Furious Old Women

by Bruce, Leo

  “The staircase,” said Naomi.

  “I see. Now it’s all pretty clear.”

  “To you it may be. What about the police?”

  “I am not in the confidence of Detective Inspector Champer. In fact he greatly resents my interest in affairs in Gladhurst. But from my observation of his procedure and from what I know of the questions he has asked, I do not think his theories in the various cases depart much from what one must call the obvious. I think he is working on the supposition that Millicent Griggs was murdered, as many another old lady has been of recent years, for the sake of a few jewels and a sum of money, the value of which had probably been exaggerated by report. The fact that the jewels were left concealed does not, I believe, preclude this theory for Inspector Champer though it strongly suggests a local man. My guess at his chief suspect would be Mugger unless he has found a better among the inhabitants of Hellfire Corner. It is difficult to see how he will get enough evidence to make an arrest unless the numbers of some of Miss Griggs’s treasury notes are known. Even then, if they are traced to any individual, there wouldn’t seem to me much justification for a charge of murder.”

  “Thank heavens for that.”

  “I think, Naomi, you’ve been a very silly girl. You might have got others into trouble by behaving as you have. But luckily, unless I am mistaken, the police will write off Gladhurst as another unsolved crime and turn to easier forms of prosecution.”

  “But you’re doing almost the same.”

  “There is a difference in that I’m doing it having satisfied myself that I know the truth. I want a last meeting with one or two of the people concerned, then I shall disappear.”

  ‘One of the people concerned’ was not Detective Inspector Champer but he was the first person Carolus met on leaving Henson’s, Carolus knew it annoyed Champer to be recognized as a policeman. He could not surely think that his ‘plain clothes’ concealed his calling in this small village, but the habit of cultivating anonymity persisted. Carolus therefore greeted him cheerily.

  “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector,” he called. “How are you?”

  He resisted the temptation to say ‘how’s tricks?’ or ‘booked any good reds lately?’ or any of the more fatuous gags used in addressing policemen. The loud use of the man’s rank was enough.

  “Still here, then?” said Champer. “I thought you brilliant gentry saw through a .little case like this in the first five minutes.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am pulling out, you will be glad to hear. Packing up. Finishing. One more evening at the Black Horse and I shall have left Gladhurst.”

  “Too hard a nut to crack, eh?”

  “Oh, I have my little theory.”

  Champer gave a forced and throaty laugh.

  “You have, eh? I bet it’s something startling and original.”

  “Not really. It follows very much the conventional lines.”

  “You’re not going to tell me you accept the police explanation of events? One murder, one attempted suicide, and one accident?”

  “Yes,” said Carolus.” As a matter of fact I do.”

  Champer laughed again.

  “Well, I’m blowed,” he said.” I never thought I’d meet a private detective who believed what was in front of his nose.”

  “I’d add that whoever may have been in the vicinity I have little doubt that Miss Flora Griggs was climbing the tower in order to throw herself off it.”

  “Better and better!” said Champer. “We don’t seem to disagree on a point.”

  “I don’t think we do,” said Carolus; then, unable to resist a somewhat petty triumph he added: “In fact, there’s only one difference. I know who was the murderer and you don’t. Good-bye, Inspector. We shan’t meet again, on this case, anyway.”

  The last night Carolus intended to spend in the Black Horse would be, he hoped, a busy one. It was Saturday and there was no reason why he should not see most or all of those connected with the case. He arrived early and told George Larkin to let him know if either Commander Fyfe or Dundas Griggs went into the saloon bar.

  George Larkin nodded but kept the taciturn silence he broke so rarely and sometimes so dramatically. This evening, after three minutes of staring thoughtfully at the counter, he showed which direction his thoughts had taken by remarking suddenly: “I’ve always said that step-ladder in the tower was a danger.”

  “Oh, have you been up it?” asked Carolus.

  George Larkin stared back and answered with the unwilling monosyllable, “Yes.”

  Rumble, who had entered in time to catch the gist of this, said, “So has that bloody police inspector. Looking at everything, he has been, as though he thought a murder had happened up there instead of a poor lady twisted her ankle.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and asking me questions about where I was and saying it happened at the same time of day as the other Miss Griggs, and I don’t know what not. I’m sure he connects the two. Perhaps he thinks Miss Millicent Griggs was murdered in the tower.”

  “Like the little princes,” said Carolus.

  Flo entered and quickly became the centre of the conversation.

  “I saw the ambulance,” she began. “Couldn’t help seeing it….”

  “Where?” interrupted Carolus.

  “Trust you for asking awkward questions. I was just coming up Church Lane, if you must know. And it’s no good you asking me who I was with because it’s no business of yours. Though it wasn’t Mugger, if that’s what you think, but someone who’s thought far more respectable. Not that I mind what he’s thought. As I say I was coming up Church Lane and there was the ambulance and very soon out they come carrying poor old Flora Griggs on a stretcher. It was all I could do to stop laughing when I thought that last time she saw me she stopped me in the street and said, ‘Upon every high hill and under every green tree, thou didst bow thyself playing the harlot’, Jeremiah. That was a nice thing to say to anyone, wasn’t it? Still I didn’t wish her any harm, because I’ve always thought she was a bit touched, if the truth were known, and you can’t take offence if someone doesn’t know what they’re saying, can you?”

  “Did you know what had happened to her?”

  “Not till later I didn’t. Who’d have thought she’d have been larking about up in the tower at her time of life? Still, you never know what people get up to. I remember a fellow once wanted me to go into a church with him and not to get married. I said you wicked viper, fancy suggesting such a thing in a church. Shocking, I said, and so it was. Oh well, we must have a bit of a sing-song presently when Mrs Chester comes in….”

  Just then George Larkin informed Carolus that Commander Fyfe was in the Saloon Bar, and Carolus went round. He found the churchwarden looking very serious.

  “Extraordinary thing, this about Flora Griggs,” he confided.

  “Where were you at the time, Commander Fyfe? I noticed you were on the scene within a few moments.”

  Fyfe looked with some hostility at Carolus.

  “You noticed that, you say? I hope you noticed everything else that afternoon.” He dropped his voice. “Rumble, for instance.”

  “What about Rumble?”

  “One never knows, does one, in a place like this? What was he doing up in the tower?”

  “You still haven’t told me where you were.”

  “In the churchyard, as a matter of fact. Just seeing it was all in order. I heard the commotion and came up.”

  “I see.”

  “D’you know I’m almost sure I was followed here this evening? Very strange it was. Footsteps behind me all the way.”

  “Someone else could have been making for the Black Horse.”

  “Could have been. It’s possible. It’s one explanation. But…”

  He was interrupted by the entrance of Dundas Griggs.

  “Just been to see the old lady in hospital. She’ll be out tomorrow. Nothing but a sprained ankle.”

  Dundas Griggs acceded to a drink from Carolus
and continued to discuss his aunt.

  “Odd thing,” he said, “but she seems enormously improved. The shock perhaps. Or the change of surroundings. She talked quite sensibly. Scarcely a reference to the Old Testament. She says she’s looking forward to being back ‘with Spring coming and everything’. She never seemed to notice anything as mundane as Spring before. It was a pleasure to see her.”

  “Did you discuss her accident?”

  “Yes. She passed that off in a moment. ‘It’s all like a bad dream’, she said, ‘and I don’t want to remember it. I can’t even think now why I went to the church tower at all’.”

  “Splendid news,” said Fyfe. “It still leaves a certain amount shrouded in mystery, doesn’t it? I was telling Deene that I believe I was followed here this evening. You simply don’t know in this place.”

  Back in the public bar Carolus found that Mugger had come in.

  “I hear you’re finishing with it,” he said, his long pale face not changing its expression. “That’s all very well for you but suppose the police get hold of someone innocent?”

  “I don’t think that’s likely. Unless he was to try and pass a treasury note of which they had the number.”

  Mugger thought this over.

  “You mean of the money the first one was supposed to be carrying?”

  “Yes. The money carried by Miss Millicent Griggs.”

  “There was no money,” said Mugger, not for the first time. “But if there had of been and anyone was to of found it, they wouldn’t get themselves into trouble with spending a few old single pound notes not in series would they? So long as they burnt anything like a fiver there might have been?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. I’ve no experience.”

  “I shouldn’t think they would,” said Mugger. “Not if they wasn’t in series. I mean, people have demands made on them. What can you do when they start theatening to go to anyone’s old woman? I’ve never had anything like this one. The one I told you about. Works out at Ryley’s Farm. It’s give, give, give, all the time with this one. Mind you, I don’t say she’s not just right as they go, but you can’t have them Asking the whole time, can you?”

  “I’m sure your life must be full of difficulties.”

  “Well, it is just now. Then there’s this other one. In Station Road. I don’t know what to do about that.”

  The approach of Mrs Rumble drove Mugger off in a moment.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” she whispered to Carolus. “I haven’t told any of the others especially that Champer and as for Slatt I wouldn’t think of it. It was when I was in the tower with Flora Griggs waiting for Rumble who’d gone to the telephone. She was unconscious when Rumble went away and again by the time he got back, but while he was away she Come To for a minute and I gave her a glass of water. Then what do you think she said? ‘Now I know it wasn’t me,’ she said. That’s all. But I thought you ought to know. Now, Rumble, don’t you start trying to sing tonight and making a silly of yourself because you know you can’t sing and that’s all about it. You look as though you’ve had nearly enough, too.”

  Laddie Grey came across and silently handed Carolus a whisky, having observed what he was drinking.

  “Naomi told me,” he said comprehensively and with gratitude in his voice.

  Mr Lovibond was also extremely polite.

  “Sorry we shan’t see you again,” he said to Carolus.

  “It’s a pity you couldn’t find out who did it but I suppose you can’t be successful every time,” he added consolingly.

  Then Mr Waddell came in for his Saturday-night visit and ordered the lemonade which he invariably drank here. His greetings were widespread and profuse and it took him some five minutes before he could reach Carolus, with whom he evidently wanted to speak.

  “Good news, good news,” he said. “I hear our respected and beloved Miss Flora Griggs is on the mend and in a far calmer state of mind than previously. I do not deny that her short absence has given us the opportunity we sought for installing our statue in the side chapel. I hope that when Miss Griggs sees the fait accompli she may become reconciled to it.”

  “Doubtful, is it?”

  “I’m afraid so. Our Lady of Lourdes, you know. Our dear Miss Vaillant insisted on that and unfortunately purchased it from Burns, Oates and Washburne’s. Had it been supplied by Mowbray’s I should have felt on safer ground. But one small alteration I have thought it circumspect to make through the agency of our excellent stone-mason, Mr Baker. The statue as you know includes a rosary. This has been skilfully removed and the plaster repainted. I felt that though our dear Flora might be induced to accept the major premise, as it were, the rosary might have been too much for her.”

  “Very wise,” said Carolus. “I’m not returning to Gladhurst after this evening. There is nothing more I can do here.”

  “Dear me. You leave us between two stools, as it were?”

  “I think you will find that the most comfortable situation, vicar.”

  Carolus said good-night to each of his acquaintances and as he escaped from the bar he heard that Flo had had her way and a song began.

  He found Slatt in high spirits.

  ‘Hear you’re beaten? “he said, grinning. “Found this one too much for you, did you? Oh, well, sometimes we’re not as clever as we think we are.”

  “No,” said Carolus. “Well, good-bye to you.”

  “Good-bye, Mr Deene. And if you should think who’s done it you’ll write to me, won’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ll send you a p.c.”

  “What?” roared Slatt.

  “A Police Officer. Er … a postcard. A telegram. Goodnight.”

  “That’s better,” said Slatt, as Carolus drove away.

  19

  AS Carolus predicted there was no arrest at Gladhurst and as the months passed the case was dropped by the Press and, save for a few people concerned, no one seemed to remember it. That Mrs Bobbin was very far from feeling reconciled was shown in the extremely angry letters she wrote Carolus from time to time. One would have thought from these that he was not only to blame for the unsolved mystery but for the murder itself.

  Another who had not forgotten the affair was Mr Gorringer, the headmaster of the Queen’s School, New-minster.

  “Ah, Deene,” he said, descending on Carolus in his gown and mortar-board, like some vast bird of prey fluttering down, “The end of term in sight at last. I cannot deny that the vacation this year will be welcome.”

  “Yes,” said Carolus, heading for the common-room.

  But Mr Gorringer was not to be shaken off.

  “You seem to have quite abandoned your investigation at Gladhurst. I cannot help asking myself why you should have done so without your customary exposé of the matter in the presence of those concerned.”

  “Wouldn’t have been a good idea, this time. Perhaps too many were concerned.”

  “You mean you have discovered the truth, Deene, but you intend to keep it to yourself?”

  “Yes, more or less.”

  “But can you reconcile that with your own conscience? A murder, after all, is a murder. I should have thought you felt called upon to inform the investigating police.”

  “Not really. The circumstances are somewhat unusual.”

  “I make no doubt of it. Is that not one more reason for revelation?”

  “No.” Carolus sadly saw the back of Hollingbourne passing through the archway which led to the common-room. “No,” he said thoughtlessly to Mr Gorringer, “if you knew the whole thing….”

  “Ah, if!” cried the headmaster triumphantly. “But you haven’t seen fit to confide in me, unfortunately.”

  “I’ve told no one,” returned Carolus.

  “I should hope not. It would surely be a grave discourtesy to reveal this matter to others before telling the facts to your headmaster.”

  “If you really want to know,” said Carolus with exasperation, for his chair in the window and The Times
had both been seized by now by Hollingbourne. “I’ll tell you. Will you and your wife dine next Tuesday? I’ll ask Lance and Phoebe Thomas.”

  “Unhappily Mrs Gorringer will have left Newminster by then. She is going to ‘spy out the land’, as she says, now that we have lost our customary holiday haven at Brighton. We may even go as far as Bournemouth, this year. My wife made one of her characteristically sprightly witticisms when I mentioned the place. ‘So long as it’s not an undiscovered country from whose Bournemouth no traveller returns,’ she said. I laughed heartily. But your kind invitation, Deene, I may accept myself? Perhaps I might have the pleasure of meeting again that charming relative of yours….”

  “Fay? I’ll see if she is free. About seven? Good.”

  Carolus almost ran across to the common-room. It was as he feared. Hollingbourne had inscribed ‘Akbar’ and ‘dean’ in different corners of the crossword. Both clues, Carolus felt instinctively, were wrong.

  Tuesday came all too quickly. Fay arrived from town in the afternoon and Lance Thomas, the school doctor, a most popular and level-headed person, came with his wife Phoebe at a quarter to seven. At exactly five minutes to the hour Mr Gorringer made his entrance.

  “Yes,” he said, when greetings were over and he had taken a seat next to Fay Deene, “I will indulge myself in a dry martini. A most welcome suggestion.”

  Over drinks Carolus gave them the outline of the case as he knew it, not sparing them frank character sketches of Mugger and Flo for instance, but avoiding any word of elucidation. He wished them to be in possession of the facts, but his interpretation of these he kept for the hour after dinner. During the meal itself, he stipulated, they were to forget murder.

  “An inspired suggestion of yours, my dear Deene,” said Mr Gorringer enthusiastically. “Those of us who have, on previous happy occasions, experienced the Lucullan delights provided by your excellent Mrs Stick, will thank you for it. My ears still tingle when I think what she must have said once when I called her prawns in aspic a shrimp cocktail, a term only familiar to me from hearsay.”

  Carolus looked at those vast red organs so rich in bristles and wondered how they behaved when they tingled.