Speedy Death

by Gladys Mitchell

  Carstairs was greeted with the official twinkle; he smiled in return, and seated himself.

  ‘Well, Mr Carstairs,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘would you mind explaining exactly your reasons for supposing Miss Mountjoy’s death to have been anything but an accidental one?’

  Carstairs put forth briefly and concisely, as his scientific training suggested, his reasons, deductions, and conclusions, and the Chief Constable took notes.

  ‘Is this it, Mr Carstairs?’ he asked, and read the notes aloud.

  ‘That’s it, Sir Joseph.’

  ‘Hum!’ the great man glanced at him quizzically. ‘Mathematician, Mr Carstairs?’

  ‘A little of one, I suppose,’ Carstairs answered.

  ‘Ye-es. Um! Quite so. Who found the body?’

  ‘I did,’ answered Alastair Bing. ‘An unpleasant, undignified business.’

  ‘Were you alone?’

  ‘No. My son, Carstairs here, and a couple of servants were there too.’

  ‘Just recount the circumstances, will you?’

  ‘Well, we were at dinner——’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘About a quarter-past eight, I should think. Yes, about then.’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, you were at dinner. All of you?’

  ‘Well, of course, Mountjoy was not there, so we began without him—her.’

  ‘That did not strike you as unusual?’

  ‘What did not? Oh, that she was not there? No. She would get a working fit sometimes, and would not come down to meals. We never worried him—her—of course. Just sent up some food on a tray.’

  ‘Oh, she had been staying with you for some time?’

  ‘About six weeks. There was talk of an understanding between the dead person and my daughter. Of course, we all thought that Mountjoy was a man. Incidentally, I am anxious that the truth about Mountjoy’s sex be kept from the knowledge of my daughter.’

  ‘A man? Oh, yes, Mr Carstairs indicated that the deceased had masqueraded as a man. Did no one suspect the truth about her sex?’

  ‘I think not. In fact, I am sure nobody did. We had always—I mean it would never have occurred to any of us——’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Quite so. And your daughter? She never suspected either?’

  ‘Oh no. Surely not. She is a very quiet, modest girl. The whole affair must be a very great shock to her.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Indeed, yes. Well, now, you were all at dinner except Mountjoy. What happened next?’

  ‘The butler came and spoke to me. He said Mountjoy was still in the bathroom. That his man had knocked and could obtain no answer.’

  ‘His man?’

  ‘Well, that is to say, he is my man really, but I lend him to any men guests who don’t bring their personal servants.’

  ‘Oh, so he valeted Mountjoy?’

  ‘Well, no. Mountjoy never required much assistance. The man would lay out a clean shirt, perhaps, and place the suit ready for her to dress, and turn bath-taps on, and so forth, but he was never required to render the more personal services. Of course, that is all quite comprehensible now.’

  ‘Yes, yes. The sex business, of course. I should like to see that man a moment, if I may.’

  Alastair rang the bell.

  ‘Ask Parsons to step this way a moment.’

  Two minutes later the quiet, pale valet stood in the doorway.

  ‘You sent for me, sir?’ he asked, addressing Alastair Bing.

  ‘Sit down,’ said his employer, pointing to a chair.

  The man closed the door noiselessly, and then did as he was asked to.

  ‘Attend to the Chief Constable, Parsons, and answer him as clearly as you can,’ said Alastair magisterially.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The man cleared his throat in an embarrassed way.

  ‘Parsons,’ began Sir Joseph, consulting his notes, ‘you remember turning on the bath-taps for Mr Mountjoy on the evening of his death, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Did you turn on both taps at once?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘The hot tap?’

  ‘At first, sir. I then tested the temperature of the water with a bath thermometer, and reduced the heat, by means of the cold tap, to the number of degrees specified by Mr Mountjoy, who was very particular in such matters.’

  ‘Ah! Now you wouldn’t remember, I suppose, exactly how high up the bath the level of the water was when you had finished your elaborate preparations, would you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Splendid!’ said the Chief Constable, pushing his chair back from the table. ‘Well, come up with me and show me, will you?’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  The man looked at Alastair Bing, was reassured by a nod, and, opening the door for the four men, for the doctor came too, he followed them out, and closed the door noiselessly behind him.

  ‘Now, then,’ began Sir Joseph, when they reached the fatal bathroom, ‘how far up did the water reach?’

  Parsons, without moving a muscle of his face, put his finger on a spot about nine inches from the top of the bath.

  The Chief Constable took out a folding pocket-ruler, and gravely measured the distance.

  ‘Nine point three inches down,’ he observed. ‘Do you note that, Brenner?’ he went on, turning to the doctor, who nodded in his bored way.

  ‘But look here!’ Carstairs was nearly dancing with excitement.

  The Chief Constable smiled paternally.

  ‘Just a minute, Mr Carstairs,’ he said, and turned again to the man Parsons.

  ‘Parsons,’ he continued, ‘wouldn’t it surprise you very much to hear that Mr Mountjoy was no man, but a woman?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘It has been common talk in the servants’ hall, sir, since the poor’—he paused for a fraction of a second—‘the poor gentleman’s death, sir.’

  ‘Hum! All right. That’s all I want you for at present.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  The man glanced at Alastair Bing, received the usual nod, and slipped unobtrusively away.

  ‘A model witness,’ said the Chief Constable gravely. ‘Let us go downstairs, gentlemen.’

  ‘Just a moment, though,’ cried Carstairs, unable to contain himself any longer.

  ‘Ah, yes, Mr Carstairs. You wanted to say something. I am sorry I interrupted you before, but I thought it better not to say too much in front of Parsons, discreet fellow though I believe him to be.’

  ‘Oh, don’t apologize,’ said Carstairs, laughing. ‘I ought to possess more self-control. But, you know, he was quite wrong about the level of the water.’

  ‘Was he?’ The Chief Constable chuckled delightedly.

  ‘Hopelessly out. The water came right up to the overflow pipe. That’s at least three inches higher than he said.’

  The Chief Constable produced his ruler again, and solemnly measured.

  ‘To the bottom of these holes, five point one inches down,’ he declared. ‘Got that, Brenner?’ The doctor nodded.

  ‘Let us go downstairs,’ said Sir Joseph. ‘This becomes interesting.’

  ‘Well,’ said Alastair Bing, when the four of them were again seated in the library.

  ‘Well, now,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘these water-levels. Very interesting, as I say, unless one of you two is mistaken, Mr Carstairs.’

  ‘Well, I know I am not mistaken,’ declared Carstairs firmly, ‘because I distinctly remember thinking when we lifted the body out of the bath, how foolish it was of anyone liable to fainting fits to have the bath so full of water. That was immediately before I had had time to formulate my theory that Mountjoy had been murdered. I was concluding that death was due to sudden heart-failure.’

  ‘Ah, yes. And the displacement of the body? You didn’t notice that, I suppose?’

  ‘Not exactly, of course, but it couldn’t have been the four point two inches discrepancy between Parsons’ estimate and mine, could it? Aft
er all, Mountjoy was not more than five feet five inches tall, and she was quite slim; rather thin, in fact.’

  ‘Hum! Of course, you see where this leads us, gentlemen?’

  ‘No,’ said Alastair Bing morosely.

  Carstairs wrinkled his brow.

  ‘You are assuming that Parsons’ information was correct, then?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ replied the Chief Constable. ‘All that thermometer business would give him ample opportunity of noticing the height of the water, you see.’

  ‘I see. And you trust my memory?’

  ‘I do, especially considering the circumstantial evidence you yourself can supply in support of it.’

  ‘Well, assuming that we are both right——’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘It means that between Parsons’ exit from the bathroom and your entry into it, some person or persons unknown turned on the taps and so raised the height of the bath water.’

  ‘The murderer!’ cried Carstairs triumphantly.

  ‘Exactly,’ said the Chief Constable again. ‘At least, I think we are justified in assuming so.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ said Alastair Bing abruptly. ‘I think that is a most unwarrantable conclusion to come to. Of course the person who turned on the tap was Mountjoy herself! The water was too hot, or too cold, or something, and she altered the temperature to suit herself. Done it myself, many a time.’

  ‘What, when you have taken the trouble beforehand to supply the valet with a thermometer and have given him special instructions about the temperature of the water?’

  ‘Oh, thermometers! Lot of rubbish,’ said Alastair Bing violently.

  ‘I dare say we can settle the matter,’ said Sir Joseph soothingly.

  ‘Not on my account,’ began Alastair. But the Chief Constable interrupted him.

  ‘Can we have Parsons up again?’ he asked.

  Alastair Bing rang the bell.

  ‘Now, Parsons,’ said Sir Joseph, when the man appeared, ‘I want you to think very carefully. What time was it when you heard Mr Mountjoy turn on the taps again?’

  The man frowned in thought. Then his face cleared.

  ‘It was at seventeen minutes past seven, sir. I remember the time, because Mr Mountjoy was what you might call one of those quick bathers, sir. In and out and dry and half dressed inside a quarter of an hour, he was. And that’s why I was surprised that he took such a long time over his bath that particular evening. Getting quite worried, I was, when I heard the taps turned on. That reassured me.’

  ‘Taps?’ said the Chief Constable quickly. ‘Both taps?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Both taps at once. It is perfectly easy to tell the difference the noise a single tap makes from that made by the two going together. Besides, I thought I heard water running away down the waste-pipe as well.’

  ‘Of course, one couldn’t swear to that,’ said the Chief Constable thoughtfully. ‘But it is interesting. All right, Parsons. Go on. This sound reassured you.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I was beginning to wonder if anything had happened, you see.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh, nothing sinister, sir. Only a young athletic gentleman I used to be valet to contracted a weak heart, and would faint in his bath reg’lar. I always had to be in there with him. Never dared leave him in the bath a minute alone.’

  ‘I see. And when you heard the taps running, you were relieved about Mr Mountjoy?’

  ‘Well, relieved, yes, sir. But puzzled too.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It was such an unusual thing for Mr Mountjoy to do. A gentleman as liked his bath got just ready, proper temperature and all, so that he could just pop in and out of it, wasn’t very likely to stop in the bath half an hour or more and then start putting in more water, was he, sir, if you take my meaning?’

  ‘Your meaning is most clear,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘Now, one more question, and I have done. Who was it that came out of that bathroom directly afterwards, carrying the bathroom stool?’

  ‘Directly after what, sir?’ The man’s face was innocence itself, as he turned his mild eyes upon the Chief Constable.

  ‘After you heard the taps turned on, man!’

  ‘Why, nobody, sir. How could they? There was nobody in there except Mr Mountjoy, and he, poor gentleman, couldn’t come out, could he?’

  The Chief Constable fixed his eyes on the man’s impassive face, and asked coldly, ‘Can you be certain nobody came out?’

  ‘I sat watching the door from just inside Mr Mountjoy’s bedroom, sir, as I always did when he took his bath, so as to be ready for him at once, should he require my services when he was dressing.’

  ‘And you sat there all the time?’

  The man made a slight gesture of recollection.

  ‘I did go away for about three minutes, now I think of it, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Ah!’ Carstairs glanced excitedly at the Chief Constable.

  ‘Oh? Why?’ Sir Joseph’s tone was impersonal, but his eyes were gleaming hard.

  ‘Miss Eleanor had asked me to speak to Mander about the flowers, sir.’

  ‘An odd request, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What did you think about it?’

  ‘I am not paid to think about my instructions, sir, but merely to act upon them.’

  ‘Very well said,’ chuckled the Chief Constable. ‘Well, now, Parsons, would it surprise you very much to be arrested for the wilful murder of Mr Mountjoy?’

  The man’s figure stiffened involuntarily, but his perfect training caused his face to remain impassive, and his voice smooth, as he replied: ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘It would, eh? Now, why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t do it, sir.’

  Chapter Eight

  The Murderer?

  ‘NO,’ SAID THE Chief Constable, ‘I don’t think you did, Parsons. But somebody must have done it, and, if it wasn’t you, I wonder who the deuce it could have been? About that message, now. When did you receive it?’

  ‘Immediately after lunch, sir.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘From Miss Eleanor herself, sir. Her words, I think, were these: “Oh, you might just tell Mander that I’ve ordered more roses from William for this evening, Parsons.” (William being the head gardener, sir.) “He had better see about them at once.” Well, I forgot the message altogether, sir, but as I sat there waiting for Mr Mountjoy I recollected it, sir, and thought I might just have time to run downstairs and speak to Mander while Mr Mountjoy was drying himself.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Chief Constable musingly. ‘Thank you, Parsons. You have been of tremendous assistance.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ And the mild man closed the door noiselessly behind himself.

  ‘There goes an innocent manservant of impeccable bearing and behaviour, or one of the cleverest criminals unhung,’ said the Chief Constable thoughtfully. ‘And for the life of me I can’t tell which.’

  ‘You don’t mean that you think Mountjoy was murdered?’ gasped Alastair Bing, before anyone else could speak. The Chief Constable gazed at him in surprise.

  ‘I haven’t the slightest doubt of it,’ he answered quietly. ‘And I shall make it my business to see that a correct verdict is returned by the coroner’s jury. The whole matter must be very thoroughly investigated, gentlemen.’

  ‘I would stake my life on Parsons’ innocence,’ declared Carstairs firmly. ‘He is no murderer.’

  ‘Murder is a queer crime,’ the Chief Constable said musingly. ‘I’ve known cases——’ He paused, and allowed his eyes to travel down the page of notes he had been making.

  ‘Crime committed before seven-thirty,’ he read. ‘Yes, that is your dinner-hour, I think you said, and Mountjoy was the only person who was not accounted for, was she not? At what time did Mountjoy enter the bathroom? Does either of you gentlemen know?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Carstairs. ‘It would have been at ten minutes to seven. I ask
ed Parsons that question yesterday, and he was quite certain on the point.’

  ‘Good! Well, now, gentlemen, you see the big difficulty, don’t you?’

  ‘Motive,’ said Carstairs succinctly.

  ‘Exactly. An adequate motive, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, will hang a man. Now, who in this house had such a strong motive for wishing Mountjoy out of the way that he went to the length of murdering her?’

  ‘But just a minute, Sir Joseph!’ cried Dr Brenner. ‘Aren’t you going a little too fast? I can’t see that it is established beyond doubt that it was somebody in this house. Might it not equally have been some enemy of the dead woman, who perhaps had tracked her here? I know every person in this house reasonably well, and I assure you that I cannot imagine one of them being capable of committing a horrible crime.’

  ‘I sympathize with your feelings, sir, and with your objections,’ said the Chief Constable, ‘but consider the facts. If we accept the evidence of that manservant, Parsons, which at present, in order to form a working hypothesis, we are compelled to do, the facts are these: Some person or persons knew the ways of the house sufficiently well, not only to make a beautifully timed entry into the bathroom where the unfortunate woman was (this house contains more than one bathroom, Brenner, you remember, and yet the murderer picked out the one habitually used by the deceased), but also to seize the few minutes that the valet was absent from his post to walk safely out of the said bathroom——’

  ‘Carrying the soiled bathroom stool,’ interrupted Carstairs. ‘He, she, or they then walked up a flight of stairs, deposited the soiled stool in the next-floor bathroom, and——’

  ‘This is the first I’ve heard of this,’ cried the Chief Constable. ‘Are you sure? Just give me the facts again, slowly.’

  ‘I can’t prove it,’ replied Carstairs, ‘but I’m sure it happened.’ And he recounted his conversation with Mrs Bradley and his subsequent discovery that one of the bathroom stools had recently been cleaned.

  ‘Hum! Very interesting, that. Miss Bing, you say, restored the stool to the first-floor bathroom?’

  ‘Yes. But, of course, that doesn’t necessarily connect her with the crime, does it?’

  ‘Oh, surely not,’ laughed the Chief Constable, while Alastair Bing, at the mention of his daughter’s name in such a connection, bristled angrily and showed signs of bursting into loud explosions of indignation.