Outrage on Gallows Hill

by George Bellairs

  “About six months, more or less. Why?”

  “Can you suggest anyone who might derive some advantage from killing Free because he’d got himself engaged to Laura?”

  “No. I can’t think of anybody who’d go so far. Unless it was Spry. You know, Laura has an income under her late father’s will. About four hundred a year, she once told me when we were very friendly. If she marries, that, of course, will go from the Spry household. It might pay Spry to stop her marrying.”

  “But he’s never shown opposition before, has he? I mean, Laura’s had quite a number of boys around. In fact, I hear she’s been engaged before.”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t recollect Spry cutting up rough before. But suppose since the last engagement, about twelve months ago that would be, to an artist chap who came to live here and cleared out one night leaving nothing but debts behind him. Suppose, in the meantime, Spry has been using the funds of the trust …”

  “But can he get at them?”

  “He might, through Mrs. Spry. Mrs. Spry is one of the executors, I know that. She holds the job jointly with Fothergill, the lawyer in Holchester. Suppose, in some way, the trust’s gone wrong. If Laura marries that will all come out …”

  “Yes, that’s true. It’s worth seeing into. Is Spry a spendthrift, then?”

  “No, hardly that. But he’s a chap I wouldn’t trust. Shifty, you know. A secretive chap like that might be using the money for anything. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “Very interesting …”

  Time had already been called and the potman and Edna were clearing away. In the passage the members of the taproom could be heard parting company and lunging out into the night.

  “S’long, ole man … An’ don’ forget … Ever I can do you a good turn … Pals, ain’t we?”

  Blaize junior put in his head.

  “Like a drink in our private place? After all, the Inspector’s living-in.”

  “No, thanks. I must be getting to bed.”

  “So early? The night’s yet young.”

  “I’ve work tomorrow.”

  Everybody had gone except Littlejohn and Hunter. The revellers from the taproom could be heard shouting and bawling in the distance. Outside, somebody was shunting about trying to get a car out of the car-park and through the narrow passage to the road.

  “Well, good-night all … Good-night, Inspector.”

  “Good-night, Mr. Hunter.”

  Blaize caught the Inspector’s eye and looked as if he wished to say something. But he thought better of it, shrugged his shoulders and started counting the takings out of the till.

  There was a sneering smile on Blaize’s face which Littlejohn didn’t like. The fellow knew something, he was sure, and was holding out.

  “Good-night,” said Littlejohn, and went upstairs to bed.

  12.

  LAURA

  “Wende with yow I wil til we fynde Treuthe.”

  LANGLAND: The Vision Concerning Piers Plowman

  LAURA CRUFT was sitting before the kitchen fire filing her nails when Littlejohn entered. He had met Mrs. Spry in the farmyard and she took him to her daughter when he asked for her.

  “The Inspector’s called for another word with you, Laura.”

  The girl rose, shook the paper she held in her lap in the fire and then turned an enquiring look on Littlejohn.

  Mrs. Spry left them together.

  Laura tried to give the Inspector her customary bright, attractive smile, but it fell a bit flat. She looked nervous and not herself at all. Littlejohn wondered why.

  “I thought that now the upset of the funeral is over you might care to talk a little more freely.”

  “What is there to talk about, Inspector? I think I told you all there was to tell the last time you were here. However, please sit down.”

  The kitchen was like an illustration from a ladies’ magazine. Large brick open fireplace, plenty of brass and copper ornaments, wheelback chairs, refectory table and chintz curtains and easy-chair covers. Spry, a rough and ready sort of chap, must have been a bit out of character when he came in.

  Laura was her usual seductive self in an expensive plain white blouse and a tailored skirt. Not a hair out of place, not a flaw in her complexion! But the colour in her cheeks was, this time, obviously not nature’s.

  “I’ve still one or two points I want to settle, Miss Cruft. I didn’t mention them the other day, in the circumstances, but now I’d like proper answers.”

  It was time for plain speaking, thought Littlejohn, and the sooner they got it over the better.

  “Indeed, Inspector. I’m sure I’ve nothing to conceal and I’ll do my best.”

  She made a show of indignation, but she was nervous still.

  “I’m having difficulty in finding out the exact relationship between Free, Hunter, Blaize and a number of others.”

  “What do you mean, Inspector?”

  She was obviously set on brazening out the situation and Littlejohn felt annoyed.

  “They were all your boy friends at one time or another, weren’t they?”

  He said it with an asperity which even astonished himself.

  “Don’t be horrible, Inspector.”

  She gave him a melting look. Actually trying sex appeal on him!

  “If we’re going to find out who killed your fiancé, I must know everything. Can’t you see, it might easily be a crime of jealousy?”

  There was a pause.

  “Do you mean that I might be the cause of the crime?”

  “That might very well be the case.”

  He said it brutally. She was definitely antagonistic and it was going to be a tussle of wills.

  “I might as well tell you, Miss Cruft, that any number of people in this village are only too ready to tell me everything about your love affairs. I’d rather have it first-hand from you.”

  Although she was nervous, she didn’t lose her head. Not a sign of temper, tears or resentment. Only a cold reserve and a measure of coquetry which was a part of her personality.

  “You’d been engaged before, Miss Cruft?”

  “Yes, I was engaged to Reg Poynter, but we agreed to break it off. He was an artist who lived here and we were always quarrelling about his strange ideas of life.”

  “Where is Poynter now?”

  “The last I heard, he was in London doing theatrical designing. That’s about eight months ago.”

  “You’ve not seen him since your engagement was broken off?”

  “No. He went away rather quickly.”

  I’ll say he did, thought Littlejohn, remembering the hasty flitting and the debts left behind.

  “And since then?”

  “Really, Inspector, you seem to have a very poor opinion of me. To hear you, one would think I changed my mind every day.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Cruft, but we must get to the bottom of this. People are so anxious to assist that they fling all kinds of names at my head. It’s up to you to prove it’s only gossip, if that’s the case.”

  “It’s always the same in a place like this. You can’t speak to a man without being accused of having an affair with him.”

  “Hardly that. Nobody’s gone so far. But you were friendly with Hunter and Blaize before you started seriously with Free, weren’t you?”

  She changed colour. The blood drained from her face and made the rouge stand out like daubs of paint.

  Littlejohn wished he hadn’t linked the names of the two men together. Now he didn’t know which had produced the violent reaction.

  “You weren’t engaged to either of them, were you?”

  “Certainly not. If anyone’s told you that, they’re liars. There was a set of us knocked about together. In a gang like that there’s always a bit of family coach business. Sometimes you have one boy, sometimes another, but it’s never serious.”

  “Isn’t it? But I’m told that at one time Blaize, and at another, Hunter was your particular boy friend. Is that so?”

 
“No. We went about a bit together on our own, but there was never anything really serious.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What do you mean, Inspector? I think you’re being horrid.”

  “I’m only trying my best to get at the truth.”

  “You’re being very brutal about it.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve been told that young Blaize started drinking heavily on account of the way you treated him.”

  “It’s a damned lie. He always took more than was good for him. And now, Inspector, have you quite finished?”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss Cruft. But if you don’t want to continue, I’ll be on my way. There’s no telling, however, what you might be asked at the resumed inquest, and then it’ll be under oath. It’s much better for us to thrash it out here and now than in public. I’m only doing this for the best.”

  “What more do you want to know?”

  Outside, the cattle were being brought in from pasture. The cowman was shouting about the yard, and the dog yapping and snapping after the cows. There was no sign of Spry.

  “Were you fond of Hunter and he of you?”

  A pause. The girl hesitated, gathered herself together and spoke more softly.

  “Yes … We were rather fond of each other, but we … well … we found we preferred someone else. Johnny’s practically engaged to another girl in the village and I liked Ronald better.”

  “And Blaize … was he very fond of you?”

  “Oh, Tim was fond of so many girls. We never really took him seriously.”

  “But was he serious about you?”

  “I don’t know. He may have been, but he soon got over it. He’s had several since.”

  It was fantastic. Talking over the affairs of heart of a girl in cold blood. Many a one would have dissolved into tears or bathed in sentiment. Not Laura. She kept her head remarkably well.

  “What about Professor D’Arcy Lever? You and he have been talked about, you know.”

  “Good gracious! Whatever next? Why? The sole reason for our being seen together was that once I thought I’d like to stay on the staff at Melchester University … The office staff, I mean, and it was suggested that I might become Professor Lever’s secretary. He was without one at the time and …”

  “At any rate, people have talked about the pair of you.”

  “All wrong! As I said, in this place you’ve only …”

  “But are you sure the Professor thought the same as you?”

  “I’m quite sure.”

  It didn’t ring true, but Littlejohn saw no use in pushing the point further.

  But Laura was getting annoyed.

  “It seems to me, Inspector, you’ve been talking with some of the village cats. Tearing my reputation to pieces whilst sewing for charity at the Dorcas classes. I think it’s a disgrace that you should listen to their foul insinuations. Why, they’ll be accusing me of killing Ronald next!”

  “I’ve only come along to give you the chance of giving the lie to local gossip.”

  “Are you satisfied?”

  Littlejohn didn’t reply.

  “I understand, Miss Cruft, that you enjoy an income under a trust created by your late father.”

  “Yes. What’s that to do with Ronald being murdered?”

  “In the event of your marriage, do you get full control of the funds?”

  “Yes, if I’m not married I can’t touch the capital till I’m twenty-six. Rather strange, but I expect it was done for mummy’s sake and to give her a fair share of the income.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, it’s this way. Father left his money to me in trust, with income for life to mother as long as she lived, unless she married again. If she married, I got the income, till I was twenty-six. If, however, I married between twenty-one and twenty-six, the capital was released. A bit complicated, but I expect he thought if mummy married again she’d have someone to provide for her, and if I married before twenty-six I’d need the money, understand?”

  “I think I follow.”

  Another of those fussy sort of Wills which always bring a lot of trouble!

  “And who are the trustees, if I may ask?”

  “My mother and Mr. Fothergill, the lawyer in Holchester.”

  “Do they look after the investments between them?”

  “Yes, I think they do … Why?”

  “Does your stepfather have anything to do with the estate?”

  “No; why should he? He helps mother with the clerical work sometimes, but otherwise … Are you insinuating that …?”

  “I’m suggesting nothing, Miss Cruft. I’m only seeking as much information as I can gather on every angle of the case.”

  “This seems a very funny angle.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, Miss Cruft, please. I do assure you that I’m not just doing this out of idle curiosity. It’s all very important.”

  “You get on well with your stepfather?”

  “Very well, thanks; why?”

  Littlejohn again seemed to have put his finger on a tender spot. Laura looked ruffled. The reason was not far to seek. Spry was a noisy, rough fellow. In fact, common. He might have appealed to Cruft’s widow, but to an educated girl like Laura, and one who fancied herself so much, his presence under the same roof must have been a bit of a trial. However … she didn’t seem disposed to be enlightening. It wasn’t surprising, that. Littlejohn had asked a few pointed, intimate questions in that interview and after all there were limits.

  The cows were now all tied-up and the steady throb of the milking machines was going.

  “I think that’s all, Miss Cruft. I’ll be getting on my way. Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve been a bit rude to you now and then, Inspector, but really some of the questions you’ve asked are ones not usually put to a girl, are they?”

  She was getting a bit arch! Littlejohn wondered what was coming.

  “I quite agree they were perhaps a bit searching, but this is a tough case, Miss Cruft, and it’s going to be a hard one to solve. I want to know as much about Ronald Free and his life and associates as I can gather.”

  “Have you any idea yet who might have done it, Inspector?”

  So that was it! She was fishing for information, too.

  “Not the faintest, yet, but I’m not despairing.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s never been, to my knowledge, a perfect crime, Miss Cruft. Murder particularly, is a new experience for most people. They’re not adepts at it. They’ve never had any real practice at killing before, so somewhere there’s a slip been made. We’ve got to find where it is in this case.”

  “How interesting. I wonder how long it will take?”

  “But I’m taking up your time, I must be off.”

  The door opened, Mrs. Spry came in, looked questioningly at her daughter and then at Littlejohn.

  “You’ve had a long session together.”

  “Yes, mummy, the Inspector’s been putting me through a real third-degree.”

  “Has he? I don’t believe it.”

  A land girl carrying a pitchfork crossed the yard, apparently going for hay for the cattle from the barn.

  “Well, I hope you’ll soon be at the end of your task, Inspector, with the murderer under lock and key,” said Mrs. Spry. She kept looking keenly at her daughter, wondering what she had been saying to the Inspector, and trying to size-up how she had been affected by his questioning.

  Laura was herself again, fresh, well-poised and as cool as a cucumber.

  The land girl, after a struggle with the door, disappeared in the barn. She was soon out again and yelling the place down.

  “Mrs. Spry … Mrs. Spry … Mr. Spry’s in there … He’s hung himself.”

  Littlejohn found Spry dangling from a rope thrown over a beam. Quickly he cut him down. He hadn’t been there for long, for he was not quite dead. Luckily, Dr. Gell was at home. Before the doctor arrived Littlejohn had Spr
y looking like a living man through vigorous doses of artificial respiration.

  Spry had left a note pinned on the back of the barn door.

  I can’t stand the disgrace. Everybody is blaming ‘Laura for Free’s death. She seems to have no reputation to lose. I can’t face people.

  The whole thing was a bit of an anti-climax. The note written in a bold, illiterate hand. The attempted suicide just at a time when the hands were going in and out of the barn for fodder, and when Littlejohn climbed up to the beam to examine the rope he found it wasn’t even tied properly. With a bit of struggling and kicking Spry could have brought the whole lot down.

  13.

  MELCHESTER UNIVERSITY

  Go to, go to—You have known what you should not.

  MACBETH

  THE porter at the entrance to Melchester University studied Littlejohn’s card with lofty surprise. The thought of that austere seat of learning being in any way connected with crime seemed to appal him.

  The lodge was at the base of one of the twin towers which formed the main portals, like a miniature Tower Bridge. A hideous erection!

  Melchester University had started ages ago as a sort of mechanics’ institute and swollen to a conglomeration of buildings of diverse shapes and architecture. As each new professor of architecture took over his chair, he swore to do something about improving the rabbit warren, but soon, becoming assimilated, despairingly added his own quota to the heterogeneous mass. The current occupant of the chair was, at the time, absorbed in the erection of a new swimming-bath, housed in an edifice like a large, white, concrete box, within the shade of the huge gothic medical school.

  The porter, who persisted in looking at Littlejohn as though he might have been an interloper trying to steal an honorary degree, at last condescended to see if Professor Lever would see him.

  “He’s a busy man,” added the flunkey.

  “So am I,” retorted Littlejohn.

  “No doubt you are. We all are,” came the unabashed answer. Whereat the man commanded an underling to go to the psychology department and ask if the professor could see an Inspector from the police.