Her eyes blazed.
“… They just couldn’t, however, with me standing between them and all that wealth. Even Alice, who hadn’t been so bad until then, because she, too, had contracted a comic marriage, started to avoid me. Henry seemed to have as much money as he needed. He got cool with me, I think, because he’d been made a fool of by his father and people laughed at him a bit. Gerry was as cold as ice. Never a word … Icily polite, that’s all. We just managed to tolerate each other. You’d have thought the sons would have packed off and lived elsewhere. But the Will provided for the family residence here.… You see, the house was theirs in trust, too. Gerald seemed hard up and probably couldn’t afford another establishment. Alice and her husband are as poor as church mice. We compromised somehow. I went to stay with father for long periods. The rest, too, took spells away. Now I see why Henry stayed on.… He was poisoning me.… He couldn’t have cleared me out of the way if he hadn’t stayed on, could he?”
“Why do you think he was poisoning you?”
“You’ve said so … and I know, too. At first, I thought it was gastritis. So did the doctor. Then, one morning, as my tea was being brought in, Clara opened the bedroom door and then went off for biscuits, leaving it ajar. She’d left the tray on a table outside and, through a mirror in my wardrobe, I saw a hand change the teapots … a man’s hand.…”
“Could you only see the hand?”
“Yes. The glass reflected the table and about a foot above it. I couldn’t make out which of the men it was.… I wondered what was happening. Then I remembered the gastritis. Was somebody giving me something? I’d never suffered from stomach trouble before. So, I tried the tea on the dog. I never liked that dog. Give me a spaniel any day. I gave him two saucers of the tea. The result you know! I had the tea analysed. Arsenic!…”
She paused. Littlejohn guessed from the way she was breathing that she was terrified, although outwardly she was calm enough.
“… I remembered the gun burst, which had puzzled me, for I’m most careful as a rule. Someone was deliberately trying to kill me. And it was one of the family!”
“Why did you pick on Henry, though? Might have been Gerald or Alice.”
“No. Bancroft, the butler, is an old servant of my family. I brought him with me. He and Miss Rickson were the only decent friends I had in the house. One night, Bancroft had been to town … it was the night the dog died to be exact … and took the short cut through the wood. It was moonlight and as he neared the tree where earlier in the day Matthews had buried the body, he saw someone digging. He crept quietly towards the spot, well concealed by the bushes, and discovered that the busy man was Henry! He was removing the traces of his attempted crime. When he’d unearthed the dead dog, he packed the body in a suit case and took it away with him.”
“Is that all you based your suspicions of Henry on?”
“Yes. Why? Isn’t it enough?”
Littlejohn made no reply. The time wasn’t ripe.
“And then, Mrs. Worth. What did you decide to do?”
“I made up my mind to pack up and leave Trentvale Hall at once. I’d arrangements to make, of course, and it took a day or two. Then … Henry died.… Well … the menace seemed removed. I just stayed on until things were squared up after the funeral. But I’m making preparations to go back and live with father. I can’t stay on here. I’ve had enough.”
“Have you told the family, yet?”
“No. I only talked it over with father yesterday. I got back here late last night and they’d breakfasted and gone about their business when I got down this morning.”
“Then, Mrs. Worth, I beg of you, say nothing about it until I give you the word.…”
“But why?”
“For your own safety. I do assure you that Miss Rickson was murdered by the same person who killed Henry Worth. If you let it be known that you’re moving out of the orbit of the killer’s activities, you’ll be struck down before you can do so. No; wait for my instructions, if you please.”
“Very well. I promise. But …”
She was obviously completely bewildered.
“There’s another matter on which I really must rebuke you, Mrs. Worth.…”
“Indeed.…”
She was now quite jocular, as though a burden had been lifted from her shoulders, and faced the Inspector’s simulated annoyance with a smile.
“You’ve caused the police a lot of trouble through the alibi you concocted to cover your meeting with your brother at the time of the murder.…”
“How did you know that?”
“I met your brother the other night and got the whole tale from him.…”
“You met Stanley? You do get about, Inspector. I’m beginning to admire your powers of detection. You’ve got all the answers. He gave me an alibi, God bless him!”
“Yes. But I’m not saying that it was entirely satisfactory. How do I know that the pair of you didn’t concoct the tale after you’d told your brother about Henry’s attempts on your life? And that the two of you had made off and gassed him.…”
“We didn’t, Inspector. Take it from me. We wouldn’t have used that sort of method.…”
“I’ll take your word for it then, Mrs. Worth, for the time being. I’m afraid you’ll find your friends the Wattersons a bit stiff with you when next you meet. I hauled the doctor thoroughly over the coals for his share in the alibi. He’ll not forget it for a bit.”
“Poor old Watty! He only did it to help me.”
“A quid pro quo for the loans you’ve been making to him.…”
“Really, Inspector, you must be a mind reader. You’ve got a terrifying knowledge of all the facts.”
“Did anyone overhear you making arrangements to meet your brother?”
“All the family were in. He rang up just after dinner the second time he ’phoned. I took it in the hall, but anybody who’d wanted could have overheard us.”
“I see. And now I’ll tell you something, if you’ll say nothing about it. I think you should know it.…”
“I promise then.”
“Henry wasn’t trying to kill you. He was trying to prevent it. That’s why he was murdered.…”
“But …”
“He dug up the dog and had it examined. Making sure … or confirming his suspicions.”
“I see I’m not safe yet.”
“Not by a long chalk, Mrs. Worth. But trust the police now. By this evening, I hope to remove the threat altogether. Will you meet me at the ‘Rod and Line’ about eight o’clock? I want you to help me lay the killer by the heels.…”
“I certainly will, Inspector. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll arrange with Cairns for us to have a quiet room in which to arrange everything. Kane will be there, too.”
“A chaperon?”
“Call him that if you like, but he’s going to take a principal part in the game.”
“You’re sure I’ll be safe until then, Inspector?”
“Quite sure. But don’t stay indoors or alone. Go over and see your father again … or else spend the afternoon making peace with the Wattersons.…”
“Very well. I’ll go down to town as you do. I’ll give you a lift in the car.”
“Thanks. Above all, don’t, until I tell you, mention leaving the Hall. Where are Miss Alice and the Count, by the way?”
“Gone to see some friends in Upper Trentbridge. They’ll be back for dinner.”
“Mr. Gerald’s at the works, I guess.”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s all, I think, Mrs. Worth. Except that perhaps you can help me on the matter of veronal in connection with Miss Rickson’s death. I understand that several members of the family had it prescribed by one doctor or another for sleeplessness. If they’re all out, we could just check up on their stocks.”
“Search the rooms, you mean,” said Vera with a sparkle in her eye.
“Yes, although probably you’ll know just where to lay your hands on it.”
“I don’t. But Clara will. She knows all that goes on in this house.”
“Not all, I’m afraid. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll ring for her.”
Littlejohn already had a staunch ally in the pretty young maid and she needed no persuading to fall in with the plan for searching for drugs.
Miss Rickson, Count Châteaulœuf and Henry had all had stocks. Miss Rickson’s had been checked. They quickly sought the other two.
Alice and her husband had a bathroom of their own. Clara went straight to the medicine cupboard in this and produced a phial containing half a dozen tablets.
“This doesn’t seem to have been bothered with,” said Clara. “The Count ’ad some on the night he had his last fit. I put this bottle away then. I didn’t count the tablets, but they seem about the same now.…”
“Thank you, Clara. Now for Mr. Henry’s.”
“I put those away, too, last time ’e used them. Left them on his bedside table. I put ’em in his collar drawer.”
Clara led the way to the now disused and ghostly room, and went straight to a drawer in a large wardrobe.
“They’re not here!” she said after frantically hunting. They set to and made a thorough search which revealed nothing.
Littlejohn turned to Vera.
“I didn’t expect to find them here. I know a more likely place, though.”
“Where?”
“Your bedroom, Mrs. Worth!”
Vera flushed scarlet.
“Are you insinuating …?”
“No. But this is quite in keeping with what has happened. Let’s try.”
Vera led the way back along the corridor to her own room. It was a large, light place, with a bathroom of its own, too. Thick carpet on the floor and a general air of efficient tidiness. The window looked on the front lawn and was open. A smell of burning leaves was on the air, for in the background an under gardener was busily clearing up. Somewhere in the distance, cars were humming along a main road. The clock over the stables struck four.
Mrs. Worth began to search for the bottle, her face again expressing the forced patience of one who acts merely to satisfy the whim of a third party.
Clara could be heard tinkering in the bathroom cabinet, and then came back, having drawn a blank.
Vera was busy at the drawers, carefully turning over garments and odds and ends. No veronal phial came to light.
Littlejohn’s eyes travelled round the room. If his theory held water, the tablets would have to be hidden in some comparatively easy spot … as when children play hunt-the-slipper, those not so big or bright are favoured by easy hiding places.
In front of the window stood a mahogany table. On it a silver cigarette box and a white ash tray, surmounted by an ornamental figure in faience. Littlejohn strolled over and lifted first the box which he examined inside and out; then the tray.
The base of the ash tray was hollow and down one side ran a long ridge like a trough. In this, wedged securely with a wad of paper, was the veronal phial.
“Was that Mr. Henry’s?” said the Inspector to the flabbergasted Clara. “Don’t touch it! There may be fingerprints.”
“That’s it, sir.”
“But, Inspector, I don’t understand.…”
Vera Worth looked at Littlejohn with a mixture of surprise and apprehension.
“I didn’t put it there.…”
“I know you didn’t,” replied the Inspector. “Whoever did, must think the police are fools.”
Vera Worth’s relief at the turn of events was obvious. She had evidently for a long time been bearing a heavy burden of trouble and fear alone.
“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Worth,” said Littlejohn as they parted. “I’ll see you later.”
“Yes. And thank you for all you’re doing. I never had the old saying brought home to me more pointedly than this afternoon.”
“What’s that, madam?”
“Your police are wonderful.”
Whereupon she let in the clutch of her car and was off.
CHAPTER XVIII
RED HERRING
IT was tea time when Littlejohn arrived at Trentbridge police station.
Inspector Kane was drinking from a thick cup and eating burnt bread masquerading as toast. His tea was hot and he had, in the privacy of his room, been sipping it out of the saucer. When Littlejohn tapped at the door, he hastily emptied his tea back into his cup and pretended that he was clearing up the slops. His mouth was full, his cheeks swollen with food, and his neck and face red with the heat generated by his drink and emotion of being caught in a vulgar act. He had just had a strong emotional shock as well.
Until he could make a way for his voice through his tea and toast, Kane waved his free hand to show that he was particularly wanting the attention of his colleague. He picked up a piece of dirty paper from the mass of official forms and soiled blotting paper on his desk and passed it to Littlejohn.
“Wuff … wuff … Ahem.… Glad you’re here. Just got that by afternoon post. What d’you think of it …?”
Gummed to the paper, which was a telegram form apparently taken from a post office rack, were a number of words cut from a newspaper.
WHO KILLED HENRY WORTH. ASK CUTHBERT BARTLETT WHERE HE WAS AT TIME OF THE MURDER. PRO BONO PUBLICO.
“Well, Kane, that beats the band! Anonymous, but I guess we’ll have to follow it up.… And just as I was getting ready for a busy night. I’ve a lot to tell you, too. But that can wait. Where’s the envelope?”
“Nothin’ doin’ there. Look at it.…”
Cheap manila, such as can be bought anywhere. The address also composed of snippets from the newspaper.
INSPECTOR KANE
TRENTBRIDGE.
Postmarked Trentbridge the previous evening at nine o’clock.
“Fingerprints?”
“Millions of ’em,” groaned Kane. “Looks as if every sorter and postman in the town’s ’ad hold of it. No doubt it’s been passed round as a curiosity.…”
“You might have that tested, too, will you?”
Littlejohn handed over the ash-tray with the veronal bottle still tucked away beneath it. He had carefully wrapped it in a piece of tissue paper supplied by Clara.
“What’s this?”
“That’s the veronal bottle used in Miss Rickson’s case.”
“Eh? Where d’you find this?”
“Do you mind, Kane, if I tell you later? I want to get this blessed Bartlett chap out of the way. I’ve to have a serious talk with you after, and I’ll let you know everything then.”
Kane looked glum and nodded his head.
“Can’t expect to follow the workings of your mind, Littlejohn. Not used to complications of this sort … leave it to you …” he mumbled.
“You’ve done nothing about this letter, I presume.”
“No. Only got it ten minutes before you came in. Have a cup o’ tea?”
“No thanks. I’ll just rush along and try to catch this fellow and hear what he has to say.”
“No use trying to find out anything about the letter. The writer or whatever you like to call him … chap with the scissors, is more like … had an easy job. All the words were in the day before yesterday’s edition of our local rag. Report of Henry Worth inquest. He’s only needed to fill in Bartlett’s name in ink in a disguised hand.…”
“So I see. Well I’ll be off. See you later.”
On the way to North Trentbridge Littlejohn overtook Veronica Bartlett walking home—something unusual for her.
“I’m just going up to see your father again, Miss Bartlett,” he said.
The girl fell in step, equalling Littlejohn’s swinging strides with her own. She was dressed in a Harris tweed costume with a rakish felt hat. Pretty as a picture if only she’d been herself. Instead, she looked ready to undulate on the set of a film with a sporting theme.
“Whatever has he been doing again?”
Her enunciation was matchless.
“Oh, I just want to ask him one or two questions I missed at noon.…”
A thought struck him.
“Where were you on the night Mr. Henry Worth died, Miss Bartlett?”
The girl with red hair tucked a stray lock away under her hat and hesitated.
“At home after nine o’clock.… Actually, I was alone until about half-past twelve. Daddy was out.… I went to bed at eleven. I had nothing on and I’d seen the pictures.…”
“Where were you before nine o’clock?”
Again a pause. The girl was getting flustered and the mask of her chosen prototype began to give way. Her colour increased, and then drained away.
“I went out with Mr. Henry.…”
She said it in a hushed, guilty voice.
“Oh yes?”
“After work, he suggested we went for a meal to the ‘Dog and Partridge’—that’s a roadhouse on the North Road. So I said all right and we started straight away. Nothing wrong. We just had a meal and then went for a run in the car to Aldhouse … a pretty village about five miles away. We had to get back early. It was Mr. Henry’s turn at firewatching.”
“Had you been out with him before, Miss Bartlett?”
“Actually, I hadn’t. He’s given me lifts home, of course, but I’ve never spent any time out like that before.…”
“Did your father know?”
“When I got in, he made me tell him. He was furious. But daddy’s a bit jealous and old fashioned. Actually, I’m all he’s got, you see.”
They had reached the gate of Itlldoo.
“Funny name,” said Littlejohn, wincing as he read it again.
“Absolutely gawstly. But the landlord won’t let us take it off the gate. Seems it’s the name in the deeds or some such nonsense. Actually …”
The front door was flung open and there stood Bartlett, eyeing the pair of them, every muscle of his knotted frame tense. He must have thought that Littlejohn had fallen for his daughter and was seeing her home.
Death in the Night Watches Page 14
