by J F Straker
Her eyes shut, she relaxed against the back of the settee and gave her thoughts full rein. And then suddenly she was sitting upright again, a startled look in her grey eyes.
‘Colin!’
‘Yes?’
‘Tony couldn’t have heard Grandfather calling for help. Don’t you remember? He had lost his voice!’
Troubled, they stared silently at each other. It seemed such a little thing that neither quite knew why it should frighten them. Yet frighten them it did. The shadow overlying Redways seemed suddenly to have become bigger and somehow more threatening.
They were still staring at each other with troubled eyes when Diana and Chris erupted into the room. Chris’s hands were black; there were black streaks on his cheeks; his duffel-coat was filthy. Even the normally immaculate Diana looked dirty and bedraggled.
‘What on earth —’ began Colin.
‘Mrs Bain tried to blow herself up,’ said Diana, slumping wearily into a chair. ‘She lit a lamp, and it went off bang. We’ve been picking up the pieces.’
Despite the attempt at nonchalance, Anne guessed that the girl was nearly all in. She turned anxiously to Chris.
‘Is Mrs Bain badly hurt?’
‘Pretty badly, yes. Burns and shock. The doctor seemed to think she would get over it, though. They’ve carted her off to hospital.’
‘But how did it happen?’ Colin demanded.
‘Well, there is no gas or electricity in the cottage, you know. It’s like Diana’s, no mod. con. Mrs Bain went through the kitchen to get a lamp from the shed, after which she was going to take us upstairs to show us the room. Diana and I were in the hall, and we saw a glow in the kitchen and then there was this almighty explosion, and we dashed in. The old lady was alight and screaming like billy-o, but we managed to smother the flames and get her out of the room. Then I went back to deal with the fire. The oil on the floor was blazing like merry hell. Luckily there wasn’t much of it — the lamp must have been nearly empty — or I should never have been able to cope.’
‘Poor Mrs Bain,’ said Anne. ‘Was her husband there?’
‘He’d just left. The police were going to let him know.’
‘But paraffin lamps don’t blow up like that,’ Colin said, bewildered.
‘This one did, believe me.’ Diana stood up. ‘Well, I’m for a bath and bed. Be an angel, Anne, and bring me up some hot milk later. I don’t want any dinner.’
‘Of course. How about you, Chris?’
‘Oh, I’m all right. But I’d better go and clean myself up.’
When they were alone again Colin said, ‘Well, that settles one little problem. Chris won’t be sleeping at Mrs Bain’s now.’
‘No,’ Anne said absently. ‘But what a ghastly thing to happen. I wonder if ...’ She stopped, mouth agape, horrified incredulity reflected in her eyes. ‘Colin! You’re not suggesting,
He nodded. ‘I certainly am! He didn’t want to move, and now he doesn’t have to,’ he said grimly. ‘Wonderful, isn’t it, how nicely things turn out for some people? First J.C., and now Mrs Bain. I wonder who is next on the list.’
5 - Murder Under Discussion
‘And do you mean to tell me that on such flimsy evidence you really believe J.C. was murdered?’ asked Mr Latimer, his heavy eyebrows lifting and puckering the skin above them into deep ridges.
‘Yes,’ said Colin.
‘Extraordinary! Most extraordinary!’ Mr Latimer gazed at him as though he were a specimen under the microscope. ‘I can only surmise that you have an unusually fertile imagination, Russell fed, no doubt, on the wrong type of Sunday newspaper. You say Miss Connaught shares your opinion?’
‘Yes,’ Colin said again. Eloquence had temporarily deserted him. Sarcasm always took the wind out of his sails.
‘Odd,’ mused the headmaster. ‘I had supposed her to be a young woman with both feet on the ground. And which of us, may I ask, do you fancy as the murderer? Or are you keeping an open mind on that point?’
Colin shook his head feebly. Why was it, he wondered, that Mr Latimer could always reduce him to this state of goggle-eyed dumbness? It had not gone too badly at the start, when the headmaster had allowed him, either from astonishment or from politeness (and the last was most uncharacteristic), to say his piece without interruption. But now —
‘I don’t think there is sufficient evidence to show,’ he managed to answer.
‘Well, at least we are in agreement there. I am much relieved — I had feared you might have your eye on me.’ The eyebrows dropped. ‘The obvious candidate would, I imagine, be Miss Connaught herself. Does she appreciate that?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. It may cause her to hedge before you go too far.’ The headmaster took a cigarette and offered one to Colin, who accepted it gratefully. A cigarette might help to restore some of the confidence which was so rapidly deserting him. ‘Now let us try to dispose of this farcical fancy of yours. It should not be difficult. Take, for instance, your preoccupation with J.C.’s wrist-watch and scattered belongings. Do you suggest that someone attacked him on the river-bank, stripped the poor man of his clothing — not forgetting, of course, to put on his swimming-trunks in the interests of decency — and then threw him, all alive-o, into the river to drown? For he was drowned, you know; no rough stuff, no bumps on the head. The medical evidence made that quite clear.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it happened like that,’ Colin said doubtfully. He had not given much thought as to how the murder had been committed, he only knew that it had taken place.
‘Right. Well, then — perhaps you feel that the murderer did not use force at this stage? That he merely requested — no, ordered is the better word — his victim to remove his clothing and enter the water (again suitably attired, of course — one never knows who may discover the body, does one?) to await his end?’
Colin flushed angrily and stood up.
‘I think that’s enough, sir,’ he said, his voice not entirely under control. ‘I came to you because I thought it was the proper thing to do. I was prepared for incredulity and non-co-operation, but I’m damned if I’m going to stay here and let you make a fool of me. You are treating the whole thing as a huge joke, and —’
‘Sit down, Russell.’ The headmaster’s voice was peremptory, and from force of habit Colin obeyed. ‘I’m not trying to make a fool of you —you are doing that for yourself, if you will forgive my saying so. Nor am I treating this as a joke. It is no joke, believe me, when one of my staff accuses a colleague —even though he leaves that colleague unnamed — of so foul a crime as murder. If I spoke lightly it was to impress on you the absurdity of your hypothesis.’
Colin was not at all sure that he wanted the absurdity impressed on him. He knew he was right. By a skilful use of words the headmaster might confuse his convictions, but he could not dispel them. And a confused mind would merely handicap him in his search for the truth.
‘Good man,’ said Mr Latimer, apparently interpreting the other’s silence as a willingness to listen. He sounded almost genial. ‘Now, you seem to consider yourself something of a detective, but I say you are out of your depth in that role. For if we are agreed (as I think we are) that J.C. was not forced into the water it follows that he went in of his own free will and with no premonition of impending disaster. And in that case neither the wrist-watch nor the scattered belongings have any significance whatsoever. Can’t you see that?’
He saw it only too clearly. And if old Latimer can make mincemeat out of me like this, he thought dismally, what would the police have done?
But Colin was stubborn. One thrust, however piercing, was not going to make him capitulate out of hand. ‘Yes, I see that,’ he conceded. ‘But there may be an explanation that has not occurred to either of us. And you can’t get away from the fact that J.C. had never before been so careless or so unmethodical.’
‘How can you be sure of that? Miss Connaught accompanied him occasionally in the holidays, but nine times out of te
n there was no witness. How do you know what he did then?’ The headmaster threw his cigarette into the fire and lit another. This time he did not offer one to Colin. ‘I suspect, Russell, that you do not want to be convinced. However, let us take your next point — this call for help that Cuttle is supposed to have heard. Personally, I would say that he imagined it.’
‘No, sir, he didn’t.’ For once Colin felt himself on firm ground. ‘I’ve questioned him closely, and he is positive he heard it.’
The headmaster’s eyebrows shot up.
‘So you have questioned him already, have you? Wasn’t that rather presumptuous?’
‘But I was correcting his essay,’ Colin expostulated indignantly. ‘There was no harm in making sure he had his facts right.’
‘Form is more important than fact, Russell, when it comes to correcting a boy’s essay.’
‘I corrected that too, sir.’
‘Well, we will let that pass for now. We will even suppose that Cuttle was not mistaken. What of it? Isn’t it natural that a drowning man should call for help?’
‘But the point is, sir, that he couldn’t. He’d lost his voice.’
‘So he had,’ Mr Latimer agreed, in no way discomfited. ‘Which brings us back to where we started — that Cuttle was mistaken. Or are you suggesting that it was the murderer who shouted for help?’
It’s no good, Colin thought despairingly. The old man has an answer to everything — I’ll never make him understand.
‘You’re dissecting these points individually, Mr Latimer,’ he said indignantly. ‘Of course they seem weak if you do that. But take them all together and they amount to something.’
Mr Latimer shook his head sorrowfully.
‘Your mathematics appear to be as weak as your flair for detection, Russell,’ he said. ‘If each of these points amounts to nothing, then their sum is also nothing. And we haven’t finished yet; there are still the keys to dispose of. Because they are missing you assume they have been stolen. Why?’
‘Because they were neither in his pockets nor on the dressing-table,’ said Colin. ‘And someone other than Anne used them to enter the house after J.C. was dead. That’s why.’
‘But my dear fellow! There are a host of other places where J.C. might have left his keys. He might even have lost them. As for Miss Connaught’s assumption (based solely on one misplaced chair, you say) that someone entered the house — well, frankly, I don’t believe it. I’m sorry, but I don’t. She must be mistaken.’
There was only Mrs Bain now, and to mention her would be to court ridicule. Despite what he had said to Anne the previous evening, calm reflection had made Colin aware that it would be very difficult indeed to establish any connection between the death of J.C. and the accident to Mrs Bain. There could be none.
‘It’s no go, sir,’ he said, not attempting to hide his annoyance and disappointment. ‘I agree with much of what you say, but I still think I’m right, that J.C.’s death was no accident. But as I can’t make you see it my way ...’ He stood up. ‘Good night, sir.’
The headmaster eyed him thoughtfully. He had met men of Russell’s stamp before. They might appear submissive to authority, but there was a dogged streak in them that drove them, often against their better judgment, to persevere in a seemingly hopeless cause — underground, if necessary. He did not want that to happen here.
‘What did you expect me to do?’ he asked. ‘Call in the police?’
‘No, sir. I appreciate that there is not enough evidence for that. But I did hope that you would see my point of view, and perhaps give me your authority to question the staff and make a few inquiries.’
‘The staff might say I had not the necessary authority to give,’ Mr Latimer said drily. ‘But as I am certainly withholding it, what do you propose to do now?’
Colin sensed his anxiety, and drew from it a little bitter consolation. Let the old blighter stew for a while, he thought. Why should I consider his peace of mind when he doesn’t care a damn for mine?
‘Do a bit of sleuthing on my own,’ he said, and left the room before the other could question him further.
His consolation was only temporary. By the time he had sought and found Anne he was in a dismal mood. ‘The old man knocked ‘em down all along the line,’ he told her. ‘He applied common-sense and logic where I used my imagination, and common-sense and logic won in a canter. He fairly shrivelled me.’
Anne was uncertain whether to be sorry or relieved at this set-back. If Colin bowed to the common-sense point of view, would he come to accept it as the truth? Would he be completely converted, or would he accept it under protest? And where did she stand? Her mood at the start had been as sceptical as the headmaster’s — it was the lost keys which had brought her round to Colin’s way of thinking. And there she had the better of the headmaster. Mr Latimer might say she was mistaken in thinking that the chair had been moved, but he was wrong. And if he were wrong in that might he not be wrong elsewhere?
And yet with Mr Latimer against them what hope had they of achieving anything? Murder or no murder, they would be banging their heads against a brick wall; there would be nothing ahead of them but frustration and disappointment. Might it not be wiser to accept defeat now, considering that it was inevitable? There were less than seven weeks to the end of term; surely they could suffer their doubts and fears as long as that? Presumably the murderer had achieved his purpose, whatever that might have been; he was unlikely to strike again. By keeping silence they would not be condemning another innocent person to death.
‘I’m sorry Mr Latimer was so beastly to you, darling,’ she said, ‘but perhaps it is all for the best. We shall soon have to start making plans for our wedding, and that will be a wholetime job. No time then for chasing a will-o’-the-wisp murderer who may not even exist. So let’s forget it, eh?’
It was a reasonable if unethical decision. But Colin stared at her in dismay.
‘Forget it? What — give in to that old so-and-so? No ruddy fear.’
The reproach in his voice puzzled her. ‘But you said —’ she began.
‘I said he beat me hands down on argument, that’s all. I didn’t say he was right. He’s not, either — I’m sure of that. What’s more, I’ll prove it. I’ll make the old buzzard apologize if it’s the last thing I ever do.’
She smiled at him, suddenly glad. He had not chosen the easy way out. He might be up against a brick wall, but that didn’t matter; it was his resolution, his refusal to accept the odds against him, that warmed her and filled her with pride in him. And —well, who knew? Colin was tough and a fighter. It might be the brick wall that gave way first.
‘Good for you,’ she said, hugging him after a quick glance to ensure that no small boy was watching. ‘I can’t see any real road to success, but I’m glad you didn’t let that sarcastic old iceberg get you down. What do we do next? And I mean we.’
He kissed her. ‘Chris, I suppose. He’s the only one I can hope to tackle without being told to mind my own business.’
‘Only if he’s innocent — as I suppose he must be? I can’t imagine Chris wilfully harming a flea, let alone a human being.’
Colin frowned. ‘I would have said that too a fortnight ago. But now — well, we’ll see. You don’t suppose he would have confided in Diana, do you? Couldn’t you try to pump her? Indulge in a spasm of girlish confidences?’
Anne smiled. ‘Diana isn’t given to girlish confidences; she’s as close as a clam. If anyone is going to pump her it had better be you, darling; a presentable male would have more success with Diana than another woman. Even so I doubt whether you would discover anything she didn’t want you to know.’
‘I suspect something catty in that remark,’ said Colin. ‘But I might take you up on it. Diana is a remarkably good-looking female.’
Anne shuddered. ‘Ugh! I hope you don’t go around describing me as a good-looking female.’
‘Well, you are, aren’t you? But if you don’t think you would get any
where with Diana, how about Mrs Smelton? You’re friendly with her, and I’d very much like to know what her husband was up to that morning. Incidentally, have you noticed that he’s gone all gloomy again?’
‘Probably had another row with Dorothy. All right — if the opportunity offers I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect too much. She may not know, and she may not talk even if she does know.’
***
Colin took Chris Moull down to the local that evening for a drink before dinner. Unlike Smelton, Chris had not returned to the gloom that had enveloped him prior to the inquest. Anne ascribed this to Diana’s kindlier manner towards him, but Colin wondered at times whether the verdict itself might not have something to do with it. If Chris had anything to hide that verdict must have made him feel more secure.
In the pub the talk was of Mrs Bain. Chris seemed taken aback at being regarded by the landlord and his customers as something of a hero, and vehemently denied the label. It had been a simple job to put out the fire, he said — and asked how the old lady was progressing.
‘She’ll do,’ said the landlord. ‘She ain’t all that bad, I’m told. What beats me is how she come to make such a stupid mistake.’
‘What mistake?’ asked Colin.
‘She’d been and filled the lamp with petrol in the shed where they keep the paraffin, but you’d think the old dear would know the difference after all these years.’
‘What does he keep petrol for?’
‘He’s got one of them auto-cycles,’ said the landlord.
It was not until they were on their way back to the school that Colin mentioned Tony Cuttle’s essay. ‘It explains how he came to run into the side of the car instead of the front of it,’ he said. ‘I wondered about that. Incidentally, how was it you didn’t see him down by the river?’
‘Goodness knows,’ said the other, after a slight pause. ‘We weren’t there at the same time, I suppose.’
‘Well, you ought to have seen him after the accident. They had to wait for the ambulance.’
This time the pause was longer. Then, ‘I didn’t come home along the Tanbury road,’ said Chris.