‘I am sure he wasn’t honest like,’ replied Miss Bretherton, ‘but I didn’t mean that. What I meant was—well, I can’t say that I like Mrs Wavell much better from my one meeting with her, but I’m not surprised she goes chasing after him!’
‘I git yer! ’E was too wot’s called fresh?’
‘He was. Slimey. Still I’m not going to talk any more about that. It’s his dishonesty that concerns us most now, because it’s through that—I think—yes, it must be—that you and I are here at this moment. Oh, dear! It’s all such a tangle—I hardly know where to begin.’
‘Did yer brother work fer ’im, too?’ asked Ben.
‘Oh, no. My brother was a private detective. Sort of. I mean by that that sometimes he worked for other people—was engaged for special jobs—but at other times he worked for himself. On his own. He had—he had a passion for puzzles. That kind of mind. When he’d solved them he presented the solution to whoever it concerned. I’m not explaining this very well.’
‘I’m with yer so fur,’ Ben assured her. ‘’E was one o’ them curiosity blokes wot carn’t see a knife on the floor withaht thinkin’, “’Oo done wot?”’
‘That’s a perfect description!’
‘And was it ’im fahnd aht that Mr Wavell wer’n’t honest?’
‘I don’t know how much he found out, but I do know he was working on it up to—until yesterday.’
‘Ah!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I was jest thinkin’ that it sorter fitted.’
‘What fitted?’
‘’Im workin’ on it. See, when I see ’im on the seat, ’e ’ad a note-book it looked like, and ’e was studyin’ it so ’ard ’e didn’t seem to be thinkin’ o’ nothink helse. I expeck that was why ’e never noticed the bloke wot was be’ind ’im.’
She suppressed a little shudder.
‘Very likely. Of course you don’t know what happened to the note-book?’
‘Afraid not, miss.’
‘The man who brought you here—who called himself Smith—you don’t know whether he had it on him?’
‘No, miss. Was—was it that they was arter?’
‘They must have wanted it, but of course it wasn’t only that. If they’d stolen the note-book, my brother could have repeated what he’d written in it. He was killed because he had too much knowledge.’
‘Oh—yer think it was that?’
‘I’m certain it was that.’
‘Then, p’r’aps,’ said Ben, looking at her solemnly, ‘it’d be better fer you not ter ’ave too much knowledge?’
‘You mean, safer?’
‘Well, yus.’
‘What about your knowledge?’
‘Eh?’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I git yer—on’y, see, I’m dif’rent.’
‘Yes, you’re different, Ben. It isn’t your brother who’s been murdered. So why don’t you cut and run?’
Ben smiled rather whimsically.
‘Yer fergettin’, miss. It wouldn’t be Ben runnin’, it would be Marmerduke.’ He explained. ‘See, that’s wot I calls me new fice. They’ve sorter fixed me ’ere, like I told yer, and I wanter git back on ’em!’
Miss Bretherton nodded.
‘Then we won’t worry any more about the risks,’ she said. ‘If our motives are different, our object is the same.’
‘That’s right. Ter git Smith on the end of a rope!’
‘If he did it.’
‘We needn’t worry our ’eads abart that, miss. I seen ’im do it.’
‘But there’s something else we have to do as well. At least, I have. To finish my brother’s work for him.’
‘Well, I’m in on that, too,’ answered Ben. ‘’Ow fur ’ad ’e got?’
‘I wish I knew!’
‘Yer ain’t told me yet ’ow much yer do know. I expeck I can add a bit. Or wot started yer brother orf on it? But that’s my fault, ’cos I keeps on interruptin’.’
‘I don’t mind your interruptions—they’re rather helpful,’ she said. ‘How did my brother start? It was I who started him.’
‘’Ow was that?’
‘I told you I left the firm because I disliked Mr Wavell, and that was true, but I didn’t dislike him only because of his behaviour to me. I felt there was something crooked in his business dealings as well, although I couldn’t put my finger on anything definite. Once when I was with my brother—we didn’t live together, I have a small flat and he lived all over the place, wherever his jobs took him—once I mentioned my feelings to him, and he became interested. I was rather surprised at his interest.’
‘P’r’aps ’e knew somethink already?’ suggested Ben.
‘He may have. I can’t say.’
‘Wot did yer ’ave ter tell ’im?’
‘At first it was just my general feeling that came out of a few small incidents, and also Mr Wavell’s rather furtive attitude. Then he—my brother—began asking questions, and drew out more than I’d realised there was to tell. For instance, I sometimes worked in his private office—too often towards the end!—but he always sent me out of the room on some thin pretext when a certain person telephoned.’
‘Thin wot, miss?’
‘Pretext. Excuse.’
‘I git yer. ’E didn’t want yer ter ’ear ’oo it was, eh?’
‘But I always knew it was the same person, by the sudden change of his voice.’
‘Not a lidy?’
‘I didn’t think so—but why don’t you?’
‘’Cos my guess is it wer’ Smith!’
She considered the suggestion, and suddenly asked, ‘Didn’t you tell me that Smith had a small brown moustache, or have I imagined it?’
‘’E ’as a small brahn mustache,’ answered Ben, ‘but I carn’t remember if I tole yer.’
‘Then it may have been Smith.’
‘’Ow’s that? Yer carn’t see a mustache over the telerphone!’
‘Of course not, but—wait a minute!’ She thought hard. ‘I believe I’ve seen Smith!’
‘That’s right, yer saw ’im ahtside ’ere when yer left in a ’urry—’
‘No, I don’t mean then, and that was only for a few moments. I didn’t recognise him. But somebody called at the office one day, and was with Mr Wavell for a long while in his private room. He had a small brown moustache, I’m almost sure. He never came again, as far as I know, but it was after his visit that Mr Wavell began to be so furtive and nervy, and I always felt that this man was the person who telephoned those times I was sent out of the room. Then, another thing,’ she went on. ‘I used to make out lists of houses for our clients, but presently Mr Wavell began making some out himself. He always gave these lists personally, and I got an idea he didn’t want anybody else to see them—apart from the clients he gave them to. Once when I offered to type one for him—he’d mislaid the copy, and the client was waiting—he got quite snappy.’
‘And that was one o’ the things yer brother thort fishy, eh?’
‘Yes. My brother was very interested in those private lists.’
‘And you never saw any of ’em?’
‘I hadn’t seen any when I first spoke to my brother, but I had an opportunity about a week later. I went to Mr Wavell’s private office with some letters, and he’d just been called away on some matter or other. I saw he’d been making out some lists, and they were on his desk.’ She paused, then asked, ‘What would you have done?’
‘Wot you did,’ answered Ben, with a wink.
She smiled. ‘After all, why not? There they were, and I’d had no instructions that they were private. So I had a quick look at three of them, and when next I saw my brother I told him all I could remember. They were just ordinary lists of houses, but one or two things struck me. They mightn’t have if I hadn’t been suspicious and on the look-out for anything unusual. Only one of the addresses was repeated on all three forms, and it was always the fourth on the list—and it wasn’t on our books.
I don’t suppose I have to tell you what the address was?’
‘Nummer 19, Billiter Road,’ said Ben.
‘Yes. Does anything strike you?’
‘Yus!’
‘What?’
‘The blokes ’e gives them lists ter was on’y interested in Nummer Nineteen, Billiter Road.’
‘That was what my brother said.’
‘Wot else did ’e say?’
‘He said that this was just a method of giving them the address, and that of course they weren’t bona fide clients.’
‘Bony wot?’
‘They weren’t genuine clients—’
‘Bogus! I git yer.’
‘And he said that Mr Wavell was probably a go-between who was used to direct the bogus clients to this house.’
‘Did ’e say why ’e thort Mr Wavell was this ’ere go-between?’
‘He said there were two possible reasons—either he was being paid for it or was being blackmailed into it.’
‘Yer mean, ’ooever was at the bottom of the bizziness knew somethink abart Mr Wavell that’d come aht if ’e didn’t do wot ’e was told?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, nah I’ve got another guess, miss.’
‘What is it?’
‘Might the person they’d tell, if ’e wasn’t a good boy, be’ is wife?’
Miss Bretherton regarded him with admiration.
‘I think you’ve got it, Ben!’ she exclaimed, ‘and—’
‘’Arf a mo’, miss,’ interrupted Ben, in a lower tone, with a sudden glance towards the door. ‘We’d better keep our voices dahn a bit more, p’r’aps.’
Reminded that they were in the middle of the situation they were discussing, Miss Bretherton accepted the advice.
‘You’re right, of course. Sorry. I was going to say—you know Mrs Wavell found me in that cupboard with Mr Wavell?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh, dear, we’re dodging all over the place, but I think I’ll tell you about that now. After our last talk, when you had to go up to answer the bell—’
‘And let in Mr Wavell and Mr Black—’
‘Black? Who’s he? No, never mind that yet! You thought I was going, but I didn’t. I hid in the cupboard—I wasn’t going to leave—and presently I heard Mr Wavell go by, talking to someone—oh, was that Mr Black?’ Ben nodded. ‘Then I thought Mr Wavell came back again, though he wasn’t talking this time, and after that I kept opening the cupboard door and listening, waiting for him to go. I heard you talking to him upstairs, though I couldn’t hear what you said. And then when he came hurrying down again I shut the cupboard door, and nearly died when he opened it and came flying in! So, I’m glad to say, did he!’
‘Did ’e wot?’
‘Nearly die! He bounced out again just before Mrs Wavell came along and found me. Do you wonder I had a black-out?’ She made a helpless little gesture. ‘I’m telling you this in the wrong place, but you had to hear what happened some time, and it does all lead back to this. Did Mrs Wavell think I was Mr Wavell’s dark secret, and has that wretched demented man been babbling about it in his sleep? You heard what Mrs Wavell said to me about that!’
‘I expeck that’s the way of it,’ agreed Ben, ‘but it don’t git us no nearer the dark secret o’ this ’ouse! Did yer brother git on ter that?’
‘I am quite sure he did—or very nearly,’ answered Miss Bretherton, grimly, ‘but he didn’t tell me anything that he found out. In fact, he ordered me to drop the matter, and as I’d already given notice, that was easy.’
‘But ’e didn’t drop the matter,’ said Ben.
‘Unfortunately, no,’ she replied. ‘I wish to God he had! He must have come here at some time or other—’
‘Yus,’ interrupted Ben, ‘and ’ad a ’eart-ter-’eart with the larst caretaiker!’
She looked startled. ‘Didn’t you say—?’ She took from her pocket the unfinished note which Ben had swept off the top of the dresser. ‘Of course—this would be from—?’
‘’Ave yer read it?’ asked Ben.
‘Yes.’
‘Arter I left yer? While yer was waitin’ dahn ’ere?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then, miss—wot do you think?’
‘It was from the last caretaker.’
‘To yer brother—’
‘Yes. But he never got it.’
‘That’s right. If ’e ’ad got it, we wouldn’t ’ave it. And ’e never got it, the way I works it aht, ’cos it was never finished, and it wer’n’t finished ’cos the caretaiker was interrupted while ’e was writin’ it, and when ’e ’eard some’un comin’ while ’e was writin’ it in this ’ere kitching ’e chucks it up or ’ides it on top o’ the dresser, meanin’ ter finish it laiter on. Yer might say the top o’ the dresser was a funny plice ter choose, and if yer do, well, so do I, but it was up there, any’ow, so yer carn’t argue it was anywhere else, if yer git me. P’r’aps ’e was standin’ at the dresser writin’ it, usin’ it as a desk like, and when ’e ’ears the footsteps in the passidge ’e thinks “Gawd ’elp me,” ’e would if ’e thort it was the monnertrocity, ’e’d git in a proper panic then, and ’e screws the paiper up and chucks it up, see, yer can see it’s been screwed, and then—’
He paused, for a fresh breath, and also because what came next wasn’t going to be very nice. But here they were, working it all out, and this wasn’t the time to mince matters. Miss Bretherton made no comment during the pause. She was following Ben’s lurid reconstruction intently, striving to keep her mind steady through its horror. The horror had been increased by her queer companion’s reference to the ‘monnertrocity.’
‘We’ve got ter ’ave it,’ muttered Ben.
‘Yes—go on,’ she replied.
‘No good blinkin’ facks, miss.’
‘No, no! Go on! And then—?’
‘And then the some’un comes in. Mind yer, it mightn’t of bin the monnertrocity. It might of been Smith—or I wouldn’t put it past Mr Wavell. I reckon ’e’s ripe ter put ’iself in the way of the rope, if ’e’s pushed to it. Any’ow, we don’t know ’oo come. But we do know that, well something ’appened ter the caretaiker, and it could ’ave ’appened jest as well then as laiter, couldn’t it?’
‘Do you know what happened to him?’ asked Miss Bretherton.
‘Matter o’ fack, miss, I do,’ answered Ben.
‘They—killed him?’
‘Yus.’
‘Is that a guess, or do you know it?’
‘I knows it, miss.’
‘How?’
‘I seen ’im dead.’
‘What!’ she gasped.
‘That’s right. Last night, it was. See, there’s a locked door at the end o’ the passidge, and I ’ad a squint through the key’ole, and there was the caretaiker lyin’ dead on the grahnd with some’un lookin’ dahn on ’im by the light of a torch.’
‘I see. How frightful!’ she murmured. ‘But—Ben—how do you know it was the caretaker?’
‘Oh, I got that orf of Smith nex’ mornin’. That is, this mornin’. ’E kep’ on sayin’ wot ’appened to the larst caretaiker, so’s I wouldn’t go and do somethink wot’d mike ’em do the sime ter me. ’E took me in the cellar, Smith did, ter ’ave a look, but corse the corpse ’ad bin took away by then. Yus, but Sammy was lyin’ there dead, instead—’
‘Sammy?’
‘Eh? Sammy was the cat. They killed ’im, too, blarst ’em! They ain’t goin’ ter git away with that!’
She gave him a curious glance.
‘You seem more worried by the cat than the caretaker,’ she said.
‘Well—I mean ter say,’ replied Ben. ‘A cat! Wot wasn’t doin’ no ’arm ter nobody!’
‘Is that door still locked?’
‘Yus. Smith locked it agine arter we come aht.’
‘Why did he take you in?’
‘Why did ’e? I’ve fergot. Oh, no, I got it! It was arter wot I sed abart seem’ the deader on the
grahnd. See, it was this mornin’ ’e took me in, and I was tellin’ ’im abart wot I seen the night afore.’
‘Yes, can we go back to that for a moment? You said you saw someone looking at—at the dead man?’
‘That’s right, miss.’
‘Then you know who that was?’
‘Ah, I couldn’t see ’im extinct. See, yer carn’t see ’oo’s ’oldin’ the torch, not in the dark. But it wer’n’t Smith, and—no, it wer’n’t Wavell, so wot I work aht is that it wer’ the stacher—leastwise, that’s wot I called it afore I thort it must of bin the monnertrocity. ’Ave I tole yer abart ’im? There’s somethink wrong with ’is feet, ’cos when ’e walks abart in the night, like wot ’e did, ’e don’t go pat-pat or thump-thump, but woosh-woosh. Yus, and ter go back a bit further still, ter wot we was torkin’ abart afore we went orf the track like, it was proberly ’im wot killed the caretaiker so’s the caretaiker wouldn’t ’ave no more meetin’s with yer brother, see, they must of got on ter it, p’r’aps they mide the caretaiker talk a bit afore they finished ’im orf, and then, arter a bit of a confab, mindyer, this is on’y guessin’ agine, but it looks like it, don’t it, one of ’em, it bein’ Smith, goes aht arter yer brother, and gits ’im, too.’ Ben stopped and blinked.
‘’Ow do we go, miss? Is that the lot, or ’ave we missed anythink aht?’
Miss Bretherton passed a hand across her spinning forehead.
‘I think I’ve told you all my side of it,’ she answered, ‘though I wouldn’t be sure. My mind’s a bit numb. But there’s something you still have to tell me.’
‘Wozzat?’ Ben enquired.
‘About Mr Black.’
‘Oh, yus. Mr Black,’ repeated Ben, and removing his eyes from Miss Bretherton’s, he gazed uncomfortably at the kitchen door.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘Well—see—I ’ardly know abart Mr Black meself yet,’ he parried.
‘But what do you know?’
‘On’y that ’e come at ten-thirty with Mr Wavell, and was s’posed ter be lookin’ over the ’ouse.’
‘Well? Did he do it?’
‘Look over the ’ouse?’
‘Yes, of course!’
‘I showed ’im one room, and then Mr Wavell took ’im dahn ’ere ter the bisement.’
She nodded. ‘That was when I was in the cupboard, and heard them go by. You didn’t come down with them?’
Number Nineteen Page 13