‘Little brutes! Pulling the place to pieces, as likely as not!’
‘I know. That’s the interesting thing. As Miss Hughes, a kindly and merciful person, pointed out, boys can be pests and usually are. But boys who can be and have been pests, rarely, if ever, go to complain to their choirmaster of the way in which they have been treated. Our ability to “take it” is, as a nation, at once our glory, and our shame.’
‘Leave politics out of it, dash it! You mean these kids split to Emming and he took it up with Tiny Fullalove?’
‘We don’t know whether he did or not. The inference is not that the boys complained, but that the incident had been prearranged, and that Emming himself was a party to the arrangement. He had to show that he and Tiny were at war and not in collusion—a mistake.’
‘When did this business take place?’
‘That did not transpire, but it is easy enough to find out. By the way, it was not Tiny’s habit to clout the boys. That also is interesting.’
The Chief Constable went to the telephone.
‘Bring Bob Wootton up here,’ he said, ‘and as soon as ever you can. I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. You know where he lives, and I want him quick. Why do you think it was such a mistake for Tiny and Emming to appear to fall out?’ he added, when he had put the receiver down.
‘It connected them,’ Mrs. Bradley explained. ‘They should have remained poles apart.’ She elaborated this thesis whilst they awaited the arrival of Bob Wootton.
Bob was small, dark, wary and shy.
‘Well, Bob,’ said Mrs. Bradley, ‘this gentleman is a policeman, so just you mind what you say. What he wants is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and as I know exactly what your answers ought to be you take great care that I am satisfied.’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Bob, with a squirm.
‘Well, sonny,’ said the Chief Constable kindly, ‘it’s this way. How many of you boys picked holly on Christmas Eve?’
‘I dunno,’ said Bob, with a glance at Mrs. Bradley’s bright black eye.
‘Good man. Never give others away. But you were one of them, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where did you go for the holly?’
‘Over Marlin Wood.’
‘Think again, Bob.’
‘Well, p’raps we might have gorn a bit further. It got dark.’
‘In other words, you weren’t in Marlin Wood.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Where, Bob?’
‘Please, sir, we didn’t know we done wrong.’
‘All right. I’d just like to know where you were.’
‘That copse be’ind Claygate.’
‘There’s no holly there. Come on, don’t be a coward. Where were you?’
‘Please, sir, half over Groaning Spinney, and Mr. Fullalove caught us, and he give us one to get on wi’. Please, sir, we didn’t know there’d be any trouble. Mr. Fullalove never interfered with us boys last year. He knowed we went there for ’oily. Mr. Emming got leave for us to go.’
‘I expect he thought the new owners might not like you so near the house. Now, Bob, answer me this: did you see or hear anything in Groaning Spinney—and I’m not prompting you, mind!—which might lead you to think that Mr. Fullalove didn’t want you there?’
‘No, sir, nawthen, sir. And there wasn’t even many berries on the ’oily.’
‘It doesn’t help us,’ the Chief Constable said to Mrs. Bradley when the boy had gone. ‘The whole thing seems to hinge on Groaning Spinney. One more reference to it doesn’t make any difference.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Mrs. Bradley, ‘I still say that there is the question of Tiny Fullalove’s bad temper. If he didn’t clout the boys last Christmas, why tackle them this Christmas? No, it is as I have said. He had to be shown to be a brute so that Emming could quarrel with him openly. It was a bad mistake, but it was the way they had worked things out. There was another reason, too. He had given permission—you heard what that young boy said—for the choir to pick holly in the Spinney. He did not go back on his word. That might have looked suspicious. Murderers are for ever allowing for the slip which doesn’t occur! No, he lay in wait for the lads and chased them away from the body. I should certainly think that’s what happened. I wonder what time it was when the boys met him?’
‘Before dark, anyway. They wouldn’t gather holly after dark if they thought it was all right to get it. But if they did think it was all right, I can’t see why the youngster stalled so badly about the place they were in when Fullalove caught them.’
‘Oh, just that he connects the Spinney now with the punishment, and has an after-effect of guilt connected with it. He’s probably often been in mischief and gets into trouble with his aunt.’
‘Yes, I see. So Tiny Fullalove and young Emming are our men. I can’t understand about Emming.’
‘Bad heredity, probably from both parents. There was no real need for him to have continued to send out those abominable letters, yet he did so.’
‘But he seemed such a harmless young fellow.’
‘Nobody is harmless who nourishes a twenty-eight-year-old grudge against society.’
‘His illegitimacy, you mean.’
‘I think so.’
‘But what can I do? We’ve still no proof.’
‘You can have him charged for sending the letters.’
‘Yes, I could do that, if you’re certain. But what about the typewriter? We can’t do anything until that’s traced to him, you know.’
‘You should go and look in Mr. Mansell’s dig.’
‘Eh?’
‘That’s where I think you will find it.’
‘Yes, but…. Of course, he did help Mansell up there. He was there with Ed Brown. I suppose …’
‘You suppose correctly. It was he who dug the longest and deepest trench. I noticed that particularly. The far end will now be filled in and the turf replaced. The typewriter will be underneath that turf.’
‘Let’s find the typewriter, then.’
‘And in Emming’s presence. Right.’
What emotions were in Emming’s breast when the Inspector, in plain clothes, and a police-sergeant, in uniform, presented themselves at his lodgings and requested him to accompany them on a walk, Mrs. Bradley could only guess. She was not privileged—having no official standing—to be a member of the party, but weight was added by the inclusion of Mansell (whose dig it was) and Jonathan, representing Miss Hughes, for the dig was on College territory.
Jonathan retailed the facts as soon as he returned to the manor house. At the first mention of the typewriter Emming had turned insolent. He declined to give information of anything he had buried in the dig, and challenged the police to find the machine, and, if they found it, to relate it in any way to him.
Upon this, the sergeant and Mansell, watched by Jonathan and the Inspector, had begun the work of re-digging the filled-in end of the trench. The typewriter was soon discovered, but Emming denied all knowledge of it. This, in the event of its discovery, had been anticipated, and the next move of the police had been to charge him with the dissemination of the objectionable letters. He denied the charge.
‘All the same, we know where we are, sir,’ said the Inspector, reporting to the Chief Constable later and in Mrs. Bradley’s presence. ‘He typed the letters all right. We’ve tackled his landlady. She said at first that she’d never heard the sound of typing, and didn’t know what a typewriter would look like, but she remembered hearing the noise when the sergeant tapped on one in Emming’s room, although she’s positive she’d only heard it once before. He must have typed all the letters but one when she was out. He denied ever having had a typewriter, but she’s prepared to swear to the sound and to the date.’
‘The date?’ said Mrs. Bradley, when she heard this. ‘What about the date?’
‘December twenty-ninth, mam. She works for Mr. Baird, as you know, and found him preparing to leave for Edinb
urgh for Hogmanay. He’d forgotten to mention it and he gave her her money, and told her to wash up and go. It was one of her regular mornings, of course, so that Emming was not expecting her to come back so soon, and he was using the typewriter when she arrived. He stopped as soon as she came in, but she recognized the sound when we reproduced it for her.
‘She doesn’t sound to me at all a reliable witness. For one thing, had she never noticed the typewriter in his room?’ demanded the Chief Constable.
‘Apparently not. He kept the room clean himself and had his meals downstairs in her kitchen. She seems a woman without much curiosity, sir, and Emming paid the rent regularly and was nice to her children. We never had any occasion to search her cottage, of course, so we didn’t find the typewriter when we were looking for it before.’
‘What is his explanation for burying it?’
‘He doesn’t give one. Denies that it’s his machine and suggests, of course, that whoever knew it was there is the person who put it there. We’ve got the job now of tracing it to him. It’s a fairly new one, and it’s a portable. It will probably be up to the Yard to take up the trail in London, but we’re going to try Gloucester, Cheltenham and Tewkesbury first. It’s only a matter of routine to find out where he bought it, but, of course, it may take some time. Still, I think it’s all nice and in the bag, sir. Pity is, it doesn’t help us over Mrs. Dalby Whittier’s death.’
18. The Hunt is Up
*
‘For sure in courts are worlds of costly cares
That cumber reason in his course of rest.’
Nicholas Breton
* * *
‘SO IT’S ALL over bar the shouting,’ said Miss Hughes. ‘Do you think you’ve a very strong case?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Mrs. Bradley replied.
‘It seems almost a pity—don’t you think?—that you did not give Mr. Tiny Fullalove in charge when he entered your Kensington house.’
‘It was much more fun to turn on the record and frighten him almost to death,’ said Mrs. Bradley, with a ferocity which her hearer had not expected. ‘The plots which he and young Robert Emming concocted against Bill Fullalove and Mrs. Dalby Whittier were vicious in the extreme, and I am not inclined to show mercy to either of them.’
‘Just exactly what was the plot, then? I can trace some of it from what you have told me, but not all.’
‘Briefly, it was this: the insurance policy was to be taken out so that it could benefit either cousin if the other one were to die. There was not much likelihood that the insurance people would insist upon seeing the body of Mr. William Fullalove when he was reported dead. Bill Fullalove was willing enough to subscribe to the fraud. What he had not the brains (or perhaps the imaginative villainy) to realize was that Tiny was capable of turning the fraud to his own advantage, even to the point of murder.’
‘But you still cannot prove that Bill was murdered?’
‘No.’
‘Still less, how he came by his death?’
‘No, but I have no fewer than eight clues up my sleeve.’
‘Good heavens! Can you tell me?—or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘I will tell you. Two dog-chains, two dog-leads, one oak, one pine and two beeches.’
‘Who planted the empty aspirin packet?—I can’t attempt to solve your cryptogram.’
‘It seems to have been Emming, and that is where more villainy comes in. Emming was not only determined upon his mother’s death and upon the death of Bill Fullalove, but he is now also bent upon incriminating his fellow-conspirator.’
‘When did you first tumble to the notion that Tiny and Robert Emming were in league?’
‘Well, I soon noticed a physical resemblance which set me wondering. At Christmas time I remarked that Emming reminded me of someone, and I was not content until I had worked out who that was. It did not take very long, in spite of the fact that Emming looks effeminate.’
‘I still don’t see why that should have indicated to you that they were in league.’
‘It did not, at first, but I soon realized how much each stood to gain if Bill and his legal wife, Mrs. Whittier (so-called) were out of the way. Bill’s was the first-planned death, although it came second in point of time. It was very well planned. It was to appear accidental. All the conspirators needed was cold weather. Tiny made the plan, I fancy, but he had to have an accomplice to help him carry it out. He found out, I think, (mind, this is mostly a theoretical reconstruction), that Emming was blackmailing Mrs. Whittier and so proceeded to blackmail him into helping to murder Bill.’
‘I begin to see the point of your chains and trees now. How utterly horrible!’
‘Indeed it was. Well, the terrible plan being made, the conspirators got rather a shock. Bill and Tiny quarrelled. Bill not only gave Tiny a black eye, but told him that the insurance policy was of no use to him, as he (Bill) had a wife. That sealed Mrs. Whittier’s doom. To do Emming justice, I think the only hand he had in her death was to help transport her body from the bungalow to where it was found.’
‘Yes, I see. Now what about the fraud?—that intrigues me very much.’
‘Well, as I see it, it hinges on Mrs. So-Called Bill Fullalove. She is, of course, wife to Robert Emming, and as part of the plot she was given Mrs. Dalby Whittier’s marriage certificate after the woman’s death. This gives her the necessary claim to the insurance money. Armed with it, she can come in as an unknown but unimpeachable claimant to the Fullalove five thousand pounds. This she is to share with her husband, Emming, and also with Tiny Fullalove.
‘That arrangement, of course, in reality suited nobody. Five thousand pounds is not such a very large sum that it can be shared with much advantage among three people; therefore it became necessary for Tiny and Emming to make chess-like moves in order to …’
‘Double-cross one another?’
‘Exactly; and therein lies our advantage. I do not believe for one moment that Tiny Fullalove intended to murder me when he made that strange attempt to enter my Kensington house. I think he came to tell me that he was in possession of information that would incriminate Emming. After all, if Tiny could eliminate the Emmings he would (as Bill’s next of kin) be entitled to the whole of the inheritance.’
‘You say “eliminate the Emmings.” Surely it would be sufficient for his purpose if he could eliminate Mrs. Emming?’
‘It would, but he dare not do it.’
‘Oh, I see. You mean that he would be suspected immediately if anything happened to the only other (apparent) claimant to the money?’
‘Exactly that—particularly as he already knows that I suspect him. His only chance now, as I see it, is to get rid of Emming, who alone knows the full intricacies of the web they have spun together, and then to frighten Mrs. Emming into giving up her claim.’
‘Would that be difficult?’
‘No, I don’t think it would. She does not seem to be a woman of much education or character. I think that a combination of daring her to prove that she was married as long ago as 1922 …’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. I saw that at once on the certificate of marriage she showed me. I realized then that she was what I had suspected her to be—a mere imposter. In fact, when I saw that she claimed to have been married at approximately the age of eight——!’
‘You interest me very much. Please do go on. And tell me. Since you saw the point of the date, would not the lawyers see it, too?’
‘Of course. That is what Tiny Fullalove depends on, I should think. As for Robert Emming, who cannot openly visit the cottage, I doubt whether he has so far set eyes on the certificate. Of course, the woman may lie about her age. If she claims to be fifty, and no birth certificate is called for, all may be well. But I could wish that we had another witness besides yourself to what I am saying. Would you mind very much if we had a member of your staff in?’
‘Not at all. In fact, Diana Bagthorpe has been listening behind the door of my inner sanctum all the time. I
t would put matters on a regular footing and promote mutual restoration of “face” were I to bring her in.’
The small, rotund, india-rubber Physical Training lecturer, upon this, was immediately installed in the extra armchair, and she delighted Mrs. Bradley by recapitulating succinctly and without error the conversation which had already been held in her hearing.
‘And I suppose you’ve never thought that Ed Brown, Farmer Daventry’s carter, might have had something to do with it, have you?’ she enquired.
‘I have turned the thought over in my mind more than once,’ Mrs. Bradley replied, ‘and I am inclined to give Ed a clean slate. It is true that he could have been the messenger who took the note to Anstey’s house at the time of Bill Fullalove’s death and Tiny’s injured knee-cap, but, then, you see, so could Robert Emming. And I do think that the plotters would have realized that the fewer people there were in the plot, the more chance it had of success. I must say that I was rather glad when we were able to trace the possession of the typewriter to Emming—or, rather, that the police are now in a position to trace that typewriter to where it was bought.’
‘Talking of Ed Brown,’ said Miss Bagthorpe, ‘I assume that he is still in the land of the living as no inquest upon him has been held.’
‘You are quite right, and we shall not be able to hide the truth much longer.’
‘If it can be shown that Emming purchased that typewriter, he will have to explain why he sent the letters, will he not?’
‘Yes. Why did he? I have realized that it was a case of “like mother, like son,” but I don’t think that is the full explanation,’ said Miss Hughes.
‘No, of course it is not. I think Emming argued in this way: if the anonymous letters suddenly ceased, people might begin to wonder what had happened to the writer, and, naturally, the longer Mrs. Dalby Whittier’s death could be kept secret the better. Bill Fullalove’s death the plotters did not intend to hush up. That was to save Tiny Fullalove from being suspected. As soon as it was known that Bill was missing, Tiny would be questioned. The manner of Bill’s death is still not proved …’
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