The Catherine Wheel

by Patricia Wentworth

  Crisp said abruptly, “We’ll have to see the two of them- Higgins and Mrs. Bridling. And we don’t want them cooking up a story either. Cooling had better take the car and fetch them along. We can be seeing Miss Heron.”

  He got up and went out to give his orders.

  Frank Abbott raised those fair eyebrows and looked across at Miss Silver with half a smile.

  “All zeal, isn’t he?” Then, “Well, here you are, right in the middle of it. And the Chief said he was giving you a nice change from murder! Are you going to tell me who did it?”

  Miss Silver looked shocked.

  “My dear Frank!”

  He said in a bantering voice,

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know!”

  She coughed reprovingly.

  “It would be quite improper to advance an opinion at present. There are a good many possibilities. It is difficult to avoid the suspicion that the motive for the murder is to be found somewhere in the background which we were sent down here to investigate. Taking the family history into consideration, this man Luke White’s connection with it, and the fact that he has been employed here for the last three years, there is the possibility that he had acquired some dangerous knowledge, and was murdered either to prevent his informing or, more probably, because he was attempting to use his knowledge for the purpose of blackmail. There is also the possibility that he was murdered for purely personal reasons either by John Higgins or by Eily Fogarty. I should give more weight to this theory if the wound were such as might have been received during a struggle. But a girl like Eily would be very unlikely to stab a man in the back. From what I hear of John Higgins, it would be equally out of character in his case.”

  “And what do you hear of John Higgins?”

  “He comes of good local yeoman stock. He is head carpenter on Sir John Layburn’s estate, as were his father and his grandfather before him. His mother was Mrs. Castell’s sister, and a granddaughter of old Jeremiah Taverner. He seems to bear a very high character, and has struck Captain Taverner and Jane Heron as being rather an exceptional person.”

  Frank gave a short laugh.

  “Some kind of a local preacher, isn’t he? There’s no saying what the most exalted character may do if somebody threatens his girl.”

  Inspector Crisp opened the door.

  “This way, Miss Heron. If you will take a chair-there are just a few questions we should like to ask you.”

  Jane sat down. She faced the Inspector and the window. The pale, chilly daylight had not brightened. It showed her pallor and the dark marks under her eyes. It occurred to Frank Abbott that she would have done better not to paint her lips. He did not, however, attach any importance to the fact that she had done so, an ample quota of female cousins having taught him that a girl feels quite immodestly undressed without her lipstick, the natural lip being as sedulously concealed as was the Victorian ankle.

  Inspector Crisp picked up his pencil and balanced it.

  “Now, Miss Heron-Eily Fogarty says in her statement that this man Luke White had threatened her. She gives this as her reason for being afraid to stay in her own room last night, and for coming along to yours.”

  Jane said nothing. Her bright lips were a little parted. Her eyes went in a quick glance from Frank Abbott to Miss Silver, from whom she received an encouraging smile, and came back again to Inspector Crisp and his pencil. “Nervous,” was his mental comment. He made it with satisfaction, since a nervous witness handled with just the right amount of severity could usually be relied upon to spill the beans. In his official capacity he would not, of course, have employed such a vulgarism, but thought is apt to be less formal than speech.

  “Well now, can you corroborate that?”

  “I don’t quite know what you mean by corroborate.”

  Frank Abbott had a fastidious ear. He found Jane’s voice extremely pleasing.

  Crisp said, “Do you know that Luke White threatened her?”

  She hesitated, and then said, “Yes.”

  “Will you tell us what you know about this threat.”

  “I don’t know-” The words came out slowly and reluctantly.

  Miss Silver said with mild firmness,

  “Truth is always best. It harms no innocent person.”

  Jane didn’t feel so sure about that. She was remembering how Eily had looked at her nail-scissors, and how she had said, “Suppose they had been a knife.” But she wouldn’t ever tell that. She was distressed and uncertain.

  Crisp said, “Come now, Miss Heron!”

  She said, “Luke White did threaten her. I heard him.”

  “Where did this take place?”

  “In my room. Eily was turning down the bed, and he followed her in. Mr. Taverner had been showing us the old smugglers’ passage. When we came back Jeremy-Captain Taverner-told me I’d got a smudge on my face, so I went up to my room. The door was half open and I could hear Luke White talking to Eily. I didn’t exactly like to go in-I thought it would be embarrassing for Eily. I stood where the steps come up-”

  “He was threatening her?”

  Jane’s voice had steadied.

  “He said he would have her whatever she did, and she’d better come willingly. He said if she married anyone else, he’d come in the night and cut the man’s heart out. He talked about her being drenched with his blood. It was horrible. Then, I think, he caught hold of her. She called out, and he swore, and I made a noise on the steps as if I had stumbled. He came out then, and I went in to Eily. She was very much upset.”

  Inspector Crisp made a little stabbing pass in the air with his pencil.

  “The dead man had his left hand tied up in a handkerchief. There was a small wound just short of the knuckles. Do you know how he got it?”

  “I saw him with his hand tied up.”

  “When did you see that?”

  “When he was letting Miss Silver in.”

  “And that was when?”

  Miss Silver said, “Nine o’clock, Inspector.”

  “And how long after this scene in your room?”

  “Just after. He was letting Miss Silver in as I came down.”

  He made that stabbing pass again.

  “Come, come, Miss Heron, I don’t think you are being frank. Did you know where Luke White got that wound?”

  “I didn’t see him get it.”

  “No-for you were outside your bedroom, and he and Eily Fogarty were inside. You heard her cry out, and you heard him swear. And then you saw him come out of the room. Could you see his left hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was he doing with it?”

  “He was holding it with the other.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Yes, he said the window had stuck and Eily had called him in to help her. He said he had hurt his hand on the catch.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  After a long pause Jane said,

  “No.”

  She pushed back her chair and got up.

  “I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you,” she said, and walked out of the room.

  CHAPTER 19

  Mrs. Bridling, in the chair pushed back by Jane, sat bolt upright and met Inspector Crisp’s questioning gaze with the agreeable consciousness that no one had ever been able to say a word they shouldn’t about her nor any of her family. Go where they would and ask what they liked, they’d only be told the one thing. Bridlings or Bents-she herself had been a Bent- there was only the one thing to be said about them-they were good-living, hardworking people, Chapel members for the most part, and nobody could say different. She was buoyed up by these thoughts, and by the fact that she had kept Constable Cooling waiting whilst she put on her Sunday dress, a bright royal blue, her good black coat, and the hat which she had had for her mother-in-law’s funeral three years ago with a nice bunch of berries at the side to take off the mourning look. Her gloves had been bought for the same occasion and were still very good indeed, being too uncomfortable to
wear except upon high days and holidays. They pinched her fingers, and it was a dreadful struggle to get them on, but they gave her a good deal of moral support. She was a tall, thin woman with a screwed-up knob of hair under the funeral hat. She had pale eyes, a long pale nose, and very pale lips.

  Inspector Crisp looked hard at her and said in his rather jerky way,

  “You were here helping Mrs. Castell last night, Mrs. Bridling?”

  “That’s right. I’ve got my husband bed-ridden and my hands full, but he’s willing for me to oblige Mrs. Castell. We went to school together when she was Annie Higgins and I was Emily Bent.”

  “Old friends-eh? Well, you were here helping. What time did you leave?”

  Mrs. Bridling smoothed down her black kid gloves.

  “It was every bit of a quarter to nine. I’d reckoned to get off by the half hour, but she asked me to stay and do the glasses.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t later than that-it wasn’t after nine?”

  “I wouldn’t have stayed as late as that. I’d Mr. Bridling to see to at home. I’m sure I don’t know when I’ve been so put out.”

  “What put you out, Mrs. Bridling?”

  “The same as would have put anyone out-getting all behind.”

  Miss Silver gave a gentle cough and looked at Inspector Abbott, who immediately responded by enquiring in a languid voice,

  “If you left at a quarter to nine you were not so very late. But you had to come back for your scarf, had you not?”

  Mrs. Bridling nodded.

  “Left it on the drip-board. I don’t know when I did such a thing, I’m sure. And why I didn’t notice it sooner was on account of my coming over so hot with my hands in the boiling water. ‘Come out hot, go home cold,’ as my father used to say. So I ran back for it sharp. I didn’t like keeping Mr. Bridling waiting, but I knew how he’d carry on if I come in without my scarf. Very particular he is about my keeping my throat well wrapped up, because he says, If you go and get yourself into hospital through acting silly, well, it’s all very well for you,’ he says. ‘You’ll be comfortable enough and waited on hand and foot,’ he says, ‘but who’s going to look after me?’ So I thought, ‘If he’s going to be put about, it had better be because of me being late, and not bring all that up again about the hospital not being able to keep him on account of his being a chronic case,’ so I just came back for my scarf.”

  Crisp said, “What time did you get back to the inn?”

  The pale eyes dwelt upon him.

  “It’d be after nine. I’d gone a good bit of the way.”

  “Did you see Mrs. Castell?”

  “No. Her and Eily were talking-Mr. Castell’s niece, Eily Fogarty.”

  Crisp said, “Ah!” And then, “Did you hear what they were saying?”

  Mrs. Bridling looked down her long, pale nose.

  “I’m not one to listen at doors,” she said in a virtuous voice.

  Frank Abbott’s lip twitched. He had never encountered an eavesdropper who did not preface his statement by explaining just how abhorrent it was to him to overhear what was not meant for his ears.

  Inspector Crisp made the accustomed response.

  “I’m sure you’re not. But if the door was open-”

  She nodded.

  “Well, it was and it wasn’t. I was looking round for my scarf, and I couldn’t help but hear what Eily Fogarty was saying.”

  “And what was she saying?”

  “You may well ask! I’m sure I never heard such goings-on. The poor girl was all of a shake. Seems that Luke White followed her into one of the bedrooms, caught hold of her, and used dreadful language, and if it hadn’t been for Miss Heron coming along there’s no saying what might have happened. Eily said she had to pick up Miss Heron’s nail-scissors and run them into his hand to make him let her go. And all Annie Castell had to say was, ‘Lock your door nights.’ Well, I thought the sooner the girl’s out of the house the better, and I didn’t wait to hear any more, I just picked up my scarf and ran.”

  Frank Abbott said, “You live next door to John Higgins, don’t you? Did you tell him what you had heard?”

  She turned her pale gaze on him.

  “Indeed I did, and before I slept last night. I told Mr. Bridling about it whilst I was getting him his cup of cocoa and getting him comfortable for the night. ‘Emily,’ he says, ‘if anything happens to that girl, you’ll have it on your conscience for ever. Nothing but an abode of iniquity, that’s what that place is, same as it always was, and you can’t get from it. And I don’t care if you went to school with Annie Castell ten times over. I’ve been willing for you to keep up with her and oblige when short-handed, but I’ll not have you going over there again,’ he says, ‘not if there’s that kind of shameless goings-on, and Annie Castell with no more to say about it than lock your door nights. She was brought up in a God-fearing home, and she did ought to know better,’ he says.” She looked round enjoyably. “I don’t know when I’ve seen Mr. Bridling so worked up. Quite cheered him up having something he could disapprove of so thorough-kept on talking about it and hindering me. ‘There’ll be a judgment,’ he said. And when the news come this morning you couldn’t hold him. ‘The triumphing of the wicked is short,’ he says.”

  Crisp stemmed the flow.

  “Did you in fact tell Higgins what you had overheard?”

  She gave a vigorous nod.

  “Mr. Bridling wouldn’t have given me a minute’s peace if I hadn’t. I’d him to see to, and a bit of washing to do, and then I went in and told John Higgins.”

  “How did he take it?”

  Mrs. Bridling tossed her head.

  “The way you’d expect any man to take it that was a man- clinched his hands up and turned as red as fire and then as white as a bit of curd. I don’t know how he kept himself, but he didn’t say anything, not till he’d got a hold of himself. I said, ‘You’ll have to get her away, John. It’s no place for a good-living girl.’ And he says, ‘No.’ And then he says, ‘Mrs. Bridling, you’ll take her in if I can get her to come away tomorrow? We’ll be married as soon as I can fix it up, but you’ll take her in till then?’ So I said I would, and glad to do it, for he’s a good neighbour and a good-living man if there ever was one, and she’s a lucky girl to get him for a husband. Many’s the time he’s been up half the night with Mr. Bridling when he’s had one of his turns, so as I could get a bit of rest. So I said to him, ‘If there’s anything I can do, you know I’ll do it and be glad of the chance.’ ”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bridling,” said Inspector Crisp.

  CHAPTER 20

  Mrs. Bridling left with regret. She didn’t know when she’d enjoyed anything more, but like all the great moments of life it was over too soon. There was a hymn they used to sing in Sunday school:-

  “Fleeting ever, fleeting onward,

  Earthly joys will never stay.”

  The lines came to her mind regretfully. Over it was, but it would be something to tell Mr. Bridling when she got home.

  She came through the door between Castell’s office and the lounge and sat down to wait until they should be finished with John Higgins. After due consideration she had rejected the idea of going through into the kitchen to see Annie Castell. For one thing, here she was in her best, and with Annie working it wouldn’t seem hardly friendly not to give her a hand. She wasn’t ever one to stand by and watch other people work, but risk spotting her best dress was more than could be expected. The lounge was empty. She picked a comfortable chair and sat down to wait.

  John Higgins was in the office, sitting with a hand on either knee, his fair hair standing up in a shock, and his blue eyes steady on the Inspector. Frank Abbott thought, “Solid, dependable chap. Hope he didn’t do it. Not the type to stab a man in the back. Unless-” Suppose the fellow had caught hold of Eily Fogarty and John Higgins had come upon them struggling. No, that wouldn’t do. There was no doubt where the knife had come from-that trophy on the chimney-breast in the dining-room.
Whoever used it had got to get it from there. It wouldn’t be lying about in the hall to be snatched up on the spur of the moment.

  John Higgins said,

  “Yes, I walked over last night to see Miss Fogarty.”

  Crisp balanced his pencil.

  “Mrs. Bridling told you that there had been a scene with Luke White?”

  “Yes. I went over to tell Miss Fogarty that she must leave in the morning. It wasn’t fit for her to be there. We are going to be married, and I told her she could stay with Mrs. Bridling while I got it all fixed up.”

  “Did she tell you that the key of her room was missing?”

  Angry colour swept up to the roots of the fair hair.

  “Yes. I told her to go along to Miss Heron’s room and ask if she could stay there.”

  Crisp’s bristling dark eyebrows rose.

  “Do you know Miss Heron? Is she a friend of yours?”

  John Higgins said, “I was sure that she would let Eily stay with her.”

  Crisp stabbed at the blotting-paper.

  “You had quite a talk with Miss Fogarty, didn’t you?”

  “We talked.”

  “For how long?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “An hour?”

  John Higgins shook his head.

  “Not near so long.”

  “Half an hour?”

  Another slow head-shake.

  “More like a quarter, but I won’t swear to it.”

  “And where did this conversation take place?”