Dead March for Penelope Blow, page 12
‘Who else would it be, sir? Nobody else is involved.’
‘No, I see that...’
The grandfather clock in one corner slowly and laboriously chimed the quarters and then struck four. Littlejohn looked at the watch on his wrist.
‘Clock’s a bit off the mark, sir.’
‘Yes. It’s rather like me, Inspector. It’s older by nearly a century than I am and we both forget the right time. It’s about noon, I’d say, from a series of rough calculations on the basis of what it at present indicates.’
‘That’s right, sir. May I use your telephone, please?’
‘You’ll find it in the hall, there, just by the chest. It’s an old-fashioned instrument, but moderately efficient.’ Littlejohn excused himself, found the telephone and dialled 999. Almost at once, the full-flavoured, good-humoured voice of Harriwinckle rumbled in the receiver.
Littlejohn asked if he could manage a second guest, the vicar.
‘Of course, sir. ’Ighly pleased to see the reverend. You managed to cheer ’im up a bit? Good! We’ll be seein’ you then, sir. Roast pork, stuffin’, biled potaters and sprouts from me own garden. Suet puddin’ to foller, and can Mrs. H. make ’em…? Well, you know of old, sir...’
‘Thank you so much, Harriwinckle. And could you get a bottle of Martel from the landlord at the pub? Charge it to me. It does the vicar’s cold a world of good...We’ll be seeing you soon...’
‘You really have been a great help, sir,’ said Littlejohn to the vicar when he got back to the hearth. ‘It’s remarkable how well-posted Miss Penelope kept you...’
The vicar shook his head.
‘I have never told another soul what I’m now going to say. Before we parted Penelope and I swore never to marry anyone else. In fact, except for the blessing of the Church on us, we were husband and wife, Inspector. We were each other’s all in all, and we each remained faithful to the end. I shall be meeting her soon, I hope, in better circumstances...’
Littlejohn was glad there was Harriwinckle to take the old man out of himself a bit. He muffled up the vicar in a greatcoat, a motor rug and Penelope’s scarf and, after pacifying Mrs.Younghusband for taking her master away, tucked him in the police car and whirled him off for pork and stuffing. And could Mrs. H. cook ’em!
Chapter Ten
Try it on the cat!
Cromwell was sitting in the kitchen of the bank house before the fire in a rocking chair. Posted solicitously round him were Mrs. Frazer, Mrs. Minshull and Jelley. The sergeant was balancing a cup of strong tea in one hand and breaking pieces of rich currant cake from a slab on a plate on his knee and eating them with relish.
‘Good cake...’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Frazer cryptically. She used only the best for the staff below-stairs, especially for Mr. Jelley, who wasn’t very strong. Dolly, the kitchen-maid, had been closed in the scullery and given a lot of brass to clean during the conference. You could hear her banging around to express her indignation at the affront.
Cromwell, on Littlejohn’s instructions, bad made sure that the family were out and then introduced himself at the back door as Littlejohn’s assistant. He had been received into the bosom of the staff like a long-lost brother. He looked extremely respectable, a cross between an evangelist and a gentleman’s gentleman, and this went down very well with them.
‘You was sayin’?’ said Mrs. Minshull, wriggling in her chair with voluptuous pleasure at the tea, the cake and the company.
‘Oh, yes, the Citadel. We were there last night. Nice place they’ve got now, thanks to Mr. Blow...and poor Miss Penelope...’
Mrs. Frazer wiped away a tear.
‘Whoever could ’ave done such a thing, sir?’
‘That’s what we’ve to find out. But first of all, Miss Honoria baffles me. This poisoning...I can’t make out why whoever was doing it couldn’t have given her a proper dose and finished the thing in one, instead of making such a long drawn-out job of it. So long, in fact, that people have tumbled to it and stopped it.’
The three servants exchanged looks. Cromwell glanced from one to the other.
‘You all look very mysterious. What’s the matter?’
Jelley cleared his throat and delicately bit a small piece from his portion of cake, sipped his tea and sighed.
‘We must confess we don’t regard it as seriously as some people...We think it was another of Miss Honoria’s tricks, Mr. Cromwell.’
‘What tricks, Mr. Jelley?’
They looked at each other very respectfully, like a couple of friendly dogs in a first encounter in which each wishes to assure the other of its good intentions.
‘Well, sir...Ever since she was quite young, Miss Honoria has wanted her own way and, if she couldn’t have it, has created a fuss. She is nervously unstable, Mr. Cromwell; what they call nowadays, neurotic...yes, sir, neurotic. In my days, Mr. Cromwell, they were simply regarded as naughty and treated accordingly...Firmly, sir...just firmly.’
The two attendant women made noises of warm approval and nodded admiringly at the man who believed in a strong hand, although, to see him, he looked on his last legs.
‘More tea, Mr. Cromwell…?’ And Mrs. Frazer filled up his cup and without his permission slid another large dollop of cake on his plate.
‘Yes, Mr. Cromwell, we are all three of the opinion that Miss Honoria took the poison herself.’
‘What!’
The remainder of the party confirmed this by unanimous acclamation.
‘Yes, sir. We think she took it herself. Not enough to kill, or even seriously injure herself, but sufficient to make her sick and, if the doctor called, make her story seem true.’
‘But why?’
‘Well, we’ve talked it all over together, Mr. Cromwell, and we’re all of one mind; Miss Honoria had something to do with the decease of Miss Penelope. We think she was after her sister’s money and planned her death.’
The two women were agog with excitement. It was evident there had been a severe staff conference between them and Jelley, they had pooled their views, and reached a measure of unanimity. Jelley was their spokesman, but as he told his tale, they punctuated it with cries, nods and groans of assent.
‘But I thought the three daughters of Mr. William Blow had an annuity each. In that case, the death of any of them wouldn’t make any difference.’
‘Oh, but it did, sir. You didn’t know Mr. Blow, sir. Oh, no. It wasn’t as simple as that...’
‘Oh, no,’ clamoured his women.
‘He left them what were called tontiny annuities or something such. Meanin’ that the annuities or annuity went on and on till they all died. And when one died, the other two got her share between them. When two died, the relict got all the annuity...three times what she had when three were alive. Follow?’
Cromwell, feeling his way through Jelley’s mathematics, nodded assent.
‘But what good would that do Miss Honoria? She didn’t need much money from all accounts. She rarely went out or did anything with money.’
‘Didn’t she?’
The two women sniffed and Mrs. Frazer chuckled; ‘Oh, Oh, Oh,’ like an old witch.
‘She did, Mr. Cromwell. Mr. Harold was the apple of her eye. He’s always short of money. His practice at law is very poor. People don’t like him and won’t go to him. He’s extravagant and only needs to go to his aunt to get everything she’s got out of her. Between you and me, sir, I wouldn’t be surprised if Harold had urged her on to do it...’
‘Urged her on...’ said Mrs. Frazer with relish.
‘Let’s get this straight, Mr. Jelley. You suggest that Mr. Harold has been so pressing of late for money that Miss Honoria took her sister’s life to get him more? Come, come, Mr. Jelley, that’s very grave, isn’t it?’
Both women began to clamour in unison at this doubting of their official spokesman.
Jelley raised a feeble hand authoritatively for silence.
‘She was a bit queer, you know, sir. There’s a queer streak in the family, if I may say so. It came out in her. If I could tell you the things we know...’
‘Oh...’ chanted the women. It was like a scene from a novel of the Gothic school.
‘Such as…?’
‘Sleep-walking, sir...Screaming in her sleep...going right off her head with temper and attacking people...hysterics...actually once shutting herself in her room and turning on the gas-fire to do away with herself...If only I told you all the goings-on...’
The housekeeper and the cook moaned and Mrs. Frazer filled up Cromwell’s cup again and gave him another slab of cake.
‘Can I come in, now? I’ve done me brasses...’
Dolly completely destroyed the atmosphere by putting in an unruly red head and a face flushed with the speed of her efforts.
Mrs. Frazer was angry.
‘No. You can’t ’ave done ’em in that time. Go and do ’em agen...’
‘But, Mrs. Frazer...’
‘Do as you’re told, miss, and don’t be cheeky. And stop there till I say when. This is private, see?’
The head withdrew and the door slammed.
‘Imperent madam,’ muttered the cook.
Jelley resumed, stabbing the air with his bony forefinger for emphasis.
‘I’ll tell you straight, Mr. Cromwell, what we think. Miss Penelope was always talking of a famous man at Scotland Yard who was a friend of a friend of hers. We knew who that was. Mr. Claplady, sir. She had a special way of saying “friend” when she meant him. Well...We think Miss Honoria wanted Miss Penelope out of the way. She’s cunning, sir, and must have planned the box to fall when Miss Penelope leaned on it to water the plants. But, without her sister out of the way for long enough, how could she unscrew the screws? I say, how could she unscrew them?’
‘How could she unscrew them, in any case? It’s more than a woman of her kind could do...’
‘All in good time, sir...’
The women couldn’t wait. Their voices rose in a fierce shout. Mrs. Minshull, having a deep and powerful contralto when exerted, won.
‘Who knew the way Miss Penelope watered the bulbs...putting her weight with one hand on the box while she used the water in the other? It was habit and the can from the bathroom that she used was ’eavy. There was only Miss Honoria, Mr. Ralph, Mr. ’Arold, Mrs. Ralph, Dolly, Mr. Jelley and me ever was there, at one time or another, when she did it...’
‘That’s as may be, Mrs. Minshull...Allow me to go on,’ said Jelley, firmly, taking the reins again. ‘Miss Honoria wanted Miss Penelope out of the way for a good time. She also wanted an alibi and to be out of the house when the police called asking questions after the so-called accident. She was cunning, sir. So, she took a little of the arsenic, made herself ill, told Miss Penelope, put poison in her mind, suggested she went to Scotland Yard for your advice...and then unscrewed the box when her sister was away.’
‘I heard her say to her sister, “I’m bein’ poisoned, I’m sure. It would be such a scandal locally.” I was changing the linen, Mr. Cromwell, and heard that with my own ears,’ whispered Mrs. Minshull, respectfully interrupting again.
‘But out of the way, what about going to Miss Penelope’s room, unscrewing the screws and getting back again? I thought she was ill in bed.’
‘Ill in bed!’ muttered the housekeeper scornfully. ‘She was up and down, up and down; she wasn’t all that ill. If she wanted anythin’ and we didn’t answer the bell like lightning, she was up in a temper and got it herself and whined about nobody carin’ what happened to her. That is so, isn’t it, Mr. Jelley?’
‘That is quite correct, Mrs. Minshull. Miss Honoria wasn’t bedfast, although she would have liked us to think she was. She must have crept into her sister’s room unseen and done it. We couldn’t have heard her here. The walls are too thick and we’re too far away.’
‘But unscrewing those large screws...A feeble woman...’
‘Ah...That’s just it, sir. Please step this way.’
To the annoyance of the women, now immersed like mediums in a seance, Jelley led Cromwell upstairs. On the landing the butler paused.
‘That is Miss Honoria’s room and that was Miss Penelope’s, Mr. Cromwell...’
He paused and opened a door of what might have been a boxroom, but which turned out to be a workroom, with bench, vice, lathe and a lot of tools neatly arranged in racks on the wall.
‘This is Mr. Harold’s workroom, Mr. Cromwell. His hobby is the making of model aeroplanes and railway rolling-stock...’
He said it with pompous contempt as though he himself had passed quite out of the juvenile stage and regarded Mr. Harold as being mentally arrested.
‘…In the attic is a complete set of railway lines, with engines, signals, stations, and such like. Mr. Harold spends a lot of time there and derives much pleasure from it. He attends conferences of his fellow model railway and aeroplane gentlemen...Here he makes, as I said, rolling-stock and mechanical parts...’
Opening a drawer in the bench, Jelly took out a neat, compact contraption which Cromwell, who had one of his own and used it with great pleasure, recognised as a power-driven screwdriver. Jelley pushed a plug in the wall and switched on the gadget, which whirled merrily in his hand with easy precision.
‘Miss Honoria knew of this, sir. She bought it for Mr. Harold for his birthday and he taught her how it functioned. I think she used this on the screws, sir.’
They descended and joined the women, much to their satisfaction.
‘I’ve shown Mr. Cromwell the electric screwdriver, ladies, and told him how it was used...’
‘Cunnin’, wasn’t she, Mr. Cromwell?’ hissed Mr. Frazer.
‘That’s all right for a theory, I’m sure, and I thank you for telling me. But what about the poison? Where did it come from and how much did Miss Honoria know to take?’
‘Ahhhhhh…’
‘At one time, Mr. William Blow went...well...to put it mildly...queer. He tried to take his own life by drinking a preparation then sold in the shops for fly-catching. It was known as fly-water, Mr. Cromwell. Well known to contain arsenic, and therefore dangerous. We used to use it here. I got the stuff from the chemist’s, soaked blotting paper in a mixture of the fly-water and sugar. Then we placed them about the place and the flies came for the sugar and were poisoned by the arsenic...Most efficacious, it was...’
‘Very effectuous,’ butted in Mrs. Frazer, ‘very effectuous, and Mr. Blow took a drink of it to make away with himself, but not enough. The doctor came in time...’
Jelley took up the tale.
‘We never used it again, but the bottle Mr. Blow used disappeared. They said he had concealed it. But we know what happened to it...’
‘We do,’ chorused the women.
‘It was taken and hidden by Miss Honoria, thinking in her queer way, maybe, to prevent a scandal. Or, perhaps, to use for her own purposes in the future. You see, sir, what her father used and didn’t properly poison him, she might use again...’
‘I see. Just a bit thin, though, isn’t it?’
Mr. Jelley and his friends were affronted and looked it. ‘At any rate, we found it...It is here...’
Jelley walked solemnly to the plate cupboard, unlocked it with a key from his waistcoat pocket and held out a pint bottle, half-full of clear fluid, to Cromwell.
HOPLEY’S FLY WATER
An Infallible Method of Killing Flies.
These pests, which carry disease,
are instantly eradicated by the use of
this old established mixture.
POISON. NOT TO BE TAKEN OR USED
NEAR CHILDREN OR ANIMALS
Then followed a lot of directions for use in type Cromwell couldn’t read without his glasses.
‘It was hidden in an old trunk of Miss Honoria’s, under a lot of dresses. Mrs. Minshull found it.’
Cromwell could imagine these three people, embittered by the treatment received from the Blows and the death of their last friend in the family, turning the house upside down in their curiosity and vindictive researches.
‘And she took a dose...But how much did she know to take…?’
Cromwell looked at the label. Children or…animals!
‘Wait a minute. The cat!’
The three retainers were flabbergasted. They looked at Cromwell in awe and admiration.
‘How did you know?’
‘The man at the Salvation Army told us. Miss Penelope said the cat was ill just before Miss Honoria took bad.’
They all looked annoyed then. What did the Salvation Army want interfering in their business? It wasn’t right!
‘That was it. Simon, the cat...he’s somewhere about now, was Miss Honoria’s. She fed him. She gave him some rice pudding the day he was ill. He was terribly poorly and nearly died. But we gave him warm milk and brandy and he took sick and got it all up. He was soon himself again...’
‘Did you see Miss Honoria actually feed him that day?’
‘No. None of us did, but she always made a habit of it. He was hers and she was very jealous and particular about him.’
‘But somebody might have doped the rice pudding she gave him.’
‘But who but her had the poison? Answer me that.’
Mrs. Minshull was getting hot on the trail again.
‘It does look like it...’
Cromwell rose, almost too full of tea and cake to walk, brushed the crumbs from his trousers, carefully placed his cup and plate on the table, and thanked them for their help.
‘That’s all right, sir. We want justice doing to Miss Penelope. She was good to us,’ said Jelley. ‘Call again, any time, and ask as many questions as you like.’
Having made sure there were no signs of the family, they all saw Cromwell to the door and parted with many expressions of approval and friendship. The sergeant crossed to his hotel, where he had arranged to meet Littlejohn over dinner. He was a bit dazed from a surfeit of information and victuals. If what the staff said was true, the case was solved. But was it? It sounded easy in theory, but proof was another matter. Suppose there were somebody behind the reputed half-wit, Miss Honoria, someone using her as a cats-paw for his or her own ends. It would be easy. Penelope had arrived at Scotland Yard in Littlejohn’s absence—and all the world knew he was absent, because the papers were full of the murder trial and Littlejohn’s evidence in the case. She’d been sent knowing she couldn’t get at him. If she hadn’t mentioned Mr. Claplady’s name, maybe Littlejohn wouldn’t have taken an interest, and they’d have got her out of the way long enough for the box to be fixed in her absence...Even then...
