Murder on the Flying Scotsman

by Carola Dunn

  ‘Jolly lucky!’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘That side’s just a steepish slope, not too high. The other side’s a sheer drop, miles high.’

  ‘About thirty feet,’ Dr. Jagai qualified this gross exaggeration. ‘Far enough to cause serious injuries, certainly.’

  ‘I thought I was falling on that side.’ Belinda’s voice quavered. ‘When my feet slipped, I thought I was going to die.’

  Daisy hugged her and frowned at her all at once. ‘You knew it was dangerous up there. The sergeant told you not to go alone.’

  ‘I wasn’t alone, not really. I didn’t realize how far ahead the others were. And I was being ever so careful, honestly, till . . . till . . .’ A sob shook her.

  ‘Shall I tell Miss Dalrymple what you told us?’ Dr. Jagai asked gently. Belinda nodded and he went on, ‘Someone frightened her. In the dusk, she got the impression that he was trying to make her fall over the edge, the high edge. She was running away when she lost her footing.’

  ‘He was going to push me!’

  ‘Did he touch you, Belinda?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘No, but he was right behind me, with his arms stretched out.’

  ‘You said you were standing quite near the edge,’ said Raymond. ‘I dare say he intended to pull you back to safety.’

  Belinda stubbornly shook her head.

  ‘Did you see his face? Did he speak? Would you recognize him?’

  ‘No, he was just a big black shape.’

  ‘She’d have seen him against the lighter western sky,’ Judith explained. ‘His face would have been shadowed, and it was already twilight.’

  ‘Didn’t any of the rest of you see him? Not even a glimpse of his back disappearing into the distance?’

  ‘It was a few moments before we were in sight of the path,’ said the doctor.

  ‘You were out of sight?’

  ‘The bastion has great mounds on it.’ Kitty’s hands described a pyramid. ‘I was on the far side when Bel started screaming.’

  ‘Miss Smythe-Pike and I were sitting on a bench,’ Dr. Jagai said, ‘looking out over the river mouth to the pier and lighthouse, and the sea.’

  Judith nodded. ‘Just talking.’

  ‘Kitty was being an utter ass,’ said Raymond, frowning upon his sister, ‘racing up and down those slippery slopes. I was kept scrambling after to stop her breaking her neck, or at least to pick up the pieces.’

  ‘So if this man hurried,’ Dr. Jagai told Daisy ‘perhaps for fear of being blamed for Belinda’s fright, he could have reached the steps down to the tunnel under the wall before we appeared. We wouldn’t have noticed him leaving once we reached her and started to extricate her from the briars.’ He examined his scratched hands. ‘No serious damage done.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you all for rushing to the rescue,’ Daisy said with heartfelt gratitude.

  They all made the embarrassed mutters proper to the occasion.

  ‘I believe Belinda would be the better for a hot bath,’ said the doctor practically.

  ‘Fortunately,’ Judith drawled, ‘the baths don’t rely on the boiler. They have gas geysers. Kitty, we’d better go up and change for dinner.’

  ‘So had I.’ Raymond started after them, then looked back. ‘You’ll dine with us, won’t you, Doctor?’

  ‘Thank you, but I haven’t brought evening togs.’

  ‘Oh, righty-ho, then I shan’t bother with the best bib and tucker either. Let’s go and hoist a glass.’

  The two young men went out together.

  ‘A bath sounds like a jolly good idea,’ said Daisy, ‘and then supper on a tray in bed, I should think. I expect one of the maids will clean up your things before morning.’

  ‘I didn’t bring a nightie,’ Belinda said in a small voice, ‘or a toothbrush or anything.’

  ‘You’ll just have to brush your teeth with your finger – I’ll lend you toothpaste – and sleep in your combies, darling. Don’t worry, we’ll manage.’

  ‘I’m awfully glad I’m sleeping in your room.’ She rubbed her eyes, visibly wilting. ‘Daddy!’

  Alec came in, followed by Tring and Piper. He fended off his grubby daughter. ‘Great Scott, Bel, where have you been?’

  ‘Up on the city walls, Daddy. Someone . . .’

  ‘The copper at the door didn’t stop you?’

  ‘I didn’t see any policeman there.’

  ‘I ’spect Miss Belinda went out before we did, Chief’ Piper suggested. ‘It was when we got back to the police station you asked for a guard on the front door.’

  ‘There’s a back gate, too,’ said Belinda, ‘only I didn’t know about it then. We came back that way.’

  ‘Ernie, check that there’s a man on the gate, too. Who’s “we,” Belinda? Not Miss Dalrymple if you left before us.’

  ‘Tell your father the whole story,’ Daisy said, subsiding once more onto the magenta sofa and resignedly patting the place beside her. She and the sofa had already received a goodly dose of mud from Belinda, whereas Alec needed to stay professionally neat.

  ‘Will you tell him? Please?’ Just about dead on her feet, Belinda dropped beside Daisy. The men took chairs.

  Daisy related Belinda’s adventure as told to her, from the invitation to go with the others to the rescue from the brambles. Half-way through, Piper returned. By the time she finished, Belinda was slumped against her, fast asleep.

  Alec was troubled. ‘I don’t like it. It’s just possible someone sees her as a threat, though the chances are it was a stranger trying to be helpful, as young Gillespie suggested. What about him? He was with his sister when this happened? Would she lie for him?’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest. But I’ll tell you about them, and the rest, when I’ve got her to bed.’

  ‘No. I don’t want her left alone, without one of us four, until this business is cleared up.’ He crossed to the sofa and stood a moment looking down at Belinda with his heart in his face. Then with gentle hands he moved her to a more comfortable position, her feet up and her head on a cushion. She stirred and murmured something but didn’t wake. ‘Besides,’ he said, returning to his seat, ‘I can’t spare the time. Oh, by the way, we found a white thread snagged around the window catch.’

  ‘Aha!’

  ‘And no dabs, either there or on the glass or his shoes, miss,’ said Tom. ‘Wiped clean.’

  ‘Aha!’ said Daisy again.

  ‘Precisely,’ Alec agreed with a smile. ‘Go ahead, please, Daisy.’

  ‘With the cast of characters? Right-oh, but you may wish for a family tree before I’m done.’

  ‘I already do, from what you said before. Can you make one out while you talk?’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Piper presented her with a pencil and a sheet torn from his notebook, while Tom Tring moved a small table to her elbow.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen. Now where was I?’

  ‘We got involved in what your school friend told you about her grandfather’s will. Anne Bretton, was it? Let’s have a thumbnail sketch of each suspect before we go into their movements.’

  ‘I’ll start at the top of the family tree, then, not with Anne. It’ll make it easier to work out. First row, Alistair McGowan-the-will-maker, Laird of Dunston Castle; twin brother Albert-the-victim; and the unknown sister who married a Gillespie.’

  ‘Still living?’

  ‘Presumed deceased.’ Daisy wrote them in. ‘Under Alistair there’s his daughter Amelia Smythe-Pike. Kind, fussy, conventional. She wants the best for her family, of course, but I’d say she was upset more because her husband was raising a dust than because she was truly indignant. She caters to his every whim. I can’t see her as a murderer. Besides, she’s an elderly lady. I doubt she has the strength.’

  ‘The victim was her uncle, though, much older and in poor health.’

  ‘It don’t take much strength to do in a frail old man,’ Tring agreed.

  ‘On the other hand, she had no guarantee her father would change his will in her favo
ur on Albert’s death,’ Alec said.

  ‘No. The same applies to her husband, Desmond, of course, but he’s a fire-breather. I can see him simply losing his temper because Albert refused to change his mind about leaving the family fortune to a stranger. He’s . . .’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Daisy! Albert’s heir isn’t one of the family? That makes a considerable difference!’

  ‘You didn’t give me a chance to tell you before,’ Daisy pointed out.

  ‘Mea culpa. I most humbly beg your pardon.’

  ‘How d’you spell that, Chief?’ asked Piper.

  ‘“Pardon”? Oh, mea culpa. Never mind that, Ernie, we don’t want all our trivial comments taken down in black and white.’

  ‘I wouldn’t’ve put it in the report, Chief, but when I’m taking shorthand it just all flows through, like.’

  ‘Let’s get back to Smythe-Pike,’ Alec said impatiently. ‘He had a temper and a reason for losing it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Daisy confirmed, ‘and a pressing need for filthy lucre – that’s money, Mr. Piper – at least according to his son-in-law. Harold Bretton told me Smythe-Pike’s only interest in the family estate is in the hunting, shooting, and fishing, and the place has gone to rack and ruin. He’ll have to sell up if they don’t get hold of pots of money pretty quickly.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tom Tring, ‘but he hadn’t got no guarantee of a single penny, and a bloke like that’s more likely to hit someone over the head in hot blood than to hold a piller over his face.’

  Daisy nodded. ‘What’s more, he’s fearfully lame from gout. I don’t know if he could have managed it. Whoever did it couldn’t know when someone else might come along. They must have been desperate to get a move on, and they were lucky at that.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Alec said. ‘Finished with him? Who’s next on your little list?’

  ‘Oh, she never would be missed, she never would be missed,’ Daisy carolled à la Mikado. ‘That’s a beastly thing to say, or sing, but Anne Bretton, née Smythe-Pike is one of life’s whiners. She moans that her husband has no interest in the children but sends them to their nurse as soon as they’re any trouble.’

  ‘More than one child, then.’

  ‘Yes, there’s Baby, alias Alistair McGowan Bretton, and Tabitha, who’s five. Belinda was very good about looking after her, for quite some time. In fact, she was trying to amuse her just before she went and found Mr. McGowan dead. Anne took Baby back to his nurse and she was with me when Belinda came rushing in.’

  ‘How long was she gone?’

  ‘Not very long, and she was quite calm when she returned. She’s not the sort with nerves of steel who could murder someone one minute and scold Tabitha for dirtying her frock the next. In fact, I can’t see Anne doing anything so positive as murdering someone. She prefers to complain.’

  Piper uttered one of his muffled snorts. Tring frankly grinned. ‘The chief was sure you’d taken Mrs. Bretton under your wing, miss,’ the sergeant revealed.

  ‘Not I. And as for Harold Bretton – well, I wouldn’t so much as pass the time of day if he weren’t her husband. I believe he only married her for the money he thought she had. A wife from the landed gentry looks attractive to a would-be man-about-town. He’s an out and out cad, rude where he sees no advantage to politeness, disloyal, abusing his father-in-law to a stranger but not willing to buckle down and try to get the farms in order.’

  ‘A bounder indeed,’ Alec said dryly, ‘but that doesn’t make him a murderer. He doesn’t benefit directly from Albert McGowan’s demise.’

  ‘Not directly, no, but he’s a gambler. He told me only an inheritance or a big win on the horses could save the Smythe-Pike estate. So I bet he’d be quite ready to gamble on Albert’s death turning to his advantage.’

  ‘Hmm, it seems possible, though risking the loss of a stake, however large, is rather different from risking the hangman’s noose.’

  Daisy didn’t care for this reminder of the end result of the investigation. Studying her growing family tree, she hurried on brightly, ‘I don’t imagine you’ll put Tabitha or Baby on your little list, so Judith’s next.’

  ‘Judith Smythe-Pike, who was out there with Belinda?’

  ‘Yes, Anne’s sister. Incidentally, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe-Pike and the Brettons are clear where Belinda’s adventure is concerned. I saw them in the lounge just when it must have been happening. Judith’s clear, too. She was with the doctor.’

  ‘We can’t be sure that incident had any significance, or any connection with the murder.’

  Looking down at Belinda, deep in innocent sleep at her side, Daisy said, ‘Do you think she might have imagined the whole thing?’

  ‘Alone, in the dusk, in a strange place, she might have, though on the whole she’s not fanciful. More likely she misinterpreted a stranger’s intentions. Yet who can tell?’

  ‘She would have told me if she’d seen anything. In the train, I mean. If the murderer went after her be cause he – or she – believed Belinda had seen something, then Judith isn’t the murderer. Which isn’t to say I don’t think she’d be capable of it, for Raymond’s sake.’

  ‘Raymond Gillespie, her cousin if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘Second cousin. They’re unofficially engaged, and I’d say they’re deeply devoted to each other, though on the whole Judith plays the part of a careless flapper most effectively.’

  ‘A bright young thing, is she?’ Alec commented.

  ‘Except when Raymond has one of his turns. He’s badly shell-shocked; I’ll tell you about him later. I gather Judith is the only one who can soothe him when he’s in a rotten state of nerves.’

  ‘So she’d do anything for him, and he benefits directly.’

  ‘From Albert’s death? His father does, at any rate.’ Daisy pulled a long face. ‘Oh dear, it does look black for Judith.’

  ‘You like her? There’s plenty of others,’ Alec consoled her.

  ‘All the Gillespies. Oh, I nearly forgot the mysterious Geraldine. She’s old Alistair’s younger daughter, Amelia Smythe-Pike’s sister. All I know is that she ran away decades ago to avoid getting stuck looking after her father, and she’s suddenly turned up looking frightfully soignée and prosperous.’

  ‘Swunyay, miss?’ Piper asked.

  ‘Chic. Smart. She and I met at lunch. No one recognized her. She’s lived in France, but I don’t know her surname.’

  ‘Mr. Halliday gave me a list.’ Sergeant Tring studied a sheet of paper. ‘That’d likely be Madam Pass-queer. That’s P-a-s-q-u-i-e-r, lad,’ he told Piper.

  Adding the surname to the family tree, Daisy said, ‘Geraldine Pasquier, née McGowan.’

  ‘Pas-key-ay, eh, miss?’ said Tring. ‘If you ask me, that Frog lingo’s passing queer.’ His mustache quivered with satisfaction at the quip.

  ‘Well said, Sarge,’ Piper observed, surveying his notes with gloom.

  Daisy smiled at the sergeant. ‘I can’t tell you any more about Madame, so let’s get on to the Gillespies. Peter Gillespie is Alistair and Albert’s nephew. According to Harold Bretton, he inherited a flourishing boot factory but lost it during the War when he was prosecuted for selling the Army shoddy boots.’

  ‘Whew!’ said Piper disapprovingly.

  ‘Hard up?’ Alec queried.

  ‘Not on their beam-ends, I’d say, but income not coming up to expectations. Quite likely living beyond their means. And, as you will have noted, Peter Gillespie has no great respect for morality or the law.’ Daisy spoke with asperity. Gillespie’s transgression had taken on a new ugliness since she’d come to know his son better. Had Raymond found himself in the trenches with his father’s boots disintegrating on his feet?

  ‘Noted,’ said Alec, ‘though you’ve only Bretton’s word for it. What about his wife?’

  ‘Enid Gillespie. I’ve not seen much of her, and when I did she was mostly scolding Kitty. It wouldn’t surprise me if she frequently scolds her husband, too.’ She shrugged. ‘Can’t say more. I can
tell you even less about their daughter-in-law, Matilda. She’s one of those women pregnancy doesn’t suit, and she’s far too pregnant to have murdered anyone.’

  ‘And her husband?’

  ‘Jeremy, Peter’s eldest. Fancies himself a womaniser, and deeply resents having to earn a living. I wouldn’t put it past him to take drastic measures for the sake of money.’

  ‘Would you not! He’s Raymond’s brother, I take it.’

  ‘Yes. Poor Ray. He’d like nothing better than to earn a living so as to be able to marry Judith, but he can’t keep a job because of his nervous attacks.’

  ‘Needs money to marry the girl he loves, eh?’ said Tring. ‘That don’t look too good.’

  ‘What form do his attacks take?’ Alec asked.

  ‘A blue funk, thinking he’s back in Flanders. And anguish because he’s not fit.’

  ‘Not violence, then.’

  ‘No. Oh, he did . . .’ She hesitated.

  ‘Come on, Daisy, out with it.’

  ‘It wasn’t really anything. He was holding Judith’s hand and she said he was hurting her, but he let go at once and was desperately sorry.’

  ‘Suppose something made him believe the old man was a Boche,’ Alec said slowly. ‘He might have killed him without realizing what he was doing.’

  Daisy was silent.

  ‘The courts go easy on blokes like that,’ Tring said.

  After a heavy pause, Alec said, ‘Is that the last, then?’

  ‘There’s Kitty Gillespie. Bother, I haven’t left room on the page. I’ll have to write her in sideways. Anyway, she’s only fifteen and far too liable to blurt out whatever comes to mind to make a respectable murderer. She’d have told all and sundry by now. That’s all the family.’

  ‘All right. Now for their movements. Where was your compartment in relation to Albert McGowan’s?’

  ‘We were next but one, with the lawyer between.’

  ‘You could see everyone passing along the corridor, then.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, for the relevant time, I saw nothing.’

  ‘Nothing! You didn’t dog their every step and note down the exact times?’ Alec teased.