Jack on the Gallows Tree

by Bruce, Leo

  “I should have thought a great deal—if you knew who stole the lilies.”

  “I don’t,” snapped Moore. “It could have been anyone in the town. Then there’s another of these blasted dogs that barked in the night. That’s all. Nothing to get your teeth into. While so far as times and alibis are concerned it seems possible for almost anyone in Buddington to have done both murders.”

  “Personally I looked for motive,” said Carolus mildly.

  “Oh, you did? And that’s what brings you to think that we ought to protect Mrs Bickley?”

  “Indirectly, yes.”

  “You’re crazy, Carolus. You’re a dabbler looking for complicated, intricate motives and mental processes, whereas I’m pretty sure that the truth here is a simple one.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you suggest by that cryptic remark that you know who killed these women?”

  “Oh no,” said Carolus, rather shocked. “Oh no, my dear John. If I knew that, I should tell you at once.”

  “Then what do you know?”

  “Not who but why. I understand, I think, why both those women were killed that night. That has always seemed to me the important thing in this case. As for who did it, he, she or they will reveal himself…”

  “Or herself, or themselves,” put in Moore bitterly.

  “Very soon now, I think,” continued Carolus, unperturbed. “My only anxiety is lest the revelation costs another life. I wish you would protect Mrs Bickley, John.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Not yet. Nor her husband.”

  “They’re not exactly the sort of people one would normally feel much alarm about. Bickley’s an ex-policeman.”

  “No! Perhaps the revelation may come through someone else entirely. Heaven knows there are enough elderly women in the town.”

  “And it must be an elderly woman?”

  “If I am right in my notions, yes.”

  “Then you must be thinking of a maniac, Carolus. I’ve thought that from the first. What we want here is a psychiatrist and I’ve a damned good mind to see if we can get one sent down, not to examine any particular suspect, because I haven’t one, but to observe everybody in the case. Someone who appears reasonably normal, sane enough anyway to deceive those about him that he has no secret madness, must be going about …”

  “Unless it really was a madman, John. An old-fashioned, out-and-out lunatic who has escaped from restraint.”

  “Don’t pull my leg, Carolus. This case isn’t a joke.”

  “No. And that reminds me, have you noticed anyone behaving as though he was sorry about the two old women? Anyone showing the slightest disposition to mourn them, for example?”

  “I can’t say I have.”

  “Nor I. And I find that odd. Distinctly odd. Oh well, I shall have to do what I can myself for Mrs Bickley.” “I believe that’s a leg-pull, too.”

  “No, John, it’s not,” said Carolus gravely. “I only wish it were.”

  13

  MRS BICKLEY opened the door of Rossetti Lodge and invited Carolus to enter. She was small, neat and businesslike. As soon as she began to talk Carolus felt that here at last was someone who did not show indifference to the tragedy of recent events. She alone of all the friends and relatives of the two dead women seemed to be saddened by the loss of one of them.

  “I was told to expect you, sir,” she said to Carolus. “You are going to find out who did this dreadful thing, aren’t you? If there’s anything I or my husband can do we shall be pleased.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Bickley. I wonder who told you I would be coming to see you?”

  “That was Mr Gabriel. He said you were sure to want to see where it happened.”

  “Yes. I should like to do that. And there are a good many questions I want to ask you, Mrs Bickley.”

  They were standing in the entrance hall of the house, furnished with William Morris mediaevalism. The wallpaper was of the original Morris printing of the Acanthus pattern of 1862 and the furniture, hangings, tiles and oddments of decoration had the unmistakable look of articles from the Pre-Raphaelite workshops. Mrs Bickley led the way to a small sitting-room leading off the hall, and here the pomegranate pattern glared from the walls and the shelves were full of books in Kelmscott editions. Two pieces of furniture contrasted with this, a long divan and in front of it a full-length mirror.

  “This is where I found poor Mrs Westmacott,” said Mrs Bickley in a subdued but steady voice. “She was lying on that couch full length and would have looked peaceful if it wasn’t for her expression. That was awful, sir, and it worries me to think that the last I saw of her was like that with her eyes popping out. You see, she was a very even-tempered old lady and in all the years we had been with her I’d never known her in a passion about anything. Yet that’s what she looked in death, as though she had died in a fit of temper.”

  “The head was here?”

  “On that cushion, yes, sir. She thought the world of those cushions. I don’t understand a lot about it, but they were from someone’s workshop and had been bought by Mr Westmacott’s father; that’s the old lady’s father-in-law I mean, sir. Her head was there and her hands were folded round this lily stalk we’ve heard so much about. It’s my belief she died on that sofa, because unless there was more than one of them she couldn’t have been lifted there. She was very heavy, as you may know, and took more than anyone’s strength to lift.”

  “There was no sign of a struggle?”

  “Nothing at all, sir. The police went over everything for fingerprints and looked here, there and everywhere, but it was just as if no one had been here that night. If the doctor hadn’t been sure she was strangled you’d have sworn she died natural.”

  “Did you know that Gabriel Westmacott came to see his mother that evening?”

  “Oh yes, sir. He popped across to see us as he always does when he comes to the house. Mind you, he didn’t stay long. Well, I like looking at the television same as anyone else, though there are times when my husband wants to throw something at it. That night it was so silly he said he wouldn’t stand another minute and went round to the Dragon.”

  “What time would that have been?”

  “Oh, quite early on. Long before Mr Gabriel came over. I was alone then. It can’t have been more than eight when Bickley went. He didn’t come back till after closing. Must have been half-past ten when he got in. But I was here the whole while, and if Mrs Westmacott had wanted anything she only had to ring. She had a private telephone line across to our place. But she never did.”

  “You don’t know how long Gabriel Westmacott was with her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Nor why he came?”

  “Well, sir … I don’t like to say anything …”

  “He told me he had come because he needed some money and that Mrs Westmacott gave it to him.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite believe that, sir. We had had this before.”

  “Really?”

  “Mrs Westmacott had to hide her money, you see. It’s not nice to talk about it, but I’m sure you won’t make trouble. She liked to keep a large sum in the house and next morning I found it had gone. I haven’t said anything to the police.”

  “I see. Now Mrs Westmacott is believed not to have been killed till midnight or thereabouts.”

  “We’d gone to bed by then, or rather I had. My husband sits up for a bit after he comes in at night with his evening paper. He’s interested in horses. But he always puts the light out and doesn’t wake me up. He would have heard if Mrs Westmacott had rung, up to half-past twelve, anyway.”

  “Who had a latch key of the house?”

  “Only Mrs Westmacott and Mr Gabriel. And Mr Dan has still got his. We had our key of the back door, because we always came in and out that way.”

  “You are sure Dante Westmacott had one?”

  “Mr Dan didn’t very often come to the house, but when he did he always walked straight in.”

  �
�So you think someone must have been admitted by Mrs Westmacott herself? Someone she knew?”

  “That’s what it looks like. She wasn’t at all the nervous sort and would go to the front door herself if she was up. If it had been very late and she wasn’t expecting anyone, I daresay she would have rung over to us. But not if she knew who it was.”

  “She could move about quite easily?”

  “In the house, she could. But she didn’t like going out except in a bathchair. To tell you the truth, sir, I believe it would have done her good to have walked round as far as the church on Sundays, but there you are. As for going to the door, she would have thought nothing of it and always went up to bed on her own.”

  “At what time did you see her last, Mrs Bickley?”

  “I always went across at nine. She didn’t eat much at night, just a light meal about seven which I would get for her and take the tray away. She wasn’t a lady to want fussing over or to put others out. I would come across at nine, put her hot-water bottle in her bed if it was at all chilly, then go down to see if there was anything she wanted. Sometimes she would keep me chatting for a while, then she would remember I liked the television and tell me to go and turn it on, as though it was a little joke of hers. That night she was reading. She didn’t say anything about expecting Mr Gabriel, but just said good night at once and I left her. Never thinking, of course.”

  “Neither you nor your husband heard or saw anything unusual during the night?”

  “No, sir. It was just like any other night, so far as we were concerned.”

  “And in the morning?”

  “I don’t generally come across here till just before nine. Mrs Westmacott didn’t like being disturbed and the women who came in to clean never got here before then. When I came across that morning I put the kettle on in the kitchen to make Mrs Westmacott her tea, then came to this room to pull the curtains back. The door was shut as usual and I switched on the light to see my way across to the windows. I saw her at once lying there and thought I was going to faint. I knew she was dead …”

  “How?”

  “Well, lying there in the morning. Besides you should have seen her face. Oh, you couldn’t doubt of it, but when I felt well enough I went and just touched her. She was as cold as ice.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Ran for my husband as quick as ever I could. He said afterwards I was white as a sheet and couldn’t speak plainly. But when he realized what it was he went across, and as soon as he saw her and what she looked like he rang the police.”

  “Before calling a doctor?”

  “He could see it wasn’t any good doing that.”

  “Still …”

  “Anyhow that’s what my husband did, and it was a good thing, because the police brought their own doctor and we didn’t have to have two. They very soon knew it was murder and of course that started everything. It was days before they’d let me do the room.”

  “What’s this about a piece of wire with spangles in it?”

  “More like stars, they were, like you have on a Christmas tree. They found that on that little table there behind her couch. I never noticed it when I came in—well, I was so upset by seeing poor Mrs Westmacott like that—but as soon as they found it they showed it to me and asked if I’d ever seen it before. I never had and told them so. Mrs Westmacott did not make much of Christmas as we know it, you see; she used to say Christmas cards and Christmas trees and that were all German nonsense, brought over by Prince Albert and written up by Dickens. When the two young gentlemen were at home she used to have a boar’s head cooked and wouldn’t look at a nice bit of turkey. It was all apiece with the furniture, which she said ought to go back to the Middle Ages. As for decorations like that, sparklers, and paper hangings, she wouldn’t hear of them. So I knew those things must have been brought to the house, though what they were doing there I couldn’t imagine.”

  “I see. Now tell me about this man who bought some old gold from Mrs Westmacott.”

  “Well, it was the young lady who came first. Ever so nice, she was, and explained about this Mr Ebony paying high prices. We never encourage anyone like that and always used to have No Hawkers, No Canvassers, No Circulars on the gate. But this young lady had a way with her and I said I’d just speak to Mrs Westmacott, in case. She had quite a lot of old gold stuff, from her family more than her husband’s. So she agreed to see Mr Ebony when he came and they got on very well. When he started saying what he would give for the different pieces we were both surprised. Five pounds for this, six for that; well it came to about fifty pounds for what he said were the best pieces. The rest he just collected in a pile and said they were for the melting-pot and he could allow five pounds for the lot. When it came to paying he found he hadn’t got enough money for the fifty pound lot, so he left a deposit of three pound on that. He just had enough to buy the little lot of rubbish for five pound and off he went. He never has taken the big lot.”

  “And never will,” said Carolus. “Don’t you see the swindle? The pieces he called rubbish were the only ones worth anything. He could afford to offer big prices for the others because he never intended to buy them. What, in fact, he did was to buy for eight pound about fifty pound worth of gold. Or more.”

  “I should never have thought it, sir. He seemed a very nice man. I told him at the time I had a few pieces and the day before yesterday he came and bought them. Very good prices he gave me, particularly as some of them turned out to be pinchbeck.”

  Carolus sighed.

  “What time did he come?”

  “In the afternoon.”

  “Do you know if he bought any more gold in Buddington?”

  “I don’t think so. He was on his way back from the coast and just called in before driving off to London.”

  “Was your husband there?”

  “Oh yes, sir. But he never interferes with my business nor I with his. He was quite surprised at how much this Mr Ebony gave, in fact he said he wished he had some old gold to turn in, but he hadn’t any. He’ll be in presently and will tell you about it.”

  “Did you happen to mention it to Gabriel Westmacott?”

  “Yes, I did. I told him this Mr Ebony had been and not had enough money on him to take the other lot belonging to Mrs Westmacott, but that I’d sold him a few things of my own.”

  “Did you tell anyone else?”

  “Well, the lady living opposite is a friend of mine. Mrs Plummer, that is, who looks after the big house you can see from here. I told her, because she’s a person who thinks everything she does is clever and no one else knows anything.”

  Carolus smiled.

  “Yes, I know Mrs Plummer. Anyone else?”

  “I did happen to mention it to old Miss Lightfoot when I met her in the street yesterday. She’s housekeeper to Mr Raydell out at Lilbourne and used to come and see Mrs Westmacott sometimes, so I knew her quite well. I could see she was looking at my purse when we were in a shop together and I didn’t want her to Think Anything, so I told her where it came from. But I haven’t mentioned to another soul.”

  At this point her husband appeared, a large grey-haired ex-policeman who looked the part, and Carolus was introduced with explanations. Bickley, like his wife, appeared to have felt the loss of his employer.

  “I don’t know why you want to stay in this room,” he said. “I don’t like coming into it.”

  “The gentleman is asking about that man who bought the gold. He wants to know who knows about it?”

  “Why? There’s no secret. It was all your own stuff.”

  “It’s not that,” said Carolus. “I’ll explain in a moment. But can you remember mentioning it to anyone?”

  “Certainly I can. I had nothing to hide. I told them in the Dragon that night. It was as good as winning on a horse.”

  “Can you remember who was there, Mr Bickley?”

  “Let’s see. It was Miss Shapely I first mentioned it to and of course that Gilling was hanging round her, a
s he always is. But what surprised me was that Colonel Baxeter was in that evening, drinking lemon juice and asking to have the windows open, which Miss Shapely wouldn’t hear of. He doesn’t often come in, but he was there the night before last and heard what I said, because he told me his wife had sold some pieces to the same man. He said someone had told him that he’d been done over it, but he didn’t believe it.”

  “Did you mention again that evening that Mrs Bickley had sold some gold to Ebony?”

  “I daresay I did, because it was talked about in the bar.”

  “Who was there, Mr Bickley?”

  “So far as I can remember much the usual crowd. One or two strangers I didn’t know, but mostly regulars. Humpling the bootmaker. He’s not often in. Charlie Carew. Young Wright the chauffeur. Mr Sawyer. Mr Dan was there and bought me a pint as he always does. That artist chap Johnson who I don’t care for.”

  “Do you know a man called Thickett?”

  “No. I can’t say I do.”

  “You’d know if he came often to the Dragon?”

  “Yes. I expect I should. But what is all this about, Mr Deene?”

  “I don’t want to sound alarming,” said Carolus. “But I have reason to think that there may be another attempt at a murder.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Bickley. “Who is it going to be this time?”

  Carolus looked uncomfortable.

  “You see, both the two old ladies who were murdered had sold gold to Ebony …”

  Bickley stood up.

  “D’you mean he did it? That gold-buying chap?”

  “Not necessarily. The point is that almost the only thing the two murdered women had in common was that they had purchased from Ebony. Now if there is to be another attempt …”

  “You mean that he may try to attack my wife?” said Bickley.

  “I hope I’m quite mistaken. But even if it was only a coincidence I think you ought to be careful. I don’t think you ought to leave Mrs Bickley alone in the evening. It may be a false alarm, I may be as wrong as the police think I am, but all the same I think it’s my duty to tell you. You’ve been in the police force, Mr Bickley. You will know what precautions to take.”