The Snark was a Boojum

by Gerald Verner

  Mrs. Jessop the cook had discovered the broken window in the scullery when she started work that morning and thought there had been a burglary. She mentioned the break-in to Trenton, who carried out a quick check to see if anything obvious was missing. Nothing was. He said he would inform Joshua Bellman when he took him up his morning cup of tea at seven-thirty.

  At first, he’d thought his master had been in a deep sleep. He’d given him a gentle shake, but to no avail, and had then felt his pulse. Finding none, he realised he was dead. Thinking he had died in his sleep, he’d intended to wake Ursula, but met Gale in the hallway, who had advised against waking Ursula straight away, and examined Bellman himself. There was no evidence of murder until Gale turned him on his side and saw the knife wound. There was little blood. He had then found the card in Bellman’s hand. He immediately telephoned the police.

  According to the police-surgeon, Joshua Bellman had been murdered in the early hours of the morning between two and three o’clock. The cause of death had been a narrow bladed knife thrust into his back while he was sleeping. The knife had been withdrawn and was missing. The weapon was consistent with that used in the murders of Baker and Gifford.

  Gale was standing next to Halliday, looking at us seated at the dining table like an inquisitor.

  “I’d expected something like this,” he told everyone, with a ferocious scowl on his face. “Just not so soon . . . When I turned Joshua over I saw the knife wound and found the card—our sick friend had given me confirmation of what I already knew—Bellman had been visited by the Snark—murdered like the others . . .”

  He went over to the sideboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a gulp of it, and looking round at everyone, belligerently pointed to his painting of Ursula above the fireplace.

  “Small trifles,” he said, “building up a picture, like the pieces of a jig-saw puzzle, until only one or two pieces are missing.” He gave a leering grin, and stuck his chin forward. “You see the outline around that painting . . . that faint black outline? That’s where another painting used to be. Bellman kept it wrapped up in a blanket in a cupboard in his study. Last night he showed it to me—his second wife Yvonne . . . so like Ursula, as to be almost uncanny . . . It wasn’t long before Ursula and Bellman were married. To celebrate he commissioned this new painting from me,” he waved an arm in the direction of the fireplace, “which was hung in the place of the old one, only in a slightly smaller frame, d’you see?”

  We all stared at the painting of Ursula hanging above the mantelpiece as if seeing it for the first time. It was a good likeness, having caught her pale gold hair, her porcelain features, and her fine drawn curving brows accentuating violet-blue eyes . . . In the painting she was wearing that same black velvet dress she’d worn to the dinner, cut low, with a single diamond clip at the breast.

  Gale ran his hand through his unruly chestnut coloured hair.

  “After about a year, Bellman changed his will in her favour, a sign that everything was going well. Bellman had a weak heart, d’you see? Ursula didn’t think she would have to wait too long for nature to take its course and for her to inherit all that money . . . When Franklin Gifford first met Ursula in London she was penniless and desperate for money. After the birth of Peter she’d had difficulty getting employment and had been reduced to working as a chorus girl in a London nightclub. She was desperate to get out of it. She craved a better life with some security. He realised straight-away how similar her looks were to Yvonne and realised if he could team her up with Bellman there might be a way to regain some control over Bellman’s empire—with Bellman becoming self-sufficient he had lost that control, d’you see? He wasted no time in introducing Ursula. Bellman fell for her at first sight, precisely what Gifford intended. Imagine Gifford waiting patiently like a vulture in the expectation of a share of the spoils—his commission for acting as a matchmaker!”

  Gale’s bushy eyebrows contracted and his face contorted with disgust, making it clear to everyone in the room what he thought of Franklin Gifford, deceased.

  “Why would anyone pay him any commission?” asked my father.

  “Because he knew things about Ursula she didn’t want known at that time, the boy Peter, performing as a chorus girl in a London nightclub, especially the identity of the father.”

  I shifted uneasily in my chair, and glanced at Zoe who was watching Gale nervously.

  “Ursula had begun an affair with a man in Monte Carlo some years before she met Bellman. She had a child by him, now a young boy of seven. His name is Peter.”

  I felt very uncomfortable at hearing this confidential information that Zoe had told me in the tea room. Zoe didn’t know that Bellman knew and had told Gale last night, she would think I had betrayed her confidence. I glanced again at her and saw her forehead creased in a frown. She looked dismayed.

  Gale went on: “Ursula’s marriage to Bellman two years ago was the subject of an article in the Marling Chronicle, also one of the city financial papers, and this must have been read by the man of mystery from Monte Carlo, who then came looking for her.” Gale leaned forward, his beard quivering. “And he found her!”

  This was new to me. Gale hadn’t told me any of this!

  “He persuaded Ursula to get him a job working for Bellman. Petrified that he would reveal her past, and her illegitimate son, she agreed to cut him in on any money Bellman left her. She spoke to her husband, putting forward the argument that as he worked from home a lot more now he was married, than at his London office, what he needed here was an assistant, a secretary.”

  This bombshell had the effect of sucking the air out of the room.

  Collectively everyone held their breath, as they turned to look at Jack Merridew, who was staring at Gale with a face of incomprehension and, almost imperceptibly, shaking his head.

  Gale rubbed his hands together, relishing the effect his surprise announcement had produced.

  “Bellman agreed, and now we have Ursula and her former lover ensconced at Hunters Meadow, waiting for Bellman to die. That’s the trouble having too much money; people want to get their hands on it!”

  Gale looked again at Jack Merridew who still wore a mask of injured injustice.

  “This is n-not true,” he stuttered. “All f-fiction . . .”

  Gale was not in the least perturbed by this denial. “The attraction that had brought them together in the first instance sprang back to life, and it was easy, wasn’t it? Both living in the same house, they could be together whenever Bellman was away. But Ursula began to find the situation unnerving, didn’t she, eh?”

  Gale addressed this question directly at Merridew who said nothing.

  “Of course, everyone thought Ursula was carrying on an affair with Lance Weston, which is exactly what they were supposed to think, to divert any attention from the real one. She probably teased Weston a bit, maybe even flirted with him, but I think that’s about all—village gossips filled in the rest . . . because she already had a lover, d’you see?

  “Bellman, despite his heart condition, seemed reasonably fit and didn’t look as if he was going to pop off any time soon. Bored to death, trapped in this house, Ursula and Merridew decided their little plan needed to be accelerated, and that was when they decided to wait for the right opportunity to remove Bellman from the triangle.”

  Gale gave us all a Machiavellian stare as he revelled in his own cunning.

  “Then things began to unravel . . .” He waved his arms, narrowly avoiding sending Halliday’s coffee cup flying.

  “Bellman began to be intrigued . . . he probably asked her questions about her past and found her answers too vague. He was smart; he would have picked up on that. Her history started to rattle him, d’you see? He spoke to Franklin Gifford about her, who must have told him just enough to trigger a telephone call. Bellman spoke to Hilary King. He knew her husband was a private detective. He didn’t tell Hilary what it was about, only that he needed someone on hand for a couple of weeks to carr
y out some investigative work. Robert Lawson, the man we knew as William Baker, jumped at an opportunity to be close to Hilary, in the hope of persuading her to come back and live with him. Baker met Bellman discreetly in the woods, by prior arrangement, and Bellman briefed him on what he wanted done. Of course Merridew, in his role as Bellman’s secretary, began to get wind that something was going on . . .”

  Sergeant Lockyer edged towards the drawing room door.

  “Well the first thing Baker discovered was that Ursula had an illegitimate child. Much to her surprise Bellman liked the idea of Peter and wanted to meet him which they did two weeks ago. He liked the idea of a male heir, d’you see?” He looked directly at Zoe. “That’s why your sister Lucy and her husband suddenly came up with adoption papers and why Ursula wouldn’t sign ’em, eh? Bellman wanted Peter to come and live here. Now the last thing Merridew wanted was Bellman drafting a new will leaving part to Ursula and part to Peter, or everything to Peter?—We’ll never know because Bellman didn’t live long enough to draft it!”

  Gale looked meaningfully at Merridew who sat very still.

  “Then there was the small matter of the acquisition. Bellman was going to spend a large chunk of his cash on buying out the Fisk business. Merridew could see everything slipping away. More importantly, at any moment, William Baker might find out who the unknown father on Peter’s birth certificate really was.”

  Gale uttered a strange growling noise and continued. “Like a fool, I gave him the very opportunity he needed to act—a burlesque . . . a bizarre diversion . . . a plan allowing him to remove permanently everyone that was in his way—a plan that was so insane it would smoke screen and divert attention from his real motives.

  “Baker had been in Marling, why he was there doesn’t matter . . . he caught the last train to Farley Halt. Merridew followed him and slipped his postcard into the station post box in time to catch the last post. I was supposed to think Baker had been killed earlier. Merridew had put his plan into action and transformed himself into the Snark! He made up his mind to kill. Alone on the platform, after the train had left, he battered Lawson over the head and . . . well you all know the rest . . . That leads us to Franklin Gifford. He had to be next, and quickly, because the moment Gifford heard Baker had been murdered he’d eventually put two and two together and make it six—he communicated his unease to Trueman here, just before his worst fears were realised . . .”

  Halliday looked sternly at Merridew, who looked bewildered.

  “I think you’d better accompany us to the station Mr. Merridew.”

  “I d-don’t understand why you would m-make this up,” Merridew replied, owlishly.

  “By the time I’d whittled everything down I was left with you, Merridew,” snarled Gale. “It took me a while to realise what was wrong, then I realised a person is either short sighted, or long sighted, but the same spectacles don’t work for both, d’you see?”

  Merridew looked at Gale as if he’d gone mad. “I r-really d-don’t understand what you are saying . . . I’m j-just Mr. Bellman’s secretary. I have nothing to do with these murders.”

  Gale laughed derisively for a few seconds, then went very quiet and turned to Zoe. “Miss Anderson, I wonder if you would be kind enough to remove Mr. Merridew’s spectacles.”

  The room went silent with expectation.

  “You’re m-making a big m-mistake,” stuttered Merridew.

  “Remove his spectacles Mr. Gale?” asked Zoe nervously.

  “I say, Gale . . .” I intervened—she plainly didn’t want to be involved.

  Gale ignored my protest. “Remove his spectacles if you would be so kind, Miss Anderson,” he ordered, with a frightful intensity that brooked no refusal.

  Jack Merridew sat meekly, while Zoe got up and took a step towards him. He obligingly looked up at her with a meek smile.

  Muttering an apology, she took off his shell rimmed spectacles. I noticed how his eyes glittered, they didn’t look meek at all.

  Gale was tugging at his beard. “Now if you would put them on . . .”

  Zoe, anxious to get whatever it was over with as soon as possible, quickly complied. She gave a little cry.

  “Why, there’s no difference . . .” she began.

  “Of course there isn’t!” cried Gale. “Because they don’t do anything for near sight, or long sight, or anything other kind of sight—the lenses are clear glass!”

  Jack Merridew threw back his chair with incredible force, as he got to his feet, owlish wisdom gone, and all pretence at meekness gone with it. “You interfering busybody!” He snarled, without a trace of a stutter, an automatic appearing in his hand.

  Sergeant Lockyer stepped forward from the door . . .

  “Stay where you are!” Merridew ordered in a harsh voice.

  Whether we were all so used to Merridew appearing weak, and therefore didn’t consider him a sufficient threat . . . I don’t know . . .

  I heard Sergeant Lockyer say: “Now, put that gun down, sir . . .”

  Then a deafening report!

  Sergeant Lockyer staggered back, his hand at his chest, and collapsed on the floor.

  Halliday, took a step towards him . . .

  “Stay where you are!” ordered Merridew, as he took a step sideways and turned to Zoe.

  “Come here!” he barked at her.

  Zoe was paralysed with fear. She didn’t move.

  My ears were ringing and my heart was pumping so hard everyone must have heard it. I could hardly breathe, while my brain had gone into overdrive it was so desperately striving to provide a solution to the situation . . . one that I could contribute to.

  “Come here now or I’ll shoot you in the arm!” ordered Merridew.

  No one in the room doubted that he meant it.

  Halliday looked grim. I suspected he too, was desperate to find a safe way out of this. Gale’s face was contorted in such a fury it was terrifying to look upon.

  Merridew by contrast looked calm and totally in charge, as Zoe took a step towards him. He reached out and grabbed her by her arm so firmly that she winced.

  I stood up. “Stop that!” I cried.

  “Sit down!” commanded Merridew menacingly.

  I held my ground until he raised the automatic. There didn’t seem much point in getting shot for nothing and there was nothing I could do, so I sat down again feeling quite useless. My heart went out to Zoe. What choice did she have? Stay seated, or be shot in the arm. There was nothing she could do about the situation either. My father’s words came back to haunt me: Occasionally when an emotionally disturbed person feels threatened and attacked, they may think they need to retaliate—to kill before they are killed.

  “Who has the keys to the car?” snapped Merridew, looking pointedly at Halliday, while lifting the barrel of the automatic a fraction of an inch.

  Halliday glanced over at the still body of Sergeant Lockyer.

  “Get them!” ordered Merridew.

  Halliday paused. I thought he was about to refuse and prepared myself for another shot. But he thought better of it and, glaring at Merridew, reluctantly walked over to the prone body of his Sergeant. He took a bunch of keys from the dead man’s jacket pocket.

  Merridew had edged round the end of the table and, marching Zoe in front of him, was moving towards the door.

  “Hand them out,” he instructed, “At arm’s length. Don’t try anything or you’ll end up like him.” He gestured with the gun at Sergeant Lockyer.

  “You’ll hang for this,” promised Halliday quietly, but with icy determination, as he extended his arm towards Merridew.

  Merridew snatched the keys from Halliday with his left hand, never taking his eyes off anyone. He dropped them into his jacket pocket. “Don’t try to follow me or the girl gets it!” He kicked open the drawing room door with his foot and pushed her roughly into the hall beyond.

  We listened to their footsteps going to the front door, the sound of the lock, the door opening and then closing. The mome
nt Gale heard the front door close he was at the drawing room door.

  “Don’t be too hasty, Mr. Gale,” warned Halliday stepping towards him. “Remember he’s got the girl!”

  Gale, forever impetuous, leapt into the hall, turned away from the front door and instead made for the steps to the scullery.

  We heard car doors bang shut out the front of the house, and the engine of the police car fire up.

  I was torn between prudence and necessity. I didn’t want Zoe to be in danger, but I realised if I didn’t do something I might never see her again. So, casting caution to the wind, I followed Gale.

  As I arrived outside the garage, Gale roared out on his thunderous orange contraption. As he went by me he gave a leering grin.

  Without thought for my safety, or my sanity, I leapt onto the pillion, and with a roar like a lion and a burst of noise like a machine gun, we gave chase.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The thought of Zoe sitting in the police car with Jack Merridew overruled any considerations for my own safety.

  The police car was so far ahead it couldn’t be seen, but the road snaked through high hedges, and this severely cut down our visibility.

  We were travelling at a dangerously lethal speed, leaning so far over when we encountered a sharp bend, I thought it was impossible we didn’t strike the surface of the road and go spinning out of control. But, Gale managed to control the beast somehow. It had now warmed up and was producing its acrid blue smoke, so that anyone following us would find themselves driving into a smelly fog, though the intermittent rain that lashed my face, helped keep it down.

  We roared and popped, streaking past gateways and hedgerows I had previously walked past in a leisurely fashion, until we came to the Green at Lower Bramsham. The road curved round it in a semi-circle before straightening towards Marling. On the far side we just glimpsed the tail of the police car.

  Gale turned his head towards me. “Hang on,” he yelled.

  “I am hanging on!” I shouted back.

  Then with horror I saw what he planned to do.