Neck and Neck

by Leo Bruce

  “Whoever took the original must have typed a new card,” the Superintendent said, after examining the entry for a minute or two. “If Lovelace did it, he must have typed the new card after Ridley’s death. Ridley might have seen it, otherwise. What do you think, Beef?”

  Beef had wandered away while the Superintendent and I had been looking at the cards.

  “I expect he did it all right. I said there was something fishy about him from the start. I’m still more interested in that other parcel of books that Potter turned up his nose at.”

  The Superintendent smiled. “Quite,” he said. “But I think we ought to have a word or two with Lovelace. After all, he’s the first person we’ve found who could have done the murder, and seems to have had a motive. I mean, if Ridley had suddenly discovered that Lovelace had been stealing his treasured books, there’d have been hell to pay. I somehow don’t think he’ll take a lot of breaking down.”

  But the Superintendent got nowhere with Lovelace, whom he had at once sent for.

  “Oh, those old books,” Lovelace said, in a rather impatient tone. “It’s no good you asking me any more about them. I’m sick and tired of them. First editions, first issues, misprints, watermarks, that’s all I’ve had for months. I only typed what Ridley dictated. That’s all my job was. I shouldn’t know any more about them than you do.”

  Though the Superintendent persevered, he got no forrader. He hinted at possible theft, emphasised the gravity in a murder case of suppressing evidence, and even voiced a few suggested threats, but Lovelace continued to deny any further knowledge.

  “I only know that I checked the valuable books in the special case just as you asked me, Superintendent,” he finished by saying. “According to the cards they were all there. When you start talking about different copies and issues and things—I suppose you got all that from Potter of Oxford—I’m just as much at sea as you are.”

  I could see the Superintendent was not satisfied.

  “I see in Ridley’s engagement book that a man called Steinberg was due to come and stay for a couple of nights. The day before Steinberg’s visit Ridley gets murdered. Steinberg wouldn’t be that big American book dealer who’s always cropping up in the papers, would he?”

  Lovelace this time certainly did seem a bit shaken, but he smiled boldly.

  “I expect it was,” he replied. “Nearly all the people who visited here came to see Ridley’s books. After all, as you know, he never had any real friends.”

  “Never mind about that,” the Superintendent went on. “If Steinberg had come here, Ridley would have got out his copy of Gulliver’s Travels, wouldn’t he, and there’d have been a nice how-do-you-do. Ridley’s murder happened very providentially for the person who had been monkeying with one or two of the more valuable books, don’t you think, Mr. Lovelace?”

  The brittle smile had gone from the Secretary’s face. “I’ve told you all I know,” he said sulkily. “I’d never have come here if I’d known all this was going to happen. Unless you’ve got anything more to ask me, I must go and take some aspirin. You’ve given me quite a headache.”

  The Superintendent let him go.

  Beef seemed disinclined to discuss this new development with the Superintendent, and said all he wanted was a drink. When I reopened the subject on our way back to the Shaven Crown he was equally unresponsive.

  “Even though you can’t appreciate the finer points about Ridley’s books,” I could not help saying, “there was no need to be rude to the poor Superintendent. I thought he showed a lot of intelligence.”

  “I dare say,” Beef replied, without bothering to remove his pipe. Billows of smoke were surrounding me as I drove, and I was peeved that Beef showed no appreciation of my help in the matter.

  “You’re thinking more about beer than bibliography,” I said testily, slamming on the brakes to avoid a heifer that came suddenly out of a break in the stone wall.

  “Careful with the car,” Beef said. “We shall need her this afternoon. Don’t you worry your head about those books. I know pretty well all I want to know about them,” Beef said, in his most infuriatingly self-satisfied manner.

  After lunch Beef asked me to drive him to Long Alton, a village some seven or eight miles away. He wanted to call and see Colonel Lethbridge, the Master of the local Hunt. I remembered what Lovelace had said about the M.F.H.’s quarrel with Ridley, how Ridley had claimed for the loss of some chickens and, when his claim was not fully met, Ridley had closed his estate to the local Hunt. Nice old boy, Lovelace had called him, but a bit irascible and eccentric. The publican of the Shaven Crown laughed when we enquired how to find Colonel Lethbridge’s house in Long Alton. “You just ask anyone. They all know him,” he said. “Hope you get back safe,” he added, but he would not explain the joke.

  When we came to the village of Long Alton, Beef asked me to stop at the small village post office while he got out to enquire the way.

  “First big gates on the left,” Beef said, as he climbed back into the car. He was smiling and seemed pleased with himself.

  “Another good guess,” was all he would say.

  When we came to the gates the first thing we saw was a large board on which was printed in large letters. All trespassers will be shot. As I turned the car into the drive another notice caught our eyes, Beware of bloodhounds, and a little further yet another, Danger. Mantraps. A pleasant well-kept Cotswold house soon appeared round a curve of the drive. We went up to the front door and rang. A butler appeared and Beef asked to see Colonel Lethbridge.

  “The Colonel never sees anyone unknown to him, I’m afraid. Perhaps if you wrote to him . . .”

  Beef took one of his printed cards from his pocket-case and, moistening a pencil with his tongue, wrote a few words.

  In a few minutes there were loud sounds of barking and two enormous Harlequin Great Danes bounded through the front door followed by a red-faced figure with a bristly grey moustache, clad in a pair of loud tweed plus-fours. In one hand he brandished a riding crop, in the other he held Beef’s card.

  “Who the devil is Mr. William Beef, private investigator? Go away, both of you. Get out of my grounds. Can’t you read? Haven’t you seen my notices? I’ll get my gun. The only thing I don’t shoot on sight are foxes, sir. All vermin here shot, human or otherwise . . .”

  “Now then, sir,” Beef replied, and I could see the old training as a constable standing him in good stead, “just calm yourself. You won’t do yourself or anyone else any good if you get all worked up like that.”

  While Beef was speaking wild noises that sounded like “Bah” came from the Colonel’s throat, but Beef’s policeman-like manner was having its effect.

  “I just wanted a word or two with you about that letter you wrote to Ridley three days before he was murdered.”

  “So that’s your business,” the Colonel barked. “But who’s this?” he asked, pointing at me with his crop. “One of these blasted reporters? If he is, if he dares to print one word about me, I’ll flog him first and then sue his paper.”

  Beef explained, and we were at last silently ushered into a comfortable study where a warm log fire was burning. The walls were hung with every sort of animal trophy. I half expected to see a human head or two among the antlers.

  “You may sit down,” conceded the Colonel. He was addressing Beef. “What’s it you want? Are you from the police, or what?”

  The bluster was still there, but a little of the confidence seemed to be shaken by Beef’s stolid manner.

  Beef explained that he was acting for Ridley’s relations.

  “Mean little paper merchant,” the Colonel snapped.

  “That may be so, sir,” Beef went on evenly. “But why did you send Ridley that threatening card?”

  I thought the Colonel was really going to explode this time.

  “What are you talking about, threatening card?” he shouted.

  Beef produced the piece of paper which the Superintendent had found in Ridley’s poc
ket and read out the puerile threat.

  “This is dated three days before Ridley was murdered,” Beef went on imperturbably. “I want to know why you sent it.”

  I thought at first we should have another wild outburst, but I was surprised, as I watched his face, to see a sudden rather guilty smile appear.

  “How did you know it was me?” he asked.

  “I thought when I first saw it it might have come from you,” Beef replied. “They’d told me about the row you’d had with Ridley, you see, and this card sounded very much of a piece. Just to make sure I showed the blank part of the paper to the local postmistress. She recognised your brand of note-paper at once. Then when I saw your notices, I could see with half an eye it had the same literary style.”

  The Colonel seemed delighted with this piece of elementary detection of Beef’s. “We must have a drink on this,” he said, and poured out enormous pegs of whisky into three beautiful heavy cut-glass tumblers.

  “I’ve been worried about that foolish card,” the Colonel began as he sat down. “Ever since I heard of Ridley’s death, I could have kicked myself for such a silly prank. I only sent it as a joke to frighten the little rat. The police don’t know I sent it, do they?”

  “Not yet,” said Beef, emptying his glass and pushing it forward in a marked manner.

  “I’d scarcely be able to show my face on the Bench if the story got round. Not because I told him what I thought of him but because I made it anonymous. Can’t think what can have possessed me. I ought to have thrashed the little bounder, not written to him.”

  “And you see how awkward it would be,” Beef replied, “if they started connecting you and your threats with Ridley’s death. However, as far as I’m concerned you needn’t worry. The police won’t hear anything of this from me. To be quite frank with you, sir, it’s not your sort of crime. You might strangle a man in a fit of temper. You might even choke yourself. But everything points to this murder being planned beforehand. I can’t see you prowling round Ridley’s house in the dark.”

  “Thank you,” the Colonel said, and wisely left it at that. “Now is there anything I can do for you?”

  Beef questioned him closely about the various other rows that Ridley had had. The Colonel seemed to know the details of them all, the quarrel about the cricket pitch, the two brothers whom Ridley had prosecuted for poaching and who had in fact appeared when he was on the Bench (“Should have liked to have let the fellows off, but I couldn’t”), the trouble with the doctor, and the case of the cottages from which he was trying to evict two families. He even told us of a few more. “I know all these people,” he said. “I’ve lived among them all my life. None of them would dream of that kind of violence, however ill-used they may have felt. I can assure you of that.”

  Beef finished his drink and rose to go.

  “A little more progress,” he said to me, as we drove back to Cold Slaughter. “I reckon it won’t be long before I have got this all straightened out.”

  “What about my aunt’s murderer, Beef?” I asked. “That’s what’s worrying me. All this rushing round Gloucestershire may be necessary, but it doesn’t help Vincent or myself.”

  “You’ll be surprised when it all comes out in the end,” Beef answered. “It won’t take long now.”

  15

  We had just finished breakfast the next morning when the Superintendent arrived.

  “Good morning, Beef,” he said cheerily. “I’ve just got a line on that car that was seen parked near Bampton Court on the night of the murder. I was very grateful to you for the tip, and of course at once circulated the description of it to all the constabulary around. I’ve just had an answer from Oxford and I’m going over this morning to have a look at it. It belongs to a garage there that does a hire service. They’ve been notified, so the car will be held for me to see today.”

  Beef thanked him and accepted, and we were soon in the police car on the way to Oxford.

  On the way over neither Beef nor the Superintendent mentioned the murder but chatted agreeably about conditions in the Force, pay and promotion, and exchanged reminiscences happily about the old days. They both agreed that the young chaps of today were not a patch on the recruits of their time, and how slack and easy in comparison was the life of the newcomers, and they both had a few hard words about university chaps from Hendon.

  The car drew up presently in front of a large garage near the station. The Superintendent led the way and we were soon ushered into the office of the manager.

  After greeting the Superintendent and being introduced to Beef and myself he sat us down and offered his cigarette-case.

  “Yes,” he said, “I know what you want to see. We had one of your chaps round here yesterday. We’ve got several cars we let out on a drive-yourself hire system. The one that the constable yesterday was interested in was a little blue Austin saloon. I’ll show it to you. It’s only just at the back.”

  He led the way into a large open space at the back of the garage where a number of cars were parked.

  “This is the one,” he said. Beef and the Superintendent walked round to the back and examined the rear window. The glass, which was of the unbreakable type, had at some time been badly splintered by some hard object. The Superintendent took out his notebook.

  “Yes,” he said to Beef, “this corresponds with what that young chauffeur told us. A crack like a star on the left of the rear window.”

  Beef agreed and turned to the manager. “I wonder if you’ve got a lock-up garage with no windows?” he asked.

  The manager looked a little taken aback. “It will be quite safe locked up here, I assure you,” he said. “We’re open all night, and there are always several men on duty.”

  When Beef explained that he wanted to make a test in the dark and told the story of a car similar to this being seen parked at night near the scene of an important crime, the manager entered at once into the spirit of the thing. He soon had the car put into a long dark building that had a complete black-out left over from the days of the war. As soon as we got the car parked as nearly as possible as it was that night the manager switched on the headlights of a motor cycle from the other end of the long building. He focused them on the car, and at once the crack in the glass became visible. As it reflected the light of the headlamp it certainly shone in the shape of a star.

  “Thank you,” the Superintendent said to the manager. “That’s all we need. Perhaps we could come into your office a minute and have a look at your records.”

  We went back to the room we had come from and the manager produced a large folio.

  “Here are the details of the various hirings we’ve had. Let me see. The car you’re interested in is Austin Saloon XYZ 56789. What dates do you want to know about?”

  “The tenth of this month,” the Superintendent replied. “And perhaps a day or so each side,” Beef put in.

  The manager turned over the pages till he came to the entry.

  “Ah yes, here we are,” he said. “That car was hired for three days from 9 a.m. on the ninth of September. Hired in the name of William Hawker. Fee and deposit paid in advance. Hawker gave his address as R.A.C. Club, Pall Mall. Car was returned early on the evening of the eleventh of September. Yes, I remember the case now. As the fellow could not give a local address, he was brought into my office. I asked to see his driving licence, but he said he had left it at his club in town. He seemed all right and offered to pay in advance. So I let it go.”

  “Would you know him again?” the Superintendent queried. “What was he like?”

  “Nothing special, I remember. Perhaps I’d recognize him if I saw him again. I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to his appearance. All I remember was that he was a biggish chap. Oh yes, there was something else. This chap Hawker was a bit tight when he brought the car back. I’ll call Charlie. He told me about it.”

  Charlie, a middle-aged man in a greasy mechanic’s overall, came in, and the manager explained what we wanted
to know.

  “Yes, I remember,” Charlie said. “Struck me funny at the time. This chap drives the car straight into our yard and parks it right the other side.”

  “‘Hi, sir,’ I shouted, ‘will you bring it over here?’ He turns out all the lights of the car and walks over. I could see that he could hardly stand. I remembered then that I had seen the car parked outside the Randolph just after six that evening. If you’re in this business, you get used to noticing your own cars anywhere. I’d had to go out on the Banbury road to a breakdown.

  “‘Are you handing the car back for good?’ I asked him. He mumbled that he’d finished with the car, but when I tried to get him to come to the office to get his deposit back, he asked me to go and fetch it, saying he wasn’t feeling too good. All the time he kept away from any light. I thought that was because of the drink. Well, I gave him his money and he made a kind of signature on our form and lurched off. Tell you the truth I thought we were lucky to have the car back without a crash, the way he was.”

  “Can you be sure it was the same chap as the one who hired it?” Beef asked.

  “Oh yes,” Charlie replied. “Even in the dark I could see that.”

  The Superintendent asked Beef if there was anything more he wanted to know, and then, thanking the manager and Charlie for their information and assuring them that it would prove useful, we left.

  “Must be the one, don’t you think, Beef?” the Superintendent asked as soon as we were back in the police car.

  “Yes, but I suppose you’ll just check up with that young chauffeur to make certain,” Beef answered. “I’ve one or two things to do here,” Beef went on. “What about you, Super?”

  “I’d like to join in what I think you’re going to do,” the Superintendent replied with a smile. “I can’t, though, you see. I’m on duty in uniform. I must get back, but I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send the car back for you this afternoon.”

  Beef thanked him and we fixed to be picked up at the main station at four o’clock.