Death in Desolation (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

Lingard’s ecclesiastical duties flavoured his conversation now and then and here he was ranting a little homily on Harry Quill. Littlejohn ordered him another drink to comfort him. ‘Mrs. Quill hit Harry, did she?’

  ‘Yes. Raised that heavy stick of hers and belted him over the head. I’d like to see her do it to me. I’d hit her back.’

  ‘Did Harry?’

  ‘No. He sat down hard on the first chair he could find.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I saw no more.’

  ‘Where were you whilst all this was going on?’

  ‘At the sparagrass bed. It’s behind the French beans which are six feet tall or more, but I could see all that went on through ’em.’

  ‘Tell me exactly all you saw.’

  More hesitation.

  ‘I shouldn’t be tellin’ what goes on in private at the house. It’s not right. I’d lose me job if she knew.’

  It looked very much as if he was going to lose it in any case!

  ‘You can tell me safely. I just want to know how Harry Quill spent the day before he died. We’ve got to know all he did. It might lead us to finding out why he died later that night and who did it.’

  Lingard’s inner battle seemed to resolve itself.

  ‘Well there wasn’t much. Quill went in. Mrs. Quill let him in. It was Mary’s half-day off. That’s the maid. They went in the drawin’-room. That’s on the side of the house, overlookin’ the vegetable garden where I was. There’s a french window in it and I could see all that went on through it. They seemed to be talkin’ quite all right. Harry kept nodding and smiling and she kept talkin’ and not smilin’. When she smiles, there’s usually trouble brewing. Her desk is in front of the window and she sits with her back to the garden because she says she likes the light fallin’ over her shoulders. She tells me that every time she orders me to clean the windows.’

  ‘When did they start to quarrel?’

  ‘The telephone’s in the hall. It rang. I could hear it from where I was. She went and answered it. She wasn’t long, and was back mighty quick and turned on Harry. She was in one of her tantrums. I know ’em. She’s like a wild thing. Harry kept listenin’ and smilin’ still and tryin’ to get a word in edgeways. They was both standin’ in the end, shoutin’ at each other. She was on her feet and ravin’ at him, just like she sometimes does at me when the garden’s not to her satisfaction. And then Harry started ravin’ too. Then she hit him across the head with her stick.’

  ‘Did Harry make any show of violence; try to hit her, too, or get hold of her?’

  ‘No. He just stood, with the desk between him and her, and looked to be yellin’ across it at her. I didn’t hear what they said. Too far away.’

  ‘Tell me again what Harry did after the blow?’

  ‘He sat down in a chair opposite her and put his hands to his head and then bent over the desk, sort of rubbin’ where she’d hit him.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d seen enough. More than I was supposed to. If she’d seen me peeping from behind the French beans, she’d have given me the sack. So, I just made myself scarce and went and sat in the tool-shed sorting out some tulip bulbs and getting me tools clean ready for off.’

  ‘What time would it be when they quarrelled?’

  ‘About five. I looked at me watch as I went to the tool shed.’

  ‘And that was all?’

  ‘Except that Harry must have recovered from it. He must have been there on business and able to carry on. Because as I was ready for leavin’, Mrs. Quill’s lawyer came in through the gate. He didn’t see me. I kept out of the way.’

  ‘Mr. Nunn?’

  ‘No. The little chap with the beard that always deals with Mrs. Quill’s business.’

  ‘Bilbow?’

  ‘That’s the one. Bilbow.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I told you. About six o’clock, as I was ready to leave. I’d been working a bit later.’

  ‘And that was all?’

  ‘I think I’ve said enough already. If she gets to know, it’ll be the push for me. You’d better not tell her I told you all this. It must have been the ale that loosed my tongue. I’d better be going before I get myself in trouble.’

  He rose a bit unsteadily, for he’d had a pint or two before he’d started on the festival brew.

  ‘You’d better show me how to find Longton Lodge before you go.’

  ‘That’s easy. See the lane across there? First house along that. You can’t miss it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell all this to the police before?’

  ‘Didn’t know they’d be interested. In the first place, I wasn’t supposed to be watching what went on; and in the second, they said that Harry Quill didn’t die till about eight o’clock that night, so it couldn’t have been Mrs. Quill’s hittin’ him that killed him, could it? That was between five and six o’clock. Keep me out of this. I don’t want mixin’ up with family violence …’

  He shambled off without another word.

  Longton Lodge was a small Georgian place, acquired by Algy Quill through foreclosing on a mortgage. It stood back from the road, a square house with a pillared porch and about an acre of garden. The grounds must have kept Lingard busy. The flower beds in front reminded Littlejohn of a seedsman’s catalogue or those little illustrated packets of seeds sold in stores for amateurs. A background like a jungle of flowering bushes and then a foreground of roses and what seemed to be every type of plant and flower, known and unknown, as though somebody had mixed up all the seeds and scattered them broadcast. The effect was not bad at all.

  An elderly maid answered the bell and Littlejohn gave her his card. She returned almost at once, took his hat and led him into the drawing-room, which Lingard had already mentioned. He saw the french window and the bean-rows beyond before Mrs. Quill rose from the desk to greet him.

  ‘I was sure you’d call, but you should have telephoned to let me know. Luckily I’m in and not occupied. Take a seat.’

  She pointed to the one opposite her own at the desk, the chair in which Harry Quill had collapsed after the blow. This was evidently not going to be a comfortable fireside chat, but an interview conducted in formal fashion.

  Clara Quill wore black, which suited her. She looked better without the hat and coat she’d worn at the funeral and afterwards. The tired look of when last he saw her had gone as well. Nobody quite knew her age, but it was said she was nearing eighty. She didn’t look it this afternoon. She seemed fresh and business-like.

  There were no handshakes. There was no warmth at all about Aunt Clara. She seemed to have no friends and the family mainly regarded her with respect and a little fear. She sat calmly in her chair, an ironical smile on her thin pale lips, her small dry hands crossed in front of her on the desk. Littlejohn might have arrived to be interviewed for a job.

  ‘I wished to see you for a general talk about Harry’s death. I wish you to understand that this affair must be treated with discretion by the police. I don’t want any scandals or gossip to be bandied about concerning the Quills. This must not be the occasion for dirty linen to be washed in public.’

  She looked him full in the face. Her eyes were hard and dark, with a network of small red veins across the whites and dark rings beneath them.

  ‘We aren’t in the habit of committing indiscretions of that kind, Mrs. Quill. I wish you to understand that I have not called here to be told how the police must behave. This is a murder case and we have to explore every angle of it. My visit is to ask you for certain information. I have not been called before you to receive orders.’

  Her eyes lit up. She enjoyed a fight, especially with an opponent worthy of her steel.

  ‘So! You are going to treat me as a hostile witness, are you? We’ll see. What do you want?’

  ‘We are trying to construct a schedule of Harry Quill’s movements on the day he died. We can account for them until around three o’clock. From then onwards, we are not quite su
re. We know he left Marcroft between two-thirty and three and we have reason to believe he came straight here to see you. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes. Why should I deny it? Where did you obtain that information?’

  There was a pack of cards on the desk. Presumably she played patience sometimes. She now drew them to her and began to finger them, running her thumb along the edge of the pack which made a purring noise which was irritating.

  ‘It was quite easily come by. He had lunched with Rose Coggins and left her to collect some money he was expecting. As you had previously told me you were making a loan against a mortgage on his farm, I concluded that he was calling on you. When last we met, you told me Harry had taken the loan in cash already. But Rose Coggins said he was going to collect it when he left her …’

  ‘I see. So, his kept woman has been helping you. Do you wonder that I asked you to be discreet?’

  ‘In a case like this, we have to obtain our information from every available source. Did he call for the cash, or had you given it to him already?’

  ‘I would rather explain that in Nunn’s presence. We will leave it at that.’

  She had now picked up the cards and slowly began to shuffle them.

  ‘What time did Harry Quill leave you?’

  ‘I don’t know the exact time. The interview was a short one. It probably lasted half an hour. As you will see, the clock on the mantelpiece is broken and I don’t wear a watch.’

  ‘What happened after the interview terminated?’

  ‘He left the room and I didn’t see him again. I can’t help you to complete your schedule.’

  ‘Did he take the promised money with him? For my purposes we’ll assume he hadn’t received it beforehand. I understand you were to pay him in cash as he didn’t have a banking account.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘You told me yourself. So did Miss Coggins.’

  ‘Why ask me again then? It seems you prefer to ask that woman first about everything. Go back to your barmaid for help. I’ve none to give you.’

  She was now looking at the cards as though she’d lost all interest in her visitor.

  ‘Very well. Let me ask you one more question. Is it not true that Harry Quill remained in this house much longer than half an hour? He arrived around four. Why, then, was his tractor, on which he did all his travelling, still on your premises until well after six, within sight of passers-by?’

  ‘Trespassers, you mean. It was parked in the stables out of the view of what you call passers-by. I told him to put it there as I wasn’t going to have it disfiguring my front drive. I don’t know how long it was there …’

  ‘But we do. It was there until later that night, when someone called and took it back to Great Lands. Harry Quill, by then, was incapable of driving it there himself.’

  She suddenly became quite still and then banged the cards down on the desk again.

  ‘You are going too far. I must ask you to leave.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Quill, but I intend to remain until you give me true answers to my questions. You are evading the truth.’

  ‘I cannot put you out myself, but I can take steps to make you regret your decision. I will answer no more questions without my lawyer.’

  ‘I have no objection to that …’

  Littlejohn looked at his watch. 4.50. He’d arranged to ring up Cromwell at Nunn’s office at five. He hoped he’d gone ahead with their plans.

  ‘In fact, I’ll ring Nunn for you. May I use your telephone? I see it’s in the hall.’

  ‘I will do it myself …’

  But he was half-way to the door and had the instrument in his hand when she reached him.

  ‘Give me that telephone …’

  He ignored her and gave the number of Nunn’s office. Luckily it was on a card, along with others on the table which held the instrument.

  ‘Is Inspector Cromwell with Mr. Bilbow? May I speak with him …?’

  There was a pause, then Bilbow’s voice. Littlejohn asked for Cromwell.

  ‘I’m just ringing you from Mrs. Clara Quill’s home at Longton Curlieu. Mrs. Quill has been giving me some information which will help us very much. I’d like you to come over here right away and we’ll have it in writing. Is everything all right with you? Good. Tell Bilbow I’m here and bring him with you. Mrs. Quill says she needs his advice.’

  He hung up.

  During all this, Clara Quill had been standing, her weight on her heavy stick, her lips compressed.

  ‘I won’t have Bilbow. I want Nunn.’

  ‘Mr. Nunn isn’t available …’

  ‘How do you know? You didn’t ask for him.’

  She was white with rage and her hands trembled on the handle of the stick. Then she took up the instrument herself.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that Mrs. Quill. Bilbow is the man you require. He’s just told Inspector Cromwell all that happened between Harry Quill’s arriving here and leaving again. You won’t want Mr. Nunn present whilst you sort it out between you. Bilbow is on the way with my colleague. Meanwhile let’s return to your desk and our business. It can’t be transacted here in the hall within the hearing of servants.’

  She didn’t answer but reluctantly hobbled back in the drawing-room and resumed her place.

  ‘Come here, you bungling policeman!’

  She wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

  He followed her in, but before sitting down again, he took from her the ebony stick which she was still holding.

  ‘Allow me to put your stick in a safe place for you, Mrs. Quill. It seems you have a habit of using it on those who displease you.’

  He crossed and put it in the corner behind her.

  ‘What do you mean? Give me back that stick. This amounts to a personal assault.’

  ‘I’ve no intention that you shall assault me with it, as you did Harry Quill!’

  ‘What is this about assaulting Harry Quill?’

  ‘It is no use your looking angry and surprised, madam. It is true and you know it. I must now tell you that my colleague, Inspector Cromwell, has interviewed Bilbow, who has filled in most of the gaps in the schedule of Harry Quill’s movements on his last day alive. Bilbow has made a full statement. He will be arrested and, Mrs. Quill, so will you. Bilbow, according to his story, was plainly an accessory to the murder of Harry Quill. You, however, murdered him.’

  She sat there with her eyes fixed on him and full of hatred and yet she didn’t seem greatly disturbed by what he was saying. He might not have been accusing her at all.

  ‘So, Bilbow has been trying to incriminate me in his dirty work, has he?’

  She paused.

  ‘Very well. We shall see when he arrives. I don’t intend to say another word about this affair until I can face him and expose him.’

  ‘Meanwhile, Mrs. Quill, let me complete the schedule of Harry Quill’s pilgrimage on the day of his death …’

  ‘Please yourself. As I want no further conversation with you until Bilbow arrives, you may as well occupy the time proving how clever you’ve been.’

  ‘Harry Quill, after leaving Rose Coggins in Marcroft, arrived here … let us say about four o’clock. He parked his tractor in the stables. He then came in the house and you talked for almost an hour. At the end of that time, the telephone rang and you answered it …’

  She looked at him in surprise, baffled by his intimate knowledge of what went on. But she seemed determined not to speak.

  ‘Meanwhile, things had been happening in Marcroft. Rose Coggins paid a hurried visit to Mr. Bilbow. Before he left her to come to Longton Lodge, Harry Quill discussed the prospects of setting Rose up in a small business. He had, it seemed, grown jealous of her contacts as a barmaid and wished to establish her in more respectable and safer work.’

  A contemptuous snort from Aunt Clara, but nothing more. She was determined to maintain her ban of silence.

  ‘Harry apparently had no idea what the nature of the business for Rose must be. Any
thing to get her away from the Drovers Inn. And he left her still undecided about it. As soon as he’d gone, Rose hurried to Bilbow for advice and told him the full tale. She trusted him and thought he could help her. Immediately after he’d got full information about Harry’s plans, Bilbow telephoned to you. He told you that Harry had no intention of using the two thousand you were lending him for developing Great Lands. Instead, he was going to invest it in a modest shopkeeping business in Rose’s name. In other words, he was going to give her what he borrowed from you. This information reached you when Harry was here, sitting in this very chair. You were furious and accused him of cheating you. I suppose you also began to blackguard Rose and one thing followed another until in the end you struck Harry over the head with your stick. You don’t know the full details of the post-mortem, do you?’

  She was dying to speak, but anxious too to show no weakness, no going back on her vow of silence. She ignored the question.

  ‘The autopsy revealed that the blow you struck didn’t kill Harry outright. I’ve no doubt that, at first, he behaved like anybody else who’d received a blow on the head which didn’t fracture the skull. A bit confused, perhaps giddy, or even semi-conscious for a while. I wasn’t there so don’t know quite how it took him. But the blow had caused serious brain haemorrhage, Harry’s condition gradually deteriorated, he became unconscious and finally, in a coma, he died. Those are the facts. He died here. You were alone with him as he grew worse. You didn’t know what to do. So, you sent for Bilbow. I wonder what hold you have over Bilbow which made him risk his neck in the ghastly and dangerous task you prevailed on him to undertake. He had to wait until dark made the work safe and then take Harry Quill and his tractor and leave them at Great Lands, as though Harry had died on his own premises. Bilbow carried out his mission and you both hoped the police would think it was yet another crime by the prevailing black gang.

  ‘You daren’t send Harry to hospital. There would have been too many questions. If he recovered he’d certainly tell how the whole business arose; if he died in hospital, you’d have a lot of explaining to do. So you did nothing and let Harry die. I don’t know whether or not he was actually dead when you put him on his own tractor and Bilbow took him for that awful last journey. It really makes no difference now. You killed Harry Quill and Bilbow was your accessory.’