Murder on the Flying Scotsman

by Carola Dunn

  ‘Mr. Weekes having already eaten, not so much as a nibble’s passed my lips. What d’you think, Chief, can we spare Ernie half a sandwich?’

  ‘If he runs to the bar first. You’ll have the same again, Tom?’ He gave Piper a half-crown and the lad hurried off.

  While he was gone, Alec told Tom what the lawyer had said. ‘So the huge family fortune the old man was killed for turns out to be no more than a few thousand,’ he concluded.

  ‘Ah,’ Tom ruminated. ‘There’s been murder done afore now for a few hundred, or less.’

  ‘In any case, it seems they weren’t aware the riches had vanished. Miss Dalrymple certainly wasn’t.’

  ‘No, but she got all the rest right, Chief, didn’t she? As usual!’

  CHAPTER 12

  ‘What about the valet?’ Alec said as Piper returned with two brimming tankards in one hand and one in the other. ‘Miss Dalrymple didn’t mention, or didn’t know, that he gets a legacy from Albert. It may not be much, but as you so rightly say, murder has been done for very little.’

  Tom shook his head. Taking a deep draught of bitter, he wiped the suds off his mustache and reached for a sandwich. ‘I’d count him out, Chief. He wasn’t even on Miss Dalrymple’s list of suspects.’

  ‘That’s no reason for not putting him on mine!’ Noting too late the twinkle in the sergeant’s eyes, Alec realized he’d been had. ‘All right,’ he said resignedly. ‘Explain.’

  ‘Weekes knows about the legacy, and it’s just a couple of hundred and a gold watch. McGowan paid him a hundred and fifty a year, all found, of course.’

  ‘Blimey,’ said Piper, ‘I’m in the wrong business.’

  ‘Ah, but you got a future, lad. Weekes is out of a job. He’s sorry the old man’s gone, though more peeved than grieved, I’d say. The other thing is, he reminded me what Miss Dalrymple told us: He was the one first drew attention to suspicious circs.’

  ‘That’s right, I’d forgotten. He confirmed the rest of Miss Dalrymple’s statement, about McGowan’s illness and the window and so on?’

  ‘Every word, Chief.’

  Alec chewed on a mouthful of ham-and-tongue sandwich while he considered. ‘All right, he can go to the bottom of the list.’

  ‘Who’s next, then, Chief?’ Piper asked.

  ‘Efficient of Halliday to collect everyone in one place so we don’t have to race around town. We’d better see this Indian doctor chap. No apparent motive, rather the reverse, but you never can tell. And he may have some medical information for us.’ Not to mention the fact that Alec was all agog to meet the fellow who had so quickly wormed his way into both Daisy’s and Belinda’s good graces.

  Piper swallowed a final bite, emptied the last drop of his abstemious half of mild, and went off to find the doctor. As he opened the door, the sound of a wireless or gramophone wafted down the hall from the residents’ lounge, playing ‘K-K-K-Katy.’ So much for mourning Albert McGowan.

  ‘I’ll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door,’ warbled a hearty tenor.

  ‘Turn the blasted thing down!’ bellowed an irate voice.

  The wireless was silent when Piper ushered in Dr. Jagai. His youth took Alec by surprise; for no good reason he had expected a man of forty or so, older than himself. Chandra Jagai was nearer Daisy’s age than Alec’s.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Tring.’ Alec waved at Tom. ‘And I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, Scotland Yard.’

  The Indian’s round, rather serious face broke into a white smile and he held out his hand. ‘How do you do, chief Inspector. So you’re Miss Belinda’s father. A delightful child.’ His English was perfect.

  Alec shook his hand, warming to him. ‘Thank you, Doctor. I think so, too. Do sit down.’ He must not let the praise of his daughter influence his attitude to this man. ‘We’re hoping you can help us.’

  The smile vanished. With a sigh, Jagai said earnestly, ‘I only wish I could. Mr. McGowan was a father to me from the day my parents died, when I was a small boy. I shall miss him, and it would be some satisfaction to think I had assisted in apprehending his murderer. He was old and not well, but he should have died peacefully in his bed.’

  ‘My condolences.’ So Albert McGowan had at least one sincere mourner. Alec paused for a respectful moment, then asked, ‘You are satisfied that it was murder, sir?’

  ‘From a medical point of view, I can give you no assurance. The observable symptoms were constant with a heart attack or, I believe, with asphyxiation – but I am no forensic expert, merely a general practitioner.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. We have a forensic pathologist coming up from Newcastle. Did you happen to notice the temperature of the body, Dr. Jagai?’

  ‘His wrist was cold to the touch, but he had poor circulation and his hands generally felt slightly clammy.’

  ‘He had a weak heart, did he? And what about the dyspepsia?’

  ‘I was not his personal physician, but any man of eighty or so is lucky not to have a weak heart. As for the dyspepsia, he most certainly suffered acutely. He would have been in great discomfort flat on his back and I never knew him not to have his bismuth within easy reach. Miss Dalrymple’s arguments are most convincing.’

  ‘Including the open window?’

  Jagai gave a faint smile. ‘He used to tease me that my blood had adjusted to Scottish conditions as his had to the climate of India. He preferred it hot enough to be uncomfortable to the average Englishman in jacket and waistcoat and necktie. In fact, he never failed to invite me to strip to my shirt-sleeves if no one else was present. He’d put up with the cold when he went out, but indoors draughts were anathema.’

  The doctor surely would not have been so eager to confirm Daisy’s points had he had a hand in the old man’s death. With some relief, Alec decided his daughter’s new friend was probably just as nice as she thought him.

  ‘You were in the third class, I understand?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Mr. McGowan gave me a more than adequate allowance, but I didn’t choose to blow it on traveling first.’

  ‘Very wise, but that’s not what I meant, sir. I was thinking that you were too far off to see who visited him in his compartment.’

  ‘Alas yes. Now I wish I had sprung for a first-class ticket and insisted on staying with him. The first I knew of trouble was when Belinda came to fetch me.’

  ‘She did?’ Alec exclaimed. ‘Dai . . . Miss Dalrymple sent her off alone when she’d just discovered a dead body?’

  ‘I gathered Belinda had offered. At that time she was quite calm and composed, though naturally somewhat excited. After the first shock, children are often remarkably resilient. It was later, when she’d overheard talk of murder, that she became frightened.’

  ‘Of being attacked.’

  ‘No, surprisingly not.’ The dark forehead wrinkled. ‘Her first fear was of being accused of the crime. Miss Dalrymple managed to reassure her on that head, and then she and I did our best to distract her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alec said absently, wondering why such an odd notion should so much as cross his daughter’s mind.

  Into the brief silence, Tom dropped a question. ‘Did Mr. McGowan ever mention being afraid of any of his relations, sir, or being threatened?’

  ‘On the contrary, Sergeant, I’m afraid he rather despised them. You see, he had gone to India with nothing and made a fortune. They had started with every advantage and ended up . . . er . . . financially embarrassed, and none of them with the gumption to do anything about it.’

  ‘That’s pretty much what Weekes said, sir,’ Tom told Alec.

  ‘One of them appears to have found the gumption,’ Alec said grimly. ‘Thank you, Doctor, that will be all for now, though I may want to speak to you again. We’re a bit rushed for time this evening if we’re not to keep everyone up into the small hours.’

  ‘I am at your disposal, Mr. Fletcher. I’ve taken a few days off from St. Thomas’s to visit friends in Edinburgh, but needless to say it’s far more importan
t to me to see Albert McGowan’s murderer brought to book.’

  They shook hands again. As Jagai turned to leave, Alec said, ‘Oh, by the way, Doctor, Belinda has taken a great liking to you. If she should happen to tell you anything that has the remotest bearing on this case . . .’

  ‘I shall come to you at once.’

  The wireless was playing again, though softer than before. ‘Ev’rybody has got somebody to tell their troubles to,’ it announced dolefully, then was cut off as the door closed behind Dr. Jagai.

  ‘Cor,’ said Piper, ‘if it wasn’t for his skin, you’d never guess he was a wog!’

  ‘An Indian gentleman, Ernie. Not a murderer, I’d say. Let’s see if we can eliminate a few more of the less likely suspects, and find out about the movements of the more likely. We’ll have Mrs. Smythe-Pike next. She’ll be able to enlighten us about her mysterious sister, too, before we tackle her. Do try to get her without her peppery husband!’

  Pink-cheeked from her bath, Belinda sat up in bed in her woollie combinations and Liberty bodice, the sleeves of Daisy’s russet jumper rolled up to her elbows. She regarded without much interest the plate of cold meat, bread and butter, and pickled beetroot on the tray on her lap.

  ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘Have you been eating sweets?’ asked Daisy who was absolutely starving. She, too, had a tray, much of its contents already gone.

  ‘Not since after lunch.’

  ‘We missed our tea. You really must eat something, darling.’

  ‘I had some bread. I don’t like beetroot when it’s all vinegary like this.’

  ‘Then leave it. It’s a pretty asinine thing to give anyone to eat in bed, I must say, the way it stains. Have another bit of bread – it’s cut very thin – and a slice of ham. Shall I cut it up for you? It’s difficult in bed.’

  ‘Yes, please. I’ve drunk all my cocoa.’

  ‘Good.’

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Daisy cut the ham into bite-sized pieces. Belinda listlessly ate a little more, then pushed the tray away.

  ‘I’m too tired.’

  ‘All right, darling, we’ll call it a day. Do you want to keep the pullover on, or will you be warm enough without it.’

  ‘I’ll take it off, and my bodice. I’ll be warm enough with the hot water bottle.’

  Daisy helped her take off the extra garments. Kissing her good-night, she turned off the gaslight above the bed.

  ‘You won’t go away, will you?’ Belinda asked in a quavery voice.

  ‘No, I’ll be right here.’

  ‘Even when I’m asleep?’

  ‘Even when you’re asleep. Darling, won’t you tell me what it is you’re frightened of?’

  ‘The m-murderer.’

  ‘But even murderers don’t kill people for no reason, and he has no reason to kill you . . . has he?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘You think he might have, don’t you? Tell me why.’

  ‘No, I can’t!’ cried Belinda, panic-stricken. ‘Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Hush, love, hush.’ Daisy held her fight, stroking back from her forehead the tendrils of carroty hair still damp from the steam of the bath. ‘I shan’t ask you anymore. Are you ready to sleep now?’

  ‘Yes. Only could you please not turn the light off?’

  ‘I’ll turn it down till you’re asleep, then leave it on low when I go to bed. Good-night, darling, sweet dreams.’

  When Daisy turned round after lowering the gas over her bed, Belinda was already sunk in exhausted sleep. Thankfully she brightened the light again. After setting the two trays outside the door, she sat down with a book she had picked up in the lounge down stairs. It was a detective story, The Mark of Cain, an old one by Carolyn Wells but Daisy hadn’t read it.

  Nor did she read it now. With a real murder mystery on her hands, she simply could not concentrate on an imaginary one.

  She wished she was downstairs with Alec, listening to his interviews with the suspects. But even if he let her, which was highly unlikely, she couldn’t leave Belinda. Suppose the child’s fears had some basis in fact? Daisy didn’t dare slip out even for a minute.

  Not even to go to the lavatory, as she wanted to with more and more desperation as time passed. Alec had said he’d pop up to see her, hadn’t he?

  ‘If young Kitty confirms Mrs. Smythe-Pike’s story,’ Alec said, ‘then those two can go to the bottom of the list.’

  ‘And Mrs. Jeremy Gillespie,’ Tom agreed, ‘without disturbing the poor lady.’

  ‘If she’s half as pregnant as she sounds, she’s out anyway. I’m surprised Alistair McGowan expected her to travel so far.’

  ‘More like he just said “all” and they was afraid of offending . . .’ He stopped as the door opened.

  ‘Oh do go away, Jeremy,’ said a clear young voice, its owner invisible. ‘I don’t need you to hold my hand, any more than I need Mummy or Daddy. And if I did need someone, I’d choose Ray. Come on, Detective Constable Piper.’

  Detective Constable Piper came on, looking rather harassed, hustled in by a chubby, sandy-haired schoolgirl. ‘Miss Gillespie, sir.’

  ‘You’re Belinda’s father?’ Kitty Gillespie advanced upon Alec with her hand out, her hazel eyes frankly appraising. ‘How do you do Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher. You’re really from Scotland Yard? Golly, this is simply ripping. They’ll never believe it at school.’

  Shaking her hand, Alec did his best not to smile. ‘How do you do, Miss Gillespie.’

  ‘Oh, call me Kitty. “Miss Gillespie” sounds like when I’m in trouble at school. I say, Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher is an awful mouthful. Can I call you something shorter?’

  ‘Mr. Fletcher will do nicely. This is Detective Sergeant Tring, my right-hand man.’

  ‘How do you do, Mr. Tring.’ Kitty shook hands with him, too. He beamed at her. ‘Golly,’ she said again, plumping down on the sofa with a satisfied sigh. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Let’s start with your whereabouts from York until the train stopped near Holy Island.’

  ‘That’s easy. I was stuck in the compartment with Aunt Amelia and Anne and Mattie. It was a rotten do. Mummy made me stay there because they were all afraid I would go and see Gruncle Albert and upset him. As though they weren’t going to upset him any way!’

  ‘Those three were with you all the time?’

  ‘No, Mattie was but Anne and Aunt Amelia went out just after Belinda came along to see me. Uncle Desmond and Horrible Harold decided it was best for the ladies to try their charms on Gruncle Albert first.’ In effect, if not in choice of words, that agreed with Mrs. Bretton’s and Mrs. Smythe-Pike’s statements. ‘They weren’t gone long,’ Kitty continued, ‘because it didn’t work. Then Mummy came and kicked up a dust because they’d stolen a march on Daddy and Jeremy. That was when Belinda got fed up and left, and I wished I could have.’

  ‘You wanted to see your great-uncle?’

  ‘I wanted to ask him to leave some money to Ray – my brother Raymond. You see,’ she said earnestly, ‘Daddy and Mummy and Jeremy don’t really need it, not really, but Ray does. It’s not his fault he can’t keep a job. I thought if he knew he’d get some money, he’d marry Judith and she could take care of him all the time, and maybe he’d get better. Anyway, now Daddy’ll get it all, and he can give Ray a share.’

  ‘What about you, don’t you want your share?’ Alec asked with real curiosity.

  ‘Not me. I’m going to be a writer, like Miss Dalrymple. Isn’t she absolutely topping?’

  This innocent query left Alec groping for an answer. Piper muffled a snicker. Tom was up to the occasion. ‘Absolutely,’ he said with apparent gravity. Alec didn’t dare glance at him, sure he’d meet a wickedly teasing look.

  ‘Your father may not get it all,’ he pointed out hurriedly. ‘Your great-uncle Alistair may change his will.’

  ‘I hope he will. I don’t see why we Gillespies should get it all when there’s p
lenty for everyone.’

  ‘It’s a large fortune, is it?’

  ‘Well, he inherited simply pots of money from my great-grandfather, and being a miser he never spent any, so it must be even more now, with interest and things, mustn’t it? Aunt Geraldine says she doesn’t need any, but it would be rotten if Uncle Desmond’s house had to be sold. They’ve got horses! Gosh, I’ve got a spiffing idea. I’ll ask Aunt Amelia to invite Belinda next time I go to stay, and we can ride together. You’d let her, wouldn’t you, Mr. Fletcher?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ Alec said diplomatically. ‘Let’s get back to business. Do you know which of your relatives actually spoke to Albert McGowan, and when?’

  ‘Pretty much all of them, I think, but I haven’t the faintest when. People kept coming and going and telling us things. I can’t remember who said what when, except they all said Gruncle Albert said no. I think Anne went out again. Mattie didn’t, but Aunt Amelia might have without me seeing. I didn’t know there was going to be a murder, so I was reading and didn’t take much notice,’ Kitty explained with deep regret.

  ‘A pity. If anything comes back to you overnight, you can tell me in the morning. Just one more thing. When you were out on the city wall and heard Belinda scream, could you see anyone?’

  ‘No. Actually, I was behind a tower thing, sort of hiding from Ray. He kept telling me to be careful, as if I was a baby. But Belinda imagined that man, didn’t she? I don’t blame her, it was pretty eerie out there when it started getting dark. It was easy to imagine the Scots or the Spanish Armada or someone creeping up on you. Belinda’s all right, isn’t she? She wasn’t at dinner.’

  ‘Miss Dalrymple thought it best she should go straight to bed. She hasn’t told you about seeing anything, has she? Other than the man on the walls, I mean.’

  Kitty shook her head. ‘No. Give her this with my love, will you?’ From a pocket she produced a lint-adorned liquorice bootlace. ‘It’s my last one, but Daddy said I can buy some Berwick cockles in the morning. They’re peppermints.’

  ‘Thank you, Kitty.’ Touched, Alec wrapped the sweet in his handkerchief and pocketed it. ‘That’s all for now, then. I’ll see you in the morning, I expect.’