Dead Man’s Shoes

by Bruce, Leo

  22

  “FIVE YEARS ago Lance Willick decided to murder his uncle Gregory. He knew that the bulk of that vast fortune inherited from his grandfather was destined for him on Gregory’s death—entirely through the fair-mindedness of Gregory, let it be remembered. He had lately seen installed at Barton Place a very beautiful and charming young lady who obviously loved his uncle and was loved by him. He suspected that this might lead to the loss of his fortune.

  “Now Lance not only had intelligence, but something almost as valuable—plenty of time. Living in Tangier on an adequate income which his uncle allowed him, he had nothing else to do but plan his crime and carry it out. That is a more important factor than may at first appear, for most crimes are slipshod and hurriedly planned. Lance was in no hurry. I do not know whether he reckoned on a Five Year Plan, or whether it just worked out that way, but he certainly did not intend to do anything carelessly.

  “His first step was to create an alter ego …”

  “You’ll forgive me making so bold as to enquire, sir,” interrupted Ridge, “but what might that be?”

  “A second self. With the utmost care he set about creating the externals of a human being as unlike himself as possible. He was working in the crowd scene of a film at the time—the part, so I was told, of a large priest. Someone, presumably, who had to look larger than himself. Now whether Lance took his film work so seriously that he privately spent money on achieving this and afterwards it gave him the idea, or whether he had already decided to create a second self and used the film as an excuse to do so, we shall probably never know. At all events, his second self was a bigger man than he was.

  “How did he achieve this? First of all by the obvious means—boots. He had constructed for himself a pair of boots which by an internal device lifted his heels by at least an inch—a formidable difference in height. Throughout this case there has been a key-note of boots and shoes which has repeated itself. No boots were found in Larkin’s cabin. None in his house in Tangier. A pair of boots was purchased in Northleach on the day before the murder and prints of them were found near the scene of the crime. Socker himself found the boots concealed in the undergrowth. One might quote Kipling—boots, boots, boots. But everything is accounted for by Lance’s creation and original purchase, probably from a bootmaker in Cadiz, of the specially designed ones.

  “Next there was the question of girth, and for this he had the most elaborate padding made. We know by chance that he was in Cadiz for some months before his film work, preparing for it or for his criminal design or for both, so presumably the padding was made there. He could strap it on and remove it fairly quickly, and with the utmost naturalness it made him appear a large priest, or a very heavy layman.

  “In order to dress this heavy man he went first as himself—as Lance Willick, I mean—to one of the second-hand clothes-shops of Tangier. He was lucky because it is a centre for the used-clothes market and imports thousands of part-worn suits from America every year. Lance chose one for a man larger than himself, judging it or measuring it, so that it fitted his frame plus the padding and plus the added height. This was the suit I found in Larkin’s house among later ones. After that he could go, wearing padding and suit, to any tailor and have another made.

  “But this left him with a problem. His neck. A small neck rising from that mighty frame would look disproportionate …”

  “Ill-proportioned,” interrupted Priggley.

  “And he had to think of some way of concealing this. He hit on the idea of old-fashioned high stiff collars such as Mr Pooter might have worn. These fulfilled a double purpose. They concealed his small neck and they made him noticeable. It was one of the things he wanted for his second self: that he should be highly conspicuous, once seen never forgotten.

  “But he still had the hardest task—the face. Clearly no tricks of ordinary make-up would be of the slightest use. This was not to be for one occasion, but for years. There had to be a permanent, an easily assumed face different from his own. The difference could not be such that time was necessary for it to appear. He could not, for instance, wait to grow a beard or moustache. And certainly he could not do anything so childish as to assume and discard false ones. In the end he concentrated—wisely, I think—on two things: teeth and glasses. He went to a Cadiz dentist, Dr Fernandez, and for his film part had a special set of teeth made. In due course we shall be able to examine these as Exhibit A or some such nonsense. I believe they were very elaborate, not only in having much larger teeth than his own, but in artificially enlarging the jaw. He has been described as widening out in the lower part of his face, and I think this accounts for it.

  “As for his glasses, he chose those thick lenses which magnify the wearer’s eye as one looks at him. They change a man’s appearance most effectively. But he never seems to have been entirely at ease wearing glasses, and has more than once been described as ‘blinking’, even ‘blind-looking’.

  “He added some jewellery which as himself he never wore—rings, a tie-pin and a watch and chain which went with the old-fashioned get-up.

  “So there was the second self in appearance. But it was a very odd appearance, as the descriptions of many of you testify. Mr Appleyard described him to Captain Bidlake, who afterwards gave me the excellent description, as ‘everything’s too big about him: his great massive chest and shoulders, his eyes when you see them through those thick glases’. And again—‘something unnatural, something not quite human about him’. Mr Smite noticed him ‘because you don’t expect to see anyone dressed like that in these parts’. Mickie, the barmaid at the Barton Bridge Hotel, said he was ‘horrible’ and ‘gave you the creeps’. Mrs Gunn said he wore the sort of clothes her uncle, who was an undertaker, used to wear, and spoke of the ‘nasty way he had with people’ and later said he was a ‘nasty horrible fellow and you could tell he was a murderer’, and further ‘he was a nasty sort of man who made you turn queer to look at him’. Mr Habbard said, ‘If ever I saw a murderer that was one.’

  “Perhaps the most interesting detail about his appearance came from my friend Eric Luck of Tangier. He was describing his walk. ‘He was a big heavy man, but he tripped along in a very queer way. It was as though he was stalking someone.’ Exactly as a man would walk who was wearing artificially constructed boots which raised his heels to give him height. Yes, I think Lance Willick achieved a marvel so far as appearances went. Nobody could, indeed nobody I know of ever has, noticed any similarity between his second self, whom he called Wilbury Larkin, and himself, Lance Willick.”

  Mr Gorringer interrupted.

  “A short break, I think. Interesting though this is, we must not tire our raconteur too much. Perhaps you will take something, Deene?”

  “A large whisky,” said Carolus gratefully.

  Conversation broke out again. Mr Gusset seemed as thrilled as any member of his Troop.

  “You’ll have to come and give a pow-wow to the Boys’ Club,” he told Carolus.

  Mrs Roper looked across admiringly.

  “Go it, Deene!” she said. “Grand stuff!”

  But the respite was all too short.

  “Having created an appearance and a name,” Carolus continued, “Lance had to create a character and the circumstances surrounding him. He showed, I think, the same wisdom by making the man a recluse who was often absent for months on end and who refused to make friends with any Europeans. Who, in other words, was seen and not heard. For years people saw the big oddly-dressed man going down to do his marketing, but if they tried to talk to him they were snubbed.

  “That very loud voice, by the way, was a masterpiece. Try disguising your voice, not just for a few sentences, but for the conversation of years. You cannot do it by assuming a different accent or dialect. It’s a different tone that is wanted. This he achieved by forcing his voice into a braying shout. No one who met Larkin failed to notice it. No one ever thought his voice sounded like Lance’s.

  “Then languages. Lance had probably be
en learning Arabic for some time, may even have spoken it before he came to Tangier, but from the moment he created Larkin he dropped it altogether. ‘Not a word,’ he said when I asked him if he spoke Arabic. But, as Larkin, he spoke it fairly well and made some acquaintances among the Moors. He used these to suggest an explanation for Larkin’s continual long absences. When Larkin was supposed to be in Tangier, Lance had to dedicate a good deal of time to maintaining his double personality. He had found a house for Larkin in a narrow passage in the medina in which the doorway was not overlooked. As a ‘friend’ of Larkin’s he could come to the house, let himself in, assume the personality of Larkin, be seen in the market as Larkin, return to his home as himself—in fact keep the two characters going without any insuperable difficulty. But of course it was a nuisance and it took time, so that every now and again Larkin would be absent from Tangier and Lance could lead his own life without visiting the house in the medina at all.

  “Wherever Lance could emphasize the difference between them, he did so. His house was modern, Larkin was a collector of old Mohammedan pottery and glass. Lance liked a drink, Larkin was a strict teetotaller. And so on. He was so successful that the two of them became familiar figures in Tangier. Most of the Europeans knew Lance Willick, a nice quiet chap who entertained a little and had a wide acquaintance, and most knew by sight and reputation the loud-voiced unsociable Larkin, who lived in the medina and would have nothing to do with anyone except Lance Willick and a few Moors.

  “But he went farther than that. He had to provide Larkin with means of some kind so that any investigation in the future would not reveal a discrepancy with fact. So on one of his visits to Barton Abbess he asked Gregory to increase his allowance. This was not unreasonable if, as one may conjecture, it had not been increased since it was first allotted, for even in Tangier prices were a good deal higher. Gregory must have agreed and Lance have suggested that in order to avoid all the rigmarole of obtaining Treasury permission, the money should be paid in an imaginary name to a bank in Gibraltar. So for Gregory ‘Wilbury Larkin’, the imaginary recipient, became a joke which he shared with Lance. This we know from Gilbert Packinlay. Wilbury Larkin, the ‘old friend of the family’, had been heard of, always with a smile from Gregory, by most people at Barton Place.

  “All this had taken time, but Lance was not worried by that because he knew Gregory well enough to have confidence that he would play fair with him, and if any considerable change was to be made in his Will, Lance would be informed. Then, about a year back, he may have heard of a settlement which Gregory made on Mrs Sweeny, and this may have given him apprehensions. He still did not act precipitately, for he had several things to do before the murder.

  “In anticipation of the faked suicide which he planned for Larkin, he had to familiarize himself with a ship on which Larkin could travel to England when he was supposed to be going to vindicate himself. So as Lance Willick he booked a passage on the Saragossa and thoroughly studied her. He was not afraid of anyone on board recognizing him when he travelled as Larkin, but, even so, he felt it wise to let a few trips pass before the time for Larkin’s ‘suicide’ trip.

  “When he had first asked Gregory to pay his extra allowance to Larkin in Gibraltar, either Gregory or he had suggested that the ‘old friend of the family’ should be mentioned in Gregory’s Will. Possibly Gregory’s solicitor will be able to help us there. Lance’s object was clear enough. He had to provide a motive for Larkin. But what could he say to Gregory? He may have suggested it as a way in which Gregory could safeguard himself by showing that he really believed in the existence of such a person as Wilbury Larkin.”

  “I think I can explain that, as I’ve seen the Will,” put in Gilbert Packinlay. “It expressly stated Wilbury Larkin ‘of Gibraltar’. I think, as you say, that Gregory was making sure that he could have no trouble under currency regulations. He would be able to show that his nephew had told him of the existence in Gibraltar of this old family friend, and he was providing for him.”

  “Very likely. Anyway, as it came near the zero hour, Lance realized that this bequest, small though it was, would cause embarrassment. The executors might seek too insistently for Larkin’s relatives. They might even discover that Larkin was a man of straw. He had, of course, bound Gregory to secrecy about Larkin, but after Gregory’s death and the faked suicide of Larkin there might be an investigation. So either on a visit, or else by letter (for he knew of Gregory’s invariable habit of destroying private correspondence), he stopped Gregory’s payments to Larkin in Gibraltar and got him to cut Larkin out of his Will. Then he was absolutely ready to act.

  “He timed Larkin’s homicidal visit to England in accordance with the sailings of the Saragossa. The ship was due to leave Tangier for London on July 29. He therefore timed the murder for July 20. This, he reckoned, would give the police enough time to want Larkin without enough to have gone through the lengthy business of obtaining an extradition order. So on July 15, as Larkin, he flew to England. On the following day, as Lance Willick, he returned by air to Tangier. On July 17, as Lance Willick (with Larkin supposedly staying in London), he gave his birthday party…”

  “I really must interrupt you here.” It was Maltby speaking in a rather apologetic voice. “Surely you are forgetting the all-important matter of passports?”

  Carolus smiled.

  “I should have explained that. It is very simple. In Tangier passports of any nationality are not two a penny, but they cost between ten and twenty pounds each. Larkin had one indistinguishable from a genuine one, and Lance, I think, had two, so that certain entries could be made in the spare one.”

  Mr Gorringer frowned.

  “A very grave matter, surely, Deene. I understood that the organization Interpol could deal with that sort of thing?”

  “Impossible. That is what makes all this excessive passport carrying so absurd. Here in London I undertake to obtain a passport for you in forty-eight hours without going near the passport office, and it will be one which will get you to any country in the world.”

  Maltby seemed to accept this, for he nodded, and Carolus continued:

  “On July 18, saying that he was going to stay with a Mrs Gibbons in Cadiz, Lance crossed to Algeciras on his own passport and flew on to London on his second one. On Friday 19, as Larkin, he hired a self-drive car and went down to the Barton Bridge Hotel. On Saturday 20 he murdered Gregory, and on the same night, still as Larkin, left by plane for Tangier. On Sunday, as Larkin, he was back in Tangier. Whether he was thorough enough then to fly to Gibraltar as Lance and return on his own passport next morning we shall not know until, if ever, we examine both his passports.

  “You now perceive, I hope, the reason for Larkin’s extraordinary behaviour in Barton Abbess. There had to be no doubt at all that he committed the murder. He had been created five years previously for this very purpose. Well, he left no doubt at all. But here, I think, for the first time, Lance overdid it. His staying at the hotel under a false name would have been sufficient without all that nonsense with his passport and the addressed envelope in the waste-paper basket. He was so afraid of the murderer not being identified as Larkin that he went too far.

  “And here again there was the problem of boots. He could not leave the prints of his specially designed boots, for they would be recognizable. But to buy locally boots which made such very easily identified prints was excessive. Moreover he could not be seen wearing them, for they not only lowered his height, but changed his walk, so he had to leave the hotel with them in a packet. Packinlay fortunately remembered to mention this to me. ‘He was carrying a brown-paper parcel,’ he said. He must have changed, left his prints, and after he had shot Gregory changed back into his own boots to return to the hotel. As I had realized what the repeated absence of boots from Larkin’s effects meant, it was not difficult for me to guess, when Socker told me he had found something near the scene of the crime, that it was the hob-nailed boots.

  “At this point Lance must
have been pretty pleased with himself. He had created Larkin, and Larkin had fulfilled his purpose by murdering Gregory and leaving a trail so clear that the police already ‘wanted to interview’ him. It was time to put the second part of his plan into operation and arrange the suicide of Larkin.

  “I have wondered about one thing. He must have been gambling on being able to obtain a passage home for Larkin on the Saragossa. He could not book it in advance …”

  Appleyard interrupted.

  “That’s easily explained. I remember our agent in Tangier told me that a passage on this trip had been booked weeks before in the name of Helply. It was cancelled about half an hour before Larkin arrived to book his own passage.”

  “Obviously Lance had shown his usual foresight then. As Larkin he went on board the Saragossa, and as Larkin set about making himself as unpleasant as possible to the other passengers and officers. He meant to make sure that no one should forget the unhappy, aggressive, lonely, insulting man who was so extremely unlike his cheerful, modest, sociable and courteous self.

  “For the purposes of subsequent enquiry, he decided to confide in one person on board the fact of his guilt and intention to commit suicide. He cleverly chose Mr Kutz, who would certainly not speak about it until after the event and who, in fact, would not have spoken of it at all if I had not pressed him with questions.

  “Then there was a rather human little episode. Lance liked a drink, but in the character of Larkin was a strict teetotaller. Foreseeing the difficulties of this, he had brought a couple of bottles of whisky on board, and one night got drunk. Feeling the need to talk to someone, and being by now anathema to both officers and passengers, he invited young Bryce to have a drink. It would not have mattered to him had it not led me to an important discovery, which was in fact a key to much that was puzzling, as you shall hear in a moment.