‘I dunno wot way that is, sir,’ answered Ben, ‘but yer say yer killed ’im.’
‘Yes, but if I had killed him deliberately—that is, on purpose—if I’d set out to kill him, that would have been murder! Listen. That damned cellar was our regular meeting place. On that—that frightful afternoon no meeting had been arranged until about a couple of hours beforehand. My wife had mentioned that she was going to a film at the Odeon, and I decided to take her to the afternoon performance. She’d meant to go alone, and was surprised when I showed her the two tickets I’d bought in advance. I thought she’d refuse to go with me. She didn’t, and I wondered whether we were going to have a happy afternoon at last. And then came that final order of Dan’s to meet him at Norgate Street, and I had to tell my wife that some sudden business had turned up and that she’d have to go to the Odeon ahead of me, and that I’d join her there as soon as I could.
‘Can you imagine the state I was in? No—nobody could! I was certainly ripe for murder, and I meant to have some sort of a showdown this time or die. Perhaps my condition was partly the cause of what happened, but Dan had been drinking and was in one of his worst moods, and when I told him I had to join my wife at the Odeon and threatened him with violence he brought out a revolver—the very one, I shouldn’t be surprised, you now have in your hand—and said he’d go and join her himself! Then, threatening to shoot me if I didn’t do all he told me, he forced me to change clothes with him, and after that he bound me in a chair and gagged me. And then he went off. God knows how long I was left like that! I passed out, and when I came to I found him grinning at me. He’d been to the cinema, he said, and had sat next my wife, and she’d never guessed it wasn’t I beside her. That may be true or not—I’ve only his word for it. “And now,” he said, “I’m going to unbind you, because you’re going to commit suicide with my little gun, and you couldn’t shoot yourself if you were tied up, could you?”’
Mr Wilby moistened his lips, and then concluded his story.
‘My mind was dazed, and I felt as weak as a rat. I felt quite powerless while he once more drew out his revolver. I remember asking him what use I’d be to him dead, and his answer was that as I’d been sucked dry and looked like being a nuisance I was no more use to him living and so he was going to make an end of me before clearing out of London with a pal … I don’t think he really meant it. I think he was just trying to frighten me. He succeeded too well, for when I found myself free … Suddenly it happened! My fear gave me strength, and I threw myself upon him. We both went down. We rolled over and over. We became a couple of frenzied wild animals. I heard a shot, and thought I was dead. But it was Dan who was dead—and it was I who had the revolver in my hand … After that, my mind went blank. I don’t remember anything between then and stumbling into you.’
He stopped speaking, and there was silence for several seconds while Ben revolved what he had just heard in his mind. It all fitted—yes, it all fitted. It fitted into the story he had heard from Mrs Wilby’s lips. Each story was like a large piece in a jigsaw puzzle which, when joined together, made a picture. Suddenly thinking aloud, continuing his hitherto silent thoughts, Ben said:
‘Yus. I’m gettin’ it. You killed yer brother in wot’s called self-defence like, and then Blake comes along, mikes ’imself scarce when I comes along, and then comes back like he’d not bin there afore. But ’e got on ter it, too, puttin’ two and two tergether, and I dessay he went back agine arter I’d left the fust time, ’cos things was dif’rent a bit when I ’ad a second look, as if ’e’d tried a bit more ter mike ’em seem wot ’e wanted when the body was fahnd. Corse, ’e took the gun. And—’arf a mo’, I’m gettin’ something else. Didn’t yer say yer brother meant ter leave Lunnon with a pal? Ain’t that wot yer sed ’e sed? Well, wouldn’t the pal of bin Blake, wot ’ad got the gal fer ’im? See, I ’appen ter know Blake was leavin’ Lunnon, too. They was comin’ up ’ere ter ’is mother’s—thinkin’ Lunnon a bit too ’ot, p’r’aps, eh?—and it was time ter try some new gime. That jemmy in the pocket of the coat yer was wearin’ of yer brother’s give away that ’e was orlready busy on other things. Well, don’t it? But there’s one thing I ain’t got on ter, sir. ’Ow did you come up ’ere? That’s got me fair beat!’
‘The explanation is simple,’ replied Mr Wilby, ‘although you may not understand the whole of it. I had on my brother’s clothes—you know that—and his ticket to Penridge was in his pocket.’
‘Well, I’m blowed!’ muttered Ben. ‘Yer brother used yer cinema ticket, and you used ’is railway ticket! But—wot mide yer use it? Did Blake come along and mike yer?’
Mr Wilby shook his head.
‘No, and this is the part you may not understand. I’m not sure that I quite understand it myself. But—you can imagine—I was in a terrible condition. I was weak and dazed, and when I found I’d killed my brother after that terrible tussle—well, that finished me. My mind gave out. The encounter with you brought me out of my first coma—’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Woke me up. I’d killed a man. The police would want me. I couldn’t go home to my wife. I seemed cut off from everybody and everything. And that ticket was there in my pocket, waiting to be used. With no will-power left, I just accepted what chance or Fate seemed to be offering me. And when I got to Penridge, Blake got out of the same train—I hardly remember it—and brought me here. And I’ve been kept a prisoner, without news, ever since.’
‘I see—so that’s ’ow it was,’ said Ben. ‘Blake trailed yer. ’E’d proberly fixed ter meet yer brother on the trine, but when you turned up—yer didn’t reckernize ’im—’cos yer wouldn’t, would yer? Lummy, I wunner if ’e reckernized you? Which one did ’e think yer was, and which did ’e think the corpse was when ’e was lookin’ at it with me? You and ’im ’ad never met, ’ad yer?’ Mr Wilby shook his head. ‘Well, there yer are. I dessay ’e thort at furst it was you wot was dead, and that yer brother ’ad killed yer—and then ’e finds aht it was t’other way abart, and ’e lies low and sez nothink till yer git ter Penridge, and then carts yer orf ter see if ’e can mike a bit more aht of yer. And, I’ll bet, that letter ter yer wife—’
‘What letter?’ interposed Mr Wilby sharply. When Ben did not answer—he was wondering just what answer to give—Mr Wilby went on: ‘Yes, and there’s something I still don’t understand. You say Mrs Wilby sent you up here—’
‘No, not exackly,’ Ben corrected him. ‘I’m workin’ fer ’er, but it’s by mikin’ Blake think as I’m workin’ fer ’im. See, it’s a double-cross, on’y I reckon we’re orl aht in the open arter this! Afore yer tole me wot yer tole me, yer wife tole me ’er side of it, so nah I’ve got the lot the nex’ thing we gotter do is ter git yer tergether agine—ter git—yer—’
His voice trailed off. While talking he had kept one eye on the window and one hand gripping the revolver, for at any moment Blake might return after his long and inexplicable absence and the fireworks would begin, but all at once the watching eye became glazed. Then it closed again. Then it opened again.
‘’Ave I gorn barmy?’ he asked.
For what he saw arriving at the gate below was not Blake, but Mrs Wilby, Maudie, the countryman, a constable, and a small smutty-faced boy.
His legs gave way beneath him, and as he sat down on the floor there came a loud report.
‘No, I ain’t barmy,’ he decided, as blackness swooped upon him. ‘I’m dead!’
23
Completion of the Job
When Ben came out of the darkness to make the gratifying discovery that after all he was not dead, he found himself lying on a hard and lumpy sofa in the parlour, with Maudie sitting beside him.
‘Wot’s ’appenin’?’ he muttered muzzily.
‘Let’s see first what’s happening to you,’ she answered. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I dunno yet,’ he replied, as he began pressing various parts of his anatomy to see if they hurt. ‘That’s funny! I carn’t find no
think! ’Oo was it tried ter pop me orf?’
‘You!’ smiled Maudie. ‘As far as we can make out you sat down on your gun.’
‘I never!’
‘It had gone off, and nobody else fired one.’
‘I’ll be blowed!’ gasped Ben. ‘But if I didn’t ’it meself wot give me the black-aht?’
‘I should think anybody would get a black-out sitting down on a loud bang!’ retorted Maudie. ‘Well, I must announce the good news—I was told to give a shout as soon as you came to.’
‘Yus—well, don’t shaht jest yet,’ said Ben. ‘I’d sooner come to a bit more afore we git the crahd in! And, lummy, wot a crahd! ’Ow did yer orl git ’ere? And ’ow did I git on this sofa? Did I walk dahn in me sleep?’
‘No, you were carried down when we found you’d missed yourself—there were rather too many people upstairs, and we thought Mr and Mrs Wilby might prefer to kiss and make friends without having you rolling about the floor while they did it.’
Ben gave a pale smile.
‘Yer know, I likes the way yer torks sometimes, Maudie. Sorter gives yer a larf when yer wants it. ’Oo was it carried me dahn?’
‘The detective.’
‘’Oo?’
‘The ’tec.’
‘Go on, ’e wer’n’t no detective. Jest a bobby.’
‘Not that one, silly! The other one.’
‘Wot other one? I don’t git yer.’ Then, suddenly, he did. ‘Yer don’t mean—yer don’t mean that country bloke—?’
‘Who else? But, of course, you haven’t heard about that yet, have you?’ She grinned at him. ‘I like seeing your mouth open—that’s just how mine went when I saw him and Mrs Wilby at the Applewold hotel! It was just after you left me there. They were on our train—’
‘Wot, follerin’ us?’
‘That’s right. Do you remember, Mrs Wilby wanted to get in touch with the police yesterday afternoon, and you persuaded her not to—or thought you had.’
‘Wot I thort,’ said Ben correctively, ‘was that she was goin’ ter stick aht abart it, but she chainged ’er mind.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong—she didn’t change her mind! At least, not completely. She agreed—this is what she told me—she agreed that you ought to come up here yourself and that it would be best for you to meet Blake alone, but she wasn’t happy about the risk, and she ’phoned up the police as soon as you and I left her house. They sent along a detective, and she decided to come up here with him.’
‘Well, if that don’t beat the band!’ exclaimed Ben. ‘’Ere was I expectin’ ter come up ’ere orl by meself, and fust you pops along, and then Mrs Wilby and a ’tec! ’E diddled me proper, that ’tec did, torkin’ like ’e was a country bloke. But why didn’t you and Mrs Wilby come along from Applewold with ’im?’
‘Because that might have made too big a crowd at Penridge, and as we weren’t necessary the detective thought it would be better if we followed on the next train—which we did. I’d better call him in now to tell you the rest.’
But as she spoke the parlour door was pushed open, and the countryman-turned-detective popped his head in. He darted a swift glance towards the couch, and then smiled.
‘Good! You don’t look as though you were dying,’ he said, now without a trace of Norfolk accent.
‘Every way’s bin tried on me,’ answered Ben, ‘but it seems like there ain’t no way o’ doin’ it.’
The detective laughed. ‘Am I forgiven?’
‘Lot o’ good it’d be me sayin’ yer wasn’t. But if yer didn’t wanter let on ter me in the trine, yer might of at the inn?’
‘Well, you can’t say you gave me much time,’ the detective reminded him. ‘Anyhow, I did something better.’ He turned to Maudie. ‘How much does he know?’
‘I’m in the middle of it,’ she replied.
‘Then perhaps you’ll finish it? Just the facts—the frills can come later. The constable has taken Mrs Blake to the police station, and now I’ve got all I require from Mr Wilby I want to get to the station myself as soon as I can. There’s plenty to do.’
‘Okay, I’ll carry on,’ said Maudie. ‘Only what do we do?’
‘I’m going to try and send a conveyance along. You’d better wait for it and all come back together. Mr Wilby is in no condition to walk—oh, and by the way, I wouldn’t disturb them upstairs for a bit, if I were you.’
‘’Nuff said!’
‘Think we’re mugs?’ added Ben.
The detective might have responded with a polite denial, but instead he regarded, first Ben and then Maudie, with a speculative eye. His response, when it came, was not a complete compliment.
‘From what I’ve heard and from what I’ve gathered,’ he said, ‘you may be, but as none of us are foolproof—or perfect—I’m facing the risk. Is that enough?’
‘Suits me,’ Maudie answered. ‘Where’s Tommy?’
‘Tommy? Oh, Tommy went back with the constable. He’s having the time of his life—and incidentally deserves it. I’ve told him he’ll probably be knighted. Well, I mustn’t wait any longer—sometimes you find mugs even at a police station! Carry on.’ He threw Ben a grin. ‘I reckon it be toime fer me tu get back tu Naarfolk!’
Ben grinned back as the door closed and he was gone. ‘’E’s orl right, that feller,’ he commented. ‘Fer a ’tec.’
‘Yes, I’d go out to supper with him if he asked me,’ replied Maudie, ‘though I owe him one for making me tell you his own bit of the yarn!’
‘I’d sooner ’ear it orf you.’
‘Why?’
‘Are yer fishin’?’
‘Course I am!’
‘Then ’ere’s one fer yer ’ook. You and me ’ad a funny start, Maudie, but nah we seems ter git on.’
‘In another minute you’ll be asking me out to supper!’
‘Doncher believe it! I eats with me fingers.’
‘Well, however you eat, I’d sooner have you than the last man I went out with! Guess who it was? We had our picture taken.’
Ben frowned at her. ‘Fergit it!’
‘You might tell me how?’ she suggested grimly.
‘Easy, Maudie. ’Stead o’ thinkin’ back, think above! Doncher know wot’s ’appenin’ in the room on top of us?’
‘I see what you mean. But a lot they’ve got to thank me for!’
‘Well, yer never know,’ returned Ben. ‘I ain’t one o’ them fizzikolergists, or wotever yer calls ’em, but sometimes a ’usband and wife need a sorter shike up. Bang ’em apart, and then they bangs tergether agine. But ’ow abart yer gittin’ on with the rest o’ wot’s ’appened? Don’t fergit, I’m still in the dark ’ow yer orl got ’ere, and wot’s ’appened ter Blake. Yus, and why this ’ere Tommy—that’d be the small boy, wouldn’t it?—why ’e’s going ter be knighted?’
Maudie nodded. ‘Where was I up to?’
‘I’ve fergot.’
‘Wasn’t it where the detective got in the train with you for the last part of the journey?’
‘Yus, that was it, and played ’is trick on me by pertendin’ ter be wot ’e wasn’t! Did ’e come orl the way from Lunnon in them clothes?’
Maudie brought her mind back. ‘No, he got the inn-keeper to lend him a rough suit, and it was while he was getting into it that Mrs Wilby told me how she had ’phoned up the police and got him to come along. They spotted us on the train, of course, and—I may as well admit it—Mrs Wilby thought at first that I was up to fresh tricks when she found me with you. You were wondering that for a bit yourself, you may remember.’
‘But yer wasn’t!’
‘No, not that time—’
‘And there ain’t goin’ ter be no nex’ time!’
‘Well, there’s nothing like being hopeful! Anyhow, we’re talking of this time now, so we’ll let the next time rip. After you and the ’tec went off, Mrs Wilby and I had our little heart-to-heart—she’s all right, Mrs Wilby is—I’m telling you—’
‘Yer don’t ’ave ter
.’
‘And then we followed on the next train, and joined up with the detective on Penridge platform. And then—get your mind steady—things happened! This is the bit the detective ought to be telling you himself.’
‘You’re managin’ orl right,’ Ben assured her. ‘Keep goin’.’
‘Well—you know that letter from Blake—the one he gave you that you gave to the detective to give to me to take to Mrs Wilby—what a rigmarole! Anyhow, here was Mrs Wilby right on the spot to receive it, so there was no need to go trapesing after her all the way back to London. She opened that letter in the station waiting-room. Guess what was in it?’
‘P’r’aps I could,’ answered Ben, ‘but you tell me.’
‘It said that Mr Wilby wasn’t dead, and that he would be returned to her intact for five thousand pounds—five thousand!—and that if the sum wasn’t forthcoming, Mr Wilby would be returned to the police instead, and charged with murder!’
‘Gawd! Wot a skunk!’ growled Ben.
‘You’ve said it! Pretty low! But am I one to talk? Of course, Blake thought you would give her the letter, and she was to tell you just Yes or No, and whichever reply you brought back to him, he would act according. I expect Blake didn’t want to reappear yet in person, and that’s why he had you up, to act as go-between. The letter wasn’t signed, it was written all in capitals, and there was no address.’
‘Yus, ’e’d go corshus,’ nodded Ben. ‘That’s ’ow them blackmailers works. And corse ’e wasn’t goin’ ter arsk ’er ter fork aht the five thousand ter me! ’E’d ’ave ter give ’er time ter arrainge things and git the cash, and then ’e’d see as no one else could git ’old of it fust. Proberly ’e meant ter pay me orf with tuppence! Well—wot ’appened then?’
‘Mrs Wilby fainted.’
‘’Oo wouldn’t?’
‘It was certainly some shock! But luckily she recovered almost at once and got a grip on herself, and then we all went to the inn and waited.’
‘Fer me?’
‘For Tommy.’
Ben on the Job Page 20