‘It was after one of these lulls, I believe, that they took over this place and Warner Brown’s other house in Cumberland. The vans, of course, were used for distribution to their depots up and down the country, although for delivery to the various places which stock that kind of thing, they used something less conspicuous. We confiscated a lot of it from time to time, but it was very difficult to trace.
‘Then we had a bit of luck when one of our men picked up one of theirs whom he knew by sight, and tailed him from the Great North Road as far as Yorkshire. That narrowed down the search, and it wasn’t long before we’d got Crane taped, and we discovered that his lady friend, Theresa Cressidy, had married Warner Brown. We finally got it worked out so that Morden and his men were to raid the house in Cumberland, while I picked up Crane in London, and followed him to wherever he was going, which I was pretty sure would be here. We kept in touch by phone and we were to meet at Cudge three days ago, but I was held up and so was everyone else.
‘It was impossible then for me to contact my colleagues by phone, to let them know how things were this end, so I just had to let them ride. I could have tried walking into Cudge and waiting for them there, but having got so far I thought I might just as well look this place over. I knew they’d come on here, anyway, although I wasn’t at all sure when. But until I knew who was working with Crane and who wasn’t, I didn’t want anyone to leave this house.
‘First thing I did, that night, after everyone was tucked up, or supposed to be, was to open up the garages. I’d got a key that fitted; those padlocks aren’t very difficult. One garage was empty, but in the others was a car which I took to be Theresa’s Brown’s, or her husband’s, and another which I knew to be Crane’s. And in the back of his was a dark blue suit which had a sort of perfumed smell about it. I looked it over carefully, and found it was saturated in some kind of oil with a strong smell. I didn’t think so much about it then. It might have been hair oil for all I knew. So I finished the job I’d started, locked up the garages again, fixed the van and the other car parked outside, and came in.
‘I went up and took a look at Mr Warner Brown, and found a bottle of your oil, Miss Hughes, that had been upset beside him on the table. And I hadn’t much doubt but that it was the same oil as that on Crane’s suit, if it was his suit, and that seemed pretty obvious. But to make sure, I took the bottle with me.
‘I went down to the garage again to check up with the suit. It was only the slenderest bit of evidence, but it suggested that Crane had been up there in Mr Brown’s room, and the bottle being turned over might have indicated a struggle. And I had an idea that Mrs Brown’s story about Ledgrove’s going for the doctor was so much eyewash. I thought it possible they had him hidden away somewhere. So keeping that suit in mind …’
‘It was a dark blue one, you say?’ Dylis cut in. ‘I saw something of the kind lying in Mrs Brown’s wardrobe. Do you think it might have been the same?’
‘Quite likely. Crane may have used her room to change his clothes, and taken it down to the car afterwards, or got Vauxhall to do it. He certainly changed them somewhere, because he was all got up nicely as the vanman when I caught him up in the drive.’
‘But he said then he’d stayed at a farmhouse or something, didn’t he?’ Best asked.
‘All my eye. There’s only one farmhouse within walking distance of this place, and I stayed there. So even if I hadn’t known Crane by sight, I’d have known he was lying. What I think he did was to spend the rest of the night here, and slipped out in the morning in time to come up the drive. Who started that story about another vanman, anyway?’
‘Mrs Brown,’ Dylis said. ‘I believe she just said the first thing that occurred to her to explain away the van.’
‘Probably. I’d never met Crane, either as himself or Snell, but I’d seen plenty of photographs of him. I lost him several times on the way up here, and I thought I’d lost him again, when my car finally stuck. I wasn’t sure just where this house was, and I didn’t aim to freeze to death in the car all night. So I went over to the farm, and they were very decent about it, and directed me in the morning, I recognised the tyre marks of Crane’s car in the drive, and then I saw him just ahead. Fortunately, he didn’t know me, and he spilled his story first about staying at the farm. The only thing I could say then was that I’d slept in my car.’
There came stirrings and mutterings from the direction of the armchair, and Mr Carpenter rose, to stand swaying on the hearthrug, confronting them, blinking his eyes.
‘Damned bad luck Crane got here at all,’ he said. ‘If he’d broken his blasted neck on the road there wouldn’t have been any murder.’ After which he slumped back into his chair and stared glassily into the fire.
‘So you’ve finally come to life,’ Ashley said. ‘What was that supposed to be? An official statement?’
‘Can’t take a statement from a man in my condition,’ Mr Carpenter said. ‘Call yourself a split? You ought to know that.’
‘It’s a problem,’ Ashley admitted, but he did not sound very worried about it. ‘You’re not often sober, are you?’
‘Haven’t been sober for five years.’
‘As long as that? Well, we’ll sober you up presently. So you’re the printer of this establishment. I thought I recognised the work of Cock-eyed Carpenter, the man who got drunk once too often.’
‘Damned silly. Can’t get drunk too often. Can’t get drunk enough, that’s the trouble.’
‘A pity,’ Ashley said, and added, ‘They tell me you were top of the trade until you took to drink.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Carpenter contradicted. ‘Anything I did before was mere tippling. I never did any serious drinking till I got in with this bunch of amateurs.’
‘Have it your own way, but it’s all over now. There won’t be any drink where you’re going.’
‘I shan’t last long enough to care, with all the things I’ve got wrong with me. I feel like hell.’
‘When did you first know about the murder plot?’ Ashley asked.
‘This evening. They kept it dark between the four of them, until then. They never did get any change out of me, so I wasn’t what you’d call popular. They couldn’t do without me, and there I had ’em. But they never let me on the inside of anything. If they had’ve done, things wouldn’t have turned out so bad. Take that first evening, when the van turned up according to plan. I was all for loading it up and sending it off, same as usual. But not she. Crane was coming up from London. He’d told her to hold everything until he got here, and what he said was law. He had some idea about changing the routes, she said, and she’d got to wait. I told her that was daft, with the weather getting worse all the time, but she wouldn’t listen to me.
‘Then up rolls the old man’s nephew, and that puts the tin hat on it. She didn’t tell me, then, just what a hole she was in, but she said I’d got to act like a friend of her husband’s. I told her, straight, I was a printer, not a ruddy actor, and I just shut up and didn’t say anything much. Then along came all these other misfits, and I packed up altogether and went to bed. Next day I heard that old Brown had died, but it didn’t bother me.
‘I knew they were in a jam about the van, bepause the weather had got too bad to drive it away, like I knew it would. But since she hadn’t seen fit to take my advice, I didn’t see myself helping to clear a lot of ruddy snow. The van was already loaded, Vauxhall and his pal Ridley used to see to that, and Crane reckoned if they could get the drive clear, Jackson could take a chance on getting it off before anyone was up this morning, and he’d follow in his car, and show him the route.
‘That all went very nicely, but what they didn’t reckon with was you mucking up all the cars last night while they were getting a nap. Crane blew up this morning when he found out. He wasn’t sure if it was a practical joke, or something worse, but what he did decide to do was to get the machinery out of the barn, quick as he could, and load it on to the van, which wasn’t full. He reckoned that it wa
s too risky to leave anything about, and if he could get the van working again by the evening, he and Jackson would get away under cover of dark.
‘But loading the machinery was a bit of a problem, with all these misfits about. So they worked on the van all day, and after dark he fixed it with his piece to start a screaming scene, so as to get everyone inside and keep them inside for a bit, except himself and Jackson, and Vauxhall and Ridley. It wasn’t until afterwards that I got on to what happened. She started screaming all right, and with the things she’d got on her mind it must have been easy.’
‘I thought that fit of hysteria was exaggerated,’ Ashley said. ‘She may have been startled when she glimpsed me sliding out of the room, but not nearly as startled as I was when she started to yell like that.’
‘It was you she saw, was it? I thought it was just another bit of play-acting. I’ll give her this much, when she did a thing, she did it well. She had you all mucking about in here, while the others were working outside. For once it looked as if things were going all right, until Crane came in, to let her know that Ledgrove had skipped.
‘When you’d all shied off, and he and she were alone here, except for me, they got talking. They’d got plenty to talk about, and not much time. Our classy butler and his mate had gone out to get the car for her, and to take another look round for Ledgrove. Remember the way she said to them, “And look out for anyone you may see around”? That’s what she meant. I only got that afterwards, when they let out that Ledgrove had been in the barn, but wasn’t any more, and if they didn’t find him he’d be a prize witness that old Brown hadn’t died naturally.
‘I got mad then, and told them what a pair of so-and-so’s they were. But they were too far gone to care. All they were thinking about was saving their skins while there was anything left to save. Vauxhall and Ridley had got the machinery on to the van, while Crane was looking for Ledgrove. Then while their backs were turned, off went Jackson with the van. I daresay it was the first he’d heard about any murder, and he wasn’t standing for it, any more than I was. Crane said they’d got to get after Jackson, before he did something crazy, but they’d only got one car working, his car, and that was supposed to be hers.
‘She said she’d put it out she was going to Cudge for the doctor, and Crane could go along as if she was giving him a lift. I said that was daft, she’d plugged that doctor story too often, and what did she think the rest of us were going to do? She got all high and mighty then, said there was only one thing left to do, and that was for us all to skip as soon as we could. After they’d gone, she said Vauxhall and Ridley and me would have to get away in young Brown’s car. It was up to us, she said, to use our wits.
‘Well, I wasn’t going to use my wits in any wild cat schemes. But I let ’em get on with it. I reckoned they’d slip up somewhere, and sure enough they did. Vauxhall’s always been too handy at knocking out anyone in his way. Out goes Crane to have another look round for Ledgrove, just in case, and to tell the boys his plans, though I don’t expect they liked the sound of ’em any more than I did. And she turns to me, and she says, “Mr Carpenter, you will please come with me and make a thorough search of the house to see if Ledgrove is hiding anywhere inside.”
‘“And what,” I said, “do you think we’re going to do, if he is? Another little murder?”
‘“You’ll see,” she said, and what she expected to do I don’t know, a pocket size like she was, but I knew what I was going to do if we came across him. I never liked him much, but I never liked murder, either. We didn’t find him, but we did run into young Brown. I turned it in then. I thought they could damned well all get on with it, and I came in here for a drink. The next thing I knew was our butler and his pal carrying you in between them, and a nice mess they’d made of everything, all told. To crown it, Vauxhall brings out his pet gun and tries to make a grand exit, with me tagging along beside him like a stray dog. I’d see him in hell first.’
‘You very likely will,’ Ashley said, ‘if you can pull yourself together sufficiently to attend a court of law.’
‘I’ll be glad to. I’ll be glad to shop ’em.’
‘Good.’ Ashley rose, stretching himself. ‘I think I’ll take a look at Ledgrove.’
Morden also rose, and announced that so far as he was concerned, the day’s work was over, apart from a few minor details.
‘Why not stay the night?’ Inigo suggested. ‘We’ve plenty of space, as Mr Ashley will tell you.’
Morden smiled. ‘Thanks just the same, but I’ve got to get back to Cudge.’ And he added, to Mr Carpenter, ‘You’d better get your things, because I shall require you to accompany me, and it’s a long drive.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ the latter said. ‘I’ve been wondering how much longer you windbags were going to be. And with all due respect to the new owner, whoever that might be, this house is like a blasted cemetery.’
Ashley said, ‘I’ll stay, if you don’t mind, Mr Brown. I’ve got to get a statement from Ledgrove, and he may not be in any condition to give it yet. Sergeant Grabham had better remain here with me, when he gets back.’
Inigo looked worried. ‘I’ll have to go over to Cudge in the morning. There’s still the matter of my uncle, and the garage. Miss Hughes has her car stuck on a precipice.’
‘And Mr Howe’s needs attention,’ Charlie Best put in.
Morden said easily, ‘I’ll notify the garage that you want assistance. And we’ll be over with the police surgeon tomorrow, Mr Brown. We’ve got a full day’s work ahead of us. There’ll have to be an inquest, of course.’
Inigo nodded, and was about to say something, when the door to the passage opened, and Mr Raddle stood in the aperture. He looked anxious and bewildered, as he said, ‘Mr, Howe wishes to know the reason for the recent disturbances. He is not a man normally to complain, but …’
Ashley stopped him with a look. ‘You can tell Mr Howe from me,’ he said, ‘that we’ve just been taking a little exercise in the fresh air.’
‘Oh.’ Mr Raddle gazed all round at their expressionless faces, and added, ‘With Mrs Brown’s permission, I should like to prepare supper for Mr Howe. He has not eaten for many hours.’
‘Mrs Brown isn’t available at the moment,’ Ashley said quickly. ‘But I’m sure Mr Brown won’t mind if you carry on as usual.’
‘You go ahead,’ Inigo agreed, and when Mr Raddle had bowed himself out, he added, ‘It’s not such a bad idea, either. Would the rest of you like something?’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Morden said. ‘But who is this Mr Howe?’
Ashley laughed. ‘A gentleman who believes in taking all the pleasure out of life and leaving only the hardships. The joke is, he’s lectured everyone on the benefits of fresh air and exercise, and now he’s sick himself …’ He stopped short, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as Dylis seized upon the statement.
‘Did you say sick, Mr Ashley?’ she asked. ‘Since when?’
‘Er … last night, I believe. I went along to see him today, just to check up on his identity. He asked me not to say anything about it.’
‘Oh, he did? Thank you, Mr Ashley. Inigo, Charlie, we’re going to see Mr Howe right away.’
‘We can’t do that …’ Inigo began, but she cut him short. Morden said, as they were about to leave, ‘Well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.’
They said goodnight, and Mr Carpenter rose suddenly, looking much more lively than usual, and even attempting a smile as he extended a cold hand to Dylis.
‘May as well say cheerio,’ he remarked. ‘You’re the only one who hasn’t given me the gripe.’
Dylis, hardly knowing whether to be flattered, or sympathetic, or just to go off into hearty peals of hysterical laughter, shook hands and murmured something which she hoped was appropriate.
‘Well, that beats all,’ Charlie said, as they went out, and mounted the stairs, aided by a lamp which Dylis snatched up from the hall table. She did not bother to reply. Outside Mr Howe’s room
, she paused and knocked, and when the familiar voice answered, she pushed Inigo forward.
‘You go in first,’ she said. ‘He might be drifting about in a state of nature. But I don’t think so.’
She swung open the door, and reluctantly Inigo entered. He began, ‘Excuse me, Mr Howe, but …’
‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’ Mr Howe burst out. ‘First I hear voices raised in altercation, cars racing to and fro …’
‘You can come in, Dyl,’ Inigo said. ‘Mr Howe is wearing a dressing-gown.’
‘The dressing-gown,’ she said, bouncing round the door, to discover Mr Howe seated in an easy chair before the fire, a small table at his side covered in sheets of manuscript paper. His dressing-gown was of some dark brown material, rather like sack-cloth. His face was a study of anger and dismay. He leaped to his feet when he saw her, then clutched a hand to his back and emitted a hollow groan.
‘There! You see?’ she continued in triumph. ‘He’s the man who made that horrible noise outside my room last night. You were coming along the corridor, Mr Howe, and you dropped your torch. When you bent down to pick it up, you were taken suddenly with lumbago, and let out a yell, just like someone being stabbed in the back. I came dashing out just in time to see you, all bent up, hobbling round the corner. That’s the dressing-gown you were wearing, and this is the torch. Recognise it?’ She brought it out of her coat pocket and waved it in front of him.
He attempted dignity, righteous indignation, nonchalance. It was no use. She swooped across to the mantelpiece, slammed down the torch and picked up a small, empty bottle. It was labelled, Quickease … the three-day cure for lumbago.
‘This is one of the bottles that disappeared from my room,’ she said. ‘After all your magnificent lectures, Mr Howe, you couldn’t admit that you were suffering from rheumatism. So although you didn’t believe in cures, you sent your secretary along to get that stuff from my room, in case there might be something in it. And there is, or you wouldn’t be able to stand up straight, even though it’s still painful. But you’ll be quite normal by the day after tomorrow, as no doubt you realise. I seem to remember that your secretary said you would be ready to leave by then.’
Another Little Christmas Murder Page 22