“But surely—” I said awkwardly, lacking her beautifully scientific detachment—“Cora McCanley, I mean—”
“Oh, Mr. Coutts was not Cora McCanley’s mysterious lover,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Nor was Sir William Kingston-Fox.” She smiled wickedly at me. I could have kicked myself for jumping to conclusions. “Don’t you remember telling me what a long holiday Mr. Bransome Burns was spending in these parts?” she said. “Burns was a financier. That, to the impecunious Cora, meant a good deal, of course. She had dug enough money out of Burns to go for that jaunt to London that I spoke about, and had made up her mind to go. Then, as I told you— only you were convinced I was talking about Sir William—Burns telephoned to put her off, and she arranged to hoodwink Burt, and, later, return to the Bungalow. The idea of deceiving Burt, with whom she had quarrelled violently, appealed to Cora, just as I said before, and the story I told of her return and the manner of it was also true. I don’t know how long she had been at the Bungalow waiting for Burns, who couldn’t get away from you all on the seashore that night, when Mrs. Coutts arrived by way of the underground passage from the inn. Cora must have been fearfully annoyed at first, and then fearfully alarmed. Mrs. Coutts strangled her to death after having stunned her with the poker. Do you remember Burt’s poker? And do you remember that the Chief Constable told us Cora had had a blow on the back of the head?”
I nodded, and shuddered, of course; I remembered how I myself had picked up that poker once with the intention of knocking out Burt with it.
“And, of course, if anybody had seen Mrs. Coutts on her way back from the Bungalow that evening, she had her reason ready. She pretended she had gone out to look for you all and persuade you to come home, didn’t she? Do you remember that? Only, she gave the wrong time, I expect, to her husband. She went to the Bungalow much earlier than she said, and she had to race back to the inn to get hold of Lowry and tell him he must remove Cora’s body.”
“I remember how fearfully knocked out she was on that Tuesday night,” I said. “It’s a wonder her heart stood the strain of the two murders, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes and no,” said Mrs. Bradley. “She probably considered that she was doing the will of God in ridding the earth of what she considered to be two dreadfully depraved and wicked people. She knew that Cora was an actress, and she knew that the vicar had yielded to temptation in the form of Meg Tosstick. She grew suspicious even of little Daphne, you remember, and it is a very good thing, Noel, that you were sentimental enough to mount guard over the girl as you did. Of course, as the mania took root, there is no doubt that she would have considered herself a crusader against all sexual intercourse. She was the wrong age, my dear Noel, to make the discovery that her husband had deceived her. It was an awful tragedy, that meaningless death of poor Cora McCanley.”
“Do you think Coutts will get over it?” I asked.
“Yes, when the trial of Lowry is over, I am sure he will,” said Mrs. Bradley. “He’s had a shock, but it isn’t as though he was fond of her, you see.”
“Then how did Lowry come in?” I asked.
“He was paid by Mr. Coutts to look after Meg Tosstick,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and I think it was his own idea, not Mrs. Coutts’, to change the bodies of the two girls when she had made him drag the body of Cora to the inn. Do you realise he had no alibi (except that supplied by his sister) after the bar opened on that Tuesday evening?”
“And the baby?” I said.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Bradley, “the baby is alive somewhere, I have no doubt. Mrs. Coutts wanted to kill it, I expect, but found she couldn’t. Women are strangely inhibited from killing children, Noel, my dear.”
APPENDIX
mrs. bradley’s notebook
« ^
July 7th: To Saltmarsh, at the invitation of Sir William Kingston-Fox, Ferdinand’s schoolfellow. Nice of the man to ask me. Shall be bored stiff, I expect.
July 9th: Not so dull as I expected.
Sir William fulfilled boyhood promise of good looks and uncontrolled temper. I like the daughter. A very charming child. But why on earth does the man propose to marry her to Bransome Burns? Burns is keen on the match. Horrible!
July 15th: To-day I met some of the local celebrities, including the vicar’s wife and a certain Mrs. Gatty. Interesting contrast in mental defectiveness. Must have a go at Mrs. Gatty and see what can be done. Exhibitionist. Mrs. Coutts a bad case of sadism plus inverted nymphomania, I think. Very curious and interesting, but I doubt whether my attentions would be received in the spirit in which they would be offered. She won’t upset the general public unduly if she does not break loose. Woman has brains, of course, and is a remarkably fine pianist. Got herself pretty well under control, at present. Obviously does not know the strength of the devil within her. Let us hope nothing ever happens to unchain him.
July 17th: The village humming with news this morning. Some unfortunate girl has had an illegitimate child. I didn’t know people bothered about such things nowadays.
July 28th: It is not the illegitimacy which is causing the excitement, but the facts that (1) the girl won’t name the baby’s father and (2) she won’t allow anybody to see her or the child. I met the curate to-day. A nice, rather weak-chinned youth. I also met the rest of the vicarage household. A jolly little boy of fourteen or so, a remarkably beautiful young girl at whom the curate casts the most ridiculous sheep’s eyes the whole time—bless their hearts!—and the vicar. Heigho! The devil a monk would be! Took some pains to stir up Mrs. Coutts in order to test her reactions. She is absolutely unhinged on the subject of sexual relationships, and the vicar is horribly ill at ease. It would be quite in order to suspect that he is the father of the illegitimate child at the inn. Mrs. Coutts has seen that child, I am certain. Poor woman! She is in hell.
July 29th: The girl was a maid-servant at the vicarage when the child was conceived. There can be no reasonable doubt of the vicar’s implication. How tragic, and how immeasurably absurd!
My other patient, Mrs. Gatty, was rather extraordinarily amusing yesterday. Somebody locked her poor husband in the church crypt and she didn’t want him released. There is another queer specimen in Saltmarsh, and that is Mr. Edwy David Burt, up at the Bungalow. And even our Mr. Burns is betraying unsuspected depths. I believe he has given up sighing for the moon (i.e. Margaret Kingston-Fox) and is consoling himself with a nice piece of cheese to whom I have not been able to fix a name. What a scandal-mongering old woman I am! It’s living in the country does it! Well, well!
August 2nd: My fat little exhibitionist excelled herself to-day. Very funny indeed.
August 4th: Village life is too exciting for me. Spent most of the night hunting for the vicar, only to discover to-day that he was chained up in the pound. Burt, of course, assisted by the negro servant. The same mental groove as the “Gatty in the crypt” incident. Out-Gattying Mrs. Gatty, in fact. No wonder the poor boy doesn’t make a fortune at his job. No imagination. There is something startlingly reminiscent of crime in this banal repetition. I suppose Burt didn’t murder that poor girl yesterday?
August 6th: No, no! It couldn’t be Burt. Why has Cora McCanley disappeared from the Bungalow? It is getting serious. What shall I do?
August 17th: Where is Cora McCanley? Of course it is Mrs. Coutts, but, poor woman, she is not responsible for her actions. The attack on little Daphne proves it. What on earth shall I do? She can’t go on killing people. Besides, I could not prove anything at present, even if I decided to inform the police. But there is no other solution to this frightful business.
Motive
Opportunity
Psychological factors.
All fit. But the woman is clever. All her wits about her at present. Terrified of discovery, too. Take the facts.
1. Meg Tosstick.
A. Time of the murder—9.0 p.m. to 10.30 p.m. on the night of Saltmarsh fête. Ideal opportunity. Everyone absent from the inn except those who were actually on duty all the time.
&nb
sp; Question arises here. Did Mrs. Coutts commit the murder with her own hands, or did she prevail upon this poor boy Candy to strangle the girl? My mind is open at present, but if she incited Bob, what was her argument, I wonder? He would have killed Meg long enough ago if the fact of her seduction were sufficient to account for the murder. Shall get Wells to visit Bob and get his account of the way in which he spent the Bank Holiday.
And now for Burt. Indecent literature, I presume. Otherwise why was Burt so angry when the vicar seemed interested in Saltmarsh Cove, whose very name is associated with smugglers? Burt is a “literary man,” so smuggled books would be more in his line than smuggled beer. Psychological factor here, too. Besides, the landlord of the Mornington Arms has a secret of his own already, I fancy, and wouldn’t risk breaking the law.
Shall take a strong line with Burt. Probably get myself thrown into the stone quarries. Heigho! These violent inhabitants of peaceful villages!
August 20th: Wells just returned from visiting Candy in prison. Do not think Candy had any hand in the murder.-In any case, Mrs. Coutts responsible, I am certain, because the thing comes to its head with the attempt on Daphne Coutts in the church. No one but Mrs. Coutts could have known
1. That Daphne was to be playing the organ that evening,
2. Where to find key of vestry,
3. That she would not excite suspicion if seen entering or leaving church at that time.
Of course, her husband would fit most of the evidence, but his psychological make-up quite wrong. Besides, if he had intended to kill Meg Tosstick he would have done it to save his face, i.e. before the birth of the baby. This applies to all males including Candy unless somebody—e.g. Mrs. Coutts—told Candy that Meg’s seducer was the negro servant at the Bungalow. That might be the explanation if Candy committed the murder. Must find out attitude towards the Colour Question among villagers. Must get my invaluable Boswell, Captain Hastings, Doctor Watson, Noel Wells on to it. Child has a head like a turnip. I do not think the Bar suffered any great loss when he went into the Church. Nice enough youth, though. Little Daphne will do as she pleases with him.
August 24th: The village has made up its mind. The vicarage attacked to-day and the service disorganised. The vicar accused of being the father of Meg Tosstick’s baby. Demands made for the production of the baby. I see Mrs. Coutts’ hand in all this. On Saturday she produced a notice printed on the back of one or two of the Gattys’ visiting cards which (presumably) have been left at the vicarage in times past. The notice reads: “Where is Meg Tosstick’s baby?”
The printing is rough enough, but the word “is” and the fact of the apostrophe “s” being in the right place, and the even more illuminating fact that Mrs. Coutts “discovered” these remarkable notices when nobody else was in the house, point clearly enough to their authorship. Anonymous writings are a feature of cases like hers. Sexual disorder, coupled with the mania for putting one’s suspicions of others on to paper, very characteristic.
But what about Cora McCanley? Where has Mrs. Coutts hidden the body? She is the wife of the vicar. She ought to want a dead body buried in consecrated ground. That means the churchyard. Yes, but she can’t have it buried. She murdered it. And there is no trace of it. Where could she put it? Well, that depends upon where she killed it.
Bransome Burns used to go for long lonely walks… I was pretty sure he was Cora McCanley’s lover when he found that Margaret despised him.
Later: I’ve frightened him. He thinks I think he murdered Cora, and he’s told me everything. They were to have met in London. She was to pretend to join this travelling company. But both fought shy in the end. He was scared, I expect, of Burt, and she didn’t trust Burns too far. They changed their minds, but Burns couldn’t meet her at the Bungalow as arranged, and has not seen her since. Is obviously frightened. Wants to persuade me that he thinks she did go to the show and join the company after all.
August 25th: Shall inform the police of my suspicions.
August 26th: She could have thrown Cora’s body into the sea.
Later: Or buried it in Meg Tosstick’s grave, if she could get the people at the inn to change the bodies for the undertaker. But there is nothing at present—Why, of course, there is! Whose suggestion was it, I wonder, that Meg should be cared for at the inn? Suppose it came from Mrs. Coutts! Suppose there is some very strong connection between Mrs. Coutts and the people at the inn! The Lowrys, of course, must be related by blood as well as by marriage. They are very much alike in appearance.
August 27th: Solved it, I do believe! Exhumation order asked for. Now for it.
August 29th, 5.0 a.m.: Cora’s body, not Meg’s, exhumed. The Lowrys must be implicated. The funeral took place from the inn, and the coffin had obviously been made for Cora, a much bigger and taller girl than Meg. Now, what hold could Mrs. Coutts have had over either or both of the Lowrys, that they should become accessories after the fact of the murder? Oh, yes, I can answer that!…
October 20th: Trial of Candy begins to-day.
October 24th: Candy found guilty of murdering mother and child. I must find some proof of Mrs. Coutts’ guilt, I suppose, that will satisfy the authorities, but I don’t want the poor woman to be hanged. If Candy is reprieved, I shall kill her by shock. She obviously has a weak heart, and sudden death is the best gift I can present to her. If she isn’t hanged she will be sent to Broadmoor. I will kill her, unless Candy is not reprieved. In that case, I shall have to save him by denounting her to the police.
October 25th: Good heavens! I’m wrong about the whole thing! The passage has no outlet at the inn. It has been bricked up these fifty years or so!
I must be right! That passage must have a new outlet made by Lowry. He may have been a lover of Cora before Burns came upon the scene with his money and his more gentlemanly (!!) ways.
October 26th: Mrs. Gatty to the rescue. Marvellous woman! The ground floor bathroom! Now to twist Lowry’s tail and save that wretched woman, if only Candy is reprieved.
October 29th: Candy set free. Sending him to Kent almost immediately.
November 5th, 2.30 a.m.: Guy Fawkes’ Day. And I have committed my second murder.
—«»—«»—«»—
[scanned anonymously in a galaxy far far away]
[A 3S Release— v1, html]
[August 21, 2006]
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