Murder Gone Mad

by Philip MacDonald

  Mr Myers’s head had begun to reel. But now seated uncomfortably upon an upright wooden chair gazing through the dark, at a sheet upon which moving pictures were being shown, Mr Myers began to recover a belief in the world’s sanity. For Mr Myers was looking at the Inniless Road pillar box … The pictures were in jerky pieces and in a way were all the same … They shewed persons; persons whom, as one of the oldest inhabitants of Holmdale, Mr Myers knew not only by sight but by name, walking up to the Inniless Road pillar box and dropping letters and packages into its maw … The pictures were shewn through once in silence and then Mr Fortescue—only now Mr Myers discovered with a shock that it was Superintendent Pike again—now Superintendent Pike came close to Mr Myers’s chair and spoke into Mr Myers’s ear.

  ‘I want you,’ said Superintendent Pike, ‘to tell me, at the end of each bit, if you can, who the people you see on this screen may be …’

  CHAPTER XVI

  (CONFIDENTIAL memorandum by Superintendent Arnold Pike, C.I.D. to Assistant Commissioner E. Lucas, C.B., etc., C.I.D., dated Monday, December 10th.)

  Have not sent you any word since Friday but have now to report that a scheme which I worked out on Friday has already been justified with results which I think may get us somewhere.

  On Friday morning, as you were officially notified, there was another ‘Butcher’ outrage, a small child named Millicent Brade being murdered in broad daylight outside the big shop here. On Friday evening I thought of the above-mentioned scheme which, in brief, was as follows:

  In anticipation of the ‘Butcher’ letter which, it seemed fairly certain, would follow this crime or precede the next, to take cinematographic pictures of all persons posting letters at all boxes. Result hoped for (as you already know, the post collections are made so that it can be told what box a letter came out of) to narrow down the field of enquiry by concentrating upon all people posting letters during the time the ‘Butcher’ letter must have been posted. (N.B. I thought it highly improbable that the ‘Butcher’ would repeat the trick of slipping in his letter with those of someone else, as he did in The Market once before. He is too clever to do this and therefore, I reasoned, would be most likely to post his next epistle himself.)

  I should at once inform you that as soon as I thought of the cinematograph scheme I made the decision not to inform anyone down here in regard to it. I told Curtis and Blaine, of course, but I instructed them not to mention the matter. I have even kept the Chief Constable in the dark. I am sure you will appreciate that the situation here, as far as I am concerned, was one of complete ignorance. Anyone—anyone at all—might be the ‘Butcher.’ As my previous report shewed it was even more likely that the ‘Butcher’ should be one with whom I come into frequent contact than one of the more ordinary residents.

  I hope you will approve of my secrecy. If I am to continue working on this case, I do hope that this will be preserved. I am determined from now on to keep this secrecy even in regard to any other steps which I may take.

  Am glad to report that the cinematograph scheme had immediate and satisfactory result. On Saturday morning, while I was at a meeting with the Chief Constable and others, the postmaster sent up three identical ‘Butcher’ letters which had been found in the second collection. I got away from the meeting as soon as I could and immediately went to interview the postmaster (see note at foot of this letter). He informed me that the letters had been found in the Inniless Road pillar box. I cautioned him to keep quiet and immediately proceeded to Inniless Road (see separate report to follow as to how the cinematograph men were posted), took the film from the operator there and sent it by Curtis into Batley for private development. Later I collected the Postmaster (Myers), Curtis and Blaine, together with the Inniless Road operator, his camera and a projector and proceeded to Batley to a room for which I had arranged—under an alias—in which we could shew the film. When the film was ready, we ran it through and Myers was able, fortunately, to tell us who each of the twelve persons posting letters between the eight o’clock collection and the ten o’clock collection was.

  You will appreciate that one of these twelve persons must have posted the ‘Butcher’ letters and that, therefore, one of these twelve persons is, in all probability (see argument above) the ‘Butcher’ himself. In other words, we have reduced our ‘suspect-list’ from approximately five thousand to twelve.

  I give a table in which I have set out the names of the twelve persons, their particulars, etc., and, most important, three columns shewing, first, whether they could properly account for the letters posted, second, whether subsequent enquiries proved them to have really indubitable alibis for the times of all the ‘Butcher’ murders, and third, the reason they posted their letters in the Inniless Road pillar box:

  The first question arising out of this table is, of course, the ability of all the twelve persons to account for the letters posted (i.e. to state to whom the letters were addressed and what the letters contained). The fact that they were all able to account for the letters did not worry me. I expected it because—as I fore-shadowed in my last report—I thought the ‘Butcher,’ when posting a letter (in a disguised handwriting and on special paper, etc.), would be clever enough to post at the same time—in case he was asked—a genuine letter written on his paper in his own handwriting.

  The next question is the large one of narrowing the field of twelve ‘possibles.’ I did this by examining the answers which I have classified under the sixth heading in the table. Analysis of the entries under this heading shows four entirely satisfactory persons—Claud Nickells, Mrs Tildesley-Marshall, Mrs Wills and Philip Matthews; two partially satisfactory persons—Emily Potts and James Stelch; two persons whose statements have not yet been checked (but whom, I should add, seem to be almost certainly speaking the truth), Muriel Rowland and Harry Fornby; and four persons whose statements are unsatisfactory in themselves or uncheckable or both—Ursula Finch, Montague Flushing, Sydney Jeffson and Rockwall.

  Nickells, Tildesley-Marshall, Wills and Matthews I am accordingly leaving out of consideration. Their statements have been carefully checked and there is no doubt that they could not have been, upon any of the occasions, anywhere near the scenes of the outrages.

  In regard to the next two classes of partially cleared and checkable but unchecked—Potts and Stelch, Rowland and Fornby—I am having these people kept under surveyance until such times as their statements are completely checked up or not. For this purpose I shall use some of the extra men I applied to you for over the telephone yesterday and who I met at Batley this morning. (I have sent D. O. Handley back as I am afraid he is not quite the type for the job, being too noticeably a Police Officer. I should like to get Richards if I can).

  In regard to the last class—Finch, Flushing, Jeffson and Rockwall—I have put these under special watch, which I hope will be carried out skilfully enough for them not to notice it. There is, of course, the fact that the ‘Butcher,’ who must be one of these twelve, and, in my opinion, one of these last four, must be aware, by reason of the questioning, etc., that we are getting close to him. But any danger which this might have lead to of the ‘Butcher’ ‘drawing in his horns’ is neutralised by the fact that he had already decided to do this vide his last letter, copy of which was sent to you the day before yesterday.

  I also propose to have carried out, as soon as practicable, a search of the houses of the four in the last class. In order to do this, if possible, without the knowledge of the persons, I am proposing to hold interviews with these persons, either at my rooms here or at the Police Station, in which I shall probably apologise for any inconvenience which the recent questioning, etc., may have caused them. I hope that such interviews, if I carry them out properly, will serve the double purpose of keeping the suspect away while the search of his house is being carried out and also lull him (for one of them, in my opinion, in all probability is the ‘Butcher’) into a false sense of security and possibly decoy him into making a step which would enable us to ar
rest him.

  Following the unfortunate arrests of Reade, Spring and Godly, all of whom had to be released following the Brade murder, I am bearing in mind your instructions that no other arrests shall be made until there is ample evidence or unless the safety of the public seems to call for it urgently.

  I hope progress is satisfactory: I consider it so myself. I have every hope that we are at last nearing some definite conclusion. I hope, also, that my policy of keeping from everyone down here, including the local Police, all the recent steps I have taken (as reported above) and any future steps whatsoever until the arrest of the ‘Butcher,’ will be approved and respected, and that anyone from Headquarters will let even the Chief Constable have any inkling. (Some justification for this policy will be found on looking at the list of the four main suspects).

  From now I will send you memoranda daily, of course telephoning any urgent or important developments.

  (Signed) ARNOLD PIKE

  P.S.—In regard to the Postmaster Myers, whom I had, over the pillar box scheme, to take into my confidence, I should report that I have persuaded Myers to remain out of Holmdale until such time as I recall him. He is at present staying in rooms which I found for him, in Penders Cross, a little village outside Batley. I have taken the responsibility of informing him that his expenses will be paid and also that some adequate honorarium will be paid to him at the end of the business. He seems trustworthy (of course before I took him into my confidence I found out that he had adequate alibis for all the outrage dates) but I didn’t want him going back, after seeing the films, to Holmdale, and possibly being unable to keep what he knows to himself.

  A.P.

  CHAPTER XVII

  I

  MR EGBERT LUCAS was speaking on the telephone to Superintendent Arnold Pike.

  ‘… You said something last night, when we spoke, about it being all right to ring you on this line. D’you mean I can say anything?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Myers, sir—the postmaster. I made an arrangement with him to use a line here which can’t be listened in to. Good job you rang up when you did. I was just going out … Anything wrong, sir?’

  ‘Don’t sound so anxious, man! No. We’re very pleased with you. You ought to’ve heard the Commissioner this morning … No, there’s nothing special. As a matter of fact, we’re getting so worked up that we keep expecting you to make an arrest at any minute …’

  ‘’Fraid you’ll be disappointed, sir.’

  ‘Eh? What’s that? Anything wrong at your end, then?’

  ‘Nothing exactly wrong, sir, except that the night before last Tuesday, we carried out the last of those searches—Rockwall’s house and Flushing’s. Flushing’s was very difficult but Blaine and Curtis managed it between them very well with Stallard tricking the servant out of the way and me talking to Sir Montague in the Station …’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me, Pike, that you didn’t find anything in any of these four houses?’

  ‘That’s it, I’m afraid, sir. Not a thing that shouldn’t be there. And nothing that would fit in with what the doctors say the weapon must be like. And no “Butcher” paper and no ink. Nothing!’

  ‘That shake your faith at all, Pike? In your own scheme, I mean.’

  ‘No, sir. It’s only made me, as you might say, all the more determined to get at him some other way. I’m sure I’m right …’

  ‘Look here, Pike, what’s your own idea about this? Which one of the four do you plump for?’

  ‘… I don’t think I’d like to say at the moment, sir.’

  ‘Go on, man. Go on! As a matter of fact the Commissioner asked me to ask you that question himself. You’re not bound to say, of course—anyway I don’t expect you would if you didn’t want to. But if you could give us a line on what you’re thinking we should be glad. Purely for our own information, of course.’

  ‘I’m afraid, sir, that I’m as divided in mind as you are yourself. I can’t say and that’s all. I don’t like Rockwall’s attitude; but then he’s what you might call an eccentric and it may mean nothing. And I don’t like …’

  ‘Hold on a minute, Pike. You’re going to say Jeffson. Am I right?’

  ‘Well … I won’t say you’re wrong, sir. It’s like what Colonel Gethryn’s always saying. If it was Jeffson it would be so improbable that it might very probably be true … But I’m not committing myself, you understand.’

  ‘Very cautious, Pike. But what are you going to do now? Seems to be a bit of a deadlock. There’s the “Butcher” having notified you that he’s going to rest and there’s you with four suspects that you can’t narrow down to one … Don’t think I’m blaming you or anything like that. It’s the devil of a job!’

  ‘I’ve got an idea, sir. Had it just before you rang up, as a matter of fact. I was just going out to see whether I couldn’t do something about it.’

  ‘Good man! What is it?’

  ‘I’d rather not say at this stage, sir, in case I don’t carry it out.’

  ‘All right, Pike. All right. Well, good-night and I hope we’ll hear from you soon.’

  ‘Good-night, sir, and thank you.’

  II

  The Chief Constable was astonished. Across his own study table he looked with bewilderment at Superintendent Pike.

  ‘I don’t understand!’ said the Chief Constable. ‘I don’t understand at all! … Damn it, I don’t understand!’

  Pike was apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, sir; perhaps you’ll tell me what it is …’

  ‘But good God!’ the Chief Constable exploded. ‘Good God, Pike! When the damn thing was at its height, when people were being slit up right and left and I and my men suggested this curfew, you put your foot on it. Now, when there’s nothing doing and the damn lunatic’s told us there’s going to be nothing doing for a bit, you come here and calmly say that you agree at last to the curfew suggestion. Blast it, man. It’s like Alice in Wonderland or a kids’ pantomime, or something! It’s not sense!’

  Pike was still apologetic, but none the less firm for that. ‘I can’t tell you how it is, sir, but I’ve got a feeling—I’ve got a sort of, well, I suppose you’d call it intuition—that that letter of the “Butcher’s” was a trick. I seem to sort of know that there’ll be another outrage soon. It’s too quiet now, that’s what it is. And I’ve been thinking over what you said—you and the two Inspectors—and I’ve come round to the opinion that a curfew is what we want.’

  The Chief Constable, slightly mollified by the deferential tone, was still bewildered.

  ‘I don’t see how I can now,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘When the thing was at its height I could’ve enforced any measure. Now, it’s all eased off and they’re all lax instead of tense, well, a thing like that’ll take a bit of enforcing. They’ll all be wanting to go to the pictures and out to the pub, and that sort of thing every evening. Don’t see how we can do it, Superintendent. Damned if I do! And I’m not sure that we ought to!’

  ‘I don’t mean, sir,’ Pike explained, ‘that we ought to make the curfew compulsory. What I meant was that I’d like you to issue a Police request, as you might say, asking people “in view of certain knowledge which has come into the hands of the Police”—or something like that—asking people to help by not going out at all after, say, eight o’clock at night …’

  The Chief Constable hummed. The Chief Constable hawed. The Chief Constable was most puzzled, and almost epileptic by turns. But at last, under Pike’s urbane persistence, he gave way.

  III

  The ‘voluntary curfew’ had been in operation for two nights. And so it was that Curtis, driving much too fast through the thick white mist which shrouded the Main Road, was stopped at the junction of the Main Road with the Dale Road entrance to Holmdale.

  The Police car pulled up with a whining of brakes. The white mist eddied in smoky whorls about the black world. Curtis, rubbing the window with his sleeve, looked out. He saw the outline of a uni
formed constable who held a bull’s-eye lantern. Curtis, with two turns of his wrist, lowered the car’s window and produced from his pocket something which he shewed.

  The constable, peering, looked first at this, and then, carefully, at its presenter … The constable fell back, raising a hand to his helmet.

  ‘Beg pardon,’ said the constable, ‘but we’re gettin’ very ’ot specially now the fogs’re beginnin’.’

  Curtis nodded and slipped the car into gear and was off down Dale Road.

  Ten minutes later—the fog in the valley of Holmdale was so dense that it took ten minutes to cover a distance usually killed in two—he pulled the car up outside Number Twelve Fourtrees Road.

  As he got out of the car the fog caught him by the throat. He coughed and his eyes shed involuntary tears. He had to grope his way to the gate. The fog seemed thicker, somehow, off the road. It seemed to Curtis that he took all of five minutes between the car and Miss Marable’s front door. He rang the bell. He rang, not without diffidence because the hour was, he judged, long past that when Miss Marable and the most of her lodgers would be in bed. But the ring was answered with almost uncanny promptitude. The door was flung open and Curtis stepped across the threshold.

  ‘Got it?’ said Pike.

  Curtis nodded. He stood in the lamplight, blinking. His eyes still streamed with tears, and the fog still tickled his throat, so that it was some moments before he could get words out between coughs. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Think he’s made a good job of it, too.’

  ‘Come up,’ said Pike. ‘Tread soft, though.’