The Crime at Halfpenny Bridge

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The Crime at Halfpenny Bridge Page 17

by George Bellairs


  “George!” Saul Emmott intervened. “I know by your manner you’re not telling the truth. I insist you tell the Inspector why Lee called here and whether the letters were mentioned. We’ve made enough mystery of this affair as it is. I don’t want any more of it.”

  “Very well. If you want it, father. He did mention the letters. I told him to go to hell. Apparently he took my advice. I said at the same time that the police would hear of it the following day. And I haven’t an alibi for that, Inspector. Because he seemed to go right from here and get himself run over on the bridge. You mentioned double murder. I take it Lee was number two. You don’t suggest, do you, that I chased after him and ran him down? I’d have wrung his neck, not made a road accident of him, if I’d thought him worth killing.”

  “And now … Is there anything more?”

  The old man was getting restive.

  “Just one other thing. You, Mr. Emmott, were indoors when these two deaths occurred?”

  “And who do you suggest accompanied me, carried or wheeled me to the scene of the crime, and supported me while I did it? You know, I can’t move a step of my own volition. Why question me?”

  “Just a matter of form, sir.”

  “I was in bed. I go at nine every night.”

  “Thank you, sir. And Miss Nancy? Where was she?” George looked from his father to Littlejohn angrily.

  “Why drag my sister into it? She goes to bed about ten every night. She was in bed when Prank died. I left her in bed when I went out.”

  “And when Lee died?”

  “She was here. I can vouch for that.”

  “Can she drive a car?”

  “Yes. But what’s that got to do with it …? Oh, I see. She might have gone after Lee. It’s time you got to the end of this nonsense, Inspector.”

  “I was just thinking the same myself, Mr. Emmott. I’ll keep you from your threshing no longer. Good day to you both and my thanks to Miss Emmott when she recovers.”

  Littlejohn was badly nettled by the turn affairs had taken at Headlands Farm. His enquiries there had confused the issue more than ever. He walked slowly back to town turning things over. He even sat on a stile and tried to sort out the tangle the case had become.

  Then, suddenly, there descended on him a theory which took his breath away. At first, he tried to push it out of his mind, but the more he thought about it, the more insistent became the idea.

  He knocked out his pipe and hastened back to the police station whilst the mood was hot upon him.

  XIX

  THE TWO PHILANDERERS

  IT was getting late when Littlejohn started out to round-off his day’s work by two more enquiries. He refused to eat a high-tea at the hotel next door to the police station. The most they could persuade him to take was a cup of tea and a bun which tasted to be made of sawdust and looked like a small firelighter. As the Inspector took this doubtful refreshment, Hoggatt turned up his records.

  “You remember telling me about George Emmott assaulting someone for mentioning his sister in a pub? Can you find out who the victim was?” Littlejohn had said.

  The best records turned out to be in the form of cuttings from the local newspaper. There was an account of a scuffle in the “Red Lion” smoke-room and then, suddenly, the case was dropped.

  “Oh, yes. I remember it all now,” exclaimed Hoggatt. “It was Bertie Tanner, one of the solicitors here and clerk to the local magistrates. That’s why the case was dropped. He didn’t prosecute Emmott. It would have looked a bit funny in his own court and probably there’d have been some dirty linen washed in public.…”

  “Where does Tanner live?”

  “You turn to the left outside here and go right on.…”

  Hoggatt drew a sketch map on his blotting-pad.

  “Does Winterbottom, the vet., live anywhere near there?”

  “It’s on your way. Instead of going straight up the hill.…”

  There followed more directions.

  “I doubt if you’ll find him in, though. It’s past surgery hours. However, he lives on the premises, so you might be lucky.”

  Littlejohn was lucky. He entered by a large gate bearing Winterbottom’s name, qualifications and surgery hours and found himself in a wide, cobbled yard. On one side, a number of lose boxes and on the other, judging from the yapping and snarling going on behind the closed doors, the kennels. Littlejohn wondered how the neighbours put up with the noise all day. The door of a new detached brick building with glass roof-lights and labelled Surgery stood open and the Inspector made for it.

  Littlejohn must have come upon the scene very quietly under cover of the barking of dogs, for he surprised the occupants of the workshop. A tubby, bandy-legged middle-aged fellow in riding-breeches and a tweed coat was with busy hands fondling a buxom red-cheeked girl with carroty hair and dressed in a soiled white smock. These seemed to be the preliminaries to more serious operations, for a puppy lay pathetically asleep under an anaesthetic on the operating table and there were instruments close at hand. The pair sprang apart, but the girl stayed and brazened it out.

  “What do you want?” snapped Winterbottom, turning a bloated face with shifty alcoholic eyes on Littlejohn. “Surgery hours are over.”

  Littlejohn passed over his card and Bandylegs’ red face grew several shades paler.

  “I’m busy,” he muttered. “Just ready to operate on the dog. Won’t it do another time?”

  “I won’t keep you a minute, Mr. Winterbottom.”

  “Come in here, then.”

  They left the kennel-maid and entered an untidy lean-to which served as an office. The place stank of whisky and carbolic.

  “Have a drink?”

  The vet. poured himself a stiff one and poised the bottle over another soiled glass.

  “No thanks.”

  “Mind if I have one?”

  Before Littlejohn could express an opinion one way or the other, the man had drained it.

  “That’s better. Now, sir. What can I do for you?”

  He seemed to be expecting trouble of some kind. He was so relieved when he heard what the Inspector wanted, that he downed another stiff peg to celebrate. Littlejohn felt sorry for the puppy awaiting vivisection.

  “Yes. I was at the Emmotts’ at the time you mention. Tough job with a young heifer.… But we pulled her through. Fine calf, too. Yes, George walked just over the bridge with me. I didn’t take the car. You understand … petrol shortage. Got to save a bit when we can. Sure you won’t have a drink? Mind if I have one, then?”

  “You’re sure about the time, sir?”

  “Quite sure.…” Winterbottom was owlish about it. “Qui’ sh-shure. As matter of fact … there was some sort of a shemozzle going on at the bridge. Fellow fallen in. Turned out later been pushed in. We’d to wait at the turnstile quite a bit. Little squirt of a chap on duty fished the poor blighter out of the water. ’Sfar as I can say … approx.… about … just before eleven. Yes … just before eleven.”

  “And where did you leave Mr. Emmott?”

  “Look here, old man. Whass all this about? You don’t think I did Sam Prank in, do you? Because if you do, George Emmott’ll give me cast-iron alibi. He left me at the old bridge. I wen’ one way; he wen’ the other. They’d got the body out by then and we’d been together for two hours before that. I don’ see the sense of all this, ole man.…”

  “Neither do I, sir. I’m sorry to butt-in. Good night.”

  “Good night, Inspector. Got to get back to the pup. Detest pups … detest dogs.… Gimme a good cow or a horse any ole day.…”

  The red-headed girl had evidently finished with the dog during the interview for she was bandaging its abdomen as the Inspector passed out.

  “Good night,” she shouted after Littlejohn, as bold as you please.

  Winterbottom approached her solicitously for another spasm of canoodling, judging from the look in his eye.…

  Mr. Bertie Tanner was different. He lived in bachelor quarters in t
he best part of the town. A manservant ushered Littlejohn into a fine oak-panelled room and asked him to wait. A contrast to the sordid quarters he had just left. Expensive carpets on the floor, sumptuous furniture and good pictures. Opulent-looking leather-bound books in closed book-cases. The smell of a good cigar penetrating the place. Real comfort and not a wrong note. Mr. Tanner quickly followed the aroma of his cigar. A small, dapper man, with a toothbrush of a moustache and going bald in front. A thin face with well-chiselled features and a big nose. His well-cut clothes didn’t bear the stamp of a small-town tailor.

  Tanner started being hospitable at once. “Cigar? Whisky? Or would you prefer beer, Inspector?”

  “No thank you, sir. I’ll smoke my pipe if you don’t mind.”

  “Fire away. Tobacco?”

  Littlejohn said he preferred his own. It was a nightmare ploughing through the courtesies before getting down to business.

  “Well, and what can I do for you, Inspector?”

  Tanner turned a pair of sad, puzzled eyes on Littlejohn. There were pouches under them which gave him a doglike expression.

  It was difficult breaking the ice. The man was so self-possessed and well poised.

  “Well, sir. It’s rather awkward.… I’m on the Prank murder case and I’m checking-up on one or two people connected with Prank. Among others is George Emmott.… No doubt you know him?”

  “Rather.…”

  Tanner actually chuckled. There was evidently some humour beneath the trim exterior.

  “Well, sir, excuse my bluntness but didn’t he once give you a … didn’t he once assault you in a local hotel?”

  “I’m glad you didn’t say gave me a hiding. Matter of fact, he did set about me. He could give me a stone or two, but I knew how to use my fists better than he did. If they hadn’t separated us, I’d probably have knocked Emmott for six. Is that all you’re after?”

  “Well, no, sir. I want to know what the row was about, if you please.”

  “How in the world can that affect the Prank murder? However, you know your own business best and it’s my duty as an officer of the court to help all I can. Sure you won’t have a drink?”

  Littlejohn would have some beer, then, thank you. The manservant brought in a bottle and glass and poured out the beer, at the same time serving his master with whisky.

  “You know, Inspector, you’re digging into my personal and murky past. It concerns a bit of a love affair of mine and I don’t mind telling you I’m not very happy in reviving the details of it. However …”

  Tanner shrugged his shoulders and pulled at his cigar.

  “Well then, sir. What was the quarrel about?”

  “It was about Emmott’s sister, Nancy. Now this is in strictest confidence, Inspector. That is, within the requirements of your investigation, you’ll be discreet. After all, it’s not playing the game bandying a woman’s name about …”

  “This isn’t cricket, sir; it’s murder.…”

  Tanner carefully knocked the ash from his cigar into a brass bowl.

  “I’m quite aware of that. Otherwise …”

  He shrugged his shoulders again.

  “I was a bit keen on Miss Emmott once. In fact, we were almost engaged. She was, and is, a very lovely girl. But …”

  “But nothing came of it, sir?”

  “No. Nothing came of it.”

  “Might I press you to be more explicit, sir? Believe me, it’s not idle curiosity. Was it a quarrel …? Did you end it? Or did she?”

  “I can see, Inspector, that you know as much about it as I do. But I’ll tell you. I had to end it.…”

  Littlejohn sighed and took a drink of his beer. Things were moving as he’d expected.

  “Why, sir?”

  “You put me in a very awkward position, Inspector. As clerk to the Bench here, it’s my duty to help you. As a gentleman, however, I ought to keep quiet. Justice triumphs—fiat justitia ruat coelum, eh? So … I broke with Nancy Emmott because I found out, quite unexpectedly, that we couldn’t make a go of it. Marriage was impossible. You see, there’s insanity in the Emmott family. Saul Emmott’s younger brother is in the county asylum to this day. George’s elder brother shot himself. Not many people know of it. Saul’s brother was said to be delicate and in a private home; his son’s death was passed-off as an accident. That information is from George himself. He let it out some time ago in his cups. Of course, it soon got all over the town.”

  “How did you get squabbling with George, sir?”

  “Well … Miss Emmott and I had a quarrel. One of those trifling things young folk usually have and make-up, you know. But her behaviour then was extraordinary. She grew almost violent. The signs seemed so ominous, that I had to watch my step. I wasn’t so much infatuated that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a woman who went so violently off at the deep-end as that. I had to be quite sure whether or not it was just temper, hysterics, you know, … or … well … the other thing.”

  “And it was …?”

  “Well, of course, as I said, there’s mania in the family. I don’t say Nancy’s potty.… Far from it. But I just couldn’t take the risk of marrying her in the circumstances. We parted company. And neither of us was heartbroken. We got over it. She’s had quite a number of followers since, but nothing seems to have come of it. A brother lawyer of mine was saying one night at the “Red Lion” what a fine girl she was. He’d had one over the eight and was a bit coarse about it. I’d seen George Emmott come in and so I turned to my friend and told him it wasn’t the thing to talk about a girl in a place like that.… Then, before I knew what was happening, George was at my throat. Worse than Nancy by a long way. Absolutely raving mad.… Shouting something about dragging his sister’s name in the mud and such tommyrot. As if I’d started it all.… Well, you know the rest, Inspector.”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate your help, especially the confidences you’ve given. I think I’m safe in saying the information will go no farther. It just confirms an idea of mine and I can now go ahead with a greater sense of security.”

  “I see.… You can’t tell me more? I’d be most interested to know.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. This is pure theory I’m working on and until I’ve something more solid, I can’t tell a soul.”

  “I see.… Well, I suppose if you’re right the affair will be aired in my court. I must be patient, I guess. Will you have another glass of beer …?”

  Tanner had lost some of his poise. He was perhaps wondering what Littlejohn thought of him. The lover who studied his beloved’s family history and health record before popping the question! He had often wondered whether it was an inherited weakness or whether most women went off at the deep end like Nancy whenever they were crossed and got their men alone. At any rate, his mother had led his father a dog’s life. Bertie Tanner had remained a bachelor and a bit of a recluse ever since.

  The lawyer was fumbling for words of dismissal and parting.

  Littlejohn refused further refreshment, bade Tanner good night and as the front door closed, suddenly felt light-headed. Surely, one glass of beer wouldn’t … A clock struck half-past nine. Littlejohn remembered that he hadn’t eaten since noon.

  XX

  INDISCRETION OF MERCY

  LITTLEJOHN was on the job good and early the following morning. There remained two or three final links in the chain of his theory and then he would test it. When he and Cromwell had left Werrymouth on the previous night, the Inspector had dismissed the case from his mind and turned to the pleasures of Playfair’s company. It was better so, he always found.

  The first port of call was the Samaritan again. Littlejohn had an important question to ask Kissack.

  “You remember telling me that Miss Emmott and her brother called to see Mr. Boake one day last week, Kissack?”

  “Yes, sir. They did.”

  The porter looked surprised that his evidence should be in doubt.

  “You said, too, that Miss Emmott went up to the ward first with
flowers and then came down and sent her brother up. Whilst her brother was in the ward, was Miss Emmott outside in the van, or did she go back with him? Think carefully.”

  “I saw her come down and fetch him from the van, sir. Then I saw Mr. Emmott come in and go upstairs alone. I was called away then, so I couldn’t say if she follered him later.”

  “I see. I’d better speak to the Sister of that ward. Could I go up …? It’s the girl with red hair I want.”

  “Sister Thomas? Yes. If you go up, you’ll find her somewhere along the corridor. I can’t leave my place just at present. It’s out-patients’ time, you see.…”

  Littlejohn made off to the private patients’ annexe, where he had previously met Boake. He found Sister Thomas making her rounds of inspection, accompanied by a girl with a trolley laden with bottles, trays, clinical thermometers and other paraphernalia. The girl with red hair looked as bright and fresh as could be. Probably temperatures went down for the better or up for the worse when she entered the rooms, according to the complaint and sex of the patient!

  “Are you still here, Inspector?” she said. “I thought you’d have been done long ago. Yes, Miss Emmott followed her brother to poor Mr. Boake’s room, I know. I couldn’t allow them both in, so I asked her to wait in the passage.”

  “Was the door open?”

  “It would be. You see, we have felt pads hanging from all the door-knobs and we wedge the doors ajar with them. We don’t like patients to be altogether shut in. Then again, constantly slamming doors annoys and disturbs patients. Yes. The door would be at least ajar.”

  “Thank you very much, Sister. This is my last visit, I hope, so I’ll bid you goodbye.”

  The nurse bustled off to her next case and Littlejohn left the hospital and made for Headlands Farm. He was working to schedule and hoped to catch Nancy and George away. It was cattle-market day and he had discovered that they invariably came to town then, George to watch the auctioning and perhaps buy a beast when he fancied one; Nancy to do the weekly shopping. The constable on the old bridge beat had been told to keep his eyes open for their passing in the car. Sure enough, he had a report for Littlejohn as the Inspector went by. They had crossed the bridge about ten minutes ago.

 

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