by Chris Dolley
“Any idea who?”
“No. I haven’t dared look over the cliff in case one of the warders takes a pot-shot at me.”
I heard the sound of hooves from below, then galloping. It sounded like several horses. And then another gunshot. Come down from there! You’ll not get another warning!
The rope in front of us juddered. Someone — or something — was coming up the rope. Fast.
Henry gripped his gun. I stared at the spot on the cliff edge where the rope disappeared. And froze.
One often reads in books about chaps having their hearts leap into their mouths. Utter rot, I’d thought. Reeves would know, but I rather fancied the lungs would get in the way. But when the contorted face of Selden suddenly appeared over that cliff edge, I can tell you that half a ventricle shot past my tonsils.
And that was the only part of me that moved.
It’s all very well for people like Reeves saying stuff like ‘Don’t frighten him’ and ‘Keep calm and he’ll go away.’ But Reeves had a gun and was hiding behind a bush. While I was face to face with a cannibal who could eat a policeman between meals!
Selden growled and sprang onto the cliff top. Henry fell over backwards, discharging his gun as he fell, endangering one of the lesser constellations.
Selden growled again. His face was half man, half panther. His clothes were shredded. His body bulged in places no tailor would countenance.
And all that stood between him and the open moor was Worcester R.
And, all of a sudden, Reeves. For, at that direst of moments, that stout fellow materialised at the young master’s shoulder. Which was just what the troops needed.
“Show him your gun, Reeves,” I said, feeling considerably emboldened.
“I left it behind the bush, sir.”
I may have bleated, or it might have been the sound of ventricle striking tonsil. How could Reeves have left his gun behind at a moment like this!
Selden hissed at us. And snarled, and spread his fingers wide, scratching at the air in a menacing fashion.
To which, Reeves replied by tossing an object onto the ground between us and Selden.
My first thought was ‘bomb.’ I didn’t have any second thoughts. ‘Bomb’ pretty much cleared out the Worcester locker.
And I would have dived for cover, if my feet and lower jaw hadn’t been nailed to the ground by shock.
Then something rather rummy happened. Selden stopped snarling. His ears pricked. He sniffed the air three times. Then he pounced upon the object, biting it, chewing it, rubbing his face in it, rolling on it and raking it with his toes. I’d never seen a happier cannibal. He appeared completely oblivious to everything else around him.
“Reeves?” I enquired.
“It is a large felt mouse stuffed with the leaves of Nepeta cataria, sir — commonly known as catnip. I noticed this morning, while in conversation with Trelawny the gardener, that he had a supply of catnip leaves that he used to dissuade aphids — particularly those of the green and the black variety—”
“Reeves, this is not the time for a treatise on aphids. There is a homicidal cannibal writhing on the ground within feet of us. Shouldn’t we do something?”
“I would counsel we wait and observe, sir. Catnip is known to induce drowsiness in certain felines.”
“He doesn’t look very drowsy,” said Henry, who’d surfaced from behind his rock to join us. “He looks frenzied.”
“The drowsiness comes later, sir. The initial reaction is one of great excitement, and single-mindedness.”
Selden was certainly single-minded. He rolled. He chewed. He purred and growled. He didn’t even react when four burly warders came running over to join us.
“What you done to him?” asked the first to arrive.
“We have distracted him, officer,” said Reeves. “Another five minutes and the catnip should induce feelings of drowsiness. It should then be safe to handcuff him.”
We watched and waited. Selden was definitely slowing down, and had begun to drool.
Emmeline arrived midway through the drooling.
“Good heavens,” she said. “What have you done to Selden?”
I explained, omitting all mention of ventricles and Henry’s unprovoked attack on the Crab Nebula. We were three brave citizens who, armed only with a felt mouse, had faced down a deranged homicidal cannibal.
I repeated the story a minute later for a puffing Sergeant Stock, who had obviously eschewed horseback once more to chase Selden on foot.
“Beg pardon, gents, miss,” said Sergeant Stock. “But ... what be you all doing here? ’Tis nearly three.”
It was only then that I remembered the figure on the track!
“Emmie ... Lily, I mean, what happened to the chap on the track?”
“He left soon after you did. He was definitely up to no good though. He didn’t walk back along the track. He skulked, hunching over as he ran, and stopped every now and then to look back.”
I explained our trap to Sergeant Stock and I could tell he was impressed.
“We’m be doing the same at the quarry, sir. We had word Selden be a-hanging around there at night. He be a quick one though. We thought we had him when he sprang our trap, but he tore off like a good ’un. If you like I can spare a couple of men to look for your man. Shouldn’t take long to search the track on horseback. He couldn’t have travelled far.”
We took Sergeant Stock up on his offer. I didn’t hold out too much hope, but what else was there? After all the shouting, galloping and gunfire, no one was going to see the cliff top as a quiet place where one could fray a rope unobserved.
Selden was successfully handcuffed and, with his catnip mouse tucked into what remained of his shirt, hauled away. Two warders were despatched to search the track between the quarry, High Dudgeon Farm and the Hall, and given orders to detain anyone they saw.
“I’d like to keep Selden here at the studio if it be all right with you, Sir Henry,” said Sergeant Stock. “There be a good strong basement to lock him up in, and we can take him back to the prison in the morning.”
Henry agreed and the four of us picked up our guns and blankets and headed back towards the Hall. The two warders searched both tracks, but never caught sight of a soul.
“What do we do about Berrymore?” asked Henry. “Do we question him now or in the morning?”
“One should never question a suspect on an empty stomach,” I said. “We’ll question him after breakfast.”
“What about the rope scene?” asked Emmeline. “Everyone’s expecting it. How is Henry going to explain cancelling it?”
Reeves coughed. “If I may, sir, miss, I would suggest that Sir Henry tell people that the rope was severely chewed during Selden’s apprehension and is unusable.”
~
I had barely applied the Worcester bean to the pillow before Reeves awakened me with the early-morning oolong. A situation which would normally have left me somewhat fogged and lacking in the vital spirit. But I was a chap with a target on his pyjamas, and that wakes a chap up pretty smartish.
“We have tried being clever, Reeves,” I said, sitting up in bed. “And your plan was the very Everest of clever, impossible to top. Any other plan would be a mere Kilimanjaro or one of those lesser spotted varieties of pinnacles doomed to failure. No, Reeves, we must push aside being clever, and deploy the unexpected.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t wish to spend the next ten days with a target on my back. We have to bring things to a head. And you know what that means.”
“No, sir.”
“The dénouement, Reeves. I shall announce it at breakfast.”
“Would that not be premature, sir?”
“Defeatist talk, Reeves. We may not know the identity of the murderer, but the murderer doesn’t know that. We shall keep them off balance, draw them out and they shall reveal themselves.”
“Are you certain, sir?”
“Positive. The dénouement is a powerful tool. Even Mori
arty would feel a certain chilliness of the corpuscles if called upon to attend.”
“I believe it usual, sir, for the detective to know the identity of the murderer before commencing the dénouement.”
“You believe wrong, Reeves. Lady Agatha MacTweedie rarely knows who did it. She often waits for the spirits to come to her — usually during her final costume change. Sometimes she even speaks in tongues, and nothing unsettles a murderer more than a detective speaking in tongues.”
“So I would imagine, sir.”
“Not that I plan to speak in tongues. Or wait for a tip from a roving spirit guide. But an accusing look and a good deal of finger pointing can achieve wonders. The trick is to give the impression that one knows a jolly sight more than one actually does.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Knowledge is power, Reeves. And the appearance of knowledge is power without all that absolute corruption business.”
“Sir?”
“I think I shall stage the dénouement at noon. That’ll give us time to get all the suspects assembled. I want everyone there, Reeves. We can use Sergeant Stock to chivvy along any dissenters.”
“I strongly advise that you postpone this dénouement until tomorrow, sir. There is still much that we do not know, and a premature confrontation may delay the conclusion of this case.”
“My mind is made up, Reeves.”
Reeves put on his sniffy face. “They stumble that run fast, sir.”
“And it’s the early bird that slaps the cuffs on the worm, Reeves.”
Sometimes one has to be firm.
~
Reeves was still in a sulk when I left for breakfast. Harsh eyebrows had been exchanged. And he’d laid out my grey socks when he knew perfectly well that a dénouement called for something a little brighter in the ankle department.
At the breakfast table, Selden’s capture was the main topic of c. Even Lady Julia was pleased.
“Perhaps now we’ll have fewer armed footmen on the premises,” she said. “I was beginning to think we were in the midst of a peasants’ revolt.”
I shovelled three kippers onto my plate. I’d need all the brain food I could swallow.
“It’s a shame you had to postpone the rope scene, Henry,” said Lily. “I was looking forward to it.”
I sensed an opportunity and seized upon it.
“There never was going to be a rope scene,” I said, turning to have a good view of all the faces at the table.
“What do you mean?” said Ida, looking puzzled.
“It was a ruse,” I said, affecting the nonchalant confidence of the suave boulevardier. “I needed one more piece of evidence to determine the murderer’s identity. Now I have it, there’s no need for any rope scene.”
I looked from face to face. There was surprise, shock, and a good deal of confusion. I had hoped someone might have choked on a kipper and made a run for it, but one can’t have everything.
“What is the idiot boy talking about now?” asked Lady Julia.
“My investigation into the murder of Sir Robert, Aunt Julia,” I said. “It’s now concluded. I know who did it.”
“You mean it was Selden?” asked Ida.
“No, not Selden. I shall reveal all at noon, if that’s all right with you, Henry?”
“Er ... yes, of course,” said Henry, looking as surprised as everyone else.
“Splendid,” I said. “We shall have the dénouement at noon then. Here, in the dining room, I think. Everyone’s invited.”
“What’s a dénouement?” asked Ida.
“It’s the scene where the detective gathers all the suspects together and reveals who done it,” said Emmeline.
“Suspects?” said Lady Julia in her Lady Bracknell voice. “You’re surely not suggesting that any of us are suspects.”
“A good detective suspects everyone, Aunt Julia,” I said, picking up my plate and strolling tablewards to take the vacant spot next to Emmeline.
“Henry, you can’t possibly sanction this,” said Lady Julia. “The boy’s an idiot.”
“Roderick is not an idiot,” said Henry. “He and his man were instrumental in the apprehension of Selden last night.”
“But Henry...” said Lady Julia. “What kind of people is he going to invite? And what’s he going to say to them?”
“I’m sure we’ll find out at noon,” said Henry. “Personally, I feel the sooner this business is concluded the better. It wouldn’t be right for the governor to be interred with none of us knowing who’d done for him.”
Lady Julia shook her head and gave me the kind of look that came with its own pin and wax effigy.
“So who did it?” Ida asked me. “Surely you can give us a clue?”
“I can give you one clue,” I said. “The murderer will be here, in this very room, at noon.”
~
As soon as breakfast finished, Henry drew me aside. “Do you still want to question Berrymore?” he asked.
“I do.”
Henry called Berrymore over and asked him to accompany us to the library.
“Close the door, Berrymore,” Henry said as soon as we were alone. “Mister Roderick has a few questions to put to you.”
The upper slopes of Berrymore swayed somewhat. He’d been in attendance at breakfast so he knew all about the impending dénouement.
“First off, Berrymore,” I said. “I’d like all the servants, including Trelawny, present in the dining room at noon.”
“All of them, sir?” said Berrymore looking at Henry.
“If Mister Roderick wants all of them, he shall have all of them,” said Henry.
“Very well, sir,”
“Right ho,” I said. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, did you have a pleasant walk last night, Berrymore?”
“Sir?”
“It’s no use denying it. I saw you. And...” I paused to narrow the old eyes and give him the steeliest of looks. “I know all, Berrymore.”
Berrymore’s face turned ashen and he swallowed hard. “I can explain,” he said, turning to his master. “We didn’t mean any harm, but it was breaking her heart.”
“Who’s heart?” asked Henry.
“Maggie’s, sir. Mrs Berrymore. She’s ... she’s Selden’s mother.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
“You’re Selden’s father?” I said, not seeing any family resemblance whatsoever. Berrymore was more of a giraffe than a cat.
“No, sir. The lad’s Maggie’s from her first husband. Mr Selden. He died when Harry was a small boy. Maggie and I met in service in London. We got married nine years ago and came down here to be near the boy.”
“So it was you putting the milk out for him?” I said.
“Yes,” said Berrymore, his head bowed. “We couldn’t let him starve. We know he’s eaten a few more people than he should have, but, to Mrs Berrymore, he’s still the little boy who used to curl up on a sunny windowsill, and roll over to have his stomach scratched.”
I turned to Henry. “Did Dr Morrow ever say anything about recognising Mrs Berrymore?”
“No, he did not,” said Henry.
“They never met, sir,” said Berrymore. “Harry had left home. He ... he was in the asylum when he met Dr Morrow. And a black day that was, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”
“You blame Dr Morrow for Harry’s condition?” I asked.
“He’s the one that gave him the potion, sir! And the ears and the tail. What kind of man does that to another? I’m sorry, sir, I know I’m speaking out of line, but it’s not right what he did. Not right at all.”
“I’m sure he was only trying to help,” said Henry.
“That’s as maybe, sir, but Harry was a gentle boy — a bit strange, not everyone liked the way he’d rub up against people’s legs when he came into a room — but gentle, until that doctor turned him into a killer!”
I waited for Berrymore to compose himself. Murgatroyd of the Yard wouldn’t have approved, but I felt for the anci
ent butler.
“Did you ever see anything unusual when you were out and about on these milk errands?” I asked.
“No, sir.”
“How is Mrs Berrymore?” asked Henry. “I heard she had taken to her bed.”
“She has, sir. The news of the lad’s capture proved too much for her. She’s relieved, I’m sure, and will soon recover, but for now ... it’s like a dam’s burst, sir. Everything she’s been a-bottling up for the last two days has come pouring out. An hour or two by herself and she’ll be right as rain.”
~
Emmeline was waiting for me by the stairs.
“Do you really know who did it?” she asked.
I looked about us to make sure no one could overhear. “Not yet,” I said. “But I’m sure it will come to me. I’ve had three kippers for breakfast, and I intend to break into the cocktails soon. I’ll be overflowing with ideas by noon.”
“What does Reeves say?”
I snorted. “Reeves and I have had a difference of opinion. He thinks we should wait. I suspect he’s lining up a scene where I’m dangled in front of bears.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t be real bears. And if they were, I’d make sure they were well-fed beforehand.”
“That’s very considerate of you.”
“Feeding bears is the least a girl can do for her intended. Is everyone coming to the dénouement?”
“I’ve arranged it with Henry,” I said. “Tom’s going to the quarry now to ask Sergeant Stock to attend, and they’ll both stop off at High Dudgeon Farm to invite Stapleford and Falconbridge. At the point of a truncheon if need be.”
Twenty-Eight
veryone was there. The Baskerville-Smythes and guests took the seats, the servants stood around the walls, and Lupin occupied the pelmet. In case anyone tried to make a run for it, Sergeant Stock and Berrymore guarded the two doors while Babbacombe and Witheridge blocked the windows.
The dénouement could begin. As soon as I took another stiffener.
Reeves hovered mid-snootful. “If I may speak, sir, I have something—”
I’d heard this all before, so I raised a stern finger. This was not a time for doubt or discussion. This was a time for action. And gin.