Neck and Neck

by Leo Bruce

  “It would only be your word against mine,” Greenleaf said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Greenleaf. You don’t think I’d trust you with those papers and you still owing me seventy quid if I hadn’t something else up my sleeve, do you?”

  Greenleaf stared, without replying.

  “Do you?” Fagg repeated, in an even nastier tone. “Well, I’ll just tell you in case you get any ideas about clearing off and not paying. I’ve got a newspaper at home,” he went on, in a jeering tone. “It’s the Daily Telegraph. The London edition. It’s dated the tenth of September. You bought that paper in London and carelessly left it in the hall at Bampton Court when you called on Ridley that night.”

  “That paper proves nothing,” I heard Greenleaf reply, but his voice was strained and uneasy.

  “Doesn’t it?” Fagg repeated. “Doesn’t it prove anything when it’s got a nice little crossword neatly filled? I bet that detective could soon prove it was yours. It’s beautifully done in ink with a fountain-pen. Black ink, too. I bet your pen is filled with some now.”

  “Your dirty blackmailing rascal,” Greenleaf shouted as he rose. “I’ll show you why I chose this place. See what I’ve got in my hand . . . .”

  At this moment several things happened. Beef leapt to his feet and I saw a figure slide swiftly out of the shadows. There was a sharp cry, a loud report, and on the ground all that could be seen was a dark swirling human mass.

  Beef covered the distance that separated us from the mêlée like a born athlete, and when I came up the struggle was over. Greenleaf was on his feet, but I noticed Beef held him in a firm grip. Bob was nursing his hand, from which blood was pouring rather freely, but of Fagg there was no sign.

  I had a look at Bob’s hand and found it was only a flesh wound. The bullet had fortunately caught the fleshy part of his palm and there was dark discolouration caused by the revolver being fired at such close range. I bound a clean handkerchief tightly round the wound and told him to keep it up. Beef was holding the revolver in his right hand, while he gripped Greenleaf with his left.

  “You’re coming with me, Mr. Greenleaf,” Beef was saying. “I’m not a policeman now, but it’s my duty as a citizen to keep you under my eye until we’ve had a word with the local Superintendent. You can tell your story to him.”

  This time we took the main pathway back to Cold Slaughter.

  “Bob, you go and get your hand seen to by the doctor,” Beef said, as we came into the village. “Tell him you’ve been out rabbiting. I’ll see him in the morning and explain. We don’t want a lot of gossip. Come and see us at the pub tomorrow. In the meantime keep your mouth shut.”

  “O.K., Beef,” Bob replied, as he entered the gate of the doctor’s house. “I told you I ought to have brought the old man’s gun,” and we heard him whistling cheerfully as he walked up the drive.

  “I’m taking you along to the pub we’re staying at,” he said to Greenleaf. “Then I’m going to phone the Superintendent.”

  Greenleaf just mumbled a reply. He looked utterly dead beat. He certainly showed no sign of resistance and seemed almost glad that all decisions were being made for him.

  Beef roused the landlord, when we got back to the inn, and asked for some hot water, a bowl of sugar and a bottle of rum.

  “Nice rum punch,” Beef said. “That’s what we all need,” and he went to phone the Superintendent. Half an hour later the latter arrived. Greenleaf had recovered somewhat by now. Beef told the Superintendent how he had come to witness the scene at the Druids’ Stones and all that had happened there, and handed over the revolver.

  “I think you ought to have informed me about this, Beef,” the Superintendent said rather curtly. He was obviously annoyed at being roused in the middle of the night and, in addition, felt probably that Beef had stolen a march on him.

  “Now, Mr. Greenleaf, I think we want some explanation from you. Would you like to make a statement?” he asked. “Of course, if you would I shall have to give you the usual warning.”

  Greenleaf at first became truculent saying that no one could hold him without making a charge, but eventually agreed to explain.

  “It’s really quite simple,” he said. “All I wanted was to get my contract back from that blood-sucking swine Ridley. I admit I called there the night he was murdered, but he was alive when I left him. I’ll admit, too, we had words, and I lost my temper. I tried to get hold of the papers I wanted by force. That crook Fagg had told me where to look, but the desk was locked. I couldn’t get hold of them. I told Ridley I was going to publish and be damned with another firm. He’d have to sue me and I’d show him up. I left him just before midnight.”

  “How did you get to Bampton Court?” the Superintendent asked.

  “I walked from the station,” Greenleaf answered.

  “You didn’t see a car when you left the house that night?” the Superintendent went on.

  Greenleaf seemed uncertain what to reply. “No,” he answered at last, “I don’t remember one. Well, I’d better just finish my story. Fagg, when I told him I had been unsuccessful in finding the papers I wanted, offered to get hold of them for me if I paid him a hundred quid.”

  “Wait a minute,” the Superintendent said. “When did all this happen? You seem to have been on pretty familiar terms with Fagg.”

  “We’d exchanged a few letters after my last visit,” Greenleaf replied rather sheepishly. “I admit I was a fool. I knew Fagg was crooked, but I was determined to get the better of Ridley by fair means or foul. Fagg wrote to me two days ago and said that he had managed to get hold of the papers I wanted while the police were going through them.”

  I saw the Superintendent frown, but Greenleaf went on without noticing.

  “I came down here tonight, or rather yesterday,” he went on, for it was already well past midnight. “I phoned Fagg from the station, I didn’t want to be seen in the village so I arranged to meet him at the only other landmark I knew. You heard the rest,” he ended, turning to Beef.

  “Why did you bring a revolver?” the Superintendent asked.

  “I knew Fagg. I thought I might have to frighten him a bit if he tried any funny business. As you heard, he was as good as threatening blackmail. I never meant to fire the gun. It just went off when that chap of yours sprung out on me from behind.”

  “I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to come along with me.”

  When they had gone, I felt very sleepy, and, much as I wanted to question Beef, I could hardly keep my eyes open and felt it would be better to leave that until the morning. It had been a long day. Our drive to Aldershot and back, then the long climb up to the Druids’ Stones and our vigil there, then Beef’s strong rum punches, all seemed to weigh down my eyelids. I had never been so glad to slide into bed, and as I dropped off to sleep I remembered my thoughts of a peaceful evening in the inn and how differently the night had turned out. It was difficult to believe that the scene by the Druids’ Stones had really taken place. Like the stones themselves, such passion as Greenleaf had shown seemed to belong to a more primordial state of nature.

  18

  I was woken the next morning by the sound of bells from the village church. I glanced at my watch and found it was nearly eleven o’clock. I was making an effort to rise when there was a knock at the door and the wife of the landlord appeared with breakfast on a tray.

  “Thought I’d let you sleep on, sir,” she said, “after all your adventures last night. It’s the talk of the village, you know. But you wouldn’t have heard the latest, I suppose. They’ve arrested that Greenleaf fellow. I said to my husband from the first, I said, it’s not a local person who did it, you mark my words. Mr. Beef said for you not to hurry. He’s not going out this morning, but he wants to drive to London this afternoon. I’m afraid you’ll both be leaving us. He’s got a private challenge match against George this morning. George is the postman, you know. He doesn’t want to leave without playing that off. We shall miss Mr. Beef when he go
es. Quite a character he’s become in the public bar in these few days. It usually takes our customers a long time before they take to a new customer, but Mr. Beef certainly’s got a way with him. He throws quite a good dart, too. Well, I mustn’t let your breakfast get cold.”

  She put the tray on the table beside the bed and departed, leaving, I was pleased to see, the Sunday papers I had ordered.

  I can do without papers on a weekday, but a Sunday without my favourite papers would be hell. I can never quite make up my mind whether I prefer the Observer to the Sunday Times, so I always come back to having them both. About the necessity for taking the News of the World I have never had a moment’s doubt. The Sunday Express completes the quartette, but that, I am afraid, remains rather as a tribute to the Nat Gubbins of the war years.

  I love to read them leisurely, as I could that morning, sipping tea, eating a mouthful of bacon and egg or a finger of toast, entirely on my own. It’s selfish, perhaps, but I like to have them crisp and unopened and not have to share them with anyone else. For there is an art, I find, in consuming this Sunday fare. One begins with the light hors d’oeuvres, Sayings of the Week in the Observer, The Stars and You in the News of the World, Nat Gubbins in the Express and Henry Longhurst in the Sunday Times, and works one’s way through the whole menu, the book reviews, Atticus, Scrutator, the savouries in the centre pages of the News of the World—always a flavoursome tit-bit and with such endearing titles—and until not a dish remains to which full justice has not been done.

  It was, therefore, nearly half-past twelve when I eventually came downstairs. I found Beef enjoying his Sunday morning ritual at the bar, a ritual which he would be equally unwilling to forgo. “Have you heard about them arresting Greenleaf?” he asked.

  I nodded. “For the murder?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Beef replied. “I thought they might hold him. He got a pretty good grilling last night, I expect. Well, it simplifies everything. We’ll leave here this afternoon. I’ve learnt all I want in the Cotswolds. The arrest can’t be out till Monday’s papers, but I want to be in London early this evening, just to be on the safe side. I shall miss this place, you know. Don’t always get a decent crowd like the one that comes in here. There’s some good players, too. That reminds me. I must play that final challenge against old George. He’s over there. Hasn’t got his uniform on today. Two All, it is. It’ll be anyone’s game.”

  Beef went over to the board, and when I glanced across a few minutes later it was clear that the great match had begun. Quite a crowd had gathered, and Beef, I knew, would be in his element. There was something of the actor in him that brought out the best in his playing when there was a crowd. Young Bob Chapman was among the spectators, his damaged hand heavily bandaged. He was, I noticed, rooting loudly for Beef.

  We did not have our Sunday roast beef until after the pub closed at two, so that it was nearly three before we set out.

  Beef was silent all the way up, which was unusual with him. I thought at first he might have gone to sleep after the heavy midday lunch, but whenever I looked across at him his eyes were fixed ahead. He looked thoughtful and rather formidable.

  It was not until we drew up at his house that he spoke. “I must see that fellow Gupp again. It’s more urgent than ever, now they’ve arrested Greenleaf,” he said, as he lifted his bag from the car. “I can’t get the police to do it. They won’t have any more to do with him. They say they’ve questioned him till they’re blue in the face and can’t break his alibi, so we’ll have to do it unofficially. It’s most important that I see him tomorrow at the latest. I’ve two questions I must ask him. Will you help me to get hold of him?”

  I said I would, but I did not relish the idea. What Beef had in mind I did not know, but I was reluctant to act the pawn if Gupp should be the king Beef was trying to corner.

  “I’ve got his address here. Inspector Arnold gave it to me in Hastings. It’s Buckingham Gate. That’s where he lives. I want you to go along there now and try and see him. Ask him out for a drink or a meal. If you can’t fix anything for tonight, it will have to be tomorrow. But it would be better tonight. When you’ve got something fixed, phone me and I’ll come along casual like. I expect he’ll see through it, but he can’t avoid me very well if you’re there.”

  “Supposing he’s out?” I said.

  “Leave a message asking him to phone you tomorrow morning. Say it’s very important. You’ll have to think up something between now and then to discuss with him till I come along. I tell you, it’s really urgent. I shall be waiting to get your call. I shan’t even go out to the local tonight, that’s how serious I think it is. I’ll spend an evening with the old woman. She’s very good, seeing how little I’m there. Don’t forget, ring me as soon as you can.”

  Ever since Beef had heard of Greenleaf’s arrest I had noticed a change in him. I knew him so well by now that I would see a difference when it would not be apparent to outsiders. Since then he had seemed almost anxious and worried, which he rarely was, and the long silence he had kept all the way up to London struck me as not at all like Beef.

  I drove the car through the park and found that the address which Beef had given me as Gupp’s was that of a small expensive-looking private hotel. When I enquired for Gupp, they told me that he was away. I asked when he left and was told Friday night.

  “Rather unexpected, wasn’t it?” I asked casually. “I had arranged to dine with him tonight. He didn’t leave a message or his address or anything, did he? I’m his cousin.”

  The porter said he would make quite sure and rang through to the office, but Gupp had left no address or message.

  There was nothing further I could do there so I went to the nearest phone box and rang Beef. He did not say much when I told him, except that he wanted me to get in touch with Gupp at the Asiatic Bank where he worked.

  Next morning I telephoned the St. James’s branch of the Asiatic Bank, and after being put through to various departments I got into an assistant manager who told me that Mr. Gupp was not in. When I began to ask questions he became very brusque. “Please phone his home address, if you must speak to him. We don’t encourage private calls here.”

  I thought that I had better see Beef, so I drove round to his house. He called me in.

  “Seen the papers?” he asked, and put in front of me the midday specials.

  I had seen a small paragraph in my morning paper just giving the details of Greenleaf’s arrest in what they called the Cotswold murder, but I was not prepared for the publicity that the midday papers gave to the news. There were photos of the Druids’ Stones and of Bob Chapman with a bandaged hand and a highly coloured account of our midnight adventures. Beef was termed as “that well-known private investigator, Mr. William Beef”. There was no mention of me, but Bob had quite a write-up, and had given an interview which made good reading. I rather thought that the landlord of the Shaven Crown must have had a record Sunday night attendance.

  Beef listened rather impatiently to my news about Gupp.

  “Well, if we can’t get in touch with him, we’ll have to do a bit of routine work ourselves. It’s office work, so I’d like your help. We must get on to that right away. I must find out on what boat Gupp came back from the East Indies. That’s what I wanted to ask him. It says in my notebook that he told us he landed early August. We’ll go to all the shipping companies this afternoon and look through their passenger lists till we find it. It must be about that time because he called on your aunt the middle of August.”

  Just as he finished speaking there was a ring at his front door. A few minutes later Mrs. Beef opened the door.

  “Rev. Alfred Ridley,” she said, ushering in a figure in a clerical collar, whom we recognised at once.

  “Ah, Beef, I see the police have got my brother’s murderer. The morning papers state they’ve arrested a fellow called Greenleaf. I don’t like all these headlines in the midday papers. I see you were involved in this rather melodramatic business.”

/>   Beef was making some noncommittal reply when the vicar began to speak again.

  “I came this morning about an extraordinary coincidence. A rather curious thing has happened. I don’t suppose it has any connection with the case but I felt I’d better tell you. You’ve met my elder sister’s daughter, Estelle Pinkerton, I think? You called on her in Cheltenham she told me. Well, I always have a talk with her on Sunday evenings over the phone. She loves to hear about the children, you know. She’s godmother to two of them. She has no phone of her own so her neighbours, a retired colonel and his wife, allow her to use theirs.”

  He paused to light a cigarette. “I got through as usual on Sunday and she was most mysterious. She said she was going away in a few days. She told me she didn’t know when she’d be back, but I wasn’t to worry about her. I tried to get her to tell me more, but she wouldn’t and rang off. Knowing that now an arrest had been made she’d probably be able to draw on her uncle’s money, I was worried. You know what she’s like—most unworldly. I’d met her neighbours, Colonel Fordyce and his wife, when I’d visited her a few years back. Somehow I felt I wasn’t quite satisfied so I put another call through and spoke to Mrs. Fordyce. She made the matter seem even worse, hinting that there was a man in the case. Well, when a woman, a spinster at that, close on forty comes into a large sum of money one must be prepared for fortune hunters, but I didn’t anticipate anything like that so soon. I wonder if you could look into the matter for me? It’s very awkward, you know. I can’t interfere with her. She’s of age, of course. But all that money . . .” He shook his head. Then he added, almost in a whisper, “It should all come to my children when she dies, but if a man gets hold of her, goodness knows what may happen.”

  Beef agreed.

  “Going away without telling me where or for how long. It’s so unlike Estelle. She’s always consulted me. I don’t like it. I should feel much happier if you could find time to go and see her and reassure me that everything is all right. You know, she’s a wealthy woman now and that colonel’s wife seemed quite perturbed about her.”