Masters and Green Series Box Set

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Masters and Green Series Box Set Page 79

by Douglas Clark


  ‘I heard from Harry Dent that you would likely be calling,’ Bancroft said. ‘I’m pleased you have.’

  ‘Why, Mr Bancroft? Have you something you particularly wish to tell me?’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’

  ‘We’re as big a pair of scalp hunters as you could hope to find in a day’s march, Mr Masters,’ Cordelia explained. ‘We like meeting famous people.’

  Masters grinned, delighted at the compliment. He said, but not at all modestly, ‘Infamous is what you mean, ma’am. I’m never mentioned except in the same breath as crime. An uncomfortable partnership; and a man’s known by the company he keeps.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Not when he overcomes his environment—as we often hear you do.’

  ‘You only get to hear about the good bits. Successes make news. Routine failures don’t.’

  She laughed. It was a good sound. Musical. ‘Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. That’s right. In the big chair.’

  When they were seated, she asked, ‘Can I stay? Or am I to be banished to the kitchen?’

  ‘You’d better stay, Coddy,’ Bancroft said. ‘I expect the Chief Inspector wants to talk about last Saturday night, and you’re far better at remembering details than I am.’

  Cordelia settled back in her chair. ‘Quite right,’ Masters said. ‘I’d like to speak to both of you, and it is last Saturday night I’m interested in. And first of all, the meal. Can you remember it?’

  ‘Steak and stewed fruit,’ Bancroft said. ‘Rather good, I thought.’

  ‘Oh, Ken,’ his wife protested. ‘Just like a man. It was a lovely meal. Cora Dent is a wonderful cook, Mr Masters, and she knows how to put on a properly balanced meal. She was catering for a diabetic girl, two middle-aged women with average appetites, two elderly men who eat too much anyway and a young, vigorous man who needs good meals. All at once. And she succeeded admirably. Everybody was beautifully satisfied. And she always manages to get that wonderful effect that you see in coloured photographs when her meals are on the plates. Those little green peas beside the lovely colour of the young carrots. The steak looking just right and every potato exactly the same size, shape and colour, with a little sprinkling of parsley butter on top. That’s what I was doing when you came. Trying to achieve the same effect. But I can’t do it, no matter how hard I try.’

  Kenneth Bancroft said, ‘This sounds like a meeting of the selection committee for the local art exhibition.’

  ‘It was certainly a vivid description. Now, what about the rest of the meal?’

  Mrs Bancroft confirmed the full menu as described the previous evening by Mrs Dent.

  ‘Did either of you two suffer any ill effects from the meal?’

  Cordelia shook her head. ‘It was as good and fresh as it could be. Cora is a dietitian, you know. She makes a god of kitchen cleanliness and food storage.’

  ‘I was a bit loose the next day,’ Bancroft said. ‘I remember saying to you, Coddy …’

  ‘Nonsense, Ken. You ate a bowl of stewed prunes for breakfast last Sunday morning because you were too idle to boil yourself an egg.’ She turned to Masters. ‘He came down so late I’d cleared away an hour before he appeared, so he just had what he could find in the fridge.’

  Masters grinned. He took his pipe from his breast pocket where it was wedged, bowl upright, by a white silk handkerchief. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

  She gave him permission. He said, as he rubbed the Warlock Flake, ‘What about drinks? Did they upset you?’

  ‘Brandy helps the digestive juices, I find,’ Bancroft answered. ‘The girls drank some of that pinkish stuff—German Liqueur—not kummel …’

  ‘Anisette?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I liked it,’ Cordelia said. ‘But I don’t care for kümmel. I never liked seedy cake when I was a child.’

  ‘Cumin seeds,’ her husband said.

  ‘No. Caraway.’

  ‘Never mind, Coddy.’

  ‘Did any of you eat or drink anything else, after supper?’

  ‘The men had more brandy. That’s why Kenneth was so late up the next day. But we women had nothing else to drink. Cora and I both had After Eight mints, but Sally wouldn’t touch them. Sensible child. She knew she’d had her full allowance of carbohydrates or calories or whatever for one day. For ever, I suppose you could say now. It is a shame, Chief Inspector. She was a nice lassie.’

  ‘Somebody didn’t think so, Mrs Bancroft.’

  ‘No I was forgetting. You think she was murdered, don’t you? It seems impossible to me. We were all laughing and joking over our meal …’

  Hill said, ‘About the meal, ma’am. Didn’t you have any wine at table?’ He blushed as he asked. Masters realized with a shock that table wines had not occurred to him. Mentally he gave Hill full marks.

  ‘We didn’t have wine, Sergeant, because Cora Dent said Sally couldn’t have any, and as a good hostess she didn’t want one guest to feel out of it. In any case, too much wine is drunk with meals. It makes you feel too full, so I didn’t mind, and I don’t suppose the men did.’

  The alderman agreed that he’d not missed the wine. He’d made up for it later with Harry Dent’s brandy in any case.

  ‘A liqueur seemes to be a funny sort of drink for a diabetic to take,’ Hill continued.

  ‘Only one drink a week, Sergeant. And a very little one at that.’

  ‘But it’s very syrupy and sweet. According to the books they’re not forbidden, but they’re not good.’

  Mrs Bancroft said simply, ‘Sally liked liqueurs.’

  ‘You’re sure Mr Dent did give her a little one when he poured out?’ asked Masters. ‘He didn’t try to be overgenerous—because he’s a generous host or because he was out to play a joke or anything like that?’

  ‘Nothing like that. Mr Dent poured the brandy for the men, but Mrs Dent poured the women’s drinks. She was always very careful to see that Sally got no more than was good for her. And I think that answers the sergeant’s question, too.’

  Masters lit his pipe. ‘Well, that seems to dispose of the meal. Was there anything at all about the evening that struck you as out of the ordinary? Any remark, any action, any coming and going that struck you as odd?’

  ‘Perfectly ordinary evening as far as I can recall,’ Bancroft said. ‘Just general chatter. Nothing very serious. Nothing very remarkable. That’s what makes it seem so improbable as a prelude to murder. Are you absolutely sure there was foul play? I mean, a girl in her condition is very likely to fall into a coma, I understand, and if there was nobody with her to help …’

  ‘Medical opinion is that her coma was too rapid to be natural and its seriousness too great to be normal. And her insulin was found to be useless,’ Masters explained.

  ‘Quite. Then why are you so interested in what she had to eat?’

  ‘I like to cover every possibility, Mr Bancroft. As a point of fact, what I am doing by questioning you about the food is eliminating it from the list of causes. When I’ve eliminated what I can, what’s left must contain the truth.’

  ‘Of course. Stupid of me, one forgets that elimination is as important as elucidation, and that the one complements the other.’

  ‘What are you going on about, Kenneth? Mr Masters asked if we’d noticed any odd comings and goings.’

  ‘I know. I was telling him we didn’t.’

  ‘Not at the Dent house. But when he said comings and goings he reminded me.’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘When we were going there on Saturday night. Do you remember? The girl we saw.’

  ‘Of course. The handsome one that young Brian used to knock about with at one time. I always liked the look of her. Cora didn’t care for her, though. What was her name?’

  ‘Clara Breese.’

  ‘That’s it. I ought to have remembered. I met her at that Friends of the Hospital affair.’

  Masters noted that Hill stiffened visibly in his chair at the mention of Clara Breese. He himself fel
t a surge of excitement. Something? Or nothing? He would have to find out. Clara Breese somewhere near the Dent house at seven or thereabouts on Saturday evening. She hadn’t mentioned that to Green. He could imagine Green’s reaction when he heard about it. Particularly as he’d taken something of a shine to Miss Breese. ‘What affair was this?’ he asked Bancroft.

  ‘I’m chairman of the Hospital Friends. An organization which devotes its energies to bettering the conditions in local hospitals. We achieve quite a bit, but we’re chiefly concerned in raising money. Garden fêtes, coffee mornings, raffles. You know the sort of thing. Everybody who has used the hospital in the past year is asked to sell a book of raffle tickets. We collect a fair amount that way. But when it comes to spending the money, the fighting starts. One wants this and one wants that. Committees!’

  ‘It’s not quite as bad as that, but Ken’s right,’ Cordelia added. ‘We collect the money amicably and then squabble over how to spend it. Ken had a good idea when he took over the chair. He formed an advisory committee of specialists. That’s where people like Cora Dent came in. Being a dietitian, she could see what the food in hospital was like, and although we could do little to change it, we could use her recommendations as a basis for buying simple extras. Then there are the library trolleys and kiddies toys and so on. We got teachers and people like that to help and do the buying. It has worked quite well.’

  ‘Where does Clara Breese fit into this?’

  ‘Clara? It was when we decided to buy new curtains for the wards and redecorate some of them. Brian and Clara were friendly at the time, so Cora Dent brought in Clara to design and choose materials. That’s when Kenneth met her. Clara made little models to show off her suggestions to the committee. Very good they were, too. Just made out of cardboard but cleverly done.’

  ‘So you saw Clara on Saturday night?’ Masters asked.

  ‘Yes. I wondered what she was doing near the Dents. It’s well over a year since I’ve seen her.’

  ‘About seven o’clock?’

  ‘A bit after. Perhaps ten past.’

  ‘She was visiting an aunt in Gloucester last Saturday. Perhaps the aunt lives near the Dents,’ Masters suggested.

  ‘She has an aunt near there, has she? Oh, then that explains it. She was walking towards us, you know, as we were going.’

  ‘That means she was walking away from the Dents’ house?’

  ‘Towards the city.’

  ‘Well, that’s one little coming and going. Any more?’

  Cordelia shook her head. Kenneth said, ‘I don’t see where Clara Breese comes into this. Just because she was visiting relatives in Gloucester.’

  ‘There’s no suggestion that she is implicated in any way, sir,’ replied Masters. ‘But she happens to have been one of Miss Bowker’s partners and a one-time friend of her fiancé. It will do her no harm to be eliminated as a possible suspect, will it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘By the way, perhaps you could tell me. What’s the pub Mr Dent goes to for his Sunday lunchtime drink? I was told that he and Brian went out for a lunchtime drink, but I was too busy at the time to make a mental note of the place.’

  Bancroft got hastily to his feet. ‘I’m sorry. I’m forgetting my duties. Let me get you a drink.’

  ‘No. Please, no. That wasn’t a hint. I’m due for a pint afterwards …’

  ‘With Harry Dent? Well, it’s not a pub he goes to.’

  ‘No? I could have sworn …’

  ‘Club. The Tontine.’

  ‘Not a name you hear every day,’ Cordelia said. ‘And quite silly really. So easy to forget. And quite meaningless in this case. The last survivor takes all, indeed! They sign up new members every year.’

  ‘You’ve got it wrong, Coddy,’ her husband said. ‘When the club was started, the people who put up the money agreed to receive no dividends nor expect the return of their money for a fixed period of—I think—about five years. And that’s a form of tontine, too. That’s where the name came from.’

  ‘Really? And I’d always imagined them waiting for each other to die.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be getting along,’ Masters said. ‘Thank you for the talk and the information.’

  ‘Are you going to the Tontine?’ Bancroft asked.

  ‘Not straight away. There are four of us. I’ve got to pick up the other two.’

  ‘I see. I was going to say I’d take you.’

  ‘Thank you, but there’s no need to drag you out.’

  ‘I’m a member.’

  ‘But you weren’t going today, were you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Thanks all the same. We’ll find our way there quite easily.’

  When they were in the car, Hill said, ‘You definitely gave him the impression Dent had invited you to this club.’

  ‘I was careful not to say that Dent had invited me.’

  ‘Then how did you know about it?’

  ‘Brian Dent told me he and his father went out for their usual drink at Saturday lunchtime. It seemed likely that what was “usual” might include Sunday as well as Saturday. And men in their position usually have either a favourite pub or a club they get into the habit of going to at certain times.’

  ‘So we’re going to this Tontine place?’

  ‘Not yet. We could have gone straight there if it had been a pub. But a club’s for members only—and their guests.’

  ‘So we’ve got to find somebody to take us?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you accept Bancroft’s offer?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want him bowling up to Dent and saying, “I’ve brought your guests.” Dent hasn’t invited us. I want it to appear a casual meeting, otherwise I could call on Dent in his office tomorrow.’

  Hill thought about this for a moment. Then: ‘What now?’

  ‘Stop at the first phone box. I want to call the Chief Super.’

  ‘The Tontine?’ Hook said. ‘I’m a member myself, but I don’t often go. Not at lunchtimes. I never drink in the middle of the day because I never know when I might be called out to …’

  ‘Break your rules today. In honour of your guests from Scotland Yard. It’s important, sir.’

  After a few moments, Hook agreed. When they got back into the car, Masters said, ‘I want a specimen envelope.’

  Hill took from his pocket one of the plain white envelopes he carried for holding small material clues. Masters thanked him, took out his tin of Warlock Flake and carefully emptied the unrubbed tobacco into the envelope. He put the envelope into the glove compartment of the car, and the empty tin into his pocket. Hill watched with amazement which grew into incredulity when Masters tapped out a perfectly good fill, only half smoked, from his pipe. Masters looked up and grinned. ‘Stage props,’ he said. ‘Right, Sergeant, drive on. The Chief Super’s house. He’s expecting us.’

  An hour and a half later, Masters and Hill returned to the Bristol. Green and Brant had almost finished lunch. ‘We waited long enough for you,’ Green said.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ answered Masters. ‘We’ve been tanking up.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  Masters said no more. Hill took his cue from Masters and didn’t mention the visit to the Tontine. ‘How’s the alderman?’ Green asked.

  ‘Blooming. He’s got a nice wife. The sort I think you would like.’

  ‘Just my luck. We’re bashing around here without a clue and when the only decent woman in the case is interviewed I’m not among those present.’

  ‘What about Clara Breese? You told me she was all right.’

  ‘Quite a nice bit of frippet. But too young for me. I like a mature woman.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know whether you’ll get to meet Cordelia Bancroft, but you’ll definitely have to see young Clara again—tonight, after she’s finished the day’s window-dressing.’

  Green brushed biscuit crumbs from the table with his right hand, caught them in hi
s left, and trickled them on to his plate. ‘That’s the worst of cream crackers. They fluther about so much.’ He looked across at Masters who was tackling tongue and Russian salad. ‘Beetroot’s another think I don’t like. It makes everything too bloody. What’s this about Clara Breese?’

  ‘She was seen by the Bancrofts at ten past seven last Saturday night quite near the Dents’ place,’ Hill said.

  Green flung his napkin on to the table. ‘Hell. So she bamboozled me.’

  ‘Told you only half the truth, I suspect,’ Masters commented.

  ‘I’d like to dust her transparent pantie linings for her.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t?’ Brant asked.

  ‘Where does Breese’s aunt live?’ Masters inquired.

  ‘Cambridge Road.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘In the same direction from here as the Dents’. Remember when I took you out there we stopped at lights before turning left?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If we’d gone straight on for a hundred yards and then turned left we’d have come to Cambridge Road. I’d say at a guess that aunty’s house is a quarter of a mile from the Dents’.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean Breese was actually at the Dents’,’ Green said.

  ‘Perhaps she didn’t actually call there—or even go near,’ replied Masters. ‘But let’s suggest to her that she did.’

  ‘Why? What good will that do?’

  ‘You said she’s moping over Brian Dent.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘She came all the way from Cheltenham to see an aunt who isn’t in, but who lives practically next door. Wouldn’t a girl in her state—just for old times’ sake—be tempted to walk that way?’

  ‘I can’t see it.’

  ‘I can,’ Hill broke in. ‘If she’s as natty a bit of stuff as you say she is, I can’t see her being alone on a lovely Saturday afternoon and evening for nothing. So she wanted to see her aunt. O.K. But the aunt was out. I’d expect a girl like her to hop the next bus home and date some boy friend for the rest of the day. But what does Clara do? She moons about. Going to the cathedral and pictures alone? No!’

 

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