The Snark was a Boojum

by Gerald Verner

  “The fact that a well-known bank had come on board,” my father was saying, “paved the way for Gifford to persuade private investors to chip in—and Gifford was very good at persuading . . .”

  “I take it that you didn’t much like Gifford?” I asked.

  “I didn’t like him, but I didn’t have much to do with him. He became less important to Bellman as his enterprises generated sufficient profit to enable Bellman to fund himself without recourse to outsiders. Of course, Gifford didn’t like that.” My father’s face screwed up in an expression of distaste. “I suspect Gifford went all out to re-establish his control of some of Bellman’s affairs . . .”

  “Are you suggesting blackmail?” I broke in, thoroughly intrigued.

  “Not exactly blackmail,” my father replied. “Bellman would say payment for services rendered.”

  “So Gifford ran close to breaking the law?” I asked, digging a little deeper.

  “I would agree with that. He was a rascal beneath a fastidious exterior . . . and we know he was a serial philanderer . . .”

  “Gifford must have done something to really drive someone wild,” I postulated. “Something that pushed someone over the edge . . . something to do with Hilary Lawson or Bellman or someone else . . . Something that Robert Lawson stumbled across, something serious enough to get him killed . . .”

  “You think Gifford was the reason Bellman hired a private detective?” My father pondered this for a moment. “The moment Robert Lawson was killed, Gifford might have had an inkling why—could even point the finger at who might have done it—so he had to go as well—he confided as much to you, didn’t he? Occasionally when an emotionally disturbed person feels threatened and attacked, they may think they need to retaliate—to kill before they are killed. Once a person has killed,” my father warned, “you don’t have to jump over a hurdle to kill a second time.” He got up. “Please excuse me Jeff. I’m very tired . . . a long complicated day with Bellman . . . too tired to think straight . . .”

  My father bid me goodnight and went to his room.

  I remained for a few minutes in front of the fire, going over and over possibilities, until I forced myself to stop and got into bed.

  I slept fitfully, the following lines going round and round in my head, as I tossed and turned: I engage with the Snark—every night after dark—in a dreamy delirious fight . . .

  I had no idea that dawn the following day would herald extraordinary events that would bring me face to face with the Snark.

  PART THREE

  THE SNARK!

  For the Snark’s a peculiar creature, that won’t

  Be caught in a commonplace way.

  Do all that you know, and try all that you don’t:

  Not a chance must be wasted to-day!

  The Hunting of the Snark by Lewis Carroll

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day began with a frantic knocking upon my bedroom door.

  “Who is it?” I mumbled, trying to wake up.

  “Get dressed and come downstairs!” Gale’s thunderous voice shook the door.

  “What is it?” I asked, but he had gone.

  I swung my legs out of bed and sat for a moment wondering what on earth was going on. The room was chilly. It was wet and windy outside, sudden squalls lashing the rain against the window pane. I went over to the wash basin and splashed my face with cold water.

  Obviously something serious had happened. Gale would not have behaved like that otherwise. Suddenly it hit me . . . really woke me up. Something very serious . . .

  I quickly put on my clothes, tore across the landing, and hurried down the stairs. I overtook a gloomy looking Trenton, his mouth slack, shaking his head in bewilderment.

  Gale met me in the hall, his face terrible to behold. “It’s Bellman!”

  “What about him?” I asked.

  “He’s dead!” answered Gale.

  I stared at him thunderstruck. “Oh Lord! This is unbelievable! Didn’t anyone hear anything?”

  “Apparently not,” answered Gale.

  “Where is he?”

  “In his bedroom. He’s still lying in his bed, knifed in the back like the others.”

  I could feel despair wash over me and I struggled to fight it off. This would have far reaching implications for everyone in the house. I thought of Zoe . . .

  “Where’s Zoe? Is she all right?”

  “She’s comforting Ursula.”

  “How is Ursula?” I asked.

  Gale made a grim face. “Distraught . . . They’ve sent for her doctor.”

  I stood there in front him, feeling completely helpless, as Trenton reached the hall muttering: “T-terrible . . . t-terrible . . .” He headed off towards the scullery.

  Gale followed him with a stare, tugging at his beard. Then he turned his attention to me. “Can’t stand here . . .” he grunted, taking my arm and dragging me into the front lounge.

  The little used room was pleasantly furnished. It was empty and a little chilly.

  Gale swiftly closed the door.

  “I should have foreseen this,” he growled. “I didn’t think it would happen so soon. I thought I had more time, d’you see?” He slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “I was too slow and terribly wrong!”

  “Have you seen my father?” I asked, thinking of the upheaval this would cause.

  “Last I saw of him he was in the dining-room,” retorted Gale.

  “Someone’s going to have to run things . . . Bellman’s affairs . . . Ursula . . .”

  Gale gave a dry laugh. “I doubt if Ursula will be having much to do with anything after this.”

  “You think she’s involved . . .” I began.

  “If you mean did she plunge a knife in Bellman’s back? No, not physically,” he interrupted sharply. “But she has the motive, d’you see? She’s the only one, as I understand it, who really benefits . . .”

  I nodded. My father had told me the will was in Ursula’s favour, but that information was confidential. I wondered how Gale knew.

  Gale twisted his fingers in his beard thoughtfully. He said in a voice that was low and thoughtful: “There was another of those cards.”

  “A card?” I repeated automatically already knowing what he meant.

  Gale nodded, reciting in the same low tone: “The Bellman looked uffish, and wrinkled his brow. ‘If only you’d spoken before! It’s excessively awkward to mention it now, with the Snark, so to speak, at the door!’”

  “Foolhardy or a lot of nerve,” I commented.

  “Incredible nerve!” cried Gale. “It just might be the undoing of him, eh?”

  “Where is the card?” I asked. “Have you got it?”

  “I left it for the police exactly as I found it, in Bellman’s hand, when I turned back the coverlet.”

  “Trenton wouldn’t have seen it?” I asked.

  “He’d have said something if he had,” growled Gale, giving me a sharp look.

  “Was it someone in the house?” I asked.

  “The window by the scullery door was broken,” answered Gale. “A large stone was used. Paper had been glued with treacle over the glass, so when it was struck it didn’t smash all over the floor and wake everyone up! A clever idea . . . So, we’re supposed to think the Snark broke in . . .”

  “Supposed . . .?” I interrupted. “So you do think it was someone inside . . .”

  “It would be too obvious, if there hadn’t been any sign of a break in, wouldn’t it, eh?”

  “Halliday was coming this morning to see Bellman,” I reminded him.

  “I spoke to him on the telephone just before you came down. Halliday is on his way right now,” said Gale gloomily. “I ought to have prevented this,” he cried, scolding himself, and obviously furious. “I should have seen it coming . . . I did see it coming! I should have acted . . . I was looking for proof, d’you see?”

  “What happened when you saw Bellman last night?”

  “Bellman was hiding something,
” he growled.

  “I should have thought that was obvious at dinner,” I broke in. “What was it he wanted Baker to investigate?”

  Gale looked at me. There was a glitter in his eyes, and his beard seemed to quiver with suppressed excitement. “He said to me: I’m an old fool—of course I know about Ursula and that chap Weston . . . I maybe an old fool, but I’m not in my dotage . . . I can’t give her what Weston can. What right do I have to take someone as lovely as that and cage them up?”

  I stared at him speechless for a few moments while I took this in. “He knew about that! That’s a revelation . . .”

  Gale waved a huge arm at me. “Here’s another . . . it wasn’t Ursula and Weston that William Baker came to Lower Bramsham to investigate. Bellman began to take an interest in Ursula’s past and when he spoke to her about it he realised she didn’t want to tell him anything. So, he spoke to Franklin Gifford, who didn’t tell him much either—it was this reluctance that got him intrigued, d’you see?”

  “So you know Gifford introduced Ursula to Bellman?”

  “Bellman told me last night. He spoke to Hilary King and got himself a private detective. The first nugget of forbidden history Baker dredged up was that his wife had an illegitimate son!”

  “I’d like to have been a fly on the wall when he spoke to her about that!” I exclaimed. I tried to picture Ursula’s reaction to the fact her secret had been discovered.

  Gale waved him arm impatiently. “The second nugget was that Ursula had been penniless and desperate for money after the birth of Peter. She’d had difficulty getting employment and had been reduced to working as a chorus girl in a London nightclub.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I can see why she was terrified anyone would find out about that! It would wreck her standing in any sort of decent society.”

  “Much to her surprise Bellman liked the idea of a family . . .” Gale continued. “He’d lost one family, his marriage to Yvonne was childless, and here was a chance of getting another. He loved her so much he was content to overlook all that chorus girl stuff.”

  “He wanted the boy!” I cut in excitedly.

  Gale nodded. “He’d lost his two boys in the First World War. Here was a readymade one. Bellman wanted to meet Peter, which they did two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks ago?” I was astounded. “They visited Zoe’s sister and met Peter?”

  “Yes. Bellman liked the boy.”

  “Bellman told you all this?”

  “Last night. He unburdened himself . . . He knew something was badly wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it . . .”

  Suddenly it all became clear to me. Zoe’s sister Lucy and her husband must have got the wind up when Ursula and Bellman turned up on her doorstep. Fearful they were going to try and take Peter from them, Lucy must have got adoption papers in a hurry. That was why Ursula wouldn’t sign the adoption papers Zoe had brought with her. Everything had changed. Bellman wanted Peter to come and live with him. He’d lost his two sons thanks to the war, and wanted a male heir.

  Gale was watching me intently. A huge grin spread over his face. “You see it now, eh?”

  “What about the father?” I asked.

  “Ah!” Gale thumped his fist into the palm of his hand. “That’s the one fact she wouldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t let on who the father was because she didn’t want him traced.”

  “So nothing has been resolved?” I said. “If the father is alive, he could have a legal claim on the boy?”

  “Not if no one knows who he is,” retorted Gale. “An affair that happened in Monte Carlo seven years ago . . . that’s a while ago and a long way away . . .”

  “Maybe Ursula doesn’t know!” I broke in.

  Gale shook his head. “I think she does,” he insisted.

  “Ursula may or may not know the real name of her son’s father . . . but maybe . . . the birth certificate!” I exclaimed. “We must see Peter’s birth certificate. I’ll speak to Zoe.”

  Gale suddenly waved his arm dismissively. He had lost patience with the whole discussion.

  “Let’s get some breakfast, young feller,” he cried leaping towards the door. “I could eat a horse!”

  I heard a car draw up outside followed by a sharp knock at the front door. Gale said Ursula’s doctor was expected to give her a sedative. As we crossed the hallway I saw him climbing the stairs holding his leather bag, and assumed Zoe would come down once Ursula was asleep.

  The dining-room was subdued.

  I saw Gale march over to where Trenton was pouring the coffee and get himself a cup. Jack Merridew sat at the far end of the table looking miserable, nibbling at a piece of toast. My father waved a hand as I entered and put down the morning paper he had been reading as I went over to him.

  “Terrible business this, Jeff,” he greeted, shaking his head in sorrow. “The worst possible outcome . . .”

  “There’s got to be an explanation for this . . .”

  “I’m going to tidy up Bellman’s papers as best I can and return to London,” he cut in. “There’s nothing more I can achieve by staying here. The best you can do is return with me. You’ve done all you can. It’s a police matter. Let them do their job.”

  It was the perfect cue for Chief Detective Inspector Halliday and Sergeant Lockyer to enter. They looked very stern faced. I could hear booted feet marching across the hallway and tramping up the stairs. I caught a glimpse of Jepson and Rogers with their equipment cases, followed by the police-surgeon.

  Then Zoe entered, she look pale as if she hadn’t slept. I crossed over to meet her. “Good morning,” I greeted.

  “There’s nothing good about it. I can’t believe this has happened. It’s so dreadful . . .”

  “I know,” I said. “How’s Ursula?”

  “She was hysterical, but she’s asleep now. Doctor Wyatt’s given her a sedative.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “That’s good.”

  She gave me a despairing glance. “None of this is good. What’s going on here?”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. Somehow . . .”

  “Excuse me,” broke in Halliday’s voice. “I’m sure you all know . . .” He coughed and started again, adopting more of an official approach, as the situation warranted. “I regret to inform you Mr. Joshua Bellman has been murdered.”

  He paused to let this statement of fact take effect.

  “My men are upstairs making their examination . . . eh . . . while this is going on, I would ask you to avoid going upstairs, and if possible to remain in here. No one must leave the house until we have completed our enquiries. I will be taking a statement from each of you in the front room. Each of you will be asked to give an account of the previous evening and when you last saw Mr. Bellman . . . Please think back and try to remember every detail. Sergeant Lockyer will call you one at a time.”

  He looked over to Trenton who was standing by the coffee jug looking mournful.

  “Now, I would like to begin with you Trenton,” he said, “followed by Mrs. Jessop the cook, who I understand was the first person to discover the broken window in the scullery when she started work this morning.”

  “That’s correct, Inspector,” answered Trenton, looking very nervous as if he was about to be executed.

  Sergeant Lockyer could see the butler was under great strain and gave him a reassuring smile as he opened the door. “If you’ll follow me sir,” he requested pleasantly.

  Halliday and Lockyer marched out of the room, followed by a very distraught Trenton, leaving the rest of us at a loose end, not knowing what was to happen next, and feeling that we had been invaded, and our freedom put at risk.

  I poured myself some coffee and grabbed some toast and sat down at the table next to Zoe.

  “I expect this will take a while,” I forecast, trying to start up a casual conversation.

  She sipped her coffee. “Yes. I don’t know what to say to them. I slept like a log all night . . . I didn’t hear a thing . . . I didn’t k
now what was going on . . . What am I supposed to tell them?”

  “Just tell them the truth, and tell them when you last saw Bellman,” I advised.

  “That was after dinner when he went upstairs with Mr. Gale.”

  “Well if that’s all you can think of, just tell them that,” I suggested.

  After a few moments I asked her in a low voice: “Do you have Peter’s birth certificate?”

  She nodded. “In my car with the adoption papers.”

  “Do you know the names on it?”

  She paused to remember. “There’s Ursula’s name of course . . .”

  “What about the father?”

  “It says father unknown.”

  She saw my disappointment. “Why—you need to know who the father is?”

  “Yes, it would be very helpful.”

  “I think Ursula deliberately left his name off because she didn’t want to give him any rights.”

  “There’d be very little chance of him being granted custody in the circumstances . . .”

  “I know,” she said keeping her voice low, “but she didn’t want to take that chance.”

  “Was she afraid of him?”

  Zoe’s beautiful green eyes looked at me thoughtfully.

  “Yes, I think she was.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  During the course of the morning, Joshua Bellman became just another dead body, the subject of police procedure, and various reports.

  Jepson and Rogers completed their photographs of the crime scene and the break-in window in the scullery.

  The police-surgeon completed his examination of Bellman’s body.

  It was nearly midday by the time their work was complete and the police contingent had left the house, with the exception of Sergeant Lockyer and Chief Detective Inspector Halliday, who reconvened in the dining-room.

  From their analysis of the interviews there emerged a general consensus of what had occurred:

  No one admitted to having heard the sound of a break in or any disturbance from Bellman’s room—they told Halliday they had heard nothing, and had been asleep.