‘So, Scriboma passed the hot potatoes to you? What did you do with them?’
‘I didn’t know how to dispose of them. I couldn’t very well take them back to the quarries, could I? And it wouldn’t have been right to put them in the dustbin or on a rubbish tip. Kids might have got them and done harm to themselves.’
‘You did have scruples then?’
‘Of course I did. It’s different a crook blasting open a safe from kids killing or maiming themselves. I finally took the two sticks and hid them in my filing cabinet at the Excelsior. I thought they’d be all right there. I had in mind taking them and throwing them in a river, or else in the sea as soon as I’d the time.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No. Before I could do it, somebody took them.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us all this after the explosion? It would have saved us a lot of time and trouble.’
‘Tell you the dynamite I’d pinched had been pinched from me! That would have been very clever of me, wouldn’t it? You’d have said I’d invented the whole story and accused me of blowing up Dodd and the others myself.’
‘Who took the dynamite from your office? Any idea?’
‘I don’t know. The cabinet was locked most of the time. I kept the key.’
‘How many keys were there?’
‘I had one, and Dodd and Fred Hoop had the other two, in case I was away. I was the only one who used the cabinet, though.’
‘Was it under your eye all day until you left at night?’
‘Yes.’
‘With the sticks of dynamite loose in it?’
‘No. I put them in a cardboard box that had once had screws in it.’
‘What kind of box?’
‘Just large enough to hold three or four sticks. It was one of Forest and Hedley’s old boxes.’
‘How long were the sticks of dynamite there?’
‘Just that day. Scriboma met me with them on my way to work. I couldn’t get rid of them right away and that night I couldn’t either. I’d something on. So I left them locked in the office cabinet.’
At this point, Cromwell put in his head. Littlejohn and Bugler had been at it so long that he had begun to wonder if anything had gone wrong. The sight of Littlejohn’s slow-burning pipe and Bugler’s flushed features reassured him.
‘All right?’
‘Yes. We won’t be long now.’
In the town outside, the opening blows of a parliamentary by-election were being struck. A parading loudspeaker van was praising one of the candidates. ‘Let’s have a change this time. Vote for Moody.’
‘And the two sticks of dynamite were stolen.’
‘That’s right. They vanished.’
‘Did anyone use the cabinet besides you?’
‘Not usually. It had the men’s time-sheets in it.’
‘Did you see anybody looking in the drawer? Or did you leave anyone alone in your office whilst the dynamite was there?’
Bugler thought for a minute.
‘Anybody might have wandered in and if I wasn’t there, they could have pried in the drawers and perhaps seen it. I was always in and out of the drawers, but on that day, I locked it as often as I remembered. I hadn’t been in the habit of locking it till then, except when I left at night. Remembering to lock it every time I used it while the dynamite was there needed a bit of getting into. I did forget a time or two, but when I recollected what was in it, I quickly shut and locked it.’
‘Did you see Fred Hoop around?’
‘No.’
‘Anyone at all?’
‘Old Tom Hoop came in about the time-sheets. He took them away but he didn’t find the dynamite. I remember checking that it hadn’t been interfered with after he left. I must admit that when he calmly opened the drawer and said he wanted the sheets, it gave me a bit of a turn. I held my breath till he’d taken them.’
‘He came later and replaced them?’
‘Not exactly. He put them on my desk when he’d finished with them. I was out of the room at the time and had locked the cabinet when I left.’
‘Any other callers? You seem to be able to remember quite a lot when you make an effort.’
‘I’m not holding back deliberately. After all that’s happened lately, it’s a wonder I can remember anything. Other callers, did you say? Yes. Alderman Vintner called about a bill we’d owed him for more than six months. He was in a terrible temper and said he was going to issue a writ right away if we didn’t pay up at once. He used to allow the company long credit till he quarrelled with Dodd.’
‘What about?’
‘You ought to know. It’s all over the town. The way Dodd treated Alderman Vintner’s daughter, his wife. Having affairs with other women. The alderman fancies himself a big shot in Evingden and naturally objected to having his family name dragged in the mud.’
‘You say he called…’
‘Yes. I said he’d better talk to Dodd. He said he’d been in the main office already, but found Dodd telephoning. He told me to tell Dodd that he was going to his lawyer right away. He worked himself up into such a rage that I thought he’d have a stroke on the spot. He seemed to blame me as well as Dodd.’
‘Why?’
‘He was out for blood. “I hear Forest and Hedley are supplying you with ironmongery now. Do they know the financial state you’re in? I’ll soon let them know. I’ll stop your credit with them and everybody else.” That’s what he said to me, as if I’d done it all.’
‘How did he know about Forest and Hedley?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’d told him. They were very good to us after Vintner cut us off. They supplied us with hinges, screws, nails, and the like.’
‘Did Vintner have a chance to see the dynamite?’
‘I don’t think so. I was there all the time the alderman was in the office. I might have turned my back for a minute while I got out the overdue bills from a drawer behind my desk. I don’t remember.’
‘Was that the same morning that Tom Hoop came for the time-sheets?’
‘Yes, it was. About half an hour before Vintner arrived.’
‘Did you check that the dynamite was still there when you locked up at night?’
‘I’d locked the cabinet when I went to lunch and I didn’t open it again. I was sure the dynamite hadn’t been interfered with. You see, Fleming, the shop steward, called just as I was putting my things away. It was half-past five and he said he wanted to see me. It was about wages for the week, as usual. I said wouldn’t it do in the morning, as I was in a hurry. He said if I’d lock up, he’d walk home with me and tell me what he wanted then. I couldn’t shake him off. I didn’t open the cabinet again. In any case I couldn’t have looked to see if the dynamite was still there. Fleming was breathing down my neck. So, as I was sure it hadn’t been tampered with, I left without checking it.’
‘When did Tom Hoop first stay away with his last illness?’
‘He was taken unwell soon after he came for the time-sheets. They persuaded him to go home. He was very ill later that day and at night they said he was very bad. I think it must have been his heart.’
‘When did you actually find the dynamite missing?’
‘It must have been taken on the day I put it there, the day of the explosion. I can’t imagine who or how. As I told you, I was there all the time. Once or twice, I half hesitated about taking it away with me the same night and getting rid of it right away, but I’d to play in a snooker match at half-past eight. So I decided to leave it another day.’
‘You first discovered its disappearance the morning after the fire?’
‘Before that. I went to my office to get hold of it and put it somewhere safely out of the way while the fire was burning. I thought if the flames or even the heat spread across the street to the main buildings, and reached my o
ffice, there’d be another explosion and the whole of the works would go up.’
‘The dynamite in your drawer was obviously taken and used to blow up the main offices.’
‘That’s what it looks like. You’d better not think I did it, because I didn’t.’
‘Where were you when the explosion occurred?’
‘I was waiting for that. Well, I’ve got a cast-iron alibi. I was in the Queen’s Arms in the centre of Evingden from seven till just after eight, when the news came that Excelsior works were on fire. It was the night of our snooker handicap, due to begin at eight. It didn’t, because of the fire. I was in the Arms early to have a drink and a chat with the rest. The landlord and a dozen or more others will tell you I was with them all the time.’
‘Very well, Mr. Bugler. Just one last enquiry. About what time did Tom Hoop call for the time-sheets?’
‘Half-past ten. I was just having my morning cup of tea.’
‘And Vintner?’
‘Oh, about eleven.’
‘Anyone else call?’
‘You asked that before. I was out a lot of the time in the works. I locked the cabinet every time I left my office.’
‘Right. Please don’t leave town until this matter has been squared up. You’re an important witness and I might need you again.’
‘What’s going to happen about me for taking the dynamite from the quarry?’
‘We’ll talk about that later. I won’t forget the straightforward way you’ve helped me.’
Bugler was still uneasy.
‘Scriboma will kill me when he gets to know what I’ve told you. You forced me to say some very unpleasant things about Bert.’
‘I forced you to do nothing. I didn’t even caution you. You simply decided to co-operate with the police because that’s the right thing to do. Leave it at that. It will serve you in good stead. Meanwhile, not a word to Scriboma about this interview or what you’ve said about his part in the bank attempt.’
‘He knows I’m here. He’s sure to ask.’
‘Simply tell him, then, we’ve been questioning you closely about the finances and other business of Excelsior. That’s all.’
Bugler left with melodramatic gestures of caution and care, as though his brother-in-law might have been listening behind the door and waiting for a chance to despatch him without more ado.
Littlejohn was glad to see the last of Bugler. He’d received a report from Cromwell about the surfeit of suspects which he’d accumulated at the Rosealba quarries. Now, Littlejohn was getting his share. He needed time to think. He also needed a bit of peace and quiet, for the loudmouth amplifier was under the windows again.
‘We need a change. Vote for Moody this time.’
Fourteen
Directors’ Meeting
There was still a policeman on duty at the wreck of the Excelsior offices, to keep away the species of beach-combers who kept hanging round in the hope of salvaging something valuable from the ruins. The bobby saluted Littlejohn smartly.
‘Is Mr. Fred Hoop about? They told me I’d probably find him here.’
‘He’s never away, sir. You’ll find him in the works. He’s established his headquarters in the works office. I don’t know what he’s doing all the time. Perhaps trying to rebuild the company.’
Fred Hoop was there, in Bugler’s office. He looked up at Littlejohn blankly from a pile of ledgers he was scrutinising.
There were books and papers piled high on the desk, on tables and on the floor. Some of them were charred; others were so old that they might have dated back to the foundation of the firm in happier days, and looked ready to fall to bits.
‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’
He was like one of those persistent insects, pursuing an interminable instinctive course which leads nowhere. His pale hatchet face protruded over a pile of scorched papers from which he seemed to have created a stack of notes. His eyes glowed feverishly in their sunken orbits and he hadn’t had a shave, which made his cheeks more grimy and hollower. He looked as if he’d recently been sleeping in his clothes as well.
‘I won’t keep you long, Mr. Hoop.’
‘If it’s anything about the explosion case, I’ve nothing more to say. I’m now busy trying to make the best of a bad job. It’s awful. I don’t know where to begin.’
He looked it, too!
He waved a grubby hand at Littlejohn.
‘As for the murder case, if such it was, it looks as if that’s a washout, too. You police keep messing about and doing nothing. It’ll probably end up unsolved.’
‘We’re still trying, at least.’
The same could be said for Fred Hoop, judging from the piles of work he was attempting to fathom.
‘I want to ask you one or two more questions.’
Fred Hoop extricated himself from the mass of rubbish surrounding him and faced Littlejohn across the wreckage on the desk. He looked to have lost a lot of weight, too, in the few days since the disaster.
‘I ought to have my lawyer with me. I intended doing that all the time. But now I don’t care. I don’t care if you arrest me. I’m fed up with it all. Ask your questions. I don’t care. I shan’t answer them if I don’t want.’
A little more and he’d burst into tears of despair.
‘Sit down, sir. I’m only asking for help and you won’t incriminate yourself at all by answering. First of all, though, your account of what you did on the night of the fire isn’t quite straight.’
‘Do you think I made it all up? You can check it, can’t you? It’s a pity you haven’t something better to do…’
‘You stated that you left your father’s house about seven. You then went home and had some tea, later leaving for Brantwood, where your wife was staying with her mother. You arrived there at eight.’
‘Well? All that’s true. As I said…’
‘Your wife said you arrived at half-past seven.’
‘She was wrong. She never was one for caring about the truth. She wouldn’t care if her statements hanged me…’
Suddenly Hoop burst out in rage, panting and shaking with it.
‘I said eight and it was eight!’
He thumped a pile of records, which slid from the table and scattered all over the place.
‘You also said you’d called at Brantwood to bring her home. You knew she was staying there and had no intention of returning home.’
It seemed to puncture Hoop’s frenzy and he went limp again.
‘You seem to know.’
‘Let’s say, to put the record straight, you called to ask her for money for Excelsior wages and that you appealed to her to come home.’
‘If that’s the way you want it. It makes no difference to me. I couldn’t care less.’
‘You told the police you left Mrs. Sandman’s house about nine o’clock, but you didn’t arrive at Excelsior works until after eleven. Where had you been?’
‘I had to change a wheel of my car on the way. A flat tyre. In pouring rain. That’s the one and only reason I was so late.’
‘Very well. One more question. First, let me say how sorry I was to hear of your father’s death…’
Hoop looked all round the room as though seeking something before he finally looked in Littlejohn’s direction again. Then, he seemed about to thank him, but changed his mind.
‘Well? That won’t bring him back. Now I’m left without anybody to help me restore all this mess. The only one left of the whole board of directors.’
‘Tell me, Mr. Hoop, on the morning before the fire, did you meet your father in the works with the time-sheets?’
Hoop looked blankly at Littlejohn.
‘What about it?’
‘Was he unwell then?’
‘Yes. I said he’d better go home and take a rest. He’d a pain in his chest. Said it
was a cold, but I thought it was his heart. The post-mortem proved I was right. It was his heart. There was nothing the matter with his lungs.’
So much for Tom Hoop’s medical herbalism!
‘He asked you to return the time-sheets to Bugler’s office?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he make any other remark before he left you to go home?’
‘Nothing of any consequence.’
‘What do you mean by any consequence, sir?’
‘What I say. My father was very unwell at the time and made a rambling comment or two which made me think he was growing a bit delirious.’
Hoop gazed wearily around at the confusion of books and papers surrounding him. Then he passed his hand over his ruffled hair.
‘Is that all? I want to get on. Bugler’s deserted the ship and the directors are all dead except me. There’s nobody left…’
‘Did your father mention dynamite before he left you, Mr. Hoop?’
‘Yes, he did. He said, “What’s Bugler doing with sticks of dynamite in his filing cabinet? Just look into it.” And with that he went home, adding that if he hadn’t felt so ill, he’d have looked into it himself.’
‘Did you do as your father asked?’
‘Of course. I thought he didn’t quite know what he was talking about, but that I’d better come here and see. It was in this office. There was nobody here and the filing cabinet over there was locked. I had a key to it, so I unlocked it. There was nothing there even resembling dynamite.’
‘Was there anything that might once have contained it? An old box which had once held screws?’
‘Nothing. I turned out all the drawers. There was nothing there but some more old time-sheets.’
‘And then you locked it up again and left the time-sheets your father gave you and went away?’
‘Yes. Bugler was nowhere about, so I couldn’t ask him what father had meant. I never gave the incident another thought. With all I’ve had to worry me since…’
Littlejohn felt sorry for him. A helpless and incompetent man doing his best. He’d paid off all the workmen and was quite alone.
Surfeit of Suspects Page 17