Death in the Fearful Night (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

  Mrs. Checkland rubbed her brow with her fingers again.

  “Please stop quarrelling, Walter. The Superintendent is only anxious … as anxious as we are … to find out who committed the crimes. Why don’t you tell him …?”

  Upshott seemed suddenly to go mad. It was as if he couldn’t interrupt her and speak for himself fast enough. He almost shouted the place down.

  “All right. I’ll tell him then. Don’t you say another word. It’s my affair. I asked her to meet me to say goodbye. I escaped from your flatfoot who was shadowing me, and was going to beat it to London and off to Australia again out of the way. I’m sick of the whole business. As soon as I arrived here, I found myself mixed up in this crazy Bracknell affair, and, for makeweight, the murder of a woman I didn’t even know. All I came for was to ask Bracknell for the letters and the money he’d extorted from Eileen. I saw him, he said he’d not got the letters with him, they were in his box at the bank, and that if I’d return next day, he’d have them.”

  Mrs. Checkland’s mouth opened in surprise.

  “But …”

  “Will you let me speak, Eileen? Before I could get the letters, Bracknell had been killed. At first, they said it was a lunatic who was wandering around murdering people. Then it was somebody else … Then, it was me. I gather now that I’m suspect number one.”

  “Nobody said so.”

  “You’ve all but said it.”

  “And then, having met Mrs. Checkland at the Marquis of Granby and said goodbye, you didn’t leave after all …”

  “No. You and your police arrived and put me under house arrest again.”

  “It wasn’t very stringent, was it, if you could escape as easily again as you did tonight?”

  “No, it wasn’t. You think I don’t know that you laid it on lightly with an eye to trapping me. You thought if I found out I could break away easily, I’d lead you off somewhere and incriminate myself. Well, I saw your game. I’d nowhere to lead you. When, however, I heard that Mr. Checkland had had a gun accident … It’s charitable to call it that, isn’t it …?” He spoke through his teeth. His nerves were now so much on edge that he was growing vicious.

  “When I heard our worthy mayor had had an accident, my first thought was of Eileen. I’d asked her to come back to Australia with me. You might as well know it. She refused. I wouldn’t take an immediate no. I said I’d wait until tomorrow. When, as I said, I heard Checkland was in hospital, I had to see her. I wanted to know if she needed any help. Also, I wished to tell her that I wouldn’t leave tomorrow after all. I’d give her more time to decide … time until Checkland was out of danger and himself again. And that’s all I’ve got to say. And it’s all Mrs. Checkland has to say, too, and I’ll thank you to leave her alone now. She’s had enough trouble without your adding to it.”

  There was a dead silence for a minute after this outburst. Littlejohn was quite unperturbed. He seemed to have forgotten the turmoil of the case and looked anxiously at Mrs. Checkland to see how she was taking it.

  “Did you manage to have a word with your husband, Mrs. Checkland?”

  “No. He was still under the anaesthetic. They promised to let me know as soon as I could see him. It will probably be some time tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad all has gone well. Is your son still at the hospital?”

  “Yes. He said he would stay all night, just in case there was any change. He is very fond of his father.”

  Upshott watched them agitatedly, as though Littlejohn and the mayoress might, in some way, have been speaking in code and exchanging information in which he could not join.

  “Did you know he owned a revolver?”

  “Yes. He was an officer in the first war. He used to keep it in his desk and had cleaned it in view of there being so many robberies. I had no idea …”

  “Perhaps he was cleaning it again when it went off …”

  Upshott could bear it no longer.

  “Are you keeping up this small-talk all night, Littlejohn? Please remember, it’s a great strain on Mrs. Checkland. She needs a good night’s sleep …”

  “I’m all right, Walter. Please mix Mr. Littlejohn and Mr. Cromwell a drink before they go. They’ve both been very kind.”

  Cromwell wondered why Littlejohn didn’t refuse. Perhaps it was to stretch Upshott’s nerves even further and then trap him into giving more information.

  Upshott poured out two whiskies. His hand trembled as he did so. Then he passed the syphon.

  “Add your own soda.” He almost snarled it.

  Littlejohn sipped his drink slowly. He didn’t seem ready for leaving at all. On the contrary, he started chatting to Mrs. Checkland again.

  “It’s surprising the steps they’ve made in brain surgery these days, Mrs. Checkland. Your husband will be all right, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you for being so kind, Superintendent. I shall be grateful to you both, always.”

  Upshott was pacing up and down the room like a caged animal. All the time he kept his eyes glued on Mrs. Checkland, as though she might melt away, or else divulge some queer secret she shared only with him.

  Littlejohn finally turned on him.

  “My dear Upshott, you seem very agitated. There’s no reason for you to stay here. You have less right than my colleague and I. In fact, you’ve no business here at all. One appreciates the fact that you’ve seen Mrs. Checkland safely home, but to stay on drinking the mayor’s whisky and all the time to be trying to persuade his wife to run away with you, seems to me to be a bit impudent, to say the least of it.”

  “I don’t care a damn what you think, Littlejohn, I’m staying here until you go. If I leave you, you’ll be here, putting Mrs. Checkland through a third-degree until dawn. You’re going first. Then I’ll follow.”

  “To the Barley Mow, I hope?”

  “As you say, to the Barley Mow. And now, will you kindly go and let Mrs. Checkland settle for the night.”

  “We’ll all go together.”

  “We won’t. After tonight’s session and your lack of consideration, I prefer my own company as far as the hotel.”

  “Very well …”

  Littlejohn took up his raincoat, flung it across his arm, and then picked up his hat from the chair.

  “Good night, Mrs. Checkland. I hope there will be better news for you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Superintendent … and Mr. Cromwell. Thank you both again.”

  Upshott even saw them to the door of the room and closed it behind them. They could hear him ring the bell for Maudie in the kitchen.

  Maudie must have retired. There wasn’t a sound in the house. A single light burned over the stairs, and outside, the hanging lamp over the main door and the one in the tunnel were still alight. Littlejohn descended slowly, fumbling in the pocket of his raincoat, fiddling with something in his hand. Cromwell, who couldn’t see what he was doing, thought he was taking out some handcuffs.

  “I forgot something. One more question for Mrs. Checkland. Let’s both go back.”

  Littlejohn tapped on the door and flung it open.

  Upshott was standing over Mrs. Checkland who was still sitting in her usual chair. Her eyes were wide with alarm and it was not due to the return of Littlejohn.

  “Can’t you see it was a trap …? If you’d …”

  Upshott turned and faced Littlejohn.

  “What the blazes do you want now? I’m sorry I can’t chuck the pair of you out. I can’t even send for the police to remove you! But I tell you this …”

  Littlejohn put down his hat and coat on the same chair again. It looked as if he was preparing for another session.

  “I tell you there are ways of dealing with people like you. Eileen, go up to bed right away. Don’t heed these policemen … If they so much as dare to lay a hand on you …”

  Littlejohn actually smiled at him.

  “We don’t propose to touch Mrs. Checkland at all. I’ve no more questions for her or for you, Upshott. I changed my mind o
n the stairs. I can’t trust you at the Barley Mow any longer. We’re going to take you with us to the police station and lock you up for the night.”

  Upshott laughed harshly.

  “On what charge? You’d better be careful. You’ve nothing on me. You’ve no ground at all for detaining me. I warn you …”

  “Come along, Upshott … We don’t want to handcuff you.”

  “Handcuff me! Don’t be funny. This isn’t a melodrama. It’s something that’s going to put paid to your career, Littlejohn, when I report it to the proper quarter …”

  Mrs. Checkland looked ready to faint. Cromwell poured her out some whisky and handed it gently to her.

  “Thank you. Must you really …?”

  “Don’t worry, Eileen. We’re going to the police station now, whether or not. We’ll soon see who’s in the right. Me or this meddling fool of a bobby …”

  He crossed the room and took up his raincoat from beside that of Littlejohn.

  “Are you ready?”

  Littlejohn faced him smiling still. It was as if he expected something.

  And Upshott snatched out a revolver from his coat pocket and pointed it at Littlejohn. It was another Army model, like Checkland’s. Cromwell took it all in and looked ready to run the risk of pouncing across the room.

  “Steady, old man. Don’t do anything rash. Stay where you are.”

  Mrs. Checkland stifled a scream.

  “Don’t, Walter. No more, please. We’ve had enough trouble and bloodshed. Give the Superintendent the gun and go quietly with them.”

  “Not on your life. Don’t interfere, Eileen. Leave this to me. Now, Littlejohn, stay where you are, and none of you move until you hear I’m through the tunnel and in the street. Then you’ve got a sporting chance. One move and I’ll fire. And I warn you, I’m a good shot with a revolver.”

  “Give it to me, Upshott …”

  Littlejohn took a step towards the gun.

  Mrs. Checkland tried to scream and couldn’t. Cromwell’s eyes bulged, and drops of sweat like peas burst out on his forehead.

  Upshott’s face grew grim, his chin tightened, he aimed at Littlejohn and pulled the trigger. As he did so, he winced. His damaged right hand had not fully recovered.

  Anti-climax. A silly little metallic click. And then another. No explosion at all.

  Littlejohn took another step forward, his fist shot out, and Upshott measured his length on the carpet. Cromwell snapped the handcuffs on his wrists and hauled him up.

  “Take him below and wait for me, old chap. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought it a strange thing he didn’t leave his raincoat in the hall below, like an ordinary caller, but brought it in the room with him. I touched the pockets as I put my own coat beside it and felt the gun. So I swapped coats when we left and emptied the magazine.”

  He turned to Mrs. Checkland who was regarding the scene horrified.

  “I’m terribly sorry, madam. But this had to happen. I knew he was bullying you. Now you can retire to bed in peace. I think, though, you ought to send for Mr. James back from the hospital. You need him most just now.”

  “I think I do, Superintendent. Thank you for coming back. I was so terrified …”

  “I knew.”

  “You knew?”

  “You were going to tell me why you met Upshott at the Marquis of Granby. Was it not that Upshott told you to call for the letters and you burned them there together?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “I guessed from the way he behaved. He was afraid that you’d tell. He shouted you down and wouldn’t let you speak again. Then, when we had left, he began to explain, to bully you, to tell you why you mustn’t mention the letters.”

  “Yes. That’s true. But why? If he’d taken them from Bracknell …?”

  Her eyes opened wide in horror and her mouth fell.

  “Oh …”

  “Exactly. Marcia Fitzpayne, not Bracknell, had the letters. How did Upshott obtain them?”

  “He killed her?”

  “It seems very much like it.”

  “But why bring the letters to me and incriminate himself?”

  “I don’t know whether or not he still loves you …”

  “God forbid!”

  “But I think it’s something else. He hates your husband. He’s anxious for you to run away with him to complete the ruin and unhappiness of Mr. Checkland. He wanted to show you what a poor fish your husband is. If Mr. Checkland couldn’t recover the letters for you, he, Upshott, was made of better stuff. He would do it. And he did. He thought you’d be grateful, admire him, leave your husband, and follow the better man.”

  “He must be mad.”

  “Exactly. Years of nursing hatred and plotting revenge have driven him out of his mind. Now, everything is going to be all right, Mrs. Checkland. Your husband will soon be back, and this nightmare will be over.”

  And for the first time since Littlejohn had known her, Eileen Checkland began to weep.

  15

  IN THE SMALL HOURS

  FROM MIDNIGHT onwards the police station at Carleton Unthank was a blaze of light. Not that the arrival of Cromwell with a suspected murderer caused all the staff to be called out, but that Sergeant Dalrymple, who was on night duty, grew so excited that whenever he entered a room, he forgot to put off the switches. Several empty offices, therefore, were illuminated whilst all the work went on in Herle’s sanctum.

  Superintendent Herle had been roused from his bed.

  “These Scotland Yard men will drive me daft,” he told his wife as he drew on his trousers and tucked-in his shirt. “They don’t seem to have any idea of the relative importance of events. I’ll bet this is another mare’s nest.”

  “Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Herle, and immediately fell asleep again, which made her husband all the more furious.

  When he found Cromwell waiting for him with a handcuffed Upshott he was flabbergasted.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’d better wait for Superintendent Littlejohn, sir. He’ll be over any minute. He’s just having a few words with Mrs. Checkland …”

  Herle sat down heavily in his chair.

  “It beats me. And why have you got the handcuffs on Upshott?”

  Upshott who had been behaving like someone in a trance suddenly awoke.

  “When I get hold of a lawyer someone’s going to get it in the neck for this. Littlejohn’s made up his mind to arrest somebody and he’s picked on me. Take off these ruddy handcuffs. I might be a criminal. And, by the way, you’ll be made to bear witness that Littlejohn hit me, too. That’s against the law. I’ll …”

  “Shut up, Upshott, or I’ll sock you on the jaw, as well. You haven’t told Superintendent Herle, yet, that you pulled a gun on Superintendent Littlejohn. Not another word from you.”

  “He pulled a gun …?”

  Herle placed both hands on the top of his thinning crown.

  “He pulled a gun! Am I dreaming? I give it up …”

  But he was trying not to look like a man in the wrong. He’d said all along that Scotland Yard were kicking up a lot of fuss and getting nowhere. Now things were moving with a vengeance.

  The outer door of the police station banged and Littlejohn appeared. He was filling his pipe and glanced at the No Smoking notice beneath the portrait of Winston Churchill over the fireplace.

  “You don’t mind my smoking, Herle?”

  Herle shrugged. Why the sudden burst of good humour?

  “I think you can take off the handcuffs, old chap.”

  Upshott didn’t say a word as Cromwell relieved him. He was looking the worse for wear now. No longer dapper and smiling, he seemed to have lost weight, his cheeks were sagging, and two deep lines had appeared at the corners of his mouth. He looked at Herle as though he saw in him an ally.

  “All this because I gave your sleuth the slip and went to enquire about the mayor at the hospital.”

  Herle, too, had lost his bite. He could ha
rdly look Littlejohn in the face, but sat at his desk laden with documents and files and started to fiddle with some papers. He had treated Littlejohn with little civility now and then, and sometimes he’d been openly hostile. He’d even talked about him behind his back. He was wondering now if he was going to have to eat his words.

  Littlejohn lit his pipe and threw away the spent match.

  “Let’s clear up the case right away and then we can get to bed.”

  “You’ve solved it?”

  “I think so. Upshott, I’m sure, will differ, but there seems to be only one explanation …”

  “I did it! Go on! I’ve just been telling Superintendent Herle you’ve made up your mind to pin it on somebody and I’m the one you’ve chosen.”

  Littlejohn didn’t seem to hear him.

  “To begin with, Upshott, then called Mason, was a clerk years ago in Checkland’s office. He and Mrs. Checkland, then Miss Eileen Huncote, were in love and hoped soon to be married. But Upshott was one who lived above his means, spent a lot, indulged in betting, and finally began to make up his differences by robbing the till.”

  A sturdy policeman had entered silently and stood by the door taking it all in. The harsh white light from the large bulb hanging in the middle of the room shone down on them all. It looked like an unreal scene in a waxwork show. Herle suddenly became aware of the newcomer and shouted to the sergeant.

  “Well? Don’t stand there doing nothing. One of you had better take all this down.”

  Littlejohn spared them the trouble.

  “We’ll get a proper statement later, Superintendent Herle …”

  “If you’re lucky …”

  Cromwell dug Upshott in the ribs with his elbow.

  “That’ll do from you.”

  “Better all sit down, hadn’t we?”

  The constables started to run about for extra chairs and soon they were all seated, even the constables. Herle had given it up. They could all sit on the floor as far as he was concerned. It was like a nightmare to him.

  “Mr. Benjamin Checkland was also in love with Miss Huncote, but didn’t seem to have much of a chance. The theft by Upshott of his firm’s money was just the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Checkland told Upshott that unless he left the country at once and didn’t return, he’d prosecute him. Upshott fled to Australia right away.”