The Longer Bodies

by Gladys Mitchell

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Very good for the digestion, ladies,’ said Bloxham, looking up from his papers, ‘but time flies.’

  ‘My own opinion exactly, inspector,’ said Miss Caddick, with an unusual degree of tartness. Mrs Bradley, the first bit of her work accomplished, retired gracefully into the background.

  ‘Now, please, Miss Caddick,’ said Bloxham easily. ‘To begin with, I believe it is correct to assume that you did not leave the house from dinnertime onwards on the night of Mr Anthony’s death.’

  ‘It is most certainly correct to assume so,’ replied Miss Caddick, in her best manner. (She would show this extraordinarily unladylike person in the exceedingly loud clothes that an undertaker’s daughter knew how to conduct herself on public occasions!) ‘As a matter of complete accuracy, inspector, I was mulcted of my little hour after dinner in the morning room because dear Mrs Puddequet had one of her restless evenings, and I was obliged to sit in her bedroom and read aloud to her. Then, of course, we heard that dreadful noise—’

  ‘What noise?’

  ‘Why, Mr Anthony. He threw a stone through Miss Cowes’s window and nearly kicked all the paint off the outside of the gate leading from the sports ground into the sunk garden.’

  The inspector glanced at one of the javelins which stood in a far corner of the room.

  ‘It was not a stone he threw,’ said Mrs Bradley, interpreting her cue. ‘It was a javelin.’

  ‘Really?’ There was no doubt of the genuine excitement in Miss Caddick’s voice. ‘A javelin? Somebody must have a—a—’

  ‘A javelin complex,’ interpolated Mrs Bradley, with one of her startling hoots of mirth. ‘This is the fourth javelin which has appeared in the play.’

  ‘I think,’ said Miss Caddick boldly, ‘that you speak too flippantly of serious things. Was there—was there blood on the javelin, inspector?’

  ‘The inference is that there was not,’ replied Bloxham gravely. ‘That doesn’t matter for the moment, though. At what time, Miss Caddick, did the first sound of disturbance come to your ears?’

  Miss Caddick considered the question. ‘Well,’ she said, with judicial impartiality, ‘I cannot see that there is any harm in telling you that. Mr Golightly gave it as eleven minutes to twelve, but I happen to know that Mr Golightly was somewhat fast.’

  ‘Er’—Bloxham’s mouth twitched ever so slightly—‘would you mind explaining who and where that gentleman was?’

  ‘Well, inspector,’ replied Miss Caddick coquettishly, ‘to set all your doubts at rest, I must explain that Mr Golightly is simply the grandfather clock which stands in Mrs Puddequet’s bedroom.’

  ‘I see,’ said Bloxham. ‘Thank you. Pray proceed.’

  ‘Well, I made it seventeen minutes to twelve.’

  ‘I see. Now, I wonder whether you noticed the time when you were awakened by the cry of fire.’

  ‘Oh, but I did,’ said Miss Caddick eagerly. ‘As soon as the alarm spread I flew to dear Mrs Puddequet’s room, because, of course, in the very natural confusion into which a household is thrown under the circumstances, I could not be certain whether the actual house or only one of the outbuildings was on fire, and dear Mrs Puddequet is helpless when it comes to a question of assuming her garments. Besides, I had to assist her into the bathchair in order that she should make her escape with the rest of us.’

  ‘You know,’ said the inspector, with great sincerity and admiration, ‘you’re a jolly brave woman to think about that cantankerous old body at such a time.’

  ‘Oh, but, inspector,’ said Miss Caddick, opening her pale eyes even more widely than usual, ‘it’s what I’m paid to do!’

  ‘At any rate,’ continued Bloxham, ‘you can swear to the time?’

  ‘According to Mr Golightly,’ said Miss Caddick, ‘it was exactly eight minutes to four; that is to say, allowing for Mr Golightly’s little idiosyncrasies, it was—eleven from fifty-two equals forty-one—er—twenty-one—no, no!—nineteen minutes to four.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Miss Caddick.’ The inspector finished writing, and then looked up with a smile. ‘Very helpful indeed. Now I’ve extracted a promise from Mrs Puddequet that she wouldn’t discuss what was said in here. I wonder whether you’d mind—?’

  ‘Oh, I will be dumb, inspector,’ said Miss Caddick fervently.

  Bloxham’s eyes twinkled.

  ‘Then so will I,’ he said, with a meaning wink. With great thankfulness Miss Caddick departed.

  The next in order on the sergeant’s list were the four maids and the cook. Beyond the fact that they had been considerably alarmed by the sudden disturbances; that the kitchenmaid, who, in her terror, had rushed out into the grounds in her nightdress, had been ordered back to the house to make herself ‘fit to be seen’—this by the formidable Mrs Macbrae; and that that redoubtable lady herself, with genuine foresight and courage, had stayed in the house long enough to collect a cold joint, two loaves of bread, and a gigantic jar of pickles from her store in order that, if the house were burnt down, the family might at least be able to have a meal in the morning—none of the five had anything helpful to report.

  Malpas and Francis Yeomond next followed one another into the official presence.

  ‘Well, Mr Yeomond,’ said Bloxham to each of them in turn, ‘I might as well tell you that you’re down on my list of suspected persons.’

  Each of the brothers smiled faintly at this piece of information, but with slightly lifted eyebrows, as though he were being told a weak jest which happened also to be in rather questionable taste.

  ‘You see, it’s deucedly awkward about you two,’ went on the inspector, cheerfully. ‘Can’t prove a single thing about you at present. Daren’t believe what you tell us! Can’t ignore it, either! You were in your hut at eleven-forty that night, I suppose?’ he asked each of them in turn, and each assented. ‘Alone?’

  ‘Alone and asleep. I knew Cowes was up at the house, you see, and we never lock the door of the hut, so I didn’t worry about his coming in. He could come when he pleased as far as I was concerned.’ This was the answer given by Malpas.

  ‘Quite alone,’ was Francis’s unhesitating reply. ‘Didn’t know in the least at what time to expect Brown-Jenkins. Knew he was out to paint the town, you see. I suppose I must have been asleep at the time you mention. Of course, the chap woke me with his cursing when he did get back. That was at about three o’clock. He was in a blazing temper about a punctured tyre or something, and woke me up to tell me about it. Well, long before he was through, Celia came and nearly kicked in the door of our hut, yelling, “Fire.” She was in a frightful stew, so out we dashed, and were first on the scene of action. We burst in the door and found H. was not inside, so we didn’t sweat much after that. Helped make a chain to the scullery for buckets of water, that’s all.’

  ‘This is interesting,’ said Bloxham. ‘You burst in the door, you say? Did you get burnt?’

  ‘No, not burnt. Got our faces scorched a bit and a blister or so on our hands. The hut was fairly well alight, though. I shouldn’t have gone in but for funk about H. Don’t know why Brown-Jenkins fagged. Glad he did. Could scarcely have burst the door in by myself.’

  ‘There were no iron bars outside the door?’ asked Bloxham keenly.

  ‘I really couldn’t say for certain, but I don’t think so. The first thing I said to Brown-Jenkins when he showed them to us on the following morning was to ask whether he had spotted them the night before, but he couldn’t remember one way or the other.’

  Bloxham nodded, and when Francis had been dismissed he turned to Mrs Bradley.

  ‘And there aren’t even fingerprints on the beastly things,’ he said mournfully. ‘Still, we know there is a practical joker in the house—’

  ‘Was,’ said Mrs Bradley, with a hideous leer.

  ‘Not Anthony?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, but, granted you’re right for the javelins and the—er—the bathchair, and so on—what about
Kost’s part in the business?’

  ‘Kost,’ said Mrs Bradley very decidedly, ‘had no part in the business.’

  ‘But Brown-Jenkins saw him,’ persisted Bloxham. ‘He was on the terrace the night Hobson was murdered.’

  ‘Saw his grandmother!’ retorted Mrs Bradley, with spirit. ‘He saw Anthony, of course, not Kost.’

  ‘Yes, but, look here! Those iron bars. A practical joke to try and make me think that the burning of Hilary Yeomond’s hut was an attempt on the lad’s life. You agree?’

  ‘With certain slight reservations, yes,’ said Mrs Bradley.

  ‘Well, you agree that at the time that hut was set on fire we may assume those iron bars were not there? The joker, whoever he or she was—because, of course, we mustn’t forget the ladies—’

  Mrs Bradley bowed ironically at this courteous inclusion of her sex. ‘—came along after the firefighters were gone, and drove those bars into the ground—’

  ‘After the fire was put out,’ supplied Mrs Bradley. ‘If that is so, inspector, how do you account for the fact that, although they had not been damaged by fire, those bars were still warm to the touch early next morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Bloxham, after a moment’s hesita-tion, ‘yes, there is that, of course.’

  Mrs Bradley cackled harshly.

  ‘And yet,’ went on Bloxham, ‘all the instincts of my turbulent youth rise up and inform me that, whether or not the iron bars were there when the fire actually broke out, the whole thing was either a joke, a plant, or a blind.’

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Bradley, nodding her black, birdlike head in approval, ‘you are talking sense, child. Can’t you go one step further?’

  ‘No,’ said Bloxham. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve thought until my brains were standing out like cords on the top of my head, but the next bit of that particular crossword defeats me. You see, if only Anthony had not been dead for three hours and more—’

  Mrs Bradley shook her head sadly.

  ‘Ah, well,’ she said philosophically. ‘Who is the next victim?’

  The sergeant, who had already glanced twice through the opening between the doors to find out whether they were ready to receive their next visitor, now received a nod for his pains, and called in a loud voice for Ludwig Kost.

  ‘Ludovic to you, my friend,’ said Kost angrily as he passed him. ‘You have the Anglo-Saxon pronouncement of names, perhaps.’

  ‘Sit down, Mr Kost,’ said the inspector. ‘I need not keep you long. It is my duty to warn you that you are on my list of suspected persons, and that you must be very careful this time not to mislead me. You understand?’

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ replied Kost good-humouredly. ‘I must dot the i’s.’

  ‘No. Just mind the p’s and q’s, that’s all,’ said the inspector. ‘Now then. Tell me all that you did from dinnertime onwards on the night of Mr Anthony’s death.’

  Kost reflected.

  ‘You will not be too hard on me, perhaps, if I go back and put in things I forgot first time?’ he asked.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said the inspector briefly.

  ‘I have my supper very early, perhaps,’ began Kost, ‘as I am going to the lecture at the village hall. Mr Anthony has some food also, because he will not be present at dinner, as he proposes to accompany me.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Anthony went with you to the lecture. How long did the lecture last?’

  ‘To the minute I could scarcely say, perhaps. What about nine o’clock?’

  The inspector nodded. He had obtained outside and perfectly reliable evidence that the lecture had ended just after nine.

  ‘Good enough,’ he said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Mr Anthony excuses himself when we arrive at the public house. I understand. Gentlemen do not go to the public house with their trainers when it is in their own village where they are lord of the manor, no. I go in. Mr Anthony walks down the road in the direction of the house. I think he is lucky, perhaps, to be in time for the port and the smokes. Very nice, that. So I drink my stout and laugh with the comrades there in the bar, and pass a little jest with the host, perhaps, and at half-past nine by the public house clock—he is ten minutes fast, you remember’—he grinned in unregenerate manner at the inspector—‘I return to my hut. No more comfortable beds in the house!’ His grin widened. ‘Hard bed in the hut now! But I soon fall asleep, perhaps, and I dream I am winning the world’s championship at figure skating. Ah, what a notion that! Then I am awakened. Shouting there is. I to the burning hut so quickly run!’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Bloxham pleasantly. ‘And when did you stick those two iron rods in the ground outside the door of the blazing hut?’

  ‘A great sinfulness, perhaps,’ said Kost, his face darkening. ‘Did I for certain know which of them did that, I would wring his neck for him, I think.’

  ‘I asked when you put them there,’ said the inspector.

  Kost stared at him.

  ‘I did not put them there, as you very well know, perhaps,’ said he. ‘Madam believes me!’ He turned and made Mrs Bradley a polite bow.

  ‘I do,’ said Mrs Bradley emphatically. ‘But I believe you have some idea in your head, Mr Kost, as to the identity of the person who did put them there.’

  Kost smiled.

  ‘It is only a suspicion, madam. There is no proof, perhaps. It was this way. When Miss Celia Brown-Jenkins cries the cry of “Fire” I am awakened at once. I sleep well, but lightly, perhaps. I arise. I pull on my trousers and coat. Out to the fire I run. I run very fast. Two hundred metres champion, but sprain my leg just before the Games. I click my tongue at that. Bad luck, Kost. You the laurel wreath have not obtained. Never mind. I run to the fire. But my hut, is it not further off from Mr Hilary’s hut, perhaps, than the hut of Mr Brown-Jenkins and Mr Yeomond? So I arrive third. But no! Not third. Lo and behold, perhaps! I, Kost, over two hundred metres the fast runner—am beaten by—whom do you think?—Mr Cowes! Yes! Now I think to myself how can this be? But I do not think so at the time, because, after all, the hut of Mr Cowes is very near the hut of Mr Hilary Yeomond. But later I hear that Mr Cowes has not slept in his own hut. He has been up here at the house playing chess until too late to get back through the sunk garden. How, then, does he get from the house to Mr Yeomond’s hut before I, Kost, can get from my hut to Mr Yeomond’s hut? There is an answer. He arrives there not only before me, but before Mr Malpas Yeomond and Mr Brown-Jenkins, isn’t it? He is in hiding. It does not do for him to seem to be first on the scene. Too suspicious, that. So he turns up in the third place, forgetting that I, Kost, can make even seconds always over your English hundred, and so should arrive before anyone from the house can arrive.’

  ‘But—Cowes?’ said the inspector, frowning. ‘Would he play a stupid joke like that? And how did he know the hut would be set on fire that night?’

  ‘He set it on fire himself, I suppose,’ said Mrs Bradley placidly. ‘He was the man who decoyed Hilary Yeomond out of danger, you see.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s exactly my point,’ said Bloxham. ‘What was the idea?’

  ‘Ah, now,’ said Mrs Bradley seriously. ‘That is what we must find out. I wonder what opportunity he had for thrusting those iron bars into the ground without being seen?’

  ‘Oh, plenty of opportunity, madam,’ said Kost. ‘But, to be just, so had every one of us, perhaps. The shouting, the confusion, the black figures against the flames indistinguishable, the running for water—who is to be certain what anybody did?’

  ‘And there you are, you see,’ said Bloxham, when Kost had been dismissed. ‘We can’t prove anything.’

  ‘Yes, but that was a very good point he made about Cowes being the third person on the scene,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You see, the practical joker of the family was certainly Anthony. But at the time the hut caught fire Anthony was certainly dead. There can be no doubt about that, I suppose?’

  ‘Oh, none whatever,’ replied the inspector. ‘The medical evidence at the inquest yesterday gave the time of death
as before midnight.’

  ‘Eleven forty-three,’ said Mrs Bradley thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes. And yet it is too much to suppose that the burning of the hut had nothing to do with the more terrible event of the night,’ said Bloxham. ‘What about changing the order of interviewing these people and having Richard Cowes in next? I should like to hear what he’s got to say for himself before we go any further.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  And the Cowes Jumped Over the Moon

  RICHARD COWES CAME in chewing a piece of rhubarb. At the sight of Mrs Bradley’s revolted countenance, however, he slipped it swordwise into the silk cummerbund he was wearing round his waist, and smiled amiably.

  ‘Good morning, Prophetess,’ said he.

  Mrs Bradley, who, during a long, chequered, and interestingly varied career, had been addressed in almost all the known ways, in most of the known languages, started visibly and with assumed horror.

  ‘“Oh, no, oh, no, True Thomas, she said,”’ quoted she with a fearful leer, ‘“that name does not belong to me. I’m but the queen of fair Elfland—”’

  She ended on a hoot of mirth which surprised even the bovine Constable Copple on the other side of the folding doors. He took a step nearer the sergeant and whispered behind a large raw hand:

  ‘’Ave you ’eard tell o’ that there Irish banshee?’

  ‘Ah,’ replied the sergeant, who disliked Mrs Bradley intensely, ‘and I’ve ’eard tell of that there Orstralian laughing jackass, too, an’ all.’

  Richard Cowes took the chair which the inspector indicated, and hitched it round so that Mrs Bradley was included in the circle for conversation.

  ‘Now, Mr Cowes,’ said the inspector. Richard leaned forward with that air of benign interest best shown by clergymen who are about to listen to dear little Brian’s rendering of a piece about the pretty daisies, and beamed encouragingly. ‘You are on my list of suspected persons,’ continued Bloxham sternly.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Richard sweetly. ‘Suspected of what?’