by Clara Benson
‘Do you think he might have done it?’ he said.
She looked as though she were giving the matter serious consideration.
‘It’s possible,’ she said. ‘That is, if you’re asking whether he’d be capable of it. He might be. But I don’t think he did. He was with Kathie, wasn’t he? She’d never put up with anything like that.’
When she spoke of Kathie her face became almost animated, and Jameson took heart from it. Still, he had more questions to ask.
‘Who inherits this farm?’ he said.
‘Norman,’ said Margaret. ‘Although I’m allowed to stay here. That’s what Tom told me, at any rate. I assume he was telling the truth, although I suppose it might have been one of his silly jokes.’
‘What about money? Did your husband have any to leave?’
There was no point in asking it delicately.
‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied. ‘He never told me how much, exactly, but I think Norman and I both get something. Norman will know. Or the solicitor.’
Jameson asked to see the shotguns, and she showed him two, which he duly examined. He then took his leave. She showed him to the door and as he left he saw her wiping the doorstep with the mop. Primm had been right: there was little to be got out of her. It seemed that they were hardly any further forward.
SEVENTEEN
While Inspector Jameson was struggling to get Mrs. Tipping to talk, Angela had been having rather the opposite problem with Mrs. Hunter. She had been pressed into paying the vicar’s wife another visit, but refused to go without Kathie, since she rather feared that without some assistance, after ten minutes of listening to Mrs. Hunter’s pronunciations she might have to make an unseemly bolt for it. Kathie laughed at this and duly agreed to accompany her.
As it happened, the visit was not as bad as might have been expected—for Angela, at least—since Mrs. Hunter was still full of the murder and had little time for any other subject. This time, it was Kathie who had to suffer, as Mrs. Hunter had now heard some of the stories which were beginning to circulate.
‘I feel you ought to know, dear,’ she said to Kathie. ‘Rumours will start, and I shouldn’t like you to be taken by surprise.’
‘Oh, I know exactly what people are saying,’ said Kathie, ‘and of course it’s all nonsense. Poor Norman—it’s bad enough that he’s lost his father without people saying he did it.’
‘And that you were an accessory,’ added Mrs. Hunter helpfully.
‘Now, you don’t really believe that, do you?’ said Kathie with a smile.
‘Of course not,’ said Mrs. Hunter. ‘You’re a dear, and I shall never say any different. But the police are stupid fellows in general, and so you must stand by Norman and make them see sense. I myself am quite certain it was those gipsies who did it. And even if it wasn’t, why, anyone might have come along Dead Man’s Path and killed him. There’s nothing to say it was anyone who knew him, now, is there? Why, it could have been a passing escaped lunatic.’
‘Are you troubled with many of those around here?’ inquired Angela.
‘Not especially,’ said Mrs. Hunter, who took the question seriously. ‘But such things can happen. Some of these old soldiers who wander about aren’t quite right in the head, you know. Of course, they really ought to be locked up for their own safety and that of others, but they aren’t, and we don’t know that one of them mightn’t have taken it into his head to go mad with a shotgun.’
‘But nobody has seen anyone of that kind loitering about the place recently, have they?’ said Angela.
‘They know where to hide,’ said Mrs. Hunter darkly.
There was no reply to this, and the visit ended soon afterwards, somewhat to the relief of the visitors.
‘This whole thing does seem rather hard on you both,’ said Angela to Kathie as they emerged. ‘I hope not everybody has been as blunt as Mrs. Hunter.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Kathie. ‘Most people are much more discreet than that—although I dare say they all talk about it when we’re not there.’ She paused. ‘Do you think the police believe it?’ she said.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Angela.
‘I thought you might know, since you’re such great friends with Inspector Jameson,’ said Kathie.
‘I’m too friendly with you, so I don’t suppose he’d tell me anything,’ said Angela.
‘I know it all looks very suspicious,’ said Kathie hesitantly, ‘but I should hate him to think badly of me.’
‘Oh, I don’t think you need worry about that,’ said Angela, once again forgetting her resolution not to interfere.
‘What do you mean?’ said Kathie, glancing up.
‘Don’t you know?’ said Angela with a smile.
Kathie’s cheeks went slightly pink.
‘I wasn’t quite sure,’ she said after a moment. ‘I thought perhaps I was imagining things.’
‘No, I’m pretty certain you’re not,’ said Angela. ‘It’s obvious enough to me, at any rate.’
‘Oh,’ said Kathie, and fell silent.
Angela could not help asking the next question.
‘But what about you?’ she said. ‘How do you feel about it?’
Kathie let out a laugh that was half a sob.
‘I simply couldn’t tell you,’ she said. ‘The last few days have been so awfully confusing. I’d been trundling along quite contentedly, thinking that Norman would probably ask me to marry him sooner or later, just as everybody expected, but then Tom was killed and the police came, and Scotland Yard, and—’ she paused. ‘And now I’m wondering whether I’m quite as contented as I thought I was.’
‘I see,’ said Angela.
‘Something has happened,’ went on Kathie all in a rush. ‘To me, I mean. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s the most peculiar feeling, and I’m not altogether certain I like it. Sometimes I’m terribly agitated and fidgety, and can’t seem to settle to anything, but then at other times I find myself spending an hour staring out of the window as though I’m waiting for something—although I have no idea what. It’s not like me at all. I thought at first it must be because of Tom’s death, but if it is, then I must be a very bad person indeed, or why else should I feel so happy?’
‘I’d have thought it was obvious,’ said Angela.
‘Yes, I’m rather afraid it is,’ said Kathie quietly.
‘Why afraid?’ said Angela.
‘Because of the murder, of course,’ said Kathie. ‘Tom is dead, and Norman and I are suspects, and everyone thinks we’re engaged anyway, and it would look simply dreadful if I didn’t stand by him while all this is going on. Don’t you see?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Angela.
‘It’s horrid of me to be thinking of someone else at such a time—especially the investigating policeman, of all people, but I don’t seem to be able to help it,’ said Kathie. ‘I wish I could stop, and then we could all go back to the way we were before. But how can I stop?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Angela, ‘but I do know there’s no use at all in trying to pretend you’re in love with one man when in actual fact you’re in love with another.’
‘Am I, though?’ said Kathie. ‘My head is in such a whirl that I don’t know whether it’s real, or whether it’s merely that I’ve gone a little mad because of the whole peculiar situation. Perhaps it’s nothing at all and I’ll get over it in a day or two—I simply don’t know. It would certainly make things easier if that were the case. Still,’ she went on wistfully, ‘I do wish people wouldn’t take my engagement to Norman quite so much for granted. That’s the trouble with living in a small village, you see: there’s nothing much to do except talk about the neighbours and arrange their lives for them.’
‘Yes, that sort of thing can be rather tiresome,’ said Angela. ‘But Kathie, you wouldn’t do something that made you unhappy just because people expected it of you, surely. Just as you wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to be happy for the same reason.’
‘No,’ said K
athie. ‘But nobody has offered me the opportunity to be anything—not Norman, and not anybody else, so until someone does I must go on as I have done. Listen to me,’ she said impatiently. ‘Here I am, talking a lot of nonsense about falling in love when someone I know has been murdered. I ought to be ashamed of myself. I won’t think of it any more—at least, not until this is all over. By that time I dare say I’ll have talked myself out of it and everything will return to normal.’
‘By all means, talk yourself out of it if that is what you want,’ said Angela. ‘I’m sure you and Norman will be very happy together.’
Kathie threw her a suspicious look, but Angela had assumed her blandest expression, for she had reminded herself that it was none of her business, and that further interference might do more harm than good. These things had a way of working themselves out, and after all, Kathie was a grown woman who was quite capable of making her own decisions. Angela determined to say no more on the subject and to leave them to it.
The two ladies said goodbye and Kathie headed back towards her cottage, while Angela turned her steps homewards. As she passed the church she saw Mrs. Hunter’s bicycle still chained up outside, and glanced up at the sky. There had been no rain since Saturday although the weather had been dull, and she was just wondering how much longer it would hold when she saw Andrew Norris just ahead of her—unarmed, this time, although his dog stood by his side and she eyed the creature warily.
‘Oh, don’t worry about him,’ said Norris cheerfully. ‘He won’t bite—not unless I tell him to, at any rate.’
Angela was hardly reassured by this, but wished Mr. Norris a good day. He seemed inclined to talk.
‘I see the police are just as puzzled as everyone else as to who shot Tom Tipping,’ he said.
‘Are they?’ she said politely.
‘I should say so,’ he said. ‘They tried to pin it on me, you know, but for once I had nothing to do with it. It’ll be Norman and his girl next—you mark my words. And then when they can’t prove they did it either, they’ll probably arrest Bob Sanderson, Mrs. Goddard and the vicar in turn. And then when they’ve gone through everyone else they’ll have no choice but to arrest themselves!’
He cackled with laughter at his own wit.
‘I gather you don’t think much of the police, then,’ said Angela.
‘No, I don’t!’ he said. ‘Arresting a man before they’ve even looked into the matter properly. What were they thinking? They made me spend a night in the cells on a hard bed. I like to be comfortable at my age—not that I’m not fit and healthy, of course—never better—but still, it was chilly and I was all aches and pains by the time they released me. And how do you think it looked? You might not believe it, but I’m a respectable man. I’ve lived in Banford all my life and that sort of thing doesn’t look good. I know people have been talking about me behind their hands. How am I supposed to get my reputation back?’
‘But everyone knows you didn’t do it,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t think you need worry about your reputation too much. I’m sorry you had to spend a night in prison, but you must admit you were the most obvious suspect. You can’t go around threatening to shoot a man and then expect not to be arrested when that same man is found shot, now, can you?’
He gave a short bark of laughter.
‘I suppose you’re right, when you put it like that,’ he said. He gave her a leer. ‘So, then, missy, I hear you’re a famous detective these days. Why don’t you set to and put the police right?’
Angela had the impression that there was something he wanted to say.
‘Perhaps I shall,’ she said. ‘Where do you suggest I start?’
‘Closest to home, that’s where,’ he said. ‘Who had the biggest motive to kill Tom Tipping? Why, his family, of course. It’s nearly always family in these cases, isn’t it? Especially when there’s money involved.’
‘Is there money involved?’ said Angela.
‘Tom was near, very near,’ said Norris. ‘Margaret ought to have thought of that before she married him. He kept her short. Kept both of them short, as a matter of fact. It’s poor form to make your wife ask for money—but there, she made her own bed and she had to lie in it. She chose him over me and had to live with the consequences. I’d have been generous, but she never thought of that. Still, though, there ought to be plenty of money now he’s dead—if she gets to keep it, of course.’
‘Are you suggesting that Mrs. Tipping killed her husband?’ said Angela.
He shook his head.
‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t bother with all that. But Norman, now: that’s a different matter altogether. He tries to cut a fine figure, but he’s in need—very much in need, if what I hear is true. That girl of his—she’s used to the finer things, and she’ll want more than he can give. From what I hear, he hasn’t two pennies to rub together, and his father refused to advance him anything. But that’s not a problem for him any more, is it? Not now his father is safely out of the way.’
‘How do you know all this?’ said Angela.
He cackled.
‘Go and ask Jimmy,’ he said.
‘Who is Jimmy?’
But he wagged a finger at her and shook his head, then strolled off, leaving Angela in great perplexity. He evidently had no intention of saying anything more, so she set off for home and decided to stop in at the police station on the way to report what he had said. Inspector Jameson was out, but Sergeant Primm was there, and she told him of their conversation. Primm listened with interest.
‘I wonder, now,’ he said. ‘Jimmy. I wonder whether he mightn’t have been talking about—’ He stopped. ‘It would make sense,’ he went on.
Angela waited, but he would say no more. He thanked her and she went out.
She returned to Two Tithes just before tea-time. Until now she had taken care to spend as little time there as was possible without actually being rude, since she assumed that Humphrey and Elisabeth would prefer it that way, but when she entered she found Humphrey waiting for her in the hall, and wondered for a second whether she was about to be accused of deserting them, for his expression was stiff and haughty.
‘Ah, there you are, Angela,’ he said. ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you in private.’
‘Certainly, Humphrey,’ she said in surprise. She followed him into his study, curious to know what it was all about.
They went in, and Humphrey sat himself carefully behind his desk. He did not invite her to sit, but instead picked up a copy of a newspaper that rested there, and looked at it significantly. Angela sensed trouble.
‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘It is a newspaper called the Herald,’ said Humphrey. ‘I use the word “newspaper” loosely, you understand. However, I am rather disturbed by an article I have found in it.’
‘I didn’t know you read that kind of rag,’ she said. She assumed there was something in the paper that concerned her, and since she would not suffer being summoned to her own brother’s study as though she were an unruly pupil called to the headmistress’s office for a carpeting, she threw herself deliberately into the most comfortable chair in the room and crossed her legs. Had she had a cigarette about her she would have lit it, but instead she said:
‘I take it from your face that there is some absurd nonsense about me in it.’
‘Is it nonsense?’ he said.
‘I imagine so, but until you tell me what it says, I can’t comment,’ she replied.
He put on his glasses, then opened the newspaper and searched carefully for the right page. If he was hoping to intimidate her he was disappointed; in fact she was merely irritated, for she was sure it was all an act. At last he found what he was looking for and pushed the newspaper across to her. She reached for it in some trepidation, since she generally made it a rule not to read about herself.
‘Oh, goodness,’ she said, wincing slightly as she read. ‘I see this is Corky’s doing. He did rather threaten to write something of the kind, but
he really has outdone himself, hasn’t he?’
‘I am sorry you take this so lightly, Angela,’ said Humphrey. I thought you might at least have restrained yourself from seeking this sort of publicity while you were visiting us here at Two Tithes. In London I dare say things are very different, but here in the country we have appearances to maintain. People have long memories and they don’t appreciate this kind of thing.’
‘Why, you don’t suppose for a second that I had anything to do with this drivel, do you?’ she said.
‘What else am I to think?’ said Humphrey. ‘The writer says he spoke to you directly and attributes several statements to you, most of which—and always allowing for the execrable grammar of a man who must submit a story in a hurry—I should never have supposed you capable of making.’
‘That’s because I didn’t,’ she said. ‘I never said any of this stuff. I mean, look at this: “Let it be hereby proclaimed to the people of Great Britain that I shall never rest until this evil miscreant is caught and hanged—” oh, goodness me, the man makes me sound like a positive imbecile! Here, take the thing and burn it,’ she said, thrusting the paper back at him, pink in the face. ‘Listen, Humphrey,’ she went on, ‘I swear to you I had nothing to do with it—and really, I’m rather disappointed that you could believe it of me. I know you don’t particularly approve of me, but I should have thought you’d know better than that. I’m not quite as vulgar as you seem to think.’
‘But then why does it say he spoke to you?’ he said.
‘He did speak to me—at length,’ said Angela. ‘And I refused to talk to him about the murder, so he made something up. Look, I suffer from this sort of thing far more than you do, you know, since I’m the one who has to put up with the general public thinking me an idiot. You’re only affected by association, so I don’t know why it should bother you so much.’
‘It’s not only the publicity, though, is it?’ said Humphrey. ‘I am concerned, very concerned, Angela. You gave me your word that you would not involve yourself in any detective-work while you were here. The police have a difficult enough job as it is, without an amateur lady detective inveigling her way into the investigation and taking over.’
