Clubbed to Death

by Ruth Edwards

  ‘Pooley, Mr. Glastonbury.’ They set off again at a stately pace.

  ‘I was just saying to my friend Chatterton that it’s really very dangerous to travel on tubes these days. You see, all these foreigners come from abroad with germs we’re not used to. It’s not that I’m saying anything against them. It’s not that they’re not clean or anything. It’s just that we haven’t got any resistance to the kind of germs they’re used to. Don’t you remember Jules Verne’s story about the professor who goes to the moon and accidentally kills off all its inhabitants because when he goes there he’s got a cold and they’re not used to it.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir. A very memorable story.’

  ‘So you see you can never be too careful. Now it’s a long time since I went by tube, and there’s not much you can do in the carriages except keep a handkerchief over your nose, but a useful tip is never to put your hand on the rail beside the moving staircase. That’s one of the worst places for picking up germs, you know. All those hands.’ He shook his head in agitation. ‘I urge you, young man, to follow my example.’

  Pooley’s logical mind was baffled. ‘But do you not fear being infected by one of the foreign staff here, sir?’

  Glastonbury stopped in the middle of the second flight of stairs and gazed earnestly at him. ‘No, no, my dear young man. You mustn’t worry about that. Gooseneck absolutely assures me they always wash their hands before touching any food and anyway, I believe they are all selected extremely carefully. So I don’t think it’s anything we should worry about, do you?’

  ‘Oh no, sir. Of course not. All the difference in the world between somewhere as spacious as this and a crowded tube carriage. I do understand that.’

  Relief pushed Glastonbury back into motion. ‘My friend Chatterton is a great daredevil you know. He thinks nothing of staying up till two or three o’clock in the morning in casinos, although I tell him it’s very, very bad for one’s constitution to have irregular hours. And I worry that the tension of gambling might be bad for the heart.’

  ‘People vary,’ said Pooley soothingly, ‘and I have to say that Mr. Chatterton does look extremely well.’

  ‘Yes, he does look marvellous, doesn’t he. And he says he’s full of beans. I’m just afraid he might fall over again and hurt himself.’

  ‘He seems to manoeuvre his frame very well. Now here we are, sir. Detective Chief Superintendent Milton is waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much, my dear boy. You’ve been very, very kind and most reassuring. Good afternoon, young man,’ he said to Milton.

  Milton felt quite cheered at this form of address. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Would you care to sit down?’

  ‘Oh, thank you. Oh, yes. At the table. Very good, very good. It’s easier to concentrate in a straight chair, I always find. I get a little sleepy in armchairs, I have to confess. Sometimes I wonder if I sleep too much, but my friend Cully Chatterton tells me that the need for sleep varies considerably from person to person and one must follow one’s inclination.’

  ‘I think he’s right, sir,’ said Milton.

  ‘Now how can I help you, Mr…?’ He looked at Milton in distress. ‘Oh dear. Oh dear. I don’t know what’s to be done about my memory.’

  ‘Milton, sir. As you know, I’m investigating the murder of Sir Conrad Meredith-Lee and I wondered if you had any suggestions as to who might be responsible.’

  ‘Are you sure it was murder?’

  Milton stayed calm. ‘Well sir, I think we can rule out natural causes and I can’t see how dynamite could accidentally get under a table, so unless he committed suicide in a way that endangered the lives of other people, I think we must assume it was murder. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘Oh dear! I expect so, I expect so. It’s just too sad. Such a nice man and awful to think of anyone being murdered, although it’s a very violent world these days. People are always being blown up.’

  Milton groaned inwardly at the thought of going through the terrorist loop again. He decided to cut corners. ‘Mr. Glastonbury, I’m afraid we are virtually certain that the Admiral was killed by a member of the committee.’

  ‘But how could this be? You would be speaking of me or my friend Chatterton or one of the others.’

  ‘Unlikely as it may appear, Mr. Glastonbury,’ said Milton firmly, ‘I fear, almost certainly, one of you killed him.’

  Glastonbury fell into babbling incoherence of a nature which Milton and Pooley found an interesting antithesis to the recent ravings of Colonel Fagg. The comprehensible phrases were ‘oh dear’s and ‘oh no’s and ‘how terrible’s and ‘dear me’s and ‘surely not’s.

  Milton felt like a brute, but he pressed on. ‘I’m sorry to distress you, sir, but your committee did not like what the Admiral was proposing to do.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was going to introduce changes to the club which would have made your lives much less comfortable.’

  ‘Oh, I know he was suggesting ways of saving money, but I didn’t really mind about that. I think eating too much is bad for us at our age. I often tell my friends that the especially important thing is to avoid cheese at night. It gives you terrible indigestion, you know. And you can have too much port. It often leads to gout. My old father used to suffer from it. I’ve warned Fagg about that. He suffers from gout, but he won’t give up the port, you know. Won’t give up the port.’

  ‘So you were not personally alarmed by anything Sir Conrad suggested?’

  ‘I can’t remember very much, to tell you the truth. I expect I wasn’t paying attention. I often don’t, I’m afraid. It’s a fault of mine. Tend to live a bit in the past, I’m afraid, at my age. I think a lot about the old days, when I was a boy and Father and Mother were alive.’

  ‘But you sit on the committee, sir?’

  ‘I have to. I believe we have to if we’re residents. I’m sure that’s what Fagg said to me.’

  ‘But until a few years ago you were chairman, Mr. Glaston bury.’

  ‘Well, we took turns, you see. It doesn’t matter who’s chairman. I just did what I was told. I was never any good at committees. Not even when I was working. I did everything I could to avoid them. I don’t like people arguing. It upsets me. So I don’t listen.’

  ‘What was your work, sir?’

  ‘I was a librarian. I had a job in the British Museum, in the library there. I liked that. It was a very ordered life.’

  ‘You’re interested in books?’ Milton was remembering what Amiss had said about the adventure books in Glastonbury’s bedroom.

  ‘I don’t really read books, but I liked cataloguing them and arranging them and making sure they were well looked after and all that kind of thing.’

  ‘Did you work as a librarian all your life?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. I went into it straight from school. A friend of Father’s helped me. I was a bit of a duffer. Couldn’t get into university. Father was very disappointed.’

  ‘And during the war?’

  ‘Oh, they made me go into the army. I didn’t want to. It’s very dangerous. But I did my best. I don’t think I was very good at it and I was invalided out very early. I caught something nasty in North Africa. So then I was able to go back to the library.’

  ‘How did you come to be involved with ffeatherstonehaugh’s, sir? If you’ll forgive me saying so, it doesn’t quite seem like your kind of club.’

  ‘Well, I had a great friend at school who brought me here. He was killed in the war, but by then he had got me made a member. He said it would take me out of myself a bit. And we did have some jolly evenings. Then I met Cully Chatterton and he was very nice to me, so I felt at home here. I get into habits very easily, you see, so I soon got into the habit of coming here every night for dinner.’

  ‘When did you move in?’

  ‘When Mother died. You see, after Father went she sold the house in Derbyshire and moved down to London to be with me. It was very sad having the old home go, but it was very nice
to be living with Mother. We had a very nice flat in Bloomsbury, so I could walk to work. Of course, when Mother was living with me I didn’t go to the club every night. Only on Fridays.’

  ‘When did she die?’

  ‘Fifteen years ago. Then Cully suggested I should come here.’

  ‘Weren’t you worried when Mr. Trueman said that the residents would have to pay more and mightn’t be able to stay if they became ill? Where would you have gone?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded about the money. I’ve got quite a lot of money, I think. But I don’t like leaving places, so that would have made me sad.’

  With little hope, Milton changed tack. ‘But some of the members of the committee were upset, weren’t they?’

  ‘Fagg was upset, but he’s always upset. I don’t think he was any more upset, but I mightn’t have been paying attention.’

  ‘Mr. Fishbane?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t remember him saying anything.’

  ‘Commander Blenkinsop?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I think Pinkie was upset when he stopped being secretary, but then anybody would, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘And Mr. Chatterton?’

  ‘My friend Cully is very philosophical, you know.’

  ‘So you can’t think of anybody who would have killed the Admiral or Mr. Trueman?’

  ‘Goodness no. I’m very sorry. I wish I could help you, but I’m sure you’ll find it’s all a misunderstanding.’

  Milton sighed, stood up and held out his hand. ‘Thank you, Mr. Glastonbury,’ he said. ‘We’ll be in touch. Goodbye.’

  ‘Oh, thank you very much. And thank you, dear boy,’ he said to Pooley. ‘I hope you’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for. Goodbye.’ And giving them a smile of absolute sweetness, he left.

  Milton flung himself in his chair and buried his head in his hands.

  ‘I think, sir,’ said Pooley, ‘that the term is “holy fool.”’

  ‘As opposed to Colonel Fagg, who is an unholy fool. Oh, God! I shall go mad. Go and find Robert, will you, and if he’s free tonight, let’s all meet. You two fix a location. Then collect me and we’ll head off to the Yard to deal with the mess that’s going on there.’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Amiss arrived at Pooley’s flat at ten o’clock.

  ‘You look knackered, Robert.’ Pooley looked concerned.

  ‘Knackered is right. I’m beginning to think Sister had a point. Maybe I should have hung on for a few days in there getting to grips with Alf Bundy’s ailments. Might have been more restful than running round like a lunatic stuffing pâté de foie gras into the undeserving old ghouls who turned up in their dozens today.’ He flung himself on the nearest sofa.

  ‘Whisky?’ asked Pooley.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Half and half and no ice, isn’t that right?’

  ‘My dear Ellis, continue like this and I’ll put a word in for you and get you a job.’

  ‘You have eaten, Robert, haven’t you?’ asked Milton.

  ‘Not only have I eaten, I have eaten adequately twice today. Commander Blenkinsop decreed that rations were to be supplemented by protein. We got chops for lunch and scrambled eggs for supper. Incidentally, has he come up with the goods yet?’

  ‘I talked to him a couple of hours ago and he said that as soon as things quietened down he’d get as much down on paper as he could remember. He’s a bit stymied without the account books, but he reckons he’ll be able to pin-point roughly when some of the major wine sales occurred. That would help us track down details from the relevant auctioneers. He said he’d be able to help about subsidies and that kind of thing. Seems very keen to help.’

  Pooley came in with the drinks.

  ‘You’re not looking too bright yourselves,’ said Amiss. ‘Surely the rest of the day was light relief after that collection of loonies?’

  ‘It was saner,’ said Milton, ‘but less interesting. Mostly junk, in fact. Pep talk from my assistant commissioner, a pointless press conference, further inconclusive forensic reports, lots of people ringing up and calling in to tell me that they’ve got nowhere. Not to speak of trying to keep up with the other three murder investigations I’m in charge of. I had hoped that a further proper search of Meredith-Lee’s rooms would have come up with something, but absolutely not. The lads I put on to it had to look behind every one of those bloody paintings for a wall safe. There wasn’t one. Hunted through everything. Books, cabinets, drawers, anything relevant. Maddeningly, the poor wretch must have taken everything pertaining to ffeatherstonehaugh’s with him to that committee meeting.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Blenkinsop’s going to come up with anything to match what the Admiral had disinterred. After all, he’d been ferreting in the records for a good while.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I’d be grateful for anything—even some idea of the scale of the funds they’ve been filching. I’m feeling very discouraged.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Jim,’ said Pooley. ‘If Blenkinsop comes up with some facts, at least we’ll have something to go back to them on. Put the pressure on.’

  ‘How d’you put the pressure on Glastonbury, for God’s sake? He wouldn’t even notice.’

  ‘What about the good old process of elimination?’ asked Amiss. ‘I mean, isn’t it possible to say that Chatterton definitely couldn’t have done it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Pooley. ‘He’s very agile considering the injury and he’s also very smart.’

  ‘Maybe he could have had Glastonbury holding the dynamite,’ said Amiss. ‘“Oh dear, Cully, I’ve heard this substance is very, very dangerous. Aren’t you afraid we might hurt someone with it?”’

  Pooley sighed. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘it’s all very improbable. We’ll get a medical report on him tomorrow anyway. Maybe there’s a chance that he’s better than he’s pretending.’

  ‘Well, what about Glastonbury himself?’ asked Amiss. ‘Surely he can’t be a credible suspect?’

  ‘He might be only pretending to be gaga,’ said Pooley.

  ‘Gooseneck says he was pretty dotty even fifteen years ago, when he became a resident, and that he’s just got more so. You aren’t seriously suggesting he might have spent fifteen years building up a simpleton’s profile, in case it would come in handy if ever he wanted to commit a crime?’

  ‘I have to agree with you,’ said Milton. ‘Ellis, don’t let your fancy run away with you too much on this. The chap has a mental age of ten.’

  ‘There have been murderers aged ten,’ said Pooley.

  ‘I don’t have your imagination,’ said Amiss. ‘So for the purposes of this exercise I’m eliminating Chatterton and Glaston bury. Now, judging by what you told me earlier, Ellis, Fishbane sounds like the next candidate to go out.’

  ‘I’d agree,’ said Milton. ‘He seems too sane really. It’s a strange thing to say about a man whose libido is so out of control, but he seems psychologically very well balanced. At least that’s how he came across. It’s not as if murdering the Admiral was a sensible course of action. It was essentially an hysterical solution to a problem which could have been resolved in other ways. Ellis?’

  Pooley nodded. ‘So we’re looking at Blenkinsop and Fagg.’

  ‘That’s difficult again,’ said Milton. ‘Blenkinsop is being extremely cooperative, and while I admit that his conversion into an upright citizen seems to have come with indecent haste, nevertheless, he was oddly compelling.’

  ‘It will be enlightening to see if his new-found honesty runs to incriminating himself in any way,’ observed Amiss. ‘Hadn’t Meredith-Lee found him with his hands in the till?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Milton. ‘I deliberately didn’t bring that up yet. I’m giving him a chance to reveal his bona fides.’

  ‘But essentially we’re talking Fagg, aren’t we?’ said Amiss.

  ‘The trouble with him,’ said Pooley, ‘is that he never seems to keep his mind on anything. Bit hard to imagine him seeing anything thr
ough.’

  ‘Well, he saw the provender committee through pretty well.’

  ‘Not the same thing,’ said Milton. ‘The murder needed a cool head—not the first quality I would attribute to the Colonel.’

  ‘No chance that they’d have conspired to bribe Ramsbum or Gooseneck or someone to do it for them?’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said Pooley mournfully. ‘Ramsbum was on duty that whole afternoon. There’s no question about it. He just didn’t have time. And Gooseneck has an alibi as well.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He was with Sunil.’

  ‘With Sunil?’ Amiss was incredulous. ‘What were they doing? Do I dare ask?’

  ‘Well, they claim to have been in the Card Room all afternoon talking about the romantic poets.’

  ‘Get me another whisky, for God’s sake,’ said Amiss. ‘Everything just gets more ridiculous.’

  ‘You’re telling us,’ said Milton. ‘Absolutely everyone’s been questioned now and we still have only five with a motive as well as an opportunity.’

  ‘How many others had an opportunity?’

  ‘The two Pakistani cleaning ladies,’ said Milton. ‘A Chinese waiter who’s been with the club for a week. A Turk who’s been there for ten days and the club handyman.’

  ‘He’s deaf and dumb,’ said Amiss.

  ‘Quite,’ said Milton. ‘Ellis will no doubt wish to offer this as a motive, but I can’t see it myself. How, for instance, would he have gone about getting the dynamite?’

  ‘Stop taking the piss,’ said Pooley.

  Milton blinked in mild surprise at this uncharacteristic leap into the demotic.

  ‘Of course,’ said Amiss helpfully, ‘he could be pretending to be deaf and dumb. How long has he worked at ffeatherstonehaugh’s, Ellis?’

  ‘Thirty years,’ said Pooley, grinning. ‘I doubt if he could have kept up the masquerade for that long.’

  ‘Therefore,’ said Milton, ‘since there appear to be only five possibles—all of whom we have decided are improbables—we’re going to have to work quite hard. Quite apart from whatever Blenkinsop comes up with, I’m going to get my chaps tomorrow to get going on a major investigation into the backgrounds of all these people. Money, military records, careers, anything shady, usual sort of thing. And of course we’ll have to go over all the old ground on timings and opportunities for both the Trueman and Meredith-Lee deaths.’