‘I’ll find a price for them,’ said Sam.
‘Ever so took up with them. He got me out of bed by throwing a stone at my window. At first I was angry because I thought he wanted a lemonade, but he told me he stopped by this afternoon and saw the pictures but couldn’t wait—’
At that moment a couple emerged from the bracken, attracted by the shouting and the noise. It was Mark Douglas, the landlord and Mrs D’Arcy, the blonde. They were joined almost immediately by yet another couple, who had been sitting in the bracken only a short distance away. These were Mr Walter D’Arcy and Mrs Mark Douglas. They stood staring at each other.
‘Mark!’ exclaimed Mrs Douglas.
‘My God! Cassy! And with one of my tenants!’
Walter D’Arcy stepped forward and tapped Mark Douglas on the shoulder. He pointed towards the blonde who was looking at him in mingled amazement and delight.
‘And that,’ said Mr D’Arcy, ‘is my wife.’
‘Walter!’ cried the blonde, stepping forward and throwing her arms around her husband’s neck. ‘You’ve been out with a woman!’
‘And about time too,’ said Walter, nodding.
‘I didn’t know you had it in you,’ said the blonde happily.
‘Cassy!’ exclaimed Mark Douglas again, his voice filled with pain. ‘That you could do a thing like this to me! Me, your husband!’
Suddenly he burst into tears. Then he fled home, weeping noisily. His wife followed him, an expression of triumph on her face, while the D’Arcys stood with their arms around each other, looking after them. Presently they, too, went walking homeward, holding hands and laughing.
Mrs Wiggs said to Sam, just as though nothing had happened to interrupt her: ‘And don’t shout at him, will you, Mr Marlow? Be nice to him. Perhaps it’s the change of your fortune. Don’t forget to tell him about your voice, too.’
‘What about my voice?’
‘The way it sings,’ said Mrs Wiggs.
‘Why?’ said Sam.
‘You never know,’ said Mrs Wiggs, ‘with millionaires.’
COMES LOVE
Sam Marlow and his friends stood in the moonlight by the roadside at the foot of the Sparrowswick Bungalow Estate. They could hear the sound of the Rolls-Royce engine decaying into the distance and occasionally the musical, jubilant blare of the electric hooter. All eyes were fastened on a piece of paper which Sam clutched in his hand. It was a cheque for two hundred pounds.
At last, when the engine noise had gone and the hooter was no longer disturbing the night, Sam said: ‘Now. Will someone tell me what just happened?’
Mrs Wiggs looked at him uncertainly. Then she said: ‘I’ll go in and make you a nice cup of tea.’
Sam patted her shoulder. ‘Stay, Wiggy. I want someone to repeat what the gentleman said. I want to know if you all heard what I heard.’
‘This is the way I heard it,’ said Jennifer soberly. ‘He said that you are a genius, Sam Marlow. He said your paintings rate with the finest contemporary art. He said he would personally purchase your entire collection and give a private exhibition in London. He said he would give you two hundred pounds for those with Mrs Wiggs and he would be visiting you next week to see the rest.’
Sam nodded at all this, thoughtfully, for it confirmed what he had heard. ‘What did I say to that?’ he asked.
Jennifer said: ‘You agreed you were a genius and you asked him for something on account.’
Sam flicked the cheque with his finger. ‘And I got it.’
‘And you got it,’ Jennifer agreed happily.
‘Nice work, Sammy,’ said Captain Wiles. ‘Very nice indeed.’
‘And what are you going to do with your good fortune?’ asked Miss Graveley.
‘Share it,’ said Sam promptly.
‘No, no,’ Miss Graveley hastened. ‘You mustn’t be too generous.’
‘That’s right, Sammy,’ said the new captain. ‘Got to think about your old age.’
‘That’s what I’m thinking about,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t mean share it with everybody. I mean share it with a good woman.’
Miss Graveley beamed benevolently. ‘How lovely! You’re going to marry?’
Jennifer stared at Sam. ‘You secretive old thing, Sam. You never told me you had a romance in view.’
Sam shrugged. ‘I thought it would be forward of me. After all, I only really met you today.’
‘Maybe so,’ Jennifer said. ‘But the first thing you told me was that I was the most wonderful, beautiful thing you’d ever seen. You might easily have turned my head – or, worse still, made me fall in love with you.’
‘Well, why shouldn’t you fall in love with me?’ said Sam. ‘I’m in love with you.’
‘Hold hard, Sammy boy,’ said the captain. ‘Don’t let a little dough shatter your sense of responsibility. Here you are talking about marrying somebody and in the next breath you say you’re in love with Jennifer.’
‘Well,’ said Sam, looking half puzzled and half truculent at his companions, ‘isn’t that the right thing to do? Isn’t that the right sequence? First I say I want to get married, then I say I love her—’
‘But Mr Marlow—’ Miss Graveley began.
‘I don’t comprehend,’ the captain admitted frankly.
Sam turned to Jennifer. ‘Do you, Jennifer?’ he asked in one of his softer tones.
Jennifer laughed a little nervously, then stopped and gulped. ‘You mean – you want to marry me?’
Sam tapped the cheque on his hand. ‘Why not?’
‘But …’ Jennifer searched her mind for some objection. ‘I’ve only just got my freedom,’ she said at last. ‘Just today.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Easy come, easy go,’ he said. ‘Besides, if you married me you would keep your freedom.’
Jennifer found a smile. ‘You must be practically unique then!’
‘I respect freedom,’ said Sam. ‘More: I love freedom. We would probably be the only free married couple in the world.’
Jennifer stared at the moon as though for guidance. Then she said:
‘This is very sudden. You’ll have to give me a little time, Sam.’
‘Only fair,’ said Sam reasonably. ‘I’ll give you till we get back to your bungalow.’
Mrs Wiggs gave up. ‘I think I’ll go back to bed,’ she said levelly, in a tone which implied that bed at least was something she could understand and appreciate.
‘You do that, Wiggy,’ said Sam, ‘and tomorrow I’ll give you your ten per cent.’
‘Good night, Mr Marlow,’ said Mrs Wiggs, fading into the shadows of the ivy on the Emporium wall so effectively that none of them was sure she had ever been there.
When they arrived back at Jennifer’s bungalow for supper Jennifer laid her hand on Sam’s arm.
‘I’ve decided, Sam,’ she said.
Sam looked at her expectantly. The new captain and Miss Graveley stopped at the gate behind them, waiting to hear Jennifer’s decision.
Jennifer said: ‘I think I will marry you, Sam, if you don’t mind. I’m fond of you; we have a great deal in common, and Abie needs a father.’
Sam put his arms around her with an air of enjoyment.
‘Then I can kiss you?’
‘Yes, please,’ Jennifer said, closing her eyes.
‘What a pretty sight!’ said Miss Graveley.
The captain ran his tongue around his teeth in a speculative manner as he watched the young couple embracing. He was remembering the bells he had heard that afternoon, and wondering if they had been in his head or in Sam’s.
Sam and Jennifer stood apart feeling pleased and satisfied and looking at each other as though viewing a new and delightful acquisition. Miss Graveley and the captain thrust themselves forward.
‘Congratulations, my dear,’ said Miss Graveley, kissing Jennifer lightly on the cheek. ‘What a neat arrangement!’
‘You’re a lucky man, Sammy,’ said the captain, wringing the artist’s hand. ‘I think you’ll be very happy toge
ther, up here in the woods like two love birds. And if I grumbled at all at my share of the work in burying Harry, then I’m sorry, for now I can see it was well worth it. If there’s anything else I can do for you two, I’m more than willing to lend a hand—’
‘Hold it!’ said Sam, withdrawing his hand and putting on a thoughtful expression.
‘What’s up, Sam?’ Jennifer said.
‘Harry,’ said Sam. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t finished with him yet, sweetheart’
‘I don’t understand,’ Jennifer said. ‘If anybody’s finished Harry is – he’s been buried three times.’
‘Before we can marry,’ Sam said gently, ‘you’ll have to prove that you’re free; to prove you’re free you’ll have to prove that Harry—’
‘—is dead,’ Jennifer finished. ‘What a horrid complication!’
‘Oh, I don’t know that it is,’ Miss Graveley said, looking at Captain Wiles expectantly.
‘What are you looking at me for?’ said the captain with alarm. ‘I’ll do anything to help you, Sammy, but please, please don’t ask me to dig up Harry again!’
‘Come, come now,’ Miss Graveley said reproachfully.
‘No,’ Jennifer said, grasping Sam’s arm. ‘We can’t do that.’
‘If you’re thinking of the publicity on your first unfortunate love affair—’ began Miss Graveley.
‘I’m not,’ said Jennifer. ‘I think Sam would be worth anything. I’m thinking of you, Miss Graveley. Murder is murder no matter how exonerating the circumstances, and it wouldn’t be at all nice for you.’
‘That’s right,’ said the captain. ‘Better let him stay where he is. You only have to wait seven years to presume death, anyway—’
‘Seven years!’ groaned Sam. ‘I’ll be an old man!’
‘Don’t be silly, Sam,’ Jennifer told him. ‘You’ve waited far longer than seven years already.’
Sam looked at her appraisingly. ‘Yes, but now I know what I’m waiting for,’ he said.
‘I insist you dig the wretched man up,’ said Miss Graveley. ‘I don’t care a jot what they say to me. They’ll only have to look at me to know the man must have been mad.’
‘I disagree!’ said the captain emphatically.
They looked at him. The captain looked at his feet and shuffled.
‘Really, Captain Wiles?’ Miss Graveley said, pleasantly.
The captain squared his shoulders. His heart was racing at an unusual speed for there had been something almost encouraging in Miss Graveley’s face and voice at that moment. ‘I’ll dig him up,’ he said.
THIS IS RIDICULOUS
At 1 a.m. the four people and the two spades made their way once more to the grave in the bracken. The heath at this hour was completely out of the world. The moon had crimsoned and swollen and was falling after the sun; between the trees and over the bracken and the shrubbery there lay the faint suspicion of a mist. It brought a thin chill to the air and lent an aspect of fairies and goblins and film sets.
Now Miss Graveley and Jennifer, wearing their coats across their shoulders like cloaks, stood in the darkness watching the captain and Sam disinter Harry for the third time.
Jennifer said suddenly, ‘I’ve been thinking.’
The men went on digging and Miss Graveley went on watching.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jennifer said, ‘that maybe we could forget the way it really happened.’
Sam stopped digging and looked across at her. Miss Grayeley looked at her. The captain went on digging.
‘I could tell how he visited me today and then went off in a temper. That’s all we need know of him being here,’ Jennifer said.
Miss Graveley had been considering all the possibilities and now she shook her head. ‘No. Somebody else might get the blame. And somebody else might not have such a good motive as I did. After all, you are allowed to kill in self-defence, aren’t you?’
Sam began pushing his spade into the ground again. ‘I wouldn’t worry about somebody else getting the blame,’ he said. ‘It could only be attributed to some person or persons unknown, the way it often happens.’
‘How do you know that?’ Miss Graveley asked. ‘I can think of at least two people on this heath with a good motive for having killed Harry.’
Sam stopped digging and this time so did the captain.
‘Go on,’ said Jennifer.
Miss Graveley smiled apologetically. ‘I’m only thinking of what the police would call a motive – first you, Jennifer, because you were married to him.’
‘That’s certainly a good motive,’ Jennifer agreed.
‘And so is Sam’s,’ Miss Graveley said. ‘Now.’
‘Mine?’ said Sam. ‘Why would I want to kill him? I never met him.’
‘You didn’t have to meet him to have a motive for killing him,’ Miss Graveley said gently.
‘She means me,’ Jennifer said. ‘Don’t you, Miss Graveley?’
Miss Graveley bowed her head slightly. ‘Of course.’
Sam gave a short, unconvincing laugh. ‘But I didn’t fall in love with Jennifer till after Harry was dead.’
‘Try telling that to the police,’ said Miss Graveley.
‘She’s right, Sammy boy,’ the captain contributed. ‘You’ve both been living up here in the woods a long time …’
Jennifer said: ‘On second thoughts we’d better stick to the truth.’
The men went on digging and a reflective silence fell upon the group. Soon they were scraping the last of the earth away from Harry with their hands. They dragged him out of the hole and laid him alongside.
Harry’s face was fixed coldly on the cold sky, and mingled with the tang of the earth they could detect the scent of his hair oil.
‘Ugh!’ said Jennifer.
Sam put his arm around her, then he said: ‘We’ll have to get the story right. Times and so forth. If it happened early afternoon we’ll have to think of some reason why the police weren’t informed before now. Then there’s the mess he’s in – that’ll take some explaining.’
‘We’ll have to clean him up,’ Jennifer said. ‘It’s horrible, but there’s nothing else for it. We can’t risk complicating Miss Graveley’s confession.’
‘And as for the delay,’ Miss Graveley said, ‘I can explain that I was so upset by the occurrence that I went straight home and rested.’
‘Only natural,’ said the captain.
‘They’ll think you rested a long time,’ Sam commented doubtfully.
‘That’s all right,’ Jennifer said. ‘Miss Graveley can tell them that she was too frightened to say anything about it but when she got to bed she found it was preying on her mind so she got up, dressed, and came down to ask my advice—’
‘They’ll think it a bit of a coincidence, won’t they? – I mean, since he was your husband?’ Sam asked.
Jennifer bit her lip, thinking. The new captain grabbed Harry’s feet suddenly and said: ‘Well, come on, we’d best get him down to the bungalows if we’re going to clean him up. P’raps we’ll think of a good story on the way down.’
Sam took Harry by the shoulders and the little procession got under way. They walked slowly and tiredly along the heath path and the mist swirled around them. Under the big oak tree near the top of the bungalow path they put their burden down on the dewy grass and squatted for a rest.
‘He seems to get heavier all the time,’ Sam complained, taking out a half of a cigarette while the captain thumbed his pipe bowl.
‘Listen!’ Miss Graveley exclaimed. ‘Somebody’s coming!’
‘Hide the body!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Quickly!’
‘Too late,’ said the captain. ‘Put your cigarette in his mouth, Sammy – go on!’
Sam hesitated only for a moment, then he stooped and thrust the glowing cigarette between the cold, stiff lips. All four of them ducked into the bracken.
A man came along the path. He came slowly, as though he were out for a leisurely constitutional. When he got close, the captain rec
ognised the tramp who had spat in Harry’s eye and stolen his socks and shoes earlier in the day. This tramp was holding a conversation with himself, and it seemed to the watchers that he might not notice Harry at all. But Harry’s bare feet were spread across the path and the tramp kicked them. He swore, stooped, and looked down into Harry’s face. He kicked Harry again, then, satisfied, he reached out his hand and plucked the smouldering cigarette stub from Harry’s mouth and put it into his own.
Sam, watching from the bracken, quivered, and it was only Jennifer’s restraining hand that kept him from leaping out to object to this acquisition of his property.
When the tramp had moved on, mumbling something from Virgil, Sam and the others came out and watched him out of sight.
‘People like that,’ said Miss Graveley, ‘have no sense of decency.’
‘Take Harry’s feet,’ Sam said to the captain.
The captain went to obey but immediately there came the sound of more footsteps, this time hurrying.
‘This is ridiculous!’ said Jennifer crossly. ‘No respectable people walk abroad at one o’clock in the morning.’
They had no time to plan anything before the newcomer was upon them. He was a tall, thin man, carrying a canvas bag under his arm and a butterfly net over his shoulder. He was walking quickly with his head down.
‘Dr Greenbow!’ said Jennifer.
‘Crikey!’ said the captain. ‘That butterfly must have given him a chase. I last saw him about eight hours ago, disappearing in a nor’-nor’-east direction.’
‘Good evening,’ said Sam politely when the doctor reached them.
But the doctor did not reply for he was fast asleep. Before they could do anything he had tripped over the body of Harry and fallen flat, his net prodding the captain in the stomach and his bag tumbling open on the ground. He sat up immediately, as one well used to being aroused from deep sleep into skilled alertness.
‘Hello!’ he said, his eyes wide open.
Sam stepped forward and helped the doctor to his feet. The doctor looked at Harry and said: ‘I beg your pardon; most careless of me—’ He broke off and looked around him, sudden panic showing in his eyes. ‘My Painted Lady! Where is she? What happened to my Painted Lady?’
The Trouble With Harry Page 9