A Case of Duplicity in Dorset

by Clara Benson

  Freddy turned his eyes from one door to another, then stood outside Lavinia’s room and looked towards the stairs, screwing up his eyes as he tried to remember the events of that night. At last, he walked slowly to the end of the corridor and gazed out of the window for some time.

  ‘I reckon they’re going to arrest Dr. Bachmann,’ came a voice at his shoulder, making him jump. It was Valentina Sangiacomo, who had approached so quietly that he had not heard her coming.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he said.

  ‘One of the footmen heard him having a barney in the library with the prof,’ she said succinctly.

  ‘Really?’ said Freddy. ‘Just before the murder, you mean?’

  ‘No, earlier than that. When you were all still up. Seems you were right—that letter was the first he knew that it was your chap who’d reported him. They had a good old set-to—or Bachmann would have liked to, except the prof was all superior and refused to get angry. He just said it was his professional duty to report—what was the word?—copying, anyhow, to the proper authorities.’

  ‘Was it your young man who overheard them? Why didn’t he mention it to you before?’

  ‘It wasn’t him, it was the other one,’ said Valentina. ‘Samuel, his name is. He never mentioned it before because he didn’t think it was important, but then I happened to tell him what we’d found out about Dr. Bachmann, and he remembered what he’d heard.’

  ‘Don’t tell me Samuel overheard Bachmann threatening to kill the professor? That would be too convenient for words.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But he said he deserved to be punished for what he’d done. Then the prof laughed and said if Bachmann had only behaved himself in the first place this would never have happened.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, we already knew Bachmann had a motive,’ said Freddy. ‘But what about opportunity? Did anyone see him downstairs at the right time?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Valentina. ‘Wasn’t he in this corridor with the rest of you? I thought you all gave each other an alibi.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, too, at first. Everyone was here between ten past and twenty past three, when the professor was presumably escaping through the passage, and so they couldn’t have done it then. But Lord Holme and I were also in the corridor from twenty past until half past three, and we’d have seen if anybody came out of their room after that. The only people who might have run downstairs and intercepted the professor between twenty past and half past were the Duke, my grandfather and Dr. Bachmann. The Duke says he went to bed, and swears Bachmann did too. He also says that Bachmann couldn’t possibly have got up again because his bedroom door squeaks loudly and he would have heard him.’

  ‘What about your grandpa?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, he says he did go downstairs afterwards. He also says he didn’t brain Coddington, and I suppose I have to believe him. He’s an addle-brained old galoot and the scourge of respectable women everywhere, but he’s not the sort to go around killing people just because they annoy him. According to him, he went downstairs to the study at about half past three to get some whisky, and passed the library on the way, but he didn’t see anybody. Let’s say he was shut up in the study by twenty-five to four. Goose and I came out of the secret passage and found Coddington dead at twenty minutes to. Now, it’s just possible that someone might have rushed down and killed the professor in those five minutes, but it doesn’t seem probable. For a start, even without a torch the professor must have been out of the passage by half past three at the latest—I timed it myself not half an hour ago—so why was he still in the library? He must have known he’d been spotted with the pearls, so why didn’t he creep back up to his room at once, instead of waiting to be caught red-handed?’

  ‘Why did he take them at all, for that matter?’ said Valentina. ‘Once her ladyship screamed he must have known there’d be a hunt for the thief.’

  ‘Yes, that’s something else I’ve been wondering myself,’ said Freddy.

  ‘And have you come up with an answer?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I have,’ he said.

  ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve solved the whole thing.’

  He glanced at her.

  ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘There are one or two things that are still puzzling me, but there’s only one way the murder could have happened that I can see.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Do you know who did it?’

  She seemed eager.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Perhaps. But I do know one thing—we’ve been looking at this all wrong from the start.’

  Down in the morning-room, Freddy found Dr. Bachmann striding up and down, his hair all up on end, talking to Inspector Trubshaw and Cedric. Bea was there too, listening sympathetically.

  ‘How long must this continue?’ he was saying. ‘It is not enough that I am hounded out of my university, but now the police continue to torment me with this story and throw it in my face. Yes, it seems I cannot deny that I spoke to this man on the night of his death. It is possible also that I upbraided him for his interference and the part he played in destroying my reputation. But to kill him? Never would I do such a thing! For I am secure in the knowledge that I have friends who believe me, who know my integrity, and they know that the story was false. What need have I to kill when I am secure in myself? When I was shown the paper of Jensen and Lundgren, I saw the similarities myself immediately, and was distraught, for you understand it is galling to see someone else arrive before you. But to suggest that I had copied the idea—why it is unthinkable! We published in two different countries, two months apart, and I knew nothing of their work until afterwards, for they are the sort who like to keep their ideas close to their chests, and publish to great surprise and éclat. It was only when Professor Coddington read of our respective work and decided something underhanded had been going on that there was any suggestion of plagiarism. Before that, my superiors had been sympathetic—but that was not enough for Coddington, who was a—what do you call it?—a busybody of the worst sort, and must needs write letters and make complaints until I was put out of my job. To mourn his death would be impossible and hypocritical, but to say I killed him—no, no, this must not be! I disliked him but I also felt sorry for him, for I had my friends to support me in my misery, and who did he have? Ask anyone in this house. They will all tell you that he was an irritation and an annoyance. Could such a man have had friends? This is what I asked myself when I spoke to him the other night, and I said it to his face, too. But he did not seem to care. He merely smirked and would not admit that he had jumped to a hasty and erroneous conclusion about my work, and in the end I could do nothing but regard him in disdain and question his humanity. Yes, I disliked him—perhaps I even hated him. But did I kill him? Certainly not! I should never have stooped to such a thing.’

  He paused for breath, and Cedric said:

  ‘Must you arrest him, inspector? Obviously you want to ask him some questions, but you might as well ask them here, surely? After all, we have several people—including myself—who will swear that Bachmann was upstairs at the time the professor was murdered, and apart from this unfortunate business of the letter and the row, I don’t see why you think he was any more likely to have done it than anybody else. Ask him anything you like, but for goodness’ sake do it here, rather than in some foul-smelling police cell in Swanage. If you find some actual evidence against him then arrest him by all means, but don’t just do it for lack of a better alternative. Nobody will thank you for it, you know.’

  Inspector Trubshaw seemed to waver.

  ‘Look here, I’ll vouch for him if you like,’ went on Cedric. ‘You won’t make a run for it, will you, Bachmann? You’d better not, or I shall look a dreadful fool.’

  Dr. Bachmann drew himself up proudly.

  ‘Of course I shall not, Duke,’ he said. ‘I should never rep
ay a friend’s trust in such a manner. I shall stay here, and if the police find something to my disadvantage then I shall go quietly, as they say. But this will never happen, because I am an innocent man.’

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Trubshaw. ‘If his Grace is willing to vouch for you, then I suppose there is no need to take you to the station at present. But it is true that I should like to ask you some more questions. Your Grace, may I use your study?’

  ‘By all means,’ said Cedric resignedly. ‘I’m sure I’ll get the place back sooner or later.’

  ‘Inspector, might I have a word?’ said Freddy, as Trubshaw and Bachmann prepared to leave the room. ‘It’s rather important.’

  ‘Not just now, sir, if you don’t mind,’ said the inspector. ‘I’m a little busy at present.’

  ‘But—’ began Freddy.

  ‘Oh, let them get it over and done with,’ said Cedric. ‘It’ll wait a while, won’t it?’ He lowered his voice as the inspector and Bachmann went out. ‘Don’t interrupt them now—I want my study back!’

  Freddy gave it up with a grimace.

  ‘Are you coming to the chapel, Freddy?’ said Bea. ‘Mr. Wray likes to give a little sermon on Sunday afternoons—just about twenty minutes or so. He says he likes to put the chapel to use, since we always go to church these days and the place is getting rather dilapidated. Do come.’

  ‘All right,’ said Freddy. ‘I dare say it will do me good to think pure thoughts for a short spell.’

  He ran upstairs to fetch a clean handkerchief, and as he came out of his room saw Kitty Fitzsimmons just coming out of Mrs. Dragusha’s room next door. He glanced in and saw the dressmaker sitting at a little sewing-machine, examining the seam of a piece of rough white fabric.

  ‘Hallo, Freddy,’ said Kitty. ‘Mrs. Dragusha is being awfully strict and won’t let me try on the toile model yet.’

  ‘No,’ said Mrs. Dragusha from within. ‘You must not try it yet, or you will think I am a madwoman who has imagined something deliberately to make a laughing-stock of you. I am still developing my ideas, but they must remain a secret until I am ready to show you. I shall take some measurements from you later, but for now you must be patient.’

  Kitty laughed.

  ‘I’ve never been patient in my life, but it seems for you I shall have to learn how, Mrs. Dragusha,’ she said.

  ‘That is so,’ agreed Mrs. Dragusha. ‘But I promise you will not regret it. Everything must be done in the correct order. It would not do to make a mistake at the earliest stage, or I will not be able to put it right.’

  ‘Very well, I shall go and listen to Mr. Wray, and try very hard to think of my sins instead of pretty dresses,’ said Kitty.

  The chapel was a short distance away, and it was a pleasant walk through the grounds in the late afternoon sunlight. Freddy walked by himself, and sat at the back next to Nugs as Mr. Wray delivered the lesson in his quiet way. Daphne was avoiding him, and was sitting with Lavinia, while Iris sat next to Ralph in a seat across the aisle. Freddy could not help watching her as she sat up straight, listening virtuously to the sermon as though she were absorbing every word. Then she turned her head towards him, and the look she directed at him gave the lie to her demeanour, for it was not virtuous in the least. It was only polite to reciprocate, of course, and the next few minutes were spent most shamefully in silent flirtation. At last Ralph realized that Iris’s attention had wandered, and glanced towards her, whereupon she snapped her head immediately back to the front. Freddy felt a nudge in his side, and turned to see his grandfather giving him a knowing leer. He ignored it and did his best to pay attention to the rest of the sermon, reflecting that perhaps this was neither the time nor the place to be making eyes at another man’s intended.

  On the walk back to the house Freddy sensed that Nugs would make pointed remarks, so he dropped to the back of the little group, well away from Iris and Ralph, and found himself walking next to Mr. Wray. Lavinia Philpott was in front with Dr. Bachmann, who was telling her about his childhood in the Alps, and for once she seemed to be listening rather than talking.

  The clergyman replied politely to Freddy’s compliments on the sermon, but appeared distracted, for every so often he rubbed at his forehead and winced. Freddy looked at him in concern.

  ‘Is it your headache again?’ he said.

  ‘Yes—just a little,’ replied Mr. Wray.

  ‘Didn’t the nap help at all?’

  ‘I am afraid not. If anything, it has become worse over the course of the afternoon.’

  ‘It’s not just a headache, is it?’

  ‘No,’ said Mr. Wray, looking worried. ‘I am afraid not. I thought that after the unfortunate death the other day the danger had receded, but once again I feel that something bodes ill here at Belsingham. If only I knew what it was then I could do something to prevent it, but once again I have only the haziest sense of what is approaching.’

  ‘Then you have no idea who or what the feeling refers to?’

  Mr. Wray shook his head.

  ‘There is something,’ he said, ‘but I cannot quite grasp it.’

  ‘But it has something to do with the professor’s death?’

  ‘No—yes—I do not know. I cannot see what else it could be. It is very frustrating, Mr. Pilkington-Soames. If I am to be divinely appointed, then it would be useful to me to know how I am expected to act. There is danger, I feel it, but what am I to do about it? The weight of this headache crushes me until I cannot think!’

  ‘All this is none of your responsibility, you know,’ said Freddy.

  ‘Oh, but I feel it is. Somebody is in danger—I know it, and must act. But who is it?’

  ‘I think perhaps it might be you, if you insist on getting involved,’ said Freddy gently. ‘We’ve already had one murder, and we don’t want another.’

  Mr. Wray seemed uncomprehending.

  ‘Look here, old chap,’ went on Freddy. ‘Go and lie down when you get back to the house, and we’ll get Bea to call a doctor. He’ll give you something to help with those headaches of yours, and probably something to help you sleep, too.’

  ‘What can a doctor do?’ said the clergyman. ‘I am not ill, and I must act according to my calling.’

  With that, he hurried into the house after Lavinia. When Freddy followed him in he was exasperated to find that the police had left again. But he was determined to speak to Inspector Trubshaw, and so went immediately to the telephone and called him at the police station. The result of the call was unsatisfactory, for Trubshaw was not there, and Freddy was forced to leave a message. He was about to go and look for Cedric, when he was struck by a thought. He picked up the telephone-receiver again and made a call to an old friend of his who lived in Leicestershire. This attempt was much more successful, although the friend had not heard from Freddy in months, and insisted on talking for some time before Freddy could ask the question which was the real purpose of his call. After that, he telephoned Scotland Yard and had a long conversation with his friend, Sergeant Bird, who was most interested to hear what he had to say. When he had hung up, Freddy chewed his lip and wondered what to do next. Over the course of the afternoon many things had become clear to him, and he now thought he knew what had happened on the night of Professor Coddington’s death. The only thing now was to prove it, but without more evidence that would be difficult. He was impatient to do something, but it was a job for the police now, and so all he could do was to wait.

  At last the dressing-bell rang, and everybody retired to their rooms, some to meditate upon the uplifting message they had just received; others to array themselves in their finery and think of nothing but dinner. Freddy was doing his best to put Iris out of his mind, since it was clear that the thing could not possibly end well. He wanted to make it up with Daphne, for he was fond of her and did not want them to part on bad terms, and so as he dressed he pondered how best to appro
ach her. He came out of his room and as he reached the head of the stairs saw the Duchess coming out from the East Wing, anxiously smoothing down the folds of her dress, an elegant creation in wine-coloured silk which was quite stunning and made her look ten years younger.

  ‘Hallo, Freddy,’ she said as she saw him. ‘I was just wondering whether this is the right colour. It’s a little more vivid than I’m used to.’

  ‘I think it looks jolly nice,’ he said approvingly. ‘You ought to wear bold colours more often.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Why of course! You’re our hostess and we’ve all come to look at you. Where’s the sense in trying to fade into the background?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ she said, as though struck by a new idea. ‘I’m usually too busy thinking about seating arrangements and that sort of thing to worry too much about dress, but this frock is so gorgeous I can’t help but feel that perhaps I’ve been missing something.’

  ‘It’s a Dragusha, is it?’

  ‘Yes. I do believe she’s a genius. I feel almost radiant this evening.’

  ‘There’s no almost about it. Go and show yourself downstairs and you’ll see. Take my arm and we’ll make an entrance. Dr. Bachmann won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.’

  ‘I think Dr. Bachmann has other things to think about at the moment.’

  ‘Then it can’t hurt to distract his attention from them and turn his mind to something nicer, can it?’ he said, and she laughed.