Die All, Die Merrily

by Bruce, Leo

“Out I “said Carolus and took up The Times crossword. What a treat to find that Hollingbourne had not industriously entered two wrong clues. ‘Kate with a squeaky voice 5, 5.’ Too easy again. He must wait for Sunday’s Ximenes.

  The trouble was the odious Priggley was right—Carolus did want to think it over, and he did begin to see the beginnings of a ray of light. If he was right there was no need for haste; there was no more danger to anyone. He could well afford to lounge about and show Mrs Stick that he was resting.

  When she came in he said apologetically “That was only a solicitor, Mrs Stick.”

  “I’m not saying he wasn’t, but still he’s mixed up in it. Now are you going to be in today? ”

  “All day.”

  She looked at him suspiciously as though this was too good to be true.

  “I suppose that means they’ll be coming here to see you? “‘

  “Who? ”

  “Murderers and police and that.”

  “I don’t think anyone will be coming to see me.”

  “Well, that’s something. I can get on with the lunch.”

  But Carolus was wrong. He had a caller that morning, and a very unexpected one. About half an hour after the departure of Priggley, Mrs Stick with an I-told-you-so expression showed in Detective Inspector John Moore.

  Moore was an old friend and had been in charge of two cases in which Carolus was involved. He was burly, efficient and always to the point.

  They greeted each other with outward cordiality, but some private reserve. Carolus knew very well that John Moore did not call at eleven o’clock in the morning to pass the time of day, and waited to see what would transpire. After they had smoked and drunk together for ten minutes, Carolus asked the first question.

  “Come on,” he said, “what have you come to see me about? ”

  John Moore smiled.

  “I was waiting for you to ask that. It’s this suicide over at Maresfield.”

  “But that’s not in your manor.”

  “No. A friend of mine has it. Man called Bowler. Good chap. When he told me you’d been over there I thought it best to give you a call. Quite unofficially, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Look, Carolus. Keep out of this, will you? There’s nothing for you in it. It’s suicide, plain and simple.”

  “It may be suicide,” said Carolus. “It isn’t plain—or simple.”

  “Why not? The fellow shot himself. Plenty of cases like that. Weapon found beside him. Finger-prints, direction of shot, all correct. The only thing is there was no final note left to be found near the body. But that’s not unusual, either.”

  Carolus said nothing.

  “You see,” went on John Moore, “Bowler’s satisfied that this was suicide. Quite satisfied. If you start something which stirs up doubt in the mind of the … public …”

  “Press, you were going to say.”

  “Press, then. We know Drumbone’s reputation. Personally I’ve got no use for her, but the fact that she’s in this, the dead man’s aunt and living in the place, means that it’s very easy to start a hare. If it’s known that you’re investigating and apparently not satisfied with the coroner’s verdict, which will come today, rumours will start which nothing can stop. I’m not worried about Drumbone. I just don’t want it said again that the police have not done all they could. So do me a favour, Carolus. Lay off it. When there’s something in my manor which will interest you, I’ll promise to let you know.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been frank, so will I. This is the position, John. There’s a piece of evidence, a damned, great, black, ugly piece of evidence, which has evidently been kept from the police. That’s no fault of mine. The person involved promised to give it to them at once, and I thought that person had, till this morning. It will be handed over immediately after the inquest. If it isn’t, when I reach Maresfield tomorrow I’ll see that it is. When your man has this he will take a different view of the case. I can say no more than that.”

  They exchanged looks. John Moore was satisfied that nothing could be gained by further talk at present.

  “You might have known me better,” said Carolus less seriously, “than to think I’d waste time on a straightforward suicide with no strings attached.”

  “It surprised me, I must say. You might have been a friend of the family.”

  “Don’t talk to me about’ the family’. Perhaps, in a sense I was wrong just now. It wasn’t one piece of evidence but two. They should both be in your hands today.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s one thing though, John. Give me your man’s private address, will you? Bowler’s, I mean. I might need to see him in a hurry.”

  John Moore wrote it down. When he had left, Carolus deliberately put the case out of his mind until Priggley’s return. He delighted Mrs Stick by remaining at home, even going to ‘have a word’ with Stick in the walled garden. ‘Stick was ever so pleased,’ reported his wife later, though Carolus was unable, as usual, to detect any emotion in the man.

  The day, in fact, passed all too quickly till Carolus heard the din of Rupert’s motor-cycle.

  “Hoysden’s was closed,” were Rupert’s first irritating words.

  “Naturally. Toffin’s evidence was wanted.”

  “I thought I’d take another look at that redhead.”

  “You went to attend an inquest.”

  “Oh, yes, the inquest. You were quite right. Nothing was said about the recording, which must mean they haven’t handed it over.”

  “Damned fools.”

  “I don’t think it would have made much difference to the verdict. Everyone seemed to have decided about that from the start. I had the impression that it was all being toned down to avoid fuss and publicity. Drumbone was not called. The whole thing was made to sound very commonplace—proprietor of music shop, private worries, neurotic as result of war service, unhappy marriage, shoots himself in a fit of insane depression.”

  “What about the unhappy marriage? ”

  “Not stressed. Pippa was questioned. Nothing seriously wrong between them. Often had little tiffs. Everyone nodded sympathetically.”

  “Nice and cosy,” said Carolus.

  “There were some more difficult moments. Wait till you see the housekeeper, Mrs Tuck. She’s what they call a Tartar. She stirred them up a bit. ‘I should think you did want to know!’ she told the coroner. ‘And you’re not the only one. Everybody was going to have everything after the bombing stopped, wasn’t they? Well, this is what you’ve brought him to, all the lot of you. Had to shoot himself because he couldn’t stand any more of it, and I don’t blame him.’ She didn’t explain what ‘it’ might be, but I think I understood.”

  “Who else gave evidence? ”

  “Toffin.’ Always-a-perfect-gentleman’ line. Had Richard business worries? Not so far as the shop was concerned, but Toffin thought he might have had what he called ‘private business worries’. He gave the impression that in business Richard was little better than a half-wit and that he, Toffin, was a genius. Were the shop finances in order? He ‘flattered himself’ that under any kind of scrutiny they were impeccable. Richard knew that, and had frequently thanked Toffin for his care.

  “Then they had something called Hipps to give evidence. Floods of tears. She wanted to give the impression that Richard had pursued her for years, but she only succeeded in making herself look like a pining King Charles spaniel. Repulsive exhibition, and she had nothing to add.”

  “What about my friends from upstairs? ”

  “Mrs Nodges did her act. She’s got it by heart, now, including the bit about ‘bang, like that’. Mr Hoskins gave his impersonation of a North-country oyster, till the coroner began saying ‘Ay’ and had to correct himself. Slugley was called—no mention of the schoolboy.”

  “What about Olivia Romary? ”

  “Not called. But I tell you whose evidence did provide something new—the blonde who was in that bungalow at Marling Flats. She is W
ilma Day, the Drumbone’s secretary, but that was not mentioned. Her evidence was that Richard had met her as she came out of Drumbone House that evening—about 7.20 they think—and offered her a lift. As she knew him already (point much emphasized), she accepted and he drove her to the station from which she was going to see her mother for the week-end.”

  “So he did go out that evening.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Anyone else? ”

  “Alan Bourne. You’ll be interested to know that he dropped a real clanger. About that revolver.”

  “He hadn’t told the police? ”

  “Shouldn’t think so, judging from his face when the coroner asked him if he’d ever seen the revolver before. What could he say? He muttered ‘yes’ and tried to go on about something else.”

  “But? ”

  “But the coroner was no fool. ‘To whom did this revolver belong?’ he asked very clearly. Bourne looked as thought he was trying to swallow his Adam’s apple.’ It was mine,’ he said at last. That kept him in the witness-box for another half-hour. Where was it kept? Who could have taken it? He gave the names of all the guests at his Friday afternoon tennis-party, including some ‘nice’ friends of his wife’s we didn’t know about. I must say he looked pretty sick.”

  “So would you if you were a solicitor about to be charged with possessing arms without a permit.”

  “Is that all they’ll charge him with? “asked Priggley in obvious disappointment.

  “It’s enough,” said Carolus.

  11

  “BACK to the grindstone,” said Carolus next morning “I can’t stay away from Maresfield another day.”

  “If you’re going to see Mrs Tuck, I’m coming,” said Rupert Priggley.

  “I am. And Olivia Romary. They should finish the locals. I’ll ask Keith here, I think, and put you out of the way. I don’t want any of your acid comments when he tells me of love’s young dream.”

  “Suits me,” said Rupert. “I had quite enough of that at Marling Flats. ‘Darling, darling’.”

  Mrs Tuck lived in a bright new house, one of several hundred constructed in artfully irregular pattern in an area called an estate. She had been described by Alan Bourne as ferocious, and when she first came to the door she might have been an aged and mangy tigress disturbed in her cage by the prodding stick of small boys.

  “I’ve told you a dozen times I don’t want household appliances, television, radio, carpet sweepers, grocery or washing machines! “she shouted furiously. “I don’t believe in hire purchase, and the next time any of your lot come around I’ll set the dog on you.”

  “I …”

  “Don’t argue with me because I mean what I say. I’ve had enough of it. I’ve got plenty to do without opening the door every five mintes.”

  “It’s not …”

  “What is it then? I’ve paid my rent and rates, dog

  licence, health insurance, wireless licence, television licence, union, electric light, gas, house insurance, and water rate. Perhaps you’ve thought of something new, have you? If so you can tell Them I’m not paying any more. I’d rather go to prison than put up with it. Forms and stamps! It’s enough to drive anyone out of their senses.”

  “I assure you …”

  “Nor I won’t vote for any of Them, so tell Them that. They’re all as bad as the other. Not for the Town Council nor for Parliament either. You tell Them. I don’t care which party gets elected to what. You can have the lot of them so far as I’m concerned. And the British Commonwealth and the Royal Family. All the lot.”

  “Mrs Tuck …”

  “And if you’ve come from one of those opinion polls you can clear off double-quick. Do I think this, or do I think that. I don’t think, I know that They’ve made the country so’s it’s not fit to live in. I hate the whole boiling of Them. Tell Them that, if you want my opinion.”

  “Mr Hoysden …” shouted Carolus desperately.

  “What about Mr Hoysden? There’s another one They did for with their bloody forms and stamps and what you must do and what you mustn’t do. I’m not surprised he shot himself. I’d do it, too, only I’d like to shoot a few of Them first.”

  “I want to ask you about Mr Hoysden, Mrs Tuck.”

  Mrs Tuck’s face, hitherto a mere scarlet, turned a rich purple.

  “If you’re a copper,” she began, but this time it was Carolus who interrupted.

  “I’m not! “he yelled.

  “Well, what are you then? I told the coroner yesterday what I thought, and I’d tell him again even if They lock me up for it. What do They think people are? ”

  “I’ve often wondered,” said Carolus, “not people, anyway. Perhaps you’ll listen long enough for me to tell you what I want? I want to know the truth about Richard Hoysden. I’ve heard that tape-recording. I think the whole case is an extraordinary one. I think you can help me. I’m not an official of any kind and I don’t like Them any more than you do.”

  Mrs Tuck stared at him for a moment.

  “Come in! “she ordered.

  Carolus followed her.

  “They don’t like me round here,” she said, “because I believe in speaking my mind. You must excuse this place, but They pulled down our old cottage which had belonged to my husband’s father when They built these. It was a bit damp I dare say, but you had got room to turn round. There we had a decent bit of garden with an old bullace tree that gave me enough jam to last the year round. Here They won’t even let you grow what you like. Can you imagine that? It has to be lawn in the front same as all the others, or They turn you out. My husband wanted to climb a wistaria over the house like we used to have, but They said no. Now what do you want to know about Mr Hoysden? ”

  “Anything you feel like telling me.”

  “Well, they was all after him. The family, I mean. He was the only one who could have been independent if he’d of wanted to. He didn’t have to run to Her whenever he wanted anything. She helped him start the shop …”

  “You mean Lady Drumbone, of course? ”

  “Yes. I mean Her. She helped him start, but he paid all that back long ago. The rest of them didn’t like that. But Richard never showed his independence. He was always very respectful to Her. More than what I’d have been.”

  “Why do you think he shot himself? “asked Carolus, who feared Mrs Tuck’s recollections might be somewhat general.

  “Why would anyone, nowadays? You can’t really wonder the way things are going, can you? Ordered about like sheep all the time. I suppose he’d just had enough of it, like anyone might have. It’s all right for those that want to be like everyone else. Soon as you’ve got any ideas of your own you’re done for. Like my son. He didn’t know himself what he wanted, but it had to be a bit different. He was a good boy to me and his dad, but he got in with the wrong lot and now They’ve sent him to Borstal. I don’t say it was right, what he did, but They made him like that. Now I suppose he’ll never go straight.”

  “Did Richard Hoysden want to be different? ”

  “He was always one to say people should lead their own lives, and that’s what you mustn’t do nowadays. He used to say to me, ‘I like you, Mrs Tuck, because you go your own way.’ Not in the work, he didn’t mean. Work’s work, and I did mine the way they wanted it. But I won’t be told to walk here and stop there. Very soon we shall all be marched everywhere like soldiers. Richard was easy-going up to a point, but it’s my belief he thought a lot more than he said, and just couldn’t stand it any more.”

  “Then how do you account for the recording? ”

  “I don’t know what to think. It’ll seem silly to you, perhaps, but I can’t help half wondering if he did it for a sort of joke. To lead Them on, see, and give Them something to think about. Perhaps partly to take Them off believing it was anything to do with Pippa. I don’t know, I can’t explain it any other way.”

  “You don’t think he imagined he’d killed someone? ”

  “No. I don’t. Not Richard.
Unless he really went out of his mind, which I can’t believe, either.”

  The door bell rang.

  “Half a minute,” said Mrs Tuck, and pulling out a handkerchief she deftly inserted it between the clapper and the bell. “Let them ring. It’s only another of these bloody salesmen trying to tie you up for the rest of your life for an electric iron. Or else an inspector from the Council wanting to see how we keep the house inside. Do you wonder he did for himself? There’s never a moment’s peace.” There was a loud knocking. “Hark at that! He wants to look at all the meters in the place by the sound of it, though they only came last week. Or else it’s about the health insurance. Let ‘em knock. There’s nothing like a building estate for peace and quiet, I can tell you. You can’t do anything about it, either. If you drop so much as a bucket of water on them you’re in court and very likely sent to prison. You ask me why Richard Hoysden shot himself. Because he lived in Maresfield, that’s why. If you lived here you’d understand.”

  “He never said anything to you which made you think he was considering it? ”

  “No. We didn’t talk a lot. But I knew. The way he used to say ‘Hell!’ Lots of little things. He’d had enough of it.”

  Mrs Tuck went to a cupboard and pulled out an unlabelled bottle.

  “Cowslip wine,” she said. “They’ll think of a way of stopping you making this soon. You’ll see. Anything you like doing’s bound to be wrong. That’s what my son used to say.”

  Without a direct invitation she poured out three glassfuls. It was of startling strength and flavour.

  “There’s only one other thing I can tell you,” said Mrs Tuck, “someone had been to Richard’s flat between when I left at four o’clock on Saturday and when I got there on Sunday morning.”

  “Alan Bourne,” said Carolus.

  “No, not him. Someone else. I picked a little comb up off the floor of the bedroom.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t Alan Bourne’s? ”

  “Because I asked him there and then and he said no. I pretended I thought it was Richard’s, but I knew it wasn’t. Richard’s was in his pocket. I saw the things the police found on him before they took him away. I’ll show it to you.”