Murder on the Flying Scotsman

by Carola Dunn

‘By that time I was fed up with their squabbling,’ Daisy said crossly. ‘They’d been arguing over lunch as to who was to tackle Albert first. I heard footsteps coming and going, but I buried my head in a magazine so they wouldn’t come and talk to me.’

  ‘Belinda might have seen who passed in the corridor.’

  ‘She wasn’t with me all the time. She went to see Kitty, and then to Dr. Jagai, in third class.’

  ‘Dr. Jagai!’

  ‘She likes him, and I didn’t see she could come to any harm.’

  ‘But I thought he was just a cooperative stranger, the first medical man to see the cor . . . the deceased.’

  ‘Gosh, no. Albert McGowan introduced him to us. Chandra Jagai was his protégé and his heir.’

  ‘His heir! Great Scott, Daisy, why didn’t you tell me sooner? He has the best motive of all.’

  ‘Oh, bilge! Absolutely the opposite. He stood to inherit the whole family fortune if Albert survived Alistair.’

  ‘Unless the family succeeded in changing Albert’s mind.’

  ‘Not much chance of that. He despised them. In fact, he was going to see the lawyer to ask advice about tying up the money for Dr. Jagai so that the family hadn’t a hope of contesting his will.’

  ‘That’s what Jagai told you? Hasn’t it crossed your mind that he might have been lying? No, it was a perfect opportunity for him to bump off his benefactor while plenty of other people with motives were present to divert suspicion. Dr. Jagai goes high on my list.’

  Dismayed and disbelieving, all Daisy could think of to say was, ‘Don’t tell Belinda.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Alec went over to the sofa and gazed down at his little girl. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt, from the skinny legs in muddy black stockings to the ginger hair just like Joan’s. Curled in the total, trusting relaxation of innocent sleep, she was too young to learn about the beastliness abroad in the world!

  What on earth had possessed her to run away from her grandmother, to run to Daisy? She needed a mother. Yet Daisy mustn’t be led to think Alec only wanted to marry her for Belinda’s sake.

  This was no time for thoughts of marriage. Daisy was looking up at him questioningly.

  ‘Thank you for taking care of Bel.’

  ‘It was a pleasure. She’s a dear. I only wish we’d had a less eventful journey. She’s had a frightening and exhausting time of it must you question her tonight?’

  ‘She might remember things now she’ll have forgotten by the morning. And she’ll probably rouse anyway if I pick her up to carry her upstairs.’ He gathered her in his arms and turned to sit down with her in his lap. As she stirred to wakefulness, he said over her head, ‘I did hear her say she’s sharing your room, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Halliday arranged it that way, and I’d have insisted if he hadn’t She needs a bath and supper and bed, Alec.’

  ‘Very soon. Belinda, sweetheart, I need your help.’

  ‘I’ll try, Daddy.’ She wriggled. ‘Only let me sit up properly ’cause I can’t think like this. Is Mr. Piper going to write down what I say?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  She was sitting beside him now, between him and Daisy, and he had a poor view of her face. It was a pity, but he didn’t want to deprive her of the comfort of his closeness. He took her hand in his.

  ‘S’posing I don’t remember right?’ She sounded strained, and her hand was tense.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, sweetheart, it’s only to help us, me and Mr. Tring and Mr. Piper, no one else. Just do the best you can.’

  ‘All right. Do you want to know about when I found him?’

  ‘Yes, let’s get the worst over first. All I need to know is whether you touched or moved anything.’

  ‘Just his hand.’ Now she spoke quite matter-of-factly. ‘You know how stiff Granny gets when she falls asleep in an awkward position? Well, Mr. McGowan’s arm was hanging down and I thought he’d be more comfy if I put it across his chest It didn’t matter if he woke up, you see, ’cause he’d invited me to tea. Only he was dead. His hand felt sort of like a waxwork.’

  ‘Quite cold?’

  Belinda considered this. ‘Not icy. Just like some people always have cold hands.’

  ‘You could have asked me that,’ said Daisy reprovingly, ‘or the doctor. I tried for a pulse just moments later, and he wasn’t much after me.’

  ‘Sorry, Bel. I will ask the doctor. You didn’t touch anything else?’

  ‘No, I looked at his face and ran away. Oh, but before I moved his arm I picked up a feather off the floor. Just a little curly feather. It wasn’t stealing.’

  ‘No, it’s a very useful piece of evidence.’

  ‘Is it really, Daddy?’ She beamed up at him. ‘Did I really help?’

  ‘You did. Let’s see if you can help some more. What did you do right after lunch?’

  ‘We went back to our compartment, didn’t we, Miss Dalrymple? The ticket-man came in to say he wouldn’t forget to send your telegram to Gran when we got to York. Then there was York and we saw the big church, the Minister. Then I read the magazine Kitty lent me.’

  ‘You didn’t look out into the corridor?’

  ‘Not when I was reading. I stood out there for a while to look out the other side for a change – no, that was in the morning. When I got tired of reading I went to see Kitty. Tabitha was somewhere else with her nurse.’

  ‘Besides Kitty, who else did you see?’

  ‘Oh, lots of people. They kept coming and going and talking about who was going to see Mr. McGowan first. The only thing they agreed was that Kitty wasn’t to go because she’d only offend him. Kitty doesn’t mean to be rude, Daddy, she just always says what she thinks without thinking first.’

  Daisy smiled, and Alec recalled her comment about Kitty’s inability to curb her tongue, a definite handicap for a murderer.

  ‘None of them spoke of having been to see him already?’

  Belinda pondered, and shook her head. ‘Not that I heard. Mrs. Smythe-Pike said it’d be best to let his stomach settle for a while after his lunch, and I think she won. Anyway, I wasn’t there all that long. I got tired of them arguing. So I went back to Miss Dalrymple and asked if I could go and see Dr. Jagai. He played draughts with me and told me about Durham. He’s awfully nice, Daddy.’

  With Daisy’s minatory eye upon him, Alec didn’t disillusion his daughter. Time enough if they found evidence against the Indian. ‘Did you pass Mr. McGowan’s compartment to reach Dr. Jagai?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, but I couldn’t see if anyone was there,’ Belinda said quickly, looking, down. Her hand tensed again in his. ‘The blinds were down. He kept them down, and the door shut.’

  ‘You heard something, though, didn’t you?’ Daisy suggested.

  ‘I didn’t listen. I don’t know what they were saying. I just hurried past.’

  ‘But someone was with Mr. McGowan?’ Alec probed.

  ‘Yes. No! I don’t know. I don’t know who it was,’ Belinda cried frantically.

  Daisy’s glare killed the next question on Alec’s tongue. He substituted, ‘Well, that’s enough for now. Shall I carry you up, Belinda?’

  ‘No, thank you, Daddy,’ she said with a fragile composure. ‘I’m quite all right, honestly, and I know you’re awfully busy. ’Night.’ Jumping up, she kissed him and hurried to the door.

  ‘’Night, sweetheart. Sleep well.’

  ‘Good-night, Miss Belinda,’ came Tom’s rumble. ‘Night-night, miss,’ said Piper. ‘Sweet dreams.’ Under cover of her reply, Daisy said in a low voice, ‘I shan’t leave her, not for a minute.’

  ‘Bless you.’ He pressed her hand in heartfelt gratitude. ‘I’ll try to pop up for a word later. It’s going to be a long evening.’

  Tom and Piper wished her good-night. As the door closed behind her, Tom said cogently, ‘Miss Belinda heard something.’

  ‘She’s got the wind up,’ said Piper, ‘poor little duck.’

  Alec gave a grim nod.
‘The two are connected, I’d bet all Lombard Street to a China orange. Whatever it was, it’s made too much of an impression for her to forget it. She’ll be calmer in the morning. She’ll tell me then. In the meantime, we can’t sit still. I’ll see the solicitor first, Ernie, to check Miss Dalrymple’s information about the two wills.’

  ‘Mr. Braeburn? Right, Chief.’ The youthful D.C. hurried out.

  ‘What d’you reckon, Tom?’ said Alec.

  Tom grinned. ‘I reckon it’s the Indian doctor she’s took under her wing, Chief.’

  ‘Dammit, man, that’s not what I meant. No ideas about our villain?’

  ‘From what Miss Dalrymple’s told us? It’s not Miss Kitty – nor yet the doctor.’

  ‘Oh, go to hell.’ Alec looked round as the door opened. ‘What is it, Ernie?’

  ‘Seems Mr. Braeburn’s took to his bed, Chief. He’s got a sore throat from waiting around on the station in the cold. Been ordering mustard baths and hot poultices right and left, Mr. Briggs says.’

  ‘Indeed! Well, I can’t insist on his coming down, so I’ll tackle him in his room. Let’s hope he’s not asleep. Ernie, come with me. Tom, have a word with the victim’s manservant, Weekes, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Right, Chief. How’s about summat to eat?’

  ‘You gotta be prepared to starve in a good cause, Sarge.’

  ‘Ernie may be prepared to starve,’ said Alec, ‘but order some sandwiches for you and me, Tom, and we’ll snatch a bite whenever we can.’

  ‘Blimey, Chief, have a heart!’ Piper protested.

  ‘That’ll learn you to cheek your elders and betters,’ said Tom, grinning.

  Alec and Piper went upstairs. Though the hotel was not large, the first floor boasted a bewilderment of corridors and corners, with flights of two or three steps here and there to add to the confusion. The numbers on the room doors seemed to present no logical order. However, having already asked the way, Piper threaded through the maze with unerring accuracy.

  ‘This is it, Chief.’

  Alec knocked. The grunt in response could have been ‘Who is it?’ but he chose to interpret it as ‘Come in.’

  Piper slipped in behind him and noiselessly closed the door.

  ‘About time, too.’ The pettish, slightly hoarse voice issued from the green wing chair, its back to the door, pulled up close to the grate where a small, sulky coal fire smouldered. Only the tip of an old-fashioned nightcap was visible. ‘The water’s nearly stone cold,’ the voice continued.

  Nodding to Piper to stay where he was, Alec advanced, saying, ‘I’m afraid I’m not the chambermaid, sir.’

  The nightcap jerked. ‘What . . . ?’ The word was a squawk of alarm, and the long, narrow face which appeared around the side of the chair twitched nervously, as if the man feared he was to be the next victim. ‘Who the deuce are you, sir?’

  ‘Police,’ said Alec soothingly. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Scotland Yard. You’re Mr. Braeburn, the solicitor?’

  The lawyer gave a grudging nod, and pulled his muffler closer around his neck. Below the knitted scarf one end of a black silk cravat stuck out incongruously. He wore a warm but expensive dressing gown, brown woollen cloth with darker brown velvet collar, lapels, and piping. Green silk pyjama-legs protruded below, and sheepskin bedroom slippers. The once-hot mustard foot-bath had been pushed aside. The air was redolent of Friar’s Balsam.

  ‘What do you want?’ he croaked. ‘I’m ill.’ He looked ill, his face pallid, thin lips bloodless. Behind the gold-rimmed glasses, dark pouches sagged beneath his eyes.

  ‘I’m very sorry to disturb you, sir,’ Alec apologised. ‘It was good of you to agree to stay and lend the police your assistance. The thing is, I shan’t be sure how to tackle this business until I have certain information about the McGowan brothers’ wills.’

  ‘I was never Albert McGowan’s solicitor, though Alistair McGowan has employed my firm since before I became a partner.’

  ‘But Mr. Albert consulted you, on the train?’ Alec remained standing, since there was no second chair in the room and he couldn’t very well perch on the bed without an invitation.

  ‘I suppose his man told you. Yes, Mr. Albert sent his servant to beg the favour of a word of advice whenever convenient.’

  ‘And you spoke to him?’

  ‘Yes, yes, though I made it plain the usual fee was expected despite the unconventional circumstances.’

  ‘What time did you go to his compartment, sir?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, no idea at all,’ Braeburn said irritably. ‘Some time after the train left York.’

  ‘Was Mr. Albert lying down when you arrived? Did you happen to notice a pillow?’

  ‘Really, Inspector, I cannot be expected to recall such details. My only concern was his queries about changing his will, which I understood to be your interest, also.’

  ‘Yes, sir. He was intending to change his will, then?’

  ‘It is scarcely proper for a solicitor to discuss a client’s affairs. However, in the circumstances I dare say it is permissible, especially as he was not a regular client. Yes, he wished to change his will, but not in favour of his relatives.’

  ‘Not?’

  ‘In fact, his purpose was to make it less likely that they should be able to overturn his wishes.’

  ‘Which were?’

  ‘I understand, though I have not seen his will, that apart from a small legacy to his manservant he left everything to a young doctor. A foreigner, I believe, and in no way related. It is scarcely surprising that the family wishes to challenge it. Nonetheless, a suit is most unlikely to be successful as I had already informed Mr. Smythe-Pike and Mr. Gillespie. However, Mr. Albert persisted in his desire to ensure his will’s standing.’

  ‘How did he – or you – propose to do that?’

  ‘Quite sensibly.’ Braeburn’s tone was indicative of a lawyer’s reluctance to credit a layman with sense in legal matters. ‘He proposed to set up a charitable trust. Its director was to be the person in question, and its purpose to found and support a medical clinic in India.’

  ‘Admirable,’ said Alec. His approval stemmed not from any legal consideration, nor even from the benevolent intent, but from relief that Belinda’s friend and Daisy’s protégé was off at least that particular hook.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Braeburn, ‘I was forced to advise him that the sum he might expect from his brother’s estate was quite inadequate for the grandiose enterprise he envisioned. Dunston Castle has been allowed to become thoroughly dilapidated, and the demesne is mostly moorland, fit only for shooting and fishing. More seriously, of late years Mr. Alistair has speculated most unwisely on the Stock Exchange, as well as giving considerable sums to charity. Extreme age takes some people that way.’

  ‘You mean the family fortune’s gone?’ Alec exclaimed.

  ‘A few thousand left at most. A very few thousand.’

  ‘Have you told Mr. Gillespie?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘Peter Gillespie is Alistair McGowan’s heir, is he not?’

  ‘He was not then.’

  ‘Then you confirm that Albert McGowan’s death made him heir?

  ‘I do. However, I should consider it highly improper to inform him of the condition of the estate before it becomes his.’

  ‘Why is that, sir?’

  ‘In the first place, I doubt he and his wife and son would hesitate to reproach Mr. McGowan for the losses, even on his deathbed. In the second, I anticipate that Mr. McGowan may change his will in favour of his own offspring. In the third – a felon cannot profit by his crime, and you must agree, Inspector, that whether as principal or accessory Mr. Peter Gillespie is by far your most likely suspect.’

  ‘That’s as may be, sir.’ Alec swiftly reviewed in his mind what he had learned. Daisy had been right about the wills on every count.

  Braeburn had been surprisingly forthcoming. His voice, though husky, was holding up quite well. In Alec’s experience, solici
tors, though notoriously close-mouthed, tended to be unstoppable once set in motion. He didn’t want to be responsible for any further damage to the man’s sore throat.

  ‘Just one more question, sir,’ he said. ‘Did you see anyone else go into or come out of Albert McGowan’s compartment?’

  ‘I did not,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘I brought important papers with me to study and I had no interest in his visitors, nor reason to expect to suffer an inquisition on the subject.’

  ‘Just so, sir. Thank you for your cooperation. It’s a pity more members of the public don’t see it as their duty to assist the police.’

  Braeburn essayed a feeble smile. ‘Ah well, we’re both on the same side of the law, eh, Inspector? By the way, I trust you will not disclose information given you in confidence?’

  ‘I see no reason to do so, sir,’ Alec assured him, with the usual mental reservation. If it seemed likely to help him find a murderer, he’d use his knowledge like a shot.

  The lawyer must be sicker than he appeared, or he’d have made sure before he gave away any secrets that they would be treated in confidence.

  Alec and Piper returned downstairs. In the parlour they found Tom and a small man in stiffly correct black, who stood up as Alec entered.

  ‘This here’s Mr. Weekes, Chief, as was gentleman’s gentle man to the deceased. We’ve been having a bit of a chin-wag over a pint.’

  ‘I’ll be getting along, now, sir, if there’s nothing more I can do for you.’

  Behind his back, Tom gave a slight nod.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Mr. Weekes,’ said Alec. ‘I hope the loss of your employer hasn’t left you in too bad a hole.’

  ‘Not too bad, sir, which isn’t to say I’m not sorry to see the last of the poor old chap. Treated me very handsome, he did, like I told Miss Dalrymple. Now there’s a real lady! Well, I hope you get the villain that did it, that’s all. Good-night, sir, and good-night to you, Mr. Tring.’ With a condescending nod to Piper, the valet left.

  ‘That’s put you properly in your place, young ’un,’ Tring observed.

  ‘Is that food I see beside you?’ said Alec, suddenly ravenous.

  ‘Cor, Sarge, you didn’t scoff the lot while we was gone?’