by Bruce, Leo
“Yes. I’m going to report it. But I can’t help wanting to know—it’s only human—whether you believe Richard Hoysden killed someone or not? You’ve heard the tape-recording.”
“I’m prepared to go so far as to admit there are some very puzzling features in this case.”
“That’s handsome of you,” said Carolus. “There’s that ‘Oh, hell! ’ for instance.”
Did Bowler nod? Or shake his head? Or remain perfectly still? Carolus could not decide.
“Then there’s the pistol.”
“Yes,” assented Bowler cannily.
“And the schoolboy with his arm in a sling.”
The most concentrated scrutiny did not reveal to Carolus whether or not he was giving the policeman news.
“There’s that, too,” assented Bowler.
For a mischievous minute he wondered whether to invent a touch of fantasy and say, for instance, ‘there’s Miss Hipps’s feather boa’, or ‘there’s the matter of that armadillo’, to see whether Bowler would gravely assent. Instead he said, “And now I’ve got something to add to these.”
Bowler looked up, but Carolus was determined to make him ask a question. After a silent thirty seconds, he did.
“What’s that?”
“Another body,” returned Carolus.
“I hope,” said Bowler, “you are not trying to be funny, Mr Deene.”
“No.”
“What kind of body?”
“Very, very nauseous. Dead some days in this hot weather.”
“I mean male or female? ”
Carolus, in spite of the somewhat macabre catechism, began to enjoy himself.
“I did not make any minute inspection, but I think I can safely say female.”
“Do you know whose body it is? ”
“No. Who does own a dead body? ”
“I mean who it was? ”
“Yes. It was the wife of a game-keeper called Lamplow.”
“Where is it?”
“In Flogmore woods.”
“And how did you come to stumble on it, Mr Deene? ”
“Fortunately I didn’t stumble on it. It is quite untouched. I found it by doing the normal common-sense thing in the circumstances—looking in the places where Richard Hoysden was likely to have left a body.”
“I see. And Flogmore woods was the normal common-sense place? ”
“It was. You see I was never so convinced as you that this was a straightforward suicide with no strings attached. Talking about strings, I think this woman was strangled.”
“Oh, you do. What makes you say that?”
“I’m not sure. The decomposition was considerable and I made no detailed examination. But the neck and the face suggested it. There was no ‘silk cord no more than a yard long’ though.”
“When did you make this discovery, Mr Deene? ”
“About forty minutes ago.”
Bowler further wanted to know, who had been with Carolus, who had been told of the discovery, and whether Carolus had taken any steps to see that the body was not touched in the meantime. In answer to the last Carolus said rather huffily that it had obviously lain for a good many days and there seemed no reason why it should be moved now.
“Do you happen to know whether the dead woman was known to Richard Hoysden? “asked Bowler.
“Yes. She was.”
“Intimately? ”
“His housekeeper, Mrs Tuck, informs me that though I should not take any notice of it there had been ‘talk’ about them.”
“I see. I suppose I ought to thank you, Mr Deene. You discovered this before I did.”
“I was informed of the recording before you,” said Carolus consolingly.
“Now, would you be kind enough to accompany me to the place where you made this discovery? ”
“No. I draw the line at that. I’m going to the Norfolk for a drink. But I have in my car outside someone eminently suitable to guide you. A pupil of mine with such ghoulish tastes that another sight of the corpse will positively cheer him.”
“I see.”
“Besides, it will be some time before you can start. You have to get a photographer and whatnot. Priggley will take you to the spot. I’ll tell him to join me at the Norfolk when you bring him back.”
“Very well.”
“I take it you won’t be too long because the light will soon be fading? ”
“No.”
“It’s not pleasant, I assure you.”
“They seldom are,” said Bowler, and picked up the telephone.
Carolus sent Priggley into the CID office and made for the Norfolk Hotel.
14
HE found Hilda wilting behind her bar.
“Good evening,” he said brightly.
“You were in the other day, weren’t you? I thought you were, though I can’t be bothered to notice most that come in. They make me tired.”
“Yes. I see that,” said Carolus ambiguously.
“It isn’t as though they’d got anything to say, most of them.”
“Perhaps you don’t encourage them much? ”
“Well, I’ve not a lot of time for them, I must admit. I suppose some of them’s all right in their own way, but you can’t really feel interested, can you? ”
“Yes,” said Carolus. “Has Mr Alan Bourne been in? The cousin of the man who committed suicide? ”
“Is that what he is? I didn’t know,” said Hilda indifferently. “Yes, he was in last night. Seemed to be drinking rather a lot, but it’s no business of mine. I don’t care for anyone like that.”
“Was he alone? ”
“He was when he came in, but later he was talking to a man called Toffin, I believe. I didn’t take much notice, to tell the truth. Well, you don’t, do you? ”
“Yes,” said Carolus. “Does anyone come in here from Flogmore? ”
“I believe Mr Rothsay, who stays here quite a bit, is one of those who go shooting out there. I seem to remember him talking about it, though I’ve not a lot of use for shooting things. He’s here now, as a matter of fact.”
“Where? ”
“In the hotel, I mean. He’s having his dinner at the moment, I expect. He will be in presently.”
“Would you mind pointing him out to me when he comes in? ”
“If I remember, I will. Though I’d rather you picked him out for yourself. I don’t like getting mixed up in anything like that. You’ll know him. Wears a check suit and a buttonhole. A moustache. Rather a sporty type, I suppose, though I don’t know much about that sort. I’m sure you’d recognize him, though. There won’t be all that number in tonight, I don’t expect. It isn’t often there is.”
The first customer to enter, however, was not Rothsay, but the tall and taciturn Mr Hoskins. He had certainly chosen the right bar, thought Carolus.
“Pint,” he said to Hilda, with a nod, thus combining in this monosyllable his greeting and order.
But Carolus felt the man’s attention was on him, and that within that sullen frame a volcano of loquacity was preparing to erupt. He was not mistaken. Mr Hoskins approached him with a nod of recognition and spoke five words.
“Wanted to speak to you,” he explained with a painful effort.
“Yes? ”
“I told you I didn’t go down to Hoysden’s flat. I did.”
“What time? ”
“Just after eight.”
“And he was in? ”
“Just got back.”
“Where from? Do you know? ”
“Didn’t say.”
“Did you stay long? ”
“Few minutes.”
“Why are you telling me this now? ”
That, it was clear, was asking Mr Hoskins to go too far. It would take at least a dozen words to explain, whether it was that he disliked inaccuracy, feared that Carolus would hear from someone else, or had previously lied on an impulse which he regretted. Nor did Carolus press his question.
“Did you go for any particular reason?
”
Mr Hoskins shook his head.
“Just for a few minutes’ chat? ”
“Ay,” said Mr Hoskins, and seemed to feel better for emitting his favourite sound at last. Having done so, he picked up the remaining two-thirds of his pint of bitter and swallowed it with no sign of enjoyment.
“Night,” he said and was gone.
“He’s not very talkative, is he? “said Carolus apologetically to Hilda.
“I can’t see why you bother with him, really. It’s muggy tonight, isn’t it? Tiring weather, really. I feel as though I’d been on my feet all day.”
“And haven’t you?”
Just then a man entered whom, as Hilda had predicted, Carolus identified at once as Rothsay. The large carnation backed by a piece of asparagus fern, the face which appeared, whether by nature or design, stupid, the brilliant black and white of the suit-pattern, the florid moustache: Rothsay lacked only a bowler hat and a pair of field glasses.
Carolus was feeling thankful for Hilda’s lethargy and unwillingness to ‘get mixed up’ when she unfortunately addressed him.
“This is the gentleman you were asking about,” she said loudly. “This gentleman was asking for you, Mr Rothsay,” she added as though to make quite sure that everyone understood everyone else. She then retired into sulky indifference.
Rothsay eyed Carolus suspiciously as though he expected to be offered a good thing for Epsom.
“Want me? “he asked cagily.
“Yes,” said Carolus. Then, on an inspiration, he decided to put the cart before the horse. “You’re one of the syndicate which employed Tom Lamplow as a gamekeeper, aren’t you? ”
Rothsay answered this sharply and defensively.
“The widow has been looked after,” he said, still convinced that Carolus meant to touch him for something.
“You’re very right,” said Carolus. “I found her body this afternoon. She was murdered about a week ago.”
Mr Rothsay goggled in a highly satisfactory way, but Hilda, who was listening, did not seem pleased.
“I don’t care for anything like that, I must say,” she said with something more like animation than her customary whine.
“Murdered? “repeated Rothsay as though he had not heard.
“Strangled, I think. The police will know all about that.”
Rothsay began to collect himself.
“You’re not the police?”
“No. I’m investigating Richard Hoysden’s death for Lady Drumbone.”
Rothsay, like a boxer who has scarcely risen to his feet, went down again.
“But what’s that to do with what you’ve just told me?”
“Quite a lot, I should guess. Wouldn’t you? ”
“Scarcely up my street,” said Rothsay, now on his feet once more.
“I was hoping you might be able to help me. You seem to be one of the few people outside the family having connections with both affairs.”
“Me? Both? I see what you mean. Scarcely connections.”
Rothsay was tottering.
“I wouldn’t know. But you’ve been living with Richard Hoysden’s wife and you employed the husband of the woman who caused him to be talked about, the woman who is now dead.”
Rothsay clung to the ropes.
“Scarcely ‘living with’, old man. Pippa came up to town with me. Little change. Less than a fortnight.”
“Change of what? Air? ”
“She needed it. This family got her down.”
“I’m not surprised from what I’ve seen of them,” put in Hilda, the corners of her mouth almost meeting in the middle of her chin. “They get me down. I know that.”
“And you think Richard Hoysden thought of it like that? “persisted Carolus.
“Sure of it, old man. Know he did.”
“Why? Did you ask him? ”
“Not in so many words. But I knew his character. Just how he’d look at it. Bit of a change for Pippa.”
“You didn’t, for instance, go to see him that evening? ”
“Which evening, old man? ”
“The evening you brought Pippa back to Maresfield. The evening Richard shot himself. Last Saturday, in fact.”
“Go and see him? Whatever gives you that idea? It would be the last thing in the circumstances.”
“Did you? ”
“Certainly not. Scarcely knew him.”
“You knew him well enough to be sure about his attitude to his wife’s disappearance.”
“Different thing.” Rothsay was on his feet and sparring now. “Instinct. Certainly couldn’t have gone to see him.”
“Then what …” Carolus held his straight left for a moment then let it go clean to the solar plexus, “then what was your car doing in the parking place of his building? ”
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …
“What?”
Carolus did not answer.
“What do you mean, old man? My car? The Mercedes? In the parking place? Which parking place? ”
“Behind the block of flats over Richard’s music shop,” said Carolus patiently but clearly.
“When was this? ”
“About ten o’clock.”
“Nonsense. Can’t have been. Must have been another Mercedes.”
Carolus watched these struggles, as though waiting for the referee to stand back. He said nothing.
“Unless I popped in the building to see someone else,” tried Rothsay.
“No,” said Carolus firmly.
“Or left it there while I was at the pictures.”
“What pictures? ”
“The pictures, old man. Cinema.” Rothsay was gamely recovering his balance.
“There isn’t a cinema anywhere near there. And both the town cinemas have their own car parks.”
“Then it must have been another Mercedes. I’ve been told there’s another in the town. You’ve heard that, haven’t you, Hilda? ”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about it. I don’t want to know either. Not when it comes to it.”
“Did you know Florrie Lamplow?” Carolus asked Rothsay.
Rothsay appeared relieved but still wary.
“The keeper’s wife, you mean? Just to speak to. She gave me a cup of tea once. Nice little cottage. Pity they’re going to build.”
“When did you see her last? ”
“Who? Florrie Lamplow? Oh, ages ago. Last winter.”
“Ever heard Richard speak of her? ”
“No. Can’t say I did. He seemed to talk of nothing but music. That’s what bored Pippa.”
“It would me, too,” said Hilda. “If there’s one thing I can’t seem to take to it’s a lot of music.”
Rothsay was fighting back now.
“You ask a hell of a lot of questions, old man,” he said. “I can’t see what I’ve got to do with it.”
Carolus was preparing a right hook.
“What did you do last Saturday evening, Rothsay? After you’d dropped Pippa here? ”
“Me? Last Saturday? “This time he was no more than momentarily groggy. “Drove back to town.”
“Yes, I know. But I meant immediately after you had dropped Pippa.”
“Had one or two.”
“Where?”
“Oh, on the way. Here and there. Nowhere special. I don’t think we’ll have any more questions, old man. Had about enough. It’s nothing to do with me. And quite frankly, I can’t see what it’s to do with you.”
“Just as you like.”
In spite of Rothsay’s bravado, Carolus could see the man staring at him as though wondering where the next blow would strike him. He soon discovered.
“You’ve told me what I wanted to know,” said Carolus.
“What do you mean? What did you want to know? What have I told you? ”
“I thought we were to have no more questions.”
“That’s a very peculiar thing to say, though. Told you what you want to know. I can’t see that I’ve told you a
nything. Besides, I’ve got nothing to tell. Not my line of country. Nasty business.”
“Very,” assented Carolus.
“I mean to say, even the police haven’t asked me anything.”
“They only heard of Mrs Lamplow’s death an horn: ago. They have plenty of time.”
“Extraordinary business. Anyway, have a drink? ”
“No, thanks.”
“Not a drink? Why not?”
“No, thank you.”
“I hope you’ve got no reason for refusing a drink with me?”
“I hope that, too.”
“I don’t like it, old man. You ask me a whole lot of questions about these deaths then refuse a drink with me.
Carolus did not answer.
“Will you have a drink? “Rothsay asked Hilda.
“It’s rather early, but I’ll make an exception,” she conceded, pouring herself a gin-and-tonic.
“Anyway,” said Rothsay to Carolus, “she doesn’t think I strangled a game-keeper’s wife.”
He paid for the drink and left.
“It’s only half-past eight,” said Hilda. “The evenings seem to get longer and longer. Sometimes I think I shall never get through to closing-time.”
“Why don’t you read a book? “asked Carolus.
“I’m not all that fond of reading,” explained Hilda. “Well, it’s a waste of time really, isn’t it? ”
“No,” said Carolus, and turned to see, greatly to his surprise, Keith Bourne come in with Wilma Day.
Keith also seemed surprised.
“I don’t think you’ve met,” he said, and introduced Wilma and Carolus.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the girl smiled. Priggley had been right—she was extremely pretty.
“I’ve just been telling Wilma about our shock this afternoon.”
“It must have been frightful for you all,” sympathized the girl.
“It was frightful for me,” said Keith, “because I knew Florrie. But Mr Deene took it very calmly. I suppose the police have been out there? ”
“They are there now.”
“Did you know the dead woman, Miss Day? “Carolus asked quietly.
“I met her once when we all went out there. She seemed an awfully nice kind sort of person.”
“She was,” said Keith.
It was evident to Carolus that these two were very much in love. Not from any gesture or sign of endearment, not even from looks exchanged or tone of voice, though it was implicit in all these. To use a rather grand word, Carolus thought, there was an aura about them. One knew that the comradeship they showed was merely external and that in wardly they were securely bound by ties which neither wanted to break. Their faces looked very young contrasted with the drooping and dissatisfied features of Hilda, and as usual with any young couple deeply in love they had a sort of pathos.