by J F Straker
‘No,’ she said miserably. ‘Not yet. Please, William!’
He could not see her face, but she sounded near to tears. Once more he sought to take her in his arms, and this time she did not repulse him. But her body was stiff and unyielding, and when he bent to kiss her she turned her head sharply, so that his lips touched only her cold cheek.
He felt thwarted and angry, but he kept a firm grip on his temper. He had come so far, achieved so much; to alienate her now might be to lose her. He was not yet so sure of her that he could afford to ignore her plea.
‘You don’t love me enough,’ he said sadly. ‘Is that it?’
She went limp in his arms and began to cry. For some minutes he held her, stroking her hair and murmuring endearments. Presently she fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.
‘I do love you,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘It’s just that I can’t face all the rows and unpleasantness that publicity would entail. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to face it.’
‘You mean we’re through?’ he asked, aghast.
‘Of course not.’ She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him lightly. ‘When the time comes we’ll just run away. I shan’t mind that.’
He knew that running away would only shelve the issue; it would not settle it. But he did not argue.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll do that.’
‘And you won’t tell the police?’ He shook his head. ‘Not even if Miss Justin insists?’
‘She won’t,’ he said. ‘You leave her to me.’
When she had gone he walked slowly down the grass slope to the hedge. Despite his promise he knew that they could not continue as before. Nor did he wish to. As for running away, that would ruin everything. He had not planned so carefully to let a woman’s whim dissuade him. Whether she liked it or not, Cluster’s death had made action essential.
He clambered through the hedge and groped in the ditch for his bicycle. As his hands touched the cold metal he heard the swish of feet moving in the long grass behind him, and started to turn. Then something hit him. His head exploded in a blinding flash of pain, and he fell, heavily and unconscious, into the ditch.
Chapter Five
Thursday, November 17
Miss Justin was out in the garden well before the hour at which William was due to arrive. But he was seldom punctual, and she did not wish to appear to be waiting for him. With Peter trotting ahead, and a pair of gardening gloves on her hands, she walked briskly down the path to the low stone wall that separated the garden from the road. There was no sign of William, and to pass the time she began idly to pull the more conspicuous weeds from the wet soil and drop them on the path. It had rained during the night, and the heavy clouds betokened more rain to come.
But it was the police, not William, who were the first to arrive. With some trepidation Miss Justin watched the tall, rain-coated figure uncoil from the back of the car and walk over to the wall. Had William been to the police already?
‘Miss Justin?’ He raised his hat politely. ‘I’m a police-officer, ma’am — Detective-Inspector Pitt. I’m inquiring into the death of John Cluster, and it seems possible you may be able to help me.’
He produced his warrant card for inspection. Miss Justin merely glanced at it. ‘I’m sure I’d be only too willing,’ she answered nervously. ‘But how?’
‘Do you know a man named Stolpe, an employee of Miss Mytton?’
Miss Justin beamed at him, her fears relieved. It wasn’t William after all.
‘Certainly I do. A very polite young man. But then all foreigners are so much more polite than Englishmen, aren’t they? They have such beautiful manners. Although Mr Stolpe isn’t really a foreigner, I suppose. I mean, he was only a boy when he came to England.’ A few drops of heavy rain had begun to fall, and she looked up at the darkening sky. ‘We’d better go inside, Inspector. It is “Inspector”, isn’t it? I’m so stupid about names and titles.’
He nodded, and she led the way back to the house and ushered him into the sitting-room. It was a large, pleasant room, with gay curtains and a worn but good carpet. The furniture was Victorian and heavy, but the armchair into which the inspector lowered his long body was, he found, extremely comfortable.
‘It’s a dreadful business, isn’t it?’ Miss Justin said conversationally, seating herself where she could keep an eye on the garden. Peter, after a preliminary sniff or two at the policeman’s trousers, lay down at her feet and went to sleep. ‘The man was no good, of course — everyone knew that — but it’s so unsettling. No one can be quite sure what’s going to happen next, you see. And poor Miss Mytton! To come home and find a man in her bed! I felt terribly sorry for her. I suppose she didn’t realize he was dead. Not at first, I mean. Not until she saw the knife. But even so—’ She stopped, aware that nervousness had caused her to ramble. ‘I’m sorry. What was it you wanted to know about Mr Stolpe? Although why you should come to me I can’t think. Miss Mytton could tell you far more than I can.’
‘Not in this instance,’ he told her. ‘Stolpe says he went for a walk Sunday evening in this direction, about the time Cluster was killed. I thought perhaps you might have seen him.’
‘Me?’ She stared at him. ‘But that was at ten o’clock at night, Inspector. I wouldn’t be out—’ Her eyes opened wider. ‘Surely you’re not suspecting Mr Stolpe of the murder?’
‘I’m only trying to confirm his statement,’ he said patiently. ‘And I think you’re mistaken. You were out that evening. Mr Mace stopped to speak to you.’
‘Edward?’ For a moment Miss Justin looked at him blankly. Then she nodded. ‘Of course! He nearly ran over Peter. I’d forgotten that was Sunday night.’ She stooped to pat the dog, who acknowledged the caress by opening one eye and then closing it. ‘I’d taken him out for a run round the garden before bed, and when I reached the gate I realized he wasn’t with me. Then I saw that the gate was open, and I knew he’d be on the road. It’s funny — he never tries to jump the wall, but he’ll always go through the gate if it’s open. He was on the far side of the road when I called him, but he came at once.’ Again she bent to pat the dog. ‘He’s very obedient, Inspector. Unfortunately it was just then that the car came round the bend. Peter was dazzled by the headlights, and I was terrified he was going to be run over. I think he would have been, too, if Mr Mace hadn’t been slowing down for the corner. As it was he was able to pull up in time.’
Pitt had listened patiently to this rigmarole, but he felt that it was time to come to the point.
‘I got that from Mr Mace,’ he told her. ‘What I want to know, Miss Justin, is whether you saw Stolpe while you were out on the road?’
‘I was coming to that, Inspector.’ There was accusation in voice and look. ‘Mr Mace and I had a little chat, and then he drove off. And it was then I saw Mr Stolpe.’
‘In the car’s headlights?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re quite sure it was Stolpe?’
‘Oh, yes. He was coming towards me. I couldn’t be mistaken.’
‘What time was this, Miss Justin?’
‘Well, now, let me see. As soon as Mr Mace had gone I came back to the house with Peter and put the kettle on for my hot water bottle. Even on the warmest nights I can’t do without my bottle. I expect you think that’s very old-maidenish, Inspector—’ he had been thinking just that, but politely shook his head—’but I find it soothing as well as warming. And when I looked at the kitchen clock it was just on ten. So I suppose I must have seen Mr Stolpe a minute or two before that.’
Pitt sighed with relief. He had got that quicker than he had expected. ‘Would Stolpe have seen you?’ he asked.
‘I shouldn’t think so. By the time he reached the gate I’d have been in the house.’
He stood up and looked out into the garden. ‘I believe William Bright works for you,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I have a word with him before I go?’
‘I’m afraid he hasn’t arrived yet,’ she said, her
uneasiness returning. It increased further when she realized that Mary as well as William was late that morning. And Mary made a fetish of punctuality. What could have happened to them?
‘It wasn’t important,’ he said. ‘Some other time will do.’
The downpour had dwindled to a fine, steady rain that drifted in from the west. It looked as though it had set in for the day. Miss Justin wondered whether William had decided, as he had done before, that there would be little to do in the garden and that he might as well take the day off. But that wouldn’t account for Mary’s absence.
‘A relative of yours, Miss Justin?’ asked the inspector.
She had been so lost in thought that she had not realized he had moved to the door. Turning quickly, she saw that he was gazing at Matt’s photograph.
‘My nephew,’ she said proudly.
‘He’s very like you.’
‘Isn’t he? That’s what everyone says.’ Her verbosity, the somewhat superior air with which she normally cloaked herself against the world, had vanished. ‘We’re all that’s left of the family, Matt and I.’
‘Does he live here?’
She shook her head. ‘Not now. He works up north. He comes down sometimes for weekends, though,’ A smile lit her face as she remembered. ‘He’ll be here this weekend, I hope.’
He returned her smile. ‘He is fortunate, ma’am, in having such an affectionate aunt to visit.’
What a nice thing to say, she thought, as she watched him go down the path to the car. He did not hunch his shoulders or bend his head against the rain, or bury his hands in his pockets. He walked erect, his arms swinging freely. Not a gentleman, she thought, but obviously a kind and honest man. A pity he had to be a policeman.
It was nearly an hour later when Mary arrived. She did not apologize for her lateness — her strong left-wing principles would have stigmatized an apology as ‘crawling to the bosses’ — but she needed no prompting to furnish the reason.
‘It’s William,’ she said, taking off her coat. ‘He’s been assaulted.’
‘Assaulted?’ Miss Justin’s voice faltered. Visions of another Cluster assailed her. ‘You mean he’s dead?’
‘Oh, no, he’s not dead.’ Mary hung the coat on a hook behind the kitchen door and started to remove her hat. ‘Someone just give him a beating up. Hit him on the head. A bit of wood, the doctor said.’
Miss Justin sat down heavily on a chair. ‘Is he bad?’ she asked.
‘He’ll be all right. Doctor Adair said it was a glancing blow, like.’ The hat followed the coat on to the hook. ‘William said to tell you he wouldn’t be coming to work today.’
‘Of course. Do the police know about this, Mary?’
‘No.’ She was at the sink now, and raised her voice to speak above the water gushing from the tap. ‘William don’t want them to know, either. He says he’s got a good idea who done it, though he didn’t actually see him. He’ll deal with him hisself, he says. It’s a private quarrel, he says, and he don’t want no police butting in.’
Miss Justin thought that she too knew who William’s assailant might be. ‘Did he send me any message?’ she asked, remembering on what mission he had gone the previous evening. ‘Apart from the fact that he wouldn’t be coming to work, I mean.’
‘He got me to phone Mr Mace for him.’ Mary turned the tap off and the water ceased to gush, but she did not lower her voice. ‘William’s going to see him at six o’clock this evening. He told me to tell you that.’
‘See Mr Mace?’ Miss Justin was startled. ‘Why on earth should he want to see him? It’s the police he needs, not a solicitor.’
Mary poured a liberal quantity of detergent into the basin and began to beat up the suds.
‘I couldn’t say, miss. But he said as how you’d know why.’
*
As a rule it was Emily who had the tale to tell, Clara who was the listener; this time their roles were reversed. Miss Justin got her full measure of satisfaction from that, for her friend generously did not attempt to conceal her interest or to belittle the importance of the information. Yet once she had finished it was Miss Mytton who took charge, with Miss Justin reverting to the subsidiary role.
‘At least we’re in no doubt as to who William’s assailant was,’ said Miss Mytton. ‘And unless I’m very much mistaken we also know why.’
Miss Justin nodded. ‘He must have learned of William’s visit to the garage on Monday, and decided to follow his wife the next time she went out of an evening,’ she said.
It was a pity, thought Miss Mytton, that Clara had not shown a little more initiative in the matter. A personal call on William (ostensibly to inquire after his condition) might have elicited some very useful information. Where, for instance, had the assault occurred? Had Gwen Colling agreed that William should talk to the police about Sunday evening? But there was no point in mentioning that now. It would wound Clara’s vanity and achieve nothing.
‘Have I been too trusting, I wonder?’ she said. ‘It seems that George Colling is a man of more violent passions than I suspected. If he can attack William for carrying on with his wife he could also have attacked Cluster. The only difference is that William was luckier; he’s still alive. Yes, I know I considered that possibility before,’ she continued unhurried, lifting an imperative hand to check her friend’s would-be interruption. ‘I discarded it because it was inconsistent with George as I knew him.’ She frowned. ‘Or thought I knew him. Even when he lied to me I tried to make excuses for him; I attributed it to a desire to protect his wife. Though I was not quite so sure about it later — and I’m even less sure now.’
She walked across to the window and began to drum impatiently on the glass with long fingers. ‘I’ve always had a high opinion of George, Clara. Life has been hard on him, yet one seldom hears him complain. But opinions aren’t like principles; one must be prepared to change them as circumstances warrant. And I’m afraid I’m rapidly changing my opinion of George.’
As you have done several times already, thought Miss Justin. She said, ‘The police don’t know about this attack on William. I wonder how they would interpret it.’
‘There are a lot of things the police don’t know about,’ said Miss Mytton, turning away from the window. ‘I think perhaps it’s time we enlightened them. We mustn’t put ourselves in the position where we can be accused of concealing important evidence. As to their interpretation—’ With a sigh she dropped her long body into a chair. ‘I wish I could be sure they’ll see it as we do.’
Miss Justin was alarmed. ‘You won’t say anything about William and Mrs Colling, will you, Emily? I promised William—’
‘And I did not,’ Miss Mytton said firmly. ‘As for allowing William’s guilty intrigues to interfere with the proper course of justice — I’m surprised you should even suggest it, Clara.’ And having satisfactorily silenced her friend’s objections she went on, ‘I shall hear what George has to say first, of course. We mustn’t condemn him unheard. And it would be a good idea for you to have a word with William. If both of them decide to tell the truth for a change — and I admit it’s a big “if” — we may well have the complete solution to this unpleasant business.’ A glance at the clock brought her quickly to her feet. ‘Dear me! It’s nearly one o’clock, and I’m having lunch with Ernest and Agatha. Come to tea this afternoon, Clara, and we’ll compare notes.’
But that was an invitation Miss Justin had to refuse. She was driving into Tanbury with the Colonel that afternoon to collect her car. ‘I’ll pop in when I get back,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect to be late.’
Miss Mytton nodded absently. Mention of Tanbury had brought another problem to her mind. ‘I wonder why William is going to see Edward,’ she said, frowning. ‘What on earth can he want with a solicitor?’
Miss Justin had also been wondering about that. ‘Perhaps he’s decided to sue Mr Colling for assault,’ she suggested. ‘He could get damages, couldn’t he?’
Miss Mytton thought he could.
She was the only guest at the vicarage luncheon-party. It did not take her long to realize that some hidden motive underlay the invitation, and she bluntly demanded to be told what it was.
‘It concerns Elizabeth Cluster,’ the vicar admitted. ‘We’re worried about the future.’
Miss Mytton stared at him.
‘You are worried!’ she exclaimed. ‘How about me? If Elizabeth marries Tom I’ll lose the best man I ever had. And it’s far too good a fate for that slut anyway.’
‘That’s the point, dear,’ said Agatha. ‘It seems she has no intention of marrying him.’
Miss Mytton looked her astonishment. ‘Not marry Tom? But he told me himself!’
‘I’m afraid Shannon is not yet aware of the position,’ said the vicar. ‘That’s where we want your help. Someone has to warn him, and he’ll take it best from you.’
‘Did Elizabeth actually tell you she wasn’t going to marry him?’
‘She told Jacob. He called at the farm yesterday — to keep an eye on things, as he put it — and Elizabeth as good as ordered him off the premises. She wasn’t going to have him or anyone else ferreting around and telling her what to do, she said; she could manage well enough on her own.’ Miss Mytton snorted incredulously. ‘And that went for Tom Shannon too, she said. According to Jacob she made it perfectly clear that marriage to Tom was not among her plans for the future.’
‘Well, I must say—’
Miss Mytton paused, uncertain what it was she must say. Despite her indignation, she was guiltily aware of a feeling of relief that Tom was not after all to be taken from her. But to voice that sentiment now would be to stress her selfishness.
‘Poor Tom!’ sighed Miss Newcutter. ‘After all these years of waiting, to be treated like that! It’s shameful.’
‘She wants her bottom smacked,’ declared Miss Mytton. Her sorrow for Tom was genuine enough, although she thought him well rid of the woman.
‘You might be able to do something,’ said the vicar. ‘Not on the lines you suggest, perhaps, however well merited. But she might listen to you, Emily.’
