by Clara Benson
‘I’ve said to Mr. Davis before that he really ought to be more careful,’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘I pointed out to him that those side doors seem to be open at all times, and that anyone could come in that way and through the minor hall, but he said he had to leave them unlocked in case of fire. I wonder if that’s how the thief got in, since it appears nobody saw him arrive.’
‘Oh, but are we sure it was a thief who did it?’ said Mr. Hussey significantly.
‘Do you incline to the theory that she was put out of the way by the Communists, Mr. Hussey?’ said Mrs. Starkweather.
‘I could not say, but the whole thing appears rather suspicious to me,’ said Mr. Hussey. ‘One does not like to be uncharitable, but Trevett in particular strikes me as a most dangerous fellow. He speaks of nothing but revolution and violence, and the overthrow of the state, and altogether uses most unseemly language for a mixed company. I do not know why so many women attend the meetings of this Communist Alliance. If I had a daughter, I assure you that I should never permit her to set foot in that hall on a Tuesday night. Their talk is most unsuitable for female ears.’
‘You are quite right,’ said Mrs. Belcher, ‘and I have had to speak most strongly to some of the lower-class girls about it, for Mr. Trevett has a certain attraction to him that appeals to the weaker sort of person, and they will tend to drift into the large hall if not forestalled. I’ve no doubt at all that he has no compunction in using his great personal magnetism to hypnotize his listeners into doing whatever he wants.’
Mr Hussey looked as though he did not appreciate the idea of anybody’s being more personally magnetic than himself, but said nothing.
‘I can’t see it myself,’ said Mrs. Starkweather, who was still considering the original question. ‘I mean to say, I should think the Communists had far more to worry about than a harmless old busybody such as Miss Stapleton. I beg your pardon—of course one oughtn’t to speak ill of the dead, but you must admit she was very curious by nature. If she thought there was something amiss, then she would not rest until she found out what it was, especially if she suspected some wrongdoing.’
‘And she did, didn’t she?’ said Mildred. ‘She was really convinced that the Alliance were up to something. I always thought it was rot, myself, but now she’s dead I’m wondering whether there mightn’t have been something in it. Perhaps she was right all along.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Hodges, who had been silent up to now. She was pale and miserable, and was holding a handkerchief in her hand in the expectation that she would cry at any moment, although her eyes had remained stubbornly dry up to now. She felt obliquely guilty about this, and twisted the handkerchief restlessly in her hands, as though by doing so she could wring out a few tears. Mrs. Starkweather regarded her kindly.
‘You look done in, Miss Hodges,’ she said. ‘I believe this has come as a shock to us all.’
Miss Hodges nodded and gave a little sound like a gulp.
‘But as Mr. Hussey says, we mustn’t allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by it,’ went on Mrs. Starkweather.
‘No,’ agreed Mrs. Belcher, who had got over her moment of weakness and was once again prepared to stand firm against all comers. ‘Miss Hodges, we shall need you more than ever. We must all take our share of the duties that poor Miss Stapleton will no longer be able to carry out. The work of the Association must continue.’
‘But what about the takings?’ said Mildred suddenly. ‘Have we any idea how much money was stolen? And why was she carrying the box around with her?’
‘The subscriptions were supposed to be counted by the end of the month,’ said Mr. Bottle. ‘I should have done it myself, but as you know I was indisposed and unable to attend the meeting. I expect Miss Stapleton had taken the box out of the drawer in order to take it home and do it in my stead.’
‘I was supposed to do it,’ said Miss Hodges in a small voice. ‘But what with one thing and another, I—I forgot to take the box with me.’
‘By the end of the month?’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘I thought the money was deposited weekly. Wouldn’t that make more sense?’
‘It is deposited weekly,’ said Mr. Bottle. ‘Usually I count everything up on Wednesday after the meeting, then take it to the bank. But sometimes we have a little extra money, and I try to make sure it is all deposited by the end of the month, even if it is not my usual day for going to the bank. Some little sum was raised at the jumble sale last Friday, for example.’
‘How much?’ said Mildred.
‘Nearly thirty-five pounds,’ said Mrs. Belcher. ‘I gave it to Mr. Bottle.’
‘Didn’t it go to the bank?’ said Miss Hodges.
‘I am afraid not,’ said Mr. Bottle. ‘Unfortunately, I put it into the takings box and returned it to the hall, since the bank was closed by the time we had finished. After that I was forced to take to my bed. Of course, at the time I did not know it was pneumonia. Had I been aware of that, I should never have stood out in the rain all that time on Friday. I now wish I had taken the money home with me, for then we should not have lost it, and perhaps Miss Stapleton might not have died at all.’
‘Oh, dear me!’ said Miss Hodges unhappily.
‘Such a small sum to kill someone for,’ said Mrs. Starkweather.
‘To us, perhaps,’ said Mr. Hussey. ‘But it would be a great temptation for a poorer man.’
‘But if it was someone from the Communist Alliance who killed Miss Stapleton, then presumably they took the money as a blind,’ said Mildred. ‘To mislead us into thinking they didn’t do it, I mean.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mr. Hussey, considering. ‘Yes, you may be right. I had not thought of that.’
‘Goodness me, is that the time?’ said Mrs. Belcher suddenly. ‘I had no idea we had been talking so long. Shall I see you at Lady Dartington’s tomorrow, Nerissa dear?’
‘Oh, is that tomorrow?’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘Dear me, I thought it was next week. Yes, I shall be there.’
Mrs. Belcher turned her imperious eye upon Miss Hodges, who quailed slightly.
‘Miss Hodges, this is a difficult time for us all, but we must put our chins up and carry on bravely,’ she said. ‘I am sure I can rely on you to do everything in your power to ensure that the work of the Association continues without interruption. Mildred, dear, do you suppose you can help Miss Hodges with the tea at the next meeting?’
‘Of course I can,’ said Mildred. ‘You and I shall manage, shan’t we, Miss Hodges?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Hodges, grateful that nobody had shouted at her.
Mrs. Belcher recited a long list of things that needed seeing to, and then sailed out, almost restored to her usual self at the thought of the changes which would now have to be made, and the opportunities this would give her to be even more officious than usual, for it had occurred to her that if the murder did turn out to have been motivated by theft, then perhaps they might use Miss Stapleton’s death as an object lesson, since the man who had done it must surely have been under the influence of alcohol at the time.
‘Poor Marjorie,’ said Mrs. Starkweather, once Mrs. Belcher had departed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so deflated.’
‘She’ll be all right, you’ll see,’ said Mildred. ‘Just watch—she’ll use it as an excuse to fish for pity and get more money out of people.’
‘Goodness!’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’
‘No, but it makes sense, don’t you think? That’s what I should do if I were in her shoes.’
‘Young people are so pitiless nowadays,’ murmured Mrs. Starkweather.
‘Has anybody spoken to the police?’ said Mr. Bottle. ‘What did they say? Are they sure nobody saw anything?’
Everyone shook their heads.
‘The police haven’t said much at all,’ said Mildred. ‘They’re an impassive lot.
They asked me questions for half an hour, but I couldn’t understand what they were getting at. They asked where things were kept in the office. They wanted to know who had the keys to the drawer where the takings box was kept, so I said I thought it was you and Miss Stapleton, Mr. Bottle.’
‘That is quite right,’ said Mr. Bottle. ‘I have my key here with me. Then you are sure nobody caught sight of the killer? Which way did he come in, for example? Mrs. Starkweather, you talked of the side entrance that leads into the minor hall. Do you suspect that that is how he got in? It would have taken a matter of minutes to slip in and out that way—with the further advantage that the door is not easily visible from the street. Miss Hodges, Miss Starkweather, I understand you were the last to leave. Are you quite sure you didn’t see anyone?’
‘Mummy and I left together before Miss Hodges,’ said Mildred, ‘and I didn’t see a thing. Miss Stapleton had gone off somewhere and I didn’t even say goodbye to her. I expect she was in the office, digging out the takings box.’
‘I saw no-one,’ said Miss Hodges, shaking her head vehemently. ‘I finished clearing up, then Mr. Pilkington-Soames was kind enough to escort me to the ’bus stop, and I went home.’
‘I wonder whether Freddy saw anything,’ said Mildred thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps we ought to ask him.’
Mr. Bottle was about to say something, but went into another coughing fit.
‘Now, Mr. Bottle, I shan’t listen to another word about how well you are,’ said Mrs. Starkweather. ‘You’re quite obviously very ill. You must go home and rest.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Mr. Bottle through his handkerchief.
‘And you’d better go in a taxi,’ said Mildred, then, as he protested, pointed at the window. ‘It’s sleeting again. You can’t go out in that. I’d send you with Burton but it’s his afternoon off.’
Mr. Bottle was duly persuaded and a girl was dispatched to procure a cab. Miss Hodges stood up and prepared to leave too, but as she made her way towards the door she bumped into a large stone reproduction of the Egyptian god Anubis, which was blocking the way to the door most inconveniently, and dropped her bag, which burst open. There was some confusion and not a few bumped heads as everyone darted forward to help her gather her scattered belongings together. Most of them had fallen at Mr. Bottle’s feet, and the effort of picking them up brought on another coughing fit in him.
‘Miss Hodges, perhaps you would care to come with me,’ he said, once he had recovered and she had stammered out her apologies and thanks. ‘I believe you live not far from me, and I dare say you would not wish to go out in this inclement weather either.’
Miss Hodges, fearful of putting anybody or everybody out, demurred at first, but was eventually herded into the taxi by the forceful Mildred, and she and Mr. Bottle went off in great state, followed shortly afterwards by Mr. Hussey.
‘Well!’ said Mildred to her mother, once they had the house to themselves again. ‘I suppose you’ll tell me off for saying it, but this is all rather thrilling. I’ve never seen a murder before!’
‘Poor Miss Stapleton. I wonder whether we ought to have made more of an effort to be sympathetic,’ said her mother doubtfully.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why, the only person who seemed sorry she was dead was Marjorie.’
‘Oh, of course I’m sorry she was killed,’ said Mildred. ‘I should never wish this sort of thing upon anybody. I’m not as cold and hard as you seem to think. But you can’t deny she was a difficult woman. Some people might even call her a thorn in the side. Not only ours, but the Communists’, too. And the only thing to do with a thorn is to pluck it out.’
‘Well, somebody has certainly done that,’ said Mrs. Starkweather.
On Monday Freddy wandered along to the office of the Radical, since he wanted to speak to St. John. The office turned out to be two dingy rooms above an ironmonger’s shop near Clerkenwell Green. On climbing the stairs Freddy found that the door to the outer room was open, and he entered without knocking to find two young men in their shirt-sleeves, playing cards with their feet up on the table. They looked up as he came in.
‘St. John?’ said one of them, and jerked his thumb towards another door which was pulled almost closed, then went back to his game.
St. John was rifling through a stack of documents, frowning. He brightened as Freddy entered.
‘Hallo, old chap,’ he said. ‘Come to see where all the work goes on, have you?’
‘I didn’t see much work going on out there,’ said Freddy. ‘Is that what we’ll all be doing after the revolution?’
‘They’re just waiting for the news to come in,’ said St. John. ‘We hear from the trade unions every week, but they’re usually late, and quite often they don’t send it in until the last minute. Sometimes they don’t send it in at all, in fact.’
‘And what do you do then?’
‘I write something myself if I happen to know more or less what’s been going on that week. If I don’t, then I put in last week’s news again.’
‘Doesn’t anybody notice?’
‘Not so far,’ said St. John. ‘There was one week where I accidentally mixed up all the titles, and said the miners’ piece had come from the dock-workers’ union, and the rail-workers’ piece had come from the miners, and so on, and nobody said a thing. I expect no-one reads them, really.’
‘Perhaps you ought to make them a little less dry, then,’ said Freddy. ‘Or, on second thoughts, perhaps not, if you make this sort of mistake often. What day do you go to press?’
‘Thursday.’
‘Do you expect much news?’
‘It depends. I dare say there won’t be much this week, unless something unexpected happens. We had rather a thrilling time of it a few weeks ago when John Pettit’s house burned down—you know, Rowbotham’s deputy at the Labourers’ Union—and he narrowly escaped with his life. There was a suspicion of foul play, you see. Obviously we made the most of it, although I dare say it was caused by a spark from his kitchen fire. There’s been nothing so exciting since then, though.’
‘And what will those two out there do until then if no news comes in?’
‘Play cards, I imagine. That’s if they turn up. They don’t always.’
‘Do you pay them?’
‘Sometimes,’ said St. John. ‘When we can afford it.’
There seemed little more to be said on that subject, so Freddy looked around him instead. The room was tiny, only big enough for two desks, some bookshelves, a filing cabinet or two and not much else. St. John’s desk was piled high with a jumble of paper, pens, books, periodicals and, somewhat mysteriously, a stuffed owl in a glass jar.
‘Oh, someone sent that in,’ said St. John in reply to Freddy’s questioning look. ‘I have no idea why. You’d be surprised at the stuff we get. Some people seem to treat us as a sort of lost property office. They send us things and expect us to put a notice in the paper. But we have a perfectly good lost-and-found column for that, and if they want to advertise then they can jolly well pay us for it.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Freddy. ‘Do you make much from your small ads?’
‘A little,’ said St. John. ‘We charge two shillings a line, minimum three lines. Cheap, I know, but we’re not exactly the Times, so we have to charge what we can get.’
‘Who takes them down?’ said Freddy.
‘I do, or Ruth does—if they come in by telephone, that is. Some people deliver them in person, and others send them in by post with payment.’
Freddy picked up a copy of last week’s Radical and flicked through it casually.
‘Hmm—hmm—the usual,’ he said. ‘People looking for lodgings or work. Requests for false teeth. I can’t help thinking there must be quite a shortage of dentures in the world, because I never open a paper without seeing someone asking for them. Perhaps I ought to buy shares i
n false teeth companies, since they are in such high demand. Now, look at this: someone is prepared to accept twenty-five pounds for a set of ermine. Ermine what, though?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said St. John.
‘I shouldn’t have thought your readers were the type to wear that sort of thing,’ said Freddy. ‘Perhaps I’ve misjudged them.’ He glanced down the page again. ‘Surprising the nonsense people insist on announcing to the world. I mean to say, look at this: “Leonora: we were so very happy; why must you end it so? It has all been a terrible misunderstanding, and can easily be put right again—Harold.”’
‘Oh, that’s old Harcourt. Poor old chap is about a hundred and six and completely ga-ga. He was considered the future of radical politics in about eighteen seventy, but nothing ever came of it. His wife died ten years ago, but he persists in believing she’s left him, and hopes that if he keeps advertising then she’ll come back to him. I’d never take his money ordinarily, but he gets so distraught if I try to refuse it that I haven’t the heart to turn him down.’
‘Do you know everyone who advertises?’
‘A good few of them,’ said St. John. ‘A lot of them are regulars, you see.’
‘What about this one, then?’ said Freddy. ‘It’s rather odd. It starts “Daddie Dearest,” but the rest is just numbers. What on earth does it mean?’
‘What’s that?’ said St. John, craning his neck to look. ‘Oh, those. I don’t know who sends those. They come in by post.’
‘Where do they come from? And who sends them?’
‘I don’t know. Does it matter? They come with a postal order, and as long as they’re paying we’re happy to print whatever they like.’
‘But shouldn’t you like to know who is sending them?’
‘Not especially,’ said St. John.
‘I don’t suppose you have one of the originals, do you? Or one of the envelopes they come in?’