Death Before Breakfast

by George Bellairs

  ‘Quite a man, Sammy, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He owns most of the district round our place.’

  Peeples told it all in a monotonous, whining voice, without a smile or even a grimace. In certain aspects it was highly comic, but Peeples didn’t see it that way.

  ‘Tell me another thing, Mr. Peeples. What happened on the morning the body appeared in the street?’

  ‘The bloke who was wounded suddenly woke up. You see, from the time he was brought to my place to the time he woke up and recognised the doctor, he was asleep, as if he’d been put under a drug of some kind. Well, early that morning, he woke up. I’d been watching by him part time and a chap called Liddell, who works for Barnes and had been a medical orderly like me, in the last war, did the rest. It was my turn on when the injured chap came-to. The doctor told me that if there was any change in his condition, I’d to go for him right away. So I went to fetch him; it’s only a few doors away. When he came, the wounded man was conscious. When he saw Dr. Macready, he looked absolutely terrified. He tried to sit-up in bed. We pushed him back. The doctor went back to his place for some drugs and I went to the door to take a breather and a smoke. Before I knew where I was, the sick chap was out of bed and past me. He was on his last legs, but managed to stagger across the road. Then he fell flat. I rushed down for the doctor. Just as we were leaving his house, somebody passed. We stood inside for a minute. The doctor said perhaps they wouldn’t notice the body, or else think he was a drunk. …’

  At this point, Mr. Moffat decided to break-in with an anti-climax.

  ‘You all right, Lionel?’

  He glared at Cromwell and Littlejohn and looked ready to chuck them out if they weren’t treating his son-in-law with the respect due to him.

  Peeples was sweating and haggard with the memories of the fatal night, but he managed to steady himself and told the old man that everything was under control.

  ‘Your supper’s spoiled. Ma’s as mad as a hatter. As much as I could do to stop her comin’ in and raisin’ Cain.’

  Mr. Moffat withdrew after telling Lionel not to be long, and Peeples cast a bewildered look at the two policemen.

  ‘Where was I?’

  ‘The wounded man was in the street.’

  ‘When the street was empty again, we went to the man, but the doc. said he was dead. “You go in, Peeples, and leave this to me,” he sez. And I was glad to do it. I’d had enough. By heavens, I’d had enough! I was thinkin’ of my missus and the kids. …’

  He broke down and wept. He hadn’t a handkerchief and Cromwell had to give him one. Finally, he settled down again, blew his nose with finality, and looked round to see what was coming next. He seemed to be counting the number of his in-laws in the photo-frames, wondering how many he could muster to his rescue.

  At this point, the gas went out and they were left in the dark. A voice was heard crying to Lionel that they were putting another shilling in the meter and that he’d better re-light or else they’d all be gassed. Cromwell rose wearily, flicked his lighter, and illuminated them again. In the darkness, Peeples had been tearing his hair and now appeared dishevelled and wild.

  ‘What’s goin’ to ’appen to me? You aren’t goin’ to arrest me, are you? If you do, my in-laws’ll murder me. They’re a very proud lot.’

  They looked it, too.

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you, Mr. Peeples, if what you say is true.’

  Mr. Peeples raised his hands above his head with the fingers outstretched.

  ‘As God’s my judge. …’

  ‘No need for that, Mr. Peeples. When Sergeant Cromwell called you gave him full details of how you’d seen the body and all about the milkmen and the rest. If you were involved in the matter of the dead body, you were very forthcoming. Why didn’t you try to cover yourself and say you’d not seen it?’

  Mr. Peeples looked outraged.

  ‘Are you suggestin’ that I should ’ave told the police a lie? I am surprised. I’d have thought. …’

  ‘I’m suggesting nothing. I want to know what motive you had in co-operating in the circumstances.’

  ‘Just idle curiosity, eh? Well, I’ll tell you. First, Mr. Cromwell’s arrival took me off my guard. This is the first time I’ve ever been on the wrong side of the police and I was only caught at it then through ignorance. Barnes and the doctor spun me a tale. How was I to know that the man was a crook, hidin’ from justice? I grant you that all the arrangements, like gettin’ rid of the wife and all that about the tape recorder and such, were a bit queer. They were alien to my nature, gentlemen. …’

  A good phrase. Peeples thought so, and repeated it with emphasis.

  ‘H’alien to my nature, gentlemen. Besides Mr. Cromwell treated me decent. He told me about the mouse-ear. So I told him about the body.’

  ‘You know the doctor well?’

  ‘Yes. He was our doctor when he was in practice.’

  ‘Do you remember the time when he was suspected of knocking down a boy on a bicycle and killing him?’

  Peeples turned paler; he looked ready to pass out.

  ‘Who told you about that? It’s years since. He was proved innocent.’

  ‘I know. You worked for Barnes at the time?’

  ‘Yes, on and off.’

  ‘Doing good jobs on paintwork, I believe.’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘Did you put the paintwork on the doctor’s car right immediately after the accident I mentioned?’

  ‘What if I did? He didn’t do it. The dent in the mudguard came from somethin’ else. Must ’ave done.’

  ‘But the doctor didn’t think so, did he? He thought he’d killed the boy. Now, Mr. Peeples, I want you to co-operate with us, and we’ll see you don’t bring disgrace on the Moffatt family if all you say is the truth.’

  ‘It is, so help me.’

  ‘Answer my question truthfully, then. The doctor still thought he’d killed the boy, even after the inquest. Why? Did somebody cook-up an alibi for him?’

  Peeples hesitated.

  ‘Yes. Barnes did. We mended the car and Barnes found someone to swear the doctor was with him at the time.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Alfred Allen. He used to work for Barnes, but was laid-off sick for a long time. He was hard-up and in bed with lung trouble, I think. Barnes must have paid him to swear that affidavit. Allen died six months after.’

  ‘So Barnes had a hold over the doctor?’

  ‘Yes. I heard the men talking in the garage. The doctor wasn’t the sort to stand for it normally. But he’d his sister to look after and if it had come out and he’d been gaoled, what would have happened to her?’

  ‘I see. So Barnes could put the screw on him if he wanted.’

  ‘I suppose so. But I never seen him do it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have. It’s not likely that Barnes would give a public exhibition of putting the screw on Macready, is it?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Have you any idea how the dead man happened to fetch up at Barnes’s place?’

  ‘Not a one. All I knew was when Barnes came to me, ordering me about, like. “Get the wife and kids off to her mother’s”, Barnes says. “And be quick about it.” Jobs of my sort are hard to get and I’m in no position to tell him to take a runnin’ jump. I’d lose my job and my house as well. It’s let furnished to us, and he can chuck us out when he wants. Barnes pays well, but he’s one hell of a boss. All his own way, or nothin’. Follow?’

  ‘I do. Now one last question, Mr. Peeples.’

  ‘Ask away. If Barnes gets to know what I’ve told you already, there’ll be another murder. You won’t forget, will you, that I co-operated with the law?’

  ‘I won’t. What I want to ask is, what made Barnes suddenly rush you here to your wife and family? He’s not the kind who’d do it for charity, is he?’

  Peeples looked a bit sheepish now.

  ‘I’m a bit ’ighly-strung, as perhaps you’ll have ob
served. …’

  To emphasise this and give an example, Mr. Peeples thereupon made a grimace with his mouth and twitched his hands to show how nervous he was.

  ‘Well, bein’ alone in that house, where the man had died on our hands and missin’ the friendly company of the wife and kids, got on my nerves. I couldn’t sleep. And then there was the police around. I was sure they’d call again. Added to the fact that I’d done a dirty trick on the sergeant, there, after he’d shown such interest in the kids bein’ ill, which wasn’t true…’

  Cromwell suddenly straightened himself and gave Peeples a disgusted look.

  ‘Oh, scrub that part, Peeples. You were only saving your own miserable hide. Don’t bring me in it. All I can say is you’re a damned good actor. You took me in properly.’

  ‘I do assure you, sergeant, the children did have whooping-cough in the summer… ?’

  ‘I said scrub it.’

  ‘I had to have some company. So I went to the Admiral. I started drinking to keep up my courage.’

  ‘And Barnes was afraid you’d take too much and give the game away?

  ‘He saw me a time or two in the Admiral and it seemed to get him mad. Finally, he came to me and said that as I’d been under some strain, he was goin’ to give me a holiday with pay and he’d take me to join the family here. I thought it was a generous offer and I accepted right away. It didn’t strike me that he was afraid the police would ask me to co-operate and I’d agree.’

  To hear him talk, you’d have thought they were going to sign him on at Scotland Yard!

  ‘Who killed Etienne Jourin?’

  ‘Beg pardon. Who’s he?’

  ‘The wounded man.’

  ‘Was he a foreigner? I didn’t know that. You see, all the time he was with me, he never spoke. He was unconscious.’

  ‘Who killed him?’

  ‘I suppose whoever left him in the road in front of Sammy Barnes’s garage.’

  ‘Is that what Sammy told you? ’

  ‘I said so before, didn’t I?’

  ‘That’s right. Who drove the body away on the milk runabout?’

  ‘Trodd, the garage foreman, I think. The runabout had been parked at the garage overnight, you see. I thought they were takin’ it to the mortuary. You can guess what I felt like when I read in the paper that it had been hooked out of the canal. It was that that broke my nerve and made me start drinkin’. I knew the mess I might be in, you see. You’ll see me right, won’t you? You promised you would.’

  ‘We’ll do our best for you, if what you’ve said’s the truth.’

  ‘I swear it.’

  ‘You needn’t bother, Mr. Peeples. We’ll soon know if it’s not true.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes. You can go and get your supper now.’

  ‘What shall I tell my wife and in-laws?’

  ‘Tell them what you like, Mr. Peeples. You might say we just came to seek your co-operation in connection with a crime in July Street. Will you kindly see us to the door?’

  He saw them out and wished them good night. It was only after they’d vanished round the corner that Mr. Peeples suddenly remembered a question which he wished to ask. How had they found out about the tape recorder?

  Chapter 11

  ‘Paris, Ma Tristesse’

  Sunday morning. All the bells jangling in the vicinity of July Street didn’t seem to tempt anybody out to church.

  It was ten o’clock when Littlejohn arrived there and it was still drizzling. The milk had been delivered later than usual and there were bottles on many of the doorsteps. It seemed as if most of the householders had just peeped round the blind at dawn, found the kind of weather awaiting them, and returned to bed. At two of the doors, men in their shirt sleeves were eagerly reading the sports pages of their Sunday papers. Cats were waiting to be let-in and a large dog, which looked as if he’d been out all night, sat disconsolately on a doorstep, whining intermittently. Traffic passed noisily along the main roads, some of it heavy goods, some of it small cars determined to reach the sea whatever the weather. The man from No. 11, wearing a cap and a plastic mackintosh, wheeled out his old bike, to which was tied a home-made rod, and pedalled off to fish in the canal.

  Littlejohn knocked at the door of No. 19. He looked across at the spot where Mrs. Jump’s dead man had lain so briefly. It didn’t seem to be of much importance now. All that mattered was to sort-out the mystery hanging about the compact little quarter surrounding July Street; to ask questions and get the proper answers; to find out how Barnes, Peeples and Dr. Macready were connected, and what they’d been doing at the time Etienne Jourin visited the neighbourhood.

  All the usual routine work had been done and proved fruitless. The local police had combed the district enquiring for anybody who had seen Jourin arrive in the vicinity. Nobody had. The airport lists had been checked and Jourin’s photograph flashed about among the customs and passport men. Not a flicker of recognition. The boat-staffs had been equally fruitless. One item had come to light, for what it was worth. In the course of checking flights to and from Paris at airway offices, it was discovered that Grace Macready had booked a seat on the morning ’plane to Paris, on the day after Jourin’s death, but had not claimed it.

  ‘Jourin must have been disguised, or else come over in a rocket,’ one weary searcher had remarked to cheer himself up.

  Littlejohn knocked on the door again. This time someone looked round the curtain at the window of the doctor’s room. A minute afterwards, the doctor himself appeared at the door. He was just a silhouette against the dark corridor behind him, and then he came into the light.

  ‘Did you knock before?’

  ‘Good morning, doctor.’

  ‘Good morning. I thought you’d be here again. What is it this time?’

  He was properly dressed, washed and shaved, now. A dark suit of a rather old-fashioned cut, a white shirt, and a dark tie. A monocle hung on a cord round his neck. He looked a different man. His long thin face was distinguished, almost aesthetic. The face of a dreamer, a man of imagination. Now he was better for a summing-up by Littlejohn, who, from his first visit to No. 19, had gathered little to remember the man by. An untidy room, a mess of breakfast, stuffy air smelling of warm bedclothes and stale tobacco, and a man, lolling there, a bundle wrapped in an old dressing-gown.

  ‘Is your sister in?’

  ‘No. She’s gone to visit friends.’

  ‘I’d like to see her. Can you tell me when she’ll be back?’

  A slight movement, almost a shiver of the features, and the doctor was himself again.

  ‘Can I do anything? She won’t be home till around noon.’

  ‘I’d be glad of a word with you then, doctor.’

  A brief hesitation now. Then the doctor made a movement with his head.

  ‘Come in.’

  He led the way to the room behind, in which Littlejohn had first interviewed Grace Macready. The curtains were still drawn and the doctor hastily pulled them aside, revealing the backs of the houses in June Street and the doctor’s back-yard. Some effort had been made to improve the outlook. On a kind of platform under the window outside, stood three green tubs, each with a small cypress in it. The result was, at present, to make it all more melancholy. Rain dripped from the branches already soiled and heavy with soot. Inside, in the oblong of the bay window, a small indoor garden of plants in pots arranged in a wrought-iron frame.

  The scent Littlejohn had associated with Grace Macready was still faintly on the air. The place hadn’t been tidied. An ash-tray full of the stubs of Russian cigarettes, some sheet music strewn over the couch, and more music on a metal music-stand behind which stood the harp.

  ‘Sit down.’

  Littlejohn tried to make himself comfortable on one of the coloured chairs which gave him the insecure feeling that it would disintegrate under his weight and somehow spoil the dignity of the interview by casting him full-length on the floor.

  ‘You want to ask me so
mething?’

  The doctor sat on another of the strange chairs and lit a small cheroot.

  ‘I gather you knew the murdered man before he arrived in England, doctor.’

  That was a petard indeed! The doctor looked at Littlejohn amazed.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard me, doctor. You’d met Etienne Jourin before he arrived in England last week.’

  The doctor rose to his feet and slowly moved to the window. He looked out blankly on the miserable background of squalid streets with the tall chimney of a nearby hospital pouring out smoke over everything.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘I’ve just returned from Sens, sir.’

  Macready turned back in the room and stood over Littlejohn. He was smiling faintly as though the whole business were becoming amusing.

  ‘Who sent you there, Littlejohn?’

  ‘Etienne Jourin was a native of Sens. We went to try to get to know something about him. We learned quite a lot.’

  ‘About my sister and me, too, it seems. You’ve been talking to those gasbags at the Cathedral Hotel, have you? And you know the whole stupid story about my sister and Jourin.’

  ‘I do, sir. And now, will you tell me what Jourin was doing in Willesden at the time he was murdered and whether he called here or not whilst he was alive?’

  ‘Have a cheroot? I quite forgot. Please excuse me. As you’ll guess, I’m very worried about the whole business.’

  ‘I’m sure you are, doctor. Did Jourin call here after his arrival in England?’

  Macready was quite calm. He sat on the crooked chair again.

  ‘No. He didn’t call. Had I not been at home and intercepted a telephone call he made to my sister, he’d probably have been along or else arranged a rendez-vous with her elsewhere. …’

  He hesitated and gave Littlejohn a light for the cheroot.

  ‘I hope you’ll believe me, but he seemed to have fallen madly in love with my sister. Strange for a man of his type, a man of the world, one who’d probably had dozens before and left them in the lurch. But it is true. …’

  And then Macready was suddenly seized with a fit of rage. Not the tempestuous, roaring rage, half of which is usually an act; but the cold, hard, incisive fury which never forgives.