Taylor was blushing. ‘Not all that late.’
‘Back by midnight, then?’
‘Before that. Mistress won’t have me coming in after.’
She filled the tea-pot, trying to appear uninterested in the questions.
‘Mistress have any visitors that evening?’
‘Don’t know, rightly. She went out to dinner, but didn’t bring no one home.’ She simpered, concealing something.
‘Dinner? Who with?’ asked Cribb.
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
Self-protection, rather than loyalty, was making her reluctant to talk.
Cribb tried again.
‘Could have been one of several, you mean.’
‘Well, it weren’t her husband,’ Taylor said with emphasis. Cribb pressed her.
‘When you came back-before midnight-she was home, then?’
‘She was.’ The hint of a smile was still there.
‘And alone?’
‘And alone,’ repeated Taylor.
‘Hasn’t always been like that, eh?’ asked Cribb, recalling a confidence Taylor had hinted at before.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Lonely for a ped’s wife, when he’s in training.’
She caught the ironical note in his voice, and echoed it.
‘Oh, terrible lonesome. Poor lady’s beside herself with loneliness.’
‘Or beside others, eh?’ suggested Cribb.
‘Now, now, Mister!’
‘But nobody on Monday night?’
‘I never said that,’ Taylor corrected him. ‘I said she brought no one home.’
‘Someone was already here?’
Taylor threw back her head laughing.
‘You a detective? No, Mister, nobody was here, and I saw nobody all night. That didn’t stop me hearing a cab draw up in the early morning, and leave two hours later. But don’t you let on to Mistress I said that. I’ll say it’s not true, not a word of it. I could have been dreaming, couldn’t I?’
‘The early morning? What time?’
‘Oh, after one, I’d say. Maybe nearer two.’
‘Who opened the door?’
She giggled. ‘I didn’t, I’m sure of that. She must have- no, I remember. Whoever it was let himself in. I heard a key turn in the latch.’
‘Heard no voices?’
‘I wouldn’t have, unless they was shouting, and they didn’t do that. D’you take sugar?’
It was clear that Taylor had said all that she would about the early morning visitor. Cribb returned to small-talk and tea.
A few minutes after this one of the set of signal-bells above the door jerked into life.
‘Front door,’ announced Taylor, on her feet at once. ‘Mistress, I’m sure.’ She hurried away to answer the sum-mons. In a minute she returned.
‘Mistress will see you in the drawing-room in five min-utes.’ She lowered her voice, confidentially. ‘I’m in a nice pickle for bringing you gents in here.’
Cribb gave his unfailing wink.
‘We’ll tell her we took you by storm.’
Soon enough formality was restored to the household and Taylor ushered the detectives starchily into Cora’s pres-ence. She sat in a shell-backed easy chair. A pair of upright rosewood chairs had been set out for the visitors.
‘I am sorry that I was out,’ Cora began, ‘but if you had made an arrangement I should have made a point of being here.’
Cribb accepted the mild reproof.
‘Mrs Darrell, I don’t know whether you heard this morn-ing’s news.’
‘Of what, Sergeant?’
‘Oh-er-Monk’s death, Ma’am.’
She whitened at once. The ticking of the clock, under a glass dome, suddenly seemed to increase in power, a pulse-beat magnified many times.
‘Sam Monk-dead?’
‘Died of gas-poisoning, Ma’am.’
Her thoughts struggled for a logical sequence.
‘You mean… dead? Suicide? He took his own life? Blamed himself-’
‘Not exactly, Mrs Darrell. We think he was probably murdered.’
Cribb watched her reaction most closely. Her eyelids were lowered as she absorbed this second shock. Her hands tightened their grip on the handkerchief she held until the fingers became drained of blood. When she eventually found words, she was coherent.
‘Who would kill him? Why should anyone want to mur-der Sam?’ An implication of Monk’s murder dawned on her. ‘You think someone blamed him for Charlie’s death, and killed him for it. You can’t believe that I… He was an old friend, Sergeant. I said some terrible things about him. Perhaps he was negligent. I might have sued him-but mur-der! That isn’t a woman’s way.’
‘That’s open to discussion,’ Cribb said. ‘And I’m not sug-gesting anything to involve you in this. But let’s get the facts right. Evidence seems to exonerate Monk.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The tonic, Ma’am. He mixed it perfectly. Just as the recipe said. Someone else must have tipped in the strychnine.’
‘I don’t understand how-’ Cora was dazed.
‘Don’t you try, Ma’am. That’s our job in Detective Department. Ready to answer some questions, are you? We need to know more about your husband. Got to find why someone should want to poison him.’
‘I shall try to help.’
‘Good. Anyone owe your husband money-unpaid bets, or anything of that sort?’
‘I feel sure I should know if there was anyone. Charles has never mentioned such a thing.’
‘No grudges-old scores? Top-class runner. He must have pricked a few reputations on the way up.’
‘I think he was well liked, Sergeant. He had no enemies that I heard of, and many friends.’
‘How did he get along with Chadwick? Did they race together before this?’
‘I don’t think he knew the man. I believe Mr Chadwick doesn’t usually participate in open contests. I’ve never spo-ken to him, and I doubt whether Charles did.’
‘So there couldn’t have been any pre-race agreements about pace and so on. It’s not unusual in foot-racing, I believe.’
‘I think not, although I can’t be certain. The trainers may have arranged something, of course.’
‘And your husband would run to Monk’s orders?’
‘Well no. Sam generally left Charles to manage his own running, but I suppose he might have told him to run to a certain pace this time. He was more of an assistant and masseur than an adviser. He was a friend too. I think Charles liked to have his support.’
‘You and your husband made many friends through his running?’
‘Yes.’
‘Some would visit this house socially?’
‘Some of them, yes.’ A note of caution entered her voice. ‘Some came when your husband was away training at Hackney, didn’t they?’
Her head automatically jerked towards the door that Taylor had closed.
‘Friends of both of you, of course,’ Cribb added. He was working hard to keep her confidence buoyant.
‘Yes. A few times.’
‘Foot-racing people-runners, trainers and so on?’
‘Yes.’
Time for a difficult question. He got up and added a piece of coal to the sinking fire. When he turned to face her, his voice was soft, but his eyes lynx-like.
‘I’m interested in last Monday evening. You’ll tell me who came then, won’t you, Ma’am?’
The response was instantaneous.
‘I was out on Monday evening.’
‘Oh yes. Visiting the Hall?’
‘No. I dined out-with friends.’
‘You won’t mind me asking,’ said Cribb, in a way that he had of assuming co-operation. ‘I have to cover this time carefully. Who were these friends?’
This time she did hesitate before answering.
‘The Darbys.’
‘People you’ve just left. See them often, do you?’
‘They are old frien
ds.’
‘Highbury, you said, Mrs Darrell?’
‘Holly House, in Gittins Lane.’
Cribb glanced towards Thackeray. The information was already being noted. The constable’s writing was accurate, but laborious, and it was understood between them that he would record only essential information.
‘What time did you get back from Highbury, Ma’am?’
‘About twelve, I think. No, it must have been earlier. I was home before Taylor, and she gets in by midnight.’
‘And then, Ma’am?’
Her mouth tightened.
‘What do you mean?’
‘After you got home, Mrs Darrell. You might not see the importance of this, but we have to cover everyone’s move-ments. Did you go to bed?’
‘Not at once. I sat in this room.’
There was a difficult pause, while Cribb waited for her to continue. She said no more. At length he broke the silence. ‘I didn’t want to put my next question, Ma’am. It’s now necessary. But I’ll save you some embarrassment by answer-ing it myself. You had a visitor after you got back.’
She did not respond, but looked through Cribb, visually obliterating him.
‘I shouldn’t press you if this wasn’t deuced important,’ he explained. ‘We’re professional men, Mrs Darrell. We are trained to be discreet. I’ve information that you had a caller after midnight-early Tuesday morning, in fact. Who was that, please?’
Quite suddenly Cora’s poise collapsed.
‘This isn’t fair!’
She bowed, weeping into the handkerchief, her shoulders convulsing with each sob. Her voice rose and fell hysterically.
‘How can you keep tormenting me like this? You come here telling me that Charles is dead, and probably mur-dered, and then you suggest that I entertained a man here on the night before he died. Who are you to make these accusations? I want my father here when you question me. It isn’t fair! Why should I tolerate this?’
Cribb waited until the sobbing became more controlled. He spoke in a low voice, quite slowly.
‘You deny that a man came here that night?’
She jerked her face free of her hands. Her eyes, reddened by the outburst, flashed fury.
‘I have nothing to answer to this impertinent question. I think that you had better leave this house.’ She reached for the bell-rope.
‘We shall then, Ma’am,’ said Cribb, quite calmly. ‘But do consider this. Your husband died on Tuesday. His trainer was murdered yesterday. You could be in danger too. If you’re keeping information from us it may prevent us stop-ping this. I’ll ask you no more questions, Ma’am. I apologise for upsetting you. If you should think again-or if you need help-you can contact the police office at the Hall. They’ll find me at once. Good evening to you.’
Outside, the fog had thickened. By midnight it would be as dense as Sunday’s. After trying for a hansom for twenty minutes, they decided to take a bus. Cribb was determined to return to the Hall before signing off for the night.
‘I counted nine of the poor perishers still on their feet,’ explained the sergeant. ‘I want to check that if any have dropped out it’s not with a knife between the shoulders.’
An empty twenty-six seater halted at the stop. The horses then pulled away at startling speed through the gathering mist.
‘She was lying, wasn’t she, Sarge?’ said Thackeray, when they had staggered to a front seat.
‘You think so? That’s something you’ll be checking for me tomorrow. Get to Highbury real early. I want you to see these Darby people before she does. Put the question carefully. Ask when they last saw her before today. They’re probably close friends, so don’t let ’em think it’s to her disadvantage.’
‘Right. I really meant, Sarge, that she was lying about not having a night visitor.’
Cribb clicked his tongue impatiently.
‘Won’t do, Constable. A bobby needs a better ear than that. You were listening?’
‘Why, yes.’
‘Should have noticed she didn’t deny it. Simply refused to answer the point.’
Thackeray nodded sheepishly.
‘No matter,’ said Cribb brightly, seeing that his criticism had been taken hard. ‘You think she had a visitor. That’s the main thing.’
Thackeray reacted at once.
‘Yes, and I fancy I know who it was.’
‘How’s that then?’
Cribb liked to affect ignorance with Thackeray. It brought out the constable’s best qualities, and often encour-aged a point worth taking up.
‘By deduction, Sarge.’
The back of Thackeray’s left hand, large and shaggy, appeared a foot in front of Cribb’s nose. Deduction meant points to Thackeray, and points required fingers.
‘Number one: the visitor comes at night between one and two and leaves two hours later. That looks heavy odds on someone from the race. Someone who had to leave when the runners took to bed and be back before they was off again.’
‘Good.’
‘Two: that don’t sound like a runner to me. Poor coves were too beat even on that first day to spend their rest hours visiting women. So it wouldn’t have been Darrell himself. Three: it must have been a trainer or a timekeeper. Everyone else could have taken other times off. Four: the timekeepers are too old for that kind of caper.’
‘You’re doing famously,’ admitted Cribb. ‘But you’ve only one finger left.’
‘Five: the one trainer connected with Cora was Monk. He showed her the tent that afternoon, and likely fixed the meeting then.’ He withdrew the fist triumphantly.
‘First-class,’ declared Cribb. ‘But tell me this. If Cora was sweet on Sam Monk why did she plan to sue? Long time since I saw a woman so roused against a man.’
Thackeray beamed in a superior fashion. Then he tapped his forehead.
‘The mind, Sarge. I fancy I knows a bit about the work-ings of a woman’s thoughts. Cora gets bored while Darrell trains, and looks about a bit. Probably takes a lover or two to while away the six weeks. Agrees to let Monk have his way on Monday night. Next day, Darrell drops dead. What’s a woman going to feel like? Feelings of guilt, I reckon, Sarge. That’s why she turned on Monk.’
‘Plausible,’ agreed Cribb, who had listened tolerantly.
The driver reined his horses. They were back in Liverpool Road, although it was barely recognisable in the conditions. In the street Cribb took up the conversation again.
‘I like your theory. Stands up well. Came to the same con-clusion myself. Different route though. Remember when we grilled Monk? He admitted he was with a lady that night. Must have been her.’
Thackeray snapped his fingers at this realisation, and the two detectives, confirmed in their conclusion, set their pow-ers of detection to finding the Hall entrance.
The contrast was extreme between the muffled trundling of carriage-wheels, ghost-like, in the foggy streets and the brassy din of the Hall band. The scene inside was highly animated. Most of the action, however, came from the bandleader and the crowd. The walkers- none of them could be described as anything else and sev-eral hardly merited that-moved mechanically around the circuit. The slightest alteration in the pace was at once taken up by sections of the crowd, who, amazingly, seemed entirely pleased with the entertainment. A trainer offering a sponge, or a competitor leaving the track for a few minutes produced gales of jeering and ribald com-ment. And the protagonists themselves moved on unper-turbed, incongruously drab beneath the flags and flickering chandeliers. Chadwick changed his clothes reg-ularly; the others too obviously ate and slept in their ‘rac-ing togs’, and had not used a razor or comb since they started.
There was noisy support for O’Flaherty, who had contin-ued with his extraordinary effort to overhaul Chadwick. The score-board, on which each man’s mileage was hung in numbered plates, now showed only four miles’ difference between them. Each time O’Flaherty overtook, the man concerned would move to his right, allowing the Dublin Stag to pass inside. Chadwick, of co
urse, did not benefit from this assistance. In a day’s walking the ground gained in this way did not amount to much for O’Flaherty, but the annoyance that registered on Chadwick’s face from time to time was a great psychological fillip.
For a few minutes Cribb followed the race from the offi-cials’ entrance, with Thackeray yawning at his shoulder. Jacobson passed, and catching Cribb’s eye felt bound to speak.
‘It’s building up to a promising finish.’
‘Looks like it-if they make it.’
Jacobson chuckled.
‘Oh, they will now. Most of this bunch are old hands. They’re saving something for Saturday. They should sleep better tonight, because we’ve given them a hut each.’
‘Hm. Hope none of ’em leave the gas on.’
With a weak grin, Jacobson passed on through the crowd. Cribb addressed Thackeray, without looking away from the tired procession.
‘This goes on two more days, that’s all. Two days to find our killer. When this breaks up our chances are small.’
‘Nil, I’d say, Sarge.’
‘Got to narrow it down according to evidence. You know who we want, don’t you? Trouble is, fixing it in black and white for a judge and twelve. Tomorrow, Thackeray, I want you to check the Highbury business early. Then get every Force in London alerted. Every footloose copper. You know the routine. I want the poison books checked at each supplier in London. Get the instructions straight. Strychnine sold in any quantity this last six months. Must have a record of the name, date and amount. I need it by Saturday.’
The Pedestrian Contest at Islington
POSITIONS AT THE END OF THE FOURTH DAY
FRIDAY
CHAPTER 13
Francis Mostyn-smith had decided who the next victim would be. During his solitary circuits in the small hours of Friday he found time to contemplate the crimes. One could not hope to make deductions when the entertainment was at its height, with an ill-disciplined crowd and those lamenta-ble instrumentalists bombarding one’s ears. But at night, in an arena deserted by all but one official, concentration was possible.
He had not conclusively identified the murderer. That was more difficult than nominating a victim. He wondered about approaching the police officers with his information. In the morning they would be back in the Hall continuing their investigations. But something made him reluctant to do this. The sergeant in charge of the detective inquiry, the tall, sharp-eyed fellow, did not have the look of a sympa-thetic listener. His overweight assistant, who had been exhausted after that one lap of the track, might be more approachable, but probably lacked the intelligence to follow the argument. In all the circumstances it was best, Mostyn-Smith decided, to thwart the assassin himself. He would warn the victim.
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