by Clara Benson
‘No,’ said Freddy thoughtfully.
‘I expect the murderer took the torch off him after he killed him, then ran off through the passage.’
‘But we were in the passage then, so why didn’t we bump into him or hear him?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ said Goose, with a shrug. He seemed to have lost interest in the case, and Freddy suspected his mind was on other things now. ‘Anyway, I shouldn’t worry about it if I were you. That’s all for the police to think about—nothing to do with us. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they decide it was an outside job after all. You just watch—they’ll find a broken latch somewhere and some footprints, and they’ll have the culprit arrested in no time.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I’m sure of it. After all, why should any of us have wanted to kill Coddington? I know he was an ass, but being an ass doesn’t generally get you murdered, does it? Why, someone would have taken a heavy object to you long ago if that were the case.’
‘Thanks,’ said Freddy, and Goose guffawed and went off in search of Daphne.
The police were busy examining the linen cupboard and could not speak to him, so Freddy telephoned the Clarion and reported the bare facts, then went into the library with some intention of following his mother’s example and writing a few notes for a longer piece. As he entered he saw Mr. Wray, who was sitting at a desk, absorbed in some old books. The old man jumped when he saw Freddy.
‘Oh, Mr. Pilkington-Soames!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have you been talking to the police? A fine body of men, and naturally they are only doing their duty, but their presence puts one a little on edge—perhaps because it reminds one continually of the unpleasantness of the past day or two. But that is selfish of me, of course. A man has died, and one must not expect the wheels of justice to turn according to one’s own convenience—that is, with as little disturbance as possible. But I feel very much for the Duke and Duchess, who, I imagine, were far from thinking such a thing could happen here in their house.’
Freddy agreed that the weekend would certainly have been more congenial without the murder.
‘Ah, yes, you are a reporter,’ said Mr. Wray, spying Freddy’s notebook and pencil. ‘I had forgotten. Have you come to write? Then I shall not disturb you. No, no—no need to beg pardon, I quite understand.’
And with that he went back to his books. Freddy sat down and scribbled a few notes, but could not get far, for he still did not know how much he would be permitted to publish. He paused and scratched his chin, then saw Mr. Wray looking at him.
‘It must be a fascinating job,’ said the clergyman, ‘to have the power of communicating to many thousands of people, and to know that they will believe whatever you write.’
‘Would that that were so,’ said Freddy. ‘You ought to see all the letters I get telling me I emit only the purest bilge. Only they don’t use the word “bilge”—nothing so polite. I think a lot of my readers must be farmers, to judge from their familiarity with the digestive systems of various forms of livestock.’
‘Dear me!’ said Mr. Wray. ‘I suppose there are always some who are not easily pleased. But your task is a tremendously important one, and comes with great responsibility, for you must decide what the public may hear.’
‘Not I, I’m afraid,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s the editor who decides that. Or the police, in this case. I can’t really do much until I’ve spoken to them. I don’t know whether I’m allowed to mention the pearls, for example—I mean the fact that the professor was found with them in his hand.’
‘But why should they object?’
‘Because it might prejudice any future trial,’ said Freddy.
‘Then it is customary to withhold information?’
‘Oh, we do it all the time,’ said Freddy. ‘One can’t always be exposing people all over the place. Sometimes it’s best to let them sin in private. But I expect you disagree.’
‘No, not at all,’ said Mr. Wray. ‘Or, at least, not in every case. There are, of course, times when wrongdoing must be brought to the attention of the public—especially in the case of very grave sins and crimes. But at other times such exposure might do more harm than good. I speak of cases in which nobody is injured, you understand. In such instances I believe it is better that the wrongdoer be given the chance to repent in private and make amends.’
‘I don’t think Professor Coddington would have agreed with you.’
‘No indeed,’ said Mr. Wray. ‘He made quite a little speech on the subject, in fact. Perhaps you heard it?’
‘He got very exercised about the secret passage, I remember. It was the oddest thing. He seemed to think it was a symptom of the irremediable degeneracy of the Wareham family.’
‘Perhaps he was a little more vehement than was necessary,’ agreed Mr. Wray. ‘I see no harm in secret passages myself—on the contrary, I find them fascinating. As a matter of fact, there is something here—’ he got up and went across to a shelf of ancient books. ‘Hmm—hmm. Now, where was it. Ah!’ He took down a weighty tome and brought it to the table. ‘The Duchess was good enough to show me this book a few weeks ago when I expressed an interest in the history of the building. You see, it contains some of the early plans. We must be careful with the paper, for it is very fragile, and I should not wish to destroy such a valuable work of historical interest. But here you see are some plans which show all the secret passages in the house.’
Freddy pored over the book with interest. The page folded out to show a plan of Belsingham, with a legend underneath and handwritten notes in various places around it. The ink had faded to a pale brown and the writing was crabbed, but he could just make out some of the words. The plan itself was clearly drawn, and it was not long before he found the passage from the library. He followed it with a finger, and noted that it showed both exits—the one into Ro’s room and the second one into the linen cupboard.
‘I say, there’s another passage in the hall,’ he said at last.
‘The Duchess informed me that that one is blocked up,’ said Mr. Wray. ‘As a matter of fact, most of them are impassable. There is another in the dining-room, you see, but it has a large and heavy dresser against it and so cannot be entered. It is difficult to see from the plan, but I believe it goes out into the grounds. I have read about it in another book, for it was the scene of one of the less honourable escapades of John Wareham, your ancestor. He was the younger brother of the fourth Duke, you will remember, and rather a trial to his family. The story goes that he—shall we say—pressed his attentions upon the wife of one of the Duke’s neighbours. Understandably outraged, the neighbour rode to Belsingham with ten armed men and demanded satisfaction, but it seems John Wareham was reluctant to oblige him. He escaped through the secret passage and disappeared for five years, and when he returned he brought with him the Belsingham pearls, which he had obtained in India. By the time of his return the neighbour had died and the wife had remarried, and she was naturally reluctant to have the old story brought up, and so Wareham got off scot-free.’
‘Is that so?’ said Freddy. ‘This John Wareham sounds a most interesting fellow.’
‘He was something of a scoundrel, but as is so often the way of things, he survived to a ripe old age, despite doing nothing to deserve it. Fortunately, he was merely a younger son, and so did not inherit the dukedom, which remains in capable hands to this day. No, I may say that, in spite of the occasional black sheep, the Warehams are a most respectable and worthy family, and, I believe, well deserving of the honours that have been heaped upon them over the years.’
Freddy glanced at him thoughtfully, then turned his eyes back to the page, although he was not paying attention, for his mind had begun working. At last he returned the book to its place and settled down to work again, and there was silence for a few minutes until Mr. Wray announced his intention to indulge in an afternoon nap.
‘I am afra
id my headache has returned,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a little rest will help.’
Freddy looked up sharply.
‘Not the old trouble again, is it?’ he said.
The clergyman’s brow flickered, and he seemed disconcerted.
‘I very much hope not, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ he said, and with that, hurried out.
Freddy sat for a minute or two in contemplation, then, instead of going back to his work, got up again and went over to where he had found Professor Coddington’s body. He looked around, then went to the shelf in the corner, took down the book that hid the catch to the secret passage, and opened it. Then he went across to the doorway into the hall and surveyed the room. A large desk stood between him and the place where the murder had been committed, but if he stared hard he could just see a gap in the shelves where the passage door stood open. It was not immediately obvious when one looked in that direction, so if it had been open when Goose had come in for the torch, it was quite possible that he might not have noticed it.
Freddy wanted to see how long it would take to get to Ro’s room without a light, and was about to dive into the passage and try it, when he thought better of it and decided to take a torch for emergencies. Goose’s torch had been returned to its place in the drawer, so Freddy slipped it into his pocket then stepped into the passage, taking note of the time as he did so. He set off at a brisk pace, but as soon as the passage turned left a little way along, he was plunged into darkness and had to slow down. He moved carefully onwards, touching the wall and using it as a guide. The floor was rough and he had to take great care so as to be sure not to trip. At last he came to the stone staircase and ascended it with only one or two missteps. From here he knew there was not far to go.
‘Ridiculous idea, to do this without a torch,’ he said to himself. The remark reminded him of his adventure with Iris that morning, and he was thinking about that when he was suddenly struck by an idea. He hesitated, then instead of setting off along the left-hand fork, which was the shortest route, he groped his way into the right-hand fork instead, and stumbled along it. At the end he knew the passage turned left and went past Ro’s room, while ahead was the smaller passage with the lintel above it which led to the linen cupboard. He and Iris had missed their way that morning while making their way back to the cupboard, and had accidentally ended up outside Ro’s room—and after flailing around in the dark for a while, he was not entirely surprised to find that he had done exactly the same thing again. He dug out the torch, shone it at his watch, and saw that the journey had taken just over fifteen minutes.
He spent some little time experimenting, then returned to Ro’s room, whereupon he realized that since he had been at the back of the procession the other day when they had all come through the passage, he did not know how to open the panel. Perhaps there was a catch like the one in the linen cupboard. He felt around and, sure enough, his hand closed upon a wooden protuberance at about the same height as the other one. He pushed it, then pulled it, and felt something give. The door opened towards him and Freddy stepped cautiously out from behind the tapestry and into Ro’s room.
All was quiet up here. He looked at the four-posted bed with its rich hangings, and noted that if the curtains were closed he would not be able to see the dressing-table. Professor Coddington could not have walked to it directly, because the bed was in the way, and he would have had to come some distance away from the passage entrance to see it. Freddy stepped across to the dressing-table. As usual, it was scattered carelessly about with odds and ends, and he was gazing down at it when Ro came in. He whirled around.
‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
‘Sorry, old thing, I didn’t mean to intrude,’ he said. ‘I was just trying to picture what happened the other night, but I don’t quite seem to be able to manage it. I’m finding it particularly difficult to understand what happened in here, but you can help with that. Will you tell me again what you saw?’
She sighed.
‘Must we go over it all again?’ she said. ‘And why are you doing this? Surely it’s the police’s job.’
‘Yes, it is, but I’m incorrigibly curious, and if I can help solve the thing then I’ll get the most marvellous story out of it. Old Bickerstaffe will adopt me as his own and I might even get a rise—although perhaps that’s too much to hope for. Besides, Trubshaw pooh-poohed the idea when I asked if I might help—seemed to think I didn’t have a brain in my head, in fact—and it rather put my back up.’
‘You really oughtn’t to interfere, you know.’
‘I’m not interfering. I shall tell them anything I find out as soon as I find it out. I handed over the sash weight like a good boy, didn’t I? So, then, tell me exactly what you saw here the other night.’
‘Oh, very well, but it’s not much. It took me a while to get to sleep, and when I did I kept waking up because I thought I heard noises.’
‘What sort of noises?’
‘Doors opening and closing, that sort of thing. I expect it was you lot, tramping around like a herd of cattle, playing your silly joke. I kept thinking it was my door, but now I realize it must have been yours, since it’s next to mine.’
‘I don’t suppose you remember at what time that was?’
‘I did squint at the clock at one point, and it was twenty-five past two. But then everything went quiet again and I drifted off, then—I don’t know—I must have heard another sound, I think, because I woke with a start. I didn’t realize there was anything odd happening at first, so I turned over and was going to settle down again when I saw somebody standing by the tapestry.’
‘Somebody?’
‘Well, it was too dark to see who it was at first.’
‘But it was a man?’
‘Of course it was a man,’ she said impatiently. ‘It was Professor Coddington, wasn’t it?’
‘Perhaps. If you hadn’t been told it was Professor Coddington, then who should you have thought it was?’
She stared in puzzlement.
‘Why, I don’t know. It might have been anyone, really.’
‘Certainly a man, though?’
‘Why, yes, I think so.’ She stopped and screwed her eyes up, trying to remember. ‘I assumed it was a man at the time, although it might have been a woman, I suppose.’
‘Tall or short?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s difficult to tell when one’s lying down.’
‘Let’s say it was a man. What was he doing when you spotted him?’
‘Nothing. He was just standing there.’
‘Where?’
‘There, next to the tapestry. He didn’t move at first, but I could hear him breathing—he seemed out of breath. Then he took a step forward and that’s when I screamed.’
‘And what did he do?’
‘He started and looked about him. I thought he was looking for the nearest way out.’
‘And then he went back into the passage, yes?’
‘I assume so, but I didn’t actually see it. I’m ashamed to say I put my head under the bedclothes, so I didn’t see where he went. I cowered there for a few seconds, then counted to three to get my courage back, threw myself out of bed and made a dive for the door. That’s when I saw you three and assumed it was one of you I’d seen.’
‘You didn’t see him take the pearls, then?’
‘No. I didn’t notice the pearls were missing until all the commotion was over and everybody had gone back to bed.’
‘Did you see the intruder go near the dressing-table at all?’
‘No. I couldn’t have, because I only had the bed curtains open on this side. There was a moon that night and it was shining through the gap in the window curtains, so I shut the bed curtain on the window side.’
‘Like this, you mean?’ said Freddy, pulling the curtain in question across. ‘What about the one at the foot of the bed?’
>
‘That one was closed too,’ she said.
Freddy pulled the bottom curtain across and sat on the bed. From where he was sitting a large part of the room was blocked from view.
‘Isn’t it awfully stuffy with the curtains shut?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t have them all closed, and I do keep them open as a rule. It was just that the moon was bothering me. The window curtains need rehanging and I keep forgetting to mention it.’
He got up and went across to look at the dressing-table.
‘Did you give the fake pearls to your father, by the way?’ he said.
‘Of course I did. Don’t you remember? You saw me take them downstairs this morning.’
‘I did see you, yes,’ he said, stopping suddenly and staring at her.
‘Why are you staring at me like that? What is it?’
‘I don’t know. Something just came to me, but it’s gone now. Something to do with the pearls. What was it, now? I was thinking about the clasp, and then I had an idea, and now I can’t remember what it was. You had the clasp mended, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, you know we did. We took the necklace to London last year and gave it to Keble’s, and they fixed it.’
‘Was that before or after you met the Farleys?’
‘Why, I don’t know—after, I think. Yes, it was the day after.’
‘And then you got the pearls back and took them straight home without showing them to anyone, and put them in the safe, yes? And there they stayed until Thursday, when you tried them on with your new frock.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what happened,’ said Ro. ‘We’ve been over it all before. Look here, what’s this all about?’
‘I’ll tell you when I’ve worked it out myself,’ said Freddy. ‘I need to think.’
He went out into the West Wing corridor and found that the police must have finished their investigation into the linen cupboard, for everything was silent. He glanced about him. Ro’s room was nearest the head of the stairs on this side of the corridor, and from there, if he looked to his right, he could see past the stairs and into the East Wing corridor a little distance away. To his left at the end of the West Wing corridor was a window, and from there the corridor turned left towards some bedrooms which were rarely used. Opposite Ro was Goose’s room, with Ralph’s next to it, farther away from the stairs. Next to Ralph was Daphne, then Iris and Kitty. Freddy was next door to Ro, followed by Mrs. Dragusha. Some way farther along was the linen cupboard, with Lavinia’s room after it, while Mr. Wray’s room was tucked away around the corner.
