The Garston Murder Case, page 15
“While he was killing her! Lord, it is nasty, isn’t it?”
“Go easy. You haven’t got him in the dock. yet. Keep on the facts. She was found dead up in that archway. I should say she was killed there. If the job had been done somewhere else, why should anyone choose that place to dump the body? But what was she doing up there? She might have been going to the nurse’s room—not very likely. She hated the nurse; she’d have rung up her maid if she wanted anything. She might have heard a noise to get her out. That’s been done before now. Anyhow—who was it she met in the archway?”
“Might have been more than one of ’em,” Gunn answered. “If you ask me, they all know a bit too much.”
“Did they get you that way, George?” Bell smiled. “You may be right. I should say they’re all wondering how much the others know. Or how much they’re going to give away. That don’t have to mean they’re all in it together. But they’ve all got notions about it.”
“The maid has, hasn’t she?” Gunn grinned.
“Putting it on the nurse? Yes, I wasn’t falling for that, George. She’s yellow with spite: so what she says cuts both ways. But there might be something in it. Half a minute, I’m taking it a man did the job. Well, if there was a man in the archway, it was Croyland or some chap from outside.”
Gunn shook his head. “Nobody got in last night. My chaps have been all over the place. Nothing broken. Not a sign.”
“Oh, George!” Bell laughed. “Tell me another. There’s about a hundred ways of getting into this place. A man wouldn’t want to do anything rough. Besides, who told you he wasn’t let in?”
“There’s that, of course,” Gunn said sulkily. “That only brings you back to these people inside.”
“It does so. Might fit with the gent who wrote to the nurse, eh? But let’s take it in order. Croyland or a man from outside. Either of ’em possibly helped by the women. Now what about motive? Who had any reason to kill the old lady? The nurse—having had a deal of trouble with her and a big blaze-up last night. The maid—for jealousy of the nurse, to get her in a mess— I’ve known that done—or just in a mad temper. We can’t tell any motive Croyland had. But somebody had the motive of wanting what she kept with Alfred’s photographs. That would fit Croyland. We know him and her have been quarrelling hard. Or it would fit a chap from outside.”
“Look here though—if she was killed to get something in her room, why was she killed up in the archway?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The chap got in and got away with it, but she woke and went after him, calling out, and he scragged her.”
“Theory, isn’t it?” Gunn objected. “You don’t even know anything was taken.”
Bell made an impatient noise. “I know all right, George. You mean I can’t prove it. Something about Alfred Garston was taken. Just like something about him was taken from that old girl in Limbay. But this time it cost two lives.”
“Two?”
“What do you think your constable was killed for last night? He stopped someone who was buzzing about these roads and couldn’t afford to have it known. Why not? You don’t have a whole lot of motor thieves in these parts, do you? You get one ready for murder the same night another murder was done. The chap that killed the constable was right in this, you bet your life. That’s why it didn’t suit him to be put in the notebook.”
“My oath! I believe you’ve got it,” Gunn muttered.
“Have I?” Bell made a grimace. “I wish I knew what to do with it. What were you thinking of doing next, George?”
“If that’s right,” said Gunn reluctantly, “it lets Croyland out.”
“Yes, you’d think so,” Bell nodded. “Why should he go a jaunt in a car because he killed his mother? But I don’t know, George. There’s a lot of things I don’t know yet. I’d like to know what the devil it is about Alfred Garston that’s got so blooming precious now. I’d like to know what’s brought Josh Clunk into it and what his little game is.” Bell filled another pipe. “And if you’d kindly tell me why the old lady was killed just where a lamp wouldn’t light, that’d be something to go on with.”
“The lamp? What’s the matter with supposing the lamp gave out?” said Gunn. “That’s common enough.”
“Yes, I have met electric light before. I knew that. But when a common little thing goes and happens just where a lot of uncommon things have happened, I get wondering about it.”
Gunn took some time over lighting a cigarette. “If you don’t mind my saying so, old man,” he hesitated, “you’re making too much work over a lot of little things. To my mind we’d do better to take it straight.”
“God bless you!” Bell applauded. “Get on with it, George. How do you start?”
“Well, I mean to say, follow up this clue of a chap in a car out for murder. Of course, I’ve sent out a notice, asking for information of any car seen last night; now we’ll work over the whole district with inquiries for strangers with cars staying anywhere about. And I’ll go through all the servants here to find out if any of them have noticed a chap round the house.”
“The old stuff,” Bell grunted. “All right. You have to try it. It never did me any good yet. I always get nothing—or a bit too much. But you may be dealing with a silly ass this time. Only I don’t think you are, George. By the way, were you meaning to go through Croyland again?”
“All of ’em. And the nurse. I want to know all about her young man.”
“Then I wouldn’t ask her. Go easy about what you ask. There isn’t much we’ve got gives us any pull: only that the nurse had a letter from a chap who’d quarrelled with Croyland and that something about Brother Alfred is gone from Mrs. G.’s room. That’s all—and precious little. Don’t give any of it away.”
A constable came in. “That nurse has gone out, sir. Smithers is on to her like you said.”
Bell started up. “I was thinking of taking a walk myself, George,” he smiled.
Tony Wisberry sat down to his lunch that day in melancholy determination. He could not indeed make up his mind about May. It seemed too probable that she was a girl with nothing to her, a silly, futile girl, since she did not make any answer to the earnest attention of Mr. Wisberry. She might have been prevented from coming to meet him as instructed. But clearly she ought to have written. Difficult to believe she was properly impressed with the importance of Mr. Wisberry. In fact, she didn’t care two hoots about him. And that was that. Yet she did seem rather a darling. And she was all on her own with that tricky beast, Croyland. Might be having a hell of a time. Only decent to give her a chance. But his magnanimity did not avert melancholy.
Thus allowing May the benefit of the doubt, he made his plans. In action, if not in judgment, he was, as has been exhibited, a youth who had no difficulty in decision. His determination was to go again after lunch on that road to the Abbey where he had instructed her to appear the day before, and if she failed and no word came from her, to depart from Bradstock that night, as from a woman of no importance.
While settling down to cold pork he was disgusted to see a car stop, from which descended Mr. Clunk.
“Ah, my dear boy!” Mr. Clunk’s face shone and his teeth gleamed. “Delighted to find you. May I share your lunch?”
Tony failed in hospitality. “Better ask Collins,” he growled. “It’s his pig.”
“Your good landlord?” Mr. Clunk said. “To be sure.” He tapped at the inner door and to the walnut face which came round it he remarked that Mr. Wisberry spoke so well of the pork he must taste it; and could he have a pot of tea?
“Tea?” The walnut face gaped. “Lord love you!”
“Yes, indeed, I hope so,” Mr. Clunk beamed. “And the same to you.” He came back to the table and made himself a place. “Well, Tony, how have things gone with you?”
“They haven’t,” Tony growled.
The landlord stumped in and banged down plates and knives and forks. Mr. Clunk began to eat bread and pickles. “You’ll carve for ’e, Muster Wisberry?” the landlord asked.
“A little of the crackling, my dear boy,” said Mr. Clunk eagerly. “And I shall have my tea, shan’t I?”
It came, a large pot, bumped down with a snarl of contempt. Mr. Clunk poured it, dark and syrupy, sugared it richly, stirred and drank. “Ah, delicious,” he murmured, and fell to the pork.
“My God!” said Tony with awe.
“I hope you don’t take that name in vain, Tony,” Mr. Clunk reproved him, eating heartily. “Well now, you were telling me you hadn’t made any progress. I suppose you haven’t been to the Abbey since I saw you.”
“I have not. If that’s anything to do with you.”
“It is, my dear boy, indeed it is. Because it’s quite an important thing for you. I’m very glad to hear it.”
“Why?”
Mr. Clunk stopped eating to drink. “You don’t know what happened last night, Tony?”
“No, I don’t. Do you mean at the Abbey?”
“At the Abbey—and on the road from the Abbey to Limbay. Two horrible crimes. Mrs. Garston was murdered in the house, on the road a poor fellow of a policeman out patrolling was shot dead. That is what I came to tell you, Tony.”
“Good God, it’s ghastly!”
“The devil is with power,” said Mr. Clunk.
“Mrs. Garston—how was she killed?”
“I can’t tell you. The doctor who was called to her brought in the police.”
“That means some sort of tricky business.”
Mr. Clunk considered a pickled onion critically. “I couldn’t say at all.”
“But the policeman was shot. What’s that got to do with her death?”
“My dear boy, I don’t pretend to know. You can see what the police will assume—someone broke into the Abbey, murdered Mrs. Garston, and in making his escape shot a policeman who stopped him.”
“A burglar?”
Mr. Clunk smiled. “A man who breaks into a house at night is a burglar certainly. It doesn’t matter very much what we call him, Tony. The point for us to consider is that the police will at once look for any strangers in the district. They will show a particular interest in a stranger who has been visiting the Abbey. By the way, you haven’t your own car, have you?”
“I haven’t got a car,” Tony growled.
“No, that’s excellent,” Mr. Clunk beamed.
“You mean they’ll suspect me?”
“My dear boy, that’s just what I came to put before you. I’m afraid you must be quite prepared for that.”
“Do you think I did it?”
“No, indeed. I’m quite sure you didn’t,” Mr. Clunk smiled.
“Thanks. Why the devil should they think I did?”
“Now, you mustn’t get angry,” Mr. Clunk soothed him. “What you should have before you is that the police take a very comprehensive view in these matters. They suspect everyone. But I’ve always found that the police mind is quite a simple mind. My friend Superintendent Bell is taking this case. Now he’s very typical. He likes to follow the obvious line. And, you see, you’re so obvious, Tony. You came to stay in this little place, you went to see Croyland and quarrelled with him, you continued to stay here. What my friend Bell will get in his head is that you wanted something from Croyland, and as he wouldn’t give it you, you broke into his house to take it. I—”
“What on earth should I take?”
“Ah, what indeed? Of course, you couldn’t have found anything of use to you. You’re not so foolish as to think so.” Mr. Clunk beamed at him affectionately but found him a little amusing. “And quite incapable of planning a crime. Dear me, yes. But you can’t expect my friend Bell to know that. I want you to see that he will certainly ask you to account for yourself and what you’ve been doing at the Abbey. When he does, don’t be angry, my dear boy, don’t be hasty—”
“Oh, be damned!” Tony cried. He started up so violently that the table recoiled from him into Mr. Clunk’s stomach, and he marched out at the best of his long-legged speed.
Mr. Clunk separated himself from the table. “Tut, tut. That is provoking,” he complained. When he reached the window Tony had already vanished into the village. Mr. Clunk stood looking out at the emptiness of the green, a grave and pained little man. He tapped his teeth. “Really quite perplexing,” he sighed, and made his way to the bar where Lewis was happy with bread and cheese and beer. “Oh, there is no hurry,” said Mr. Clunk plaintively. “No hurry at all. When you are quite ready.” He went back to his tea, and pensively dipping lumps of sugar in it crunched them.
“Car’s all ready, sir.” Lewis appeared. “Where would you like to go now?”
“We may as well go back by the Abbey,” said Mr. Clunk sadly.
The road, curving round the gulf and creeks of the harbour, makes some five miles of salt-meadow loneliness between the Abbey and the village. They had travelled three when Mr. Clunk saw Tony striding out in front of them. He touched Lewis’s arm. “Don’t stop, my boy. But go gently.” They passed Tony at a sedate pace, and if he saw who they were he gave no sign. Nor did Mr. Clunk. His prominent eyes, very wideopen, watched the road ahead. It was not straight; here and there beside it were osier beds and pollard willows, but it had no other cover. From some distance Mr. Clunk saw May hurrying on to the hurrying Tony. He did not fail to see a man vanish and appear again behind her, and behind him another man. A chuckle came from Lewis. “Deuce of a place to be shadowing anyone, ain’t it, sir?”
Mr. Clunk shook his head. “Most inconvenient, Lewis, most.”
They passed May, and his alert eyes recognized her as the girl he had spoken to at the Abbey. “Oh, very inconvenient,” he sighed.
“She’s almighty innocent, or she’s having somebody on proper,” he grinned.
“Dear me, yes, I fear so, Lewis,” Mr. Clunk agreed sadly.
They passed the plain-clothes policeman, who gave an imitation of a loitering rambler; they passed Bell, who plodded on, ignoring them with stolid determination. Mr. Clunk touched Lewis’s arm again. “Stop by the next willows,” he said, and when they stopped in that shelter he stood up in the car and watched till May reached Tony and Tony grasped at her hand. “Well, well, well,” he sniffed. “Turn the car, Lewis. Quickly please. Let us go back.”
Thus he returned to them just as their first confused greetings were broken off by the arrival of Superintendent Bell. “I want a few words with you two please,” Bell was saying, well aware of the rush of the car behind him. “Just stand fast.” He swung round. “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Clunk! Fancy meeting you! Always bobbing up, aren’t you? And what might you want here, sir?”
Mr. Clunk descended from the car with slow, prim motions. “My dear friend, have I disturbed a little trap of yours?” he asked blandly. “You shouldn’t use these tricks, you know, really you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t take my instructions from you, Mr. Clunk.” Bell glared. “And I’m not going to stand any impertinence.”
“Dear me, why use foolish language?” Mr. Clunk complained. “We all know you’ve been amusing yourself by following this lady in order to come upon her when she met the gentleman. That is, in order to be unfair to both of them. If you wanted to know where she was going, why didn’t you ask her? Because you hoped to alarm them both. That is what I call a trick and a trap, Mr. Bell.”
“He hasn’t alarmed me,” Tony growled.
“No, I’m sure he hasn’t, Tony,” Mr. Clunk smiled. “But that isn’t an excuse for playing tricks on a lady.”
“I’ve had all I want of you, Mr. Clunk.” Bell grew loud. “You’d better take yourself off. If you’re going to interfere with me in the execution of my duty, I know how to deal with you.”
“My dear friend, I’m sure you do,” Mr. Clunk beamed. “You know me quite well. Now I’m a very old friend of Mr. Wisberry’s. I was his mother’s solicitor. I don’t propose to allow you to play tricks on him or any friend of his. Is that quite clear?”
Bell scowled at him and turned to Tony. “Mr. Joshua Clunk’s a friend of yours, is he? Sorry for that.”
“He knew my people before I was born,” Tony said. “What about it?”
“Did he? And you want to have Mr. Clunk with you as your solicitor when I ask you for information about a murder?”
“Why don’t you want his solicitor to be with him?” May cried.
“I’m not talking to you, Miss Dean.” Bell glared.
“No indeed. You don’t seem to like talking to Miss Dean,” Mr. Clunk remarked. “You prefer to lay traps for her.”
“If Miss Dean had told me the truth we needn’t have had all this nonsense.” Bell spoke with compressed rage. “Now then—”
“Oh, that’s shameful. I did tell you the truth.” May cried. “Everything I knew that you asked. You didn’t ask anything at all about Mr. Wisberry, and he was nothing to do with it; and you didn’t ask where I was going or tell me not to go out. You’ve just been hunting me.”
Tony’s jaw hardened. “Pretty work,” he said with an angry eye on Bell. “About time there was a solicitor looking after you, my lad.”
Bell stared at him. “You’re not doing yourself any good. Nor her either. Now, I came here to ask you two for information about the murder of Mrs. Garston of Bradstock Abbey. You won’t answer unless your solicitor’s present to stop you saying anything dangerous to you.”
“Oh no, no, my friend,” Mr. Clunk beamed—“to stop you asking anything dangerous to the course of justice.”
“Yes, you would,” Bell growled. “All right. Now I know where I am with you.” He turned to May. How long had she known Mr. Wisberry? Never seen him till he came to the Abbey? How often had she met him at the Abbey? Only that once? Humph. Why did she come out to meet him? Because he wrote and asked her to? Humph. What for?
“Why does a man ask a girl to meet him?” Tony broke in fiercely. “Don’t play the fool.”
“I’ve known a lot of bad reasons,” said Bell. “Now, Mr. Wisberry, what were you doing down here?”
“I came down to see Lord Croyland. And I did. Last week. Hasn’t he told you?”
Bell answered with another question. “Never been there again?”
