Death by the Book

by Deering, Julianna

  “Possibly, but I appreciate the information nonetheless. We’ll certainly look into it.”

  “Thank you.” Again she hesitated. “Please don’t think harshly of Dr. Corneau. I suppose what he was doing wasn’t legal in the strictest sense, but he was trying to help as many people as he could with as little fuss as possible. I don’t see how that could be so very wrong.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “I won’t be . . .”

  Drew waited, but there was only silence from the other end of the line.

  “You won’t be what, Mrs. Burroughs?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with those adoptions, but I did know about them. I’m not going to be in any trouble, am I? With the police, I mean.”

  “I really don’t know.”

  Drew wished he could have been of more comfort to the woman, but the law could be a capricious mistress, and there was precious little knowing whether it would look with a tolerant eye upon such a tangled issue. Adoptions had only recently become so official and complicated.

  “Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, Mr. Farthering—”

  “You needn’t worry on my account. Unless it turns out to be connected to the murders, I shan’t mention this to the authorities. But now the doctor is gone, I shouldn’t keep in that particular line of work if I were you.”

  “No. Certainly. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Burroughs. And try not to worry yourself too much. No doubt the doctor meant well.”

  Fourteen

  Drew rung off and stood there for a moment staring at the telephone, his head swimming with the possible implications of what Mrs. Burroughs had just told him.

  “Drew?”

  He turned to see Madeline standing in the study’s doorway, and he went swiftly to her.

  “That was the nurse from Dr. Corneau’s surgery. Seems there was more to the doctor than we knew.”

  He told her what Mrs. Burroughs had said.

  “Suppose this is the connection. Montford’s mistress went to Dr. Corneau because she was expecting a child. Clarice Deschner had implied she was seeing someone besides Roger Morris. Could she have been, too?”

  The color came into Madeline’s cheeks. “You don’t suppose Roger, um . . . ?”

  “I have no idea just how intimate she and Roger might have been, though poor Rog was obviously smitten with her. But whether such a child was his or someone else’s, if there was such a child, Clarice hardly seemed the type to settle happily into marriage and motherhood.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem that she was. Oh, Drew, what a tangled mess it all is.”

  “I know, darling. But it will all be sorted out in time, never you fear.”

  There was a telltale thumping in the hallway, and then Aunt Ruth appeared in the door. “Speaking of time, it’s time I retired for the night. I’ve had enough for one evening. Madeline, I suppose I can expect you back at the cottage no later than ten. That’s a quarter of an hour from now.”

  “All right, Aunt Ruth.”

  “And you, young man, see that she’s not a minute later. No funny business.”

  “I will do my very best, Miss Jansen, I assure you. Shall I escort you there now?”

  “No, no. It’s not far, and I don’t need any fuss.” She fixed Madeline with a piercing gaze. “Ten.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Aunt Ruth went out through the French doors and vanished into the darkness. Madeline merely stood there as if there were yet something to see.

  Drew took her hand. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just jumpy tonight. I wish you had this all solved and we could just enjoy our time together. As it is, I always feel as if something else is going to happen.” She peered out into the night again. “I don’t like her going down to the cottage alone.”

  He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “Do you want me to go after her? I don’t mind in the slightest.”

  “Would you? I’d really feel better if you would.”

  He released her with a kiss. “Won’t be a moment.”

  It was a fine night outside, even if there was very little moon. Auntie ought to have taken a torch with her. No use having her stumble in the darkness and no doubt blaming the entire English race for it.

  As he approached the curve in the path, he could hear muffled noises from the other side of the bushes, and he broke into a quick canter. As he rounded the corner, he saw Aunt Ruth’s low bulk entangled with another dark shadow at the cottage steps.

  “Good heavens!”

  He sprinted toward the struggling figures, but the taller of the two broke away.

  Aunt Ruth swung her cane. “You come back, you scoundrel!”

  There was a solid thump as the stick made contact with the intruder’s backside, knocking him to all fours on the gravel path, but he was quick and scrambled up again. Aunt Ruth swung again, catching him a glancing blow on the arm that didn’t slow his escape. Before she could strike a third time, he wrenched the cane from her hands and tossed it into the bushes. Then he wriggled into the thicket of trees alongside the cottage and disappeared into the dense wood.

  Pursuit was clearly futile, and poor Aunt Ruth was still on the ground, huffing and wheezing, unable to gain her footing and her dignity without the aid of her cane.

  Drew knelt beside her. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

  “Just get me up. Where’s my cane? Why don’t you go after him?”

  “He’s taken to his heels, I’m afraid. I think it’s much more urgent to get you inside.”

  With a sufficient amount of decorum and no small amount of embarrassment on both sides, Drew managed to haul Aunt Ruth to her feet.

  “Just lean on me, ma’am, and we’ll have you put right before you know it.”

  She did lean on him, rather heavily in point of fact, and clung tightly to his arm, but she did not let anything like fear show in her face.

  “Where’s my cane?”

  “Let’s just get you inside and then I’ll come back and find it for you. The main thing is to have you safe and settled. Afterwards I’ll ring up the police.”

  Aunt Ruth snorted. “The police? Your little bunch of Keystone Cops? You call up Scotland Yard and do it now. The audacity of the man, knocking me down like that.”

  “Yes, to be sure. You can tell me all about it once you’re inside.”

  “And for goodness’ sake, find out what happened to my cane.”

  He wanted to go inside and make sure there were no other surprises awaiting them, but the woman was so insistent, he settled for switching on a light and sitting her down in the straight-backed chair by the door.

  The light from the house made it easier for him to locate the cane. Avoiding the prickly holly leaves as he went on hands and knees to retrieve it was a different matter entirely. Still, anything to placate dear Auntie.

  A few minor scratches later, he had the cane in hand. “Found it!”

  He scrambled to his feet and turned toward the cottage and saw Aunt Ruth clinging to the doorframe, sagging almost to her knees, her face gray as ash.

  “Please,” she breathed. “Young man.”

  “Miss Jansen!”

  He rushed to her side.

  “What’s wrong?” He took her arm, helping her up again. “Come back inside and sit down.”

  “No, no.” The old woman pulled away from him. “You’ve got to do something. There’s someone in the kitchen.”

  “An intruder?”

  “No. He’s dead. Oh, he’s dead.”

  “Who’s dead? Do you know who it is?”

  “I’m just not sure. I . . .” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “I think it’s that boy from California. Mr. Bell. He’s lying on the floor in there. His face . . . he’s . . .” Her voice choked down in her throat, and she swayed on her feet. “Oh, where’s my cane?”

  Drew didn’t know how he dared it, but he pressed the cane into her hands and then put his arms aro
und her, letting her sob against his chest.

  “Don’t think about it just now,” he soothed. “I’ll take you up to Madeline, and she’ll see you’re all right.”

  She made some sort of grumbling protest into the thickness of his coat, but he didn’t heed it. Instead he held her there for a few moments and then finally coaxed her into turning toward the house.

  Abruptly she pulled away from him and started rummaging in the pocket of her dress for her handkerchief.

  “I can walk.” She blotted her face and set her mouth into a determined line. “You’d better figure out what’s going on here, and do it quickly before we’re all murdered.”

  “I mean to do just that,” Drew said, taking her arm. “After we get you safely into the house.”

  Madeline was standing at the French doors when they came up the walk.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  Between the two of them, Drew and Madeline got Aunt Ruth to the sofa.

  The old woman waved one hand. “Don’t mind me. I’ve lived my life. If I were murdered, it would be no great loss.”

  “Murdered?” Madeline sat on the sofa and put her arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “Drew, what’s going on?”

  “It looks as if someone’s dead down at the cottage.” Drew rang for Dennison. “I’ve got to get the police over here.”

  “At our cottage?”

  “I’m afraid so, darling. Your aunt thinks it may be your friend Bell.”

  “Freddie? Oh, Drew, no. It can’t be. He was just—”

  “I haven’t looked yet. Evidently it just happened. Your aunt surprised someone coming from the cottage and nearly caught him, too.”

  “Oh, Aunt Ruth, you didn’t. Are you all right?”

  “What kind of a country is this with people being killed all the time? She blotted her forehead again with her handkerchief. “I won’t stay in that place another night.”

  Denny appeared in the doorway. “You rang for me, sir?”

  “Oh, Denny. Good. Look here, ring up the police in the village, please, and tell them there’s a dead body down at Rose Cottage. Then you’d better give old Birdsong a shout, as well. I’m going down there to see what’s what.”

  Denny inclined his head slightly, just as he would have done if Drew had asked him to arrange for tea. “Very good, sir.”

  “And you’d best have Dr. Wallace out. To see to Miss Jansen and take a look at the body and all that.”

  Aunt Ruth snorted. “I do not need a doctor.”

  “Very good, sir,” Denny said.

  “Oh, and please see if Nick would care to call round at the cottage with me.”

  “At once, sir.”

  Madeline’s eyes were wide. “Drew, you can’t go down there alone.”

  “I’m not. I’m taking Nick.”

  “I mean the two of you can’t go down there alone. You don’t know who might be waiting for you.”

  “I think this is a perfect occasion for airing that little Webley revolver from your uncle’s desk.”

  “No, Drew.” Madeline stood and took his hands. “I don’t want you to go out there. Let the inspector take care of it this time.”

  “Now, don’t you worry, darling. The police will be here in no time, and I’ll have the gun. Besides, we saw the killer leave. He’ll be miles gone by the time we get there.”

  She clasped his hands more tightly. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. All these killings. When it was just in Winchester, it wasn’t so terrible. I mean, things like that happen from time to time. But this one is close. It’s too close. It’s like it was when Uncle Mason was killed. Poor Freddie . . .”

  Drew held her close to him. “We’re just going to take a look to see what happened, and then we’ll nip right back up to the house. You’ll hardly know we’re gone. Besides, your aunt needs you to look after her, so you’ll scarcely have time for Nick and me.”

  Aunt Ruth rolled her eyes. “Humph.”

  “Be right back.”

  Drew went into the study, unlocked the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk, and took out the gun his stepfather had brought back from the Great War. It would be good to have this little bit of reassurance within easy reach.

  He hurried back to the library just as Nick came into the room, electric torch and golf club in hand.

  “The Webley, eh? I guess I won’t be needing this then.”

  Drew nodded. “Best leave it behind, old man.”

  “I suppose so.” Nick looked fondly at the club before leaning it against the fireplace. “Anyway, I’d hate to spoil my Double K mashie having to bash someone over the head with it. What’s this Dad says about there being some unpleasantness at the cottage?”

  “Miss Jansen had a bit of a run-in with an intruder, an intruder who’s left a body behind.”

  “Not one of the hatpin killings, is it?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen yet. She thinks it may be Freddie Bell.”

  “Really? That’s too bad. I rather liked him.”

  Aunt Ruth thumped her cane on the floor. “Are you two going to stand around talking all night or are you going to find out what’s happened?”

  “At once, ma’am,” Drew assured her, and then he turned to Madeline. “Now I absolutely forbid you to worry, darling.” He touched his lips to her temple. “We’ll be just fine.”

  She nodded and managed a small smile. “Do be careful.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, young man.” Aunt Ruth thumped her cane on the floor once more. “Do you hear me?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. All set, Nick?”

  Fifteen

  Drew and Nick were soon at the cottage. Light still flooded from the open front door, so Nick switched off the torch.

  “This blighter you saw struggling with Miss Jansen, you say he took to his heels?”

  “Yes. I shouldn’t think he’s back inside, but one can’t be too careful.”

  They made a quick search of the cottage, but it was deserted. The only thing out of place was the body of Freddie Bell sprawled on the stone floor of the kitchen, his face black and distorted, hardly recognizable.

  “Strangled.”

  Drew didn’t touch anything but leaned down to read the message that was pinned into the man’s flesh.

  He was bound to molder before he was all grown up, the first fruit of his kind.

  Nick got down on his haunches beside him. “Any ideas on this one?”

  “None. Clearly the same killer. Same handwriting, same sort of hatpin, same maddeningly vague message.”

  The pin was brass with a large dragonfly on the end of it. Bits of colored glass sparkled in the wings. Drew leaned closer to peer at the pin, refraining from touching it. Then he studied the victim’s neck.

  “Garroted, it looks like. Whatever was used was flat, about an inch wide judging by the marks on the throat. No other marks on the body it seems.”

  Nick frowned. “Bell seemed a rather robust chap, didn’t he?”

  “Exactly. Even if someone surprised him from behind, I would think he’d about tear the room apart fighting him off.” Drew looked at the cold, curled fingers of the corpse. “He ought to have skin and blood under his nails, bruises on his hands, marks where whatever was used to strangle him shifted in the struggle.”

  “Perhaps he was hit over the head first. Or drugged.”

  “Something like that would certainly do it. Then the murderer could strangle him with no complications, neat as you please.”

  They both stood again, and Drew scanned the kitchen for anything out of the ordinary. Everything was in its place except for two dirty teacups sitting in the sink.

  “That’s not like Miss Jansen, do you think?” Nick asked. “Leaving a mess when she was going out for the evening?”

  “Is it like her, Detective Farthering?”

  Both young men turned, and Nick immediately put his hands behind his back. “We haven’t touched anything.”


  “Good evening, Chief Inspector,” Drew said. “You’re here quickly.”

  “I was at the Queen Bess actually, after spending the day at the Deschner girl’s cottage,” Birdsong explained. “Nothing like a pint and a game of draughts at the end of a long day.”

  “And here I was prepared to apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour.”

  “You should apologize. I was winning.” Birdsong turned to the door. “All right, men, in here.”

  A pair of police constables came into the kitchen. One began photographing the crime scene while the other dusted for fingerprints. Birdsong squatted down beside the body.

  “Now, Mr. Farthering, suppose you two tell me what’s happened here. What’s this about a mess?”

  “We were just wondering why Mr. Bell didn’t put up a struggle.” Drew pointed out the clean mark on the victim’s neck. “Looks like a strap of some kind, about an inch wide, strangled him, but it appears as though he just sat still and let it happen. Why?”

  Birdsong nodded. “And your conclusion?”

  “Knocked out with something. Coshed on the head, or perhaps drugged. And then we noticed the teacups there in the sink. Miss Jansen is an extremely tidy woman. I don’t think she would have left the cottage or allowed Madeline to unless everything had been shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

  “So you think this bloke and the killer had a nice little tea party before he was made away with, is that it?”

  “Seems logical. Anyone can slip someone a Mickey Finn under the guise of a friendly cup of tea. Just keep up the cheerful banter until the deed is done, eh?”

  Birdsong pursed his lips. “Might be. Might be. Do you know the man?”

  “I think so. He’s awfully, um, changed at the moment, but it’s this American chap Madeline’s gotten to be friends with, Freddie Bell.”

  “American, eh? And how’s he mixed into all this?”

  Drew glanced at the note. “Sounds as if he meddled where he wasn’t wanted.”

  Sourness came into the chief inspector’s tone. “He wasn’t helping you lot with your investigation, was he?”