Bodies from the Library

by Tony Medawar

  Weller now moved at top speed, though still silently. He rowed to his boathouse, replaced the boat, and hurried to the house. There he had a wash and brush up. He thought another whisky permissible while he waited for the next development.

  Half an hour later it came, just as he had intended it should. Mrs Marbeck rang up to ask if her husband had left.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Marbeck,’ Weller hastened to reply. ‘He left at his usual time, nearly an hour ago.’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t arrived here and I’m rather anxious.’

  ‘I’ll come across at once,’ Weller declared and rang off.

  This call was really part of his scheme. The wet oars, the drippings in his boat, the damp sleeves of his waterproof: all such awkward items would be explained by the speed with which he had hastened across.

  Everything continued to go exactly to plan. He made his report to Mrs Marbeck, they rang up several houses at which the old man might have called. Then at Weller’s suggestion they telephoned the police.

  Inspector French was at the house within minutes. He listened to statements and said he would start an immediate inquiry. Then came a period of waiting.

  Mrs Marbeck urged Weller to go home, but his sickening anxiety prevented him. Fortunately his presence was not suspicious since politeness also required him to stay. At length, two hours later, the inspector returned. To Mrs Marbeck he broke his news with genuine kindness. Her husband’s body had been found lower down the river. He had evidently fallen overboard while making the crossing. Then he turned to Weller.

  ‘I’d like, sir, to go over to your house to get some further details about Mr Marbeck’s start. If you’ll take me over in your boat, I’ll send the car round.’

  ‘Right,’ Weller answered. He put on his waterproof and said he was ready.

  But the inspector was looking at him very strangely. Weller’s heart missed a beat. All had been going perfectly; what could now be wrong? ‘I said I was ready,’ he repeated shortly.

  Inspector French bent forward. ‘Excuse me, sir. I see you’ve lost a button from your coat.’

  Weller glanced down. This was what he had felt. No doubt it had jammed under the oar. ‘My own fault, inspector,’ he said with truth. ‘It was loose and I omitted to have it resewn.’

  French took something from his pocket. ‘It’s not lost, sir. I think this is it. Yes: colour, shape, size and even thread are the same. And do you know where I found it? Gripped in Mr Marbeck’s fingers: I could hardly get it out.’

  FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS

  Born in Dublin in 1879, Freeman Wills Crofts would go on to become one of Britain’s best loved writers of detective fiction. After leaving school, Crofts joined the Belfast and North Counties Railway, rising to Chief Assistant Engineer. In 1912 he married and, in his early 30s, wrote a novel during a long period of convalescence. In homage to Charles Dickens, this first attempt was entitled A Mystery of Two Cities but by the time it was published in June 1920, by Collins, it had been retitled The Cask after a rewrite that saw the final section of the novel, largely comprising a trial, excised altogether.

  Fired by this success, Crofts wrote a second novel, The Ponson Case. And then a third … For his fifth novel, Inspector French’s Greatest Case, he created Joseph French, the Scotland Yard detective who would go on to appear in a total of thirty novels, countless radio plays and three stage plays. As Crofts described him, ‘Soapy Joe [is] an ordinary man, carrying out his work, in an ordinary way … He makes mistakes but goes ahead in spite of them.’

  More books followed and Crofts was soon recognised as one of the best practitioners in the genre. The railway engineer and part-time organist and choirmaster retired in 1929 to take up writing full time, and in 1930 Crofts was invited by Anthony Berkeley to become a founding member of the Detection Club, based in London. Partly because of this, Crofts and his wife Mary moved to Blackheath, a pretty village in Surrey where their first home was a house, Wildern, which has since been re-named after its most famous owner. Over the next twenty years Crofts would produce many books including The Hog’s Back Mystery (1933), Crime at Guildford (1935) and The Affair at Little Wokeham (1943), all of which are set in Surrey.

  An active member of the Detection Club, Crofts also contributed to several of their collaborative ventures, including the 1931 novel The Floating Admiral, which he wrote together with Agatha Christie and other members of the Detection Club. During the Second World War, Crofts produced dozens of radio plays for the BBC, many of which he later turned into short stories for the Inspector French collection Murderers Make Mistakes (1947). Throughout the war and in the years immediately afterwards, Crofts continued to write but his output gradually declined and he died in 1957 after a stubborn battle with cancer.

  Croft’s obituarist in The Times praised the writer for his ‘logically contrived’ plots and his close attention to detail, especially in the construction and breaking down of superficially cast-iron alibis. Crofts’ novels often feature railway travel and the alibis of his criminals often turn on the complexities of pre-internet timetabling. His shorter fiction is similarly precise with the majority turning on what he would style ‘the usual tiny oversight’ or an inconsistency in a suspect’s statement so that they offer the reader an opportunity to outwit the criminal before French.

  Sixty years after his death, the work of Freeman Wills Crofts is having something of a resurgence. Several of his novels are once again in print and a celebratory collection is in preparation bringing together previously uncollected short stories and some of his unpublished stage and radio plays.

  ‘Dark Waters’ was first published in the London Evening Standard on 21 September 1953.

  LINCKES’ GREAT CASE

  Georgette Heyer

  I

  The chief paused and glanced sharply across the table to where Roger Linckes sat facing him, listening to his discourse.

  ‘It is a big job,’ Masters said abruptly. ‘So much is at stake. It’s not like some stage robbery, where Lady So-and-So’s pearls are stolen. It’s—well, the whole country—perhaps all Europe—is implicated. Maybe I’m wrong to set you on to it. You’re very young; you’ve had very little experience.’

  The younger man flushed slightly under his tan.

  ‘I know, sir.’

  Masters looked him over thoughtfully, from his grave young eyes to his brogued shoes. He smiled a little.

  ‘Anyhow, right or wrong, I’m going to let you see what you can do. I must admit I haven’t much hope. Where Tiffrus and Pollern have failed, a comparative tyro isn’t likely to succeed. But you did exceedingly well over that Panton affair, and it’s just possible you might hit on a solution to this mystery.’ He drummed on the table, frowning. ‘I’ve known it happen before. I suppose the big detectives get stale, or something approaching it. Let’s hope you’ll bring fresh ideas into the business. How much do you know about it?’

  Linckes crossed his legs, clasping his hands about one knee.

  ‘Precious little, sir. You’ve seen to that, haven’t you? Nothing known to the papers, I mean. All I know is that there’s a leak in the Cabinet. Knowledge of our doings is being sold to Russia and to Germany. You say it has been going on for some time. The Soviet got wind of our new submarines. Hardly anyone in England knew about ’em, and yet Russia discovered the secret! Someone must have duplicated the plans and sold them—probably he’s done it many times before—and that someone must be one of those in the small circle of people who knew all the details of the new subs. In fact, he must have been a pretty big man. It only remains for us to find out which one.’

  ‘Very easy,’ Masters grunted. ‘It might have been a secretary.’

  ‘It might,’ conceded Linckes.

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t seem likely. Who was in that circle?’

  ‘The Government knew all about the submarines,’ Masters answered. ‘But the actual plans at the time of the betrayal had been seen only by
Caryu, the Secretary for War, Winthrop, the Under-Secretary, and Johnson for the Admiralty, and the inventor, of course, Sir Duncan Tassel. That rather dishes your theory, doesn’t it? Naturally, Tassel is above suspicion; so is Caryu; so are the other two.’

  ‘Are you sure that no one else knew of the plans?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure. I’m convinced that someone else did know—must have known. Winthrop swears no one could have known, but he can’t supply a counter-theory. He’s more or less running the investigation, you know.’

  ‘What does he say?’

  ‘He’s terribly worried, of course. We thought at first that his secretary was the man, but we can’t find the slightest grounds for suspicion against him, and Winthrop’s had him in his employ for years. It’s the greatest mystery I’ve struck yet. We’ve been working to discover the betrayer for months, and we’re no nearer a solution now than we were when we began. And still it goes on. Take the affair of the negotiations with Carmania. They leaked into Russia, we know. Or take the case of the submarines. Those plans weren’t stolen, they were just copied. The only person, seemingly, who could have done it, was Winthrop. He alone knows the secret of Caryu’s safe. The plans were with Caryu for three days. All the rest of the time they were with Tassel, and they never left him for a moment. The thing must have been done during those three days that they were in Caryu’s safe, because before that date they were incomplete, and dates show that they can’t have been copied after they were returned to Fothermere. Now, having whittled the date down to three days, how much nearer the solution are we? Of course, everything points to Winthrop.’

  ‘Or Caryu,’ said Linckes quietly.

  ‘My good youth, are you seriously accusing Mr Caryu? Even supposing that he is the man we’re after—which he isn’t—would he have copied the plans while they were in his house? He’s not a fool, you know.’

  ‘Where was he during those three days?’

  ‘At home. Winthrop went round to his house, and together they examined the plans. That was on the first day, and Winthrop left the house soon after nine in the evening. Shortly after he had gone Caryu put the plans into his safe. He had them with him next day at the War Office, and put them into the safe when he came home. Not even his secretary knew of their existence. They were returned to Tassel on the following afternoon.’

  Linckes’ forehead wrinkled in perplexity.

  ‘When did Johnson see them?’

  ‘Before. He worked with Tassel, you see.’

  ‘Um! And where did Sir Charles Winthrop go when he left Caryu’s house that night?’

  ‘He went straight down to his place in the country—Millbank. Took Max Lawson with him. He was there for the rest of the week, with a small house-party. That wipes him off the list.’

  ‘What sort of a man is he?’ Linckes asked. ‘All I know is that he’s fairly young, very clever, and good-looking, rich, and an orphan.’

  ‘He’s an awfully decent chap. Everybody likes him. Son of old Mortimer Winthrop, the railwayman. Mortimer separated from his wife when Charles was a kid. You know Charles’ history. She went abroad with the other child, I believe, and Mortimer kept Charles. Did awfully well in the Secret Service during the war, and rose like a rocket. He’ll be a big man before long, if this awful business is cleared up. Of course, he feels pretty badly about it. Means he’ll perhaps have to resign his post.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. What about Tassel?’

  ‘Tassel? My dear Linckes, if you’re going to shadow him I shall begin to regret I ever put you on to the case. Why, you might just as well suspect Caryu!’

  ‘Ah!’ said Linckes, and saw the chief’s lips twitch.

  The telephone-bell rang sharply before Masters had time to speak again. He unhooked the receiver.

  ‘Hallo! What? Sir Charles? Yes, put him through to me at once, will you?’ He nodded at Linckes. ‘I thought Winthrop would ring up. I told him about you. Our White Hope. Yes? Hallo! Is that Sir Charles? Good morning! Yes, he’s here now. Yes, I’ve told him all I know. No. I don’t think so. Well, he hasn’t had much chance to yet. What? Yes, certainly! Now? All right, Sir Charles, I’ll send him along. What! Oh, I see! Yes, all right. Goodbye!’

  He put the receiver back.

  ‘Sir Charles wants you to go along to his house now, Linckes—16, Arlington Street. Get along there as quickly as you can, will you? I want you to put every ounce of your brain into this. It’s a big chance for you, you know.’

  Linckes rose, and drew a deep breath.

  II

  Half an hour later he stood in the library of No. 16, Arlington Street, taking in his surroundings with appreciative eyes. He was examining a fine old chest by the window when Winthrop came in.

  Linckes turned. He beheld a tall, slim man of perhaps thirty-five years old, with an open, handsome face, in which sparkled a pair of dark eyes, singularly expressive, and fringed by long black lashes. Winthrop held Linckes’ card in his hand, and he came forward, smiling. The smile dispersed the slight sternness about his mouth, and left it boyish and charming. Very simply he told Linckes all that he knew, while the young detective listened intently, occasionally putting a question.

  ‘And that’s all,’ Winthrop ended ruefully. ‘’Tisn’t much to go on, is it?’

  ‘No; very little. You don’t suspect anyone yourself?’

  ‘I don’t. I admit it looked like the work of an outsider, but I just don’t see how it can be. Masters first suspected Ruthven, my secretary; but that’s impossible. I can account for all his movements, and I know that he didn’t go near Caryu’s place during the three days that the plans were there, for the simple reason that he was with me at Millbank.’

  ‘There might be an accomplice.’

  Winthrop screwed up his nose, perplexed.

  ‘Well, of course there might be. But, considering that Ruthven himself doesn’t know the key to the safe, I don’t see how that helps. Besides, Caryu has a most elaborate alarm thing in his safe-room. Only he and I know the workings to it. Either of us could enter the room without disturbing it, provided we did not try to get in at the window, or any funny trick like that, but no one else could. Whoever did it must have watched the place for months; might even have been in the household. Probably was, because there were no signs of burglary. We had no idea anything had been tampered with until we had ample proof that Russia had learnt the secret of those new subs. I tell you, it’s absolutely incomprehensible!’

  Linckes pulled out his cigarette-case, frowning. He started to tap a cigarette on it absent-mindedly.

  ‘The servants have been accounted for, I suppose?’

  Winthrop’s white teeth gleamed in an infectious laugh.

  ‘Oh lor’, yes! They’re all being watched and interrogated, and Heaven knows what besides. We don’t think they have anything to do with it. It’s too big a thing.’

  ‘I may act as I think fit?’ Linckes asked.

  ‘Absolutely! Interview all the servants, or anyone else you like. I say, don’t smoke your own cigarette. Have one of mine.’

  Linckes suddenly became aware of the cigarette in his hand.

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ he exclaimed. ‘I ought to have asked you if you minded smoking. Well, thanks very much!’ He took a cigarette from the box Winthrop held out to him, and inspected it. ‘’Fraid I don’t usually indulge in this brand. I smoke gaspers as a general rule.’

  He lit the cigarette, smiling.

  ‘Do you? I only smoke these. Sometimes, but very rarely, a cigar.’

  ‘Of course, I really prefer a pipe to anything,’ Linckes remarked.

  Winthrop shook his head.

  ‘Can’t rise to that. I think they’re ghastly things. Look here! Have I told you enough? I mean, ask me any question you like.’

  ‘I think I’ve got enough to keep me occupied for a few days, thanks. I’ll be getting along now, if you don’t mind.’ He rose and held out his hand.

  Winthrop jumped up.

  ‘Right-ho
! And try your damnedest, Won’t you? We’re trying to keep a brave front. But—well, it’s serious. Just as serious as it can be. And until the mystery is solved Caryu and the rest of us are in a pretty sultry position. And—and it happens to mean rather a lot, to me especially, to have the thing cleared up.’

  ‘You may be quite sure that I shall do my best,’ Linckes told him. He gripped Winthrop’s hand, and as he did so the door opened.

  ‘ Charlie, it really is too bad of you!’ chided an amused voice. ‘I suppose you’ve quite forgotten that you asked me to lunch with you at the Berkeley? Oh, I beg your pardon! I’d no idea you were engaged. Daddy, he’s deep in business.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t burst in on him in that unceremonious way,’ answered Caryu. He came leisurely into the room and cast a quick glance at Linckes. ‘Sorry to intrude like this, Charles. Autonia’s fault!’

  ‘How was I to know that he was engaged?’ demanded Miss Caryu aggrievedly. She sauntered forward, bowing to Linckes.

  ‘I’m not engaged, I’m sorry to say,’ retorted Winthrop. ‘I hadn’t forgotten, Tony, honestly. I was detained, but I was just coming. Caryu, may I introduce Mr Linckes?’

  Linckes found himself the object of a keen scrutiny.

  ‘Very pleased to meet you!’ said Caryu, and shook hands. ‘You’re not Tom Linckes’ son, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes, I am, sir. Do you know him?’

  ‘Very well. We were at college together. Hope you’ll be able to help us in this business.’

  Tony, who had just seated herself on the table, looked up.

  ‘Oh, are you the new detective, Mr Linckes?’ she asked interestedly.