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

by George Bellairs

  "Shall I ring up Sammy Joughin, if he's on the 'phone at his farm?"

  Knell was already thumbing through the telephone directory.

  It took a long time. First Sammy was disturbed at his lunch. Then, he had to be sure Knell was the man he said he was. Then, he had to digest the inquiry. What was it all about? Did it mean Sammy going to Court or the police station? Why was he being involved? He'd only given a fellah a lift on the way. If this was what came of givin' lifts, it was the last time.

  Eventually, they arrived at it. He'd dropped Charlie Cribbin, not at his father's door, but in the centre of the village. Did Charlie go in the 'phone box? A long pause as Sammy turned over the pages of memory.

  "Yes, he did. How do I know? I'll tell ye how I know. . . . Charlie Cribbin died owin' me threepence in copper. Said he was wantin' to telephone his missus about stopping the night with his dad. Hadn't enough change, so borrered three pennies from me and said he'd see me right next time he was in the village. How do I get my threepence now? Do I have to write in about it?"

  "I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Joughin. You'd better ask Charlie's dad when things have quieted down a bit. You what?"

  "I can't stop any longer. An' I can't hear ye proper. My mother's in a rale tantaran about me dinner goin' cold."

  "So Cribbin 'phoned his victim from a box in Michael?"

  "Yes, sir. He'd dial 'O', get Douglas, and then ask for his number."

  "Let's have a word with the Douglas exchange, then."

  More dialling and more waiting. The man on duty on the night of Crennell's death was in the office. They went to find him.

  "Police here from Castletown. Inspector Knell."

  "Hullo, Reggie."

  Knell coughed and looked at Littlejohn out of the corner of his eye to make sure the familiarity hadn't been noticed.

  "Did you get a call for Castletown from Kirk Michael about eleven o'clock on the night of November 6th?"

  "Ask me another!"

  "Look here, this is urgent police business . . . the murder of Finlo Crennell, so be serious."

  "Why didn't you say so, Reggie? I'll look it up. Wait, will you?"

  A long pause.

  "That you, Reggie? Yes. . . . There's a slip here for it."

  "Remember anything about it?"

  "I've got the number of the Castletown call. Castletown 15162. . . . I'll find the name if you like. . . ."

  "Yes, do. But wait . . . was there any inquiry about the call after it was made?"

  "I recollect somethin'. . . . Yes, there was. We'd a bit of an argument. You see, it's not our business to trace calls. When the Michael call was over, the Castletown subscriber asked where it came from. I said it wasn't allowed to answer such questions unofficial, like. The chap pressed it a bit, so to quiet him, I said it would do him no good. It came from a call-box at Michael. . . . "

  "You didn't happen to listen-in, did you?"

  A loud commotion in the receiver gave Littlejohn to understand that the question was strongly resented.

  "Now look here . . . no need to take-on like that. If you had happened to listen-in absent-mindedly, leck, it would be a great help to us. . . ."

  "Well, I didn't, and that's flat! All I heard was the last few words because the kettle was whistling for my tea and I wanted to find out if they were going to be at it for long. I just heard the Michael end say something like . . . 'Remember, put it in the place I said before, to-morrow at the same time. Then clear off. You won't see me, so don't try . . . ' Words to that effect, at any rate."

  "Thank you very much."

  "Don't mention it and don't suggest we listen-in any more. We're not a lot of snoopers like the police. By the way, I've looked the Castletown number up . . . . "

  Knell dropped the receiver when he heard the name, fumbled with it, apologized to the other end again, only to find the line was dead. Then he turned to Littlejohn.

  "It was a call to Mr. Morrison, at Framley Lodge, sir."

  And he marvelled that Littlejohn showed neither surprise nor excitement.

  17

  THE AFFAIR IN THE MANNINAGH

  LITTLEJOHN and Knell had dined in Castletown and when they arrived at the Dandy Rig the rattle of dishes and the absence of cars in the little car-park told that the meal there was over, too.

  "Are Mr. and Mrs. Norton in?"

  The manager gave a bored sigh when Littlejohn asked the same old question.

  "Yes. They're in their little sitting-room. They've not been out all day. If people want to stay indoors all the time, they shouldn't go away for holidays."

  When the police were led in, Norton seemed to be answering correspondence and Mrs. Norton was playing patience.

  "You again! What is it this time?"

  Norton wasn't pleased with the intrusion, but his wife seemed alarmed, as though by intuition, she knew that something dramatic was in the offing.

  There was a fog of cigar smoke in the room and Norton held a half-smoked, expired cigar between his teeth. He took it in his fingers and started to re-light it with a match.

  "What is it this time?"

  Norton said it again and seemed anxious to get it over and resume his writing. There were sheets of flimsy paper in front of him on the table, sheets covered in orderly rows of typewritten figures. Profits, losses, Big Business. . . . A scheme known in the vernacular of business as 'share-washing' and which would enable Nimrod Norton to draw a lot of spare funds from his companies without paying income-tax.

  No wonder he regarded Littlejohn and all his works as small beer and a confounded nuisance!

  Littlejohn looked from one to the other of the Nortons. Two lovely black eyes! But they both looked better and the Chief Inspector hoped that what he was going to say wouldn't upset the domestic apple-cart again.

  "May we sit down?"

  "Is it going to take a long time, because I'm . . . ?"

  "That depends on you and your wife, sir. If you answer my questions without prevarication, it'll soon be over."

  "Sit down. Smoke if you like. The sooner we get down to it, the better."

  Littlejohn lit his pipe and Knell did the same, but Knell wasn't quite at home. No wonder! It was his first big case!

  "Mrs. Norton. . . . I want you to tell me quite candidly who really was the father of Nancy Cribbin."

  The question was so audacious that it took a little while to sink in. Norton was taken off his guard. Somehow, it was obvious that he knew the answer already. Perhaps his wife's black eye had been the cost of the revelation. But the sudden question had come as an embarrassing shock.

  "What do you mean?"

  Although Norton was beginning to bluster again, the answer to it all came from his wife. The patience cards slid from her fingers, she made a little whimpering sound, and then rose unsteadily.

  "I can't . . . I can't bear it. It's more than mortal woman can stand. Will you let my husband tell you, Mr. Littlejohn? I've told him all there is to tell. I feel ill. I think I'll go to bed."

  It was perhaps the best way out. Far better than trying her beyond endurance, perhaps having to bully her.

  "Of course, Mrs. Norton. Perhaps Mr. Norton will see you safely to bed and then return and discuss everything with me. I'm very sorry, but you realize, don't you, that I must know everything now?"

  "Yes. Mr. Norton will tell you. . . ."

  Norton rose, still sucking the cigar, which hung from his lips like a baby's comforter.

  "If I agree to this, you'll see that it's the last time my wife is bothered. It's breaking her down and I won't have it."

  No use arguing or trying to show Norton that if he hadn't been so arrogant and obstructive, the whole affair would have been settled long ago.

  "We'll wait until you come back, sir."

  She gave them a wan smile as she left on Norton's arm, slowly, looking ready to collapse, a woman made sick by the weight of secrets and the Nemesis of a brief drunken act of passion long ago.

  "I'll be back."
>
  They could hear him go to the bar for brandy, tread heavily upstairs, open and cross the room on the first floor. Voices, more footsteps, and then Norton was back.

  He seemed somehow relieved as though, like his wife, about to unburden himself once and for all of the causes of his recent unhappiness. But for a man used to bullying and ordering his underlings about, it was going to be a formidable ordeal.

  "What do you want to know?"

  Norton sat down again, looked at the papers filled with neat figures, and with a gesture of disgust, thrust them from him.

  "Let's have a drink."

  Highly strung and unable to wait, he went to the bar himself and, without consulting the other two, returned with glasses, a bottle of whisky, and a siphon of soda.

  "Now. . . ."

  He passed round the drinks, downed his own stiff one in two swift gulps, looked better, and filled himself another.

  "You were asking about Nancy. She's the child of Morrison, the retired shipowner in Castletown."

  He said it quietly and sensibly, obviously anxious to get the distasteful part of the interview over.

  Littlejohn nodded.

  "I guessed that."

  "I can't see how you guessed it. Who told you?"

  "Nobody. In the course of the investigation, it became obvious. Crennell himself, for instance. What you'd call a good man, religious, straight. Hardly the sort to seduce his own sister-in-law. . . . But that's a minor point. However decent a man might be, he's bound to have his moments of weakness. Circumstances. . . . Champagne. . . . A lovely woman, also under the influence of champagne. . . . "

  "We'll forget that part. Don't for God's sake, go into details. Remember the woman is now my wife."

  "I'm sorry, but you asked me, you know."

  "She told me everything the other night. There was no question of forgiveness from me. I knew Nancy was illegitimate all along. I'm glad it wasn't Crennell. I liked him and I wouldn't want to be reminded of it every time I think of him."

  "Nancy isn't a bit like Crennell. . . or your wife. She's a Morrison. The sister of Mrs. Grebe-Smith, in fact. They're very much alike and the first time I saw Mrs. Grebe-Smith, I wondered where I'd met her before."

  "Well. . . . Now that's settled. . . ."

  Norton's eyes strayed to the income-tax papers again.

  "Nancy knew who her father was?"

  "My wife told her last week just after we got here. You see, Nancy and Cribbin had been pressing Crennell for money to carry on the farm. Nancy thought he was her father and, of course, would help. Having brought her up, Finlo naturally behaved like a father. He would have given his last penny away to help her. But, as my wife confessed to me, she told Nancy the truth and said it wasn't fair to take the old man's money. It was high time somebody told Nancy who her father really was. She's old enough to know. It ought to have been done before."

  "The secret was kept tightly."

  "Of course. Only Crennell, his late wife, my wife, and Morrison knew. Oh, and Morrison's confidential clerk, a fellow called Finch, who looked after the money side. They're all Manx and they're religious and superstitious. Morrison made them swear on the Bible that they'd none of them say a word of what happened or who Nancy's real father was."

  Littlejohn knocked out his pipe and re-filled another.

  "Let's get this straight. Large sums of money passed, didn't they? Amounts of five or six thousand, let's say. Am I right?"

  "Yes. The whole business might have been the subject of a legal bond, but Morrison simply took their oaths himself and trusted them. I've no doubt others in the town guessed. As you say, Nancy's not like either Crennell or her mother. . . . But nobody openly breathed a word against Morrison. He was so well thought-of. The swine! To bring all this about and then slip out of his responsibilities the way he did! Well. . . . Before I leave, I shall have words with Mr. Morrison. It's only his wife's death has prevented me doing it before. When my wife told me, I saw red."

  He drank off his whisky and filled all three glasses again. Knell regarded his drink gingerly, like one who anticipates an orgy.

  "Do you know exactly what happened in sequence in this Manninagh affair?"

  "I'll tell you what my wife told me. I was here at the time, too, which makes it all the more unpleasant for me, because I was in love with her even then. . . ."

  The drink was softening up Norton and revealing another side. He was getting a bit sorry for himself and seeking someone to take into his confidence.

  "We arrived back from Cannes after the maiden voyage of the yacht. It was folly of Morrison to buy the boat at all. But he was always one who must have what he wanted. Shipping was at a low ebb and he couldn't afford her. Not long after he found himself unable to keep her and had to lay her up till better days. . . . "

  "There was the homecoming party?"

  "I'm coming to that. Finlo's wife was strait-laced and wouldn't come because there was to be champagne. Mary came with Crennell. She was different from Ethel . . . a bit wild in those days; it was a great part of her attractiveness as well as her good looks. I could see at the time that Morrison couldn't keep away from her. He was married, but the champagne made him forget it. Crennell and Mary stayed to tidy up after the party and Mary made some excuse to remain behind when Finlo left. It came out later, that Morrison had asked her to stay. This is very unpleasant for me. . . ."

  "Let's pass it over then. What happened next?"

  "When Mary found out there was a baby coming, she told her sister everything. There was a real hullaballoo between the women and Finlo got to know. He went straight to Morrison."

  "And all was arranged?"

  "Yes. Morrison was a married man with children, a man very highly thought of on the Island, and with a very charming wife of whom he thought the world when he was sober. If it came out, his family would be broken up and suffer, because things like that aren't lightly regarded over here. And damn' right, too. They shouldn't be. It was then that Crennell offered a solution. He thought there was nobody like the Morrisons, he and Ethel had no kids, and he said he could live down the scandal better than a public figure like Morrison. His wife was the only stumbling block. She wouldn't hear of Finlo taking the blame. But Finlo said he'd have no child of Mary's born away from here and stowed in an orphanage or something. Then, Morrison talked money and Ethel agreed. She was a bit avaricious and the offer overcame every objection."

  Through the window Littlejohn watched the little boats coming in with the tide after a day's fishing. Men busy with ropes and tackle and sails, stringing up their catches, putting the lobsters in baskets. The sun sparkled on the water and lit up the stretch of Santon Head and the rocky waterline. A 'plane from the mainland turned in the wind to land at Ronaldsway. Two old seamen talked at the corner of the road and a younger one arrived with a pot and brush to paint the keel of a boat hauled up above the tide-line. All so much more in keeping with Finlo Crennell's serene existence than all this sordid domestic mix-up in which he'd become involved.

  "Morrison gave Mary two thousand pounds for herself, and, for taking responsibility for Nancy, the Crennells got almost four thousand. That was to see Nancy's upbringing through as well, because it was agreed that the whole affair would never be raised between them again. Nancy would henceforth be Finlo's and Mary's child."

  "But part of the money paid over was in diamonds?"

  Norton gave Littlejohn a thin, awkward smile, doubtless remembering his black eye.

  "Yes. The Morrisons had, as I said, fallen on bad times with the slump in shipping and but for the return of Morrison's brother from the diamond mines . . . Kimberley, I think . . . they'd have been in queer street. The brother died and his money repaired the family fortunes till trade improved."

  "But how came Crennell to get the diamonds?"

  "Morrison was desperate for money when his brother came home, it seems. And the brother had little ready cash until his Kimberley affairs were liquidated. He'd had to leave in a hurry
because of his health; he came home to die. He had some diamonds with him which he gave his brother to sell and realize funds for the settlement. When Morrison told Finlo, Crennell said he'd take the stones; they were as good an investment as anything else. . . ."

  "Rather naïve of him. . . ."

  "He trusted Morrison and his valuation, I guess."

  "You seem thoroughly au fait with it all, Mr. Norton."

  "After the affair on the Victoria, I made my wife tell me everything . . . the true parency of the child, the diamonds which had got me in trouble with the police, Nancy . . . everything. . . ."

  "Returning to when your wife told Nancy who her real father was. . . . Cribbin must have overheard."

  "Why?"

  "He started a blackmail game. . . ."

  "Morrison?"

  "I think so."

  "Then . . . then Morrison is the murderer?"

  "We're not quite there, yet. And now I'll tell you something else. Lucas Finch, the man you said was in the secret as finance man of the Morrison family, took a shot at me with a rifle this morning. . . . "

  "No!"

  Another glass of whisky for Norton; Littlejohn and Knell said they'd had enough. The Big Shot, now mellow, was enjoying himself.

  "Why should he do that?"

  "He'd surely not killed Crennell, Littlejohn. He was Finlo's pal."

  "I think he guessed I was on the track of Morrison. I'd mentioned the diamonds to him last night. He thought I was getting too far."

  "So, out of loyalty to Morrison, he tried to kill you."

  "Out of loyalty to himself, probably. All he's got is a pension from Morrison between him and starvation, I believe. If I arrest Morrison . . . "

  "What do you propose to do now? Arrest Morrison and Finch?"

  "Finch will be a bit awkward. He said he was shooting ducks, although the ducks seemed to be gulls, jackdaws and myself."

  Norton guffawed until he nearly choked. The idea of Littlejohn getting shot tickled him to death.

  "Anything else? If I can help bring this home to Morrison, I'll be damn' glad. He's got away with everything so far. He's not getting away with murder."