The Round Table Murders

by Peter Baron

  “Are there any aspirins in the house, Mrs. Greer?”

  “No—yes—that is I’m not sure,” muttered Mrs. Greer absently and Barbara looked up.

  “What the dickens is the matter with everyone?” she demanded petulantly. “This place is about as cheerful as a morgue this morning.”

  “Morgue” affected Mrs. Greer unpleasantly. She shivered and glanced uneasily at Ian. Barbara intercepted the glance and was even more puzzled.

  “Will some one explain the Edgar Wallace atmosphere?” she asked patiently. “I’m getting the feeling that there is a corpse under the table.”

  Which was another unfortunate remark. Mrs. Greer gulped and sat down suddenly avoiding the eyes of Ian, who was privately reflecting on the amount of tact that would be needed to restore a normal atmosphere and avert an awkward situation. Fortunately he was spared further effort by a vigorous peal on the door bell, which forestalled Barbara’s next question.

  “You might see who that is, Mrs. Greer,” said Ian and the old lady almost fell put of the room in her relief at escaping.

  Barbara grunted in an unladylike manner.

  “What’s the matter with the woman?” she demanded.

  “Too many exciting Aims. ‘Flaming Hearts’ has given her a temperature, I think.”

  Apparently the explanation satisfied Barbara, but at the same time it did not prevent her casting about for some other object on which to vent her anger.

  “I can’t think why the deuce people have to call at this unearthly hour,” she grumbled, as the voice of a man penetrated to where they sat.

  Neither could Ian. He sat there tensely and waited. He had a shrewd idea as to the identity of the caller, which was verified when Mrs. Greer announced “Inspector Keating.”

  Barbara seized a pocket mirror and glanced furtively at her nose. Then she turned ‘with a brave attempt at a pleasant expression.

  “If you’d come a little earlier we could have offered you a bed,” she said sweetly, “as it is—have some toast.”

  Keating smiled paternally at her and then at Ian, but not quite so paternally.

  “Good morning, Ian.”

  “It was before you arrived.”

  “Mm. Like that, eh? Someone burnt your porridge?”

  “My dear man don’t try to be funny at breakfast time,” Barbara reproved. “We’re all feeling positively murderous this morning. The air is full of corpses, actual and potential.”

  Keating’s eyebrows went up.

  “Talking of corpses, I’m looking for one,” he said casually and Ian thanked his patron saint for the absence of Mrs. Greer.

  “A corpse? Here? What’s the matter with the mortuary? Sold out?”

  “At least it may not be a corpse yet,” Keating continued. “At any rate it can walk.”

  “And the idea is that it walked here?” Barbara asked. “Sorry, old thing, can’t oblige. There’s been a run on corpses. We’ve got some coffee.”

  “You’re not your sweet self this morning, young woman,” Keating replied severely and turned to Ian.

  “What’s happened to your retinue of thugs?” he asked.

  “Meaning Clem? He’s about somewhere.”

  “Is he? Good. I want him.”

  Ian got up slowly and walked to the door. Not one muscle of his face betrayed that he knew it was impossible to find Clem.

  “Mrs. Greer,” he called, and she pattered up from the kitchen.

  “Where’s Clem?” he asked, and gripped her arm tightly, his figure shielding the move.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Mrs. Greer answered, but her face, had Keating seen it, might have led him to suppose otherwise.

  “Go and fetch him will you?”

  Ian looked meaningly at her and she withdrew, to return five minutes later.

  “He’s not in the house, sir,” she said, keeping just out of Keating’s range of vision, “and his bed’s not been slept in.”

  This last was an afterthought, which she regarded as something of a masterpiece. Nevertheless it effectually wrecked at least one of Ian’s carefully prepared explanations.

  Inspector Keating sighed regretfully.

  “I had an idea that it wouldn’t have been,” he said softly. “When did you see Clem last, Ian?”

  Ian reseated himself. “Couldn’t say. He’s always drifting in and out.”

  “Sure, but people can’t drift in and out without someone seeing them.”

  “True, O King, but I wasn’t the someone. I’ll ask him to sign the visitors’ book in future. Anything else?”

  He betrayed no animosity at the persistent questioning. For those who choose his mode of obtaining a living these little encounters with the Yard men were too familiar to have any terrors. He almost succeeded in conveying the impression that he enjoyed the catechism. Nevertheless Keating was not convinced. He studied his bowler hat reflectively.

  Ian had shown remarkably little interest in the implied suggestion that Clem was dead. That was interesting, but if it was to prove enlightening it called for a little more subtlety, and Keating on occasion could assume the cunning of the fox.

  “Barbara, would you like to give your car an airing?” he asked suddenly.

  “I was going to in any case,” she answered. “Are you going to be long?”

  “No, only a few minutes. Toddle away and dress, then you can drive me down to the town.”

  She nodded and departed to her bedroom. As the door closed Keating drew his chair a little closer to Ian, a move that the latter regarded with veiled amusement.

  “Clem was wounded last night,” said Keating distinctly. “Wounded while he was doing your dirty work.”

  Ian helped himself to a cigarette. It might have been accident or design that the cloud of smoke be exhaled should have wafted in the Inspector’s face, causing him to choke.

  “The morning air doesn’t agree with you, Keating.”

  “No? Listen to this. Clem tried to give Larry Wade’s flat the once over last night, but I blurted into the game. Clem wouldn’t have the brain to even suspect what you sent him to look for. Now laugh that one off.”

  “It must be nice to be a Police Inspector,” mused Ian. “Personally I can’t get a drop anywhere before ten.”

  “You’ll get a long drop before ten, one day,” Keating snarled. “Where were you last night?”

  “Rambling out at Coulsdon. Why?”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Probably, if necessary. Again, why?”

  It was Keating’s turn to adopt the musing tone.

  “The Poacher shot Clem. I’m wondering. Neither you nor Larry seem to be any too sure what you were doing while the Poacher was busy shooting Clem up.”

  “If Larry can’t prove his movements, why worry about the identity of the Poacher? It looks pretty clear to me.”

  “I wonder. He says you’re the Poacher. You say he is. It makes it a little difficult for a common or garden busy.”

  Ian made no reply and the appearance of Barbara prevented Keating from saying any more. He rose and nodded coolly to Ian.

  “So long, Ian,” he said. “Don’t forget the long drop.”

  Ian smiled faintly, but carefully avoided Barbara’s puzzled eyes.

  “I’m beginning to think that you’re nearly as mysterious as your elusive friend Kaye,” she chaffed, as they walked towards the garage. “You’re always making vague remarks and you seem to have an absolute flair for annoying people.”

  Keating said nothing. He gazed moodily at the fresh green grass and the gently waving tree tops, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He got into the little car silently and made himself comfortable.

  “The old bus has been running splendidly lately,” she confided as she turned the car in an expert semi-circle on the drive. “She just asks to be used. I completed my four thousand miles yesterday and she’s still running as smoothly as ever.”

  He grinned. “With you driving? The woman isn’t born, Barbara, who didn’t wake
the dead when she changed gears.”

  As they slewed out of the drive gates her eyes were caught by the speedometer and she frowned.

  “How far is it from the house to the gate?” she asked.

  “Not more than a hundred yards, why?”

  She pointed to the needle on the dial of the speedometer.

  “That needle registered four thousand when I ran into the garage last night,” she answered. “Now it’s four thousand and six. Someone’s used this car since last night.”

  “Your uncle?” he suggested.

  Her frown deepened.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if your good advice wasn’t worth taking.”

  “Which particular piece? I’ve given you a lot.”

  “About leaving that house. There’s something going on there that I don’t understand. This morning everybody’s nerves are on edge and some perfectly innocent remarks of mine nearly scared Mrs. Greer out of her wits.”

  “What were they?”

  She thought for a moment and then repeated them.

  “Corpses, eh?” he asked. “Your uncle’s middle name isn’t Washington by any chance is it?”

  “This morning when I came down,” she continued, “Ian tried to suggest that someone had been tampering with my sleeping draught—put a double dose in or something—and I’m wondering what he meant. I had a violent headache when I awoke and the draughts have never had that effect before. It’s certainly queer.”

  “More likely Greer,” he retorted and remained buried in thought until she pulled her car to a standstill in Reigate Square. It was there that he received a shock that made him doubt the evidence of his eyes.

  Standing by the clock tower and looking at them with undisguised amusement, was a short stockily built man. As his eyes encountered Keating’s he winked and then turned away.

  With a regretful sigh Keating got out of the car.

  “I thought this was too good to last,” he said. “I find I’ve got a call to pay, Barbara.”

  If she was surprised she did not show it, but he thought he detected a little disappointment and for a moment he was on the point of reconsidering the call he had to pay. Then he shrugged.

  “I shall probably see something more of you during the day,” he said. “I may come up to the house, before I go back to town.”

  “Do,” she invited. “Honestly I’m rather bored with Barbara Teyst at the moment. I was counting on you to prove a distraction.”

  “Miss Attraction shouldn’t need distraction,” he said and stood bareheaded to watch her drive away. Then he crossed the square and came to a stand, feet apart, before the man who had winked at him.

  “Still nursing me?” he asked.

  Superintendent Kaye grinned amiably.

  “Have I spoiled a promising tête-à-tête?”

  “If that means a pleasant drive, yes. What brought you here?”

  “A premonition. I spent last night wandering round Marske House. I think there was some excitement there, but I missed it.”

  But Keating had not got over his grouch. He strolled across the square beside his friend and it was not difficult for Kaye to read the other’s thoughts.

  “You seem to know the Teyst girl pretty well.”

  “Nice kid,” said Keating appraisingly.

  “Child, would be more pleasing and more truthful,” Kaye returned. “Homer said that the Grecian ladies counted their age from their marriage and not their birth. At that rate Barbara won’t be born till you marry her, so at present you’re only wasting your time on something that hasn’t been conceived yet.”

  “If you think I’ve got a small pash for her, you’re off your beat. My interest is purely fraternal. Yes, fraternal. That’s a good word.”

  Kaye eyed his friend amusedly.

  “Usual ingénue type, I suppose? Interested in police methods and thrilled by the magical presence of the C.I.D.?” Inspector Keating became ponderous.

  “It’s surprising how little the general public know about us.”

  “Which is an advantage. The disadvantage is the surprisingly little that we know, about the general public.”

  “They don’t know much about themselves. That kid didn’t know she was Ellie Steyning’s daughter.”

  “Did you tell her that unpleasant little story?”

  Inspector Keating eyed his companion pityingly.

  “What’d I say? The Steynings were financially bust and Ellie married Ralph for his money?”

  “Well, she did, didn’t she?”

  Keating filled his pipe.

  “You’ve got no delicacy. There were mistakes on both sides. That’s the curse of modern marriage.”

  “On which you are an authority.”

  Inspector Keating ignored the interruption.

  “Before Ralph married Ellie she was very dear to him and afterwards she was even more expensive, but you couldn’t tell Barbara that her mother was Mercenary Mary till she found that Ralph hadn’t any money and Soured Suzy ever after. You’d get a hot reception. Better let her go on respecting her mother’s memory. Ralph was just as much to blame.”

  “I wonder. If Ralph hadn’t married he’d never have gone broke and if he hadn’t gone broke he’d never have joined forces with the Colonel.”

  “Went broke first and broker afterwards,” Keating grinned. “Well, anyway, what the heck were you doing at Ian’s place last night? Looking for Red Admirals?”

  “No, corpse catching.”

  “Corpse,” Keating sighed. “That word is beginning to pall. I’m looking for a corpse.”

  “Come and see mine,” Kaye suggested, and they made for the district hospital.

  A few minutes later they stood beside the Superintendent of the mortuary, and gazed down at all that was left of Clem Wade.

  “Lying in the Reigate Woods,” said Kaye thoughtfully. “Who ever did it made a messy job of it. I saw his boot protruding from a bush. If I knew what his face was like before some one blew it off, I might ask Ian what he was doing driving Barbara’s car last night.”

  Keating stared and suddenly bent closer.

  “If you knew,” he said slowly. “Don’t you know?”

  “Not yet. Do you?”

  “I know everything. That is—was—Clem Wade. That’s the rig out he was wearing while he watched Larry’s flat. What I want to know is who did this?”

  “You know everything.”

  “I thought I did. Clem accused the Poacher when I found him lying on the pavement—but you haven’t heard about that mix up yet.”

  Briefly he outlined the happenings of the preceding night.

  “The Poacher, eh?” mused Kaye. “This begins to fit together, Samuel.”

  It was only when he was thinking that he used Keating’s abhorred Christian name, but the Inspector allowed it to pass.

  “I dunno,” he said. “I thought everything dovetailed, but this upsets things a bit. The last time I saw Clem he was hit, but he had a face. Now he’s here with half a face. He couldn’t have made the journey in that condition, therefore he was croaked here. Which doesn’t fit. The Poacher was in town when he let Clem have it in the ribs.”

  “We’ll see you on the Round Table yet.”

  “Mebbe, but what I’m getting at is that this lets Larry Wade out. He must have been still at his flat while Clem was getting his face lifted.”

  He stared down callously at the dead man. All three present were too familiar with death in violent forms to entertain any sentimental squeamishness.

  “You can wipe Larry off the list,” said Kaye slowly. “He’s not the Poacher and this is the Poacher’s work. That fits. We know that Ian has some sort of clue to the whereabouts of the d’Essinger stones. That supplies the motive for the Poacher’s presence here in Reigate. He’s already stolen one of those slips of paper from Ralph. The one Dennis had was passed on to Larry Wade and Larry’s flat was raided by the Poacher. No, I think Larry can be discounted. Besides your brilliant thesis rules him out.
”

  “I don’t get thesis.”

  But Kaye did not feel like explaining. Instead he nodded to the mortuary Superintendent and strolled out into the sunlit street again.

  Keating followed more leisurely to find his companion studying the pavement.

  “This is a helluva case,” he growled.

  “It’s getting less hellish every minute,” said Kaye, dreamily. “I’ve got an idea, Samuel.”

  “Frame it. All I’ve got is the hump.”

  Superintendent Kaye smiled benevolently and took his friend’s arm. Together they journeyed back to London, but it was not until they were on the point of parting that Kaye spoke again. His words caused Keating to gape, with the result that a perfectly good pipe fell to the ground and got badly chipped.

  Staring after Kaye as the other strolled leisurely away, Keating pondered his friend’s amazing statement.

  It had been, “Unless I am mistaken I shall be able to call the Poacher by the name he was christened, before the week is out!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mrs. Greer looked on the world and found it wanting—wanting a man. At least her particular part of the world. Gazing, not without a certain aversion, at the garden, she found herself bitterly regretting “Flash” Greer’s defection. Certain of the thrills appertaining to her trade were beginning to lose their savor now that she no longer had a protector. Notably that of being gagged and tied to a chair while MURDER stalked in immediate proximity. The sudden removal of Clem by an agency against which his presence had hitherto protected her was something of a shock. Not that she herself had suffered at the hands of the Poacher. But she might, yet.

  Mrs. Greer made up her mind, and, having done so, promptly unmade it, threshed out the entire question again and eventually arrived at her previous conclusions. Then she waddled off to interview Ian.

  Ian startled by her unprefaced entry, looked up and encountered the regard of a very determined, even a trifle belligerent, little lady.