Murder on Bonfire Night

by Addison, Margaret

  ‘One couldn’t have asked for a better servant,’ declared the major with feeling. ‘Knew his job like the back of his hand, he did.’

  ‘When you retired from the army some eight years or so ago, Masters and his wife came to work for you and Miss Spittlehouse?’

  ‘Yes. They did for us as you might say,’ agreed the major. ‘My parents had died and my sister was all alone. She came and kept house for me. With the exception of a gardener and a daily maid, both of whom lived out, the Masters’ saw to our needs.’

  ‘You must have known this Masters fellow well?’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘You’d been through the war together, hadn’t you? I’d say you’d get to know what made a man tick?’

  ‘I daresay I knew him as well as I knew any man,’ agreed Major Spittlehouse rather gruffly. He added with an unexpected ferocity: ‘And before you ask, Inspector, I can’t imagine why any soul would have wished him harm.’

  ‘And yet someone murdered him.’ said the inspector softly.

  Cedric made a move as if to interrupt, but apparently thought better of it. He caught the senior policeman’s eye, however, and the two exchanged a look.

  ‘You wished to say something, Lord Belvedere?’

  ‘Yes … no … that is to say, it probably has nothing to do with the murder.’

  ‘We’ll be the judge of that if you don’t mind, Lord Belvedere.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Inspector. I’ll mention it at the end. I should hate to interfere with your line of questioning.’

  ‘Very well. Now, Major,’ said Inspector Newcombe, returning his attention to Major Spittlehouse, ‘perhaps you could give me a few details about the arrangements for the Bonfire Night celebrations? You were on the committee, I believe, the one that organised the event?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve been a member for four years, chairman for the last three.’ The major sat back in his chair. ‘I’m not sure that I can tell you very much, Inspector. Each year is very like the other. The bonfire’s lit, then there’s the judging of the guys of course, followed by the firework display.’

  ‘The judging of the guys happens every year?’

  ‘Like clockwork. The children look forward to it. Some of them make a real effort and some of them don’t. That’s not to say of course that it doesn’t cause some problems, because it does. Thieving of clothes off washing lines and the like is very common. Some of course are content with using just rags and sheets, but there are others who like to dress their guys in something grand –’

  ‘I see,’ said the inspector hurriedly, fearing that the major might well be about to embark on a particular hobby horse of his. ‘Now, tell me about this night watch, if you will, Major Spittlehouse.’ Was it his imagination, or did he see the major give a small involuntary start? ‘Lord Belvedere was telling me that you were having some trouble with gangs of children from the neighbouring villages trying to pilfer the wood from the bonfire for their own. You’d organised a night watch to tackle it, I understand?’

  ‘It was no more of a problem than usual, Inspector, but this year we thought we’d try and do something about it.’

  ‘And when was the final watch? Did it by any chance meet this afternoon?’

  ‘It did indeed, Inspector. We thought it likely as not that some of the boys would make a last attempt to steal some wood a few hours before the lighting of the bonfire. Of course it would have ruined it for the village. You can’t have a bonfire night without a decent bonfire.’

  ‘Quite. Now, what time would this have been?’

  ‘Half past four, thereabouts. I went down myself to have a look. There were three of us there from the Committee. We walked the perimeter of the field and ended up beside the bonfire.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’ The inspector had leaned forward and was staring at the major keenly. Even the sergeant had looked up from his notes.

  ‘Not a soul, Inspector.’

  ‘I take it the body wasn’t there?’

  ‘Of course not. What sort of a fool do you take me for, Inspector?’ cried the major indignantly. ‘I think I might have noticed if there had been a corpse lying on the ground. Heaven knows I’ve seen enough bodies in my time.’

  ‘All right,’ said Inspector Newcombe hurriedly. ‘It’s just possible that you might have mistaken it for a guy, particularly if you only saw it from a distance.’

  ‘I’m telling you there was nothing there. Neither a living soul, nor a dead one.’ The major still sounded disgruntled. ‘As I’ve said, we had a quick look at the bonfire, did our rounds of the field and left.’

  ‘What time did you all leave?’

  ‘I didn’t look at my watch, but I’d say we left before five.’

  ‘Take a note of that, will you, Bell? And if you could give my sergeant the names and addresses of the other two members of your watch before you go, I should be much obliged. It’s possible they may have seen something.’ The inspector shuffled his papers. ‘Now, I’d like you to tell me what happened after five o’clock this afternoon. You went home, I assume, after your watch?’

  ‘Yes. Though there’s nothing much to tell. Mrs Masters had laid out a cold supper in the parlour.’

  ‘Masters waited on you?’

  ‘No, I served myself.’

  ‘And your sister? Did she eat with you?’

  ‘No, I ate alone. My sister popped her head around the door and told me she wasn’t hungry. She seemed rather surprised to see me. I suppose she thought I’d still be out in the field.’

  ‘And Masters, where was he?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t recollect seeing him before I set out for the festivities.’

  ‘It’s possible then that he might already have gone out before you came back from the watch?’

  ‘Yes. Though you’d need to ask Mrs Masters; she’d know.’

  ‘Thank you. We shall be speaking to the deceased’s wife tomorrow morning. Now, after your supper, what did you do?’

  ‘I shut myself up in my study for an hour and a half or so. I had some letters to write. Then I set out for the field.’

  ‘At what time did you leave your house?’

  ‘A quarter to seven. I remember looking at the clock on the mantelpiece and thinking that I ought to leave or else I’d be late. I thought it wouldn’t do for a man in my position not to be there when they lit the bonfire, what with me being chairman of the Bonfire Committee and all.

  ‘Did Miss Spittlehouse accompany you?’

  ‘No. I called up to her; my sister was in her bedroom, I think. She came out on to the landing. She said she didn’t want to stand around in the cold waiting for the bonfire to be lit and that she’d make her own way there a little later. Besides, she told me she had a few things to do first.’

  ‘I see. So you set off for the bonfire alone. No sign of Masters, I suppose?’

  ‘No, Inspector. I’ve told you. I didn’t see him. I didn’t see him again until …’ The major’s voice faltered with emotion.

  ‘Quite,’ said the inspector hurriedly, fearing the onset of an awkward silence. ‘You live at Green Gables, don’t you, Major? How long would it take you to walk to the field? Fifteen minutes at a brisk walk?

  ‘Yes, about that. Of course the other villagers were making their way there about that time, same as me. Quite a procession we made. I was obliged to stop and talk to one or two of them. It made me late. I remember rushing in the end and I still missed seeing the bonfire being lit.’

  ‘Indeed? We shall need their names, these friends you stopped and spoke to.’

  For the first time the major hesitated, as if it had just dawned on him that he might be considered a possible suspect in his servant’s death. Cedric felt a pang of sympathy for him.

  ‘If you think it necessary, Inspector,’ said Major Spittlehouse at last. He passed a hand over his military moustache and tugged at it absentmindedly.

  ‘Pray, please continue,’ prodded the detective.

  ‘There’s not much else to add,
’ said the major rather indignantly. ‘When I arrived, the bonfire was already alight, as I’ve said. Lord and Lady Belvedere were just making their way over to the line of guys for the judging. I could tell something was wrong,’ he said, turning to address Cedric, ‘the way you and Lady Belvedere paused to take a second look at … at Masters. You leapt forward, if you remember, my lord, and went to feel for a pulse; at least that’s what it looked like. Your wife had turned away.’

  The words were scarcely out of the major’s mouth when the door opened. As if by one accord their eyes were drawn to stare at it to glimpse the newcomer. In Major Spittlehouse’s case, he was obliged to turn around in his seat.

  ‘My sister?’ cried Major Spittlehouse as Rose entered. He even went so far as to spring out of his seat.

  ‘She is quite all right, Major,’ said Rose for the second time that evening. ‘She’s resting and asked to be left alone, that’s all. She’ll ring if she requires anything.’

  It was as if Rose’s entrance had broken a spell of sorts, for her husband had abandoned his nonchalant air and the lounging position that he had adopted beside the fireplace. He took a step forward so that he was level with the major. The bored indifference had left his voice and was replaced with a note of urgency. ‘The jacket,’ said Cedric. ‘You must tell them about the jacket, you really must. Your life may be in grave danger.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘What jacket?’ asked Inspector Newcombe sharply. He looked from Cedric to the major, and back again, with something of an annoyed look upon his face. Rose, from her position behind the major, which afforded her a very good view of the inspector’s expression, thought it likely that he was not best pleased at this latest turn of events. He most probably suspected that something of significance had been withheld from him, something which ought to have been disclosed at the very beginning of the interview.

  Rose stared at the major’s back, which was solid and unflinching. She was hit with the sudden realisation that the man intended to say nothing at all about the jacket. It was to be left to Cedric to enlighten the inspector. Her husband, however, obviously thought it the major’s duty to do so, and there ensued an uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Come now, gentlemen, out with it,’ said the inspector somewhat irritably. ‘There’s no use holding anything back and keeping it to yourselves. In an investigation of this sort things have a habit of coming out. It’s best that you tell me now. The more we know, the sooner we’ll get the murderer.’ The silence continued and the inspector tried again. ‘Anything, no matter how trivial or irrelevant you might think it to be, may well prove to be the vital clue we’re looking for.’

  ‘It isn’t in the least bit insignificant,’ said Cedric at last, a little sullenly. ‘Masters was wearing the major’s jacket when he was killed.’

  ‘Was he indeed? Is that true, Major?’

  The inspector was looking distinctly interested by this piece of information. Rose, who had barely had an opportunity to converse with her husband since the discovery of the body, leaned forward in her chair. Even Sergeant Bell had looked up expectantly.

  ‘Yes, Inspector,’ continued Cedric, when it became patently clear that the major did not intend to speak on the matter. ‘Masters was wearing the major’s tweed jacket. It’s quite distinctive. A brown Harris tweed with a dark green stripe running through it interlaced with a purple stripe. I’ve never seen another one quite like it. The major always wears it come rain or shine. I don’t think I’ve seen him in anything else, except for tonight, of course.’ He glanced over at Major Spittlehouse, as if for confirmation, which was not forthcoming. ‘It was your jacket that he was wearing, wasn’t it? I thought it a trifle odd at the time. I said as much to you when we were waiting for the inspector to arrive.’

  Rather pushed into a corner, Major Spittlehouse said slowly, as if he were uttering the words grudgingly: ‘Yes, it was my jacket.’

  ‘Was your servant in the habit of borrowing your clothes?’ demanded Inspector Newcombe.

  ‘Of course not,’ retorted the major, a trifle angrily.

  ‘And yet he was wearing your jacket tonight,’ countered the inspector. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can give no explanation for why he should do such a thing.’

  ‘He didn’t ask you if he might wear the jacket tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t by any chance suggest to your servant, Major, that he might like to wear it?’ said Rose, a vague, ridiculous thought having suddenly entered her head.

  It was the first time she had spoken since the matter of the jacket had been raised, and she had caught them all unawares, how silent had been her presence up to then. It was obvious that Major Spittlehouse for one had forgotten that she was there. He started in his chair and half turned in his seat, his face a livid shade of crimson.

  ‘Certainly not, Lady Belvedere.’

  ‘Yet, how do you explain the fact that your manservant was wearing your jacket?’ demanded the inspector.

  ‘I have already told you that I can’t.’

  It was Cedric who asked the question that was on everyone’s lips: ‘Why weren’t you wearing the jacket yourself this evening, Spittlehouse?’

  Perhaps he was aware that all their eyes were upon him for, when the major spoke, it was somewhat indignantly.

  ‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘Masters suggested that I wear my dark grey wool overcoat this evening. He said it was supposed to be bitterly cold later and Mrs Masters didn’t want me to get a chill. Those were his exact words, I believe, or something very much along those lines. I’d have been far too warm if I’d worn my tweed jacket underneath the overcoat, so I didn’t. Besides, Masters said it would give him an opportunity to give the jacket a proper clean.’

  ‘I see,’ said Inspector Newcombe thoughtfully. ‘It was the deceased’s suggestion that you not wear your tweed jacket this evening, presumably in order that he might wear it himself?’

  ‘That would appear to be the case, Inspector,’ said Major Spittlehouse. He gave an annoyed grunt and flared his nostrils.

  ‘Tell me, Major, why were you so reluctant to tell me about this business concerning your jacket? If Lord Belvedere hadn’t mentioned it, we’d have been none the wiser.’

  ‘I didn’t want to put the man in a bad light. It was entirely out of character for him to do such a thing. I didn’t want you to think badly of him.’ The major stared miserably at a piece of carpet in front of him.

  ‘Is that the only reason you didn’t tell us?’ asked Inspector Newcombe, looking far from convinced. ‘You thought it reflected badly on the man’s character?’

  ‘Yes. For no other reason. I can assure you.’ Major Spittlehouse returned the policeman’s gaze. His stare was unwavering. ‘And if it were up to me you’d still be in the dark about it.’ He glanced over at Cedric. ‘I wish you hadn’t seen the need to mention it, Lord Belvedere.’

  ‘Do you?’ said Cedric, a frown creasing his forehead.

  ‘There was no need to,’ repeated Major Spittlehouse dully.

  ‘There was every need,’ Rose whispered to herself. ‘And I find it hard to believe that a man of the major’s intelligence cannot see that.’

  ‘What did you make of Major Spittlehouse?’ Cedric asked, leaning nonchalantly against the fireplace once more. It was some half an hour or so later, and the major and his sister had left Sedgwick Court for Green Gables. ‘Why didn’t you press him further about the jacket? It was obvious that he was hiding something.’

  ‘I think it more likely that the man was in shock,’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘Murder does that to a person, even to a man such as Major Spittlehouse who has witnessed violent death. People react in different ways; I’ve seen it often enough. Some can’t stop talking, and others can’t stop crying. A man like the major just becomes silent and retreats inside himself. I expect he was the same during the war. He needs time t
o adjust and digest things inwardly. We’d have got no more out of him tonight, not once he had set his mind to withdraw. Tomorrow morning he’ll be quite a different person once he’s had a good night’s sleep, you mark my words.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Cedric, sounding sceptical. ‘It seems to me that he was being deliberately unhelpful and not at all like his usual self. The major I know would have had a fit if he’d discovered his servant wearing his clothes, and his favourite jacket at that. No, the man was subdued all right. Something’s rattled him, even if he won’t admit it.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ said Inspector Newcombe, ‘I should like to know about this Masters fellow. Were he and the major anything alike in appearance? It’s difficult to view a body and imagine what it looked like in life. Even the most sunburned face becomes pale and the most animated features become still. It didn’t help of course that we were viewing the corpse in the dark with only the artificial light from bulbs and torches to help us.’

  ‘I suppose they were rather similar,’ answered Cedric on reflection. ‘They both sported those carefully trimmed military moustaches for one thing. And they were rather similar in build, though the major was a good six inches taller than his servant, I would have said, and slightly broader across the shoulders.’

  ‘But they might have been mistaken for each other in the dark.’ said Inspector Newcombe. ‘Particularly if Masters was wearing Major Spittlehouse’s jacket.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly what I thought,’ said Cedric, warming to the subject. ‘And I implied as much to the major when we were waiting for you to arrive. I almost mistook Masters for the major myself when we first came across the body. It was because of that damn tweed jacket, of course. And it didn’t help that the cap had been pulled down over the corpse’s head and his face smeared with dirt. Even then, I wouldn’t have been entirely sure of his identity if I had not heard the major call out to me when he did.’