The Echoing Strangers (Mrs Bradley)

by Mitchell, Gladys

  The Book of the Norwich Festival, 1951

  *

  ‘AND WHAT DO you propose to do now?’ Mrs. Bradley and Tom Donagh were again in the launch, which was making its idle and attractive way up the river towards the nearest Broad.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Tom. ‘Sir Adrian paid me again,’ he added, ‘up to date, and, of course, I’m completely curious to know what has made him change his attitude towards Francis.’

  ‘So you’re not going to stay and see this thing to an end?’

  ‘I’d like to … but is it going to have an end? Of course, the police may get something, but it seems to me that there isn’t much chance of our finding out anything that they can’t.’

  ‘True, child. And yet I cannot believe that there is very much reason why we should not satisfy our own curiosity. Of one thing I think we may rest assured.’

  ‘Those bloody twins. I agree. They had something to do with it. That sticks out a mile. I can see what Derek did, of course. He must have opened the house to Witt’s murderer.’

  ‘There could be another explanation. He could have been providing that murderer with an alibi.’

  ‘By having people think he did it? Oh, come, now! He wouldn’t stick his neck out that far! Besides, we’ve nothing to go on. There’s nothing we actually know. We’ve got a suspect in old Cornish at the pub, but beyond that … and we know he couldn’t have done it …’

  ‘We also know, from the medical evidence … in which, by the way, I concur, and I was the first person, except for the boy who dived down to find it, to see the body, remember … more or less when the Wetwode corpse was put into the water. That occurred when Francis and Miss Higgs were in Great Yarmouth.’

  ‘I get you. You mean we’ve got to find out whether Francis could have sneaked back here to help in the murder, and, if he could, when he did. But I’m afraid I don’t see how we begin.’

  ‘We begin by going back to Mede.’

  ‘To the pub, you mean? Right. But won’t Sir Adrian soon know that we’re there?’

  ‘ “What’s Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba?” ’ asked Mrs. Bradley facetiously. Tom Donagh grinned.

  ‘Right,’ he said again. ‘To Mede. “Boot, saddle, to horse and away!” And in case you were thinking of tackling Landlord Cornish again …’

  ‘Oh, but I am. He is our chief point of contact. He was blackmailed by Mr. Witt for obtaining Black Market wines and spirits. So much we know. What we do not know is …’

  ‘Whether he had sufficient motive for murdering Witt, and, if he had, who actually committed the murder for him, what that mysterious bloke’s reward was, and what connection there was, if any, between Witt’s murder and the death of this fellow Campbell at Wetwode.’

  Mrs. Bradley beamed upon the intelligent young man.

  ‘ “Quite right, Humphrey, quite right.” And you’d better leave Landlord Cornish entirely to me.’

  ‘Not on your life! I don’t trust his temper. I’m certain he knocks that wife of his about, the dirty brute.’

  ‘You think he might attempt to knock me about?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to bet on it either way. You’d do better to have me at hand. Chivalry in defence of the tougher and wilier sex is my middle name. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘You keep out of it, dear child. Not chivalry but sinuous and guileful argument is what is wanted here.’

  She had her way, and Donagh was left in the bar whilst Mrs. Bradley addressed the landlord in the airless and slightly smelly sanctity of his private sitting-room. Eschewing guile, she came straight to the point.

  ‘Now, look here, Mr. Cornish, I have no doubt that you can help me, and I hope you will.’

  ‘No credit. That’s the motto of this house. If you can’t pay, ma’am, out you go, same as everybody else.’

  ‘You misunderstand me. May I ask how well you are acquainted with the mentality and outlook of young Mr. Derek Caux?’

  ‘Eh?’ He glowered at her suspiciously.

  ‘It’s like this, Mr. Cornish. As matters stand at present, it seems more than likely that in the course of the next few days Mr. Derek Caux may be arrested as an accessory to the fact of murder, if not for the murder itself.’

  ‘Him? Couldn’t do no ’arm to a bluebottle! Him do a murder? ’Tis onnatural.’

  He spoke with restraint. His piggish, bloodshot little eyes had flickered uncertainly. He was wary and on his guard. She had frightened him. So much was clear. She continued soberly:

  ‘It seems likely that during his temporary absence from the field …’

  ‘His grandad ordered him off. There wasn’t nothing murderous in that! Treats him more like a gal than a lad, he do. A half a dozen good ’idings wouldn’t do the young … no ’arm. That’s what he’d get if he was my boy. What that one needs is toughening up a bit. Don’t do to act sorft wi’ boys.’

  ‘No doubt. But I’m glad to have your opinion that he is incapable of murder. What I was about to put to you, however, is this: whilst he was off the field, is it likely, in your opinion, that he would have opened the house to the murderer?’

  ‘I dunno.’ He seemed more at ease now. ‘What do ee want to know for?’

  ‘I am a psychologist, and, as such, I am interested in Mr. Caux. You see … and let’s not beat about the bush, if you please, Mr. Cornish … so far as is known at present, except for Derek Caux, everybody on the spot at the time of the murder can be accounted for and has an alibi. You yourself, for example …’

  ‘I was out on field. Everybody knows that!’

  ‘Exactly. You, the only person in Mede who seems to have had the smallest reason for wanting Mr. Witt out of the way, are the very last person who can possibly be suspected.’

  She had not expected to be able to get the whole of that statement out without provoking an explosion, but the landlord merely sat biting his lips and concentrating his attention on the ink-stained, beer-splashed table-cover.

  ‘Well?’ he said at last. ‘What of it?’

  ‘This. Do you know of anybody else who had got into difficulties because of Mr. Witt’s activities?’

  ‘Witt was a——!’

  ‘I’m quite sure he was, and no doubt his death will act as a soporific in more cases than your own.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘A number of people will sleep better for the knowledge that Mr. Witt is dead.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a fact, that is, I reckon. He can’t do no more ’arm, the—— ——.’

  ‘I know. I know. Blackmail is the most dastardly of crimes. You yourself, now …’

  ‘Look ’ere, you keep me out of it, or else I’ll slit your scrawny little gizzard, you old——’

  ‘Be reasonable, Mr. Cornish. That is exactly the kind of threat which is open to misinterpretation by the police.’

  ‘Don’t you threaten me with the police!’

  ‘Why not? You seem to have gone in considerable awe of them for some years.’

  Cornish gaped at her. Her philosophical response to his bullying put him out of countenance.

  ‘I ’ad my reasons,’ he growled. ‘Bloody poke-nosed perishers! What business is it of theirs if a pore chap tries to turn an honest penny?’

  ‘It wasn’t a particularly honest one, was it? But I’m not moralizing now.’

  ‘Better not, neither! I ain’t ’ere to be proach at!’

  ‘Preached. So you think I may reassure his grandfather that Mr. Derek Caux can have had nothing to do with the death of Mr. Witt?’

  ‘The old buzzard! Makes the lad a laughin’ stock, so he do. That boy wouldn’t have nothing to do with anybody’s death asseptin’ of his own, killing hisself with his own book-larnin’.’

  Mrs. Bradley nodded, thanked him for his co-operation, (at which he blinked), and joined Tom in the bar. She accepted a glass of sherry, and when they were outside again she informed Tom, who asked her how she had got on, that she thought she would find somewhere else to stay if she decided to come back to Mede.
Tom whistled.

  ‘Like that, is it?’

  ‘I’ve frightened him, and badly. He knows something, I think, and that something may involve Derek Caux.’

  ‘As you suspected.’

  ‘Well, the coincidences in this business trouble me.’

  ‘It was the old man who sent Derek in to have a rest, you know.’

  ‘I do not lose sight of that fact, child, nor of the other important fact that Derek dislikes his grandfather to the point of loathing him.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘That the opposite may be equally true. Sir Adrian may detest the boy as much as the boy detests him.’

  ‘Oh, come, now! You’d scarcely say that if you saw them together as I have!’

  ‘Then I had better see them together. Let us return to Wetwode. Or are you inclined to visit Brittany? The molluscs there are well regarded.’

  Tom looked at her sharply, but her expression was bland. He said lamely:

  ‘I rather want to stay here. This business has got me. It’s enormously interesting. The only thing is …’

  ‘Yes, I know. You are not prepared (and who shall blame you?) to behave like a snake in the grass.’

  ‘The trouble is, you see, that you’ve made me definitely suspicious of young Derek, and it seems more than a shade over the odds to win the bloke’s confidence, and all that, and take his grandfather’s money, if I’m more or less a spy in the camp. Do you know what I think I’ll do? I’ll go back, get Derek on his own, and bust him wide open. I’ll make him tell me exactly what he did while he was off the field of play.’

  ‘Risky, child, don’t you think? And, remember, he has successfully resisted every attempt of the police to do the same thing. He doesn’t lack brains. He has parried their every attack.’

  ‘Yes, but the police have to handle him with gloves on.’

  ‘And you think you would not be thus inhibited?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. I would be.’

  ‘You wouldn’t fool Sir Adrian, you know. He would at once jump to the conclusion that you suspect Derek if you attempted to contact the boy again.’

  ‘What shall I do, then? I’d much rather have it out with Derek.’

  ‘There is someone else whom I’d rather talk to,’ said Mrs. Bradley thoughtfully.

  ‘Walters, the butler fellow? I wouldn’t mind betting he’s got the tabs on most things that have happened in that house.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of Walters. If he has any sense he’ll mind his own and his master’s business.’

  ‘I can’t think whom you mean, then.’

  ‘Miss Higgs. There are one or two leading questions which suggest themselves to me, and which I feel that she can and will answer.’

  Miss Higgs, unfortunately, was still in hospital and it seemed unfair to trouble her although she was going on well. In the interval, therefore, Mrs. Bradley returned to her riverside bungalow and Tom went to visit some cousins who lived in London.

  Sir Adrian greeted Mrs. Bradley coolly when he met her, and she, in her turn, showed no sign of having any further interest in him or in his affairs.

  The fishermen, Tavis and Grandall, meanwhile came under Mrs. Bradley’s scrutiny. They seemed harmless enough, and, apart from anything to do with the murder of Campbell, she was glad to make their further acquaintance.

  She had stalked her prey warily. She had informed herself of their habits by careful observation over the space of two week-ends. On the third Saturday she ventured to speak to them in the saloon bar of the hotel.

  ‘I note that the roach are particularly amiable at present.’

  Tavis, a Welshman much like a favourite actor of her acquaintance, looked at her cheekily and appraisingly over the top of his tankard.

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ he agreed cautiously. ‘You will be a fisherman yourself, no doubt?’

  ‘By no means,’ Mrs. Bradley blandly informed him. ‘I have an over-mastering distaste for taking the life of any creature. Besides, what so delightful to watch as the cold ecstasies of fish?’

  ‘A crank, eh?’ said Grandall, a dark and keen-eyed man of about forty-eight. ‘No time for cranks.’

  ‘How right you are.’ She regarded him with benign and irritating interest. ‘I think I had better restore myself immediately to your good graces. I am (as people say) “in with” the police. I want all the information which you can give me about the death of your near neighbour, Mr. Campbell.’

  ‘Police, eh?’ said Grandall, whose conversation seemed to follow a pattern and not an involved one. ‘No time for the police. Nosey parkers. Besides, you once talked to us before. We’ve nothing to say.’

  Tavis had different ideas.

  ‘I would not say that, man. No, I would think twice before I said that. What did you want us to tell you, girl bach?’

  Mrs. Bradley blinked her sharp black eyes at him. His handsome, cheeky, cunning face smiled winningly at her.

  ‘Come away, where the Prime Minister can’t hear us,’ she said, indicating Grandall. She led the way to a small table. Grandall stayed only long enough to order a round of drinks (one of which, to her surprise, was for Mrs. Bradley) before he joined them.

  ‘Prime Minister, eh?’ he remarked. ‘Well, if I am, it’s his own fault. He talks too much, and you’ve got a pal in the village. Silly kind of woman. Blabs her head off.’

  It was a sufficiently apt description of the old school friend, and Mrs. Bradley did not contest it.

  ‘I want to know all about Miss Higgs and Mr. Francis Caux,’ she said.

  ‘Miss Higgs, eh?’

  ‘Yes, but I would rather hear it from Mr. Tavis, you know.’

  ‘Tavis, eh? And what should he know that I don’t know?’

  ‘Time will provide the answer. What say you, Mr. Tavis?’

  Tavis winked at his companion, less with the intent and suggestion of deceiving her, Mrs. Bradley decided, than of implying that the two of them had better be prepared to support and help one another.

  ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘Miss Higgs, is it?’

  ‘I don’t agree with women bringing up boys,’ said Grandall belligerently. Mrs. Bradley waved him away, inclined her head towards the Loki-like Welshman, and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Miss Higgs it is,’ she said; and, while Grandall relapsed into sulky silence, Tavis told her what he knew, or what he saw fit to have it presumed that he knew.

  ‘She came here when we did. We have fished here eleven years.’

  ‘Eleven from seventeen leaves six, or, in the case of years, which have twelve months, seven. Good enough, Mr. Tavis. Go on.’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Gareth,’ said Grandall suddenly and urgently. Tavis turned on him.

  ‘And why not, man? Why not? Do you want your neck in a noose, then? Do as she asks you, and be quiet.’

  Grandall muttered, put his head on the table and appeared to fall asleep.

  ‘War wounds?’ Mrs. Bradley suggested. Tavis nodded.

  ‘Right through the head. Very lucky to be alive to-day, or, maybe, not so lucky,’ he admitted. ‘I will tell you what you want to know. It was this way, then: a long time ago I said to Thomas … that is, to Grandall, you know … Thomas, I said, what do you make of Miss Higgs and this boy bach she have with her? Why, nothing, says he, but that she cannot be his mother. And why cannot she be his mother? Oh, that, he says, she is not related to him at all. She is just by way of being his guardian, isn’t it? Well, I did not know what to make of that, but when she gets to know us … you know the way it is … she tells me about it. The poor boy is deaf and dumb, and his friends don’t want him, see? So she gets a small salary to take him off their hands, and there it is, and that is all I know.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Tavis. May I ask one more question? It may be irrelevant or it may not … I cannot tell until I receive your answer.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘How many times has Mr. Grandall been down here without you … and how many times have you
been here without him?’

  Tavis laughed, and with genuine amusement.

  ‘You want to fix the murder on one of us, then?’

  ‘Not at all, but a truthful answer to my question might help me.’

  ‘Well, then, there is this. Two years ago, it might be, I was here without Grandall, but I don’t know that he was ever here without me.’

  ‘And on that occasion, when you were here without Mr. Grandall, I think that Miss Higgs confided something to you.’

  ‘Why should you be thinking that, I wonder?’

  ‘Let us say that I don’t think it. I know it.’

  A certain wariness in his eyes and the form of his answer, told her that the shot had gone home.

  ‘Ah, well,’ he said, ‘if you know it I will not deny it. Yes, then, I had a few words with Miss Higgs. Interesting words, too. She was wondering whether the boy was still as deaf and dumb as he seemed.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘Oh, let me see, now. I said two years, didn’t I? Maybe it would have been last June two years. It was the beginning of the season, see?’

  ‘And the boy would have been fifteen. Do you know, Mr. Tavis, that some people think that at fifteen years old human beings reach the summit of their mental powers?’

  ‘Who am I to deny it, then, girl bach?’ Back came the impudent and warily confiding smile. He was a singularly attractive person.

  ‘Splendid. What else did she tell you?’

  ‘Oh, that she was afraid.’

  ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘The boy. He was growing up, she said.’

  ‘What details did she supply?’

  ‘She said he was getting to be too much for her.’

  ‘Did she ever refer to that again?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, no.’

  ‘What did you think she meant?’

  ‘I thought she meant the girls in the village, like. See?’

  ‘Ah, yes, of course. Thank you very much, Mr. Tavis.’

  ‘And what will you do now, I wonder?’ asked Tavis innocently.

  ‘Go back to Mede, perhaps … or perhaps have a look round the village.’

  ‘Oh, there! They won’t tell you what you want to know, you know.’

  ‘Perhaps I can draw my own conclusions.’