***
Gilbert, the gate-porter, was a sharp-featured little man, who gave the appearance of having a grudge against the world. He sat, nursing a pint mug of tea, looking very sorry for himself. The mug was inscribed with the legend "work is a four-letter word," and Rafferty got the impression that it stated a large part of Gilbert's limited philosophy of life.
'Yes,' he admitted, with a show of reluctance when Rafferty began to question him, 'I found the body. Gruesome it was.' His eyes swivelled sideways at Rafferty and he whined self-pityingly, 'By rights somebody should take me 'ome. Ain't right to expect a man to carry on working after seeing such a sight.' He took a sip of his tea. 'Ain't right,' he repeated glumly, as though he felt he was being unfairly deprived of a legitimate day off.
'I'm sure Dr. Melville-Briggs will let you go just as soon as you've answered a few questions.' Rafferty's lack of belief in Dr. Melville-Briggs's compassion for his fellow-man was evidently shared by Gilbert, whose face became even glummer.
'Him?' He snorted. 'Not likely. There's more chance of me getting the sack than sympathy from him.'
Despite the aura of gloom that clung to him, Rafferty got the distinct impression that Gilbert was enjoying himself in a perverse way. He was star for the day. Tonight he would probably hold court in the local pub and expect to be bought free drinks all night as he told and re-told his grisly tale. Rafferty thought Gilbert and Llewellyn should get on well together; they both seemed to get pleasure from looking on the black side. Though the clearly Cockney Gilbert’s murder of the English language would surely hinder any deeper acquaintance for Llewellyn, the grammatical Puritan.
'Have you any idea who the victim might be, Mr. Gilbert?' Rafferty questioned. Gilbert shook his head. Although Melville-Briggs had told him no-one from the hospital was missing, Rafferty wanted to double check. 'Are there any girls with long dark hair amongst the staff or patients?'
'There's one or two, but they're away at the seaside, lucky so-and-so's. Wish I was.'
'I believe you have a key to the side gate. Is that right?'
Gilbert nodded once, guardedly, then added, with the air of one who – if he had to take the road to hell – wanted to make sure that it was on the coach during the staff outing, he added, 'Mind, I'm not the only one. I like to oblige people when I can. Do 'em good turns like.'
Gilbert was a most unlikely do-gooder, thought Rafferty, eyeing him without enthusiasm. Fiddling the tea-money and stocking his freezer from the hospital kitchens would be more his line. Scared that possession of the key would incriminate him, was Gilbert confessing to the lesser sin of providing half the staff of the hospital with illicit keys?
Rafferty groaned softly, but he needed to be clear on the point. If so, it immediately threw the list of suspects wide open. 'I understood from Dr. Melville-Briggs that no-one else besides him had a key to that gate and that all the staff had to use the main entrance.'
Gilbert snorted again. It seemed to be his favourite mode of expression. 'Supposed to. Only this morning I was a bit late, like, and thought I'd sneak in. Jack, the night porter would 'ave covered for me and clocked me in as usual.' He sighed heavily. 'Now I suppose when 'is lordship finds out, I'll be for the 'igh jump.' His voice rose indignantly. 'What did she want to go and get herself murdered 'ere for? On the very morning I was late, too. It ain't fair.'
The wretched victim seemed to have discommoded everybody. Rafferty probed a little deeper. 'Jack, the other porter, did he see anything?'
Gilbert grinned with sour amusement. 'Old Jack? No. Didn't know nothin' about it till I told 'im. Likes to get 'is 'ead down of a night does Jack. No chance of that on the day shift, worse luck.'
Rafferty rubbed his gritty eyes. He could do with a bit of shut-eye himself. He blinked and forced himself to concentrate. 'How many of the staff have keys to that side gate?'
Gilbert's grin faded. 'Most of em,' he replied gloomily. 'I suppose you'll want a list?'
Rafferty agreed that it would be helpful, and with several mutterings and mumblings, Gilbert provided it. As he wrote, he continued his explanation. 'I go through the pantomime of locking the rest of the keys up in this cupboard 'ere.' He indicated the metal key cabinet that hung on the wall. 'But it's only to keep old smarmy-pants happy, ‘cos they all keep the keys to the side gate. They usually 'ang around the staffroom for drinks before they start and I bring the general keys over in bulk then, before ol' Tony puts in an appearance. I do the same in reverse before they leave, so they can use the side gate without having to drop the general keys in at the lodge. I'd let 'em keep the keys if it was up to me, less trouble all round, but you can never tell when 'is lordship might decide to check up. He can be right sneaky like that.'
Rafferty wondered whether Melville-Briggs would be pleased to discover the reluctant admiration behind the complaint of his gate-porter. 'But I thought they had to sign in and out as well as hand over the keys?'
Gilbert's eyes slid away and Rafferty concluded that Gilbert supplied a certain skill as a forger along with his other services. Quite an enterprising fellow. 'Never mind. Go on,' he prompted.
Gilbert seemed relieved that Rafferty was so obliging as to gloss over his little difficulty and now he became confiding. 'As I said, most of us come and go as we please through the side gate. It's handier for the bus.'
'Does old—' Rafferty caught himself in time. 'Does Dr. Melville-Briggs keep keys himself or does he hand them in to you?'
'Not 'im.' Gilbert looked aggrieved. 'He's always 'ad a key to that side gate as long as I've been 'ere and that's gettin' on for seven years now. Makes more use of it than the rest of us put together 'an all.' He sniggered as though he had said something amusing and then he looked speculatively at Rafferty. 'Do you reckon 'is lordship done it?'
The idea seemed to appeal to him. Rafferty, aware of an unwilling fellow-feeling with the lodge porter, wondered how many titles the blasted man had and said, 'Does His lordship—?'
'He's not a lordship!' Gilbert sneered at the very idea. 'I just call 'im that because he acts as if 'e was one. It's 'er that's the Ladyship. 'er dad were an earl or a lord or somethin'. He's only a Sir because 'er money greased a few palms. It's 'er title, 'er money, even 'er bloomin' name.'
'What do you mean?'
Gilbert grinned slyly. 'She insisted 'e take her name, Melville, when they got married. She had a brother, but 'e showed no signs of producing an 'eir. He's dead now, of course. But he was always a bit…' He flapped a limp wrist graphically. 'Herself and her brother were the last of the line and the name would have died out, see?' He sniggered again. 'Though if you saw her precious son, you'd think she might have saved herself the trouble. I can't see her gettin' an 'eir out of 'im!'
'Oh? Is he…?' His flapping wrist was every bit as graphic as Gilbert's had been.
'Supposed not to be—he's gettin' married after all. But whenever e's been 'ere on the cadge from his old man he’s looked as limp as a week old lettuce to me. I 'eard as how he's got himself a fancy car-renovation business in London, paid for by his ma, complete with muscular mechanic. I reckon he's only marrying that horse-faced Lady Huntingdon's daughter to keep in with his mum.' Gilbert sniggered. 'Probably rather shack up with that mechanic, Harry. Mind, if you saw the bride, you might agree wiv 'im. She was 'ere at Christmas with some big-shots ol' Tony was showing round and you'd think she'd been sucking on a lemon from the sour puss of 'er.' Gilbert was well into his stride now and had perked up considerably.
'Lady E gave him all this you know.' He waved his arms to take in the beautiful house and grounds and all that went with it. 'My old woman 'elps out at the hall when they 'ave big do's and not much gets past 'er. You'd be surprised at what people let slip after all them fancy wines. Rivetin' some of it,' he added with a certain bright-eyed satisfaction.
Rafferty made no comment, though he couldn’t help but wonder if Gilbert used the information his wife had learned from her work at the Hall to extract a little blackmail money from t
he well-to-do diners.
Gilbert continued his confidences. ‘Her brother had let the whole estate go to wrack and ruin. She 'ad it all tarted up. No expense spared, so I 'eard. She organised the whole show. Even acted as the doc’s secretary while he got 'imself established. Very capable woman is Lady Evelyn, no airs to 'er—not like 'im. She encouraged 'im to be one of them 'ead shrinkers. Mind you, she's right, there's money in it. All them neurotic women he treats—very profitable, I reckon, though few of them seem to ever get cured. Why wave good-bye to the goose that lays the golden egg? Think he's a god they do.’ The porter’s thin lips curled. ‘Mind, I don't reckon her ladyship would agree wiv 'em.'
'Oh?' Rafferty's ears pricked up at this hint of gossip. 'Why's that?'
'My ol' woman reckons they don't get on. He's got a flat on the top floor 'ere and often stays there at night. That's why he finds the side gate so convenient.' He winked and tapped his nose. 'Very cosy that flat is too, for 'im and his assorted lady friends. Regular procession of them there is.'
Lucky old Tony, thought Rafferty. Not only a rich wife to buy him success, it seemed she put up with his bits on the side as well. 'She must be a very understanding woman,' he remarked.
'I don't know about that. She's one of the old school—the put up and shut up sort. Believes in duty, the stiff upper lip and all that. Mind, I don't 'old that against 'er. It's the way she were brought up and at least you know where you are wiv 'er. Not like 'im.' Belatedly, he seemed to realise he had been a trifle indiscreet and now he looked anxiously at Rafferty. ‘Here, you won't tell 'im I've told you all this will you?'
'Think of me as a priest, Gilbert,' Rafferty reassured him. 'I hear everything but repeat nothing.'
Rafferty's reassurance didn't seem to comfort Gilbert at all. If anything, he looked gloomier than before, as though he found the possibility of a cop keeping a confidence less likely than one of Grub Street’s finest doing so.
Rafferty borrowed Gilbert's telephone to get the house to house, the search for the murder weapon and the victim's clothes organised. That done, he and Llewellyn made for the house. As he strode up the long drive, he prayed that the victim had a record, because, if she hadn't, it was likely to be a long case, and after his boast to Melville-Briggs, he didn't fancy having to break the news to him if he should turn out to be wrong. He was as likely to get the same short shrift on the sympathy front as Gilbert.
Still, at least Melville-Briggs should have found them a room by now. Presumably the man was capable of working out that parading his patients past the gutter press for their interviews at the police station was unlikely to improve his profits or his reputation.
Dead Before Morning Page 6