Devious Murder

by George Bellairs

  A middle-aged lady sitting at a desk with two telephones and a typewriter received them. Before they could speak she gave them both a keen glance as though sizing them up. Were they would-be coachmen, butlers, or chauffeurs …?

  ‘Are you already on our books?’

  It had gone far enough, although Cromwell’s sense of humour might have carried it further had it been permissible. They made themselves known and asked for Mr. Binder. The receptionist’s imagination got the better of her and she saw her employer being hustled out in handcuffs. Then she rushed away as though the premises were on fire, returned quickly, and bade them follow her.

  They passed through a place like a doctor’s waiting-room, where presumably clients gathered anxiously to seek for jobs. There were one or two customers there, including a man more like a sailor than a domestic servant, smoking a cheroot. The receptionist told him in passing to put it out, which he immediately did by grinding it to ashes on the floor.

  Mr. Binder was in his office, rocking to and fro in a massive swivel chair. He was a florid man with his sideburns done in the modern style of hairdressing, which made him resemble a butler himself. He, too, eyed his visitors up and down as though measuring them for a job. He had two voices, one for employers and the other for employees. He decided that the former was best for the police. Such visits were very rare as Binder’s was a most respectable agency and Mr. Binder flattered himself that he could sort the wheat of domestic service from the chaff.

  ‘What can I do for you, gentlemen? We haven’t been breaking the law, I hope,’ he said in his most lathery tone.

  Littlejohn left him to Cromwell.

  ‘I believe, Mr. Binder, that you are in the habit of supplying temporary maids to Mrs. Havenith, of The Limes.…’

  ‘Tolham,’ said Mr. Binder to show that he knew all about it. ‘That is so, we have that honour.’

  ‘This you have done over the past few …’

  ‘… weeks,’ added Mr. Binder. ‘That is so. They all finished a few days ago. Four of them. Young ladies. Excellent.’

  ‘Could you give us their names and addresses?’

  Mr. Binder turned pale and rocked to and fro, as though it comforted him.

  ‘I hope none of them has misbehaved.’

  ‘No. There’s only been a murder next door. We’re seeking anyone who might have been at The Limes when it occurred.’

  ‘Oh, dear! Tragic. I hope none of our clients did it.’

  ‘Of course not!’

  Mr. Binder opened a drawer in his desk, took out a bottle and a small medicine glass, and gave himself a drink. There was a smell of brandy on the air.

  ‘Pardon me, I’ve had a coronary recently,’ he said putting the bottle away, having thus excused himself for not asking his visitors to share.

  Then his face lit up.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said again and rang a bell on his desk. The frightened receptionist appeared and looked frantically at her employer, as though he’d been arrested and was ready to leave her in charge of the business.

  ‘Miss Buttress,’ he said to her. ‘Is Miss Marlene Blower still waiting?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Ask her to step this way, please.’

  ‘I didn’t want to interview her here,’ said Cromwell, nettled. ‘All I asked for was names and addresses.’

  But it was too late. Miss Blower was ushered in. She looked first at Littlejohn and then at Cromwell and gave Mr. Binder an appealing look as though they’d come to hire her for some dire purpose.

  ‘These gentlemen are from the police,’ said Mr. Binder.

  Miss Blower thereupon fainted and fell on the floor.

  Chapter 5

  An Inspector Vanishes

  It was difficult to know whether Miss Blower’s fainting fit was spontaneous or phony and it would have needed an expert with appropriate apparatus to make sure. However, it gave Marlene time to recover her aplomb and after a couple of healthy swigs at Mr. Binder’s brandy, which he surrendered reluctantly, she apologised profusely for causing a commotion, said she’s never done it in her life before, and would never do it again. She expressed herself quite ready to listen to what the police had to say.

  ‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said anxiously. ‘My conscience is clear.…’

  Cromwell reassured her.

  ‘Have you a private room, where we could interview Miss Blower without taking up more of your own time?’ he asked Mr. Binder, who seemed very relieved by the request and said it would be a pleasure. He thereupon took a large key from his desk, opened a door on his right with it, and led them in.

  The place looked like a private chapel of some undertaker or strict religious sect. There were rows of metal and canvas chairs spread about and, at the head of the array, a reading desk with a huge Bible and a carafe of stale-looking water on it. ‘Love One Another’ in large letters on the wall behind the lectern. There was a shabby carpet on the floor and the walls were painted a dismal brown.

  ‘I trust this will be convenient,’ said Mr. Binder, without explaining the function of the room or his connection with whatever normally went on in it. It later turned out that in addition to his domestic agency Mr. Binder was head of the London branch of a wealthy American religious organisation, the Pentecostal Baptists, who gathered in his spare room for services and frequently adjourned to a tributary of the Thames which flowed through Mr. Binder’s garden at Chiswick, there to plunge and immerse themselves to initiate new members of the body. It was financed by a huge legacy from a pious multi-millionaire and Mr. Binder was a trustee for the United Kingdom and Southern Ireland. His earthly reward for such services was substantial.

  Littlejohn, Cromwell and Miss Blower made themselves as comfortable as possible on the steel-framed chairs and sat looking like three penitents awaiting conversion.

  Marlene Blower was a small well-developed woman approaching her forties. She wore the brave, faded look of one who worries about where her next engagement is coming from. Her hair was auburn and dyed to hide the grey. She seemed dependable and ready for a good day’s work. Littlejohn, depressed by their puritan surroundings, got on with the interview without delay.

  ‘This won’t take long, Miss Blower.…’

  ‘When I’m in service, sir, I’m known as Molly.…’

  She looked surprised at the formal address and would obviously be more at ease by her working-name.

  ‘We won’t keep you long, Molly. How long have you been in service at The Limes?’

  ‘Two months, sir. I finished yesterday morning.’

  ‘After Mrs. Havenith had left?’

  ‘Yes, all the extra staff finished then. I’m free for another job now.’

  ‘Had you ever been there before?’

  ‘Yes. Quite a lot. I get on well with Mrs. Morgan. She always asks Mr. Binder, for me when they need extra staff.’

  ‘What were your duties there?’

  ‘I was engaged as a parlour maid, but actually I did other work as well.’

  ‘What was the nature of it?’

  She paused, thinking what she was expected to say.

  ‘Well … whenever there was a party I waited at table. All of us did.’

  ‘How many extras were employed at such times?’

  ‘Whenever Mrs. Havenith was in residence four of us were engaged. You see, some of her friends sometimes stayed the night and we had to do bedroom service. We didn’t have set duties. We just did what Mrs. Morgan told us.’

  ‘Which of the four of you was what we might call head maid?’

  ‘After Mrs. Morgan, the housekeeper, I was senior.’

  ‘Did being senior call for any special duties?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Mrs. Morgan acted as personal maid to Mrs. Havenith. Unusual for. a housekeeper, but that’s the way it was. At home, in America, Mrs. Havenith had her own maid, a French girl, but in The Limes she preferred Mrs. Morgan and left Lucille, that’s the French girl, at home in Texas.’


  ‘I gather Mrs. Havenith is in the Cotswolds at present. Who is her personal maid there?’

  ‘I don’t know her name, but it’s some local girl she’s taken a fancy to. Mrs. Morgan never goes with her to Far Hills Manor. That’s the Cotswold house.’

  ‘A queer arrangement’

  ‘Mrs. Havenith had her own ways of doing things. It’s not up to us to criticise.’

  She said it obediently, like a child who’d learned its place.

  ‘Did you ever assist Mrs. Morgan in dressing Mrs. Havenith, Molly?’

  ‘Yes. If Mrs. Morgan ever wanted help she sent for me and I reached and fetched things, like dresses and shoes, as required.’

  ‘Have you done that recently?’

  ‘Yes, sir. On the last two nights, because of farewell parties and such arrangements, I helped Mrs. Morgan to dress the mistress and undress her when she returned.’

  ‘On her last night, will you tell me what happened exactly, then?’

  ‘You mean …?’

  ‘Tell us what happened at The Limes on Mrs. Havenith’s last night there, between seven o’clock and midnight’

  Molly thought for a minute.

  ‘Mrs. Havenith had arranged a theatre party and a dinner after it. The Steinbergs called. He’s her bank manager. They all went off together at about seven o’clock. At about nine o’clock Mrs. Havenith and Mr. Leo, that’s her stepson by Mr. Havenith’s first wife, were back at The Limes. Mrs. Havenith had been taken unwell and they’d left their friends and come home.’

  ‘Did she seem unwell to you, Molly?’

  Molly hesitated.

  ‘You needn’t hesitate, Molly. Just tell me the truth. This concerns a murder and it’s your duty to be frank with us. I know a good servant should be discreet and not talk outside about her mistress, but this is an exceptional case and you must tell me all you know. We will see that you don’t suffer for your confidences.’

  The girl had to struggle against her habitual duty, but she did her best.

  ‘They got back, at nine, sir.’

  ‘Did Mrs. Havenith seem unwell?’

  ‘Not to my way of thinking.… She was upset, but not sick.’

  ‘Why was she upset?’

  ‘I suppose it was because she wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Leo again for some time. He was going back to America on business for the master and would be away for a month.’

  ‘You heard him say that?’

  ‘Yes. They ordered a bottle of champagne for what she called a farewell drink. They nearly drank the lot. She wouldn’t have done that if she’d got a bad headache or was sick.’

  ‘After that, did they retire?’

  ‘It depends on what you mean by retire. They took more champagne to her bedroom and drank it there.’

  ‘What time did he leave her?’

  ‘Just before ten. She rang for Mrs. Morgan then and Mrs. Morgan sent for me. Mrs. Havenith was a bit drunk and did what she usually did when she was like that.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Threw her things about the room, slipped out of her clothes, and into bed without a stitch of clothing on her. Then we had to gather everything together and tidy up.’

  ‘Including her jewellery?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs. Morgan gave it to Mr. Cairncross to put away in the safe.’

  ‘Then you left her?’

  ‘Yes. She was all the time telling Mrs. Morgan to leave her alone, but Mrs. Morgan wouldn’t go until we’d left everything straight.’

  ‘What time would that be?’

  ‘Before ten o’clock.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes, sir. There was only Mrs. Morgan and me in the house. Mr. Morgan had gone to his masonic.…’

  ‘What about the other three girls?’

  ‘With Mrs. Havenith leaving the following morning early and there being no party arranged the three of them were paid off at six and went away with their luggage as soon as the mistress left for the theatre.’

  ‘So you, the Morgans, Mrs. Havenith and Leo were the only ones in the house that night?’

  ‘Yes. That’s right.’

  Molly was beginning to look uneasy as though anticipating the next question.

  ‘Were Leo and Mrs. Havenith lovers?’

  Molly had an anaemic complexion, but she turned paler.

  ‘Oh, sir. That’s no business of mine. I’d never get another job if I gossipped about what goes on in places I go to.’

  ‘This isn’t gossip, Molly. It concerns a murder committed at the time we’re talking about. We want to know all we can about what went on. Putting it bluntly, did Leo and Mrs. Havenith sleep together that night?’

  The girl’s lips tightened and she made no answer.

  ‘What time did you go to bed, Molly?’

  ‘About midnight. I’d a lot to do with Mrs. Havenith leaving early next day.’

  ‘Where was your bedroom?’

  ‘In what they call the mansard … sort of attic on the top floor.’

  ‘Did you see or hear anything which made you think that Leo had returned to Mrs. Havenith’s bedroom?’

  ‘No, sir. That’s the truth. All I can say is that she seemed to be so anxious to be left alone that we thought that her and Mr. Leo must have made an arrangement.…’

  ‘You say “we”. Does that mean that you and Mrs. Morgan discussed it?’

  ‘No. She’d never do that. It would be too familiar. She believes in keeping the staff in their places.’

  ‘What did you mean then, Molly?’

  ‘I overheard Mrs. Morgan say to Mr. Cairncross as she handed him the jewellery … “It looks as though they’re going to have a farewell fling”, and Mr. Cairncross laughed that horrible nasty laugh of his.’

  ‘You don’t like Cairncross?’

  ‘I do not. Neither do any other decent girls who come to The Limes. For one thing, he can’t keep his hands to himself. Always mauling you. He only tried it on me once and I hit him across the knuckles with a wooden spoon. I told him next time I’d hit him right on the nose.…’

  Cromwell produced a photograph of Charles Blunt, taken by the police after his death, and passed it across to Molly Blower. She looked at it and changed colour again. Cromwell thought she was going to have another fainting fit, but she managed to recover herself.

  ‘Have you seen that man before, Molly?’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with him? He looks awfully ill.…’

  Cromwell thought it better to avoid an answer to that question.

  ‘Have you ever seen him?’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She took it quite calmly this time.

  ‘There’s something familiar about him. I must have seen him somewhere, although he wasn’t a corpse then and must have looked different, if you see what I mean.’

  She sat quietly with a puzzled look on her face, as she turned the matter over in her mind.

  ‘He lived in one of the flats at Orchard Court, Tolham.’

  ‘Then I must have seen him about the town. I can’t remember ever seeing him at the flats. They don’t have anything to do with the flats at The Limes. Even though they’re next-door neighbours. Except for Mr. Cairncross who seems to be friendly with Mr. Pickup, the caretaker of Orchard Court. I’m sorry, that’s all I can say about the man. I must have passed him in the street in Tolham.…’

  Mr. Binder suddenly appeared at the door of his temple.

  ‘Everything all right? I was just beginning to wonder …’

  ‘We’re just going,’ said Cromwell. ‘And before we leave, I’d like to thank you for your help and commend Miss Blower to you for her discretion and the assistance she’s given us.’

  Mr. Binder assured them of his great pleasure in hearing that and they left him and Miss Blower together discussing her next job.

  When Littlejohn arrived back at Scotland Yard, he found a note on his desk:

  Mrs. Hassock phoned three times.

  And h
e had scarcely read it before a young policeman put his head round the door to make sure he’d seen it.

  ‘Mrs. Hassock? Surely you mean Inspector, Robbins?’

  ‘No, sir. It was Mrs. Hassock and she wouldn’t leave a message. Would you ring her as soon as possible? She sounded very distressed.’

  Littlejohn hadn’t met the lady, but knew of her reputation. Many of his colleagues regarded her as the cause of much of Hassock’s bad luck. Since the very day of their marriage she had occupied all the poor man’s time when he was off duty. She was described as an invalid, but nobody quite knew from what complaint she suffered. Hassock, when excusing her or himself from social commitments, always said she had a bad heart. Her husband seemed to do all the housework and her sister from Putney, who had a brood of children and a husband who ran a laundry, did the weekly shopping.

  Littlejohn put in a call to Mrs. Hassock, which was immediately answered as though she had been sitting at the instrument waiting for it.

  ‘Excuse me disturbing you, Chief Superintendent,’ she said. ‘But I must speak to you personally, as I understand you and my husband were working together on a case. He always speaks well of you.…’

  That seemed strange! Littlejohn always thought that Hassock hated everybody in the force. The voice at the other end of the line continued without a break in the monotonous tone, telling her story, slowly, and in an affected way like a policeman reporting an incident in the witness-box.

  ‘I must see you. He has disappeared.…’

  ‘Have you spoken to the local police?’

  ‘Yes. He has not reported at the police station since you left him last night. He was supposed to be off duty when he was called in on the crime in which you and he were collaborating. I must see you. I felt I ought to go to the very top. The local police don’t seem at all disturbed about it. They made light of it. I am too unwell to make the journey to London and I wondered if.…’

  ‘You wish me to call on you?’

  ‘If you will be so good.’