Death in the Night Watches

by George Bellairs

  “A lover?”

  “Put it that way if you like.…”

  “Who?”

  “There were rumours about Henry, you know, but that was all off. I thought they might be meeting again.…”

  “Sounds like nonsense to me, doctor.”

  Peeping Tom! thought Littlejohn.

  “That’s all you know, doctor?”

  “Yes. On my honour.”

  “Very well. And now, have you been treating Mrs. Worth of late?”

  Watterson bristled as they got back on professional ground again.

  “Come, come, doctor. This concerns the case and if you won’t tell me in private, I’ll have to see that you do so in court.”

  “I have been treating her, then. Stomach trouble.”

  “Gastritis, I gathered.”

  “Yes. Nothing gravely wrong.…”

  “Could you have mistaken poisoning by arsenic for gastritis?”

  Watterson looked ready to go through the roof!

  “Blast it, Inspector! What is all this nonsense. Certain symptoms are similar, but the idea is ridiculous. She certainly had no thought of arsenic.… What are you getting at?”

  “I put it this way, sir. Could the apparent gastritis, for which you were treating Mrs. Worth, have been progressive arsenic poisoning?”

  “No.”

  “I think you’re too categorical in your denial, Dr. Watterson. Neither of you suspected poisoning, so you didn’t look for it. You gave her your usual gastritis bottle and she seemed to improve. In fact, she did improve, but not through your medicine. It was because the poisoner had been scared off.…”

  “My dear Inspector, have you gone mad?”

  “Did Mrs. Worth never mention the arsenic, doctor?”

  “Never.”

  “And you’re her sole medical attendant?”

  “Yes. Had she been in trouble that way, I’m sure she would have consulted me.…”

  “Very good, doctor. Please keep the mention of arsenic a strict secret. I have your word on that point?”

  “Most certainly. And the omission in my last statement.… Will that be all right, Inspector? I’ll hear no more about it, I hope.”

  “No. It’s forgotten, doctor. But please don’t do it again.”

  With that they parted. Littlejohn thanked his stars he never needed to enter that surgery as a patient!

  CHAPTER XIII

  SECRET MEETING

  “THE Trentshires were moved last Wednesday from somewhere near Leicester to a few miles outside Burton-on-Trent,” said Kane after a brief telephone conversation with someone or other he knew.

  Littlejohn had asked him to find out exactly where Stanley Underhill was stationed. If he had met Vera at the time of Henry’s murder, it was high time a statement was taken from him.

  “Thanks. How long will it take me to get to Burton, Kane?”

  “Not long. There are fast trains now and then. If you ’phone the camp and ask Major Underhill to get down to Burton and meet you, say at the police station there, you could get it all over to-night.”

  “The sooner, the better. Will you find out where the camp is, then, and ask the nearest police station to send a man and make all the arrangements? Perhaps it would be better if we met at some hotel there. An appointment at a police station sounds half way to an arrest.”

  “Very good. I’ll see to it.”

  Two hours later Littlejohn met Stanley Underhill in the lounge of the “Flying Horse” at Burton. He liked the young fellow at sight and the interview promised well.

  “What will you have, Inspector?”

  “Beer, please. What else could one drink in Burton?”

  “Waiter! Two beers.…”

  They settled down to business. Underhill was evidently a bit puzzled by the whole affair and didn’t quite know what to make of Littlejohn’s visit. He resembled his sister strongly. Same dark hair, eyes and full, passionate mouth. Same air of intensity and of powers in reserve beneath a veneer of languor and a laziness of speech. But in Stanley’s face there was a trace of weakness, mostly in the chin; and there was certainly less pride than in his sister’s. Probably he had had an easier road to travel in spite of depleted family fortunes and ups and downs. He was as tall as Littlejohn, a good six feet; carried himself well, without an ounce of spare flesh; and had the good colour of a settler in a sunny part of the Empire.

  “What’s all this about, Inspector? I must say that I appreciate your makin’ this meetin’ informal and not at a police station.… I half expected somethin’ of the kind although I thought I’d put everything right.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Well … you’re here about the cheque, aren’t you?”

  “What cheque?”

  “You mean to say …?”

  “I’ve never heard of a cheque.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned! More mysterious than ever.”

  “No. I’m here to talk about an affair in which your sister is very seriously involved.…”

  “What … old Henry Worth’s death, d’you mean? I always said that wedding with old William would lead to no good. Whole family’s a bunch of swine. What she wanted gettin’ mixed up with such cattle for I can’t think.”

  “… As far as we have gone in investigating the murder of Henry Worth, suspicion falls on the family as well as anyone else. I’m being quite frank you see.…”

  “Like the devil, you are, Inspector. I’d have thought that some outsider did for Henry. Some girl he’d seduced, or a workman he’d sacked for no reason whatever, or else some outraged parent who’s child Henry’d refused to make into an honest woman.…”

  “We’ve explored all such possibilities, but as far as I can see, they can be eliminated. Strange things have been happening at Trentvale Hall, sir, and again and again our attention’s been kept on the family. Our present task is one of elimination … sooner or later, we’ll have the guilty party. I’m here checking alibis on the night of the crime. I understand that you were with your sister in Trentbridge between midnight and twelve-thirty at the time of the crime.…”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “I thought not. She promised she wouldn’t and I’ve never known Vera go back on her word.…”

  “Through trying to keep you out of it, Major Underhill, your sister’s involved herself in a pretty plot to deceive and impede the police. She persuaded friends in Trentbridge to say she was at their house at the time when she was with you. We found out that such wasn’t the case. Luckily for your sister and the others concerned, it can’t be classed as perjury, for they merely made simple statements to the police. But they can be charged with obstruction.…”

  “Oh, damn it all, Inspector. Don’t get ratty about it. It’s somethin’ that can be explained.…”

  “I wish you’d be quick about it then, sir. This silly business of obscuring the issue has wasted me a couple of days at a time when all our energies are needed in bringing the murderer to book.”

  “The meeting had to be kept quiet at the time. I wasn’t supposed to be there at all. But I had to see Vera that night and more or less cleared off without permission.”

  “Will you begin at the beginning and tell me plainly what the whole thing was about, sir?”

  “… A bit awkward. Could you keep the reason for the meetin’ confidential, Inspector. It concerns the cheque I mentioned when first we met.”

  “I can’t promise, Major Underhill. This is a murder case. But I’ll do my best. I must, however, have all the details. No more of this obscurity, please.”

  “Very good.… Since I came back from Kenya, I’ve been damned hard up. My father hasn’t much cash, and, although I’m fond of Vera, I’ve done so much sneering about the Worth money that I hadn’t the nerve to ask her for a loan. So, I got it elsewhere.…”

  “Moneylenders?”

  “That’s it. I couldn’t repay and the interest kept pilin’ on the debt. In the end an original
loan of two hundred pounds had become four hundred pounds.”

  “The usual moneylenders’ arithmetic!”

  “Absolutely. Meanwhile, I’d joined up and got back my old rank as Captain in the Trentshires. I’m a Major now, as you know.”

  “Yes?”

  “The moneylender suddenly got active. Unless I paid up the interest, he’d sue me for it. Where was I to lay my hands on two hundred pounds, except from Vera? If the blighter sued me, there’d have been a hell of a row in the Regiment. In fact, I might have been cashiered. I tried to stall the old bloodsucker. Instead, he actually came into Leicester and rang me up at the camp. I met him and he gave me twenty-four hours to pay up. I saw red, got in a hell of a temper, took out my cheque book and gave him a cheque for the whole perishin’ four hundred.…”

  “You’d money in the bank, then?”

  “Twenty-three pounds!”

  “I see.”

  “It was an impulsive trick and I thought of screwing it out of father.… But my blasted luck intervened. The old chap had a heart attack the day before, and couldn’t be disturbed. I’d got to have the cash at once and there was no time to go dashin’ round the country to pals touchin’ ’em for it. If the money wasn’t in the bank when my cheque came round it would have gone back ‘R./D.’ I’d have been up for court martial and sacked. I rang up Vera and told her what had happened. She was a sport. She said she’d lend me the lot.”

  “That was all right. But why the midnight rendezvous?”

  “I said I’d run over for the cheque the following morning and get it from her and pop it in the bank before closing time. As I left the ’phone, I heard the C.O. wanted me. The whole regiment was movin’ quarters, all leave cancelled, and I’d to go down to the War Office right away for instructions. I could have wrecked the whole joint with rage. All fixed up and then that.… So near and yet so far.”

  “H’m.”

  “I’d to hold myself in readiness to go to London and couldn’t get away until well after nine o’clock. Then, I was supposed to get the train at Leicester. Instead, I borrowed a chap’s car, rang up Vera and hared off to Trentbridge, making a sort of dog-leg on the way to London. I’d have been for it if it had come out that I’d been caperin’ over the countryside instead of attendin’ to duty. I’d papers with me and gallivantin’ about with ’em would have been a serious offence. I told old Vera and got her to promise to keep the visit under her hat. I calculated I’d be in Trentbridge at about midnight and asked her to meet me then at St. Chad’s church door. It all worked perfectly. I got the cheque, paid it into the bank’s London office and got them to ’phone that cover had been received. Old Ikey Mo’s cheque would be safely met, although when you beetled along I thought there’d been some hitch. Then, that blasted Henry goes and gets himself killed just at the time I’m meetin’ Vera. She did her best to keep me covered and I guess concocted an alibi without me. She’s not to blame and I’ll take all that’s coming, Inspector. It’s my ruddy luck, as usual.…”

  “You needn’t fret about it, sir. Now that we’ve had a proper tale, the affair looks better. But your sister has certainly made things look black for herself by all the intriguing she’s carried on to protect you. I’ll be as discrete as possible about the affair of the cheque. Meanwhile, I suppose there’s no way of counter-checking your statement, sir? This is purely a formal routine confirmation and not an expression of no confidence.”

  “Well … you can, of course, ask the bloke I borrowed the car from. Captain Spencer.… He’s here in the camp with me. Likely as not, he’s at the bar of the ‘Stag and Linnet’ just down the street at present. Also, I did call round at home to inquire about dad. I didn’t see him, but Feathers, the maid, saw me. I went quietly round to the kitchen just to ask about him. I couldn’t show up. Feathers promised to tell nobody. I daren’t let it get out that I was roamin’ around the county when I was supposed to be on an important mission to London. Dad was much better, so I shot off like a hare.… I can’t think of any other check I can give you, except the business about the cheque bein’ paid in and all that.…”

  The Major’s voice trailed off as though his powers of speech and improvisation were completely exhausted.

  “Very good, sir. We’ll check with Feathers. I’ll have to mention the matter to your sister. You appreciate that, I think.”

  “Oh, it’ll be all right with Vera. Glad you’ve contacted me. If the poor girl’s gettin’ into hot water, it’s up to me to do what I can, eh?”

  He might have been offering to pay her fine in a police court, instead of helping to clear her of suspicion of murder. Littlejohn came to the conclusion that young Underhill hadn’t quite grasped the seriousness of Vera’s position. Colloquially, the penny hadn’t dropped.

  “Quite, sir. But the hot water in this case happens to be a suspicion of murder.…”

  “What!!! Old Vera. Don’t be silly, Inspector. Vera wouldn’t have done in Henry like that. Not that he didn’t deserve it. All the Worths deserve it. Only wish old William had been alive and younger. I’d have had the hide off the old devil for what Vera’s put up with from him and his bloody family. She only married him to spite herself, you know … broken romance and all that, Inspector. Damn silly nonsense. Wouldn’t have happened if I’d been handy and things had been as they should have been at home. Poor and proud. That’s the Underhills of Glynn. So Vera sold herself to Bill Worth to relieve the mortgage on the old home. Thank God she hadn’t to put up with him for long. But the damn swine left a Will that set ’em all hatin’ one another like poison. No wonder somebody did in Henry. I bet he’s not the last.”

  Young Underhill drank off his third pint to cool his dry throat and, as a thought seemed to strike him, his eyes widened and his mouth sagged open.

  “My God! You’d better be quick and catch the one who did for Henry, Inspector. It may be Vera’s turn next. She stands between the family and the fortune, eh? What?”

  “She does. We’ll keep an eye on her, sir. The murderer wouldn’t dare try anything else at present, though. Too risky, I’m thinking. At any rate, we’ll watch out.”

  “What were we talkin’ about? Oh yes. Old Vera doin’ in Henry. She wouldn’t have killed him that way. Not if I know her, which I do. Can you see her crawlin’ round in the dark tryin’ to attract the victim. Then turnin’ on a gas engine and lettin’ him smother after slammin’ the door? Not likely. Not ruddy likely. She wouldn’t have had the patience to concoct it all. She’s a passionate, impulsive girl, is Vera. Never much of a plotter and planner. Get-it-off-your-chest sort o’ girl. If she’d wanted to kill Henry, she’d have loaded her gun and let him have it.…”

  Thinking it over later and summing up Vera’s character from what he’d seen of her, Littlejohn was inclined to agree with her brother’s views. All the same, this was an exceptional case and a blood relative was giving his sister a testimonial against suspicion.

  The following day, a constable was sent to Underhill Hall to check with Feathers that Stanley had paid the visit mentioned. She swore by all her gods that the statement was true in every particular and that the time was about eleven-thirty. Feathers knew that because it was long past her usual bedtime, but with the master being ill she’d stayed up a bit helping the nurse. She’d looked at the clock just before Mr. Stanley arrived.

  Good, as far as it went. But there was no proof, or confirmation of what Vera and Stanley had done when they met. They might have exchanged the cheque, of course. But they might also have dealt with Henry. If they were as attached as local opinion stated, the brother might have agreed with the sister to clear away once and for all the man who was a menace to her very existence.

  The whole affair was very much of a puzzle and Littlejohn was still baffled by it.

  All the same, he believed the brother’s story and realised that his theories would need reconsidering and revising before he made any definite move in the way of arresting or facing anybody with a charge.

  CH
APTER XIV

  THE KITCHEN AT TRENTVALE HALL

  MISS RICKSON was, at her own wish, quietly cremated on the day following Henry’s funeral. Littlejohn, very anxious to interview Clara, the maid at the Hall, again, paid another call to the servants’ quarters.

  As he crossed the park, the Inspector was relieved to see the butler swimming across the grounds in the direction of the lodge. He had put on a cloth cap to cover his baldness and looked like a character from Alice in Wonderland. Later, Littlejohn learned that the man was visiting Matthews, at the request of his mistress. The old gardener had caught a chill at the funeral and was in bed.

  Clara looked herself again and greeted Littlejohn in a most friendly manner. She had not been to the funeral and was wearing her afternoon uniform. Her healthy cheeks had regained most of their colour and she seemed to have recovered her good spirits.

  “I’m much better, sir, thank you,” she answered Littlejohn’s formal inquiry about how she found herself after the shocks of recent events.

  “I’d like to ask you some more questions … some we had to leave the other night because you’d had enough for one session then, hadn’t you, Clara?”

  “Things was a bit upsetting and no mistake, sir. But I don’t know what else I can tell you. I seemed to say all there was to say then.”

  “Let’s sit down, shall we, and just quietly go over things?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I ought’ve asked you to sit down.”

  They settled themselves comfortably in wheelback kitchen chairs. The family seemed to be out again and the great house was still.

  “Clara, I want to make one thing quite clear. There’s a double murderer still at large and it’s up to us to catch him—or her—as soon as possible. The other night, you seemed averse to answering certain questions because of loyalty to the family.…”

  “It’s the way I’ve been brought up, sir. Good servants don’t talk about their employers.…”

  “I understand that. But this is exceptional. It’s in the interests of the family as well as everyone else to have this mystery cleared up. So, Clara, I want clear answers to my questions, if you please.”