Dead Man’s Shoes

by Bruce, Leo

“Like the Abominable Snowman,” put in Rupert.

  Mrs Sweeny was looking fixedly at Carolus.

  “I see. You’re inclined to doubt if it was him because it looks so plain that it was. Couldn’t that be you, Mr Deene? I mean couldn’t you unconsciously be trying to make it more complicated?”

  “I don’t think so. When it comes to a man leaving footprints of a special design …”

  “Is that what he did? Perhaps he was mad. I can’t see how anyone sane would want to kill my old Greg.”

  “Perhaps he was. I understand that by the provisions of the Will you don’t stand to gain anything by Mr Willick’s death? I’m sorry to sound so beastly business-like in a matter which I know is deeply painful to you, but I do just want to confirm that.”

  “It’s quite all right. I understand what your job is. If you were too tactful it would probably hurt more. No, I gain nothing. The house and his provision for me in money were already mine.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re going to stay to lunch, aren’t you? I’m sure you want to talk to other people here.”

  “It’s very kind of you. I should be delighted.”

  “And your friend, of course.”

  Carolus grinned.

  “He’s my least promising pupil who has followed me here. To say it’s against my will is an understatement.”

  “Oh hell, sir, give me a break,” said Rupert Priggley. “I’m actually his right hand, Mrs Sweeny. The only trouble is, I never know what his left hand’s doing.”

  They smiled and Marylin Sweeny asked Carolus who else he wanted to see.

  “If it won’t be a bore I suppose I ought to ask a few questions of everyone in the household. I understand you have a married couple in the house.”

  “Yes. Hoppy and his wife. He opened the door to you. Then there are two women who come from the village in the morning for the cleaning. They’re sisters and not very bright and they go home before lunch.”

  “We can skip them, then. But there’s a chauffeur who benefits by the Will.”

  “Ridge, yes. He’s a first-rate chauffeur and never lets us down, but both Greg and I have always found him a bit of a pain in the neck. So smarmy.”

  “What about the gamekeeper?”

  Marylin laughed.

  “You’ll like Socker,” she said. “He’s a monster, but you’ll like him.”

  “In what way a monster?”

  “He thinks he’s Lady Chatterley’s lover, I believe.”

  “The only other person I want to see in the district is the Vicar. And that’s probably a formality.”

  “Gus? He’s coming in this afternoon, so you’ll meet him. Now who do you want to start with? Hoppy? Better see Mrs Hoppy—she makes more sense. I’ll go and see if she can leave the lunch for a few minutes.”

  When Marylin had left the room Rupert gave a low whistle between his teeth.

  “ Whee—wheeyew!”

  “Handsome, isn’t she?”

  “A bewt. Anyway, you can’t cast your beady eyes on her. Her alibi’s cast-iron.”

  Carolus smiled.

  “I don’t suppose it matters, but of course it’s nothing of the sort. The only part of it that could be checked is her call at the lending-library, and that came first. The others, a busy fishmonger and the largest jewellers in the town, could never swear that she had been in on a certain day at a certain time. She could have been back here soon after three.”

  “Carping, aren’t you?”

  At that moment Marylin returned with a tall, thin but masterful-looking woman. Marylin said, “This is Mrs Hoppy. I’ll leave you together.”

  “I hope you won’t be long, sir. I’ve got the Lunch, and I’ve said what I’ve got to say to the police. What was it you wanted to know?”

  She. sat, at Carolus’s invitation, but remained bolt upright in her chair, firmly mistress of the situation.

  Carolus always gave a disarming and unexpected lead to interrogations which he thought would be difficult.

  “It’s about the two women who help you in the morning.”

  “Grace and Annie Coppice. What about them?”

  “I wanted to know whether either of them would know the way Mr Willick went…”

  “For his afternoon walk? It’s hardly likely. There was very little passed between them and me, I may say.”

  “What about…”

  “My husband? He’s hard of hearing and I don’t suppose he ever exchanged two words with Grace and Annie, other than about the cleaning.”

  “Could they have heard …”

  “From anyone else? There are those of the outside staff who may or may not know when to talk of their employers’ doings. I couldn’t say about that.”

  “But, Mrs Hoppy,” appealed Carolus. “Let me explain my difficulty. The man who planned and carried out the murder must have known of Mr Willick’s habit of walking through that wood. Larkin is suspected, but we cannot think of any way he could …”

  “Have found out about it. Well, it wasn’t through Hoppy or me, that’s one certainty. And if Grace and Annie knew they must have heard from someone else.”

  “Do you know a Mrs Gunn who works …”

  “At the Barton Bridge Hotel? Yes, I know her only too well. What about her, because my lunch’ll be spoiled if I don’t get back in a minute?”

  “She is the only person, so far as we know, who spoke to this Larkin before …”

  “He went off to murder Mr Willick? Well, I don’t know how she could have known, I’m sure, but I will say that anyone more nosy, inquisitive, prying and gossiping about others it would be hard to find. You’d think that affliction in her voice would keep her quiet, but not a bit of it. She’s known for it.”

  “Then mightn’t she have …”

  “Heard where Mr Willick went in the afternoon? I don’t see how, unless Anyone of the Outside Staff has been going out with her daughter Lily, which I wouldn’t put beyond them.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Hoppy. Now, just to complete my record, I must ask you where you were …”

  “At the time when Mr Willick was murdered? Well, we don’t know when he was murdered, do we? I can tell you this much. When Hoppy and I have done the washing-up we always feel like having ten minutes’ rest, and I Dropped Off in one chair in the kitchen and Hoppy must have done the same in the other because when I sat up his spectacles were still on and the paper on his lap.”

  “What time would that have been?”

  “After four. We didn’t finish the washing-up till nearly three. I know I had to make haste and put the kettle on for Mrs Sweeny’s tea, Mr Willick usually staying over at Packinlays.”

  “Mrs Sweeny was in, then? She had been …”

  “Into Cheltenham. Yes, I know. She was when Hoppy went up, anyway. I gave her her tea and we had ours.”

  “What about Ridge the chauffeur? Did you …”

  “See anything of him? Not that afternoon, I didn’t. Mr and Mrs Ridge have their own cottage, and when we meet, as we do now and then, it’s for a game of whist between the four of us.”

  Carolus made a note that One of the Outside Staff, referred to with such suspicion, was likely to be Socker rather than Ridge.

  “You don’t know what time he brought the car in? He had taken it …”

  “To Northleach for a repair. No, I don’t know what time it was. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

  “Thank you, Mrs Hoppy. I don’t think I need …”

  “See Hoppy? No, there’s nothing he can tell you more than what I have, and he’s very hard of hearing.”

  9

  CAROLUS DECIDED to go out and see Ridge the chauffeur before lunch, and asked Marylin Sweeny if this would be all right.

  “Of course,” she said; “you’ll find him over in the garage. I don’t think there’s much he can tell you, but I quite see that you want to see everyone.”

  Ridge wore the blue trousers of his uniform and was in shirt-sleeves. He was polishing an alrea
dy gleaming saloon car as Carolus and Rupert approached. He was a middle-aged, mournful-looking man who saluted.

  “Good morning.” Carolus sounded friendly.

  “Good morning, sir. I have been told to expect you. Any information I have I shall be only too pleased to give you.”

  “Thank you. You had been some time with Mr Willick?”

  “Four years before the war, five years’ war service and back to the same employment on release in 1945. It’s a long time, if I may be allowed to say so.”

  “You got on well with him?”

  “Well, yes, sir, but of course we did have our little differences of opinion. I wouldn’t wish to seem to criticize Mr Willick, but he was not always very easy to please.”

  This was a new side of the late Gregory Willick at which no one had yet hinted.

  “No?”

  “He could be very cantankerous at times, sir, if I may make so bold. He was, on the last morning. A small matter of a new part for the Wolseley which I had been waiting for the garage to obtain. It appears that they telephoned to him and told him they had been holding it five days. He came across here storming, if I may use the expression. ‘Why the devil hasn’t it been put in?’ he shouted at me for all the rest of the staff to hear. ‘I have been waiting to hear from the garage,’ I told him, ‘and if it won’t be taken amiss, sir,’ I said, ‘I see no need for you to shout at me in front of others.’ ‘Then get the bloody thing put in,’ he said. ‘Get it put in this afternoon.’ I said no more. I’m not the one to answer back. But I feel what he had said was quite uncalled-for, not to say unjust.”

  “But you did go to the garage that afternoon?”

  “When I went home to dinner I told my wife what had happened and she said, ‘Least said, soonest mended. You’d better take the car in after you’ve had your dinner.’ Which I did.”

  “What time would that have been?”

  “I shouldn’t like to say that I noticed the time when I didn’t, sir, but to the best of my belief I left here about half-past two.”

  “How long was the car at the garage?”

  “Over an hour-and-a-half, sir. It was not an easy part to fit.”

  “You waited while they were doing it?”

  “Well, no, sir. My wife has a married sister living in Northleach, and I decided to walk round there to pass the time. Unfortunately, she was not in.”

  “So you returned to the garage?”

  “Not immediately. My wife’s sister’s home is near the churchyard and I thought I’d pass half an hour there.”

  “In the churchyard?”

  “Yes, sir. If I may put it so, it is a recreation of mine. I am interested in the inscriptions.”

  “I see. So you remained there for some time?”

  “Nearly an hour, if I may make a guess, sir. I found several very interesting inscriptions.”

  “By then the car was ready?”

  “Not quite. It was nearly five o’clock before I left for Barton Abbess.”

  “There is another matter about which I would like to ask you. You knew, of course, the route taken by Mr Willick in his afternoon walk?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has anyone ever asked you about that?”

  “To the best of my recollection, never. If they had done so they wouldn’t have received any information from me. Though I say it, I know my place, and I would certainly never be the one to tittle-tattle to outsiders about what Mr Willick might or might not do.”

  “You won’t mind my asking if the same is true of your wife, Ridge?”

  “I should be the last to resent any question you feel called upon to ask, sir, but so far as Mrs Ridge is concerned you can put your mind at ease. She takes no interest in the Place and has her own home to look after. I do not suppose she knew that Mr Willick went for a walk in the afternoon and certainly not which way he went. Nor do we hob-nob with others in the village. Occasionally we spend an evening with Mr and Mrs Hoppy or receive a visit from my wife’s married sister and her husband, who is a carpenter by trade. Otherwise we keep ourselves to ourselves, if I may be allowed the expression.”

  “Thank you, Ridge. You’ve been most obliging.”

  Lunch was a pleasant meal, for Marylin Sweeny was a good hostess. She was not gloomy and did not wear mourning, but there was a certain wistfulness about her. She could smile, but rarely laughed. However, she chatted with Carolus and Rupert and was interested to hear about their two interviews.

  “So I’m the only one with an alibi, am I?” she said when Carolus had told her Ridge’s story. “I’m not very much afraid that you will seriously suspect anyone here, though. Even Socker. They’re an honest lot.”

  It was, indeed, difficult. This had obviously been a smoothly-run and equable household.

  “I gather that Mr Willick sometimes grew exasperated with Ridge?” questioned Carolus.

  “Oh yes. Wouldn’t you? He’s always so correct about everything. My old Greg wasn’t an angel and had a little temper, like everyone else. But au fond he appreciated them all. He used to say Gilbert Packinlay was an old stick, and Ridge a smarmy brute, Hoppy a fool and Socker a cunning devil, but as you see from his Will he knew their value. They were all pretty loyal to him.”

  “What about Mrs Hoppy?”

  “He pretended to be afraid of her. She always puts on that very business-like manner and does what is called ‘taking the words out of your mouth’.”

  “Yes. But if I may make so bold, as Ridge would say, she’s a very good cook.”

  “I’m glad you think so. There’s one thing, Mr Deene, that I’ve been wondering about. I suppose you will want to see the scene of the crime. I have decided that if you do I shall take you there. You see, I haven’t been near the place, of course, but I know exactly where it is. I passed there with Greg a score of times. The point is, I have to do it sooner or later. I can’t have a place on the estate that I’m afraid to go to. I should like to get it over.”

  “I quite understand,” said Carolus. “If you really want to do it, I’ll come. I don’t know that it’s likely to help me much. It will have been gone over with a fine comb by the police and anything that was evidence will have been quite obliterated. But I suppose I ought to see it, and I quite understand how you feel.”

  “We’ll go after lunch, then, shall we? It will have to be on foot, but it’s not really far.”

  They left at about the time at which Gregory Willick had done on the afternoon of the murder. It was a warm August day and they did not hurry. They crossed the park by a foot-path which led them between two groups of beech trees, then found themselves in open meadows.

  “These belong to the Home Farm,” said Marylin Sweeny. “Wonderful place for mushrooms. When I first came to live with Greg we once got up at the crack of dawn and brought in a basketful. He adored them for breakfast, and I must say, I do.”

  A small figure in corduroys carrying a gun was seen emerging from the wood ahead of them.

  “This is Socker. I’ll tell him to come up to the Place presently to see you.”

  “What about the public bar of the hotel?” suggested Carolus. “Wouldn’t he feel easier there, if he’s got anything to say?”

  Marylin smiled.

  “I’m sure he would. I’ll tell him.”

  Socker as he approached looked a cunning leprechaun of a man, middle-aged and dark. His face was hairy without definite lines of limitation between hair, moustache and stubble of beard. He touched his hat to Marylin with an expression rather like the leer of a stage lecher.

  “Oh, Socker, this gentleman wants to ask you a few questions this evening.”

  It seemed doubtful whether Marylin’s words had any importance or meaning for Socker. He continued to gaze at her with lascivious slyness.

  “He’s staying at the Barton Bridge Hotel. Will you meet him in the public bar there?”

  “What time?” asked Socker, without ceasing to grin at her.

  “What time? Nine? Nine, Sock
er? Very well.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Sweeny,” he said.

  They left him and Carolus felt that at every few yards he was turning to look over his shoulder at Marylin.

  They entered the cool wood through which a narrow avenue ran.

  “This is Burghley Wood, Greg’s favourite walk. The place where it happened is farther on.”

  They continued for about a quarter of a mile, speaking little. There was something awe-inspiring about the tall trees around them.

  “It’s round the next bend,” said Marylin.

  Her voice remained firm enough, but there was a suggestion of suppressed emotion in it.

  A surprise awaited them. As they came round the bend they saw about thirty yards ahead a tall black figure completely motionless in the pathway.

  “Gus,” whispered Marylin. “What on earth? That’s just where it happened, you see. Anyone would think he was revisiting…. I don’t like it, Carolus.”

  It was the first time she had used his Christian name, and her hand fell for a moment on his forearm. Carolus said nothing and they went forward.

  When Mr Gusset saw them coming he came towards them. He was a large, moon-faced, youngish man. He did not appear to be embarrassed at being found in this place. He had a hearty voice and an enthusiastic manner of speech.

  “Bravo!” he said to Marylin. “That’s courage for you! Face it out and have done with it.”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Marylin seriously.

  “I? Ah, you may well ask. To tell the truth, I hardly know. Not curiosity, certainly. I felt I should, you know.”

  Marylin, who seemed rather ruffled by something, introduced Carolus and Rupert. Mr Gusset took command of the situation.

  “You’ve done it now. You’ve seen the place. Now let us …”

  “No!” said Marylin sharply. “Mr Deene wants to examine it. He’s investigating this thing.”

  Mr Gusset blinked.

  “Oh, I see.” It was his turn to appear uncomfortable.

  “Tell him,” Marylin said to the Vicar. “Tell him how it happened.”

  Unwillingly Mr Gusset said, “The body was found there in the undergrowth. The police think he was shot here, where I’m standing.”

  Carolus looked carefully but quickly about him.