Returning at half-past five, Longman had waited about until he saw a young man come along the street and go into the house. He’d followed him up to his room before Mrs Bragg had a chance to get talking. On being shown a police card Mr Baynes had looked decidedly scared, more than folk usually did. Longman had then broken the news of the murder. He was convinced that Mr Baynes’s immediate reaction was genuine incredulity and distress. Then, quite suddenly, he’d seemed to get panicky, and was clearly greatly relieved to hear that he was not called upon to go down to identify the body. On being asked casually when he had last seen Miss Baynes, he’d said without hesitation that it was at Whitsun, when he’d stayed with her. Then he’d asked a lot of questions about the time and place of the murder, which Longman had been unable to answer.
Asked for a description of George Baynes, the constable said that he was average height or a bit below, lightly built, with a narrow face, sticking-out ears and brown hair. Pollard congratulated Longman on his report, and asked to be put through to his Chief’s office. Here he made arrangements for George to be shadowed, and for appointments to be made for himself to see both George and Clive Torrance during the latter part of the following day. Reinvigorated, he sprang to his feet and hurried out to the police car where Sergeant Toye awaited him.
Mr Yelland of Yelland, Yelland, Frayne and King, Solicitors, occupied a pleasant house on the outskirts of Linbridge, and escorted Pollard and Toye to his study.
‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ he said, indicating a pair of leather armchairs in front of his desk. ‘Presumably I’m not a suspect, so I hope you’ll take a spot of something. What about some nice cold beer out of the fridge?
‘Of course I’m not the old family solicitor as far as Miss Baynes is concerned,’ he went on, when they were settled with glasses and cigarettes. ‘She only transferred her business to us in ’37, when she came to live at Trill after her mother died. But she deposited a lot of papers with us, and I’ve been trying to dig out anything that might possibly be relevant to this fantastic affair. I expect it’s the terms of the will you are chiefly interested in?’
Pollard assented, and added that he hoped there would not be any difficulty.
‘Under the circumstances I feel that it’s in the interests of justice to tell you anything you want to know, Inspector.’ Mr Yelland took up a sheet of paper and glanced briefly at it. ‘Miss Beatrice Baynes was a wealthy woman,’ he said, putting the paper down again, and clasping his hands in front of him, ‘even for these days. She lived well within her considerable income, and had a shrewd head for investment. The post-war appreciation of her capital more than kept pace with inflation. It’s early days to name a figure, but I don’t think that £120,000 will prove to be very wide of the mark. After payment of death duties and other charges on the estate, I mean.’
Pollard whistled softly.
‘A tidy sum,’ the solicitor agreed. ‘You’d be surprised how many of these old ladies there still are, sitting very pretty and keeping quiet about it. Well, to revert to the testamentary dispositions of Miss Baynes, made in 1951, about £20,000 goes in legacies to old friends and servants and charities. The Governors of Meldon get £10,000 — I’ll come back to that later, if I may. The residuary legatees get two-thirds and one-third respectively. They are Mr George Baynes, a great-nephew, and Miss Madge Thornton, a godchild. She is — or was — a music mistress at Meldon. A trust has been created in each case.’
Pollard and Toye made hasty mental calculations.
‘Say £60,000 and £30,000,’ continued Mr Yelland. ‘Neither can touch the capital, which is tied up on any children they may have. If either dies childless the capital reverts to the other’s trust fund. If both eventually die without legal issue, it goes to specific charities.’
‘Had Miss Baynes any other relatives who are excluded as beneficiaries?’ asked Pollard.
‘I thought you’d want to know that,’ replied Mr Yelland with a touch of self-congratulation. ‘Hence my researches into the Baynes archives. The short answer is, no.’ He turned over the pages of notes in front of him. ‘The family fortune was founded by Miss Baynes’s grandfather, in the middle of the last century. He was a manufacturer of various kinds of hardware at Warhampton. He left the business to his only — repeat, only — child, Arthur, father of Beatrice and her two brothers Clarence and John. Arthur carried on successfully, and made still more money. Unfortunately, the only one of his children to inherit his commercial acumen was Beatrice, and in those days, of course, it was unthinkable that a woman could run a manufacturing concern. Clarence was bone idle and merely interested in spending money, and John had academic leanings and was sent to Oxford just before the ’14 war. At the same time Arthur sold out very profitably, and retired on the proceeds. John joined up and was killed on the Somme in 1916. He was unmarried. Arthur himself died in 1920. Clarence and Beatrice were left legacies, and were appointed residuary legatees after the widow’s life interest in the estate. Surprisingly, the money wasn’t tied up, although Clarence had a son, born in 1907, Edward Baynes, who eventually became a not very successful chartered accountant, and the father of George. Old Mrs Baynes died in 1936, and Clarence had run through almost every penny of his inheritance by his own death in 1951. In the meantime, Edward Baynes and his wife were both killed in the London Blitz in 1941, leaving George, then aged eight. Clarence took him over, much to the fury of Beatrice, who — with some justification — considered him quite unsuitable for bringing the boy up. In fact, she consulted my father about taking legal action in the matter. After Clarence’s death she saw a lot more of George, and did her utmost to get him established in a worthwhile profession, but with very little result. He’s about four-fifths Clarence to one-fifth Beatrice. She has consistently refused to give him an allowance in the hope of forcing him to buckle to.’
‘What I can’t get over,’ said Pollard, ‘is this Miss Thornton getting such a hefty proportion of the life interest. After all, the godchild relationship is usually a pretty nominal one. Do you mean that she isn’t even a distant connection?’ He gazed at the rough genealogical table which he had scribbled down while the solicitor was talking:
X Baynes (founder of firm)
(son) Arthur d. 1920
(three children) Clarence d. 1951, BEATRICE, John d. 1916
(son of Clarence) Edward killed (with wife) in Blitz 1941.
(son of Edward) GEORGE born 1933.
‘If she had been,’ replied Mr Yelland, ‘I feel sure that Miss Baynes would have mentioned it. She had strong family feeling, partly, I think, because she had so few relatives. I can remember her remarking on one occasion when she was adding a codicil to her will, that, as both her parents were only children, she hadn’t a single first cousin. The sense of family even overcame her vigorous disapproval of George’s fecklessness, as her will shows. I have always imagined that Madge Thornton must be the daughter of an old friend. At any rate, some years ago Miss Baynes mentioned in passing that Mr Thornton had died.’
‘Mrs Thornton died only last week,’ said Pollard thoughtfully.
‘Perhaps Mr Thornton was an old flame.’
Sergeant Toye cleared his throat.
‘Excuse me, sir, you said something about going back to the legacy of the school.’
‘Quite right, Sergeant. We must stick to the facts, although I don’t think this legacy can possibly have any relevance to the enquiry. It is to the Governors of Meldon, and the terms of the bequest specify that the money is only to be used for capital projects which have the unanimous support of the governing body. Very neat.’
‘I’m not sure that I’m with you,’ said Pollard, ‘unless it’s an indirect hit at Miss Renshaw?’
‘Oh, you’ve got on to the feud, have you? Yes, Miss Baynes felt that she could count on a few diehards lingering on among the Governors, possibly as long as Miss Renshaw herself remains at Meldon, and that they could be relied on to obstruct any of the latter’s more up-and-coming ide
as. Miss Renshaw can fairly be said to have saved the place from extinction, you know. It had got hopelessly stuck in a rut before the war and was going downhill fast. Miss Baynes was there as a girl, and the slightest change in anything was anathema to her. She had an absolute fixation about the place. I don’t know how Miss Renshaw has survived having her living just across the road all these years. However, she has won hands down, and Meldon’s now doing exceedingly well. I’m sending my own girls there.’
‘You mentioned a codicil just now,’ said Pollard after a pause. ‘Has Miss Baynes made any recent alterations in her will?’
‘It’s virtually the same as when it was first drawn up. The codicil you refer to was a bequest to an additional charity in which she had become interested. There was never any suggestion that she was considering alterations in the main provisions, although she remarked more than once that an assured income would almost certainly do George more harm than good.’
‘Do you think that Mr George Baynes and Miss Thornton knew the extent of their expectations under the will?’
‘I think that is in the highest degree unlikely, Inspector. Miss Baynes was a woman who kept her own counsel.’
Eight
‘Visitors: on arrival please ask for Sister.’
Notice on the door of Meldon Sanatorium
Sister Littlejohn wore the uniform of a famous London hospital with a starchy and uncompromising air. Pollard struggled against the sensation of being a patient under observation.
‘Doctor Dodd has already visited Miss Thornton this morning,’ she stated. ‘He has agreed to you seeing her for a short time, but only on the understanding that the interview stops at once if she shows signs of getting upset. Those are his orders, and it’s my duty to see they’re carried out, Inspector.’
‘Quite,’ he said, casting round for an approach. ‘I accept that, of course.’
Earlier in Pollard’s career, the Assistant Commissioner had referred to him in his absence as a personable young man. This had regrettably leaked out, and there seemed little hope of ever living it down at the Yard. Occasionally, however, he found it worthwhile to cash in on this asset. Leaning back in a corner of Sister Littlejohn’s settee he smiled at her, as she sat primly in an armchair.
‘You know I haven’t only come here to see Miss Thornton,’ he told her. ‘It’s going to be an enormous help to discuss one or two matters with someone of your experience and knowledge of the set-up, Sister, if you can spare the time.’
He thought he detected the faintest bridling movement as she replied that she would be glad to help in any way she could, and folded her hands on her aproned lap.
‘May I just check up on one thing before I tell you what is really in my mind?’ Pollard consulted his notebook. ‘Inspector Beakbane understood from Miss Renshaw that after Miss Thornton had been to her flat on Sunday morning in a very overwrought state, she herself rang you up, and that as a result you were kind enough to befriend Miss Thornton later in the day.’
‘That’s quite correct, Inspector. Not in any professional capacity, but just in a friendly way, as you say, apart from giving her a mild sedative to take when she went to bed. I took her out in my car for a picnic tea, and then had her back here to supper.’
‘Very good of you, if I may say so, when your term’s work was officially over. Now, this is where I feel you and I speak the same language, Sister. The thing that puzzles me about Miss Thornton is that hysterical outburst on Sunday morning. That wasn’t after she’d heard the news of the murder in such an unfortunate way, but twenty-four hours before the body was discovered, and anything up to about eighteen hours after the old lady was killed. You’ll see what I’m thinking? I needn’t tell anyone like you that some people react to an appalling discovery by persuading themselves that they haven’t made it … a sort of nervous self-protection, isn’t it? Do you think it’s possible that Miss Thornton saw something of the murder? She might conceivably have come on the body, and been so terrified that she couldn’t admit it, even to herself.’
Sister Littlejohn nodded slowly several times, giving Pollard a long look of complete understanding.
‘That’s a very interesting idea, Inspector. Very interesting indeed. I must say it had never struck me.’ She relapsed into thought, while Pollard noted that the possibility of Madge Thornton’s being a potential suspect had obviously not struck her either. ‘No,’ she said at last, ‘I really don’t think anything of that sort could have happened to her. I’m sure there would have been some sign of it in the way she talked and behaved when she was with me. She was worried, certainly, but I can’t say she showed any sign of having had a dreadful experience.’
‘Was it just Miss Baynes’s absence that was worrying her, do you think?’
‘Funny that you should ask me that, Inspector.’ Sister Littlejohn unconsciously settled herself in her chair for a good talk. ‘From what Miss Renshaw had said over the phone, I got the idea that Miss Thornton was afraid the old lady had met with a motor accident, or something like that. But it seemed to me that she was very anxious to see Miss Baynes about something, and it was not being able to find her that was the trouble. I put it down to the fact that there was a lot of business to see to in connection with Mrs Thornton’s death. Miss Thornton hasn’t had much experience of that kind of thing. Unworldly, I should call her. And there aren’t any brothers or sisters to help her.’
‘I wonder,’ said Pollard cautiously, ‘if they had had a row?’
Sister Littlejohn looked almost startled.
‘Oh, I don’t think that’s likely. Miss Baynes was a very dominating person. In fact, some of us used to think it was a shame the way she’d often snub Miss Thornton, who’d never try to stand up for herself.’
‘Was that why you didn’t encourage Miss Thornton to go round to Applebys again on Sunday evening?’
She gave him a quick, admiring glance.
‘You don’t miss much, do you, Inspector? Well, we can’t afford to in our jobs, can we? Yes, it’s quite true: I tried to keep her off the idea. You see, at that time I naturally thought Miss Baynes was having a day out with her old friends, and would probably come home tired and not in the mood to hear about all Miss Thornton’s problems, and might quite likely be very short with her. After all, it didn’t look as though there was anything so urgent it couldn’t wait till Monday morning.’
‘I seem to have heard a lot about the godchild relationship,’ said Pollard. ‘Would you say they were fond of each other, although the old lady was so domineering?’
Sister Littlejohn seemed to find this question difficult. ‘Well, yes and no. Miss Baynes was good to Miss Thornton in her own way: lovely Christmas and birthday presents, and so on. I shan’t be surprised if she’s been remembered in the will, either. And Miss Thornton was very patient with her, and did a lot of little things for her. But I wouldn’t say they were wrapped up in each other. I think it was more that Miss Thornton didn’t seem to have many friends, and Applebys was somewhere to go at weekends and so on.’
Pollard decided that he had probably exhausted this source of information.
‘This has all been most helpful,’ he told her. ‘I wonder if you could just do one more thing for me? We need Miss Thornton’s fingerprints. They’ll be all over Applebys and we want to be able to eliminate them. Can you get them on a clean medicine glass or something of the kind? It might be better than risking upsetting her by asking for them in the usual way.’
‘Why, of course, Inspector. That’s very simple. I’ll just give her a tablespoon of plain water to take. She’s not the questioning kind of patient.’ She gazed at him, her eyes intent with interest behind her spectacles. ‘Surely the brute who did this dreadful thing must have left some prints in the studio? That’ll help you to catch him, won’t it?’
Pollard was amused by the triumph of human curiosity over professional correctness.
‘The trouble is that a room like the studio which is used by a lot of people gets sim
ply smothered in prints, all on top of each other. My experts have been hard at work on them, of course. Then there’s the question of whether the murderer’s prints are in our records.’
‘You simply can’t tell what will happen these days with such awful men about, can you? In my opinion the mental hospitals are discharging cases far too early. And between ourselves, Inspector, I think they’re a great deal too casual about the locking-up here. All these fire escapes — it’s just asking for trouble. I’m very careful over here, I can tell you, isolated as we are. When I first came I insisted on safety catches being put on every window. Not that we’ve had any trouble up to now, apart from village boys getting into the park now and again, but better safe than sorry, I say… Now, if you’ll just wait here, I’ll run along and see to that little job for you.’
Left alone, Pollard sat and considered a possible case against Madge Thornton. Assuming that the murder was committed in the studio, her movements were at present unaccounted for during much of the time that the room had been empty on Saturday evening… He hoped that Sergeant Toye, now at the Staff House, was managing to establish the time of her return there after the second visit to Applebys… It seemed to him that there were intimations of possible motives. After all, Yelland could only give it as his personal opinion that she hadn’t known about her expectations under the will… Smouldering resentment at years of petty snubs and humiliations suddenly bursting out, when general control was weakened by the shock of her mother’s death? A bit far-fetched, perhaps, but cases of the kind had been known… A serious row between the two women? But what could it have been about? Miss Renshaw and Sister had sketched substantially the same portrait of Madge in relation to her godmother. It would clearly have needed tremendous provocation to goad her to the point of making a violent physical assault…
Death of an Old Girl Page 9
