the end of each fragment. And in the photograph of
the full text, there's no attempt to show you fine details. He simply
pasted the fragments in their proper order on to a real sheet of
note-paper, filled up the joins with Chinese White to hide the
solutions of continuity, and used a process plate which wouldn't
show the slight differences in the shades of the whites where the
Chinese White overlay the white of the note-paper. If you have a
drawing to make for black-and-white reproduction in a book, you can
mess about with Chinese White as much as you like, and it won't
show up in the final result at all.”
Flamborough, with a gesture, admitted the plausibility of Sir
Clinton's hypothesis.
“And you think that explains why he didn't send us the original
document, sir?”
“Since I'm sure he hadn't an original to send, it's hard to see how
he could have sent it, Inspector.”
 Flamborough did not contest this reading of the case. Instead, he
passed to a fresh aspect of the subject.
“Mr. Justice is evidently ready to go any length to avenge
somebody—and that somebody can hardly have been young
Hassendean, judging from what we've heard about his character.”
Sir Clinton refused the gambit offered by the Inspector.
“Mr. Justice is a very able person,” he observed, “even though he
does make a mistake now and again, as in this last move.”
“You said you'd some idea who he was, sir?” Flamborough said
with an interrogative note in his voice.
The Chief Constable showed no desire to be drawn. He glanced
rather quizzically at his subordinate for a moment before speaking.
“I'll give you the points which strike me in that connection,
Inspector; and then you'll be just as well placed as I am myself in
the matter of Mr. Justice. First of all, if you compare the time of
publication of the morning newspapers with the time, at which Mr.
Justice's telegram was collected from the pillar-box, I think it's fairly
evident that he didn't depend on the journalists for his first
information about the affair. Even the Ivy Lodge news wasn't printed
until after he had despatched his message.”
“That's true, sir,” Flamborough admitted.
His manner showed that he expected a good deal more than this
tittle of information.
“Therefore he must have had some direct information about the
bungalow business. Either he was on the spot when the affair
occurred, or else he was told about it almost immediately by
someone who was on the spot.”
“Admitted,” the inspector confirmed.
“Then he obviously—or is it ‘she obviously,’ Inspector?—saw the
importance of hyoscine as a clue as soon as any word about it got
into the newspapers. Immediately, in comes the code advertisement,
giving us—rather unnecessarily I think—the tip to inquire at the
Croft-Thornton Institute.”
Flamborough's face showed that he felt Sir Clinton was merely
recapitulating very obvious pieces of evidence.
 “Then there was the writing on the advertisements which he sent
to the papers—Mrs. Silverdale's writing rather neatly forged, if you
remember.”
“Yes,” said the Inspector, showing by his tone that at this point
he was rather at sea.
“Then there was the fact that he managed to choose his time
most conveniently for his raid on Miss Deepcar's house.”
“You mean he made his visit when only the maid was at home,
sir?”
“Precisely. I rather admire his forethought all through the
business. But there's more in it than that, if you think it over,
Inspector?”
“Well, sir, if your reading's correct, he wanted some of
Silverdale's letters to serve as a basis for these photographs.”
“Something even more obvious than that, Inspector. Now, with
all that evidence in front of you, can't you build up some sort of
picture of Mr. Justice? You ought to be able to come fairly near it, I
think.”
“Somebody fairly in the swim with the Silverdale crowd, at any
rate. I can see that. And someone who knew the Croft-Thornton by
hearsay, at any rate. Is that what you mean, sir?”
Sir Clinton betrayed nothing in his expression, though the
Inspector scrutinised his face carefully; but he added something
which Flamborough had not expected.
“Final points. The date on the fragment of an envelope that I
found in the drawer in Mrs. Silverdale's room was 1925. The date
inside that signet-ring on her finger was 5–11–25. And there was the
initial ‘B’ engraved alongside the date.”
Inspector Flamborough quite obviously failed to see the
relevancy of these details. His face showed it in the most apparent
way.
“I don't see what you're getting at there, sir,” he said rather
shamefacedly. “These things never struck me; and even now I don't
see what they've got to do with Mr. Justice.”
If he expected to gain anything by this frank confession, he was
disappointed. Sir Clinton had evidently no desire to save his
subordinate the trouble of thinking, and his next remark left
Flamborough even deeper in bewilderment.
“Ever read anything by Dean Swift, Inspector?”
“I read Gulliver's Travels when I was a kid, sir,” Flamborough
admitted, with the air of deprecating any investigation into his
literary tastes.
“You might read his Journal to Stella some time. But I guess
you'd find it dull. It's a reprint of his letters to Esther Johnson. He
called her ‘Stella,’ and it's full of queer abbreviations and phrases like
‘Night, dear MD. Love Pdfr.’ It teems with that sort of stuff. Curious
to see the human side of a man like Swift, isn't it?”
“In love with her, you mean, sir?”
“Well, it sounds like it,” Sir Clinton replied cautiously. “However,
we needn't worry over Swift. Let's see if we can't do something with
this case, for a change.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Half-past five. We may be able to get hold of her.”
He picked up the telephone from his desk and asked for a
number while Flamborough waited with interest to hear the result.
“Is that the Croft-Thornton Institute?” Sir Clinton demanded at
length. “Sir Clinton Driffield speaking. Can you ask Miss Hailsham to
come to the telephone?”
There was a pause before he spoke once more.
“Miss Hailsham? I'm sorry to trouble you, but can you tell me if
there's a microphotographic camera in the Institute? I'd like to
know.”
Flamborough, all ears, waited for the next bit of the one-sided
conversation which was reaching him.
“You have two of them? Then I suppose I might be able to get
permission to use one of them, perhaps, if we need it. . . . Thanks,
indeed. By the way, I suppose you're just leaving the Institute
now. . . . I thought so. Very lucky I didn't miss you by a minute or
two. I mustn't detain you. Thanks again. Good-bye.”
He put down the telephone and turned to Flamborough.
“You might ask Miss Morcott to come here, Inspector.”
 Flamborough, completely puzzled by this move, opened the door
of the adjoining room and summoned Sir Clinton's typist.
“I want you to telephone for me, Miss Morcott,” the Chief
Constable explained. “Ring up Dr. Trevor Markfield at his house.
When you get through, say to his housekeeper: ‘Miss Hailsham
speaking. Please tell Dr. Markfield that I wish to see him to-night and
that I shall come round to his house at nine o’clock.’ Don't say any
more than that, and get disconnected before there's any chance of
explanations.”
Miss Morcott carried out Sir Clinton's orders carefully and then
went back to her typing. As soon as the door closed behind her, the
Inspector's suppressed curiosity got the better of him.
“I don't quite understand all that, sir. I suppose you asked about
the photomicrographic affair just to see if these prints could have
been made at the Croft-Thornton?”
“I hadn't much doubt on that point. Photomicrographic apparatus
isn't common among amateur photographers, but it's common
enough in scientific institutes. No, I was really killing two birds with
one stone: finding out about the micro-camera and making sure that
Miss Hailsham was leaving the place for the night and wouldn't have
a chance to speak to Markfield before she went.”
“And what about her calling on Markfield to-night, sir?”
“She'll have to do it by proxy, I'm afraid. We'll represent her,
however inefficiently, Inspector. The point is that I wanted to be sure
that Markfield would be at home when we called; and I wished to
avoid making an appointment in my own name lest it should put him
too much on his guard. The time's come when we'll have to
persuade Dr. Markfield to be a bit franker than he's been, hitherto. I
think I see my way to getting out of him most of what he knows;
and if I can succeed in that, then we ought to have all the evidence
we need.”
He paused, as though not very sure about something.
“He's been bluffing us all along the line up to the present,
Inspector. It's a game two can play at; and you'll be good enough to
turn a deaf ear occasionally if I'm tempted out of the straight path.
And whatever happens, don't look over-surprised at anything I may
say. If you can contrive to look thoroughly stupid, it won't do any
harm.”
 Chapter XVII.
Mr. Justice
Just before entering the road in which Markfield lived, Sir Clinton
drew up his car; and as he did so, a constable in plain clothes
stepped forward.
“Dr. Markfield's in his house, sir,” he announced. “He came home
just before dinner-time.”
Sir Clinton nodded, let in his clutch, and drove round the corner
to Markfield's gate. As he stopped his engine, he glanced at the
house-front.
“Note that his garage is built into the house, Inspector,” he
pointed out. “That seems of interest, if there's a door from the
house direct into the garage, I think.”
They walked up the short approach and rang the bell. In a few
moments the door was opened by Markfield's housekeeper. Rather
to her surprise, Sir Clinton inquired about the health of her relation
whom she had been nursing.
“Oh, she's all right again, sir, thank you. I got back yesterday.”
She paused a moment as though in doubt, then added:
“I'm not sure if Dr. Markfield is free this evening, sir. He's
expecting a visitor.”
“We shan't detain him if his visitor arrives,” Sir Clinton assured
her, his manner leaving no doubt in her mind as to the advisability of
his own admission.
The housekeeper ushered them into Markfield's sitting-room,
where they found him by the fire, deep in a book. At the sound of
Sir Clinton's name he looked up with a glance which betrayed his
annoyance at being disturbed.
 “I'm rather at a loss to understand this visit,” he said stiffly, as
they came into the room.
Sir Clinton refused to notice the obviously grudging tone of his
reception.
“We merely wish to have a few minutes’ talk, Dr. Markfield,” he
explained pleasantly. “Some information has come into my hands
which needs confirmation, and I think you'll be able to help us.”
Markfield glanced at the clock.
“I'm in the middle of an experiment,” he said gruffly. “I've got to
run it through, now that it's started. If you're going to be long. I'd
better bring the things in here and then I can oversee it while I'm
talking to you.”
Without waiting for permission, he left the room and came back
in a couple of minutes with a tray on which stood some apparatus.
Flamborough noticed a conical flask containing some limpid liquid,
and a stoppered bottle. Markfield clamped a dropping funnel, also
containing a clear liquid, so that its spout entered the conical flask;
and by turning the tap of the funnel slightly, he allowed a little of the
contents to flow down into the flask.
“I hope the smell doesn't trouble you,” he said, in a tone of sour
apology. “It's the triethylamine I'm mixing with the
tetranitromethane in the flask. Rather a fishy stink it has.”
He arranged the apparatus on the table so that he could reach
the tap conveniently without rising from his chair; then, after
admitting a little more of the liquid from the funnel into the flask, he
seated himself once more and gave Sir Clinton his attention.
“What is it you want to know?” he demanded abruptly.
Sir Clinton refused to be hurried. Putting his hand into his breast-
pocket, he drew out some sheets of typewriting which he placed on
the table before him, as though for future reference. Then he turned
to his host.
“Some time ago, a man Peter Whalley came to us and made a
statement, Dr. Markfield.”
Markfield's face betrayed some surprise.
“Whalley?” he asked. “Do you mean the man who was murdered
on the Lizardbridge Road?”
 “He was murdered, certainly,” Sir Clinton confirmed. “But as I
said, he made a statement to us. I'm not very clear about some
points, and I think you might be able to fill in one or two of the
gaps.”
Markfield's face showed a quick flash of suspicion.
“I'm not very sure what you mean,” he said, doubtfully, “If you're
trying to trap me into saying things that might go against Silverdale,
I may as well tell you I've no desire to give evidence against him.
I'm sure he's innocent; and I don't wish to say anything to give you
a handle against him. That's frank enough, isn't it?”
“If it relieves your mind, I may as well say I agree with you on
that point, Dr. Markfield. So there's no reason why you shouldn't give
us your help.”
Markfield seemed slightly taken aback by this, but he did his best
to hide his feelings.
“Go on, then,” he said. “What is it you want?”
Sir Clinton half-opened the paper on the table, then took away
his hand as though he needed no notes at the moment.
“It appears that on the night of the affair at the bungalow, when
Mrs. Silverdale met her death, Peter Whalley was walking along the
Lizardbridge Road, coming towards town,” Sir Clinton began. “It was
a foggy night, you remember. He'd just passed the bungalow gate
when he noticed, ahead of him, the headlights of a car standing by
the roadside; and he appears to have heard voices.”
The Inspector listened to this with all his ears. Where had Sir
Clinton fished up this fresh stock of information, evidently of crucial
importance? Then a recollection of the Chief Constable's warning
flashed through his mind and he schooled his features into a mask of
impassivity. A glance at Markfield showed that the chemist, though
outwardly uninterested, was missing no detail of the story.
“It seems,” Sir Clinton went on, “that the late Mr. Whalley came
up to the car and found a man and a girl in the front seat. The girl
seemed to be in an abnormal state; and Mr. Whalley, from his limited
experience, inferred that she was intoxicated. The man, Whalley
thought, had stopped the car to straighten her in the seat and make
her look less conspicuous; but as soon as Whalley appeared out of
the night, the man started the car again and drove slowly past him
towards the bungalow.”
Sir Clinton mechanically smoothed out his papers, glanced at
them, and then continued:
“The police can't always choose their instruments, Dr. Markfield.
We have to take witnesses where we can get them. Frankly, then,
the late Mr. Whalley was not an admirable character—far from it.
He'd come upon a man and a girl alone in a car, and the girl was
apparently not in a fit state to look after herself. An affair of this sort
would bring two ideas into Mr. Whalley's mind. Clothing them in
vulgar language, they'd be: ‘Here's a bit o’ fun, my word!’ and ‘What
is there in it for me?’ He had a foible for trading on the weaknesses
of his fellow-creatures, you understand?”
Markfield nodded grimly, but made no audible comment.
“The late Mr. Whalley, then, stared after the car; and, to his joy,
no doubt, he saw it turn in at the gate of the bungalow. He guessed
the place was empty, since there hadn't been a light showing in it
when he passed it a minute or two before. Not much need to
analyse Mr. Whalley's ideas in detail, is there? He made up his mind
that a situation of this sort promised him some fun after his own
heart, quite apart from any little financial pickings he might make
out of it later on, if he were lucky. So he made his best pace after
the car.”
Sir Clinton turned over a page of the notes before him and,
glancing at the document, knitted his brows slightly.
“The late Mr. Whalley wasn't a perfect witness of course, and I'm
inclined to think that at this point I can supply a missing detail in the
story. A second car came on the scene round about this period—a
car driving in towards town—and it must have met the car with the
man and the girl in it just about this time. But that's not in Mr.
Whalley's statement. It's only a surmise of my own, and not really
essential.”
Inspector Flamborough had been growing more and more
puzzled as this narrative unfolded. He could not imagine how the
Chief Constable had accumulated all this information. Suddenly the
explanation crossed his mind.
 “Lord! He's bluffing! He's trying to persuade Markfield that we
know all about it already. These are just inferences of his; and he's
put the double bluff on Markfield by pretending that Whalley's
statement wasn't quite full and that he's filling the gap with a guess
of his own. What a nerve!” he commented to himself.
“By the time the late Mr. Whalley reached the bungalow gate,” Sir
Clinton pursued, “the man had got the girl out of the car and both of
them had gone into the house. Mr. Whalley, it seems, went gingerly
up the approach, and, as he did so, a light went on in one of the
front rooms of the bungalow. The curtains were drawn. The late Mr.
Whalley, with an eye to future profit, took the precaution of noting
the number of the motor, which was standing at the front door.”
Flamborough glanced at Markfield to see what effect Sir Clinton
was producing. To his surprise, the chemist seemed in no way
perturbed. With a gesture as though asking permission, he leaned
over and ran a little of the liquid from the funnel into the flask,
shook the mixture gently for a moment or two, and then turned back
to Sir Clinton. The Inspector, watching keenly, could see no tremor in
his hand as he carried out the operations.
“The late Mr. Whalley,” Sir Clinton continued, when Markfield had
finished his work. “The late Mr. Whalley did not care about hanging
round the front of the bungalow. If he stood in front of the lighted
window, anyone passing on the road would be able to see him
outlined against the glare; and that might have led to difficulties. So
he passed round to the second window of the same room, which
looked out on the side of the bungalow and was therefore not so
conspicuous from the road. Just as he turned the corner of the
building, he heard a second car stop at the gate.”
Sir Clinton paused here, as though undecided about the next part
of his narrative. He glanced at Markfield, apparently to see whether
he was paying attention; then he proceeded.
“The late Mr. Whalley tip-toed along to this side-window of the
lighted room, and, much to his delight, I've no doubt, he found that
the curtains had been carelessly drawn, so that a chink was left
between them through which he could peep into the room. He
stepped on to the flower-bed, bent down, and peered through the
aperture. I hope I make myself clear, Dr. Markfield?”
“Quite,” said Markfield curtly.
Sir Clinton nodded in acknowledgment, glanced once more at his
papers as though to refresh his memory, and continued:
“What he saw was this. The girl was lying in an arm-chair near
the fireplace. The late Mr. Whalley, again misled by his limited
experience, thought she'd fallen asleep—the effects of alcohol, he
supposed, I believe. The young man who was with her—we may
save the trouble by calling him Hassendean, I think—seemed rather
agitated, but not quite in the way that the late Mr. Whalley had
anticipated. Hassendean spoke to the girl and got no reply, evidently.
He shook her gently, and so on; but he got no response. I think we
may cut out the details. The net result was that to Mr. Whalley's
inexperienced eye, the girl looked very far gone. Hassendean
seemed to be thunderstruck by the situation, which puzzled the late
Mr. Whalley considerably at the time.”
Markfield, apparently unimpressed, leaned across and ran some
more of the liquid out of his funnel. Flamborough guessed the
movement might be intended to conceal his features from easy
observation.
“The next stage in the proceedings took the late Mr. Whalley by
surprise, it seems,” Sir Clinton went on. “Leaving the girl where she
was, young Hassendean left the room for a minute or two. When he
came back, he had a pistol in his hand. This was not at all what the
late Mr. Whalley had been expecting. Least of all did he expect to
see young Hassendean go up to the girl, and shoot her in the head
at close quarters. I'm sure you'll appreciate the feelings of the late
Mr. Whalley at this stage, Dr. Markfield.”
“Surprising,” Markfield commented abruptly.
Sir Clinton nodded in agreement.
“What must have been even more surprising was the sequel. The
glass of the front window broke with a blow, and from behind the
curtains a man appeared, who fell upon Hassendean. There was a
struggle, a couple of shots from Hassendean's pistol, and then
Hassendean fell on the ground—dead, as Whalley supposed at the
time.”
Flamborough stared hard at Markfield, but at that moment the
chemist again turned in his chair, ran the remainder of the liquid
from the funnel into his flask, and then refilled the funnel from the
bottle on the tray. This done, he turned once more with an
impassive face to Sir Clinton.
“By this time, the late Mr. Whalley seems to have seen all that he
wanted. Just as he was turning away from the window, he noticed
the new-comer take some small object from his waistcoat pocket
and drop it on the floor. Then Mr. Whalley felt it was time to make
himself scarce. He stepped back on to the path, made his way round
the bungalow, hurried down the approach to the gate. There he
came across a car—evidently the one in which the assailant had
arrived. The late Mr. Whalley, even at this stage, was not quite free
from his second idea: ‘What is there in it for me?’ He took the
number of the car, and then he made himself scarce.”
Sir Clinton stopped for a moment or two and gazed across at
Markfield with an inscrutable face.
“By the way, Dr. Markfield,” he added in a casual tone, “what was
the pet name that Mrs. Silverdale used to call you when you were
alone together—the one beginning with ‘B’?”
This time, it was evident to the Inspector, Sir Clinton had got
home under Markfield's guard. The chemist glanced up with more
than a shade of apprehension on his face. He seemed to be making
a mental estimate of the situation before he replied.
“H'm! You know that, do you?” he said finally. “Then there's no
use denying it, I suppose. She used to call me ‘Bear’ usually. She
said I had the manners of one, at times; and perhaps there was
something in that.”
Sir Clinton showed no sign that he attached much importance to
Markfield's explanation.
“You became intimate with her some time in 1925, I think, just
after the Silverdales came here?”
Markfield nodded his assent.
 “And very shortly after that, you and she thought it best to
conceal your liaison by seeing as little of each other as possible in
public, so as not to draw attention to your relations?”
“That's true.”
“And finally she got hold of young Hassendean to serve as a
blind? Advertised herself with him openly, whilst you stayed in the
background?”
“You seem to know a good deal about it,” Markfield admitted
coldly.
“I think I know all that matters,” the Chief Constable commented.
“You've lost the game, Dr. Markfield.”
Markfield seemed to consider the situation rapidly before he
spoke again.
“You can't make it worse than manslaughter,” he said at last. “It's
no more than that, on the evidence you've given me just now. I saw
him shoot Yvonne, and then, in the struggle afterwards, his pistol
went off twice by accident and hit him. You couldn't call that a case
of murder. I shall plead that it was done in self-defence; and you
haven't Whalley to put into the box against me.”
Sir Clinton took no pains to conceal a sardonic smile.
“It won't do, Dr. Markfield,” he pointed out. “You might get off on
that plea if it were only the bungalow business that you were
charged with. But there's the murder of the maid at Heatherfield as
well. You can't twist that into a self-defence affair. No jury would
look at it for a moment.”
“You seem to know a good deal about it,” Markfield repeated
thoughtfully.
“I suppose what you really wanted at Heatherfield was a packet
of your love-letters to Mrs. Silverdale?” Sir Clinton asked.
Markfield confirmed this with a nod.
“That's all you have against me, I suppose?” he demanded after
a pause.
Sir Clinton shook his head.
“No,” he said, “there's the affair of the late Mr. Whalley as well.”
Markfield's face betrayed neither surprise nor chagrin at this
fresh charge.
 “That's all, then?” he questioned again, with apparent unconcern.
“All that's of importance,” Sir Clinton admitted. “Of course, in the
guise of our friend Mr. Justice, you did your best to throw suspicion
on Silverdale. That's a minor point, so far as you're concerned now.
It's curious how you murderers can't leave well alone. If you hadn't
played the fool there, you'd have given us ever so much more
trouble.”
Markfield made no answer at the moment. He seemed to be
reviewing the whole situation in his mind, thinking hard before he
broke the silence.
“Good thing, a scientific training,” he said at length, rather
unexpectedly. “It teaches one to realise the bearing of plain facts.
My game seems to be up. You've been too smart for me.”
He paused, and a grim smile crossed his face, as though he
found something humorous in the situation.
“You seem to have enough stuff there to pitch a tale to a jury,”
he continued, “and I daresay you've more in reserve. I'm not
inclined to be dragged squalling to the gallows—too undignified for
my taste. I'll tell you the facts.”
Flamborough, eager that things should be done in proper form,
interposed the usual official cautionary statement.
“That's all right,” Markfield answered carelessly. “You'll find paper
over yonder on my desk, beside the typewriter. You can take down
what I say, and I'll sign it afterwards if you think that necessary
when I've finished.”
The Inspector crossed the room, picked up a number of sheets of
typewriting paper, and returned to the table. He pulled out his
fountain-pen and prepared to take notes.
“Mind if I light my pipe?” Markfield inquired.
As the chemist put his hand to his pocket, Flamborough half-rose
from his seat; but he sank back again into his chair when a tobacco-
pouch appeared instead of the pistol which he had been afraid might
be produced. Markfield threw him a glance which showed he had
fathomed the meaning of the Inspector's start.
“Don't get nervous,” he said contemptuously. “There'll be no
shooting. This isn't a film, you know.”
 He reached up to the mantelpiece for his pipe, charged it
deliberately, lighted it, and then turned to Sir Clinton.
“You've got a warrant for my arrest, I suppose?” he asked in a
tone which sounded almost indifferent.
Sir Clinton's affirmative reply did not seem to disturb him. He
settled himself comfortably in his chair and appeared interested
chiefly in getting his pipe to burn well.
“I'll speak slowly,” he said at last, turning to the Inspector. “If I
go too fast, just let me know.”
Flamborough nodded and sat, pen in hand, waiting for the
opening of the narrative.
 Chapter XVIII.
The Connecting Thread
“I don't see how you did it,” Markfield began, “but you got to the
root of things when you traced a connection between me and
Yvonne Silverdale. I'd never expected that. And considering how
we'd kept our affairs quiet for years, I thought I'd be safe at the end
of it all.
“It was in 1925, as you said, that the thing began—just after
Silverdale came to the Croft-Thornton. There was a sort of amateur
dramatic show afoot then, and both Yvonne and I joined it. That
brought us together first. The rest didn't take long. I suppose it was
a 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 it had happened, I did the thinking for the pair of us.
Clearly enough, the thing was to avoid suspicion. 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 ever were seen in
the same room. No one thought of linking our names in the
remotest way. I gave her no presents. . . .”
“Think again,” Sir Clinton interrupted. “You gave her at least one
present.”
Markfield reflected for some moments; then his face showed
more than a trace of discomfiture.
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