The Bath Mysteries

by E. R. Punshon

  From the first she had been uncomfortable and uneasy. For one thing, there appeared hardly any work to do – a disconcerting experience to one used to a busy office. Then it had been lonely, for there was no one else employed by the syndicate – not even an office boy – except Mr. Lawrence himself; and his silence, abstraction from all apparent interests, utter indifference to his surroundings, had soon begun, as she put it, “to get on her nerves.”

  “You couldn’t hardly believe sometimes he wasn’t just a dead corpse walking about because no one had remembered to bury him,” Miss Hewitt declared; and Bobby nodded understandingly, remembering that he, too, the first time he saw Lawrence, had had something of the same impression. “It was like he was always remembering the past,” she went on, “always going through it again in his own mind, and what was actually happening round him wasn’t half so real. That was bad enough, and then no one to say a word to all day and hardly any work – not that I’m a whale for work in the ordinary way,” added Miss Hewitt frankly, “but almost anything’s better than sitting with your hands folded all the blessed day. Properly fed up I got, I can tell you.”

  “There was very little business done?” Bobby asked.

  “Not enough to pay the rent, or even the electric light bills, if you ask me,” declared Miss Hewitt. “Now and then we sent out circulars. Hardly ever got any reply; no reason to; nothing in them.”

  “What sort of circulars?”

  “Oh, advice what shares to buy and what was likely to go up and what to go down – ordinary stuff copied out of the papers, most of it, I thought. And I never saw the books. They were kept locked up. Sometimes I saw Mr. Lawrence busy with them, making entries. Beats me what he had to enter. It all seemed funny to me, only nothing wrong you could put a finger on, only you felt there was more behind. Funny it seemed, didn’t it?”

  “Very funny,” agreed Bobby gravely.

  “Not short of money, you understand,” she continued. “Every bill that came in paid at once, only nothing to show where the cash came from, and I got so I made up my mind to leave just as soon as I could get another job, even if it meant less money and more work. Jobs aren’t so easy to find, but a friend of mine told me there was likely to be a vacancy soon where she worked, and I should stand a good chance if I put in. So I did, and then, before I got a reply, one day I came back from lunch to find another girl sitting at my desk, large as life, hat and coat hung up and pounding away at the typewriter as if she had been there for years. ‘Hullo,’ I said, taken aback like; and there were two five-pound notes on the table, and she looked up and pushed them over with a letter Mr. Lawrence had signed – if he had signed it; his name was there, anyhow, just as he wrote it, only afterwards I thought it hadn’t looked quite the same. The letter was sacking me, and there was an A1 reference, and while I was sort of gasping the girl said: ‘Mr. Lawrence very much regrets he can’t continue your engagement. The work in the office does not justify it. There is ten pounds in lieu of notice, and he hopes the reference is satisfactory.’ Well, ten pounds is ten pounds, and I was pretty sure of the other job, and I couldn’t have asked for a better reference, and deep down in me I was glad and thankful to be off. I said: ‘You taking the job?’ She didn’t answer that, only something about how sorry Mr. Lawrence was for any inconvenience caused, and then in walked Mr. Lawrence himself. Believe it or not, I’m as sure as anything you like he didn’t know a thing about it.”

  “About what?” Bobby asked.

  “About her being there, or the two fivers, or the letter he was supposed to have signed, or the reference either. He had been sitting in his room, just remembering same as always, and if he had heard anyone come in he must have thought it was me coming back from lunch. But he knew her all right. You could see that. You could see he was puzzled. Didn’t understand it, or why she was there, or how she got there. That was plain, but what was a lot plainer was the way she looked at him – like he was It, and all she wanted was to go down flat and lick his boots for him. All sorts to make a world, of course, and all have their own tastes, but living corpses aren’t mine – not by a long way. She said: ‘Miss Hewitt is leaving and I am taking her place.’ He looked at her and he looked at me, and you could see what he was trying to do was to come back out of the past where he lived, so he could understand. Only he couldn’t, because it needed too much effort, so he didn’t say a word but went back into his own room, sort of leaving us to it.”

  “What happened?” Bobby asked.

  “We just stopped there like that, me with the two fivers in my hand and her looking half ‘I’ll tear your eyes out if you don’t go quiet’ and half ‘You don’t want him, and I do, so won’t you go, please?’ and another half saying it was all her life to get him, the way they try to look in the pictures only they never do, not like her. I was glad in a way to be out of the place, and ten pounds is ten pounds, and more than often comes your way as a gift like, and I knew this other job was waiting in a manner of speaking, and her watching me as much as to say she would be grateful forever if I gave her her chance, and if I didn’t she would fight down to the last drop of blood. I was sort of scared of her and sort of sorry, too, never having known that wanting a boy was like that, which I suppose you never do till it gets you real bad like it had her. Before I knew I meant it, I had the two fivers and the reference in my handbag and I said: ‘Cheerio – best of luck,’ and I went off just like that, and, believe me or not, all the way down in the lift there seemed to be a sort of whisper in my ear, same as if she was saying, ‘Thank you.’ Funny, wasn’t it?”

  CHAPTER 23

  DEATH OF ANOTHER

  That it might be added to the enormous collection of documents forming the dossier of the case, Bobby wrote out a full report of this interview before he left the Yard for home.

  But for himself he did not see that it advanced their knowledge greatly, or helped them to ward off the menace and threat of murder to come that hung so heavily upon their apprehensions. They had known well enough that some connection existed between Lawrence and Alice, and the coffee-stall keeper’s story had already told of what seemed to be its beginning. How that connection had developed, what its significance now was, what bearing it had upon the sequence of events, were the important questions, and upon them Miss Hewitt’s tale seemed to throw small light. What was troubling Bobby much more was the report that Alice was renewing intercourse with her old associates. Stirring him to a bewildered yet profound sympathy had been the picture in his mind of the unceasing toil, the fierce enduring discipline to which the girl had subjected herself of her own free will. There had seemed to him to be shown in it more than a touch of heroism – of heroism, too, of that unknown and solitary sort which is most rare. But to these new reports, especially to those that told of visits to the woman known as Magotty Meg, it was difficult to attach any good meaning. Nor did he see what aim or purpose the girl could have that demanded both the willing and deliberate sacrifice of her sight and the assistance of that old woman of evil life and worse repute.

  Only too likely did it appear that her first determination had broken down and that by the aid of Magotty Meg she was seeking to return to easier ways.

  When Bobby had finished writing his report, he took it to Inspector Ferris, and was surprised to find much bustle and preparation proceeding. Evidently some special action was being prepared, and Ferris said to him: “Oh, you hadn’t heard, had you? It’s that bird they pulled in off the Embankment. He’s come clean.”

  “The one Dick Norris was seen talking to?” Bobby asked, a good deal disturbed.

  “That’s right,” Ferris answered. “Not much in this,” he added, running his eye over Bobby’s report. “Plain enough there was something between Lawrence and Alice Yates when they were both working together – they wanted to get the Hewitt girl out of it for fear she’d blab, and they fixed up to do it like that.”

  “Well, sir, the only thing I thought might be worth remembering,” Bobby remarked, “is h
er idea that Miss Yates is in love with Lawrence.”

  “Oh, lots of women can’t see a girl and a man together without thinking they’re in love with each other,” answered Ferris. “Sort of fixed idea with ’em. Doesn’t matter, anyhow. We’re pinching Norris tonight and Lawrence as well, and that ought to get us material enough to put them away on.”

  Bobby felt a good deal surprised and a little worried at this information. He had had no idea things were considered in higher quarters to be so far advanced, and for himself he was inclined to think that the action about to be taken was probably a little precipitate.

  “It’s all straightened out now, then?” he ventured to ask. “I suppose on what this Embankment bird says?”

  “That’s right,” agreed Ferris, who was in a genial mood at the prospect he thought he saw of a cessation in the torrent of reports by which he had been overwhelmed recently. “Norris made a bad bloomer. Picked on a fellow with some brains. Talked too freely, too. The chap didn’t half like it. Norris practically gave the show away – that is, to anyone who knew something already. Talked about it all – insurance, everything; even the bath business as well. The chap he talked to got the wind up, it all seemed so queer, and, when we tackled him, he wasn’t half ready to tell us all about it. What it means is absolute, cast-iron proof Norris knew – and how did he know if he wasn’t in it from the start? No answer to that, eh?”

  Bobby, trying his hardest to think out clearly all the possible implications resulting from Ferris’s story, did not reply. Ferris went on:

  “His story stood up right enough, and the A.C. said to pinch both Norris and Lawrence and make a thorough search of Norris’s flat, and of both the Berry, Quick office and the L.B. & S.C. place as well. Dead sure thing they’ll find enough one way or another to clinch the case and clear up the whole thing. I shan’t be sorry, either. And it’s long odds they’ll find enough to bring in Mrs. Ronnie and Mr. Chris Owen as well. It’s been a big show, and there must have been a lot of them working it together.”

  He turned again to his work, and Bobby drifted away. He would very much have liked to accompany one or other of the raiding parties, but that, it seemed, was not going to be allowed. Others had been assigned to the duty, and for him there was nothing left but to sign off and go home.

  He had to admit to himself that it did in fact look as though the case were drawing to an end, for indeed the knowledge that Norris had displayed of the methods used appeared quite incompatible with innocence. That admitted of no doubt, it seemed, and yet Bobby could not help a feeling that the picture was not complete; he thought there were still odd bits lying about not yet satisfactorily fitted into the general pattern. But he knew how generally successful it was, when guilt was believed to be clearly established but formal proof was still wanting, to trust to an arrest providing material to fill up any gaps remaining. Almost invariably the guilty man who has been arrested feels that, since the police have gone so far, they must know all, and, with that belief working like yeast in his mind, hardly ever has he sufficient strength of mind to prevent himself from offering explanations, excuses, comments, that serve only for additional proofs of guilt.

  Yet Bobby was still inclined to think that this time his superior officers had acted too hurriedly, most likely under the spur of their apprehension that fresh murder was on the way and that prompt action must be taken to prevent it. The fact, however, still remained that proof was found of knowledge possessed by Norris of all that had happened in the past.

  The bus he had travelled on put Bobby down some distance from his lodgings. Completing the distance on foot he turned into the quiet, old-fashioned crescent, little used save by the residents, in which his landlady’s house was situated. As he did so he saw, a few yards in front, Alice, approaching from the other direction, returning, he told himself grimly, for this was an hour at which it had been her custom to be bent over her sewing, from some fresh interview with Magotty Meg.

  To his surprise she did not seem to recognize him; and then he perceived that there was something not quite ordinary about her walk and bearing. Looking again, he saw that she was guiding herself with one hand against the area railings of the houses and that her eyes were tightly closed.

  Wondering what this meant, he pushed on ahead, but on the opposite side, by the patch of enclosed, ill-tended garden that divided the crescent from the street from which it opened, and, looking back, was able to see that her eyes were still closed as she groped her way along. Her lips were moving, too, and he had the impression that she was counting her steps. When she had nearly reached the door of the house where they both lodged, she stopped, and felt along the area railings. The head of one was broken. On this her hand rested for a moment, as though it were the landmark showing her where she was, and then she went on briskly and up the steps to the front door. Bobby ran across after her. She was still keeping her eyes shut as she felt for the keyhole and let herself in. Bobby followed, asking himself if what she had risked, had happened, and her sight had indeed abruptly left her.

  She must have known that someone was behind her, but, though he could see she was listening, she did not speak or hesitate. Groping her way to the foot of the stairs she began to ascend them, guiding herself by the banister rail. Still Bobby followed, and, on the landing, outside his room, she paused.

  “I think it’s you,” she said, still with closed eyes. “Isn’t it?"

  “Yes,” he answered. “Has anything...?” He paused and hesitated. She waited. He went on awkwardly: “I mean... I wondered...”

  “I was only seeing what it is like to be blind,” she answered, whispering the last word with an infinite dreariness as though into it were compressed all those long years of darkness she foresaw.

  He did not know what to say. He stood there, looking at her, wondering. Her eyes were open now, and she was looking not at him, but far past him. She might have been straining her vision to store up every physical detail it could reach. She said with the same accent of infinite dreariness:

  “I suppose for a long time I shall go on saying ‘seeing.’”

  “Why?” he asked. “What for – I mean, what are you doing it for?”

  Her eyes that had been steady before began to blink again, and she made that characteristic gesture she had of wiping away something from before them.

  “It’ll be worse than spiders’ webs being there all the time,” she said.

  She went on up the stairs to the top where her own little room was situated. He followed her. She left the door open, and, while he watched her from the landing, she began with a kind of feverish and hurried impatience to get out her sewing. Bobby found himself saying abruptly:

  “Don’t do that.”

  “I must,” she answered. “There’s so little time.”

  “What for?” he asked. “Why are you... I mean, what are you doing all that for? It’s crazy.”

  “If you have no money,” she said, but a little to herself, “you are so helpless – helpless.”

  She came towards the door then to shut it, and he said:

  “I wanted to tell you I have had a talk today with Miss Hewitt.”

  “Miss Hewitt?” she repeated, as if the name were not at first recognized, and then, remembering: “Oh. Yes. How did you find her?”

  “We’ve found out a good deal,” he told her, “but not why you came here to lodge, or why you are trying to work yourself – blind.”

  She shivered a little at the word, and again he was aware of that feeling of brutality. He said:

  “Is it to help Percy Lawrence?”

  “I suppose you know all about him,” she said slowly. “All about me, too. Don’t you? You’re so clever at finding things out.”

  “Why not tell us yourself?” he asked. “We might be able to help you. I think we could, perhaps. I think there may be need. But how can we, if you won’t tell us anything.”

  “What would be the good?” she asked. “A street woman, a convict, you wouldn’t
believe us; you would twist and turn everything we said. Can you see such as we are asking policemen for help?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “I think that is why you came here, because you thought you might want me.”

  She made no answer to that, but went back to her sewing, and, sitting down, began to work. She pushed the door to, and he went away down the stairs, remembering her sitting bending over her work, her busy needle moving to and fro, the shadows heavy all around in that small, dark, and awkward room.

  “If she wanted to make sure of finishing off her sight, she’s chosen the right place for it,” he thought.

  Almost immediately the phone rang. He had had an extension put into his room so that he could answer without going into the hall. The message was from the Yard, and directed him to hurry immediately to the Park Lane flat rented by Dick Norris.

  “Get a move on,” the voice over the wire enjoined. “They had a bit of a shock when they got there – Norris dead in his bath.”

  “What? What’s that?” Bobby shouted; and the thin distant voice repeated:

  “They had to break in, and that’s what they found. Bit of a facer – oh, and Percy Lawrence was recognized leaving the building just about half an hour before. There’s a general call out for him, and they want you along at once, as you have seen him.”

  “I’ll be there right away,” Bobby said, but he took time to run upstairs and knock at Alice’s door. When she answered, he pushed it open, and said:

  “I’ve just had word a man named Norris has been found dead in his bath. Lawrence was seen leaving a little before.”

  She listened, but gave no sign of emotion. Below her breath, so that the words were scarcely audible, she said:

  “I thought so.”