by Clara Benson
She was looking very pretty, as usual, and the blue of her eyes was accentuated by the violet coat she was wearing.
‘Oh, hallo again,’ said Freddy, with a surreptitious attempt at straightening his tie. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to find out how you’re getting on,’ she said.
‘Getting on with what?’
‘The murder investigation, silly! I suppose you’ve heard about Weaver. Who did it, do you think?’
‘I—’ said Freddy, then realized suddenly that since Ticky’s death he had given barely any thought to the identity of the culprit, for he had been so busy trying to get himself and his mother out of trouble, and worrying about the information Weaver held and where it might be, that the matter of who had presumably murdered two people had barely raised more than an idle question in his head. ‘Why, I don’t know,’ he said feebly. ‘Who do you think it was?’
She gave him a reproachful look.
‘Oh, Freddy,’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to investigate for me. Don’t you remember? You agreed to help me, but I don’t believe you’ve done anything at all.’
‘Well, I—er—’ he said.
‘I thought at least you might have spoken to the police to find out whether they have any leads. I mean to say, we can eliminate two people from the investigation at least, which makes things a little easier, but I thought you might have found out something about the other four.’
‘Which two people can we eliminate?’ said Freddy, surprised.
‘Why, your mother and mine, of course! Oh, and Lady Bendish, who’s a dear and could never murder anybody. That only leaves three—Captain Atherton and the Beasleys. I don’t know about you, but my money’s on Captain Atherton. He has a look about him that I don’t like, and he probably knows about all kinds of exotic poisons from his time in the jungle.’
‘Ticky was killed with nicotine,’ said Freddy. ‘One can buy that perfectly easily here in London. All one has to do is sign the poison-book.’
‘Still, though,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet he’s the murderer. I expect all those years abroad warped his brain, and he went mad and started killing people.’
‘Do you have any evidence of this?’ said Freddy.
‘You were supposed to be looking for that,’ she said. ‘But you don’t seem to have done much at all.’
‘As a matter of fact, I did find a clue,’ he said, ‘but I haven’t had a chance to pursue it yet.’
‘Oh, what is it?’ she said excitedly.
‘There’s a possibility that Weaver hid some documents at a house in Dorking. I thought I might go down there this evening and see if I can retrieve them.’
‘What kind of documents? Is it that thing you were talking about? The blackmail, I mean? Is it a file of everybody’s secrets? I’ll come with you. What time are we going?’
‘I was going to go by myself,’ he said hastily. ‘After all, I don’t absolutely know it’s there, and it’ll be dark, and the more of us there are, the more likely it is that we’ll get caught.’
‘Nonsense. I can creep just as quietly as you. More quietly, I dare say. Are you really going to break into the house?’
‘No, just the coal-cellar,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’d really rather you stayed here. It’s not safe for you.’
‘You’re wasting your breath,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t dream of letting you leave me out of an adventure like this, so I’m coming whether you like it or not. Besides, you’ll need someone to keep a look-out.’
‘Well, I suppose—’ he said. Amelia was not the ideal companion for a night excursion of this sort, since she was somewhat excitable, with a tendency to squeal, and he was worried she would give them away. But she seemed so terribly keen to solve the murder—even if her deductive abilities left something to be desired—that he did not feel able to say no. ‘Very well, then. But you must promise to keep quiet, because if we’re caught we’ll get into all kinds of trouble.’
‘Of course I shall,’ she said.
‘Then I suggest we set off at about eight o’clock,’ he said. ‘It will be fully dark by then, so there’s less chance of us being seen.’
She gave him a beaming smile and clapped her hands together.
‘How thrilling!’ she said. ‘All right. I’ll see you at Victoria at eight. Don’t be late!’
And she went off, leaving Freddy wondering whether he were making a terrible mistake. There was no going back on it now, however, and when he arrived at Victoria at the appointed time to find her already there waiting for him, he was pleased to see that she had had the sense to change into a dark coat and hat, and had adopted a suitably sober expression to match. On the train down to Dorking they were careful not to draw too much attention to themselves. They found an empty carriage, and Freddy explained in a few words what Valentina Sangiacomo had told him, although he judged it better not to mention where he had got the information.
‘So you think this notebook, or folder, or whatever it is, might be in the coal-cellar?’ said Amelia.
‘It’s possible. I certainly think it’s worth a look. Now, as far as I know, the only person living at the house is Weaver’s mother, but we’ll have to keep a sharp look-out, just in case.’
‘Oh, I forgot to bring a torch,’ she said suddenly.
‘I have one,’ he said, showing her.
‘But if the coal-cellar is locked, how are you going to get in?’
‘Ah, yes, that’s another thing,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I shall have to pick the lock.’
‘Can you pick locks?’ she said, impressed.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said modestly. ‘It’s a little trick I picked up on my travels, from a notorious safe-cracker. You’ve read about “Fingers” McDougal, I take it? He and I were pretty thick, at one time, before his arrest. He taught me all he knew about getting through locked doors and suchlike, and was rather flattering about my abilities. I’m quite an expert now, although of course I’d never dream of employing my knowledge for anything dishonest.’
‘Goodness!’ said Amelia, staring. ‘Fingers McDougal? What a funny name! Was he called Fingers because he was a thief?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Freddy. ‘He got the name when he had an unfortunate accident with some explosives while trying to break into a bank safe a few years ago. His name ought to have been Thumbs, really, since that’s all he was left with. He battled on bravely for a while, but in the end it rather finished his career.’
They had now arrived at Dorking, and alighted from the train.
‘My informant says it’s just off the Westcott Road,’ said Freddy. ‘We shall have to walk, I’m afraid, as it’s too risky to take a taxi, but it’s not much more than a mile or so.’
They set off down the street, and were soon walking out of the town along a dark, quiet road that was lit only by a sliver of a moon. No-one else was about, and all that could be heard was the sound of their footsteps. As they walked, Amelia grasped Freddy’s arm.
‘You’re not frightened, are you?’ he said.
‘No,’ she said stoutly. ‘But I don’t want to lose you in the darkness.’
‘No fear of that,’ he said. ‘Now, there ought to be a turn-off just along here. Ah! Here we are. Now, we must be very quiet, as we don’t want to be heard.’
They had turned onto a narrow lane, which as far as they could see was bounded by tall hedges. The ground underneath them was mostly dried mud, although some patches were still soft from the recent rain, and Freddy switched on his torch, in order that they might not tread in the dirt. At length, they spied a faint light ahead of them. It came from a window, and as they drew closer they could see the dark shape of a little house at the end of the road. Soon they came to an open gate, from which they could just discern a short path leading up to the house. Amelia was now gripping Freddy’s arm very tightly, and he extricated himself with care and took her hand, and they tiptoed up to the window, keeping to the shadows as they did so. Fr
eddy peered inside. Through the window he could see a small kitchen that was shabby but homely. A fire burned brightly in the grate, and by it sat an old woman, dressed in rusty black and wrapped in a shawl, reading a Bible. Her finger moved along the lines, and her lips moved as she read. Every so often, she stopped to dab a handkerchief to her eyes. Presumably the police had already broken the news of Weaver’s death to her. As Freddy watched, another woman came in. This one was also old, but obviously much less frail, for she immediately started to bustle about the kitchen. There was a resemblance between the two, and Freddy wondered whether they were sisters. The second woman said something to the first, then picked up a blackened kettle and walked towards the door. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock. Freddy immediately pulled Amelia into the shadows, and flattened her and himself against the wall. The woman came out and walked off into the darkness, seemingly without need of a light. After a minute or two they heard the sound of water being drawn from a pump. Then she came back into the house and shut the door. Freddy breathed a sigh of relief.
‘You can let go of me now,’ said Amelia after a moment.
‘Sorry,’ said Freddy, and did so.
‘Where’s the coal-cellar?’ she said. ‘Oughtn’t we to look for it?’
‘Yes,’ said Freddy. He glanced along the wall of the house as far as he could see by the light cast through the window. There was no sign of anything that looked like a coal-cellar.
‘Perhaps it’s around the side,’ suggested Amelia. Freddy followed her around the corner of the house. Here, all the windows were in darkness, and the moon had gone behind a cloud, so they could not see a thing. Freddy judged it safe to switch on the torch.
‘Look!’ whispered Amelia.
Set into the wall of the house was a low, wooden door about four feet high. Freddy trained the torch on it, and saw that the door was fastened with a new-looking padlock. This must be what Valentina Sangiacomo had seen. He handed the torch to Amelia, who pointed it at the door, then crouched down to examine the lock.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said. He took the lock-picks from his pocket and set to work. Alas for all his confidence! For he soon discovered that it was one thing to pick a lock in broad daylight with an instructor to guide him, and quite another to do it on a cold night, in the dark, with a pretty girl gazing at him admiringly. No matter how much care he took to follow Valentina’s instructions exactly, and no matter how delicately he prodded and poked at the lock, it refused to yield.
‘Is there something wrong with the lock-pick?’ said Amelia, after a few minutes in which he had had to bite his lip several times to stop himself from swearing.
‘No,’ said Freddy, and tried again.
‘Perhaps it’s a particularly difficult lock,’ she said kindly, after another interval. ‘I expect he had it made specially to stop burglars.’
Freddy counted to ten under his breath, then sat back on his heels.
‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘I can’t open it.’
‘Can I help?’ said Amelia. ‘Perhaps it’s a matter of getting the angle right.’
‘I’ve tried every angle on the protractor,’ he said, with a slight note of testiness in his voice. ‘I don’t know why it won’t open.’
She took the lock-picks from him and crouched down next to him.
‘Here,’ she said, and handed him the torch. ‘Now, what do I do? I push this one in and wiggle it a bit. Then what?’
‘Keep prodding with the other one until you’ve pushed all the pins back,’ said Freddy. ‘But it’s no good, you won’t—’
There was a click, and Amelia let out a little squeal of triumph as she pulled the padlock open.
‘Oh, it’s much easier than it looks, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You can go in now. I’ll wait here and sound the alarm if anyone comes.’
Several remarks went through Freddy’s head, but since there was no time to be lost he gave it up and opened the door. Inside was a short flight of steps leading downward, and he cautiously descended. The room was little more than five feet square and the same in height, so he could not stand up straight. A heap of loose coal took up about half the floor, while most of the rest was occupied by various odds and ends such as leaky pails and sticks of old furniture. He was just about to start looking around properly, when he noticed that his torch was fading fast, and this realization had no sooner come to him than it went out altogether.
‘Damn!’ he said, more loudly than he had intended.
‘What’s happened?’ came a whisper from Amelia through the door. ‘Why have you switched the torch off?’
‘The battery’s gone,’ he said.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘How are you going to find anything in the dark?’
Freddy did not answer, but stretched out his hands carefully. The cellar was so small that from where he stood he could touch the wall on each side. He had not had more than a moment in which to take in its contents before the torch went out, but he was almost sure he had caught a glimpse of a wooden shelf attached to the far wall. His impression was confirmed when he took a cautious step forward, still stooping, and hit his forehead against it. He let out a muffled ‘Ouch!’ through gritted teeth, and paused for a few moments with his hands to his head. Once his eyes had stopped watering, he reached up carefully and felt for the shelf. After a few moments, his hand encountered something that felt like a bundle of papers wrapped in oilskin, and his heart leapt. This must be it, surely! He picked it up and turned quickly towards the door, but in his haste his foot caught in some object on the floor. He reached out instinctively to put his hand against the wall and thus regain his balance, but missed, twirled, flailed and went over backwards with a deafening crash. From the sound of it, it seemed as though he had succeeded in hitting every object in the cellar on his way down, and had knocked them all against one another too, just to make quite certain that the noise was as loud as it could possibly be. He was now lying sprawled on a heap of coal, without the bundle in his hand. There was no time to be lost. He must find it again, before someone in the house came out to find out what the racket was. He crawled about on the floor, feeling for the thing he had dropped, and finally found it under a broken stool. Then he tucked it inside his jacket and emerged from the cellar, to find Amelia standing there, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide.
‘What happened? Have you got it?’ she whispered urgently.
‘Yes, I think so,’ he said. ‘Quick, we’d better get away before they come out and see us.’
But it was too late, for as they rounded the corner of the house they saw the front door open and the second of the two old women come out with a broom.
‘Who goes there?’ she called, and headed towards them. ‘Thieves! Robbers! I warn you, my son is in the house and he’s fetching his gun. We’ll have the law on you!’
They shrank back into the shadows, Amelia clutching Freddy’s arm again. The woman had now switched on a torch and was sweeping it back and forth, looking for the intruders. The claim about her son was surely a lie, but that did not matter, for she did not herself look like a woman who was to be lightly crossed. She approached slowly, and they backed away and looked for a means of escape, but all they could see in the darkness was a hen-house, with behind it a high hedge. Before they could do anything it was too late.
‘Aha! There you are!’ said the woman, as the light fell on them and they squinted. ‘I’ll have the police on you, I will. I won’t stand for thieves on my property, taking what’s ours. Why, you ought—oh!’
Her voice faltered, as she took in their appearance and it dawned upon her that she was not addressing a petty thief, come to steal her chickens, but rather an obviously well-to-do young lady and gentleman, who were creeping around in her garden in the dark for reasons best known to themselves. The woman swiftly reached her own conclusions as to what those reasons were, and drew herself up.
‘Well!’ she exclaimed. ‘What’s going on here? Why, you’re no better tha
n the rest of us, after all. You oughter think more of yourself, young lady, if you don’t want to get into trouble. And as for you,’ she went on, addressing Freddy. ‘What kind of a gentleman are you, to take a girl into a coal-house? You oughter be proper ashamed of yourself, you ought. I’ve a good mind to tell your parents what you’ve been getting up to. Now, go on, get out! Before I’m as good as my word.’
As she spoke, she aimed a swipe at Freddy’s head with her broom, which he just managed to dodge, while Amelia gave a little scream. The two of them needed no further encouragement. Keeping their eyes on the broom, they skirted carefully around the old woman and ran for the gate. They did not stop until they reached the Westcott Road, when they slowed down to catch their breath.
‘Oh, goodness!’ exclaimed Amelia. ‘I was sure she was going to call the police!’
‘I’m not certain she won’t change her mind, so it’s probably best we get back to London as quickly as we can,’ said Freddy.
They arrived at the station just as the train was about to depart, and had to run to catch it. Once they had found an empty carriage, they threw themselves down into their seats. Amelia was about to say something, but at that moment got a good look at Freddy for the first time, and began to laugh very hard.
‘What is it?’ said Freddy.
‘You look as though you’ve been up a chimney,’ she managed at last.
Freddy glanced down at himself, and found that he was black with coal-dust from head to toe. He gave an exclamation and did his best to clean himself up, but with only moderate success, for there was more coal-dust on him than one handkerchief could easily remove. After a few minutes, Amelia stopped laughing long enough to help him, and by the time they arrived in London, he was almost—although not quite—fit to be seen. It was now nearly midnight, and too late to start examining the thing they had retrieved from the coal-cellar, and so they parted, Amelia with many instructions and threats as to what punishments she would inflict upon him if he looked at the documents without her. He made a vague promise, and then went home, clutching the precious package and hoping there might be a little hot water left to allow him to have a bath.
