by Leo Bruce
Beef promised to do what he could, and the vicar left.
“Come on, quick,” Beef said, as soon as the front door had closed behind the Reverend Alfred Ridley. “We’ll get down to those shipping companies. We must work fast now.”
It was not until after one o’clock, when the clerks in the Dutch East Indian Line, where we had come in desperation after meeting with no success among the English shipping companies, were showing impatience that I at last came on Gupp’s name in a passenger list. The boat, the Appeldorn, on which he had travelled, was a slow one, apparently, and seemed to have called everywhere on its way back. Even after Marseilles I noticed that it had put in at Barcelona, Gibraltar, Lisbon and Cherbourg, before it eventually berthed at Tilbury on 6th August. It was a cheap fare, I could not help noticing, and I thought that that was probably the reason Gupp had been forced to choose that particular line.
I had done most of the checking of the lists while Beef occupied himself in being pleasant to the various officials in these offices and enlisting their help. When I found Gupp’s name, Beef got out the glasses which he only used on very special occasions.
“Let me have a look,” he said, and I could detect a quiver of excitement in his voice as he eagerly scanned the list.
“It’s there all right,” I replied. “There’s no need to check it.”
I was impatient to get away now that we had found Gupp’s name, but Beef was in his most irritating mood. He had got out his huge notebook and was busy making copious notes. When he had finished, he thanked the clerk who had helped us and we walked out into Haymarket.
“I must get down to Hastings right away,” he said, as we walked towards the Carlton. “There’s not a moment to be lost.”
“I’m glad now the police have arrested someone for the Cotswold murder,” I could not help saying. “Now you can get back to my aunt’s case. I suppose you’d like me to drive you down?”
“There isn’t time for that,” he answered, “but drive me as far as Victoria. I’m only going straight down and back again as quick as I can. I’ve just got to get two answers. Then I think my case is complete.”
When we were in the car he went on:
“I want to ask Raikes, the cook’s husband, the fellow we saw at Lewes races, you know, just one thing. I want to know what he saw exactly that morning when he was outside your aunt’s room, cleaning the window. That’s the first one. Then I want that dressmaker woman, Miss Pinhole, to tell me who she thought she recognised that same morning as she was going in to see your aunt. You remember she told us she could fix the day of the murder, because just as she was coming to your aunt’s house she thought she saw someone she knew. I know Raikes is there because I phoned Camber Lodge this morning. I’ll have to risk catching Miss Pinhole. She’s not the sort to be far away.”
I drove into the station yard at Victoria and Beef got out. “I’ll catch the first train back I can,” he said, as we left the car. “Wait in at your flat until you hear from me, will you? Have the car filled, too. We may have a long run to do before night.”
As I waited that evening for Beef in my flat I could not help feeling something of the tenseness, the suppressed excitement that I had detected in his voice and manner during the last two days, and I was glad to have something to keep me occupied until Beef came. I cut some excellent sandwiches, put out a half dozen bottles of beer and, as an afterthought, added a bottle of whisky, which I had been keeping for just such an expedition as this.
Just before six the bell of my flat rang, and I found Beef on the doorstep.
He nodded approvingly at the sandwiches and the beer.
“Just what we need,” he said, picking up the whisky bottle: “we’ve a long cold drive to do tonight,” and quarter-filled two large tumblers.
“Nice drop of Scotch,” he said, sucking his lips, and began to empty his overcoat pockets. First came his favourite torch. Then I was surprised to see him bring out a pair of handcuffs. I had never known him use them before.
“I slipped round to tell the old woman,” he said. “I collected these while I was there. Got that heavy sword-stick of yours. Bring that along, too. We may see a bit of action before the night’s out. We’ve got to take a chance. I can’t get the police to act, not in the time, but I know I’m right this time.”
His last words were spoken, I thought, more to assure himself than me.
I could see he was anxious to be away, so I put everything together and led the way to the car.
“Keep her going,” Beef said, lying back in his seat and lighting his pipe. “It may be a close thing. We must try and get there in time.”
“In time for what?” I could not help asking. Beef was being purposely mysterious, I felt.
“That’s what I want to know, but I shouldn’t like to have another murder on my hands.”
It was a cold dark night, but dry, and ideal for driving. At last we were on the last lap to Cheltenham. The road began to fall away down to the valley and I could see the lights of Andoversford below.
“Ahh . . .” said Beef, but whether with anticipation or relief I couldn’t decide.
19
Estelle Pinkerton’s house showed no lights as we looked towards it from the garden gate. The blinds were drawn, certainly, but not even a faint glow showed anywhere. The chimney was smokeless, though it was late September. The whole place had a cold and deserted look.
“Doesn’t look as if anyone was at home,” I said to Beef, as we looked across the little lawn whose ornaments were mercifully hidden by the dark.
“I’m not taking any chances from now on. We’ll have a scout round after we’ve tried the bell,” Beef replied, and went forward to the front door. I followed. The house was still and silent and I had quite a shock when the silence was broken by the shrill tinkle of a bell until I realised that it was Beef who had rung. Not a sound came from within. Beef then beat a loud tattoo on the knocker, but this was equally without result, though the sounds echoed through the house.
“Enough to wake the dead,” I said, and then, suddenly realising the significance of what I had said, I felt a cold shiver run through me.
“We’ll go right round the house and see if we can find a way in. Look out for an unlatched window,” Beef said. The back of the house was as deserted as the front, but I did notice an open window on the floor above, which I pointed out to Beef.
As we came to the front again, we saw the light of a torch at the front gate. I felt Beef’s hand on my arm. It was impossible to see who it was, but a few seconds later the beam of the torch was focused on us as we stood by the porch.
“Were you looking for Miss Pinkerton?” we heard a woman’s voice saying. Beef said that we were, and for a minute the light of the torch moved over us, up and down.
“You must excuse me,” the voice continued, “but I’m terrified of burglars. I’m Miss Pinkerton’s next-door neighbour. I heard someone knocking at her door so I thought I’d better come and see who it was. I’m afraid you won’t find her in. She’s gone away, I think.”
“Are you Mrs. Fordyce, madam?” Beef asked.
“Yes. How did you know?” she replied. Beef then told her of the vicar’s visit that morning. She seemed amply reassured about us after that.
“You’d better come along to my house. It’s only just a few yards,” she said leading the way.
We were introduced to a rather ancient representative of the Army, who sat motionless in a leather armchair. The only contribution he made to the whole scene was to lower his Blackwood’s for a moment when Mrs. Fordyce said, “My husband, Colonel Fordyce.”
No encouragement was necessary, however, to make Mrs. Fordyce speak. She was obviously dying to tell us her story.
“I’m really very worried about Estelle Pinkerton,” she began. “It’s all so strange and so unlike her. If I hadn’t known her all these years, I should be tempted to put the very worst construction on the whole thing.”
“Perhaps you’d tell u
s everything from the beginning, Mrs. Fordyce?” Beef said.
“Yes, that would be best,” she said, “or else I shall go running on and you won’t know what I’m talking about, will you?”
She beamed across at Beef. “It all really began on Friday. I’d just gone in to ask her about a recipe of hers. We were having some people to dinner that night and Estelle was so clever with her soufflés. It was after lunch, I remember, and she was just seeing me off at the front gate when a telegraph boy came up and gave her a telegram. ‘Oh dear,’ she exclaimed when she’d read it, ‘now I’ll have to go back to the town and do some more shopping.’ But all the same she seemed pleased and excited. There was no answer to send so the boy cycled off, but I waited expecting that Estelle would tell me her news. She had always confided in me. Well, that is until recently, but that’s another story. I asked if she’d had bad news, trying to win her confidence, but she wouldn’t say any more.”
“You say that recently, Mrs. Fordyce, you’ve noticed some change in Miss Pinkerton. She didn’t confide in you as she used to. Did she behave at all differently with other people? Did you think there was anything on her mind?”
Mrs. Fordyce thought for a moment.
“Yes, I think there was a difference,” she replied slowly, weighing her words. “I’ve noticed it for over a month now, ever since her holidays. She seemed—oh, how shall I put it? I know it sounds silly, but she seemed to have grown up. Before she would be round here asking our advice on every tiny little thing. Recently she seems to have taken her own decisions. Why, when she heard she had inherited all that money by her uncle’s death, she took it so calmly. Not a bit as I expected. Well, I must get on with my story. Friday evening a taxi drew up outside her house, but I was cooking dinner and only just had time to see someone going towards, her front door with a suitcase. Believe it or not, I wouldn’t like to swear it in a court of law, but I’m convinced it was a man. A youngish man at that. Next morning I saw nothing of Estelle or her visitor, though I was in the garden for an hour or two. After lunch I thought I’d just drop in and see her.”
I saw a look of understanding pass between Beef and Mrs. Fordyce.
“Yes,” she went on with a smile, “I just had to try and satisfy my curiosity, but, I’m sorry to say, I had no luck. When I rang, Estelle came to the door, but for the first time since we’ve known each other she didn’t ask me in. I knew something funny was going on then. We chatted for a few minutes and then Estelle said she had something in the oven and asked me to excuse her. Well, all that Saturday I kept my eyes open, but it wasn’t until the evening, just after the news, that I saw anything. Even then I only managed just to catch a glimpse of Estelle going out of her gate. She went hurriedly down the road the other way. All I could see was that she wasn’t alone and her companion was a man. You know about the telephone call on Sunday, and how her other uncle, the vicar, called me again. Well, after he’d called I was so worried I thought I’d try and have a talk with Estelle. I went round to the house, but, though I rang and knocked as you did just now, I couldn’t get any answer, and that’s the last I’ve heard or seen of Estelle Pinkerton. I tried again this morning, but there was still no answer. That’s why I ran out when I heard a noise at her door tonight. It’s such a relief to confide in someone. It hardly seemed a case for the police. If she wants to go away and not tell us where she’s going, that’s her business, but I must say I felt hurt after being such friends all these years.”
Beef handled her beautifully, and assured her she could safely leave everything to him.
“I feel better already,” she said, and I could see that Beef had made another conquest. “Mr. Beef, do let me get you something. I’m afraid I can’t ask you to a meal. We only picnic on Sunday night. Perhaps a glass of sherry or a whisky?”
“Well, madam, it’s very kind of you,” Beef said, smiling and rising to his feet. “Perhaps a whisky would go down nicely, but I mustn’t be long. I’m going to have a look at that house next door, if I have to break in. I don’t like the sound of your story.”
Whether it was Beef rising to his feet or the word whisky, I do not know, but the silent figure of Colonel Fordyce came suddenly to life. With a swiftness and dexterity surprising for his years, he whipped out a decanter of whisky and some glasses. I noticed, however, that it was Mrs. Fordyce who had unlocked the corner cupboard where the whisky was kept.
“Excuse me for a few minutes,” she said. “Henry, look after them, but remember what the doctor told you.”
“Jolly glad you chaps came along tonight,” he said, looking carefully at the closed door. “My wife, excellent woman, keeps me very short on rations. I can’t get out on Sunday nights. Come on, put that down and we’ll have another.”
When we had finished our drinks we said good night to the Colonel and his wife and made our way back to the house next door. It was very dark now and we were glad of Beef’s torch. There was no change. No light had appeared anywhere in Miss Pinkerton’s house, and no sound could be heard. Beef rang again. The sound of the bell ringing in that empty house gave me the shivers. There was something eerie about it.
“Well,” said Beef, “there’s only one thing for it. You’ll have to climb in that open window. I’m too big. We’re breaking the law, I know, but I must get in that house somehow. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Something about that empty house filled me with apprehension, and as I looked at the darkened windows I felt a strange reluctance to face the task of penetrating the inside alone in the darkness, but, as Beef had said, there was nothing else for it. We found a small ladder in a toolshed and I climbed up slowly, rung by rung. I came level with the window and peered in rather nervously, shining Beef’s torch around inside. The window was only on a landing and I clambered in. As I made my way to an electric-light switch, which I had located with the torch, I tried to overcome my nervousness by saying to myself that there could not be anyone inside, but I was glad when I turned the switch and the light came on. I hurried down the stairs and quickly opened the front door and let Beef in.
Slowly and methodically Beef went from room to room, examining cupboards and even looking under the beds and in trunks.
“Well,” he said, as we finished investigating a small attic, “there doesn’t appear to be anything here.”
I had by this time fully expected to find a corpse, and I felt sure that Beef himself was slightly relieved that our search had revealed nothing so gruesome.
Everything in the house was in perfect order. Every plate and dish was neatly arranged. Saucepans hung from their hooks clean and polished and the beds were made and covered with coloured counterpanes. The only sign of recent habitation was the ashes of the fire. Beef bent down and felt the fire-bricks.
“That’s not been out many hours,” he said. “It looks as if we’re just too late. I must go through this place and see if I can find anything that’ll tell us where she’s gone. Go and get that grub from the car. We may as well make ourselves comfortable. You can get a meal ready while I’m looking round.”
He went towards a rather nice-looking bureau, which was unlocked and full of papers. “This may give some clue,” he said, as he began to go through the various pigeon-holes. I left him to it and, after collecting the food and drink from the car, went into Estelle Pinkerton’s neat little kitchen.
When I brought the meal I had prepared into the living-room, Beef was still busy at the desk. “Shan’t be long,” he said. “She keeps everything nice and tidy.”
In a few minutes he closed the last drawer and came and sat down.
“Nothing much to go on here,” he said, as he helped himself to a sandwich. “I can’t find her cheque book, but if she’s gone away that would explain it. Her paying-in book’s there. There’s an entry there I don’t much like. She paid in a cheque today, Monday, for two thousand pounds. An advance from the solicitor, I expect. If she paid that in today, it looks as if she’s been to the bank and probably drawn something o
ut. After this I’m going through the house from top to bottom and then we’ll have another word with Mrs. Fordyce. I bet she’d know, if she came over here, whether any of Miss Pinkerton’s clothes are gone, or whether any suit-cases are missing. Women living as close as they did would be able to tell you down to the last nylon what the other had. That would help. Anyhow it’ll tell us for certain whether she’s gone away or not.”
When he had finished his meal and lit his pipe, Beef wandered out of the room. Presently I heard his footsteps overhead.
When he finally came back, he had a copy of Dalton’s Advertiser in his hand, which he added to the few papers he had taken from the bureau.
“We’ll go and see Mrs. Fordyce again,” he announced, and led the way out of the house.
Mrs. Fordyce seemed pleased to see us again and agreed at once to coming across to the empty house and seeing if she could tell us what was missing.
“I expect she’s wearing her green tweeds,” Mrs. Fordyce said as we entered Fairy Glen. “She would this cold weather. Especially if she were going by train.”
We left her to examine Estelle Pinkerton’s bedroom and the small box-room, and I could tell from her manner the task was not altogether unwelcome.
“She’s taken the two big adjustable suitcases that she bought this summer for her trip,” Mrs. Fordyce said, as she rejoined us.
“I can tell you that for certain. The little brown one she used to use for her London visits is not there, but she did talk of giving that away. Her tweeds are not there either, as I suspected, and her new evening dress isn’t hanging in the wardrobe, but it might be at the cleaners. There’s another coat and skirt I can’t find. It looks as if she’s taken quite a bit. There are practically no stockings or handkerchiefs left and all the brushes and things from her dressing-table are gone.”
Beef thanked her.
“Gone for quite a time, I should say,” Mrs. Fordyce went on. “I do think it strange of her not to come and tell me.”