The inspector nodded, thanked him, and Malpas returned to the house, while the police officers went back to Market Longer.
‘There’s something that I haven’t got hold of,’ said Bloxham sorrowfully to the superintendent at Market Longer Police Station. ‘Look here, I’ve charted it according to the statements they’ve given me, and this is how it works out.’
He handed his chart to the superintendent, who glanced at it, and then, frowning, bent over it more closely and checked up the number of names written at the left-hand side.
‘You haven’t yet got on to the man Herring, I see,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a complaint about him, by the way. He’s been stealing rabbits.’
He found a letter and handed it across to the inspector. Bloxham perused it, frowning. Then, handing it back, he said:
‘Well, if that’s true, it either clears him of being suspected of the murder or implicates him pretty thoroughly. I hadn’t got on to him simply because I haven’t tackled any of the servants yet. And I haven’t tackled the servants because I don’t believe it was a servant’s job. I’m convinced in my own mind that the murder was committed by someone who stood on the terrace and dropped something heavy and hard on to Hobson’s head as he stood cursing below in the sunk garden. If you’ll have a look at this plan—it’s fearfully rough, but I daresay it will serve to show what I mean—you’ll be able to take in the position better.’
The superintendent studied the chart and plan side by side as Bloxham expressed his theory.
‘Hobson stood here, where I’ve marked in a letter H,’ said he, ‘and the murderer would have been up here at M. Hobson had come to the house full of a grievance. He was disgustingly drunk, and that’s why he missed the steps in the dark. There was sufficient light in all the rooms—three in number—which open on to the terrace to give him the impression that his loud and repeated imprecations would certainly be heard. They were heard. Somebody came out on to the terrace from one of those three rooms and—well, bumped him off with a brick or something. Now, the three rooms are the drawing room, breakfast room, and library. In the drawing room were Malpas, Francis, and Priscilla Yeomond, with Celia Brown-Jenkins; in the breakfast room was Miss Caddick—she seems to make that her special little domain after dinner until she goes to bed—and in the dining room was Richard Cowes, and in the library was Clive Brown-Jenkins. Now, the first four can all account for each other—’
‘Supply each other with an alibi, in short,’ said the superintendent.
‘Yes, if you like. The other three were alone, at any rate for part of the time, so whether one of them is guilty is a matter open to investigation. That leaves Mr Anthony—oh, well! You can see from the chart what everybody was doing and at what time. Of course, these are their own yarns, investigated and corrected by me. I’ll just stick in Herring from the report in this letter, though. You see, he could have done it. It would have been possible. And then he would have used the rabbit stealing at Colonel Digot’s place as a blind.’
The superintendent placed the chart on top of the plan and read the former in an undertone. It ran:
Mrs Hobson.—Plenty of motive. No alibi. Movements on night of murder unchecked until twelve midnight, when she went and knocked up Constable Copple of Little Longer.
Inferred: That she could have committed the crime, but that she could not have transported body to lake without assistance. No accomplice, so far as can be traced. Is a nonswimmer.
Mr Brown-Jenkins.—No motive come to light, but behaviour on night of crime very suspicious. Admitted, under cross-examination, took Anthony on back of bicycle to Market Longer station. No alibi until one-thirty a.m. Explains that he was reading in the library until twelve-thirty a.m. or so, but movements unchecked until one a.m., when seen by sister in bedroom (empty) of Miss Yeomond. No alibi after one forty-five a.m. until sunrise. Explanations of own movements very unconvincing, but probably could not have heard Hobson’s voice from library, if he really was there. Swimmer.
Messrs. Malpas, Francis, and Hilary Yeomond.—No motive. Holeproof alibi until eleven-twenty p.m. Then Mr Francis and Mr Hilary no alibi until sunrise, but Mr Malpas shared hut with Mr Cowes.
Mr Anthony.—No actual motive, although probably knew Hobson and wife better than anyone did except for Mrs Puddequet and the servants at Longer. Suspicious behaviour, culminating in refusal to account for himself after nine-four p.m. on night of murder.
Mr Kost.—No motive, so far as is known, but went every evening to village public house where murdered man was frequent visitor. May have quarrelled there, but no evidence to support this hypothesis at present. Admits he was drinking in public house at nine-thirty p.m. Gives time of return to house as being ten-twenty p.m. (Could have committed murder between these times, and this would fit in with medical evidence at inquest relative to time of death.) Tells story of hearing Hobson at gate of sunk garden, and says ran him out into road and heard no more of him. Story of all movements after nine-forty p.m. (nine-fifty p.m. by public-house clock) entirely uncorroborated. No alibi to cover time of murder, or any subsequent hour until sunrise. Swimmer.
Miss Cowes.—No possible motive. Entire stranger to locality. Arrived at Market Longer station just after three a.m. and walked to Longer. Arrived not earlier than four a.m. Swimmer.
Mrs Puddequet.—No motive. Physically impossible for her to have
(a) committed crime.
(b) transported body to lake.
Indicated she was in bathchair being pushed very swiftly round cinder running track at one a.m. on night of murder. Noise of wheels and time sworn (independently) by Miss Yeomond and Mr Jenkins.
Miss Brown-Jenkins.—No motive. Alibi until one forty-five a.m., and then presumed in room with Miss Yeomond until sunrise. Saw brother bending over bed at one-thirty a.m. Swimmer.
Miss Yeomond.—No motive. Alibi until sunrise (as Miss Jenkins’s roommate). Heard suspicious noises at one a.m. Investigated. Saw bathchair, but too dark to recognize occupant. Swimmer.
Miss Caddick.—No known motive. No alibi from end of dinner until sunrise. Opportunity for murder (was in room overlooking sunk garden until ten-thirty according to own undisputed statement), but incapable of transporting body to lake without assistance.
Mr Cowes.—No motive. No alibi until nearly eleven-thirty. Confesses to hearing noise of Hobson in garden below. Opportunity for murder, but presumably no chance of transporting body to lake, unless did this immediately murder was committed. Is of meagre stature, however, and the body that of very heavy man. Also, risky proceeding, because blood might have stained clothing. N.B.—Have carried out investigation of clothing of all above gentlemen, assisted by Sergeant Rollins. Nothing suspicious discovered.
Joseph Herring.—From information in possession of headquarters, appears Herring at large on night of murder, engaged in stealing rabbit or rabbits. Suspected to be a blind, but might prove an alibi. No motive for crime so far as is known, but was probably acquainted with deceased and deceased’s wife. Cannot swim.
The superintendent looked up.
‘A lot of blank spaces, my lad,’ he said seriously. ‘Any number of these people could have done it easily. You’ll have to have another go at ’em, and, if I may say so, in the following order.’
He drew a sheet of paper towards him, and, consulting the inspector’s chart from time to time, wrote the names in a column. He passed the list to the inspector. Bloxham glanced at it and nodded.
‘And then, if that gets you no farther, have a go at the servants,’ urged the superintendent. ‘We must get a move on, Bloxham, you know. Have you seen the local paper? It’s not as charming to us as it was three days ago. Put your back into it, laddie.’
Bloxham marched to the door.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ said the superintendent, just as he turned the handle, ‘find out exactly what that chap Kost did do! I don’t like these foreigners! There’s always something fishy going on when they’re about.’
With this
truly ‘roast-beef’ sentiment, he turned to his own affairs, and bent his bullet head over his papers. Suddenly he rose and walked quickly out after the inspector.
‘Oh, Bloxham!’ he called.
The inspector turned and came back.
‘That swimming stunt. Mrs Hobson a nonswimmer, you know. That’s a good move. Must have been a jolly good swimmer who fixed the body and the statue together. Oh, and why harp on the sunrise when checking everybody’s alibi?’
Bloxham grinned.
‘Not exactly a daylight job, that planting the body in the brook,’ he said. ‘Besides, it was very early in the morning, you remember, when Mr Hilary Yeomond dived in on top of it.’
‘Now, those three Yeomonds, for example, and Kost, too,’ pursued the superintendent, following out the new idea, ‘jolly good swimmers, all of them. It was Malpas Yeomond and Kost who hiked the corpse out of the lake, wasn’t it? And Hilary can certainly swim. We’ve proof of that. What about Francis?’
‘I don’t know. I expect he can swim if the others can, but it doesn’t always follow,’ said the inspector.
‘No. You know, Bloxham, there was certainly an accomplice. You mention that the women could not have carried the body without assistance, but neither man nor woman could fix it to that statue and place the lot right in the middle of the lake without an accomplice. My advice would be—find the accomplice as soon as you can. Concentrate on finding him. He may be a squeaker.’
‘Didn’t know you knew that song,’ said the inspector innocently.
‘Song?’
‘“Hats off to Edgar Wallace,”’ said Bloxham, making a smart retreat down the passage. ‘Besides,’ he called back, ‘there was the bathchair to transport the body. I believe old Mrs Puddequet’s a liar. In fact, I’m sure she is!’
Chapter Nine
Kost and Caddick, or the Babes in the Wood
THE INSPECTOR, DESPITE the flippancy of his tone, felt serious enough as he left the police station at Market Longer and began walking towards the village. He might have found some means of transport other than his own legs, but the action of walking stimulated thought, and he wanted to think.
By the time he gained the gates of Longer he had made up his mind how to proceed. Disregarding the list made by the superintendent, he demanded to see Miss Caddick, and, almost before she was inside the room, he fired his first question at her.
‘Miss Caddick, how many times has Mrs Puddequet’s bathchair been used at nights?’
‘When you say “at nights,” inspector,’ squeaked Miss Caddick, her restless hands giving away the state of her nerves, ‘what do you mean?’
‘After Mrs Puddequet’s usual bedtime,’ snapped the inspector.
‘Oh, yes. Thank you. Well, apart from the night of the—er—apart from the particular and unfortunate—I might say, might I not?—disastrous night that we all know about, the bathchair has been out, at any rate, once during the night.’
‘Before or after the murder?’
‘Oh, before, inspector. Oh, yes, before.’
‘When?’
‘Now, let me see . . . The murder was on Friday, and this is Tuesday and I told Mr Hilary about it, and he gave me his word it was not them—they—er—them—that is, they had not played a practical joke with it on the Thursday—or was it the Wednesday? Well, it was either the Wednesday or the Thursday because I remember saying to Joseph Herring how wet it was, and how disturbed I should be if dear Mrs Puddequet caught cold through sitting in it—on it—er—in it. No, now I come to think of it, it was on the Thursday night, because I remember telling Mr Hilary about it the next day, and the next day was the morning of the murder. Of course, we did not know then that it was the morning of the murder, but, looking back on it now, of course that is the morning it was. Yes. So wet! We dried it by the kitchen fire. Mrs Macbrae was so obliging. Joseph, too. He said he should be dismissed from his post if dear Mrs Puddequet thought that he had been negligent. And, of course, he had been negligent. Very negligent indeed, was it not, to forget to lock the shed door after the bathchair had been put away? Not that Joseph owned up to forgetting to lock the shed door after the bathchair had been put away! In fact, he was almost discourteous when I ventured to suggest that such had been the case. But if he had done his duty—done his bit, as our dear soldiers said in the Great War—how could the bathchair have been taken out? Not—as I pointed out to Mr Hilary, who was very sympathetic—not, I said, through a locked door that is locked. What do you say, inspector?’
‘I say that you have told me a very important thing, Miss Caddick,’ replied Bloxham. ‘This means, you see, that someone else besides Herring had a means of entering the shed where the bathchair is kept, because, having forgotten to lock it on Thursday, it is hardly likely that he would have forgotten to do so on Friday as well, is it? And we know the bathchair was in the grounds on Friday night.’
‘Herring may have been bribed for the key,’ said Miss Caddick in hushed, ecstatic tones. (The talkie she had been to in London was founded on fact, then, she felt!)
‘Possibly,’ the inspector agreed.
‘Or Herring himself,’ began Miss Caddick, envisaging another, and even more thrilling and perturbing possibility.
‘No!’ shouted the inspector suddenly. Miss Caddick nearly leapt into the air with shock. By the time she had recovered herself, he had gone.
He found Herring in the kitchen garden hoeing up some potatoes, and called to him.
‘Who gave you permission to lend anyone the key of the shed where the bathchair is kept?’ he demanded.
Joseph avoided his eye.
‘I never asked no permission,’ he observed in an aggrieved tone, ‘and I never lent no key.’
‘No?’ said Bloxham, in a peculiarly unpleasant tone. He waited for a moment, but, as the Scrounger volunteered no further information, he continued, ‘I suppose some clever Ali Baba simply stood outside the door and said, “Open, Sesame” and open it did! Now, don’t be a fool, Herring. Who had the key of the shed on Thursday, April seventeenth, and on Friday, April eighteenth?’
‘Nobody never ’ad it,’ said the Scrounger doggedly.
‘Show me the shed,’ said the inspector curtly.
‘Key’s in the kitching. You’ll ’ave to arst for it yourself, inspector, because that there cuttlefish in there, she’ll ’ave my ’ead orf if I pokes it inside ’er door this time in the day.’
‘Key!’ yelled Bloxham, giving him an authoritative thump in the small of the back. The Scrounger went off at the double.
‘Oh, two bathchairs,’ said the inspector, when at last the shed was opened. ‘One gone pretty well home, I see. This the one in use? Bring it outside and let’s have a look at it. Pity it can’t talk, isn’t it?’
He straightened himself and looked at Joseph.
‘Well, you going to spill it?’ he enquired.
‘Spill nothing,’ said Joseph sullenly. ‘I locks up the shed Thursday and I locks up the shed Friday, and more I can’t say. I can’t ’elp it if somebody’s took a wax impression of the key and got a spare one cut, can I?’
‘Look here,’ said Bloxham, with finality in his tones, ‘either you tell me what you know, or I nab you now, this moment, as an accessory after the fact. Know what that means?’
‘Ah,’ said Joseph, expectorating apprehensively. ‘Spare part in a murder.’
‘Exactly. And you get a life sentence for that, Herring, my lad. So cough it up, quick, and don’t waste my time any longer.’
‘Well, I don’t know, mind,’ said Joseph, clearing his throat again and addressing Miss Caddick’s bird bowl, ‘but what about Mr Anthony?’
The inspector was off almost before the last word emerged from Herring’s mouth. He found Anthony in the gymnasium. He was practising on the ladder, and seemed dispirited.
‘I wish you’d lend me your key to the back shed,’ said Bloxham casually. ‘Herring has mislaid his.’
‘Key?’ said Anthony. ‘I haven’t one
, I’m afraid, that will fit the back shed. Sorry.’
The inspector scowled at him.
‘Think again,’ he said briefly. Anthony shook his head.
‘Sorry,’ he said again.
‘Well, if you haven’t a key,’ said Bloxham, ‘how did you get the bathchair out of the shed on Thursday night and Friday night of last week?’
Anthony shook his head again, and said sadly:
‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about, you know.’
‘Oh!’ said Bloxham.
There was a short pause.
‘No,’ said Anthony. He gave a slight spring and continued his gymnastic exercises.
The inspector went back to Miss Caddick.
‘What would you say, Miss Caddick, if I told you that Mr Anthony gained admission to the shed and took the bathchair out?’ he said.
Miss Caddick blinked nervously.
‘Well, since you put it to me, inspector,’ she piped, ‘I should say I am not surprised. Not in the least surprised! A dreadfully unsatisfactory young man in every way. I have no doubt that his intention was for dear Mrs Puddequet to catch her death of cold, so that he could inherit her property, which, of course, according to her new will, he would certainly do if she died before one of the grandnephews becomes an international champion.’
The inspector gaped at her.
‘Say it again,’ he begged feebly. Miss Caddick said it again.
‘Of course, my own little legacy is secure,’ she continued. ‘I have dear Mrs Puddequet’s word for that. So I do hope, inspector, that you will make it quite clear to everyone that I have no motive for committing any crime.’
The inspector looked at her with new interest.
‘And now,’ he said, ‘what were you doing between nine and eleven-thirty on the night of the murder?’
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