by Bruce, Leo
Bickley stared at Carolus.
“If you’ll forgive me saying so, I think what you say is out of all reason. Just because she sold a few pieces of gold to the same man …”
“You may be right. Still I’m sure you don’t want to take any chances. I hope it will only be a short while before we have the man.”
“Even if there’s any truth in this, there must be others who sold stuff.”
“Not that we know of, surely?”
“What about Mrs Baxeter?”
“Oh yes. I will see them. Of course, it was before the other murders that she sold it. Still, I’ll make a point of seeing them. Thanks for reminding me.”
“It’s very upsetting,” said Bickley.
“Not to me,” said his wife. “I’m not afraid while Harry’s with me, and it might be the means of finding out who did for poor Mrs Westmacott. Besides, I should be ready for him.”
“Suppose there are several of them?”
“I don’t think there will be anything you can’t deal with, Bickley. Stranglers of women are not usually very heroic characters. I shan’t worry so long as you take my warning seriously.”
“Can’t do anything else, can I?” said Bickley in a disgruntled way. “Why don’t the police do something?”
“Because they think the idea is silly,” said Carolus. “They’re experienced men and may well be right. But I don’t quite see how you can chance it.”
“Nor do I. But it means I miss my pint at the Dragon, and ten to one it’s all unnecessary.”
“You’ll have your television,” Carolus pointed out.
Bickley’s reply was unprintable.
14
FINDING that the Baxeters were not at home when he phoned, Carolus left a message asking them to get in touch with him as soon as possible. While he was awaiting this he was informed by the young woman at the reception desk
that a Mr Gorringer had called and was expected to return at any moment.
All too soon Carolus found himself facing the headmaster. He wore a solemn and anxious expression.
“Well, Deene,” he said, “this is a sorry state of things. The boy Priggley informs me that not only have you failed to elucidate the problem of the two murders but that you are actually expecting another.”
“Priggley exaggerates,” said Carolus. “I think it’s possible that there may be an attempt, that’s all. And the police, on whom you consider we should rely, think otherwise, or at least refuse to take the precautions I have asked for.”
“I see,” said Mr Gorringer gravely.
“Are you staying in the town?”
“I am. I have felt it my duty to be present here and perhaps—who knows?—lend some assistance, while taking every care that the name of the school shall not be involved in unwelcome publicity.”
“Tired of Brighton?”
“As I explained to you the Sandringham Private Hotel is no longer in the capable hands of our good Mrs Tunney. I need not enlarge on the somewhat disagreeable incidents that have made our stay uncomfortable. Suffice it to say that we are spending a week here at Buddington before returning refreshed for the new term.”
“In this hotel?”
“No, my dear Deene, not in this hotel. The Governing Body of the Queen’s School, excellent in intention though they may be, do not see fit to increase my emoluments sufficiently to allow for luxury like this. We are staying at a small and I hope exclusive establishment named the Osborne. And now I shall be grateful if you will put me in the picture.”
Carolus gave the headmaster an outline of the case and as he finished he saw Colonel Baxeter himself approaching from the entrance hall. He wore shorts and woollen stockings, an open khaki shirt and a jacket of grey homespun. Carolus quickly told the headmaster that he was ‘connected with the case’ and Mr Gorringer was a little more gracious than might have been expected considering the Colonel’s attire. His rank also seemed to quieten the headmaster’s alarm.
“You wanted to see me, Deene?” said Colonel Baxeter when introductions had been made.
“Yes. A few words with you and your wife, if I could.”
“We are at your disposal. My wife has instructed me to invite you to share our lunch today and perhaps Mr Gorringer will join you?”
Carolus, who had dreaded a meal at Dehra Dun, now saw possibilities in the situation and Mr Gorringer, who knew nothing of the Colonel’s rules of health, beamingly accepted.
The lunch was not a success. The headmaster, whose appetite was a healthy not to say voracious one, looked unhappily at the dish of various so-called ‘edible seaweeds’ which had been skilfully prepared.
“Slouk,” said the Colonel, “excellent when dressed as this is with pepper and olive oil. Redware, you should squeeze a little lemon over that. Badderlocks which have also the pleasant name of Honeyware. They do not belie that name. Dulse you will find tastes like roasted oysters.”
“Interesting,” said Mr Gorringer without conviction. “And you feel no hardship in subsisting on these foods?”
“Hardship? You will find them delicious. We have a nut roast to follow with salsify and alecost.”
Carolus turned the talk to murder, as a relief.
“I daresay I’m an alarmist,” he said, “but I have an obstinate idea that there will be another attempt.”
“Then you are coming round to my opinion that only a maniac can have been responsible?”
“I don’t see why you should say that. What I want to point out is that the only known link between the two persons murdered is that they both sold gold to Ebony. Farfetched though it may seem, I think that may be the key once again.”
“What does that entail? Are you seriously suggesting that anyone who has had dealings with this man is in danger?”
“I only know of two people,” said Carolus evasively. “Mrs Bickley, the housekeeper at Rossetti Lodge, and Mrs Baxeter.”
The Colonel and his wife exchanged glances.
“Do you mean us to take this seriously?” asked the Colonel.
“I do. Yes.”
“Do you know that my wife represented this country at the Olympic games at Helsinki in 1952 and with the discus made Nina Romaschkova tremble for her title? That in the shot-put Galina Zybina acknowledged her prowess, while her javelin-throwing secured her congratulations from Dana Zatophkova of Czechoslovakia, who actually managed to win the event? Do you think she is a woman to be scared by some puny strangler?”
“A little more sea-girdle, Mr Gorringer?” said Mrs Baxeter, to deflect attention from her accomplishments.
“No, thank you!” said the headmaster with lively emphasis. “Health-giving, I make no doubt, but I have had sufficient.”
“Anyway,” said Carolus. “It seemed up to me to warn you.”
The Colonel nodded.
“Your intentions are good,” he said, “but we shall not change our time-table. This afternoon we are doing a cross-country run in the direction of Lilbourne and this evening we make one of our brief appearances at the Dragon. We occasionally visit it to avoid being considered exclusive or unsocial, unhealthy though the atmosphere undoubtedly is. I think you would find that your murderer would find rather a warm reception at Dehra Dun.”
Shivering before the open windows Carolus doubted it.
“My wife,” went on the Colonel, “is a firm believer in peaceful relations between men as between nations.”
“Satyagraha,” put in Mrs Baxeter.
“But of course were she roused by any such attempt at violence her response would be instantaneous and effective.”
In the car afterwards the headmaster looked pained.
“Salubrity, yes,” he said. “Hygiene, dietetics, therapy, hydropathy within reason, all may have their place in our modern world. But sea-weed, my dear Deene, surely that is carrying vegetarianism to excess? And did I gather they were, hm, nudists?”
“You did. Both of them.”
“I find the suggestion most distasteful. Wh
ere do our duties lie now?”
“There is not much more I can do.”
“Tell me, for in this case the matter is surely too serious for deliberate mystification, do you know who murdered those two poor women?”
Years of habit made Carolus recoil from the question, but he recognized the truth of Mr Gorringer’s remark.
“There are three persons,” he said slowly, “any one of whom it could have been. You know the verse in Guy Mannering?
Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers,
Dash the window-glass to shivers!
For three wild lads were we, brave boys,
And three wild lads were we;
Thou on the land, and I on the sand,
And Jack on the gallows-tree!”
“You mean that one of your three will hang?” suggested Mr Gorringer lucidly.
“I have every reason to hope so.”
“I can scarcely suppose the Baxeters are among your suspects, then. There was little sign of ‘gin in pailfuls’ or any other of the boisterous features of your verse in their house. How, may I ask, do you intend to establish the identity of the murderer from among your three suspects?”
“Murderer or murderers,” said Carolus. “I am awaiting a revelation.”
“That sounds very obscure.”
“Not at all. I have told you that I believe there will be another attempt.”
“So some poor woman is to risk, perchance even to lose her life before you can bring the guilty to book?”
“I think I can eliminate the risk.”
“Would it not be wiser to inform the police of your suspicions?”
“The police know as much as I do. They’re not wasting their time, I assure you. They will almost certainly make an arrest before my case is complete.”
“I devoutly trust so. You appear to me, my dear Deene, to be playing fast and loose with people’s safety. What may be taking place at this moment in the seemingly placid town of Buddington? How can you be sure that even now your murderer is not preparing for his grim task? Or even executing it! I positively shudder at the thought.”
“So do I. But I don’t see what else is to be done. These murders were planned with diabolic forethought, care and precision. No old-fashioned ‘clues’ were left to help us, no bits of fluff or cigarette ash or fingerprints. In one case the person who dragged the body into a stone quarry took the precaution of wearing a stolen pair of shoes in order not to leave his or her own footprints. I have nothing but circumstantial evidence of the involvement of even the three and certainly nothing to incriminate one or another of them. I may guess, but so may you, and your guess is as good as mine. The only hope of deciding is to wait until there is another attempt. For that I am ready.”
“What makes you so sure there will be another?”
“I am not sure. I have a strong feeling, that’s all. If there isn’t, I doubt if the case will ever be cleared up.”
“Dear me. Your first failure.”
“I think you should come back to the Royal Hydro for a cup of tea, headmaster. It is an illuminating spectacle to see the ailing rich enjoy their confectionery and you have not met the lady for whom, formally, I am acting.”
“I should be happy. Who is this lady?”
“A Miss Tissot, unhappily, since she believes in ‘the glory and the nothing of a name’, christened Martha.”
“Speaking of names, my dear Deene, Mrs Gorringer made one of her neater witticisms today. We expected to find you, after your illness and the anxieties of the case, worn to a shadow here in the country. ‘The sly shade of a rural Deene’, said Mrs Gorringer. I must say, I laughed heartily,” said the headmaster and repeated that noisy performance in which Carolus tried feebly to join.
Miss Tissot received them without hostility. Mr Gorringer’s sober and pompous manner seemed to satisfy her exacting standards. She swallowed hard on hearing his name, but bowed in answer to Carolus’s request that they might join her. She was already enjoying mustard-and-cress sandwiches with the prospect of éclairs.
All might have gone well as Carolus gave her what information he thought proper and said that he hoped for elucidation soon. But unfortunately she looked up as Mr Gorringer was bowing to a group of people nearby.
“You know someone in this hotel?” she questioned incredulously.
“One of my Board of Governors,” said the headmaster with undeniable pride. “Sir Willard Hoxton.”
“You surely don’t mean one of that group near the pillar?”
“Yes. That is Sir Willard.”
“Confidence tricksters,” said Miss Tissot. “The hotel’s full of them since it began to go down.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the headmaster, colouring, “Sir Willard Hoxton is very far from being anything of the sort. A most distinguished gentleman with large interests in enamelware, I believe.”
“Scum. Riff-raff. Rabble. Dregs,” said Miss Tissot sweepingly. “I am surprised that you should acknowledge such rag-pickers when you are sitting with me.”
The headmaster rose to his feet.
“In that case I can easily vacate my chair. The gentleman of whom you are speaking …”
“Gentleman? Vagabond. Guttersnipe. Pot-walloper. There are no gentlemen in this hotel. Tour name sounds like a dress shop.”
“And yours, Madam,” thundered Mr Gorringer awefully as Miss Tissot attacked her éclair, “yours sounds like a sneeze.”
He strode away, his face crimson but his carriage upright.
Carolus smiled.
“You shouldn’t take one another seriously,” he said.
“Gorringer!” cried Miss Tissot. “I have never … Incredible … Thank heavens my stay here is nearly done.”
A page-boy whispered to Carolus. A lady wanted to see him. The head porter thought it best to tell him so that he could come out. The head porter didn’t think he would want the lady shown in.
By the desk, impatiently fingering her black kid gloves, was Mrs Gosport, whose lilies had been stolen before the murders. Her beady eyes were sparkling with excitement as she beckoned Carolus away from the hearing of those at the desk.
“You know what you told me?” she whispered.
It was not a fair question.
“I’m afraid I …”
“About my lilies. You said if any more of them was to be stolen to let you know.”
Carolus at once looked serious.
“I remember.”
“Well, they have. Or rather one has. And it looks like by the same person. Snipped off near the ground.”
Carolus led her to a settee.
“When was this?”
Now that she could feel the full weight of importance in her information, Mrs Gosport was not going to be hurried. She licked her lips.
“Last night, it must have been, though I’ve only just noticed. You see they’re over, really, the lilies. They can’t go on for ever and I must say mine last longer than most. They were nearly done for though, with all this weather we’ve had. Just a few blooms on the turn. But I always let them die off naturally, because they’re better for next year like that. I was only saying to my sister last night, the lilies are over for this year, I said, so we must wait till next when I hope no one will start cutting them again.”
“You found …”
“It wasn’t till this afternoon when I was pulling out a couple of weeds I happened to notice it. Just near where the others had gone, it was, and sliced off with a knife the same as they had been.”
“But you think it was done yesterday evening?”
“I’m sure of it. I told you my sister was a ninvalide and she has her seat right in the window all day. It’s something for her to do, poor soul, watch the people go by, because she can’t do much in the way of needlework and she doesn’t care for reading. So she has the radio on and looks out of the window, which I tell her is as good as the telly which we can’t afford. So if anyone had come after those lilies in daylight she would have seen them
, wouldn’t she? That’s why I say it must have been last night or the early morning.”
“I see.”
“Is it going to help you find out who got the other lot, because I’d like to know.”
“I think it is.”
“It’s important, then? Not like all that about an artist ringing bells at Westmacott’s. I thought, as soon as I saw it gone, this is important, I thought, and came running round at once.”
“I think you should tell the police.”
“No. They’ve never been to see me about the others. Why should I bother with them?”
“It’s your duty, Mrs Gosport.”
“Yes, and it was their duty to come and see me. If they had time to ask questions of Mrs Plummer till she went about telling everyone she was in with them and knew who had done the murders, they should have had time to come and see me. You can tell them, if you like. I shall leave them to find out.”
“Would there have been any bloom on the one stolen?”
“Just a bit, I daresay. Oh yes, there’d be some bloom, only it would be going off on the edges, as they do. It would have kept better in water. I wonder he didn’t take them all at the same time. Can you think why he didn’t?”
“Yes.”
“Why, then?”
“Because he, or she, or they, didn’t know that a third one would be necessary.”
“You don’t mean someone else is going to be done for and found holding one of my lilies? If so, it’s enough to put one off growing them.”
“No one is going to be murdered if I can help it.”
“Well, I hope you do, then, that’s all I can say. We don’t want some other poor lady found strangled and holding one of my lilies, do we?”
“No,” said Carolus truthfully. “We don’t.”
15
CAROLUS went up to his room and rang for a waiter. When Napper appeared he sent him for a large whisky and a bottle of Schweppes.
“You look pretty grim,” remarked Napper as he poured out the drink. “Anything wrong?”
“A great deal. I wish I had never gone near this case. It’s going to end badly.”
“Who for?”