Death in the Fearful Night (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

  Littlejohn and Upshott looked each other straight in the eyes. It seemed, for a moment, like a battle of wills. Then Upshott slowly took off the glove. His knuckles were covered with sticking-plaster, as though he’d barked them on something.

  “Well?”

  Upshott smiled again. Even Mrs. Checkland was puzzled and waited for what he had to say.

  “Just a scratch. I had to change the wheel of the car the other day and I caught them on the jack as I let it down …”

  “I see.”

  Again the two men looked each other in the eyes.

  “And that is all you and Mrs. Checkland met for? Just to renew an old friendship and talk about old times?”

  “What else? You didn’t find us doing anything but chatting peacefully together. The meeting’s over now. I can go—when you fellows will allow me—knowing I’ve done my duty by my oldest friend.”

  “Your oldest …?”

  “We went to school together. At the age of seven, we met at a little private school in Carleton Unthank. Then she left for Cheltenham. I went to the local grammar school.”

  “Oh!”

  “Oh, what? Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course. The ‘Oh!’ was just a polite acknowledgment of the information.”

  As in every other aspect of the case, a heavy inertia was falling over the situation. Plenty of talk, but little of any use.

  “May I ask if you were sweethearts once upon a time?”

  It sounded impertinent, but Littlejohn had to ask it. Neither Mrs. Checkland nor Upshott was moved by it. It was obvious that she still held their emotions in check and, as far as Upshott was concerned, she gave the lead.

  “Yes,” he said. “You’re right, Superintendent. It passed … It passed, like all the other pleasant things of life. She chose Checkland and I decided to try my luck elsewhere.”

  “You left Carleton because of that?”

  “Really, Littlejohn. Really. Are you aware the lady is present. Do you want to know all my secrets? Well … Perhaps it will please you to learn that I left Carleton exactly for that reason. I’ve never married …”

  He got no further. The door was thrust roughly open and the huge tormented form of Mr. Checkland appeared. He was livid with rage and almost unrecognisable. He was palpitating with fury. His black eye and twisted lip added to the ugliness of his appearance. His fists closed and opened as though he were ready to pounce on Upshott and beat him up.

  “What’s going on here? What’s Mason doing here? And my wife …?”

  Mr. Checkland’s eyes moved from one group to another. As he spoke, his speech grew thicker and then he began to choke. He tottered to a chair and sat down heavily, fighting for breath.

  “You know Mason, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Of course I do. He’s a native of Carleton who left years ago …”

  “His other name is Upshott. The man I mentioned to you earlier this afternoon. He’s over from Australia.”

  The mayor was still recovering his breath.

  “Shall I get some brandy, Checkland?”

  Upshott made for the door.

  “Stay where you are. I wouldn’t accept brandy from you, you scoundrel, if I were dying. What do you mean being here with my wife?”

  Mrs. Checkland and Upshott seemed to hang on every word spoken by the mayor. And Mr. Checkland, having uttered his own maledictions, now seemed unable to find further speech.

  Littlejohn became aware that they were all afraid. Afraid of the same thing? Or each with his own fear? He did not know. He turned to the three of them.

  “We are not concerned with your private family affairs, gentlemen … and you, too, Mrs. Checkland. Unless they affect the murders we are investigating. If they do, it is your duty to tell us at once what you know. Has any of you anything to say to me?”

  The mayor looked steadily at his large hands, which were now spread on the table before him. Upshott lowered his head and was silent. Mrs. Checkland, her fine eyes bright as with fever, looked first at one and then the other of the two men.

  There was dead silence in the room. Outside strings of cars moved at high speed along the main road in both directions. Dusk was falling and fresh arrivals were now appearing in the car park. Young Checkland was still sitting in the car, hunched up, bored with the delay.

  Then, Mrs. Checkland doubled up in her chair and fainted. Upshott bent and gently raised her. The mayor was on his feet, pawing at Upshott’s shoulder.

  “Leave her alone. Don’t touch her, you scoundrel. Leave her … or …”

  “Or what?” said Herle, finding tongue at last.

  The mayor said nothing more.

  Cromwell ran into the bar and brought back brandy and a bottle of sal volatile. Soon the odours of alcohol and ammonia mingled with the stuffy air of the room.

  Mrs. Checkland slowly opened her eyes, glanced around fearfully, and sobbed.

  Littlejohn bent gently over her.

  “I’m sorry. Are you fit to walk to the car, madam? We’d better get you home.”

  “I’ll be all right now. I apologise for making a fuss. I feel much better.”

  Cromwell and the mayor, who insisted, helped Mrs Checkland to her car.

  “What’s the matter, mother?”

  Young James stared at her in anxious anger.

  “What have you been doing to her?”

  He glared at the circle of men who followed in procession.

  “Nothing, my dear. It’s all right. The air in the room was stuffy and I felt a bit faint.”

  Still glaring venomously around, James made his mother comfortable and started the engine.

  Parked beside his wife’s car was the mayor’s transport. A delivery van marked Benj’n. Checkland & Son, Grocers, etc., Carleton Unthank. In his haste, Mr. Checkland had taken the first available vehicle. The driver was in his seat, his eyes wide at the sight of so many police and the spectacular exit of the party. The mayor, who missed nothing, saw the look of busybody eagerness on the man’s face.

  “Remember, Headley, not a word about this. It’s as much as your job’s worth … Remember …”

  “I’m discreet, sir. I won’t say anything. You know that.”

  “You’d better be discreet this time … I’m getting in with you again …”

  He scrambled in the seat beside the driver. He was obviously so annoyed with his wife that he couldn’t bear to travel home with her in comfort. She called to him anxiously.

  “Don’t go back in that thing, Ben. Come with us …”

  Mr. Checkland pursed his damaged mouth in a stubborn fit of sulks.

  “I’ll go the way I want, the way I came, seeing that you sneaked off in the car without telling me. Get going, Headley.”

  Upshott, who had travelled out with Mrs. Checkland after meeting her at the side door of the Barley Mow, was embarrassed now. His good humour had gone and he looked ready to start walking back to town rather than cause more trouble with the mayor.

  “You’d better come with us …”

  Littlejohn indicated the police car. It was a tight squeeze, but they managed.

  “And don’t leave town again, Mr. Upshott, on any pretext whatever. Otherwise, I shall arrest you.”

  Upshott looked up sharply.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “You’ll be detained on suspicion. I have your word you won’t leave town?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you still won’t tell me anything you know about the murders of Bracknell and Miss Fitzpayne?”

  “I don’t know anything about either of them. Why should I?”

  Littlejohn shrugged.

  They drove to town and dropped Upshott at the hotel door. The Checkland vehicles had vanished from sight on their way home.

  At the police station again, Herle hung up his hat and mopped his forehead with a gesture of despair.

  “Do you think we’ll ever find out the truth about the murders?”

  “I’m sure of it, Her
le.”

  “I doubt it. Nobody seems to know anything. But you surely don’t think the mayor or his wife is involved?”

  “I don’t know. Bracknell came from Australia. So does Upshott. Upshott, as Mason, knew Checkland well, from all accounts, before he emigrated. And, he seems to have been on more than good terms with the mayoress. Judging from the way they behaved towards each other, and the tête à tête at the Marquis of Granby, they were childhood sweethearts. Upshott left Carleton when Mrs. Checkland chose the mayor instead of himself. He’s still unmarried. Sort that out, if you can, Herle.”

  “I said I didn’t think we’d ever get to the bottom of it. We can’t take two people like Mr. and Mrs. Checkland and shake some truth out of them. We can’t even do it with a nonentity like Upshott. We’re stumped.”

  “We’ve got to find out more about Upshott, in the days when he lived here and was known as Walter Mason. Where did he work? What was his job? Why did he leave?”

  “We could ask him.”

  “I prefer to find out another way. Any suggestions, Herle?”

  “The Carleton Gazette might have something about it on the old files. We know the approximate date he left Carleton. It would be when Checkland got married. Upshott said he left when it happened.”

  “The local newspaper won’t get below the surface. It might just say he’s left for Australia. Think again. What about some old employees of Checklands? Is there anybody in the office or the shop who could tell us about the mayor’s marriage, romance, or whatever you care to call it?”

  “There’s old Nicholson, the accountant in Checkland’s office. He’s getting on for seventy and has been with the firm since he left school. But he won’t be at business, now. It’s Saturday and he’ll have left early. He’s a late stayer most nights, but not on Saturday.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Off the Northampton Road … Wait a minute …”

  Herle fumbled with the telephone directory.

  “Here he is. Montrose, Hinkley Avenue … Telephone Carleton 5463.”

  “Will you ring him and find out if he can see us?”

  No sooner said than done. Nicholson was entertaining friends, but would come down to the police station right away, if necessary. It was difficult to convince him that the Checkland shops and offices were intact, that Mr. Checkland hadn’t had a turn for the worse, that none of the employees of the firm had been misbehaving. Finally, he said he’d come immediately.

  For one who had been subservient to a bully like Checkland all his life, Mr. Jeremiah Nicholson was wonderfully active and cheerful. This was due to the happiness of his domestic life. He had four daughters, who had married and, in turn, produced eleven grandchildren. His wife, too, was a woman with a whimsical sense of humour, in which, during her conversations in private with her husband, Mr. Checkland was the principal comic turn. Mr. Nicholson, who always felt a twinge of fear whenever the boss entered the office, who spoke softly and walked about on tiptoe if Mr. Checkland was about, who entered the mayor’s private office crabwise to take his orders, would, when he arrived home and described the humiliations and cares of the busy day, be quickly reduced to laughter when his wife imitated the manner of Mr. Checkland in his daily role as heavy villain.

  “I’ve met you before, Mr. Cromwell,” he immediately said to the sergeant on being introduced. “Cleethorpes, 1955.”

  Cromwell, who had never been to Cleethorpes in his life, politely denied the meeting.

  “The Good Companions boarding house … Come, my dear fellow, you must remember …”

  And when Cromwell regretfully said he didn’t, Mr. Nicholson cast upon him a reproachful glance which accused the sergeant of lying.

  “Please sit down, Mr. Nicholson,” said Littlejohn, and the little accountant obeyed like a man used to doing as he was told. He had a large bald head on a small, slender body, bright dark eyes, and a long inquisitive nose. He was obviously dressed in his best as becomes a man entertaining friends at home.

  “Do you smoke, Mr. Nicholson?”

  “One cigar every evening after my meal. I gave up the rest years ago.”

  “In that case, sir, I hope you’ll enjoy this one …”

  Littlejohn presented him with a choice specimen pressed upon him during one of his previous visits to the mayor. It was in an aluminium case and resembled a small bomb.

  “Now,” said Littlejohn, after Mr. Nicholson had carefully cut and lighted his cigar, “I wonder if you could give me some past history in connection with the Checkland family …”

  Mr. Nicholson sat suddenly upright on his chair, his cigar held between thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m sorry, Superintendent, but mine is a confidential job. I could not possibly commit a breach of trust, even for the police.”

  His mouth tightened as though he were prepared to undergo untold tortures rather than divulge anything whatsoever about his work.

  “Don’t be disturbed, sir. This is a matter with which Mr. Checkland has entrusted us. We shall ask for no financial details of the firm. Just past history.”

  “That’s better.”

  Mr. Nicholson began to enjoy his cigar again.

  “How long have you been with them?”

  “Fifty-two years. They gave me a gold watch on my fiftieth anniversary. I was there in the time of old Mr. Benjamin, and, although his father, Mr. Theodore, was then alive, he’d had a stroke and took little interest in affairs.”

  “And I suppose now, you are the man who makes the wheels go round?”

  Mr. Nicholson smiled benignly.

  “Financially, yes.”

  “Have you known Mrs. Checkland all her life, too?”

  “Yes. I remember her as a little girl in pigtails. She was a Miss Eileen Huncote, a member of a well-known county family. Mr. Benjamin … I mean the present Mr. Benjamin … was fond of her right from being a boy. But he was shy in those days. I don’t recollect his ever having any other girl. We were surprised, however, when she married him. As I said, Mr. Ben was shy and let the other men take possession. Then, suddenly, their engagement was announced, they were married, and they seem happy together.”

  Mr. Nicholson’s eyes strayed questioningly in Cromwell’s direction, as though he hoped the sergeant would sooner or later remember Cleethorpes and confess to their previous encounter.

  “Did you ever know a Mr. Walter Mason, sir?”

  The old man raised astonished eyes.

  “Did Mr. Checkland tell you about him?”

  “Yes. Was he a relative?”

  “It used to be said he was a second cousin or something, but that made no difference to his status in the firm. He was one of the under-cashiers, one of my subordinates. He left the firm to go abroad … let me see … it must be fifteen or sixteen years ago. He was rather wild in those days.”

  “In what way?”

  “He spent a lot more than he earned. He got among the wrong set; betting, girls, fast cars … It could only have one end. And yet, he was a charming man. Good manners and respect for his elders. And a way with the ladies. They ran after him in dozens.”

  Now Mr. Nicholson was beginning to look cautious and to choose his words carefully as he spoke. Littlejohn had to tread warily.

  “You say Mr. Mason was under-cashier. What kind of a job was that?”

  “As you know, we have many branches up and down the county. A lot of business is done and a lot of cash accumulated after the banks close at three o’clock. Normally, such cash would be paid into a local bank next morning and would arrive for credit at our bank in Carleton Unthank the day after that. I will be quite candid, Superintendent. In those days Checkland and Son hadn’t much ready money. They were borrowing heavily from the bank for expansion. Mr. Benjamin calculated that if he had a man to collect the cash which was received after the banks had closed and pay it in at Carleton next morning, he would save a day in bank transit and the interest saved would well pay for the collection. Mr. Mason did the collec
ting. He also went round to branches weekly and paid wages.”

  “I see. There was trouble?”

  “I don’t know that I ought to talk about it, without Mr. Benjamin’s personal consent. It would be a breach of trust.”

  Mr. Nicholson’s smile had vanished and beads of sweat glittered on his bald head.

  Littlejohn was very serious, too.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Nicholson, but I must insist. You see, this may have something to do with the recent murders in Carleton …”

  The old man’s eyebrows shot up and he began to look afraid.

  “If you don’t tell us now what we wish to know, here and in confidence, it will have to be later when you will be questioned in the presence of Mr. Checkland. It would be very unpleasant.”

  “Oh dear. Well, I’d better tell you, although I beg you not to … It’s very awkward. You see, there was a shortage in the cash. Mr. Mason was found to have appropriated over a thousand pounds over a period of time. He’d hidden the difference in the books, but was laid-up with an attack of ’flu and couldn’t get to the office for some days. It was discovered in his absence, by me. I reported it, of course. I was relieved when the matter was hushed-up and Mr. Mason allowed to leave the country and begin afresh in Australia.”

  “I suppose you and Mr. Benjamin were the only ones who knew about these thefts.”

  “Yes. Mr. Mason signed a full confession and Mr. Benjamin told me he’d overlook it, if Mr. Mason left the country.”

  “And he did.”

  “Oh, yes. Right away.”

  “Was Mr. Benjamin married then?”

  “No. Why?”

  “But he married soon afterwards?”

  “Yes. I remember it because my daughter, Barbara, was married two days before.”

  “One other question, Mr. Nicholson, and then we won’t detain you any longer. Was Mr. Mason a friend of Mrs. Checkland, then Miss Huncote, at the time he was obliged to leave for Australia.”

  “Why, yes. I was very surprised when the defalcations came to light. I thought Mason had quietened down. You see, he and Miss Huncote appeared to be going steadily together, as the saying is, and an engagement was expected, in spite of the fact that she was quite above his class. They seemed very much in love. It was said she married Mr. Benjamin on the rebound after Mason fled. However, she did far better for herself. Mr. Benjamin is a steady man. Quite unlike Mason and much more worthy of a fine woman like Mrs. Checkland.”