The Echoing Strangers (Mrs Bradley)

by Mitchell, Gladys

  ‘Quite. Now, to begin with, I do not believe that Sir Adrian left Derek in charge of only one servant. Secondly, to square a person indicates, in the idiom of the moment, to bribe him. Miss Higgs is always pleading poverty.’

  ‘Oh … I see.’

  ‘I wish I did,’ said Mrs. Bradley sincerely.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I wish I knew how Miss Higgs comes into the whole thing. She appears to be fond of Francis; she appears not to be quite willing to agree that the twin boys ever changed places; she needs to work for her living, and therefore would be very foolish to risk Sir Adrian’s displeasure, and yet she took that risk by bringing the boys together at the first opportunity she had.’

  ‘So far we have only her word for that.’

  ‘Exactly. Yet I think it must be true. Otherwise how would the boys, separated at so tender an age, have got in touch with one another again?’

  ‘Certainly that is a point. As I see it, we’ve got to question her again, and take a different line of approach.’

  ‘And that would be?’

  ‘Ask her what she knows about landlord Cornish.’

  ‘Staggering,’ said Mrs. Bradley admiringly. Gavin regarded her dubiously.

  ‘You think it might work?’ he enquired.

  ‘Negatively only. I speak merely from instinct, but instinct warns me that there is no connection whatsoever between Miss Higgs and the landlord of the Frenchman.’

  Not at all to Mrs. Bradley’s surprise, but greatly to the surprise of Gavin, Miss Higgs herself volunteered the next piece of information. Mrs. Bradley had gone back to stay at the Frenchman’s Arms in Mede, and had left her address at Wetwode post-office.

  ‘Not to impede you in any way,’ wrote Miss Higgs, ‘I ought perhaps to say that I knew it couldn’t be Francis that pushed me into the river. He would never have done such a thing. You will wish to know (from your enquiries) when the twins might have changed their places. Well, it could have been while Francis and I were spending that week at Great Yarmouth. You see, he used to go swimming every day in the Pool, and, as I never worried about him while he was in the water, I used to sit on the beach, from which you can’t possibly see who is in the Pool unless they go up on the high diving boards, which Francis never did, as his ears were funny …’

  ‘We never thought of that,’ said Gavin, when Mrs. Bradley showed him the letter. ‘I mean, about a bloke with bad ears not being able to dive from heights.’

  ‘Quite. But I don’t think his ears were bad.’

  ‘Oh, no. This camouflage business. Yet there doesn’t seem any reason to suspect that at the age of seven he wasn’t suffering from shock.’

  ‘I think he was. At the age of nine it seems that to some extent he may have got over it.’

  ‘You say “to some extent.” What do you mean by that, exactly?’

  ‘Exactly, it is difficult to say. I would submit that the physical effects had worn off. The mental trauma probably remained.’

  ‘Then Francis, not Derek, is our man!’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, on the strength of this letter I am going to have another bash at Miss Higgs, and that without loss of time.’

  Miss Higgs, who could get about a bit, had been discharged from hospital, and was now (at Mrs. Bradley’s expressed wish, although Miss Higgs had no knowledge of this) recuperating at the house of the old school friend, Mabel Parkinson, as there was no one to look after her at the bungalow.

  ‘Yes, she is here,’ said Mabel, answering the door to Gavin, ‘but I don’t know whether she’ll see you. She’s sick to death of the whole business about these awful murders, and really one can’t wonder at it. And why Beatrice had to get me involved I can’t think. At least, I can …’

  ‘Quite. An alma mater shared is an important problem halved, and I know, Miss Parkinson, that you’d never let an old school-fellow down. Mrs. Bradley has the utmost confidence in you. At a time when she had no one else to whom she could turn, no one else to whom she could entrust this delicate matter, she said to me that she knew she could rely upon Mabel Parkinson.’

  Mabel simpered.

  ‘Oh, if the old school tie is involved, you know,’ she said, ‘of course one does what one can. The only thing is, with Miss Higgs so closely connected with that place where we found the body…. Still, I should like to see the murderer that could get the better of me!’

  ‘Well, the murderer might try if he thought you knew anything. Do you know anything, Miss Parkinson? If so, I wish you would tell me.’

  ‘Any amount,’ said Mabel Parkinson. ‘To begin with, I don’t trust young Francis Caux.’

  ‘No, we don’t much, either.’

  ‘It was quite, quite too odd that he should have found out by accident about that body … where it had been hidden and all the rest of it. He knew it was there because he’d had previous information. Then, as I see it, the knowledge was on his conscience and upset him … or else …’ Gavin suddenly realized that Miss Parkinson’s eyes were shrewd, and her thin mouth intelligent … ‘or else,’ she repeated emphatically, ‘he knew who Beatrice was and thought he’d better come clean and try to disarm her of suspicion.’

  ‘It’s most interesting that you should say that,’ said Gavin, ‘because I personally have a very firm idea … amounting, I might say, to a certainty … that it wasn’t Francis at all who “discovered” the body, but his brother Derek. But you mustn’t let that go any further.’

  Miss Parkinson went pink with excitement.

  ‘So that’s it!’ she said. ‘Not a word shall escape me, of course. Does Miss Higgs know this?’

  ‘I expect so, but I don’t think I should let even her know that you know, if you don’t mind. The fewer people to discuss the point the better, at this stage in our enquiry.’

  Mabel Parkinson took him upstairs to see Miss Higgs. Miss Higgs had been given the largest bedroom as a bed-sitting-room. It saved her the stairs, as Miss Parkinson pointed out, and was handy for the bathroom and lavatory. Gavin found himself rather in love with Mrs. Bradley’s old school chum. She might be a tedious old duck, but of her good-nature and loyalty there could not be any doubt at all. He was glad he had told her about the twin brothers. She deserved a break, he thought.

  Miss Higgs, to his consternation, began by being tearful.

  ‘I can’t tell you how good Miss Parkinson is to me,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known kindness like it. Her best bedroom, and everything done for my comfort. Waited on hand and foot …’ she indicated the two sticks which helped her to get about … ‘really, one is almost grateful for a broken leg if it shows one that disinterested goodness still exists in this world.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Gavin. Miss Parkinson, patting Miss Higgs kindly on the shoulder, said that she must be getting ready some tea, and that they would all have it together in Miss Higgs’ room. ‘Look,’ went on Gavin to Miss Higgs, ‘I don’t want to bother you, but there are just one or two things which might help to make my job much easier if I could learn them from a reliable witness like yourself.’

  Miss Higgs wiped her eyes.

  ‘I’m a fool,’ she said, ‘but kindness does break you down when you’re not used to it. What do you want to know?’

  ‘First, if it isn’t an impertinent question, what do you propose to do when you’ve fully recovered? Shall you go back to the bungalow to look after Francis Caux?’

  ‘I couldn’t. For one thing, I couldn’t bear to live there again, especially when I think how terribly Francis has deceived me, and, for another thing, it seems from what dear Miss Parkinson tells me … she heard it down in the village … that Sir Adrian has adopted both the boys, so I shan’t be needed any more. I thought perhaps I would try to get a post as governess to a delicate girl.’

  ‘Right. Well, now, for my next question: you said at our last interview that you knew it couldn’t have been Francis who pushed you into the river, and, if he did not, that would account for the fact that he didn
’t jump in and fish you out. But had you ever suspected, before that, that the boys changed places?’

  ‘Not really. Of course, it did shock me very much when I found that the boy had been misbehaving in the village with that girl.’

  ‘But, all the same, you still thought it was Francis?’

  ‘What else could I think? I never dreamed it was Derek. How could I?’

  ‘Right. Now, another point … and I do hope you’ll answer me quite frankly. You see, it’s murder I’m investigating and it begins to look very fishy for one or both of those two boys. You told us that you sneaked Derek away from Mede at a time when Sir Adrian was absent, and had both children with you for a fortnight here at Wetwode. Now, they are very striking-looking boys and the village has always been interested, I take it, in your poor little deaf-and-dumb charge. Didn’t it cause a considerable sensation when his twin, indistinguishable from him in appearance, turned up at the bungalow?’

  ‘No. You see, nobody ever saw them together. I had explained very carefully to Derek, who was always strikingly intelligent, that if it ever came to his grandfather’s knowledge that he had gone to stay with his brother, I should be dismissed and he would never see Francis again.’

  ‘I see. One more question, Miss Higgs, and I think I’m through. You say you didn’t know that the boys had ever changed places, but, from the answer you’ve just given me, I may take it, I presume, that you did know they often met?’

  ‘They met every year at the summer holiday time,’ replied Miss Higgs.

  ‘How on earth did you manage that?’

  ‘I didn’t manage it. Derek managed it, and I don’t know how he did, and he has never told me. But for a week every year he has been with us at whatever seaside place I chose for Francis.’

  ‘You wrote to him, then?’

  ‘No, never. And I never found out how he knew, but, of course, the dates were always roughly the same. Sometimes he would get there on the same day as we did, and sometimes a day or so later. I chose a different place every year for five years, so that the fact of their being twins and so handsome and so much the image of each other should not be talked about too much, but that was my whole share in the matter. And I told you a lie last time. It wasn’t I who squared the Mede servants. It was Derek, even at that tender age.’

  ‘Thank you very much indeed, Miss Higgs. You’ve been more than helpful.’

  ‘All the same, I don’t believe … I never will believe … that Francis was mixed up in those dreadful murders!’

  ‘Quite,’ said Gavin; and was much too kind-hearted to point out the foolishness of this statement. ‘After all, she obviously never really knew one from t’other,’ he said to Mrs. Bradley later on. ‘How could Derek always fix the date, though?’

  ‘He didn’t this year, at any rate. This year Miss Higgs took Francis away in June. It has always been at the beginning of the grouse season before.’

  ‘Of course! Lord Averdon’s grouse moor! Yes, you told me. As simple as that!’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Echo Heard at the Inn

  *

  ‘Thou hast shaved many a poor soul close enough … thou art only meeting thy reward.’

  The Brothers Grimm: The Jew in the Bush

  *

  ‘WELL, THERE IS no doubt about one thing,’ said Mrs. Bradley. They were in Mede, in her private sitting-room at the Frenchman’s Inn. ‘Campbell was killed because he knew too much.’

  ‘Knew that there were two boys and that they changed places, you mean. Could the same apply to Witt?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But how should Campbell? … Oh, yes, of course! He was a naturalist, wasn’t he? Watched birds and crept about in woods and things …’

  ‘And had a very efficient pair of binoculars, yes.’

  ‘Um, that adds up all right. I wonder how Derek managed to sneak away so many times, though, without Sir Adrian being the wiser? You’d think that, sooner or later, someone would blow the gaff.’

  ‘That is where you tell me something more about the household at Mede.’

  ‘But I can’t, you know. I can’t shake them. They’re like the wise old owl, I think, the more they know the less they speak. It’s very disheartening. You don’t think that the two deaths are entirely disconnected, and that the landlord here killed Witt because of the blackmail over that stolen Black Market liquor?’

  ‘I might think so if it had been physically possible, child, but, you see, it wasn’t. No, no. It was one of the twins, or, at any rate, one of the twins was an accessory before the fact. We’ve realized that all the time. The only thing which still puzzles me is why on earth the one who was supposed to be playing cricket chose the time of the murder to absent himself from the field.’

  ‘Yes, that is a licker! Unless, of course, it was deliberate, and he meant to do the other twin down.’

  ‘ “Now, husband, you have nick’d the matter. To have him impeached and …” ’

  ‘Yes. Beggar’s Opera or no Beggar’s Opera, it means hanging all right,’ said Gavin soberly. ‘We make a dead set, then, at Derek Caux.’

  ‘I think we must, otherwise he might murder Sir Adrian!’

  ‘I say, you don’t really think that, do you?’

  ‘I wish I didn’t, child, but there it is.’

  ‘We ought to tip the old boy off.’

  ‘I have thought of that. Can you imagine the result?’

  ‘Well, yes, I can, unless … you don’t think he may have rumbled Derek by this time?’

  ‘If he has he would never admit it.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Look here, how do we get this dissolute kid?’

  ‘Your finger-print experts might help.’

  ‘Jove, yes. You mean that, as even identical twins don’t have identical finger-prints, we may be able to prove that Francis visited the house at Mede when the boys changed places. Apart from Donagh’s evidence that one of the Mede servants let out that Sir Adrian is invited every year to shoot over the coverts of Lord Averdon, whose team has an annual fixture with the village eleven at Mede, we’re pretty sure they had a game at swopping places. But if what we’ve gathered is true, the precious Derek would have had servants galore round his neck whilst his grandfather was away. Do you mean to say that none of them gave him away?’

  ‘So far as we know they did not. Of course, Sir Adrian may be unpopular.’

  ‘Or young Derek may be feared.’

  ‘Few things would surprise me less. Evil is fearful, and people are really rather superstitious about it. There seems to be a human, or sub-human, instinct which regards evil as being far more powerful than good.’

  ‘It’s queer, that. Look here, why don’t you tackle those Mede servants again? You’d get far more out of them than I’ve been able to do.’

  ‘Very well. I will try. After all, we’ve a fair amount to go on.’

  But the Mede servants were either staunch or fearful, or … as Mrs. Bradley, against her will, assumed … more mercenary than either.

  ‘Yes, I expect he did bribe them,’ said Gavin, referring to Derek. ‘And, after all, if Donagh is to be believed, they all sold their souls long ago in consenting to be played as amateurs when, hang it all, their very pay depended upon their cricket. If that isn’t blatant professionalism I don’t know what is. Let’s tackle old Cornish again.’

  Landlord Cornish, approached again, was not particularly pleased.

  ‘Look here,’ he said, ‘what’s the game? I ain’t here to be stooged by the police.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs. Bradley smoothly. ‘Ne pleurez pas,’ she added genially. ‘Nous avons besoin de vous, monsieur. Attendez bien. Je vous ouvre mon coeur.’

  These execrable sentences produced a marked effect.

  ‘Oh, if that’s your lay,’ said Cornish, ‘why couldn’t you say so before? I’ll come clean all right. Only, you see, that there Witt, he stuck in my gizzard, as you might say. What might you want for to know?’

/>   ‘We want to know who, besides yourself, had a motive for wanting Mr. Witt out of the way,’ said Mrs. Bradley before Gavin could speak. Gavin drew his stomach in and mentally flexed his arm, for the landlord’s attitude was menacing. Mrs. Bradley cackled.

  ‘We know you didn’t kill Witt,’ she said. ‘Who did?’

  ‘I reckon it was young Caux,’ the landlord answered sullenly. ‘But ask me why … I don’t know. It’s just as it seemed to work out.’

  ‘You mean his absence from the field at what turned out to be a crucial time?’

  ‘Nay, I don’t mean nothing. Let sleeping dogs lie, that’s my motto.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ said Gavin sincerely. ‘I should have thought you were the kind of bloke to stir them up with a pole.’

  ‘Hey, Liza!’ bellowed Cornish suddenly. His unhappy wife appeared. ‘Speak up, now, girl! Did I, or did I not, have anything to do with Mr. Witt’s murder?’

  ‘Oh, no, of course you didn’t,’ said Mrs. Cornish, distressed. ‘Only, I always thought you’d have liked to have had,’ she added plaintively. She glanced in a terrified way from one face to another. ‘I do hope I haven’t said the wrong thing,’ she added, cringing before her husband.

  ‘Not you, lass, not you!’ he responded. ‘You don’t often say the right thing, devil knows, but this time you’ve hit the nail on the head, my girl. Here, have a drink.’

  He poured out a glass of port and handed it over the counter. Mrs. Cornish was so amazed that she nearly dropped it.

  ‘And what can you make of that?’ asked Gavin anxiously, when he and Mrs. Bradley were back in her private sitting-room upstairs. Mrs. Bradley shook her head.

  ‘Nothing, except that we know he did not kill Witt and that there seems nothing whatever to connect him with Campbell.’

  ‘So we’re just as we were.’

  ‘Not quite. That was an astonishing remark that Mrs. Cornish made. I think we should follow it up.’

  ‘Cornish will probably have her life if we do.’