‘What gave you the idea of stealing the money?’ asked Pollard bluntly.
George looked extremely uncomfortable.
‘I picked up a shopping list which had fallen on to the floor, and saw she’d been to the bank… I — I knew which drawer she kept her loose cash in — she never made any secret of it. The key was always on the top of the bureau, in a china jug. I unlocked the drawer, and saw a great wodge of notes lying there, and … well, I just lost my head. I mean, I knew she’d masses more, and, well, it seemed as though it would save an awful lot of bother… Are you going to arrest me for housebreaking?’
‘That remains to be seen. Go on.’
George shifted uncomfortably.
‘Well, I thought the best thing would be to make it look as if there’d been a break-in. I swiped a snuff-box from the drawing-room — I haven’t flogged it, by the way — and grabbed some food and a bottle of milk and legged it out of the window. I was expecting Aunt B. to turn up at any moment: it wasn’t a bit like her to be out so late. I thought I’d cleaned up all my prints.’
‘What time was it when you left the house?’
‘Half-past nine. The clock in the hall struck just as I was getting out of the kitchen window.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I hung about for about five minutes, trying to decide whether it was better to lie low in the garden until it was darker, or make a dash for the Whitesands road. In the end, I began to feel a bit edgy and decided to clear off and cut through the park.’
‘Weren’t you afraid of being seen from the Lodge?’
‘I didn’t risk the gates. It’s perfectly simple to get over the wall. I had a good look and then streaked across, a bit downstream from the Lodge. Then I made off in what I knew was more or less the right direction.’ George broke off suddenly.
‘Go on, Mr Baynes.’
‘The next bit sounds even more improbable.’
‘Well, let’s hear it.’
‘You won’t believe me, but I was followed. It was nearly dark, and the ground’s rough with a lot of tree roots and clumps of stuff. I tried to hurry, but I was terrified of coming a purler and dishing an ankle.’
‘Did you see the person you say was following you?’
‘No. It was too dark for that. But I could hear whoever it was stepping on dry twigs, and trying to run. Whenever I stopped, the noise stopped, but not soon enough, if you know what I mean. I got a bit panicky because I wasn’t sure of the best way of getting out on to the road: there’s a high wall on that side. In the end I found a gate into some fields, and shimmed over that, and ran like blazes.’
‘Did the noise of snapping twigs and so forth go on until you got clear of the park?’
‘Yes, but they seemed to fall behind a bit, as though I was getting ahead.’
‘I put it to you,’ said Pollard, after a lengthy pause, ‘that this last part of your statement is pure invention, and that in actual fact you came upon Miss Baynes taking a late stroll in the park. For reasons of her own she asked you to go up to the studio with her, by way of the fire-escape. When you were up there you decided, in view of the fact that she was almost bound to discover that you had robbed her, that it would save an awful lot of bother — to use your own expression — if you killed her.’
This time George Baynes neither shouted nor blustered.
‘I suppose you have to put that sort of thing to people,’ he said. ‘All I can say is that I didn’t meet Aunt B. or anybody else, and that everything I’ve told you this time is the plain truth.’
‘Why did you make for Whitesands?’
‘Because I thought mixing in with the holiday crowds was the safest way of getting back to town without being spotted.’
‘Even Whitesands is hardly crowded in the middle of the night.’
‘I didn’t try to get there until breakfast time the next morning. I dossed down in a barn on the road. I was flat out, and slept like a log when I’d eaten the food I’d brought with me.’
Sergeant Toye got up to answer a knock on the door.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said to Pollard, on returning to the room. ‘There’s a call for you from the Yard. Would you care to take it in the Super’s office?’
Thirteen
‘The school has retained the extensive park of the eighteenth-century house.’
The School Prospectus
The minutes dragged past. George Baynes sat hunched at the table, staring at the discoloured green distemper on the walls and the dreary little yard beyond the window. Sergeant Toye read through his notes and kept an unobtrusive eye on George. At intervals distant voices and footsteps punctured the silence.
At last Pollard returned, coming into the room with a brisk step and an atmosphere of purpose.
‘I’m afraid we must ask you to remain here for the present; Mr Baynes,’ he said. ‘I shall have other points to clear up with you later today. They’re just bringing you a cup of tea.’
‘Am I under arrest?’ asked George thickly.
‘No. You are assisting the police in their enquiries into the death of Miss Baynes.’
A red-faced young constable entered with a steaming cup and a couple of biscuits. Giving a significant nod in the direction of George, Pollard went out followed by Toye.
‘That was the Yard,’ he said. ‘It turns out that Madge Thornton is a Baynes all right. On the wrong side of the blanket, though. They’ve discovered that she’s the illegitimate daughter of John Baynes, the one who was killed on the Somme in 1916. The mother was a music student, and died in childbirth. The child was posthumous, and legally adopted by the Thorntons in December 1916. Thornton was an accountant in the Baynes firm at Warhampton, who’d stayed on with the new management when Arthur Baynes sold out and retired.’
Toye stared at him.
‘I never thought of that one,’ he said. ‘Quite a lot falls into place now, doesn’t it, sir?’
‘Yes. I think, myself, that Madge came on her birth certificate or some letters among Mrs Thornton’s papers last week. It’s easy to understand how she’d feel. Imagine it, Toye. Realising how she’d been conveniently disposed of, and never acknowledged. You know, I can’t help wondering if Beatrice fixed the whole thing. There’s a ruthlessness about it which doesn’t suggest grandparents, somehow… Beatrice certainly paid for the child’s education and training. And then made it quite clear to the unfortunate Madge what a disappointment she was, making her more clumsy and gauche than ever. That blighted George Baynes in there being supercilious, too. And all this on top of the psychological tension of being an adopted child, not nearly as intelligently handled in those days as it is now.’
‘It doesn’t make it look too healthy for Miss Thornton, does it, sir?’
‘It certainly doesn’t, added to the financial motive. My guess is that she came back from the funeral absolutely determined to have it out with Beatrice. Festival would have held things up: quite possibly some of Beatrice’s friends had already arrived. Saturday evening was the first reasonable chance of seeing her. Hence the two visits to Applebys within an hour, and what I’m convinced was a watch on the house from behind the wall of the park. We’ll have to get hold of that cardigan, unless she admits to having been there… I’ve just phoned the doctor, by the way, and managed to get him to agree to my seeing her now. You’d better come along too, but let’s just take a look at the timetable first.’
They spread it out on the table.
‘If she went over to her spyhole after drawing a blank at 8.20,’ said Toye after a few moments, ‘why did she come out again and go off in the direction of the school? Miss Cartmell overtook her going down the drive soon after nine.’
‘Let’s assume for the present that she didn’t go straight to ground. Suppose she wandered up to the school to fill in time, saw Beatrice on the fire-escape, where she’d been listening in to Cartmell and Torrance having a passionate encounter, followed her into the studio, challenged Beatrice and killed her in sud
den uncontrollable rage? No, I don’t think it’s a physical possibility, do you, if she didn’t start off from Applebys until 8.20?’
‘No,’ agreed Toye, ‘especially with Mr Torrance going back for that magazine.’
‘Let’s wash it out then, and assume that she went back to the school after the second visit to Applebys, say about a quarter past nine. It’s difficult, I admit to account for her going up to the studio … she’d just seen Ann Cartmell going off and must have known that the place would have been cleared up for the holidays. Still, suppose she vaguely wandered up and found Beatrice lying in wait for Bert Heyward… Plenty of time to have a flaming row, commit the murder while beside herself, hide the body and then cool off in the park before going back to the Staff House… Good God, somebody simply must have seen these people coming and going! You might find out if any reports have come in yet.’
Toye returned a few minutes later, empty-handed.
‘We’d better go and tackle Madge Thornton,’ said Pollard, ‘and it looks like being a pretty dicey job.’
On this occasion Sister Littlejohn was strictly professional, and made no attempt to conceal her disapproval of the presence of Sergeant Toye.
‘I don’t like this at all,’ she said. ‘If my patient has another upset like the last one you gave her, Inspector, it may have much more serious results. But if Doctor Dodd has given his permission, I suppose I must let you in.’
‘It’s possible,’ Pollard told her, ‘that I may be able to do something to set her mind at rest this time.’
‘I hope so, I’m sure,’ she replied in a disbelieving tone. ‘This way — she’s still in the same room, and please try to make your visit as short as possible, won’t you?’
Madge Thornton was in bed, propped up with pillows and engaged in doing a jigsaw puzzle. She was wearing the hideous sandy-coloured cardigan as a bed jacket.
‘My word!’ exclaimed Sister Littlejohn, assuming her ward-side manner and giving the quilt an unnecessary tweak. ‘Two gentlemen visitors for you this time, dear. Just ring your bell if you want anything — I’m only in the next room.’
She swept out. Madge made a nervous, clumsy movement, dislocating the jigsaw.
‘Bad luck,’ said Pollard, ‘when you’d done such a lot of it. Suppose we let Sergeant Toye put it together again for you? He’s a dab at them.’
Toye unblinkingly removed the tray and himself to a table in the window, and Pollard seated himself on a chair by the bed. Madge looked anxiously from one to the other.
‘Mr George Baynes came down here from London this afternoon,’ he remarked in a conversational tone, watching a startled expression come over her face. ‘A young man whose behaviour has naturally placed him under grave suspicion. After first telling me a string of the most outrageous lies, he now admits to having been here last Saturday evening. Inevitably he is in a very awkward position. I have taken the rather unusual course of coming to see you, Miss Thornton, in case you are able to clear him.’
A chain reaction was perceptible in Madge’s big, light eyes. Surprise was followed by relief, which gave way to unmistakable gratification at this slight recognition of her personal importance. She did not reply, however, but looked interrogatively at Pollard.
‘Did you know that he was coming down?’
She shook her head.
‘Would it surprise you to learn that Miss Baynes had invited him?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘It was Festival weekend, and Aunt Beatrice wouldn’t have wanted him staying in the house. If she invited anyone it would have been one of her O.M. friends.’
‘You’re quite certain that you didn’t see him when you paid your second visit to Applebys?’
‘I’m quite sure I didn’t.’
‘We know,’ Pollard said, watching her carefully, ‘that he must have arrived only a few minutes ahead of you.’
She looked puzzled.
‘But where was he then? I went round to the garden… Did Aunt Beatrice let him in after all?’
‘After all? What do you mean by that, Miss Thornton?’
Madge coloured, and was silent.
‘Well, let’s leave that problem for the moment, shall we, and see if you can help me over another? According to Mr Baynes, he left Applebys just after nine-thirty, but at present we only have his word for it. It is perfectly possible that he left earlier, met Miss Baynes taking an evening walk in the park, was invited to accompany her to the studio for some reason, and killed her there before the caretaker arrived to lock up School Wing at 9.50.’
‘No,’ Madge said, in so deep and vibrant a voice that Toye looked up quickly from the jigsaw puzzle. ‘He couldn’t possibly have done that.’
‘Do you mean that you saw him take some course of action that completely rules it out? You were watching Applebys from behind the wall of the park, weren’t you? You left us your signature, you know: a strand of wool from that cardigan you’re wearing now.’
This time her cheeks flamed.
‘I suppose you think I behaved like a — a housemaid?’
Pollard was amused by this socially obsolete expression. An echo of Beatrice, I bet, he thought…
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that you wanted to see Miss Baynes very urgently last Saturday evening, but that you also wanted to be quite sure that she returned to Applebys alone. What you had to discuss was presumably a private matter, and you didn’t know if she had invited one of her old friends to spend the night. So you decided not to wait in the garden, and took up a position where you could see her come back.’
It was immediately obvious that his deductions had been correct, and that she was impressed by them.
‘Reverting to Mr George Baynes,’ he went on, ‘did you actually see him come away from Applebys?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you notice the time?’
‘It was about five and twenty minutes to ten. I’d kept on looking at my watch because I was so surprised that Aunt Beatrice was staying out so late.’
‘Did you see where he went on leaving Applebys?’
‘He — he jumped over the wall into the park. Quite close to where I was.’
‘And then?’
‘He started off quickly. Not towards the school, though. He kept over to the right of the park.’
‘Were you surprised to see him?’
Madge nodded vigorously.
‘Just for a moment I couldn’t believe my eyes. Then I was furious.’
‘Why furious?’
‘Because I thought that he and Aunt Beatrice had been in the house together all the time, and hadn’t let me in… I always hated it when he came down. He despises me. So did Aunt Beatrice. I used to feel out of it, and yet I couldn’t stay away somehow.’
Interesting Pollard thought. Almost as though she had had some instinctive knowledge of the blood tie.
‘What did you do when Mr Baynes had struck off into the park, Miss Thornton?’
Madge once again showed signs of embarrassment.
‘I — er — followed him. I wanted to speak to him.’
‘You followed him to the studio, perhaps?’
‘No. I don’t see how I can prove it to you, but neither of us went anywhere near the school building. George was cutting through the park, a long way over on the Trill side.’
‘If you wanted to talk to him, why didn’t you call out to him?’
‘I was afraid someone might hear. It was all so queer I didn’t seem able to think clearly. I just started off after him. I felt sure I’d catch him up when he tried to get out on the far side. I didn’t think he’d know that the gate on to the Whitesands road is kept locked.’
‘And did you catch him up?’
‘No. He went so quickly, and found the old iron gate into the fields. I heard the squeak it always gives, so he must have got out that way. It was too dark to see anybody when I got there… So he couldn’t possibly have been to the studio. I could hear him ahead of me all the time, a
nd it must have been quite ten to ten by then.’
‘What did you do next, when you saw that there was no hope of catching up with him?’
‘I just went home. I walked, of course, I haven’t a car. Aunt Beatrice said it wasn’t necessary as she had one. It seemed such a long way… I felt terribly tired, and so puzzled by everything I felt I couldn’t face trying Applebys again that night —’ She suddenly broke off and started in horror at Pollard. ‘It wasn’t George who broke into Applebys and took the snuff-box, was it?’
‘I’m afraid it was. He admitted it to me this afternoon. He also took about fifty pounds in cash.’
‘But — he — I must know. Please tell me the truth. He didn’t kill Aunt Beatrice in Applebys?’
‘I think we can accept the fact that she was killed in the studio,’ he told her.
‘Then George didn’t do it,’ she exclaimed in tones of heartfelt relief. ‘He couldn’t have. And if he took the money and the snuff-box, Aunt Beatrice couldn’t have been in the house while he was there, could she?’
‘It doesn’t look like it. Why,’ Pollard asked, with a sudden deliberate switch of subject, ‘did you want to talk to Mr Baynes so very much?’
He waited for her answer, with the sense of having arrived at the crux of the interview.
‘I — er, had something to tell him. Something private.’
‘I expect it was the same thing that you wanted to discuss with Miss Baynes, wasn’t it?’
In the silence which followed he could almost feel Toye’s anticipation as he sat apparently engrossed in the jigsaw puzzle. It was broken at last by what was hardly more than a whisper from Madge.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, Miss Thornton, all births are recorded at Somerset House, you know.’
‘So you know everything… Even who I am?’
‘Not quite everything,’ he said gently, ‘but you have fitted in several missing pieces for me. Would you like me to tell Mr Baynes what you wanted to tell him yourself on Saturday night?’
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘He’ll hate me being a relation. He thinks I’m just awful — ugly and clumsy and stupid. What the girls call a drip. I was feeling so angry then. I wanted to tell him he’d no right to look down on me. But now I feel it won’t make any difference, really.’
Death of an Old Girl Page 15