“It does surely. What other proof do you want before we get to work?”
Kane was rubbing his hands with enthusiasm.
“I must try to find out whom Mrs. Worth met on the night of the crime. There may have been an accessory. Then, I’ll face her with the alibi. By the way, how has the checking of the other alibis gone?”
“Quite good. Doctor Cragg and his patient, Lewis, have confirmed Evans’s statement. He was there, watching and praying by the bedside until the small hours. As for Gerald, we’ve had confirmation of his statement from the club steward and two independent members, both of whom played billiards with him.”
“I see. I’ll just get along and have my lunch now. Then, if you like, we’ll attend the funeral service at St. Chad’s. I generally make a point of attending such gatherings. Gives one a chance sometimes of finding some personality there who might provide a missing link. After that, whilst the mourners are still occupied, we might go up to the Hall and dig up the dog.…”
“Right. Shall we meet here about two o’clock then?”
“Very good. I’ll be here.”
“There’s one more point on which I might be of help. The Wattersons. Young Bascombe, one of our constables, is walking out with Bessie, the doctor’s maid. I might ask him if he can get any information from her about the other night’s happenings. Also any little bits o’ gossip that might come in handy. What do you think?”
“Excellent idea. A discreet young chap, I presume?”
“Sure. He’ll go a long way and … I suppose … take Bessie with him. He’s got it bad, so won’t mind combining a bit of duty with pleasure. The Wattersons’ll be at the funeral. Bascombe can get cracking while they’re away.”
After his meal at the “Rod and Line,” Littlejohn was tempted to fall asleep from the sheer weight of food provided, but shook off his torpor when Cairns entered to inquire if he had enjoyed it.
“I say, Cairns,” said the Inspector in the course of conversation, “you seem to know most that goes on in the town. Who’s a man in uniform, an officer presumably, with whom Mrs. William Worth might be seen knocking around?”
“Her brother, I’d say,” replied Cairns without hesitation. “Major Stanley Underhill. Miss Vera and her brother were very much attached in the old days, sir. He’s over here now. Joined up when war broke out. He’d been living in Kenya, but came home straight away. Last I heard of him, he was in camp, somewhere near Leicester.”
“You knew him then?”
“Oh, yes. Until the Underhills lost their money, he used to be seen about Trentbridge quite a lot. Bit of a wild ’un in his youth, sir. Then, when his father straightened himself up a bit, he sent Stanley to Kenya. Probably to cool off … sort o’ remittance man. But I hear he’s nice and steady now and well liked by his men in the Trentshires.”
“I see. Has he been on leave lately?”
“That I can’t say, sir.”
The funeral service at St. Chad’s was a depressing affair. The church itself was damp and dismal and a lugubrious vicar with a catarrhal voice and droning delivery added to the general gloom. The body of the place was filled with workpeople, many of whom had attended in their working clothes. When the service ended they went back to their machines. Henry was borne on the shoulders of six foremen of varying heights, who trod an uncertain and rather precarious course to and from the hearse at the church and cemetery.
The grief of one good looking young lady attracted Littlejohn’s attention. When he asked who she was, he was told that she was Miss Bartlett, the late Mr. Henry’s private secretary. The Inspector made a mental note to have a talk with her about Mr. Henry’s affairs when her demonstrative sorrow had subsided.
Beyond that, the visit to the church yielded nothing towards the solution of the case. Littlejohn hurried away before the end of the dreary service, for the women, who were not going to the interment, would probably return to the Hall afterwards. Before they got there, Littlejohn hoped to have dug up and carried off the dead dog.
Kane and a constable accompanied the Scotland Yard man to the spot in the gardens indicated by Matthews as the place where he had buried the body. They took a spade in the car and carried a sack for the spoils of their bodysnatching. They had no intention of asking permission or of letting anyone else into the secret.
They found the place without much difficulty, for the turf under the tree had been neatly cut by whoever had done the original job and had not properly knitted together. The constable inserted the blade of his spade, lifted away the sods in a piece and set about the soil underneath. This was loose and bore evidence of recent disturbance.
The three men grew more puzzled with each spadeful of earth. At length, the policeman reached a stout root of the tree, but there was no sign of the dog’s body.
“Seems to me as if somebody’s bin ’ere afore us, sir,” said the bobby, leaning on the handle of his spade and mopping his streaming forehead and neck. He had been working like mad to create a good impression.
“No doubt about it,” replied Littlejohn. “The body couldn’t possibly have been inserted under the root without a lot of useless labour. And yet, I’m sure this is the place. Not only because the old man showed it me, but because of the signs of recent disturbance. We’ve been beaten to it! We’re up against somebody who knows more of what’s in our minds than we think. Right, then, Poole. Fill in the hole and put the turf carefully back. Then we’d better be off before the mourners return.”
It did not take the constable long to set things to rights again. They returned somewhat chagrined to the police station. The sergeant in charge had a message for Littlejohn that the veterinary surgeon had rung up and would like a word with him.
“Get me the number then, will you, please?”
Mr. Philips was inquisitive concerning the visit of a Scotland Yard man to his surgery and would like to know if there was anything he could do.
“Well, not at the moment, thanks, Mr. Philips. It’s good of you to ring up, but the little job we had for you will have to be delayed.…”
“Little job? What was that, Inspector?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, we wanted you to conduct an autopsy on a dead dog. But the body hasn’t been brought in yet, so we’ll have to leave it over.”
“I see,” came back in Mr. Murphy Philips’s Irish brogue. “Now, might it have been a dog that died a few weeks ago up at Trentvale Hall? I know you’re here working on that case and my mind jumps to that dog.”
“Yes. That’s the one, Mr. Philips, although I’ll have to ask you to keep this information to yourself.”
“In that case, I’d have been surprised if the body had been brought in, as you say. It was burned at the town destructory some time ago.”
“How do you mean, burned, Mr. Philips? My information says buried in the gardens of the Hall.”
“Quite true. But it was dug up again and brought to me for examination. I performed a post mortem and found that the poor little devil had been filled with arsenic.”
“Who brought him to you? Mrs. Worth?”
“No. I had the body sent to me and also a packet containing a sample of weed killer. I was asked to say if the poison in the dog and the arsenic in the packet tallied. I opened up the body and called in a chemist friend of mine. We found the two samples agreed.”
“And for whom did you do this work?”
“Mr. Henry Worth.”
CHAPTER XII
VERA WORTH’S ALIBI
“YOU see, Kane, we nearly put our foot in it,” said Littlejohn after the vet. had given the strange news about the dog.
“How?” said Kane, his moustache bristling and his pale eyes protruding.
“My theory depended on Henry’s having insinuated poison into Mrs. Worth’s tea, which was given to the dog instead of being drunk by Vera. If Henry had put in the arsenic, why go to all the trouble of digging up the dog and sending it to the vet. for a post-mortem?”
“Perhaps he could
n’t understand why Vera hadn’t shown signs of poisoning and wanted to make sure what she’d done with the stuff.”
“Yes, but that would have turned the limelight on him properly. The poisoner doesn’t as a rule parade what he’s doing for all to see. No; I’m afraid the theory’s been built on sand and has toppled down as soon as tested. We’ve got to begin again. I still think it’s Vera who put paid to Henry, but I’ve got to find a new explanation to cover the crime. I’ll leave you for a bit and make another call at the Hall. There’s a point or two about the weed killer I don’t quite follow and I want to clear them up. Has Bascombe got back yet?”
The young constable was brought in. He seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed his duty of earlier in the afternoon, for there was a very satisfied smirk on his face which Kane had to remove by sternly frowning upon him.
“Yes, sir. I got some information about Mrs. Worth which might be useful. Fortunately, Bessie—ahem, Miss Ford—overheard the doctor and his wife talking about it. Mrs. Worth asked them over the ’phone after the murder to say she was there all night, because she had met someone secretly at midnight and didn’t want the police to know it if they checked her alibi. So the Wattersons agreed to keep quiet about her temporary absence.”
“Miss Ford overheard that, did she? She’s a smart girl, Bascombe,” said Littlejohn with a smile.
Bascombe blushed and didn’t quite know how to take the remark.
“Anythin’ more?” snapped Kane, anxious for his men to put on their best show for their distinguished visitor.
“Yes, sir. The Wattersons owe Mrs. Worth money, I believe, and are willing to do her a favour now and then.”
“Indeed! They must owe her a lot to be prepared to commit perjury.”
“Yes, sir. One day when Bessie—ahem, Miss Ford …”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake call her Bessie and be done with it!”
“Very good, sir. One day when Bessie was serving tea when Mrs. Worth was there, she saw a cheque for a hundred pounds on the table. It was drawn by Mrs. Worth … she writes big and Bessie said it nearly leap’ up and hit her in the eye as she put down the tray. The Wattersons are extravagant, I know, sir. Owe money up and down, they do.”
“Well, you’ve done quite a good job, you and Bessie between you, Bascombe. Do you happen to know who Mrs. Worth was supposed to be meeting when she left the doctor’s at midnight on the night of the crime?”
“Oh yes. I was forgetting. Bessie thinks it was her brother, Mr. Stanley Underhill, sir. The name Stanley was mentioned, but she wasn’t as sure of that as of the other things.”
“I’m very much obliged to you and Bessie, Bascombe.” Littlejohn grinned and nodded dismissal.
The young constable grinned, too. From ear to ear. He saluted awkwardly and looked pleased with himself.
“That’ll be all,” snapped Kane by way of putting him in his place and the young fellow made a confused exit.
“Kane’s jealous of me,” he told Bessie that evening in the pictures.
“Now what could she want to be meeting her brother in secret for?” mumbled Littlejohn, stroking his chin. “Looks more fishy than ever. Can she have told her brother that Henry was trying to kill her and the pair of them worked together against him?”
“Search me!” replied Kane and his whiskers hung down in dejection.
The old gardener Matthews was out when the Inspector arrived at the Hall again. He was drinking funeral ale with some cronies at a nearby pub. His daughter, however, asked Littlejohn to come in and sit down, as her father wouldn’t be long. They entered the parlour of the lodge, a little-used room, full of oddments and stale air, and the woman bade her visitor be seated.
“I suppose your father tells you most things that happen on the estate, Mrs. Filford,” began Littlejohn.
“Oh yes. He be a bit of a chatterbox and can’t rest until he’ve got his bits o’ newses off his chest. What have he been sayin’ again as he shouldn’t?”
“Nothing really. I just wanted to check up on something that happened a short time ago. It concerned the death of Mrs. Worth’s pet dog. A pekinese, I believe. Your father buried it.”
“That he did, and said it ’ad been poisoned by Mr. Henry. I told him not to be sayin’ foolish things as ’ud get us turned from house and home if Mr. Henry got to know—God rest his soul.”
“Yes, that’s what your father told me.…”
“And after him promisin’ me to hold his tongue in future. You wait till he gets back … I’ll give ’im a piece of my mind, I will that.”
“I understand that the reason for his suspecting Mr. Henry was that your father had seen him taking weed killer from the stock in the tool shed.…”
“An’ did he tell yew that? Well, I never …! He b’aint safe to be about, that he b’aint. He got it all wrong and I told him so; ’twas after the dog died as Mr. Henry tuck the poison from the shed. I know that, because father told me of the weed killer after he’d buried the dog. Several days after.… And him havin’ changed the times and made mischief by it. Yew must excuse him, sir. Him bein’ a very old man, whose brains be not what they was. You see, he lives most time in the long past, when him and mother was together and he b’aint so sure of happenin’s in the present. I do hope he hasn’t done no harm anywhere and isn’t a-goin’ to get himself mixed up with trouble.”
The decent woman wrung her hands. She was a chubby, red-faced little body and Littlejohn’s news had robbed her of her smile and healthy colour.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Filford. He’s done nobody any harm. And his lapse of memory’s quite understandable. You confirm the course of events, don’t you? I mean, that the dog died before Mr. Henry took the weed killer?”
“I do, for sure. On my gospel oath.”
“Then that’s all right. Don’t worry.”
The woman heaved a great sigh of relief.
“Can I make you a cup o’ tea, sir?” she said, all smiles and radiant again.
“No, thanks, Mrs. Filford. I must be off now. I’m obliged by your help.”
“Good day, sir, and thank you. I don’t know what I’se have to do with dad … I’ll ’ave to keep ’im on a chain, I’m thinkin’. Him and his chatter.…”
“Deeper and deeper,” said Littlejohn to himself as he made his way back to town. “Could Henry have robbed the poison stock before and been taking another lot when old granddad saw him?”
Watterson was back from the funeral and received Littlejohn in his consulting room. In his mourning attire, he looked like an hotel receptionist, but was hardly as civil as one.
“You again, Inspector!” he said ungraciously. “I can’t spare much time. I’ve been to the funeral and I’m behind with my visits. Please be as brief as you can.…”
“I’ve just one or two questions I want clearing up, doctor, and then I’ll leave you undisturbed.”
Watterson assumed a professional hauteur and Littlejohn wouldn’t have been surprised if the doctor had taken out a stethoscope and set about his heart and lungs.
“Why didn’t you tell me, doctor, when I last called that Mrs. Worth wasn’t here all the time between nine and one on the night of Mr. Henry Worth’s murder?”
“Wh … what do you mean?”
Dr. Watterson’s professional front caved in sadly. His flabby cheeks turned pale, his eyes shifted here and there, and his snub nose grew greasy with sweat.
“You told me that Mrs. Worth was here all the time. I know that she wasn’t. She was elsewhere between from just before midnight till quarter-past twelve and then returned. Now, doctor, I’ll be glad to hear what you have to say about it.”
Watterson cleared his throat and looked at his poison cabinet bleakly as though wondering whether or not to tear it open and take a quick dose of something to put him out of his misery.
“I may as well explain, Inspector,” he croaked at length. His emotion seemed to affect his voice almost as if he had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. “I’d no intention of obst
ructing the police. I hadn’t really. I was just trying to help a friend in difficulties.…”
“You’ve laid yourself open to very grave penalties, doctor, I must say. The best you can do is to make a clean breast of it all. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble by lying … yes, I said lying. You can thank your stars it isn’t perjury. I’m very annoyed about it, but I’m content to forget it and make a fresh start if you’ll play fair.”
Dr. Watterson clutched at a straw.
“I’ll tell you all I know, although it’s precious little, Inspector. Mrs. Worth’s a friend of ours. She went out to meet someone just before midnight on the night when Henry died. She got back about half-past. Then, when Henry was killed and the police started investigating, she ’phoned to say that she’d given us as an alibi and said she was here all the time. She wanted us to confirm that, saying nothing about her temporary absence. Actually, when she went out, she said she was just going to the stables to see about her horse, but when she asked us to stand by her, she told us where else she’d been.…”
“Which was?”
“We promised not to tell, Inspector. It’s damned awkward.…”
“I think you’d better tell me everything if you don’t want to have it forced out of you under oath in a witness box, doctor.”
“No … no. I’ll tell. It doesn’t matter much, I suppose. She wasn’t near the scene of the crime, so how could it affect her? She had to meet her brother, Stanley, just near St. Chad’s at midnight.”
“Why the clandestine arrangement if it was only her brother?”
“I don’t know, Inspector. All I know is, I saw her meet someone in uniform.…”
“You watched her, then?”
“Yes, from the front window. She went across to the stables, but left almost at once. I was a bit curious … ahem.… In fact, I might confess I thought she was meeting … well.…”
Death in the Night Watches Page 9
