Merlin's Furlong

by Gladys Mitchell

  “You note,” he observed, when they were in their car and Piper was driving eastwards and to the north, “there is nothing to stop us denouncing in turn every senior member of the university to the police as somebody we recognise to have been this smooth person we drove to the station.”

  “After the second or third attempt we should be sent down for good,” objected Harrison.

  “Not if we select our victims with sufficient care. I may even fly higher, and denounce the president of the Union or, better still, one of the female dons. The possibilities are endless.”

  “So endless that, so far as I am concerned, they’re not even going to begin,” said Harrison firmly. “Peter, we’re being waggled at by somebody’s chauffeur.”

  Piper pulled up beside a gesticulating man in uniform.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man, “but I believe you are the gentlemen who are on your way home from the murders.”

  “Aptly put. We are,” replied Piper. “Who are you?”

  “I am Mrs. Bradley’s chauffeur, sir. My employer would be glad of a word with you if you could spare the time.”

  “Well, I expect it is largely due to her that we’re not in jug,” said Waite cordially. He got out of the car and the others followed. The chauffeur led them to a large limousine which was parked a dozen yards ahead.

  Mrs. Bradley greeted them kindly, informed them that they were looking extremely well, and then came to the heart of the matter.

  “Before the Long Vacation ends,” she said, “we have to identify two murderers.”

  “I thought it was only one,” said Waite.

  “The police may have given you that impression, Mr. Waite, but I have reason to think that I am right. Nevertheless, I must have evidence, and there is nobody better able to help me to get it than one of you three.”

  “One of us? The inspector told us all three.”

  “One only. The point is to decide which one. I think I’ll get out of the car and look you over.”

  “Why only one?” asked Piper, opening the door for her.

  “Because the other two must occupy themselves with the work to which they should have been giving their close attention during the Long Vacation. Besides, I should be conspicuous if I took three of you about with me. Now, then: from previous conversations with you I have formed the opinion that Mr. Waite is the most determined and possibly the only energetic member of the party; that Mr. Piper is the most mercurial, quick-witted, and intelligent one, and that Mr. Harrison is the most observant and docile. Mr. Waite, therefore, would soon become restive under my domination and leadership; Mr. Piper would wish to pit his wits against mine and might therefore put the success of our enterprise in jeopardy; so, on all counts, I choose Mr. Harrison.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said Harrison.

  “Shame!” said his companions.

  “Please get into my car, Mr. Harrison,” pursued Mrs. Bradley. “And, Mr. Waite and Mr. Piper, good-bye.” She waved a gloved claw out of the window when she had got back into the car and Waite and Piper drove past. “And now, George,” she said to her chauffeur, when the other car was out of sight, “back to Merlin’s Castle.”

  George drove on, to find a suitable place in which to turn the car. Harrison lay back and closed his eyes. In two minutes he was peacefully asleep. Mrs. Bradley prodded him awake again. He smiled at her.

  “I’m glad you picked me,” he said, and closed his eyes once more.

  “So am I,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Stay awake just long enough for me to tell you what I want you not to do. I don’t want to give you any lead whatever in recognising this so-called manservant, but I am going to take you on a round of visits. If you do at any time recognise him, please do not betray the fact until we are out of that person’s presence.”

  “Right, but don’t rely on me to recognise him.”

  “You don’t need me to labour the point, I know, but the more surprised you are when you discover the identity of this man, the less must you let the cat out of the bag. What you tell me won’t be incontrovertible evidence, of course, but I shall believe you implicitly and shall be able to go to work, with the police, upon what you are able to say.”

  “I see. I’m glad we shall be working with the police. It sounds so nice and safe.”

  “Physically, that is about the last thing it will be, child. Our man is alert and cunning, and a very cool customer, I fancy.”

  “Well, if he’s the murderer, he must be. He walked right into us in that unexpected way, and didn’t turn a hair.”

  “So I have gathered.”

  “Do you think he’s the murdered?”

  “It is still only surmise on my part, but I think there were two. Now you may sleep if you wish.”

  But Harrison did not sleep. He stared calmly out of the window and wondered when and whether he would get any dinner that evening. Except under strong compulsion, he was a law-abiding creature, and was relieved that the lot had fallen to him of being on the side of the angels for the first time since he had been shown Professor Havers’ ridiculous advertisement in the newspaper.

  “I say,” he said diffidently at last, “I’m not trying to get hold of any secrets, but from what you say I imagine you’ve a pretty good idea of who that manservant really is.”

  “I have, child, and I shall be very much surprised if I am wrong.”

  “But you don’t think he committed both murders?”

  “If one man committed both murders, then I have not the slightest idea what man he could be. But if there were two murderers, then one of them must be the man I have in mind.”

  “Yes, I see. And suppose I pick somebody who isn’t the man you have in mind?”

  “Then my theory falls to the ground and you will be able to rejoin your friends in further nefarious enterprises.”

  “Really? Then…no, I said I wouldn’t try to worm things out of you, and I won’t. I say, you know, I’m clumsy at expressing things, but you do realise how absolutely grateful…I mean, it would have been dashed awkward for us if we’d been jugged as the persons who appeared first on the scene, you know.”

  “In the case of Professor Havers, I think you did appear first on the scene, although you did not see the body then. In the case of Mr. Aumbry, you could not have done.”

  “Well, of course, there was that somewhat mysterious caller who turned up after Peter had gone for the police. I suppose they haven’t found out who he was?”

  “No, they haven’t found that out, but I think I might hazard a guess.”

  “The murderer returning to the scene?”

  “No. I think it was Mr. Frederick Aumbry, who, having lost his uncle’s hundred pounds at Goodwood, had returned to Merlin’s Furlong with the intention of borrowing one of his uncle’s treasures in order to pawn it.”

  “Sorry; I don’t follow.” Mrs. Bradley explained by describing her interview with Frederick, and by adding what she had learned (from the inspector) of Frederick’s very weak alibi.

  “Oh, I see,” said Harrison. “I suppose we gave him rather a shock.”

  “I have no doubt you did; and he could scarcely report your activities to the police without giving some explanation of his own presence on the premises.”

  “Yes, I see. I wonder whether each of the nephews had a key to the house? It seems a bit odd if they had.”

  “I doubt very much whether they had. Frederick is an ingenious man, however.”

  “Oh, you mean he must have sneaked the keys at some time and had them copied. It would be simple enough. I say, I’m awfully hungry! Do you think I could dine you somewhere?”

  “Of course. But before we go any farther there are two things I’d like to ask. The first is to enquire whether you realise that to nearly all your questions I have returned an evasive answer.”

  “No, I didn’t realise that.”

  “Think it over, Mr. Harrison. Have you a good verbal memory?”

  “No, I don’t think I have. I nev
er could learn things by heart, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That is not quite what I mean, but never mind. The second is this: how did you three men come to find the way to Merlin’s Fort instead of to Merlin’s Castle or Merlin’s Furlong?”

  “How did we? I don’t really know. The porter misdirected us, I suppose.”

  “Yes, but you had a map.”

  “The Castle and the Furlong weren’t marked on it by name.”

  “But Merlin’s Fort was, you know.”

  “Yes, but we weren’t thinking of Merlin’s Fort. You know how it is with a map. On the whole, one only looks for the place one wants to get to.”

  “I see that very clearly, of course. Having arrived at Merlin’s Fort, exactly what did you do?”

  “I collared the back seat of the car and our only rug, but the others swiped the rug and went off a few hundred yards and camped out, in the heather. I thought you’d been told all this. We told the police.”

  “And next day you came to Merlin’s Castle.”

  “Yes, after a bit. But it’s been proved that old Havers was dead before we got there. He’d been killed on the previous night while we were at Merlin’s Fort.”

  “You were all in the neighborhood, though, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t know then that such a place as the Castle existed. It was the Furlong we were after.”

  Mrs. Bradley wagged her head.

  “I think you are hungry, are you not? Let us dine, and, while we dine, you must give me all the latest news of my nephew, Bradley of Angelus.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Merlin’s Treasure

  “Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs

  Upon the slimy sea.”

  —S. T. Coleridge, The Ancient Mariner

  An early dinner in Moundbury ministered to Harrison’s needs and caused him to refrain from asking Mrs. Bradley the question which was uppermost in his mind. She guessed what it was, and, as soon as they were on their way again, she put it to him directly.

  “You are wondering why I said Merlin’s Castle, which is empty, when I must have meant Merlin’s Furlong where various persons not unconnected with our matter, are, or have recently been, in residence.” Harrison admitted that such a thought had been in his mind. “It’s the diptych,” she continued. “Nobody else appears to have remembered, but the fact remains that, but for the diptych, the expedition of the Three Wise Men of Gotham would never have been undertaken at all.”

  Harrison agreed.

  “Curious that we didn’t find it,” he said. “It makes me wonder whether old Havers was…well, to put it mildly…havering when he put that advertisement in the papers.”

  “No, I certainly think he had lost the diptych, although it seems possible that he gave it away. This means that the theft of the diptych may or may not have been a fact, but the wording of that extraordinary advertisement which was put in the newspapers about the doll no longer gives rise to any doubts.”

  “Would you care to explain what you mean?”

  “I could explain very easily, but I mustn’t bias you, or your help will not be as valuable as I had hoped.”

  “I see. May I ask what we do when we get to Merlin’s Castle?”

  “Yes. We look for the diptych…not that we shall find it. If we do I shall be very much surprised. And then…”

  “We did have quite a look for it when we were there, you know, before we discovered that it was Havers’ own house, and not Aumbry’s. Do you mean that Mr. Aumbry’s murderer took the diptych before we arrived, and returned it to Merlin’s Castle? But why should he do such a thing?”

  “I don’t think he did. But now,” she added, “here we are.” She picked up the speaking tube. “Find a place by the roadside where you can park, George, and stay at the wheel. Mr. Harrison and I will proceed, by devious and probably illegal means, to force entry into that house at the end of the drive which we are approaching.”

  “Here, I say!” protested Harrison. “No more cat-burgling for me!”

  “Nonsense!” said Mrs. Bradley firmly. “Besides, we will knock at the door first. Then, if the castle is empty…that is to say, if the police have given up their tenancy, and I expect they have by now…well, you know the way into the long gallery and can admit me by the back door or some other such innocuous portal. Don’t be a coward.”

  Feeling like a puppy about to be given an unwanted bath, Harrison shivered with apprehension, but obediently walked with her to the Castle gate.

  “Childe Roland to the dark tower came,” said Mrs. Bradley with ghoulish and misplaced enthusiasm. Harrison groaned dejectedly.

  “It’s a jolly good thing you’re in with the police,” he muttered. Mrs. Bradley cackled, a harsh but happy sound, and quickened her steps. Two great peals of the front doorbell produced no result whatever, and a moment later, while his genius and tormentor kept careful watch, the wretched Harrison repeated a previous and most unlucky feat and swarmed up onto the porch. Mrs. Bradley waited until he was in by means of the broken window and then, with a last look round, she retreated to the obscurity of a shrubbery and worked her way round to the back. Harrison let her in and was left on guard whilst she conducted her own explorations.

  She went first to the principal bedroom. As she entered there was a scrabbling sound followed by indignant and frightened chattering, and a small monkey shot up the dusty window curtains and sat on the curtain pole gibbering down at her.

  “But you’re not in the police files,” said Mrs. Bradley, peering up at it. “How do you come to be here? Are you a friend of the two who have now left the house?”

  Watched anxiously by the nervous and semi-human creature, she made a quick search of the room. There was only one startling feature. When she opened the door of a deep and built-in cupboard she thought at first that she had discovered Bluebeard’s original chamber, for, facing her, was a row of heads hanging from hooks by their hair. These, however, were only the heads of dolls.

  “Pretty ideas some people seem to adopt,” she said conversationally to the monkey; for round the neck of each of the exhibits was a splash of red paint as though the dolls had been living persons once, and had been decapitated. She wondered whether this could have been one of Professor Havers’ morbid fancies, but decided that, whether it had been or not, somebody else must have hung the dolls’ heads in the cupboard or the police would surely have made some mention of them.

  She closed the cupboard door, delved into her skirt pocket, and produced a bit of nut chocolate. Then she chirruped agreeably to the monkey.

  “Here you are. This is for you,” she said, as she placed the chocolate on the window-seat. She went out, closing the door behind her. Next she tried the long gallery from which the patient, obedient, desperately fearful Harrison was still keeping watch.

  “No luck?” he asked.

  “One small monkey and a cupboardful of decapitations only,” she replied with a mirthless grin.

  “What?” demanded Harrison, incredulously.

  “Go and look, if you don’t believe me.”

  He gave her a long stare, decided that she was serious, and went to see for himself. The monkey came down the curtains like a flash, picked up the chocolate, flew at Harrison, and, darting up him, stuck the chocolate between its jaws and grabbed his hair. His cries brought Mrs. Bradley to the rescue.

  “Really, Attila,” she said sternly. The monkey gave a cry of terror and leapt for the curtains again. Harrison rubbed the top of his head, and, eyeing the monkey apprehensively, went to the cupboard.

  “Oh, ah?” he said. “Yes. I see what you mean. Those weren’t here when we came before, I can assure you of that.”

  “So I supposed,” Mrs. Bradley replied. “The question is, who put them there, and why.”

  “You don’t think they have any bearing on the murder?”

  “Answer your own question.”

  “Oh, I see. Yes, well, there’s no doubt a doll began it a
ll, so far as we were concerned.”

  “A fact we should keep in mind. And now, I think, you should perhaps return to your post.”

  As soon as he was on the watch again Mrs. Bradley went to the table in the long gallery and took out various envelopes. They did not help her. Beyond establishing what she knew already, that Merlin’s Castle had undoubtedly been the country residence of Professor Havers, there was nothing more to be gained from them. They certainly gave no clue to the identity of his murderer. The professor appeared to have been a methodical man, for every bill had enclosed with it its receipt for payment.

  Mrs. Bradley put everything back exactly as she had found it, and then sat down in the swivel chair opposite the desk and gave her mind to the solution of the problem. The gallant Harrison, having received no further orders, remained where he was, on watch.

  “Really,” said Mrs. Bradley, contacting him twenty minutes later, “one begins to wonder whether there is any such diptych at all.” She did not mention that she had not even troubled to look for it.

  “I know,” agreed Harrison gloomily. “And I’m getting tired of the view.”

  “Poor child! But bear with me for a little. There must be some answer to the riddle. Let me see, now. The body was found in the coach-house. Let us repair thither, and work back again from there.”

  Harrison, who found a strange comfort in her presence, readily agreed, and together they descended the ornate and noble staircase, and Mrs. Bradley led the way to the rear of the house. The coach-house did not belie its name. It was a stone-floored outbuilding lighted only by a skylight. Its atmosphere was dank and chilly, and there seemed to be no doubt that it had never suffered the indignity of having been turned into a garage. It was agreeably furnished with three great armchairs, a settee, and several smaller chairs. There was no table, but in the center stood a large square block of marble, a compromise, Mrs. Bradley suspected, between a butcher’s slab and an altar. But the main objects of interest were the effigies of a cat and a parrot which stood on a high shelf above the double doors.