With a Bare Bodkin

by Cyril Hare

  “Miss Brown had just come back from London when the murder took place,” Jellaby observed. “Could that possibly affect the position in any way?”

  “Until we interview Miss Brown we can’t answer that one,” Mallett replied. “It is a possibility, of course, but it doesn’t seem likely.”

  “The other cause for dislike,” said Jellaby, “was her objection to the Plot, or whatever they called the silly thing.”

  “Exactly. And the recent development affecting that fact was that Rickaby disclosed that she had been cast for the part of the villain in the Plot.”

  Jellaby, while Mallett was speaking, had been writing busily.

  “I believe in making notes,” he explained. “Helps to clear the mind sometimes. Care to see them?”

  Mallett read the notes, which were as follows:

  Miss Danville

  Salient Facts:

  1. Madness. Developments: (a) Breakdown, (b) Asylum revelation.

  2. Encouraged Miss B.’s affair with P. Developments: (a) Attack from Miss C. and Mrs. H. (b) Miss B.’s return from London (?).

  3. Disapproval of Plot. Development: Told of part in ditto by R.

  “It’s certainly terse enough,” said Mallett, handing it back with a smile.

  “All there, isn’t it? I hate wordy stuff. Only fogs the mind.”

  “Yes, it’s all there. And you will note that every person who Mr. Pettigrew mentioned as having been near the scene of the crime at the time figures in it in one way or another.”

  “Except Mr. Pettigrew himself.”

  “Yes, there is that one exception. And now that it’s down in black and white, what does it suggest to you?”

  “Nothing at all,” said Jellaby promptly.

  Mallett took the sheet of notes again and stared at them, tugging his moustache the while.

  “She was mad,” he said to himself. “Everyone suspected that, it seems. But she had a breakdown on Thursday night and she gave away that she had been in an asylum. Therefore she had to be killed, in a hurry, on Friday. It doesn’t make sense to me. Why had it suddenly become necessary to kill her because she made a scene in the Fernlea lounge or because she had let out her past history? Try again. She encouraged Miss Brown to accept Phillips. That, too, seems to have been notorious for a long time past. But Mrs. Hopkinson took it into her head to blow her up publicly for it. Therefore—No, that’s plain nonsense. Nobody was ever killed for having been abused in public. But, also, Miss Brown had just come back from London. I don’t see that can be of any importance. Suppose while she was away Miss Brown had decided not to have him after all—as the result of having found out something against him, let us say. . . . Well, she would hardly go and kill her simply for giving her bad advice. And in that case, nobody else would have any motive left, if stopping the marriage was a motive. . . . I’m afraid I’m being very wordy,” Mallett added apologetically.

  “That’s all right,” Jellaby assured him. “You’re not fogging my mind—so far.”

  “Good. Well, suppose Miss Brown came back meaning to marry Phillips, she wouldn’t have wanted to kill her main supporter, so we can count her out on that score. But how does it provide any sort of motive for anyone else? You don’t prevent a marriage by eliminating the bridesmaid.”

  “I don’t think much of Salient Fact No. 2.”

  “Is No. 3 any better? She disapproved of the Plot, and had shewn her disapproval ever since it was first suggested. But she had just been told by one of the plotters that she had a part in the story, and that her function in it was to murder the Controller. This, coming on top of her scene with Mrs. Hopkinson sent her temporarily off her head. Therefore, it was necessary to remove her—why? Because she might have put a stop to this parlour game in some way? Or out of pique, because she wouldn’t play?”

  Jellaby shook his head.

  “Look here, Mr. Mallett,” he said, “it’s about time I reminded you that we’re investigating the murder of a mad person and not looking for a mad murderer.”

  “At least, we’re not looking for a murderer who is obviously mad. And, so far as can be seen at present, none of the facts that we know about Miss Danville would provide any sane person with a motive for killing her, let alone a motive for killing her in a great hurry and at great risk.”

  “I could have told you that before we started.”

  Mallett laughed. “I know what’s in your mind,” he said, “but all the same, I don’t think we’ve wasted our time this morning. For one thing, we’ve assembled a highly unusual set of facts, and I think it’s asking too much of coincidence to believe that they could all be present simultaneously and have nothing whatever to do with the fourth and most unusual fact of all, which is her murder. And, if we’re right in thinking that the murder happened when it did because something had suddenly made it a matter of urgent necessity to the murderer, it is significant that in each case there had been a fresh development as recently as the preceding evening.”

  “I’d like to find one that had happened as recently as Friday morning,” said Jellaby.

  “Why so?”

  “Don’t you remember what Mr. Pettigrew said? Miss Danville was trying to tell him something at lunch that day, and he wouldn’t listen. He thought at the time it was only an explanation of her having come over queer the night before, but now he’s sure it was something fresh.”

  “He may be wrong there, of course. He is probably wrong about what she wanted to tell him the preceding night. There were two distinct stages, remember. First, Mr. Pettigrew persuaded her that she need not believe Mrs. Hopkinson’s slanders about Phillips. She was so relieved that she started to cry and had to leave the room. When she came back, she was starting to make some sort of explanation, but Rickaby interrupted her. I don’t see why she should have wished to tell him about her having been in an asylum before her final breakdown. Afterwards, she was in no shape to tell him anything. In any case, if something new did happen on Friday morning, we have no clue to it yet.”

  “I was wondering,” Jellaby said. “This Black Market business of yours. Could she have found out something, and wanted to tell him about it?”

  “Hardly, I should think. It couldn’t be the purloining of my report, anyway, because that couldn’t have been till the afternoon. We’ll check up her movements during that morning, so far as possible, to see if she had any opportunities of picking up information of that kind.”

  “I think you raised the point earlier on,” Jellaby continued. “Your report was lifted just about the time Miss Danville was killed. Can’t tie it down to minutes, of course, but near enough the same time. Isn’t it likely the same man did both? She caught him in the act. He killed her to stop her squealing. Nearest thing to a motive we’ve got so far, anyhow.”

  “It looks feasible certainly, but the more I think about it, the less I like it. After all, the very last person to take a trespasser in the corridor by surprise would be Miss Danville. Her coming was always advertised beforehand by a steam whistle, which gave anyone ample time to get away. Besides, even if you can get over that difficulty, where did the bodkin come from, unless the murderer brought it with him, intending to use it? It’s not the kind of thing you would normally want to walk about with, I should imagine. I think whoever killed Miss Danville went to the pantry for that specific purpose, and no other.”

  The two men were silent for a moment or two. Inspector Jellaby drummed his knuckles on the edge of the desk, a habit of his when vexed or puzzled. Finally he said, somewhat tartly:

  “It’s getting clear to me that we’re not going to make an arrest in this case by sitting here and talking about it!”

  “I know,” said Mallett mildly. “We’ve got to get busy now and take statements from everybody who can possibly throw any light on the affair. But before you start a search, it’s a good thing to have some idea of what you’re looking for. I think we know now what it is.”

  “Do we? What is it, then?”

  “A link
. I want to find the link between one or more of our salient facts and this crime. On the face of it, there is no possible connection between any of them and Miss Danville’s death, but I’m convinced there is one somewhere.”

  “And what makes you say that?”

  “Simply that if there is no connection, the last two days of Miss Danville’s life were just an incoherent jumble. I don’t think things happen like that. There’s a pattern somewhere if we could only find the key to it.”

  Jellaby sniffed.

  “I was going to begin taking statements at the Control this morning,” he said. “You’re in charge now, of course, but——”

  “We’ll go at once,” said Mallett.

  Chapter 14

  POLICE INQUIRIES

  From the police-station to the offices of the Pin Control was a quarter of an hour’s walk. Mallett, brushing aside an offer of a police car, covered the distance in slightly less than ten minutes. Jellaby, panting beside him, was astonished how fit and active the bulky man proved to be. He had to save his breath for walking, and the journey was made in silence on his part. Such observations as Mallett threw out had no bearing on the matter in hand. Once within the grounds of the mansion, Mallett turned towards the side entrance.

  “Where’re we going?” Jellaby asked.

  “I thought we must have a talk with Mr. Palafox first. It seems only civil to start with the head of the department.”

  “Can’t just go bursting in on a man in his position, can we?” Jellaby objected. “You’re in charge, of course, but I’d have thought he’d want an appointment.”

  “We have an appointment for eleven fifteen,” said Mallett. “I arranged it this morning before I came round to see you. Sorry if I hurried you coming along, but I was afraid we’d be late.”

  “And I thought you meant to stay gassing in my office all morning! Should have known better, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know why you should,” rejoined Mallett mildly, as they entered the side door. “Good morning, Miss Unsworth!” he went on. “Is the Controller ready to see us?”

  Miss Unsworth, the Controller’s secretary, gave the two men the malevolent look with which she always greeted anybody likely to trespass on her principal’s time. But she had no excuse ready to put them off. The appointment had been made, and a glance at her watch told her that the visitors were neither too early nor too late for it. She had to content herself with saying sourly, “Mr. Palafox has a conference fixed for a quarter to twelve.”

  “Oh, we shan’t keep him nearly as long as that,” Mallett assured her, without producing any softening effect in her severe expression.

  The detectives were ushered into the large, bare library, where, with his back firmly turned on the magnificent view over the bay, the Controller sat behind an enormous desk.

  “This is Detective-Inspector Jellaby of the County Police, sir,” said Mallett.

  “Just so,” said the Controller, vaguely. His voice was rich and plummy and he prided himself on the distinctness of his articulation. He waved Jellaby towards the less comfortable of the two chairs in front of the desk, and thereafter addressed himself exclusively to Mallett.

  “I am very much concerned,” he went on, “with the occurrence of last Friday.” He paused, to let the significance of his concern have its full weight. “The loss of your report, Inspector, which has only recently been reported to me, is a development which I can only characterize as disturbing.”

  “Quite so, sir.”

  “It must of course, be recovered. I am sure I need not stress the importance of that.”

  “It has been recovered, sir.”

  “It has? But this is very surprising. When did this take place?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “How is it that this has not been reported to me?”

  “I am afraid that I am to blame for that, sir. But both my colleague and I have been rather preoccupied with another inquiry since then.” Then, seeing the look of perplexity on the Controller’s plump face, Mallett continued, “I should explain that I have been put in charge of the investigation into the death of Miss Danville.”

  “Miss Danville? The lady who——? Yes, of course. Then that explains the presence of this gentleman here.” He indicated the speechless Jellaby, who was not accustomed to being treated as a piece of furniture in his own police division. “But Inspector, am I then to understand that you have come here to interview me about a case of murder?”

  “I think that you can be of some assistance to us, sir,” said Mallett deprecatingly. “If only in a negative direction,” he added.

  “In a negative direction—just so.” Mr. Palafox had evidently decided that the situation called for a touch of humour. “It is a process known in your profession as eliminating a suspect, is it not?”

  “That isn’t exactly what I had in mind, sir,” Mallett replied gravely. “The purpose of my inquiry is this: I wish to establish—if possible, who might be expected to have been at or near the scene of Miss Danville’s death at the critical time. Now the layout of this building is such that anyone coming towards this room from the main part of the office would have to pass the room where Miss Danville was found.”

  “Or vice versa, Inspector, let me interpolate, or vice versa.”

  “Exactly, sir. Now I take it that from time to time members of your staff do come to see you here?”

  “Heads of departments naturally come to consult me occasionally; senior assistants less often; members of the staff of lower grades very rarely indeed. For ordinary purposes, in any case, I prefer to make use of the internal telephone system if it becomes necessary to discuss any point viva voce.”

  “Very good, sir. Now on Friday last——”

  “You need not labour your point, Inspector, I apprehended it some time ago. On Friday—but I will not trust my memory. Miss Unsworth will have a record of my engagements for that day and we will consult her.”

  Miss Unsworth, when appealed to, produced the Controller’s diary of engagements.

  “Your only afternoon engagement on Friday,” she said, “was at two-thirty. The Establishment Officer came to see you and brought Miss Clarke with him. They left at five minutes past three.”

  “Just so. I recollect now, it was in relation to a rather awkward situation that had arisen with regard to Miss Danville. That reminds me, Miss Unsworth, you may cancel the memorandum I dictated on that subject. In view of what has since supervened it will not now be necessary. Thank you, Miss Unsworth. Does that meet your point, Inspector?”

  “Perhaps Miss Unsworth can tell us whether anybody came to see Mr. Palafox without an appointment that afternoon?”

  “And failed to get past the Cerberus at the gate? That is always a possibility, is it not? Many call but few are chosen. What say you, Miss Unsworth?”

  “There was nobody,” said Miss Unsworth drily. She looked again at the diary and added, “From three fifty-nine till four five you were speaking on a call you had put through to London, and at four ten a call came through from Birmingham, which you answered.”

  “Thank you, Miss Unsworth. I am sure the inspector will take due note of the alibi you have so thoughtfully provided for me. I, on my side, can, I think, perform a like service for you. At both those times I heard your voice informing me that my connection had been made, and in the interval I was aware of your typewriter functioning next door. Is that all, Inspector?”

  It was Jellaby, tired of being ignored, who answered.

  “This isn’t the only room on this side of the building,” he said. “There could have been visitors to them, I suppose?”

  The Controller regarded him with the interest he might have accorded to a child who had made an unexpectedly clever remark in grown-up company.

  “The point is well taken,” he said. “But not, I fear, a good one. There are two other rooms besides mine at this end of the corridor. One belongs to the head of Export Control, Mr. Bissett, and he, you will find, has been away on l
eave since Tuesday last. The other was until a fortnight ago in the occupation of a liaison officer from the Ministry of Manpower, when the Treasury in its wisdom decided that co-operation with other branches of the Government was a luxury that could not be tolerated in time of war. The answer to your question is, therefore, No. There could—or, rather, should—have been no visitors to those rooms.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Mallett. “I think that covers all we have to ask you.”

  “Very good; and now I have something to ask you, Inspector. What is the explanation of this extraordinary incident of your report that lost itself and was found again?”

  Mallett concisely recounted the facts of the disappearance and rediscovery of the report, and Mr. Palafox listened with grave attention.

  “I dislike repeating myself, but after listening to you I am more than ever concerned at this matter,” he said, when the inspector had finished. “And have you no hope of identifying the person responsible?”

  “I would not go so far as that, sir, but the circumstances make it a very difficult inquiry.”

  The Controller sighed.

  “It is hideous to contemplate such things occurring in a department under my control,” he said. “But what can one expect with the material at one’s command? The temporary civil servant is the bane of government in war-time.” He looked up, caught a furious glance from Miss Unsworth, and concluded hurriedly, “With exceptions, of course, with very marked exceptions. But I must detain you no longer. Good day, gentlemen, good day.”

  As the two detectives were leaving the room, Mallett turned back to say, “Would there be any objection, sir, to our having the use of one of the vacant rooms for the purposes of our inquiry? We shall want to interview several members of your staff, and it would be a very great convenience——”

  “Certainly, that shall be arranged. Miss Unsworth, will you please see that these gentleman are accommodated and that they have everything they require?”

  “Well,” grunted Jellaby, as they settled down in Mr. Bissett’s comfortable room, “I don’t know what we got from that interview.”