The Body in the Beck

by Joanna Cannan

  ‘Weren’t you surprised that although Mr Worthington had made this terrible discovery he had taken no steps to inform the police before starting on his climb?’

  ‘Well, not really,’ said David. ‘You see, the poor chap was dead; what with the war and the Himalayas, the Skipper — as I call him — is used to accidents and dead bodies and he could tell that there was nothing to be done. There’s no telephone kiosk on the pass yet, thank goodness.’ David was quite unconscious that he was repeating, as he often did, what Francis had said.

  ‘Come now, Mr Brown,’ said Price reproachfully. ‘You know better than that. You know that the normal procedure on making such a discovery is to get in touch with the appropriate authority at once. Now, you’re friendly with Mr Worthington: can you tell me to what I should attribute this extraordinary delay?’

  Words didn’t come easily to David. He floundered, ‘Well, the Skipper’s not like ordinary chaps . . . I mean, if he sets out to do something, hell and high water won’t stop him . . . if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ said Price grimly. ‘Well, then, regardless of the fact that a fatality remained unreported, you continued your climb. On the way down — what happened?’

  ‘I suggested having a dekko at the pool and Mr Worthington said I could if I liked, so I did. I believe he had turned the body over, but when I got there it had floated under the rock again and was just as the chaps found it when they went up to fetch it in.’

  ‘One more question, Mr Brown. Do you know of anything in Mr Worthington’s past — or, indeed, present — which would make him a likely subject for blackmail?’

  David stared; then burst out, ‘You’re not trying to pin anything on him, are you? If you are, you’re making a dam’ fool of yourself, and that’s flat.’

  ‘Now, now, Mr Brown, you know better than to speak like that to a police officer. We don’t ‘try to pin things on people’ — this is England, not America. Now I’ll take you into my confidence: after careful consideration of the evidence available, I have come to the firm conclusion that the deceased met his end actually in Berrinsdale, and I have been doing my best by a process of elimination to remove from my list of suspects the persons whose names were bound, for one reason or another, to figure there.’

  David cried. ‘But you should never have suspected the Skipper. He didn’t arrive here till Saturday, and Hawkins had been dead a week when he was found.’

  ‘Well, then, Mr Brown, this is your opportunity to do your friend a service. Where did he spend the week-end of April the sixth?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. Why don’t you?’

  ‘I have asked him, but he refuses to say.’

  ‘I can’t understand that,’ said David. ‘There must be some misunderstanding, or else you rubbed him up the wrong way,’

  ‘I can assure you,’ Price said, ‘that neether was the case.’

  ‘I’ll ask him,’ said David. ‘As soon as I can get him by himself, that is. I’ve got a feeling that that drip, Carey, intends to tag round with us today.’

  Price said, ‘I shall be seeing him myself before he goes out this morning. Well, Mr Brown, that is all I require from you at present — except, of course, your alibi for last week-end. I suppose that’s easy?’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right,’ said David, disgusted with himself because while that other stood in peril he was in the clear. ‘Friday I was at work: in the evening I was dragged to an Olde Tyme dance in the Town Hall; Saturday morning I worked and Saturday afternoon I was going to see Carismouth play Coniston, but the match was cancelled owing to the bad weather and a lot of us went to the cinema. Sunday wasn’t so bad at Carismouth and I went with a chap called Lesley Richards on his motor-bike to see what the snow was like on the fells. We got as far as Broughton-in-Furness and then we ran into snow, so we had tea there and came home. There were several others with us — I can give you their names and addresses if you want to check up; also the names and addresses of the people I went to the dance with and the football crowd with whom I spent Saturday afternoon.’

  Price said, ‘That’s very satisfactory. You’re fortunate in having a gregarious disposition, Mr Brown.’

  ‘I’m trying not to,’ said David. ‘I know that solitude is better for you. Solitude is one of the nurses of the soul.’

  ‘Whoever told you that? Some old fossil of a school-teacher, I should say. No, Mr Brown, the remark I passed was intended as a compliment. I’m fully in sympathy with the modern trend towards communal living. However, this isn’t the moment to mount my hobby horse, though there is nothing I appreciate more than an exchange of ideas between thinking men. Will you ask Mr Worthington to step in here for a word with me, and while you are waiting for him could you prepare a list of the names and addresses of persons in a position to confirm your alibis? Just as a formality. It is most unlikely that I shall trouble them. Your statement, if I may say so, bears the hallmark of truth.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said David without enthusiasm. ‘I’ll tell the Skipper you want to see him, but I can promise you that if you’re suspecting him of anything you’re wasting your time.’

  Price said nothing and David went out. In a moment he was back again. He looked alarmed but spoke casually. ‘I say, Inspector, the Skipper doesn’t seem to be about.’

  ‘Hasn’t he come downstairs yet? It’s ten o’clock.’

  ‘No. Apparently he isn’t upstairs either.’

  Price rose hurriedly and pushed past David into the hall, where Hardwick and Meade were talking in low voices.

  Gloria, with a dustpan and brush in her hand hung over the banisters.

  ‘Where’s Worthington?’ demanded Price.

  Hardwick offered. ‘’Appen he’s gone oop-t’fell. Many’s the time he’s slipped oop t’Pike afore breakfast. Went oop the east buttress once in bedroom slippers an’ awe.’

  Meade said, ‘Hardwick, it’s no use blinking the fact that his bed wasn’t slept in. That’s how it is, Inspector. I know him — he’s quite mad enough to have gone climbing by moonlight, and I’m considering getting a search party together.’

  David said, ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘Shut up and wait your turn,’ said Meade.

  Sebastian, with a pair of binoculars in his hand, rushed in, saying, ‘No, you were right. It was only a sheep. Shall I —’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Meade.

  Price said, ‘I’ll take charge of this. Now, who was it who discovered that Worthington was missing from the hotel?’

  Meade said, ‘Just a minute, Inspector. This isn’t a matter for the police. There may, or may not, have been a climbing accident. As the only member of the Alpine Club present —’

  ‘Accident my foot,’ said Price rudely. ‘Worthington’s involved in a murder case and he’s skipped it and I’m taking charge. Who found that he was missing?’ He swung round towards Gloria. ‘You, I suppose?’

  Gloria muttered.

  ‘Speak oop, lass,’ said Hardwick.

  ‘He wasn’t there when I called him,’ said Gloria sullenly.

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘Hollered for Mr Hardwick.’

  ‘Ah told her to shoot oop,’ said Hardwick. ‘Many’s the time Mr Worthington’s slipped out afore breakfast to take a roon oop t’fell —’

  ‘Oh, don’t start that all over again,’ said Price.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ said Hardwick. ‘All the difference was that the bed ’adn’t been slep in, but Ah didn’t take mooch notice of that. Ah thought —’

  ‘I don’t want to know what you thought. You didn’t think to inform me that the man was missing, as you should have done.’ He turned back to Gloria. ‘Now, miss, what clothes has he taken? Are his boots gone?’

  Hardwick looked at the three pairs of boots in the hall. ‘Nay, they’re here.’

  ‘He must have gone out in his bedroom slippers, then,’ said Gloria. ‘They and his climbing boots were all he brought with him.’

  P
rice said, ‘He drove his car up from the south — he didn’t do that in climbing boots or bedroom slippers. No doubt he had a pair of shoes and left them shut up in his suitcase.’

  ‘He didn’t have a suitcase,’ said Gloria.

  ‘That’s reet. Mr Worthington arrived with a knapsack, that there new-fangled nylon rope and his climbing boots on his feet. He’d taken t’bouss to Holwith Bridge and walked up t’dale. ’Appen he’d left the shoes he’d driven in with the car.’

  ‘And that proves that he hasn’t ‘skipped it’,’ said Sebastian.

  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ said Price. ‘He may have borrowed or rather helped himself to a pair of shoes with one or two ideas: (a) collecting his car and driving away somewhere; (b) disguising himself on the assumption that we should circulate a description of a man in climbing clothes.’

  Sebastian gave a loud sarcastic laugh.

  ‘Instead of laughing, Mr Carey, will you proceed upstairs and ascertain if any of your footwear is missing. You too, Mr Brown and Mr Meade. And you, Hardwick.’

  Sebastian said, ‘Besides my climbing boots, which are on my feet, I only brought the bedroom slippers which I wore at breakfast. The same goes for you, David, doesn’t it?’ David nodded, and Sebastian continued, ‘Instead of standing here nattering about ‘footwear’ we ought to be out looking for Francis on the fells.’

  Price said, ‘That’s enough from you, Mr Carey.’ Hardwick, who had vanished for a moment into the kitchen, came back and stated, ‘Shoes Ah never could abide, but Ah’ve three pair of good bespoke boots from John Potter in Eskdale and they’re under the dresser where they should be.’

  ‘And Mr Meade?’

  ‘Oh, damn it,’ said Meade and started upstairs.

  David said, ‘Subject to what Mr Meade thinks best, I could take the Pike and then push on up the pass — I’d know where to look on the Angel. You could go down the dale, Carey.’

  ‘Call me Sebastian,’ said Sebastian, ‘and don’t under-estimate me. I may look fragile, but I can walk all day. I think Meade should go down the dale; you should go up to the Angel and I’ll take the Pike and the Highbeck Valley.’

  ‘My extensive wardrobe is all present and correct, Inspector,’ said Meade.

  ‘That’s strange, very strange indeed,’ said Price. ‘However, Worthington’s slippers were, I noticed, of a substantial design and would probably take him several miles in dry weather.’

  ‘Not,’ said Sebastian to David, ‘like my ostrich-feather ones.’

  Price, ignoring that, continued: ‘Now, gentlemen, as far as I am concerned, you can make your plans, but I require a few moments of privacy while I use the telephone, so perhaps you would be good enough to withdraw to the smoking-room or anywhere which suits your convenience.’

  Sebastian said, ‘He means scram.’

  ‘Come on outside,’ said Meade. ‘The ladies, I’m sure, will wish to be included in our arrangements.’

  Across the yard and the road Dr Ormonde and Gerda stood staring up the valley. They turned and Gerda said, ‘At last. How long you have been. In Chermany —’

  ‘I know, I know. It was that damned Inspector who kept us,’ said Meade. ‘Now, this is my proposition. Hardwick and Carey will take the Highbeck Valley, including High Hoister and the north face of the Pike. Brown and Fräulein Truffer will go up towards the pass, the Fräulein searching the slopes below the buttress of the Pike and Brown pushing on to the Angel Rock; there’s no need for the Fräulein to sweat up to the top of the pass; she’ll be within signalling distance of Brown — fortunately, it’s a clear day and I expect you all have white handkerchiefs. Dr Ormonde and I will go down the dale. Everyone is to take sandwiches — they’re ready, I think — and Hardwick will fill a flask for each party. Brown and Hardwick will take ropes. No one is to exceed his instructions, and as soon as his job’s done he must report back here.’

  ‘Reet, Mr Meade, sir,’ said Hardwick. ‘Ah’ll get the flasks filled now and bring them out to you.’

  Sebastian said, ‘I say, Mr Meade, supposing that Francis has just been sitting on a rock and contemplating: won’t he be frightfully annoyed by the search parties?’

  Meade said, ‘I’m afraid there’s more to it than that, Carey. You and Brown here were expecting to climb with him today, weren’t you? Well, except in circumstances beyond his control, he would never have let you down.’

  David said, ‘That’s right. I know the Skipper.’

  Sebastian said, ‘If by ‘the Skipper’ you mean Francis, so do I. But he does dream sometimes.’

  ‘If you can dream and not make dreams your master . . .’ quoted Meade.

  Hardwick came out with three flasks and Gloria followed him with six packages of sandwiches. Hardwick said, ‘Keep an eye on t’dale, laads. My missus will spread a white sheet in the pasture if so be as Mr Worthington cooms in. Or mebbe we’ll get a message. Anyways, a sheet out there means you coom on in.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Brown. ‘Let’s get cracking.’

  Dr Ormonde, like Gerda, had been sitting on the bench and lacing her boots while Meade was speaking, and now she said, ‘I’m ready,’ but Price came out from the house, called Hardwick back and told Sebastian, ‘You carry on, Mr Carey. We can do without the youngsters,’ he resumed as Sebastian passed out of hearing. ‘But before you go, Hardwick, I’d like you to thoroughly search the outhouses.’ Hardwick scowled.

  ‘And what would that be for, Inspector?’

  ‘I do not rule out the possibility of suicide.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Meade. ‘That’s pretty far-fetched, isn’t it? Anyhow, if Worthington wanted to commit suicide, he wouldn’t hang himself in a hen-house; he’d step off the Angel or the Pillar. Gable’s his mountain of mountains, but he wouldn’t go that far in bedroom slippers. No use peering in pigsties. Grant me a grave swept by the mountain wind — that’s his style.’

  Price said, ‘I have a considerable experience of suicides. When a man is desperate enough to take his life, he seldom considers his surroundings. The same is the case even with the fair sex.’

  Hardwick, every line of his broad back expressing reluctance, moved towards the outbuildings. Dr Ormonde said, ‘Is there any reason why Mr Worthington should commit suicide?’

  Price said, ‘In confidence, Doctor, there is. You remember our talk, Mr Meade — since then evidence has been piling up against him.’

  ‘Good God! What evidence?’

  ‘Oh, Purely circumstantial. But he knows I suspect him and I think he is the type to take his life sooner than face a trial and conviction.’

  Dr Ormonde said, ‘Listen, Inspector I was talking to him on Wednesday night and he said something which led me to believe that he had some clue to the identity of the murderer. I’ve been wondering if he went out last night to investigate and if — well if there’s been another murder.’

  ‘He has told me what he knows,’ said Price. ‘He brought me back here from London to tell me his fairy tale. I’m afraid he was disappointed. I am not as credulous as he thought me. The story was badly thought out and the fact that he told it merely counts against him. I’ve always heard that outside their lecture-rooms these college dons are incredibly simple.’

  Meade said, ‘Don’t you believe it.’

  Doctor Ormonde asked, ‘What was the fairy tale, Inspector?’

  ‘I can’t divulge that,’ said Price. ‘Well?’ he asked the returning Hardwick.

  ‘Nowt.’

  ‘You’ve searched every corner?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Very well. We must look further afield. If you care to wait, Mr Meade, Dr Ormonde. I may gather a clue from a search of Worthington’s bedroom.’

  He went indoors. Hardwick said, ‘Reckon a chap can’t pack many clues in a knapsack. I’ll be off oop the High Beck, Mr Meade, or young Carey’ll be landing hisself in trooble.’

  When he had gone, Margaret Ormonde turned to Meade. ‘You must know Worthington better than anyone.’

 
‘I daresay, but I don’t know the circumstances. They say, and I believe it, that we are all capable of killing, but some of us are more easily exasperated or less merciful or more fearless than others. I can’t see Worthington putting arsenic in a gooseberry pie and helping his wife to it at Sunday dinner, but I’m not sure I can’t see him ridding the world of a ‘pest’ and this chap was a blackmailer.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you. I was saying to Gerda that Worthington’s in a strong position; he could lose his money and his job — he’d still have his mountains. The only man I can see him murdering is a man who proposed to build a railway up Great Gable.’

  Price could hear them talking from Francis’s bedroom, a larger room than he himself now occupied, better furnished, and decorated by a large bowl of primroses standing on the chest of drawers — an offering, Price supposed, from the infatuated Gloria. Price looked first behind the limp chintz curtains of the hanging wardrobe — nowt, as that ignorant yokel had it. In the chest of drawers there was a shirt, two pairs of socks, a pair of blue silk pants and a few clean handkerchiefs. Neatly folded under the white honeycomb counterpane was a pair of wine-coloured pyjamas. On the chest of drawers beside the primroses was a wallet containing twenty pound notes, a driving licence, unendorsed and in order, a book of stamps and a calling card announcing Mr F.E. Worthington, St Crispin’s College; carelessly scattered around a brush and comb were three halfcrowns, a threepenny bit and four pennies — putting temptation in the girl’s way, thought Price, and proving that Worthington anticipated no further use for money. He turned to the wide window ledge, discovered washing and shaving materials of the simplest nature — again, what did the fellow do for an aperient? There remained the knapsack. Turned upside down and shaken, this contained a few crumbs and a withered apple.

  ‘Learned anything?’ asked Meade when Price returned to the yard.

  ‘We can put paid to at least one possibility — that Worthington has — in the vulgar parlance — skipped it. He has left his money in his room. There is only one eventuality in which a man would not anticipate the necessity for securing the means of existence and that is suicide.’