by J F Straker
Mace said into the mouthpiece, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t talk to you now. I have a client with me. I’ll ring you later.’ The crackle came again, and he said, ‘Very well. In about half an hour,’ and put the receiver back on its cradle.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, gently massaging his ear. He smiled at Gresham. ‘Why do some people always shout on the telephone? Now, where were we?’
‘You were about to tell me how I raise the necessary wind,’ the Colonel said hopefully.
‘Was I? Well, if you’ll take my advice, Colonel, you’ll look for a rich woman and marry her. Marriage and crime are about the only get-rich-quick methods open to you.’
‘Marriage and crime, eh?’ The Colonel considered the alternatives. ‘Devilish hard to choose between ’em, I’d say.’
*
Miss Mytton, fortified by tea, sat down to wrestle with her problems. Her weariness gone, she had already forgotten her decision to stop interfering and to leave the solution of crime to the police. She was back in the saddle again.
Although she had no doubt that the Collings were involved in John Cluster’s murder, it was not that which finally alienated her sympathy from George. Unconsciously she regarded herself as the Mother figure in the village; people might lie to others, but never to her. That George Colling had done so — not once, but repeatedly — was unforgivable.
Even so she would not have abandoned him completely had it not been for Tom; he was still one of her flock, albeit a recalcitrant one. But Tom was in danger, and Tom’s priority was outstanding; someone had to be thrown to the wolves to divert their attention. Tom was wholly innocent; the Collings were at least partially guilty. It followed that the Collings must be sacrificed.
Miss Mytton was not one to delay acting on a decision. Even the knowledge that by denouncing the Collings to the police she must involve William Bright and betray Clara’s confidence did not deter her. Over the telephone she left a message with Mrs Carter at the police station asking the inspector to call. Any time would be convenient, she said. She would be at home all the evening.
He arrived shortly after six o’clock. She offered him a drink, which he declined; but at her invitation he lit a cigarette, and then listened without interruption to what she had to say. At first his silence pleased her; but as she continued she grew slightly annoyed that he could remain apparently so unmoved by her news. Even his expression told her nothing.
‘You probably think I’m an interfering old woman, meddling in something you consider to be your own particular province,’ she said, her voice daring him to think anything of the sort. ‘But I’m afraid I don’t see it that way. Apart from the fact that John Cluster was murdered here in my cottage, and a very natural curiosity to know why and how, I look on everything that happens in the village as partly my concern. Myttons have been squires of Cheswick for generations, and I see no reason to shelve my responsibilities on account of my sex. Mind you, I hold no brief for any particular person.’ That surely was true? She would not defend Tom if she thought him guilty. ‘All I want is to see this wretched business over and done with and the village back to normal.’
‘A very laudable intention, ma’am,’ said Pitt.
‘I’m glad you think so.’ Was he being sarcastic? She decided he was not. Choosing her words with care she went on, ‘With my intimate knowledge of the village I have the advantage over you, Inspector. People are more willing to talk to me; they have been telling me their troubles for so long now that it’s become a habit.’ Resolutely she put from her mind the thought of George Colling’s deviation. ‘I expect you’ll agree with me that we need not look outside Cheswick for the murderer. That is why it’s so important to know what’s been going on behind the scenes, as it were.’ She could not resist a self-congratulatory pat on the back as she added, ‘I know you were against my interference, Inspector, but I think you’ll admit it’s been fully justified.’
He nodded absently. But he did not seem impressed, and after an uncomfortable silence Miss Mytton said tartly, ‘Well, Inspector?’
He hastily apologized. He had been dozing after a hard day’s work, and much of the latter part of Miss Mytton’s peroration had escaped him. He hoped he had the gist of it.
‘I take it you are accusing George Colling of Cluster’s murder, with Mrs Colling and Bright as accessories,’ he said briskly, anxious to atone for any lack of interest. ‘Is that it?’
Miss Mytton was shocked by his bluntness.
‘Good gracious me, no! I’m not accusing anyone directly. All I’m saying is that it would be a waste of time to look beyond those three.’
‘That doesn’t take us much further, does it?’ said Pitt, now fully awake. ‘The only new fact that emerges is that Bright and Mrs Colling were having an affair. That introduces a double jealousy-motive. Cluster may have been killed by Bright (which lets out Colling) or by Colling (which lets out Bright); it seems reasonable to assume that no two out of the three men were in league. Yet you seem to have devised a situation for Sunday evening, ma’am, whereby Colling killed Cluster while Bright was meeting Mrs Colling. Well, it’s possible. But it doesn’t sound very logical.’
Miss Mytton looked at him sharply. Was he daring to make fun of her? But there was no suspicion of levity on the long gaunt face, and she said, ‘Well, no, it doesn’t. But that wasn’t quite how I envisaged it, Inspector. And I hope you haven’t forgotten last night’s savage attack on William Bright. Surely that’s indicative of something?’
‘Of jealousy, most likely. The two events may be quite unconnected. We mustn’t jump to conclusions, ma’am.’
Miss Mytton thought he would never jump to anything. The casual air with which he seemed to dismiss the results of her labours annoyed her. A note of wounded pride in her voice, she said, ‘So you think I’ve been wasting my time, do you?’
He hastened to reassure her.
‘Not at all, ma’am. I’ll have a word with Bright and hear what he has to say. What time is he likely to be back from Tanbury?’
‘Some time after seven, I imagine. His appointment was at six.’ Slightly mollified, she went on, ‘If you don’t mind, Inspector, I would rather you didn’t mention to Miss Justin that it was I who told you of the relationship between Bright and Mrs Colling. It may sound silly to you, but — well, Bright told it to her in confidence, and she repeated it to me in confidence, and I wouldn’t like her to think I didn’t respect it.’
Pitt said gravely that he could appreciate that. ‘And I’d like you to do something for me, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful, but I’d prefer you to leave all further investigation to the police.’ He saw the frown gathering on her face and added hastily, ‘I say that for your own safety.’
‘If you are suggesting that someone may be planning to murder me,’ she said, slightly nonplussed by that last statement but refusing to be daunted by it, ‘it shows how little you understand a village community such as ours. You fail completely to appreciate my position here.’
‘Sovereigns have been assassinated in the past,’ Pitt said glibly. He had no reason to suppose that she was in danger, but he hoped that the warning might keep her activities in check. ‘If the murderer suspected that you knew his identity I doubt if your position would save you. He can only hang once.’
Miss Mytton shivered. She did not believe herself to be in danger, but it was disturbing that a man with his experience should apparently think otherwise. Then she smiled.
‘That’s bad logic, Inspector. He won’t hang at all unless he murders me.’ It gave her considerable pleasure to be able to correct him on a matter of law. ‘Isn’t the sentence for one murder only life imprisonment?’ The telephone rang, and she rose to answer it. ‘To me that seems a sound insurance for my safety.’ She handed him the receiver. ‘For you.’
He kept the earpiece close, so that she could not hear what was said. But although his expression remained as impassive as ever she got the impression, from the few curt questions he asked,
that the call was a disturbing one. Something had happened which he had not expected and did not like.
‘All right. Stay there until I come,’ he directed, and hung up.
‘Bad news, Inspector?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid so. It looks as though that insurance you were talking about just now has gone by the board.’ She stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘The second murder may have happened already. They’ve found William Bright’s body.’
*
Colonel Gresham’s pale, unhappy face glanced from the inspector to the sergeant and then back to the inspector. The small, homely front parlour of Constable Carter’s cottage had nothing of the atmosphere of a police station, yet under the close scrutiny of the two detectives he felt trapped and ill at ease. One couldn’t tell what the blighters were thinking. It could have been an accident — it damned well had to be an accident — but would they believe that? They had kept him so long in that stuffy little room, with just a cup of tea to steady his nerves. Tea! What he needed was a stiff whisky and soda. Two whiskies.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to ask you to tell me what happened,’ Pitt said. ‘I know you’ve already been over it with the sergeant here, but it’s important to me to have it direct if I can. After that we’ll see about getting you home.’
With the resigned air of a martyr facing his second lion, the Colonel complied. After depositing Miss Justin in Tanbury, and a not very fruitful visit to his solicitor, he had gone to the Royal George Hotel to meet an old army friend who was staying the night there. They had had a chat and a few drinks, and shortly after seven he had started to drive home, taking the route through Little Blazing. It was raining, and the windscreen wiper wasn’t working, so that he had driven slowly until he came to the long, downhill slope to the main road. Here he had shut off his engine, intending to coast down the hill; but his batteries were old, and with his dynamo not charging the lights had dimmed. Realizing that he was going faster than the poor visibility warranted, he had tried to restart the engine. It was slow to respond (‘easier to start from cold; she’s a devil when she’s hot’); and it was as he crashed untidily into gear that he saw something sprawled across the road ahead. He jammed on the brakes and swerved violently (better not mention that Belinda always swerved when the brakes went on), but his action was too late. There was a jarring succession of bumps, and a few seconds later Belinda was in the ditch.
‘Got a tap on the forehead,’ he said, gingerly feeling a purpling swelling over his right eye. ‘Stunned me for a moment; couldn’t think where I was. Then I remembered. Managed to get out of the car and onto the road, but couldn’t see a damned thing. Groped round for a bit, and then tripped over the poor chap’s bike. It was slap in the middle of the road.’
He moistened his lips with his tongue. His raincoat, and the trousers beneath, were wet and muddy. He had washed the blood and dirt from his hands, and apart from the bruise on his forehead his face was unmarked.
‘Well, I’d picked meself up and was looking for the rider when the lights of another car appeared over the top of the hill,’ he went on. ‘That’s how I saw the body. Didn’t wait to examine it, though; had to stop the car first. Turned out to be Miss Justin — we had a look at the fellow together.’ He shuddered at the memory. ‘You can imagine how she behaved when she saw who it was. Damned unnerving.’
The inspector pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip. He had already visited the scene of the accident, and there was much about it that he did not understand. The body had been lying half on, half off the grass verge, with the bicycle some yards farther down the hill — presumably dragged there by the Colonel’s car. But what had caused rider and bicycle to part company? The Colonel was emphatic that he had not run over the man; and although Pitt did not necessarily accept his statement it agreed with the condition of the body. The partially healed scratches on hands and face had probably been incurred when Bright was attacked the previous evening. There were no fresh grazes or contusions, such as might have been expected if Bright had lost control of his machine coming down the hill and had fallen off; only that almighty crack on the back of the head. There was dust and dirt on the hooded duffel-coat commensurate with the body having rolled over several times, but it had not torn. That was understandable; the material was tough. Less understandable was the fact that the light switch on the bicycle was in the ‘off’ position. Had Bright been riding without lights? If so that would at least account for his fall.
‘Do you usually come back through Little Blazing?’ asked Pitt.
‘No. First time ever.’ The Colonel swore. ‘And this had to happen!’
‘What made you choose it tonight?’
‘Miss Justin suggested I try it. Said it was less hilly. She told me—’ She had told him that Bright always went that way, but that was something better left unsaid. ‘She thought Belinda would find the going easier,’ he finished lamely.
‘Yet you were prepared to coast downhill in the dark, on a narrow twisting road you didn’t know, and with fading lights.’ Pitt’s voice was hard. ‘Would you call that careful driving, sir?’
‘I suppose not.’ All the snap had gone from the Colonel’s voice. ‘But you make it sound worse than it was. I’ve been to Little Blazing many a time. It’s the stretch from there to Tanbury that was new to me.’
There was the smell of whisky on his breath. Pitt wondered just how many he had had at the Royal George. Norris-Kerr had said he seemed dazed, but that might have been due to the crash. And the doctor had passed him as sober.
‘And after you’d identified Bright? What then?’ he asked.
His first thought, said the Colonel, recovering some of his perkiness now that the worst seemed to be over, had been to get help. He had bundled the hysterical Miss Justin into her car and driven her down to the main road. There he had stopped a car coming from Tanbury, and had been relieved to find that the driver was Edward Mace. Mace had taken over Miss Justin, dropped her off at Fir Cottage, and gone on to report the accident. He himself had returned to wait by the body until the police arrived.
‘Any other traffic pass while you were waiting?’ asked Pitt.
‘No. Road was deserted.’
The inspector made a note of the name of the friend he had visited in Tanbury, and sent him home in a police car. Then he went along to the doctor’s surgery.
Doctor Adair was an outspoken Scot with no trace of a Scot’s accent. ‘A queer business, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Very queer. Two cracks on the back of the skull on successive evenings didn’t do the poor chap any good. Know how he came by the first one?’
Pitt nodded. ‘I’m more interested in the second. Did he get that falling off his machine?’
‘Could be. Depends on how he fell and what he hit. It would have to be something hard and narrow to make a dent like that. That’s one reason why I say it’s a queer business.’
‘And the other?’
The doctor frowned. ‘Gresham tells me he left the Royal George at seven, and in that death-wagon of his it would take him about twenty minutes to reach the scene of the accident. Does that fit with you?’
Pitt nodded. ‘That’s about right.’
‘Not with me, it isn’t,’ said the other. ‘It so happens I was out at Little Blazing myself this evening. Maternity case. After some painstaking calculation I’ve come to the conclusion that I passed the fatal spot on my way back at ten minutes past seven. I can assure you there was no bicycle and no body there then. Nor had I passed a cyclist on the road before that.’
‘So what?’ asked Pitt. He could not see what Adair was driving at. ‘Bright must have been just behind you. He probably crashed only a few minutes before the Colonel found him.’
The doctor shook his head.
‘I don’t think so, Inspector. From my examination of the body I’d say he was dead at least half an hour beforehand — and probably more.’
*
Mace opened the front door to them himself. ‘Gresham tel
ephoned me,’ he said, as he led the way into his study. ‘I guessed you’d be along. Terrible thing to happen. And Gresham is usually a careful driver. Incidentally, I suppose he was right? The poor chap is dead? I didn’t actually see the accident.’
‘Yes, sir, he’s dead,’ Pitt said. ‘Must have come as a shock to you, I imagine, seeing as you’d been talking to him in your office only a short while before.’
Edward Mace looked his surprise. ‘How on earth did you know that? The Colonel didn’t. Or did he? Perhaps I mentioned it to him when he told me what had happened.’
Pitt refused to be drawn. ‘I’m rather interested in that visit, sir. Would you mind telling me what you and Bright talked about? Incidentally, wasn’t it late to fix an appointment?’
‘Theoretically, yes; in practice, no. I don’t keep rigid office hours. I can’t — my partner is away sick.’ Mace smiled. ‘He mostly is nowadays; he’s over eighty, and likes to take life easily. I don’t blame him for that, although it comes hard on me.’
‘I’m sure it does,’ Pitt said patiently. ‘But about Bright’s visit—’
‘Yes, of course. Well, he turned up punctually at six, and we talked for about thirty minutes, and then he left.’ The solicitor frowned. ‘To go home, he said. But he must have dallied on the way. It wouldn’t have taken him the best part of an hour to get that distance.’
The two detectives exchanged glances. ‘You’re quite sure about the time he left, sir?’ asked Norris-Kerr.
‘I think so. But my secretary would be more exact. She was still there.’ Again he smiled. ‘And since it was Bright who was keeping her there I’ve no doubt she had one eye on the clock. But about the accident, Inspector. Gresham is quite certain he didn’t actually knock the fellow off his bike. I suppose he told you that? But it seems odd that—’
