The Massingham affair

by Grierson, Edward, 1914-1975

  He found Blair sitting at a large mahogany desk, on which lay a number of files and a pair of handcuffs which the Superintendent politely removed and put in his tunic. Behind him on the wall hung a map of the district, broken up into coloured segments, flanked by a pair of gilt-scrolled truncheons which had retired from active service and were now exhibits of an earlier heroic age. Three chairs, a cupboard full of photographs, a pipe rack, a daguerreotype of heavily whiskered constables on the beat, a helmet and a police whistle completed the furnishings of the room, which was austere and covered in brown paint.

  "Now, Mr Derry." The Superintendent had cleared his throat and was tapping his desk where lay a sheet of paper, in a way very reminiscent of a schoolmaster Justin had encountered in the sinful days of his youth. "I've a report here, sir. Report of a disturbance occasioned last night in Bewley Street and involving the use of firearms. Have you any comments you'd care to make, sir?"

  "Hadn't you better read me the contents first?"

  The Superintendent smiled a frosty smile at this piece of professional caginess and replied: "Just as you like, sir. I want to be quite frank about this. I'll give my help freely, sir, just as I'm hoping for yours."

  It was a constable's report from one P.C. Buchan who had been on duty in Gilesgate the previous evening. Buchan had heard a shot

  THE QUEST: 1899

  and had proceeded' towards it at the double, encountering a householder from whom he had learnt of Justin's and Hicks's presence at the scene. No cartridge case had been recovered or trace of a weapon found; there were no reports of casualties, and no other witnesses had come forward.

  "Were you in Bewley, sir?" Blair asked.

  There was no point in denying it.

  "So you heard the shot. Were you close to it?"

  "I was some distance off: it's hard to estimate how far in the dark."

  "You must forgive this upset in our positions, sir," remarked the Superintendent pleasantly. "Very unfamiliar ground for you, sir, I expect. It's usually you who asks the questions."

  "You deserve a turn."

  "So I do, sir. Now then: did you observe anyone in the street?"

  Justin replied that he had seen someone coming from his left, from Gilesgate; he thought that would be Hicks. And he had sensed someone behind him in the shadows.

  "So you think this someone fired the shot?"

  "It looks like it."

  "At you, sir?"

  "Why should anyone fire at me?" he answered as lightly as he could.

  "That's what we must find out. But someone fired, that's evident, and it looks as if you were the target. Will you be making a complaint?"

  "Why should I?"

  "Why, Mr Derry. Don't you want to discover your assailant?"

  "He wasn't my assailant as you call it."

  There was a pause while the Superintendent got up and walked to the window overlooking the Lawnmarket, clasping his hands behind him. When he swung round into the room again Justin saw what he had not seen before: the hard, alert face of the man whom Milligan and Kelly and countless others no doubt had met in that room.

  "Now see here, sir," the Superintendent resumed briskly. "Here's a crime been committed and it seems to me you were a witness. If you'd just give me more details of what happened?"

  "Haven't I already done so?"

  "Well hardly. Here was a shot fired, and fairly near you from all I hear, yet you went straight off home without telling anyone about

  THE MASSINGHAM AFFAIR

  it and you don't seem anxious now to make a case of it. That's not what I expected. It's not the frankness or quite the attitude I'd looked for from a gentieman in your position."

  "What's my position got to do with it?"

  "Now really, sir!" exclaimed the Superintendent, managing a smile, though it was an extremely laboured one. "I mean to say! A man of law, sir! You wouldn't expect such a person to conceal a felony, now would you?"

  "There wasn't any felony to conceal. It was probably an accident and the gun just went off."

  "Of its own accord, no doubt! Perhaps you'll tell me it was poachers shooting at pheasants in Bewley Street."

  "You should know all about those fellows," replied Justin wickedly.

  Blair's eyes narrowed, but he said with the same jocular air: "Might I say the same of you, sir? Been doing some visiting down there, I understand. On Sugden, sir."

  "Suppose I have?"

  "Bit off your beat, isn't it? Of course, I've no call to be asking what you were doing there those other times—but last night, now that's different. Why were you there, sir?"

  "I was out walking."

  "Do people usually shoot at you on such occasions?" demanded the Superintendent with ponderous irony. "Why did it happen at that particular spot, near Geordie's house? Would you call that coincidence?"

  "What else?"

  "Don't like coincidences myself, never believed in 'em. Cause and effect: that's more my line. Now I know you, sir, and very fair you've always been in our little encounters. But someone, some other fellow, whoever he is ... he hasn't the same faith in you. Thinks you're interfering in something; that might be the way of it. I should watch out if I were you."

  Once out in the Lawnmarket in the sunshine of the afternoon, Justin drew a deep breath. He did not think that Blair would pursue this particular matter any further for the time being, but what he himself should now do was far from clear. Should he warn Sugden? It seemed unnecessary, seeing that the shot had been fired almost under the man's window and the whole district must be buzzing like a hive. To see Longford might be a more rewarding experience; so,

  making up his mind on the spot, he set off along the road he had taken the previous night and knocked at Miss Kelly's door.

  No one answered.

  He knocked again, glancing around him at the deserted street which seemed little less secretive in the daylight than in the dark. He was about to give up and go away, when the door was opened very slowly and a small figure appeared: a girl of about seven wearing a black knitted smock and a pair of clogs several sizes too large for her.

  "Now, who are you?" enquired Justin of this apparition, which stood with several fingers in its mouth regarding him with lively apprehension.

  "I'm Ethel," the child replied.

  "Well, Ethel, we've not met before, but don't be frightened, I'll not eat you. Would you like a sweet, Ethel?"

  She put her hands behind her back.

  "Quite right," he said, feeling rebuked and replacing in his pocket the bag of toffee he had bought that morning. "Do you live here, my dear?"

  "With me Auntie," she replied.

  "Is that Miss Kelly—the one who's to marry Mr Longford? Ah, I see it is. Well, look here, Ethel. You be a good girl and run and tell her that Mr Derry's called, and then come back with her and we'll see about that toffee then."

  "Auntie's not in," replied the child, beginning to close the door against him.

  "Oh. Is Mr Longford? Jim. Will you give a message?"

  There was no answer; only a small crack remained open, through which he could see an eye still watching him and part of one of her enormous clogs. He felt sure that both the people he had called to see were inside but he did not like the idea of going on and frightening the child, who had looked nervous enough in all conscience. The circle of fear, he thought, was perceptibly widening around them. First Sugden had felt it; then poor Amy; now it had spread to this house. Why was it happening? He had set out to help free two men from the burden of a crime, but he had the strangest feeling that in doing it he had stirred up something that had lain in the background even before the burglary at Massingham—something unexplained, of which he was seeing only a part, yet of which the murder of P.C. Luke at Hannington was also part.

  THE MASSEXGHAM AFFAIR

  For the rest of the day he pondered on the problem in the intervals of coping with Harris in the office and Flo over the tea-cups—a Flo still mercifully ignorant of how near she had com
e to being bereaved. All her talk was of a bazaar shortly to be held in Smedwick to raise funds for some worthy cause, the details of which escaped him, though his own part in it as escort to his elder sister and Geor-gina seemed already to have been settled. When he tried to back out he was met with the flexibility that Flo always showed in the cause of charity: "Of course you must go. Mrs Deverel is a patroness and the Duchess will be there. Really I should have thought you would have heard of it already, dearest, if you didn't bury your head in that office and think of nothing else. Don't you realise there are unfortunates in the world who need your help? Mr Gilmore is speaking."

  At that, he pricked up his ears. "Gilmore?"

  "Yes, he is coming up from London specially: a Q.C. and a Member too, and busy though he is. I suppose his family connections with Smedwick bring him—and naturally the Cause."

  "Naturally," said her brother, thinking hard.

  "And if he can spare the time to come, how can you excuse yourself?"

  "Oh quite, I can't."

  "You mean you'll take us?" Flo exclaimed, astonished by the ease of her victory.

  "Yes, if you and Georgina wish it."

  "Naturally we Mash it but I thought ... I didn't quite expect . . . Really, dearest, you have made me very happy. It would have pleased Papa and Mama so much. Dearest, you are so good to us."

  Justin had the grace to blush, and this sense of shame and the knowledge that he was deceiving natures in every way superior to his own persisted on the day of the bazaar as he handed Flo into the hired carriage and set off up the Warbury Road for his Georgina. It was an atrocious morning with the rain teeming down, so that his fiancee's beautiful blue taffeta dress suffered some damage before he even got her inside on the plush cushions, chill with the damp of a coach house, and at the hall there was a delay while grander carriages were directed to the door ahead of them. By the time they had arrived in the auditorium among the cane chairs Georgina's emotions had reached a very high pitch, and they broke out the second they were separated in the crush from Flo—

  "I might have known it. Really you are not to be trusted to arrange anything nowadays. That awful cab! There was damp everywhere. It had run down on the seat, and that is what you must choose for me—me, if you please! You have quite ruined my dress."

  Always solicitous, he began to search anxiously for the proofs of damage, murmuring condolences which were interrupted by a far fiercer whisper: "Stop it! You are making me ridiculous. Have you no sense at all? Sometimes I think you take pleasure in humiliating me in public, and my family too. You have greatly displeased Papa."

  "Displeased him? How?" cried Justin, appalled by this news.

  "Something you've done, something interfering and unprofessional; you can hardly expect me to know the details."

  Fortunately at this moment Flo joined them and there was a stirring up on the platform, which was suddenly filled with people of importance, ranging from the Duchess to Mr Lumley in the wings, wedged between a piano and an alderman of intimidating size.

  Then Gilmore rose. He had the practised air. He congratulated the audience on its good fortune in having achieved a platform so distinguished. He would except himself. (Laughter.) But he would except no one—no one—horn the charitable duty that had brought them all together that morning. Let them consult their consciences and turn out their pockets. (Laughter.) He himself had done so. (Renewed laughter.) He had found little in them, but in his experience that was habitual. Were wives to blame? (Much laughter.) The money went somewhere. On worthy objects, no doubt. And what worthier object—or Cause, as it would be more happily described— than the one for which they were all gathered together in that place? He would commend it and sit down.

  During the applause that followed, Justin sat groaning inwardly and commending all charities and politicians to the Devil. Of the success of the speech, however, there could be no doubt. Collection boxes were being handed out and a subscription list in a book bound in calf and tooled in gold was being flourished under his nose by a rampagious matron in a hat with feathers that soared heavenwards. "You will be generous, dearest?" he heard Flo murmur as he looked round for rescue, seeing far off the figure of Mr Lumley moving down from the platform through the throng, a sliver of white starched linen around his neck, for he had put on his dog collar for the occasion. "Where's Georgina?" he demanded, searching for her too.

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  THE MASSIKGHAM AFFAIR

  "She has her box, dearest. I've mine here."

  He pressed a sovereign into the slot. Over her shoulder as she turned away Mr Lumley was seen approaching. "A ghastly scrimmage," muttered Justin, scowling rather horribly around him as Ins friend came up mopping the sweat which the least exertion brought out on him. "Do you really have to run charities this way?"

  "People seem to like it."

  "They like their own importance."

  "Of course, my dear chap. Don't you? How severe you've become all of a sudden. I hope you've signed the book."

  Justin laughed and most of his ill temper vanished. "Where's Gil-more?" he asked.

  "Our worthy opener? With Her Grace, presumably." It was by now impossible to see into the centre of the hall, where a solid block of humanity had got itself wedged like bees in a hive. "How they crowd around to be sure; such enviable enthusiasm. She is a very good and patient lady. And our Q.C. spoke well, don't you think?"

  "Most professionally. Was he your selection?"

  "In a sense," replied the Vicar, smiling. "I suppose I can claim some part of him."

  "Then do so. Show him Sugden's statement. I have it here."

  The Vicar glanced hastily around, fearing an imprudence, but the tide had receded from them and they were now alone, out of earshot of anyone. "If you think it wise," he answered slowly.

  "I do indeed. He's the very man for us. He knows the case and he believed those men were innocent. Besides, I'm sure he resented that verdict, resented it personally. Even after all these years he might give something to overturn it and pay Garrowby out."

  "Hardly a very estimable wash," objected the Vicar.

  "But human, surely, if he still is human, which remains to be seen. Will you have a shot at him?"

  There was a pause and then the Vicar answered: "Perhaps you'd better do it, my dear chap. He might listen to you better. Don't think I'm dodging anything."

  "I'll be the one doing the dodging," replied Justin with a conviction that could be felt. "I've Flo here, and Georgina for that matter. Will you keep your eye on them?"

  "My dear fellow, a most enviable task, but don't you think ... I mean, is it quite wise? A weak vessel."

  But Justin had already detached himself and was working his way through the crush. Collection boxes were rattled at him, people stopped him to remark on the success of the bazaar or the heat inside the hall which was stupendous, and, as fast as he advanced towards it, the official party kept pace with him in its retreat towards the doors and a mercifully early lunch. Behind him he saw the Vicar hovering solicitously on the outskirts of a melee containing Flo and a blue taffeta dress, but he had no time to do more than regret these dependents as he elbowed his way into the street in the wake of the Duchess and Gilmore, Q.C., who was now sporting a top hat of almost supernatural glossiness. He could see it like a beacon above the heads of the crowd that had jostled forward to catch a glimpse of the great lady as she drove off, and tracking purposefully he came up with it just as its owner was about to step into a hansom cab on his way to the station.

  "Mr Gilmore."

  The man who swung round towards him had a decidedly testy look. No doubt he was in a hurry and anxious to escape, but the bony, patrician face was covered with a network of lines radiating downwards from the eyes and corners of the mouth in a way that suggested that this was now its natural expression.

  "Probably you don't remember me," Justin ventured, feeling regretful, for he had liked and admired Gilmore.

  "Remember you? Why yes I do. Didn't we meet
some years ago? But you'll excuse me. Train to catch," he added, climbing into the cab and raising his hat the bare minimum of inches from his handsome greying hair.

  "It was at the Moot Hall," Justin reminded him, getting a good hold of the handle to prevent the cab door from closing. He had never required much converting to a belief in firm measures.

  "I remember. Those poachin' fellers."

  "It's about them I'm here."

  "Interesting. But train won't wait, you know. Most regrettable. Some other time perhaps," Gilmore replied, and knocked with the knob of his cane on the partition in front of him.

  "Would you mind if I came along with you?"

  "Well really, sir!" the Q.C. exclaimed, lifting his saturnine eyebrows in astonishment, though even he had no conception of the full scandalous nature of that remark.

  "Shall I whip 'er up, sir?" came the cabby's voice from above them.

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  THE MASSINGHAM AFFAIR

  "Just a moment. Better let this gentleman in. He seems to insist on it."

  The solicitor in fact, lost to every social decency, was half-way in already, and subsided on to the cracked leather seat as the cab started off with a fearful jolt and began to clatter through the streets. "Very kind of you," he murmured, reaching for Sugden's confession in his breast pocket. 1 might from the look of it be serving a writ on him,' he thought as he got it out. The idea amused him and it was all he could do to prevent himself from slipping the thing into Gil-more's hand in the lubricated manner perfected by generations of writ-servers, who are born, not made.

  "Now will you tell me what it's all about?" Gilmore enquired in a suffering voice.

  "Gladly. Those poaching fellows, as you said."

  "But wasn't Rees their solicitor?"

  "Mr Rees is dead."

  "Oh. Have you inherited?"

  "I've this, if you'll look at it."

  Gilmore took the confession from him and Justin waited, glancing out of the window at the rain that was still falling in torrents, sending rivulets down the dirty glass. He heard the crackle of the sheets, the occasional grunt of approval or disapproval—he could not tell which—and then he saw the Q.C. glancing up at him, head slightly on one side, speculatively.