by Clara Benson
The first thing he saw as he parked the car by the green was William, Angela’s chauffeur, who was just then emerging from the Red Lion Inn in company with an old man. They seemed to be on very friendly terms, and Jameson raised his eyebrows—first, because it seemed an odd sort of thing for Angela’s driver to be doing at that time of day, and second, because the man did not look to Jameson like the sort of person with whom William would normally keep company.
The old man went away, and William saluted the inspector cheerfully.
‘Hallo inspector,’ he said. ‘I guess you’re expected.’
‘I think so,’ said Jameson. ‘Am I to understand that you know what this is all about?’
‘Not the whole story,’ said William, ‘but I do know that Mrs. Marchmont and Mr. Pilkington-Soames have been doing some investigating this morning, and have found out one or two mighty interesting things.’
‘Where are they now?’ said Jameson.
‘Why, I don’t know,’ said William. ‘They set me on to finding something out for them, and I was just going to look for them.’
‘Is that what you were doing in the Red Lion?’ said Jameson.
William nodded and grinned widely. He looked very pleased with himself.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and find them, and you shall hear all about it when I tell them.’
They left the bustling centre of the village and walked towards the head of Church Lane. They had not gone far down the lane when they saw Angela and Freddy walking towards them.
‘Oh, inspector, I’m so glad you’ve come,’ said Angela as they approached. She wore the brightest smile. ‘We’ve just had rather an eventful morning, and I’m dying to tell someone about it. And you’re here too, William. Have you had any luck?’
‘I should say so,’ replied William.
‘Splendid,’ said Angela. ‘Suppose we convene somewhere more comfortable to discuss it.’
‘Where do you have in mind?’ said Jameson.
‘Why, I don’t know,’ said Angela. ‘You don’t think they’d let us use the police station, do you?’
In the end they all went back to the Red Lion and sat in the snug.
‘This is rather appropriate, as it happens,’ said Angela. ‘Now then, where shall we begin? First of all, inspector, I suppose I ought to mention that Freddy and I have found the shotgun that was used to kill Tom Tipping.’
Inspector Jameson sat up at once at this news.
‘Are you sure?’ he said.
‘Reasonably so,’ said Angela. ‘Unfortunately, I must also tell you that Corky Beckwith happened upon us just after we found it and made himself rather tiresome, and so any finger-prints there may have been to start with have been smudged or lost. Still, I think it may not matter in the end once you’ve heard the circumstances.’
She related the story of how they had found the gun, and Jameson whistled.
‘So it was there all along, chained up in the poor box,’ he said. ‘Rather remiss of us not to have looked there. Of course, we had rather assumed that the murderer took the gun away with him, but that’s no excuse for us not to be thorough.’
‘Oh, but if the murderer’s plan was to work then he couldn’t take the gun away with him,’ said Angela. ‘Not then, anyway. ‘I imagine he planned to come back for it later, but by that time Mrs. Hunter had had her accident and it was locked away.’
‘Where is it now?’ asked Jameson.
‘Mrs. Hunter is looking after it for us. She’s tremendously excited about it and has promised to defend it with her life, so I think it’s probably safe for now.’
‘Whose is it?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ said Angela. ‘And I think we can answer that too. Or perhaps William can. He’s been finding things out for us.’
‘Who was that old man you were talking to?’ said Jameson.
‘His name is Ben Shaw,’ said Angela. ‘Didn’t you meet him when you were here before? He works at Low Meadow Farm for Andrew Norris.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Jameson. ‘The one who was eating lunch with Norris in this room when the murder took place. No, I hadn’t met him.’
‘That’s the one,’ agreed Angela. ‘He swore that Norris was with him all the time, and I wanted to find out whether that was true, so I asked William to find out for me. Ben herded cattle in the Chicago stockyards for a while in his youth, you see, and he took a great fancy to William when he found out he was American, so it struck me that we might take advantage of that fact. Did you have to get him very drunk, William?’
‘Not overly,’ said William with a grin. ‘He was only too happy to talk to me. He’s an old man and doesn’t care too much one way or the other what his boss gets up to, and he’s not too keen on the police, so I guess he wasn’t particularly interested in helping them.’
‘Then he was lying?’ said Freddy.
‘No,’ said William. ‘He told the truth. The police just asked him the wrong question. According to him, they told him they wanted to know whether Mr. Norris had left the inn at any time while they were having their lunch—or dinner, as he called it. As far as Ben was concerned, Mr. Norris hadn’t left the inn at all. Of course, what they ought to have asked him was whether Mr. Norris had left the room, and then the answer might have been different.’
‘Then Norris did leave the room?’ said Jameson. ‘Why didn’t Shaw mention that?’
William coughed.
‘I guess the police pressed the point about leaving the inn a little too hard,’ he said. ‘Old Ben’s kind of stubborn. He thought they were accusing him of lying, and that made him plant his feet even more firmly. They ought to have asked him the question as though the answer didn’t matter, and then he might have told them.’
‘So where did Norris go?’ said Jameson.
‘Out there,’ said William, nodding towards the back door.
‘Ah,’ said Jameson, beginning to understand. ‘And how long was he outside?’
‘Old Ben wasn’t too clear on that. I guess he was absorbed in his own lunch and wasn’t really paying much attention. He just said Norris told him that Bob Sanderson had said there were some bits of wood in the back yard that he might have if he liked, and he was going to look at them, and that Ben was to stay where he was. Norris was gone a little while, and Ben never thought anything of it, because he had his pint of mild and his pipe, and then Norris came back in without saying anything, and they had another drink and then left. I don’t think Ben was deliberately trying to protect his boss—he just answered the questions that were asked of him.’
‘Naturally,’ said Jameson. He got up and opened the back door, and went into the yard, followed by the others. Freddy put the old milking-stool next to the wall and stood on it to peer over.
‘Nobody there,’ he remarked, and jumped down. ‘They must all be in the house. The Hopwell children, I mean,’ he explained to Inspector Jameson. ‘Their mother is out most of the day so they’re left alone to get up to tricks.’
‘And so they do,’ said Angela. ‘I spoke to them this morning, inspector. They told me a rather interesting story about an incident which occurred last Saturday.’
‘I think I’m starting to guess what it was,’ said Jameson.
‘Oh, I’m sure you can,’ said Angela. ‘According to the two oldest, who are seven and six respectively, they were all outside in Church Lane that morning, waiting for their mother to return, as she had promised them twopence each for the fête, when they were approached by a tall man with a dog, who asked them if they wanted to earn a little money. Naturally, they were all ears and asked him what they should have to do. The man said they didn’t have to do anything except keep a secret. He told them he was playing a sort of game with a friend of his—it was a bet, he said, if they understood that. He said that he and his friend were going to have a race from the Red Lion to the church and back, and whoever got back first would win the bet. The man said he thought his friend would probably run through
the village and around to Church Lane that way, but the man was determined to beat him, and had had the bright idea of taking a short-cut through the children’s house. He said it would be very easy—all he had to do was to jump over the back wall of the Red Lion and into their yard, then run through the house and into the lane. Then a few minutes later he would come back the same way. He made it sound as though it were a tremendous joke, and the children agreed to it, so he gave them a shilling each and said to expect him in about an hour and reminded them not to say a word. They stayed outside in the lane to play, and sure enough, a little while later, they saw the man come out of their house and run towards the church. He was gone a few minutes, and then he came back and disappeared into the house again.’
‘I don’t suppose they heard a loud bang shortly after the man came out of their house?’ said Jameson.
‘I did ask them, but they didn’t remember,’ said Angela. ‘Does it matter?’
‘No, but it would tie everything up neatly,’ said Jameson. He stood on the milking-stool and looked over the wall. ‘Then it really was as simple as that?’ he said. ‘Andrew Norris did it after all, but took a short-cut to make it look as though he had an alibi. Why on earth didn’t I spot it myself?’
‘You weren’t here long,’ said Angela fairly. ‘If the case had been properly yours and you’d stayed, then of course you’d have worked it out—and probably more quickly than I did.’
‘So the sound that was heard was the gunshot which killed Tom Tipping, and I’ve been complicating matters unnecessarily,’ said Jameson. He shook his head. ‘Not my best work, I’m afraid. Mrs. Marchmont, I take my hat off to you.’
‘You must thank Freddy, too, for trespassing,’ said Angela. ‘Had it not been for that, I might not have realized the answer myself.’
‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Jameson.
‘Oh, it was a silly thing,’ said Angela. ‘Hardly anything, really. He just said that if people would put a house in his way then they must expect him to walk through it.’
‘And I maintain my position on the matter,’ said Freddy. ‘Especially if it leads to this sort of thing. By the way, Angela, how did you get the children to tell you all? I thought they’d been given a shilling each to keep quiet.’
‘Why, I merely raised my offer to half a crown,’ said Angela, as though the answer were obvious.
‘He must have hidden the shotgun by the church in preparation,’ said Jameson, who was still thinking. ‘That’s why nobody saw him with a gun that day.’
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘He sawed the barrel off, too. He ran past the church, collected the gun, shot Tom Tipping then returned, dropping the gun back in the box as he passed. I gather he’s been loitering around in Church Lane all week, waiting for Mrs. Hunter to take her bicycle away. I saw him myself.’
‘I wonder why he suddenly decided to kill Tipping now, after having threatened him about five times a day for years,’ said Jameson.
‘Ah, I think I know the answer to that too,’ said Angela, and told him the story of Margaret Tipping and the card game. ‘I think the news that Tom Tipping had cheated during the game, and had thus cheated Norris out of his wife as he saw it, must have been the final straw.’
‘That’s certainly possible,’ agreed Jameson. He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, we are building up a very pretty case, but I think that in order to be perfectly sure of ourselves we ought to test the theory before we go arresting anybody else. We need to make certain that it is in fact possible to run from here to Dead Man’s Path and back, through Alice Hopwell’s house, in less than twenty minutes. One person must remain here and another go and wait on the path itself, and a record be kept of the times. Now, who is going to do the running?’
‘Angela,’ said Freddy promptly.
‘As soon as fashion allows me to wear trousers in the daytime, I shall be more than happy to climb over walls in the pursuit of justice,’ said Angela. ‘Until then, you’ll forgive me if I refuse. I vote William.’
William agreed at once, but Freddy said maliciously, ‘As a matter of fact, I think it ought to be the person nearest in age to the suspect to do it. That’s you, isn’t it, inspector? We want to imitate the physical condition of the murderer as nearly as possible.’
‘How old do you suppose I am, exactly?’ said Jameson with some dignity.
‘Not much older than I am,’ said Angela, ‘but at least no-one has described you as a decaying gentlewoman.’
‘I knew that annoyed you more than the other suggestion,’ said Freddy with a smirk.
‘Freddy is right,’ went on Angela, ignoring the last remark. ‘We may as well be as precise as we can. I’m sure you’re much fitter than Mr. Norris, inspector, but it can’t hurt to do it this way.’
Jameson saw the truth of this.
‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘William, you stay here and time things at this end. I shall go and see if Mrs. Hopwell has returned. I don’t want to frighten her out of her wits by running through her house unexpectedly. Mrs. Marchmont, perhaps you and Freddy might go and record the time at the other end.’
They all set their watches to the same time, and then Jameson, Angela and Freddy left the Red Lion and walked around to Church Lane. The two last carried on towards Dead Man’s Path, and Jameson knocked at the Hopwells’ door. It was answered by Alice Hopwell, who looked surprised.
‘Is someone in trouble?’ she said after Jameson had introduced himself. ‘The children have been saying something about a man running through our house, but I don’t know what they’re talking about.’
Jameson explained merely that they had received new information about the Tipping case, and that he wanted to test out a theory. She was so surprised that she readily agreed to allow him to pass through her house. He thanked her and said to expect him in a few minutes, then went off.
Meanwhile, Angela and Freddy had arrived at Dead Man’s Path and were preparing to wait for Jameson’s arrival.
‘I don’t wonder Jameson wants to try this out for himself,’ said Freddy. ‘After all, they’ve already arrested three people and had to let one of them go. It doesn’t exactly reflect well on the police to keep on arresting people at random until they hit on the right one, does it?’
‘No,’ agreed Angela. ‘I do hope they will release Kathie quickly, though. I have never seen Elisabeth so worried.’
‘Then she does have a heart in there somewhere,’ said Freddy. ‘I was starting to doubt it. By the way, do you suppose Norris—’
He stopped suddenly, and his expression turned to a frown. Angela turned around to see what he was looking at, and to her dismay saw Andrew Norris and Corky Beckwith strolling towards them along Dead Man’s Path as though they were the best of friends.
‘So that’s what he was up to,’ muttered Freddy.
Angela had no time to reply before the two newcomers joined them.
‘Ah, Mr. Norris, have you met Freddy Pilkington-Soames? He’s a great pal of mine,’ said Corky with a complete lack of shame. ‘As a matter of fact, you might say that I taught him everything he knows about the newspaper reporting business. We have our occasional disagreements, but I don’t think it’s too much to say that Freddy would quite happily lay down his life for me if necessary, such is his gratitude for my tutelage.’
‘What are you doing here?’ said Freddy with a scowl. ‘Why must you keep turning up and bothering us?’
‘That’s hardly polite,’ said Corky. ‘I merely told Mr. Norris that I believed some vital evidence had been uncovered in the matter of this rather unpleasant murder, which implicated Norman Tipping even more strongly than before—’
‘Implicated—’ began Freddy, his eyes opening wide, but Corky went on imperturbably:
‘—and since Mr. Norris is so closely involved with events, having been unceremoniously arrested in the early stages of the investigation, I thought it only fair to invite him to come along and watch the proceedings.’
‘Well, as you ca
n see, there’s nothing doing here,’ said Freddy, wisely deciding to keep his thoughts to himself so as not to frighten Norris into some desperate action.
‘So it appears,’ said Corky, although his eyes were darting suspiciously from Angela to Freddy.
‘I told you, didn’t I?’ said Norris to Angela. He seemed most pleased with himself. ‘I said there was more to Norman Tipping than met the eye. It’s not for me to spread rumours, but I wasn’t a bit surprised when they arrested him. And now Mr. Beckwith here says they’ve found a clue that proves the case, although I don’t know what it is.’
‘It’s just through this way,’ said Corky, indicating the fallen wall of the churchyard. ‘Shall we go?’
‘This way? What is it, exactly?’ said Norris. ‘I wish you’d tell me. It seems an odd sort of way of going about things. Come on, Skipper,’ he said to his dog. ‘Drat the animal,’ he said as Skipper ran off, having scented a rabbit, and began sniffing around a little farther along where the wall was whole. Norris whistled, but the dog refused to come to heel, and he muttered an imprecation and started forward.
As luck would have it, he had just bent over to grab the dog by its collar when Inspector Jameson turned up, out of breath. He did not see Andrew Norris or Corky Beckwith, who had spotted the inspector approaching and stepped smartly behind a tree, and before Angela or Freddy could warn him, said: