"That'll be fine, Maggie. So sorry to be a nuisance . . . "
"Aw, if makin' a few sandwiches is the worst o' this night's misfortunes, I shan't be worryin'. But it won't be. Listen to that wind. . . . The Gaalyn Oie'l Mian. . . . An' I've heard the gallopin' horses, too, and when one of the Kaighens of Michael hears them, there's goin' to be loss of life at sea. Mark my words . . ."
The Archdeacon, eager to be hearing the news, shooed his housekeeper away.
"Awright, awright. But don' say I didn't warn ye . . ."
"What is it, Littlejohn?"
Letty had taken the dog down the road. She never made a point of intervening in her husband's cases, but she had a good idea of what was coming.
"Fantastic . . . "
The Chief Inspector sat down wearily in a chair.
"The whole thing's fantastic! It's Perrick. As far as I can see, he's aiding and abetting the doctor and Mrs. Fallows in getting away with the murder of Levis. And the reason he seems to be doing it, is that he's fallen for Mrs. Fallows . . ."
"No! Not Sid Perrick. Surely there's some other reason."
"What other? Look at the facts. Cedric Levis vanishes just as he's about to run away with Margat Crowe. He and Pamela Fallows have been having an affair. He throws Pam over for Margat."
"That's feasible so far. Go on."
"Levis is killed, and his weighted body dumped out at sea. There it would have remained and never been seen or heard of again, had not Tom Cashen gone and fortuitously fished it up whilst scallop-dredging. Even then, it remained unidentified. It was likely to remain so, because the surgeon who examined it and the Inspector on the case, were both concerned in the crime."
The parson looked up quickly.
"But that presupposes the husband and the lover harmoniously co-operated. Surely that wasn't the case."
"The husband might not have known the policeman was the lover. They weren't deliberately working together. Each might have thought the other a bit dimwitted in not perceiving the obvious. For example, all the time, I've been struck myself by Perrick's slowness in not arresting Fallows. The doctor confessed to knocking down Crowe and is still at large. Why? Because Perrick has turned a blind eye and delayed action. That is because he either knows Pam Fallows knocked down Crowe . . . "
"Wait, Littlejohn. If the doctor confessed to it . . ?"
"He confessed to it just as he confessed to the murder he thought his wife had committed. Charlie Kelly saw a woman waiting for Crowe to set out for Peel on the night he met with his accident. She followed Crowe a little time after he left. It must have been Pam Fallows, not the doctor; but Dr. Fallows when we discovered damage on his car pointing to the accident, again took the blame. And there is another thing which has puzzled me, which now becomes plain. Both Quiggin, who saw the accident, and Ned Crowe spoke of it happening at eight. Yet Perrick, the clever observant Inspector, said over and over again, eight-fifteen . . . eight-fifteen. . . . Why? I think he was trying to give Pam Fallows an alibi. She must have been somewhere at, say eight-fifteen and, had we pressed it, could have produced witnesses. Instead, Dr. Fallows ruined it all by saying he did it. And Perrick didn't arrest him, because he knew it wasn't so. Whatever he was prepared to do for Pam Fallows, he was too decent to saddle her husband with the blame."
There was a pause as Maggie Keggin brought in the sandwiches. Her face was grim as she laid the cloth, set the table, and poured out the coffee.
"Mrs. Littlejohn's takin' her food with me in the kitchen. She's havin' a proper meal; not bird-food. . . . "
And as she reached the door she addressed the Archdeacon.
"Did you hear that . . ?"
"That? What?"
"There's a tree fell by the bridge. But you wouldn't be hearin' the likes. The Kaighen horses are out. There'll be deaths at sea this night. Listen to the gale . . . "
The house shook with the gusts, even in that sheltered valley, and they could hear the trees outside groaning in the wind.
"It looks as if she'll be right. . . ."
The parson shook his head.
"I hope our little ships, to say nothing of the big ones, are in safe shelter to-night; but it's a forlorn hope, I fear . . . "
Another blast of the gale hit the old house like a battering-ram, but the sturdy walls resisted it like a rock.
Cromwell had been sitting thoughtfully, munching his sandwich.
"It must have given the doctor quite a turn when you produced the alibi he didn't want," he said quietly.
"Perrick's mistake was in trying to show his assiduousness and also trail a red-herring, by arresting Johnny Corteen. Perrick must have intended releasing Johnny in due time, because he obviously couldn't let him hang for a crime he'd not done. But the arrest of Johnny brought me over. Otherwise, probably the case would have gone into unsolved files. It must have shaken Perrick when the Archdeacon produced me in the role of amateur on the case. He couldn't keep away from me, asking how I was getting along, wanting to know what I'd discovered. He even had my telephone calls to the mainland tapped and reported."
"But it surely wasn't he who tried to smash you up in the car at Kewaigue, Littlejohn?"
"No. The large car was one the Fallowses hire at Peel now and then. Perrick must have confided in Pam Fallows just how far I was getting on the case. He must have told her over the telephone when I went to Douglas about the telephone calls and she set out in the hired car intent on murder. As it has slowly been revealed that I was getting on her trail, she's become rattled almost to madness. She was round here with a rifle, according to Joe Henn, the other evening and was presumably thinking of taking a pot-shot at me. Perrick arrived and found her and put the idea out of her head."
"But why was Perrick so anxious to keep Margat Crowe away? What good did that do?"
"Another red-herring. Whilst Margat remained silent, we were bound to think the murder was something to do with her running off with Levis. Now we've found her, we know there was no jealous rival in the background, and that Perrick wasn't in love with her. Perhaps she'll soon be able to make her father talk and tell us what he saw that afternoon."
"What's to say Ned Crowe didn't kill Levis to save Margat from him?"
"Nothing. But why all this fuss and bother by Perrick and Fallows? Neither of them would be likely to take the blame for a man like Crowe. I admit that if the Fallows couple and Perrick can clear themselves of their strange behaviour, we might have to turn to Ned Crowe, even now. He and Dora Quine are the last of the suspects."
"Dora Quine?"
"Oh, she was fond enough of Levis and resented Pam Fallows taking him from her. She told me she was engaged, and tried to make out that she put up a great fight for her virtue against Levis. But if he'd asked her to go to San Remo, instead of Margat, she wouldn't have been able to pack a bag quickly enough. In fact, there's just as much reason for suspecting her as Pamela Fallows, if the doctor and Perrick hadn't drawn us off her trail."
"What do we do now?"
"Do you know where Hopley is, Cromwell?"
"Yes. Buckinghamshire. We once had a jewel robbery there. You remember, sir? The Ridgway case. . . ."
"Yes. I wonder if they know Pam Fallows there and what they can tell us about her."
"Why? What's Hopley to do with it, Littlejohn?"
"She used to be a member of Hopley Rifle Club. When I called earlier this evening, I was looking round for the rifle Joe Henn mentioned. Instead, I found a trophy she'd won at Hopley. May I use your 'phone, parson?"
"It's likely to be tapped, isn't it?"
"That doesn't matter now, sir. In fact, it's all to the good. I hope to set a trap for Perrick that way later."
It took about five minutes to get Hopley. Littlejohn was lucky. Later that night half the lines were down.
"Hullo. . . . Hopley Police here . . ."
"Chief Inspector Littlejohn, of Scotland Yard."
"Eh? Isn't that the Isle of Man?"
"I'm on a case here. . . ."<
br />
"How d'y do, sir! This is Sergeant Mallory. Remember me on the Ridgway case, sir?"
"Yes. How are you? Look Mallory. Do you happen to remember anybody in Hopley called Fallows, Pamela Fallows, married a Dr. Fallows? They live here now."
"Fallows? Can't say I do, off-hand, like. Who was she?"
"Won the championship for ladies' rifle-shooting in 1948."
"Oh . . . . Yes, I remember. I'm a member of the men's section, sir. But that was Pamela Hartnell. Now, I remember! She was married when she won the shield. I'd forgot her married name. Yes, she was a native of here. I knew the whole family. Pamela, Irene, and their father and mother. Nice lot they were, too."
"What about the rest of the family?"
"All dead, sir. The old lady died last year, the father durin' the war, and Miss Irene was killed in the bombing . . . a WREN she was . . . ."
Littlejohn paused. A WREN. Where had he heard that before?
"Are you there, sir?"
"Yes. A WREN, you say? Was she killed on duty?"
"On leave, sir. In London. It broke her dad's heart and he wasn't long in following her. She was just goin' to be married, too. To a policeman, of all people."
"A policeman? Where from?"
"A sort of security officer drafted from the force. Now I come to think of it, sir, I think he was from the Isle of Man. Lucky I know so much about the Hartnells, sir. You see, old Mr. Hartnell died in his seat one night at the pictures and there was an inquest. I was in charge of it. I was a constable then and the old lady told me quite a lot. . . . Are you there, sir?"
"Yes, Mallory, I'm here. Thank you so much. You've told me all I wanted to know. Good night. . . ."
"Well, Littlejohn, did you have any luck?"
The Archdeacon's face was bright and eager.
"More than enough, sir. Had Pamela Fallows's sister, Irene, lived, instead of being blown to bits by a bomb in the war, Sid Perrick would have been Pamela's brother-in-law. He was going to marry Irene."
"Good God!" said Cromwell. "You mean for the sake of his old girl, Perrick had taken the Fallowses under his wing, and even risked his career and going to gaol?"
"That's about it. I never believed Perrick was a criminal. Now, I think more of him than ever. It only makes what we've got to do harder. We obviously can't let this go on any longer. We've got to get to the bottom of it and find the culprit. I've got to spring the trap now and bring Perrick out into the open. I'll have to telephone again."
This time he left the door into the hall open so that his friends could hear what was going on.
"Give me Whitehall 1212. Scotland Yard, please. The Assistant Commissioner. . . ."
"Lucky if he's in at this hour. At any rate, there'll be somebody to deal with it."
Cromwell explained it to the Archdeacon sotto voce, which Littlejohn could hear all the way in the hall and above the nagging of the gale.
"Yes. . . . Hullo Harvey, Littlejohn here. I thought he'd be at home by now, but there's something requires immediate attention. Could you get the Chief Constable of the Isle of Man, and if you have any trouble on the line, use the radio. It's blowing a hellish gale here, and the lines might be down later. I want the Chief Constable to be advised to call in Scotland Yard at once on the Levis murder case. Yes, Levis. And for me to be authorized to take over. I'm afraid one of the local police officers is involved in it, so you see why I think they ought to have an independent man on it. . . . Right. I'll wait till I hear from the Chief. My address is The Vicarage, Grenaby. . . Grenaby 4149. . . . Thanks, Harvey. . . . Good-bye. . . ."
"I'm afraid that will come as a shock to Perrick when the call is reported to him. He'll have to move now. So will we. If the gale keeps up, there isn't likely to be much flying. That will take care of the airport. As for the boat, . . . if the Chief Constable hasn't moved before nine in the morning, I'll have to go down myself. Pity you don't know Perrick, Cromwell. You could have gone. It'll tie me up a bit. . . . Still . . ."
"What about me? I could watch the boat, Littlejohn."
"It's good of you Archdeacon, but . . . "
"I'll take no buts. I can sit in Looney's car with Cromwell, just by the gates to the pier. If Perrick shows up, well . . . Cromwell can arrest him. Or I can let you know he's aboard. You can arrange for him to be stopped at Liverpool, then. Oh, how distasteful all this is! Perrick, of all people."
"I don't think he'll bolt. He might pack off Pam Fallows or the doctor, but he's not the kind to run himself. He'll stay and face the music. I'm sure of that."
"What do we do now? Just sit and wait?"
"No, sir. I'm off to see Fallows again, now. I've got to try and get a proper tale out of him. If I break this case before Perrick can act, we might save Perrick's face, at least."
"But that's the very thing you've been complaining about Perrick doing, Littlejohn. He's protecting Fallows and his wife. Are you going to do the same for him?"
"Not quite. Perrick's motive is good, even if he is seeing a bit cockeyed in it because of his love for the ghost of the girl he's always loved. He'll have to leave the force in any case. I don't like the idea of a fine chap like Perrick going in disgrace, however. Whatever I do, I'll have to depend on you two supporting me."
"Not a doubt of it, Littlejohn."
"I don't need to tell you what I think, sir. . . ."
As Littlejohn and Cromwell emerged from the shelter of Grenaby to the higher ground at Ballagilbert and Corlea, the wind seemed to take hold of the car and try to fling it in the air. It was as much as Littlejohn could do to keep it on the road and then, as they joined the main highway at South Barrule plantation and left the shelter of the trees, it was like battling against a wall of solid air.
"It's a wonder the wind doesn't pick up the whole Island and carry it off. I've never seen it so rough," said Cromwell. He looked at the speedometer which registered 20 with the engine going flat-out. They could see nothing, near or distant, but the funnels of road lighted by the headlamps. Then they passed a lighted house or two and could imagine the inhabitants hugging themselves round the fire against the thunder of the elements outside. It was like being in a whirlpool of frenzied air. They passed through Foxdale and under the slopes of Slieau Whaullian, a sudden jolt and they were over the level-crossing at St. John's, and then they struck the main Peel road. It was like entering a wind-tunnel, in the teeth of the blast.
The red light glowed over the porch of Dr. Fallows's house. Littlejohn rang the bell and then beat upon the knocker. It was about half-past ten and the occupants could hardly be in bed. At length the maid let him in.
"Is the doctor here?"
"Yes. He's in the surgery."
"At this hour?"
For a minute Littlejohn grew cold at the thought of Fallows, probably warned by Perrick of new developments, and loose among the poisons of his profession. He flung open the door of the consulting-room without more ado.
At first, he thought his fears were right. The light was on, illuminating the now familiar bare room, with the eye-testing charts on the wall, the weighing-machine in the corner, the instrument cabinets, the poison cupboard, the dispensary partitioned off from the main room, the books in the case, and the examination couch with the white pillow and dark blanket. . . . Even the stethoscope, twisting across the desk.
Fallows was sitting at the desk, or rather sprawled across it. His arms were outstretched and his head was between them. Before Littlejohn could reach him, he slowly raised himself. The sight of him gave Littlejohn a shock.
He was without his glasses and his eyes were dark-ringed and bloodshot. At first, Fallows didn't seem to recognize Littlejohn. He looked at him with lustreless eyes, his mouth open, his shoulders sagging.
"What do you want?"
Fallows fumbled on his desk and found his spectacles. Slowly he put them on, first one hook, then the other, over his ears. He jerked back his head and looked through the lenses.
"It's you, is it?"
He didn
't seem curious about the visit, nor did he appear angry. Just stunned. Then he spoke again.
"She's gone."
"Where is she? Where's she gone?"
"Gone. . . . Perrick's taken her. I'll never see her again. . . ."
"Has he arrested your wife?"
"Arrested? No. Just taken her . . ."
Littlejohn crossed to the cabinet where he knew the whisky was kept, poured out a stiff glass, and handed it to Fallows.
"Drink this and pull yourself together, doctor."
Fallows looked at the glass, then at Littlejohn, took the whisky, tipped the whole of it down his throat, sat up, and didn't look any better. In fact, tears began to stream down his cheeks.
"I knew it would end like this. I was bound to lose her, sooner or later. If not one way; another. Now she's gone. Just 'good-bye an' thanks, Len'; then off into the bloody howlin gale. Just that. . . ."
"What do you mean? Has your wife bolted?"
It was hopeless. Fallows seemed in a stupor. And at a time like this when every minute counted!
"Look here, Fallows. . . ."
Littlejohn didn't get any further. Outside, above the crash of the gale, rose a mightier noise. It was like the thud of a high explosive bomb hitting the ground and flying to pieces in showers of debris and wreckage.
There was a momentary silence, and then it was broken by Fallows who threw back his head, opened his mouth, and emitted a despairing high-pitched wail.
"Oh, God . . . . Dear God. . . . I've got to go. Pam . . . Pam. . . ."
Littlejohn shook him by the shoulders.
"Pull yourself together, man. What's the matter with you?"
But Fallows was out of the room, struggling into his raincoat with wild arms, his body writhing in haste.
"Did you hear that? It's the maroon for the lifeboat. It's the Robert Surcouf in distress, and Pam's aboard her . . . . Pam . . . Pam . . . Pam. . . ."
Fallows rushed out of the house, into the night, and was lost. Above the shriek of the gale they could hear him calling his wife's name until it faded on the wind.
19
THE DEPARTURE OF THE ROBERT SURCOUF
THE gale at Peel was so violent that on the quays and open promenade you couldn't keep on your feet. Those who had to stir out of doors clung to the walls and cut through the narrow streets for safety. The wind seemed to be blowing in all directions; wherever you sought shelter from it, it followed you. Nobody about; not even a dog or a stray cat.
The Cursing Stones Murder (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series) Page 20