Death Treads Softly (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series)

by George Bellairs

  "Nobody's going to harm you, Mrs. Cottier. But I'd like to know how you came to take Mr. Norton to the house in Queen Street and what he wanted."

  Mrs. Cottier sniffed and then blew her nose in her handkerchief.

  "You know he took us to see Nancy at Michael. . . . On the way back he said he'd like to see Finlo's papers, as he wanted to be sure that Nancy's birth certificate was safe."

  "I tried to kick you in the car just to warn you not to do it. But you didn't take any notice."

  Mrs. Christian made a kicking motion to emphasize her point. "Oh, that's what you were doin' it for, is it? You've made my shin black an' blue. You needn't have . . . "

  "What do you think I was doin' it for? Neither you nor Nimrod Norton has any business interferin' in Finlo's affairs. It's not legal. Is it, Mr. Littlejohn?"

  Littlejohn thus given a chance of a word, tried to put an end to their wrangling.

  "Perhaps you'll tell me what Mr. Norton wanted, Mrs. Cottier?"

  "Yes. I told him he'd not to take anythin' away with him. And he said it was the birth certificate he was after, but it wasn't. It was somethin' else. The way he rummaged in the box made me think that. He was more interested in the photographs. . . ."

  "Do you think it might have been earlier pictures of his wife he was after?"

  "No. He just looked at them and threw them down. But it was the way he sort of eagerly turned them over and then looked a bit disappointed that struck me."

  "He didn't say what he was after?"

  "No; except the birth certificate, like I said."

  "I wonder. . . ?"

  Littlejohn took out the photograph of the Manninagh again. Crennell, another officer, and then Morrison, all standing in front of the yacht. And a man leaning over the rail, smiling, legs crossed. A young man, by the looks of him. . . .

  With his pocket lens, the Chief Inspector examined the fourth figure. The mongolian features of one who might easily have been Nimrod Norton in 1929! Slim then and looking taller as a result. Now the Big Shot was fat, full, prosperous and heavy. But the picture showed the eyes and the same shallow skull.

  Well, well. . . .

  "I won't trouble you any further, Mrs. Cottier. My advice to you is to get to bed and rest. You've another busy day to-morrow."

  "As if I could sleep! With all that 'orror in my mind. It's not safe to go to bed."

  The way Mrs. Christian looked this time at her grandfather's Mixture in the bottle, she was going to make sure her sister slept, nightmare or no nightmare, murder or no murder!

  Littlejohn strolled along the seafront to Derbyhaven. The mist was thick in parts and in others thinned out as the breeze caught it. King William's College loomed in the darkness, lights in the study windows. The beacons of the airport glowed dull red. Here and there the road was clear and he could see a star or two. The tide was ebbing when he reached Derbyhaven. Clusters of lights, the navigation lamps on the breakwater, the rhythmic flashes of Langness lighthouse. . . .

  The Dandy Rig was busy. A group of men holding a reunion of some kind; they seemed to be singing a school song as Littlejohn entered. Norton and his wife were in a small private room. There was a table set with cold supper. One place was laid and untouched; somebody had made a good meal at another. Mr. Norton in spite of his remarks earlier had turned-down his food.

  "I'm too upset. I can't eat. You seem to have done pretty well, though."

  He was annoyed that his wife should need food and eat it when he was in trouble himself.

  "You said I could . . ."

  "I didn't mean you to eat a banquet while I was out. You might have waited. I shan't have any supper now. And we're packing up and going home, too. I'm fed up with this lot. If you want to stop over for Charlie Cribbin's funeral, you can go yourself. I'm off to-morrow."

  And that was why Littlejohn found an electric atmosphere when he joined the Nortons.

  Mr. Norton greeted him discourteously.

  "I suppose you've had a meal. Well, I haven't. If you want to talk, you'll have to do it while I eat mine."

  Mrs. Norton's jaw fell as her husband sat down to his cold chicken and, seizing a wing in his fingers, started to gnaw it as if he were starving.

  "Ring the bell and ask them to bring me a whisky, Mary. That is, if they've time to attend to us. The row that lot are making in the other room's disgustin'. "

  He tore a roll of bread apart, buttered it, and thrust it in his mouth as if he hadn't seen food for a week.

  "Well? You can sit down, can't you? I can't enjoy my food with you standing there like somethin' the cat's brought in. . . ."

  Mr. Norton was going to defend himself by a rude attack.

  "That's enough, Norton."

  Nimrod Norton was just opening his mouth for another bite and it remained open for a brief moment. Food even fell from it. He wasn't used to being talked to like that.

  "What the . . . ?"

  "Listen, Mr. Norton. I don't mind talking to you as you eat and I don't mind standing as I do it, if you don't care to ask me to sit, but I won't tolerate offensiveness. Now I'll just ask you what I have in mind and then I'll leave you in peace."

  Peace! The men next door were warming up and now were shouting their heads off singing community songs.

  My old man said follow the van,

  And don't dilly-dally on the way. . . .

  Mr. Norton's mongolian eyes seemed to be looking round for somebody fresh to murder.

  "Here's your whisky, dear. Drink that and you'll feel better."

  His wife seemed devoted to him in spite of it all.

  "I shan't feel better. I'm properly upset. Well, what do you want? Let's get it over, Littlejohn."

  Littlejohn took out the photograph of the Manninagh group and put it on the table beside Norton's plate.

  "Was that what you were looking for at Crennell's place just now?"

  At first Norton couldn't believe his eyes. His mouth was closed and full of food this time and his cheeks grew inflated as he struggled to keep his temper. He swallowed and then washed it down with a great gulp of whisky.

  "What's this?"

  It was obvious he knew what it was and was greatly disturbed by it.

  "Why should I want this? I was after the birth certificate."

  Mrs. Norton rose, went to her husband's side, looked at the photograph, and uttered a little terrified cry. Then she staggered and had to hold the table for support. Norton gave her a drink of his whisky.

  Here, here, Mary. Don't take on so. It's only a picture. It's no concern of ours."

  "You're included in the group, I see, Mr. Norton."

  Norton thrust away his plate, leaned his elbow on the table, and glared at Littlejohn.

  "What if I am? What's it got to do with you?"

  "I'm anxious to know why you wanted the picture so badly that you were ready to steal it."

  Norton was too angry now to hesitate or be prudent. He replied at once.

  "I'll tell you, Mr. Nosey-Parker. I wanted to get it before you did. I didn't want a lot of questioning and humbug about my past life and how it was mixed-up with Crennell's. I came here for a rest, and what do I get?"

  As if in answer to his question, a great burst of singing surged from the next room.

  Will ye no come back again. . . .

  "It seems, Mr. Norton, that I got there first. Suppose you tell me now what you were doing in the Manninagh group at Cannes in 1929."

  Mr. Nimrod Norton closed his mouth tight and continued to glare.

  "Mind your own business." He spat it out at length.

  Mrs. Norton was obviously terrified. Littlejohn felt sorry for her. It was a fair bet that Mary Norton was becoming the centre of gravity of the case. . . . Mary Norton who had been so pretty and flighty in days gone by and was now middle-aged, faded, and at the end of her tether. The girl who had led Finlo Crennell astray after a champagne orgy and whose love affair of more than twenty years ago had now raised its head in tragedy and unha
ppiness.

  "Tell him, Nim. It'll all come out and he might as well get to know from us as from others. It'll come better from us."

  "No."

  "For my sake, Nim."

  "No."

  Norton drank the rest of his whisky, rang the bell, and ordered another, without consulting Littlejohn about a drink for himself.

  "I'll have to tell you, Mr. Norton, if you won't tell me."

  Norton's neck grew inflated again, his slant eyes smouldered, and he turned and stood over Littlejohn as if ready to pick him up and throw him through the window,

  "What do you know about it?"

  "First, you aren't here for your health at all. Your wife persuaded you to come over and look into the affairs of Charlie Cribbin who'd either written to her himself or got his wife to write for money. They were broke and asked you or Mrs. Norton to lend them some to carry on."

  "I'm not saying you're right or wrong, but who's been talking behind my back? Was it you?"

  He faced his wife.

  "No. I didn't. . . . I've never spoken to Mr. Littlejohn without you being there, Nim. Honestly. . . ."

  Norton seemed ready to have a fit. Looking round for something on which to vent his rage, he picked up the chicken leg he'd just cleaned, dashed it on the table, and broke a plate.

  "We're leaving the Island to-morrow. I've had enough."

  "I'd advise you not to do that just yet, sir. I've no power to prevent you, but if you try to move away, I shall be tempted to hold you on suspicion . . ."

  "Suspicion of what? I didn't kill Crennell and you know it."

  "I don't know it at all. You were on the Island when he disappeared the first time. You were still here when he met his death, and you were very near the scene of the crime on both occasions. You'd better stay on till weekend at least, or it will be worse for you."

  "I shall book a 'plane back to the mainland as soon as I can. You're not going to stop me."

  "I warn you, then. . . . I believe there was something in the nature of blackmail in Gribbin's demand for money. You came over here hot-foot after he wrote . . ."

  Mrs. Norton was quick to answer.

  "There were no threats, as God's my judge. After all, Nancy's my daughter and I'm very fond of her."

  "You didn't seem so in the past when you ran away with Mr. Tramper and left her over here."

  "That was long ago. My sister was alive then and was a better mother to her than I ever was. But with Nancy married, children, and nobody to turn to . . ."

  "Except Crennell, who, judging from appearances, was ready to give her all he'd got to help her."

  "I didn't know that . . ."

  Norton started to wave his arms.

  "I won't have my wife bullied."

  "Nobody is bullying her. We seem to have got a long way from your connection with the Manninagh, Mr. Norton. If you'll explain that, I'll leave you for the present. I want to get away as well, you know."

  "If you won't tell him, Nim, I'll have to do it."

  "Do as you like, but I'm not having him bullying either of us."

  Mrs. Norton was pale and tense and wrung her hands as she spoke.

  "The Manninagh was built at Castletown, in the basin there. There used to be quite a lot of shipbuilding. . . . Mr. Norton was a marine architect and engineer then. He gave it up later when he inherited his father's jewellery business. Mr. Morrison sent over for him and he was here supervising it all. He got to know me. He wanted me to marry him, then . . ."

  Norton made a puffing noise and wiped the sweat from his forehead and round his neckband. He was actually embarrassed. The very thought of having to court a girl like anybody else seemed to bother him.

  "They went on the first voyage together. That's how he came to be on the picture."

  A silence. Littlejohn took out his pipe and lit it.

  "Well?"

  Mr. Norton was angry again.

  "Well what? That's enough, isn't it?"

  "I know the full story must be painful and embarrassing to you both, but I've got to have it. You left the Island and Mrs. Norton . . . then Miss Gawne . . . when you heard she was going to have Crennell's child?"

  "Of course not. What do you take me for? If I'd known she was going to have a married man's kid, I'd have tried to be as generous about it as Finlo Crennell's wife was. have still asked her to marry me and brought up the kid like our own. Only she told me there was somebody else. I packed up the same day and went back to England. I married a year later and soon after I heard that Mary had had her child, and then she'd gone off with Tramper and married him. A right mess, if you ask me. And now are you satisfied, because I've said all I'm saying. . . ?"

  Littlejohn began to think better of Nimrod Norton. Under the bluster and bullying, he was quite a decent chap. His wife was even looking proudly at him.

  "I only married Tom Tramper because he was good to me. After the child was born it was uncomfortable for me here. I was trying to get a job across . . . Tramper was always good to me."

  Norton's first wife had died, and Tramper had died, too. Then Norton had returned to his old love. And perhaps he'd got mixed up in the tangled web of Mary Gawne's past love affairs as well. Just as he and the woman Norton had seemed to love all his life had got together and comfortably settled again, along came Charlie Cribbin extorting money. And Norton had returned to the Island and two men had been murdered.

  "Well . . . what are you brooding about? Don't you believe us?"

  "Of course I believe you, Mr. Norton. But may I ask a question or two to clear the air? Mrs. Norton. . . . When you and Mr. Tramper got married, you set-up in business in Liverpool. . . . "

  "Yes. She was running a little grocer's shop in Bootle when I found her. And it wouldn't have lasted long, either. It was on its last legs. Tramper was a no-good. It's no use you saying he wasn't, Mary. He was a lazy devil and left you all the work."

  "He was always good to me."

  "Well, I'm good to you, aren't I ?"

  "Of course you are. I don't . . ."

  "Where did the money for the business come from, Mrs. Norton? Had you or Tramper any capital?"

  "No. We borrowed it. Two thousand pounds. It was never paid back."

  "From whom?"

  Silence. Littlejohn waited. Then it came.

  "Finlo lent it to me. He said he owed it to me for what . . . what had happened. I told him I was going away and couldn't stand it here any longer. He and my sister said they'd look after Nancy."

  "Where did Crennell get the money from? He was only a sailor."

  "Perhaps he'd saved it, or made a good investment . . . I don't know."

  "Two thousand pounds! And Crennell a young sailor. It's incredible!"

  "She says she can't tell you, doesn't she? What's the use of pressing the point, Littlejohn?"

  "I was hoping she'd make a good guess, that was all."

  Mary Norton looked as if she could make a good guess, too. She was afraid again.

  "Let's change the subject, then. Did you see Cribbin before he was murdered?"

  "No, I didn't. My wife went along a time or two. But I wanted to wait a bit and see Crennell first. As it was, Crennell vanished. That delayed things. I think my wife lent Nancy a bit, but nowhere near what Cribbin wanted. He'd debts of getting on for a thousand pounds. A sum like that needs looking into, you know. I took my time. Then he got killed. . . ."

  "Who killed him?"

  "That's your business, not mine. I didn't. You'd better get that bee out of your bonnet. I didn't kill him. Why should I ?"

  "Do you possess a revolver of any kind?"

  "I've one at the office. I keep valuables there and I got a permit. Why? It's in the safe over there now. I don't carry it about."

  "Where were you last Saturday night, about nine o'clock?"

  "I don't know. Where were we, Mary? And I don't like the way this questioning is going. I keep telling you, I'd nothing to do with the murders."

  Mrs. Norton hadn't answ
ered her husband's question. She was looking terrified again.

  "Where were you at nine on Saturday?"

  "I went to the pictures in Castletown with the landlady here. They weren't busy and it was a good picture."

  "And Mr. Norton?"

  "I stayed in. I'd some letters to write. I was in here all night."

  "You took your wife and her friend to Castletown first to the cinema?"

  "Do you think I let 'em walk on a night like that?"

  "What time did you leave?"

  "About seven, and then I came back here."

  "And went to pick them up after the show?"

  "Yes."

  "What time?"

  "Look here . . ."

  "What time?"

  "About ten."

  "What time did you leave here?"

  "Between nine and half-past."

  "Did anybody see you?"

  "I don't know."

  "You went straight to the cinema?"

  "Yes. I'd no wish to be messing around in that fog."

  Norton had cooled down. It seemed he'd realized his position. No alibi and good reasons for hating Crennell and, if Cribbin were blackmailing him, getting him out of the way, as well.

  "Sunday morning. . . . Were you together?"

  "No. My wife stayed in bed in the morning and I went for a run in the car. I didn't go to Druidale, if that's what you're after."

  Littlejohn rose and took up his hat.

  "Well, I'll leave you now, sir. And thank you for answering my questions. It's been very helpful, but you mustn't leave the Island until I say so. If you do, I shall have to take steps to detain you . . . or bring you back."

  Mrs. Norton stood by her husband as he opened the door, eager to get Littlejohn off.

  "We won't go, Mr. Littlejohn. We aren't afraid."

  But Norton made no reply. There was probably quite a bit he was afraid of.

  The merry party was breaking up, too.

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot. . . .

  "Good night."

  A surly reply and no handshakes from Norton.

  Littlejohn walked back. The mist had gone with a change in the wind. Lamps sparkled along the promenade and in the town. The College was almost in darkness. On the vast mass of the inland hills farmhouses here and there with tiny lights like stars. Somewhere a ship blew her siren.