The Body in the Dumb River

by George Bellairs

  There was some argument or other going on. It was obvious what it was about. The Geddes pair were anxious to call at the shop and give Elvira some more comfort. Bertram was trying to persuade Walter Cornford to join him for a drink at the club. He looked parched and restless. It was plain to see where the club was located from the behaviour of Bertram’s glowing nose. He looked like a pointer, rigidly fixed in the direction of his quarry. Finally, they settled it. Bertram and Walter went off to the club, three doors from the town hall; Chloe, almost tearful, joined the Cornfords and they all strolled uncertainly in the direction of the Teasdale shop, as though wondering whether or not they’d be welcome there after all.

  Littlejohn knocked out his pipe in the old-fashioned grate.

  ‘I think I’ll go and have a drink with Bertram and Walter. I won’t be long. Meanwhile, old chap, you and Naizbitt might see to getting a search warrant for the Scott-Harris house. We’ve got to face it and give the place a thorough look-over. I’ve tried to avoid it. The old man’s been a J.P. and there might be some resistance. However do your best.’

  Naizbitt looked dumbfounded.

  ‘You surely don’t think the old man…?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Teasdale, or Ryder?’

  ‘I’m interested in Ryder. He may never even have left the premises. There was some jiggery-pokery going on there the night Teasdale died. There’s no other way of finding what it was all about.’

  Bertram and Walter were surprised to see Littlejohn, who’d had to show his warrant card to the caretaker to get across the threshold of the club. An old house converted in better days. Once it must have been sumptuous, judging from the woodwork and shabby ornamental ceilings. Now it was seedy, almost on its last legs. The kind of place a town like Basilden couldn’t support any longer. Bad oil-paintings and stiff photographs of members of the political group who’d founded the place, hanging on the walls. Antiquated fittings, threadbare carpets, cold old-fashioned chairs upholstered in chilly leather.

  The two men were sitting before the smoky fire of the reading-room. There was nothing to read there, but it said so on the opaque glass door. They had glasses of double whisky each and a syphon between them on a marble-topped table which looked bow-legged with age.

  ‘Hullo, Super. Thinking of joining the club? There are plenty of vacancies. When I joined thirty years ago, there was a long waiting list.’

  Bertram was jolly by way of reaction after his enforced solemnity. The drink felt to do him good. His nose glowed. Both he and Walter were heavily in mourning. Black suits, black ties, all-black socks. Walter had hung up his black bowler with his black gloves balanced on the rim. Bertram was, as usual, wearing his hat.

  Littlejohn went straight to the point.

  ‘I came to see if either of you knew much about Chris Ryder.’

  ‘He’s missing, isn’t he?’

  It was too banal an answer and Walter realised it. He went to the door and shouted up the stairs for Joe, the caretaker.

  ‘Whisky for the Superintendent… Make it a double, Joe.’

  There was no bar and Joe simply produced a bottle and a glass from a cupboard and gave Littlejohn careful measure. Then he raised an eyebrow at Walter and Bertram and filled up their glasses, too.

  ‘Ten an’ six…’

  Walter left Bertram to pay whilst he splashed soda in the glasses.

  ‘Good health to you. You were saying Ryder…?’

  ‘Yes. Did either of you know him well?’

  Bertram pointed his glass at Walter.

  ‘He might. I never had much to do with him. Or with Scott-Harris for that matter. I resented the way he treated my brother, who was as good as he was any day.’

  When he mentioned his brother, Bertram briefly raised his hat.

  Walter laid an affable hand on Bertram’s arm.

  ‘Don’t take on so, Bert. James is past it all now. He’s at rest.’

  They must have had one or two before Littlejohn joined them. They were a bit maudlin now.

  ‘Ryder. As Bert says, I knew him. Never fancied him, either. He had too much influence over the old gentleman.’

  ‘Where was he born?’

  ‘Here. In Basilden. Knocked about the world a bit when he grew up and the major met him somewhere on manoeuvres in the Territorials. Both coming from Basilden gave them a bond in common and the major seemed to take to him.’

  ‘Has Ryder any relatives here?’

  ‘Not now. He’d a sister, but she married and went off to Canada, I think. That’s right, Bert?’

  ‘That’s right, Walter. Canada.’

  ‘Oh, you needn’t think, Super., that Ryder’s run off to join her across the Atlantic. They weren’t on speaking terms for years. Ryder did a stretch in gaol for something or other. Can’t remember what it was. His sister disowned him after that. She was a religious sort of girl. I can’t think what the major could see in him. We were all surprised when he turned up and said he’d taken him on as his manservant. But you know what Major Scott-Harris is like. He must have his own way.’

  ‘You’re tellin’ me,’ said Bertram and belched loudly.

  ‘Pardon me.’

  ‘I gather Ryder backed horses and was always broke.’

  ‘That’s right. You get around a bit, don’t you, Super? Who told you that? Ryder even tried to borrow from me now and then.’

  The door opened and another man in a bowler hat thrust in his head. He had a mournful bloodhound’s face and large hands with which he clung to the door, hesitating whether or not to come in. Finally, he made up his mind.

  ‘Afternoon, Bert. Afternoon, Walter. And good afternoon to you, sir. I can see you want to be left alone. I suppose you’re talking over matters with the lawyer. I’ll leave you to your business. Good afternoon, all.’

  Bertram looked flabbergasted.

  ‘Who the hell’s that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He knows us.’

  ‘I’ve never seen him in my life before…’

  Littlejohn was fed up with it all. The two men seemed to have nothing to do but idle the time away in their potty little town and let the rest of the world go by.

  ‘Just before he vanished, Ryder seemed flush with money. Where did he get it?’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Monday, I believe.’

  ‘That was the night Bidder mentioned it in the club here. Remember, Bert?’

  ‘Yes. Something about paying his bill from the wad of notes…’

  They were starting again!

  ‘How did he come by it? Can either of you guess?’

  ‘Perhaps the old man owed him his wages for a month or so, and paid up. I know the major kept him waiting sometimes until he drew his quarterly cheque under his wife’s trust. Last Monday, Major Scott-Harris ’phoned my missus and asked her to lend him fifty pounds. He’d had some expenses in the house, he told her, and had gone through his last allowance completely. The next cheque wouldn’t be in for six weeks.’

  Bertram looked at him owlishly.

  ‘And did she cough up, Walter?’

  ‘Yes. She called the same night with the money. She’s always been a good daughter to him. The old boy was off colour. After he’d taken the cash, he fell asleep. I wonder if he owed it to Ryder and paid him with it. If he did, it was a bit thick.’

  ‘As you say, Walter, it was a bit thick.’

  ‘Can either of you gentlemen make a guess as to what’s happened to Ryder? Had he any friends, that you know of, that he might have gone to visit? Or did he ever absent himself for long from his duties?’

  Walter emptied his glass.

  ‘Not that I’d know. Have you asked the major?’

  ‘Yes. He’s no idea where Ryder’s gone. His room was emptied of all his belongings and h
e seems to have quit for good.’

  ‘In that case, he might be anywhere. A wonder he didn’t pinch the old man’s car while he was at it. He was a very light-fingered one, was Ryder. The major’s cigars and whisky were never safe when he was about. He even picked the locks of the tantalus and the cigar drawer…’

  There was nothing more to stay for. The two men were evidently settled for the afternoon and would end in helping one another home.

  ‘Thank you very much, gentlemen. I’ll get back to duty.’

  ‘So long, Super. Good luck.’

  It was three o’clock. Another funeral was passing through the square. The fire engine was turning out, too, in full blast. Everybody seemed to stop work and emerge from shops and offices, watching the firemen’s progress. There was never a dull moment in Basilden, even if it was a one-eyed town.

  ‘Cassons’ stocking works is on fire,’ someone shouted.

  Then the Geddes pair appeared in the square, boarded a waiting bus, and vanished. They must have left Walter Cornford’s wife at her sister’s and, judging from their sulky faces, there’d been a row of some kind.

  At the police station, the sergeant-in-charge greeted Littlejohn apologetically.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but they’ve not got the search warrant, yet. It’s a bad day. Market day, when most of the magistrates are out of town. They called at Colonel Hough’s, but he said there wasn’t a good enough case and he wouldn’t give the warrant. If you ask me, it’s because him and Major Scott-Harris was in the Territorials together. Dr. Royle, another magistrate, is out on a confinement and won’t be back till, at least, four o’clock. So, they went to try Mr. John Casson, who’s always a help. But, they look like being unlucky there, too. The fire engine’s just gone out to a fire at his works. If they ask him for a search warrant at a time like this, he’s likely to turn the hoses on them. He’s a man with a temper. They’ll find somebody else, sir, don’t you worry.’

  ‘I’m sure they will. Meanwhile, I think I’ll take a stroll to Mrs. Teasdale’s and see how she’s getting along after her bad bout at the funeral. If Sergeant Cromwell returns, tell him to join me there and we’ll go together with the warrant and see Major Scott-Harris.’

  He made his way along the usual route to Teasdale’s shop. The door was still locked and the blinds were down. He rang the private bell and Chloe Cornford answered.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector… I mean, Superintendent. Did you want to see my sister? Come in…’

  She stopped him in the dark shop to whisper a word or two in confidence.

  ‘My brother-in-law is annoyed because I gave Elvira some brandy. She was so upset by the funeral. She fainted, you know. I got a small quantity from the public house next door and gave her a spoonful and it did her a lot of good. But my sister, Phoebe, and her husband are temperance workers, and we had words about it. They left in a huff. I’m just explaining that if you get the smell of brandy when you speak to my sister, it’s only been taken in the way of medicine and it’s all my fault.’

  Littlejohn could hardly keep his face straight. If Chloe could see her husband’s condition in the club just now, he thought, she’d have a lot more apologising to do.

  Chloe led him into the now familiar living quarters behind the shop.

  ‘Here’s the Superintendent calling to ask how you are, Elvira.’

  The widow looked completely relaxed. More even than usual. Chloe must have given her a pretty stiff dose of medicine! She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when Littlejohn entered.

  ‘It’s good of you to call and enquire, Superintendent. If it wasn’t for Chloe, I’d be all alone in my grief. Chloe was always my favourite sister. I don’t know what I’d do without her. The girls have gone to the station, all three of them, to see Aunt Julia and Uncle Toby off on the train. Aunt Julia and Uncle Toby are very wealthy members of my family. The girls have great expectations from them…’

  She wouldn’t stop talking. If Littlejohn hoped to get any useful information from her, he’d have to change his tactics. Being a good listener wasn’t going to lead anywhere.

  ‘Do sit down… I’m sorry I didn’t get up to greet you. I’m not well. My legs will hardly hold me up.’

  She was slumped in the rocking-chair, moving to and fro, as usual.

  Chloe went to the hearth and poked up the fire. Then she went and filled the kettle and set it on the hob.

  ‘I’ll make some tea.’

  ‘I hope you feel better, Mrs. Teasdale.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Chloe gave me some brandy and would you believe it, although it was only medicine, Phoebe and Sam were annoyed about it and said it was disgusting. I told them that if that was the way they felt about it at a time like this, they had better go home before they upset me more. So they went.’

  ‘Your father was too upset and ill to attend the burial, I hear.’

  She hadn’t once looked at Littlejohn and she spoke again without facing him.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Just that, as though she wanted to drop the subject.

  Littlejohn sat in an armchair beside the table, which was littered, as usual, with teacups and plates with crumbs and pieces of cake on them.

  Mrs. Teasdale had kicked off her shoes and kept rubbing her feet along the carpet as she rocked, as though they pained her.

  Littlejohn found it hard to think of anything to say. He’d hoped to ask about last Sunday night, but felt it was hardly the time. Mrs. Teasdale might dissolve into hysterics.

  ‘I’m upset. It always makes me ill. I’ve been through such a lot this past week. Today at the cemetery, I suddenly came over with the feeling I always get when I cut myself and see blood. I went all hot, then cold, and then I knew nothing more.’

  ‘I’m sorry the past week has been so hard for you. When did it all begin? Last Sunday night, after your husband left you?’

  She looked up this time, fear in her eyes.

  ‘You always ask me questions when you call. It isn’t fair. I’ve nothing to hide. Although they told me that he wasn’t a commercial traveller at all, but earned his money at a disgraceful job on a fairground, I wouldn’t have wished him dead. Even when I heard he had another woman, I still wouldn’t have wanted him killed. They oughtn’t to have done that to him.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me about it all? It will do you good to get it off your mind.’

  ‘Tell you about what?’

  Chloe was back with some clean cups. She paused, listening to the conversation.

  ‘Tell him, dear,’ she said at length. ‘He’ll help you. None of us others can. You’re afraid to tell the children and you say you daren’t confide in Sam and Phoebe. You’ll help her, won’t you, Superintendent?’

  ‘I’ll do all I can for you, Mrs. Teasdale, but I must first know what it is all about.’

  Mrs. Teasdale suddenly began to cry. Huddled in her chair, she whimpered like a child.

  ‘Don’t rush me, both of you. I’ve got to have time to think. With all I’ve been through, my head aches and I can’t think. I never thought he meant it, you see. Even when they told me James had been murdered, I still thought someone had done it where they found his body. Then, when they said he was killed in Basilden and his dead body taken to that other place, it dawned on me. He had killed him. He said he would kill him, and he did.’

  ‘Who had killed him?’

  They could hardly hear her answer for her gurgling and sobbing.

  ‘Father.’

  14

  Fracas on Sunday Night

  Chloe rushed to her sister and took her in her arms.

  ‘Don’t say any more, dear. You’re not well.’

  And then she turned on Littlejohn. Good temper had left her face and her eyes flashed with anger.

  ‘Can’t you see she’s ill? She’s overwrought with the funeral a
nd all she’s been through. Shame on you to question and bother her at a time like this and in her present state.’

  But Elvira wanted to talk. She said so in a voice muffled by Chloe’s motherly bosom to which her face was being forcibly pressed. Elvira had found relief in a single accusing word. Now she wanted to tell everything.

  Littlejohn sat quietly, his hands relaxed on the arms of the old wooden chair. It was a fight against time. If the train came in promptly and removed their rich relations, the daughters would soon be home. And that would terminate their mother’s confidences.

  ‘Let her go on if she wishes to, Mrs. Cornford. It’s all bound to come out sooner or later. We will discover the truth. Even now, we’re searching for Ryder. He will know everything and tell it, perhaps to the disadvantage of your father. Let your sister give me a plain statement and I’ll do all I can to make things easier for all of you.’

  Chloe stood silently holding her sister; then she relaxed.

  ‘Do you want that, Elvira?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I think Mr. Littlejohn has been the most sympathetic of all of you. He took us to Ely to bring James home and he isn’t the sort who would do an unkind trick. I think he knows all about what happened, but I want to tell him myself, too. Let me do that, Chloe. I’m sure he’ll be kind to Father. He’s an old man and Mr. Littlejohn will see he’s treated mercifully. If anybody else finds out, Father will have a bad time.’

  Littlejohn was seeing another Mrs. Teasdale. One whose every hope and happiness had been shattered by family pride. Now, she had no more pride left and humanity was beginning to show through the broken case-hardening of a lifetime.

  ‘When they put James in his grave, it came to me how hard he’d tried and how little I’d helped him. I even left him with the housework to do because he couldn’t afford a maidservant. And when the girls were babies, I blamed their being born on him, and made a nursemaid of him, too. He went wrong and disgraced himself to get money for me and the family, and if he took up with another woman, perhaps it was because he never got anything but complaints and spite from me. He’s dead now and it’s all over. I ought to tell Mr. Littlejohn how it happened. I owe it to James. It’s the only thing I can do if I ever want to sleep again.’