Death in the Night Watches

by George Bellairs

  “In other words, Kane, Henry had found Gerald out and looked like spoiling all his little plot. I’m not saying he’d have turned him over to the police; I don’t know what Henry would have done if Gerald had persisted …”

  “But why did Gerald murder him, if he wasn’t in any danger?”

  “There we have to look at the mentality of Gerald. He saw freedom in sight if he got rid of Vera. He’d get his share of the estate and spread his wings and be off. Then, along comes Henry and snatches away the prize. But the brother isn’t going to give up so easily. He’s another shot in his locker. If Henry is out of the way, the family can sell the works to a combine at a good profit. Gerald will get a thumping good rake off from his shares and achieve his ends that way. Not while Henry’s alive, however. Worth’s foundry is his life blood. He’ll neither part with it, nor agree to the control passing from the family by sale of shares and, as managing director, his consent must be obtained before Gerald can dispose of his holding. Enraged at Henry’s finding him out at his game with Vera and having his guilt to hold over his head, and frustrated at every turn by Henry’s tyranny, Gerald decides to make an end to it. He kills Henry.…”

  Kane held up his huge paw like a traffic policeman controlling a crossing.

  “The halibi,” he said with portentous triumph.

  “Hasn’t been properly investigated and that’s our next job.”

  “But my men have checked it.”

  “Agreed. But as I see things, there must be a flaw somewhere. We’ll find it before much longer.”

  “I wish you luck, Littlejohn, but I ’aven’t much hope.”

  “Let that pass, although it’s a big slice to swallow. Let’s look at Miss Rickson.”

  “I was forgettin’ the poor old girl. Yes, what happened to her?”

  “My visit put ideas in Miss Rickson’s head. She was more or less confined to her room at the Hall by old age and infirmities. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that anybody would kill her favourite, Henry. I put one or two points to her. I mentioned the gun accident … and the matter of arsenic. After I’d gone, Miss Rickson got busy. Clara says she was very agitated. She questioned her about the death of the dog and paid an unaccustomed visit to the gun room. In her quiet retreat, Miss Rickson had a lot of time for thought and I dare say she knew more about the psychology of the family than anybody else. I couldn’t expect the family to tell me all that she said to them that night. We know she questioned them and asked Gerald … so he says … if he killed his brother. Actually, I think she accused him of it and told him why she thought him guilty. She’d been used to direct dealing with her one-time charges. This time, it cost her her life. Gerald just swept her away.…”

  “But what proof have we there?”

  “Just this. Whoever poisoned the glucose didn’t know it was glucose, for he replaced it with sugar afterwards. The only people at the Hall not likely to know that Miss Rickson took glucose instead of sugar were Henry and Gerald. The women of the family, including Vera, were in the habit of getting it for her under doctor’s orders from the chemist’s. And at times, even the Count did. But Henry and Gerald weren’t concerned with minor domestic matters of that sort. Infra dig. Henry was dead, however. Gerald remained.”

  “Well, well.… What a revelation. Nothing short of marvellous the way you’ve found it all out. I only hope the alibi cracks up. Though I doubt it. What’ll you do if it doesn’t?”

  “Don’t let’s meet trouble half way. I want to tell you another thing, too. Gerald, you know, almost trapped us into accusing Vera of the crime.…”

  “Eh?”

  “You remember when you wanted to swear out a warrant?” grinned Littlejohn and to prevent Kane’s discomfiture, he lit his pipe again, slowly, paying particular attention to the bowl.

  “During the day, Henry accused Gerald of attempted murder. The night’s events which followed it might have been deliberately set to help Gerald. Vera’s brother rings up—and Vera tells me she made arrangements with him within the hearing of all the family—asking for an appointment with her at around midnight. He wanted to borrow money to meet a cheque he’d issued and couldn’t cover. When I saw him, he hadn’t got over the fright he’d given himself by impulsively issuing a dud cheque. Although Vera’d put him right at the midnight meeting, he thought when I turned up at Burton that something had gone awry after all and that I’d come to charge him with fraud. He confirmed the meeting.… Obviously a decent, straightforward chap, although I hear that he’s sown his wild oats in his time.…”

  “You’re tellin’ me.”

  “Then again, the Count, who’s an epileptic, I understand, had an attack on the night Henry died and at midnight was missing from home. He’d wandered off in search of a drink, or something fantastic or other, and was found in the grounds of the Hall. Maybe, he might have gone and shut Henry in the engine house. But, Firebrace assured me it was a physical impossibility. Short of a physiological freak performance, therefore, he was out of it. But you see how it fitted. Vera had actually concocted a false alibi with the Wattersons to cover her brother, who was on a special mission and would have been for it had his C.O. got to know he was in Trent-bridge instead of London. The Count, too, had no alibi. And Henry was firewatching and known to take a turn outside at midnight on such occasions when it was fine.…”

  “The Gentlemen’s Club, where Mr. Gerald was playing billiards, is only two minutes from the engine house. In fact, the back door gives on to the store yard. Anybody with a key could have got into the yard and been and done the crime in about ten minutes. But, as I’ve said, three out of many men ’ave testified that Gerald was in the middle of a game of snooker when the thing was done,” interjected Kane, still pessimistically shaking his head.

  “That’s our last fence and I hope we clear it. By the way, you didn’t inquire about the fingerprints on the ash-tray …?”

  Kane hurried from the room and was back almost at once. His face gave the answer.

  “Not a thing.”

  “I thought not. There again, Gerald tried to plant the phial on Vera and put it in a pretty obvious place … not too easy, you know, but likely. The Hall’s crawling with veronal tablets, but this lot was stolen from Henry’s room.”

  “And now, Littlejohn, suppose you do manage to break Gerald’s alibi. What then? It’s as good as Vera’s … and the Count’s. Vera and her brother might ’ave made hers up. They might even have done in Henry. We’ve only old Firebrace’s opinion about the Count, too.…”

  “We’re going to test our theory to-night, Kane. If the alibi turns out spurious, we’re going to try an experiment. That’s the purpose of our meeting with Vera Worth. She’s going to announce to the family later, that she’s leaving the Hall to-morrow for good. Going to take up residence with her father. If Gerald wants to finish the job he’ll have to do something to-night. We’ll be there waiting for him if he does.”

  “You’ve got it all taped, Littlejohn. I never knew such a chap in my life,” said Kane with genuine admiration in his tone.

  A queer look, half mirthful, half embarrassed, appeared on Littlejohn’s face and he stooped and knocked out his pipe against the bars of the grate to hide it.

  CHAPTER XX

  AT THE GENTLEMEN’S CLUB

  “WHAT about this thing?” asked Kane as they prepared to leave the police station. He brandished the telegram form with its message of paper clippings.

  “That’s another thing we’ve got to look into. Bartlett was at Worth’s foundry just before the murder threatening what he’d do to Henry for trying to seduce his daughter. He candidly said so when I saw him just now. He also had no alibi to cover his movements afterwards. Went for a walk in the country, apparently to get rid of his rage. I don’t think he was likely to sneak up and shut Henry in the engine house. Tearing him limb from limb and scattering his body to the winds is more in redhead’s line.

  “But there’s just one other thing we’ve got to clear up as
well as the alibi whilst we’re at the club. Cairns at the ‘Rod and Line’, changed a ten pound note for the steward to-day.…”

  “Griffiths? One of our men on pension. He’ll talk if we ask him. Still very loyal to the force and proud of his record.…”

  “… All he’d tell the inquisitive Cairns was that it was for keeping his mouth shut. I was lucky in finding the bank still working. The manager told me that the note was issued to Gerald yesterday. Now, if as you say, Griffiths is proud of his record, he’s not the sort to be bribed into faking an alibi. What did Gerald give him the note for and why had he to keep mum? My guess is that he told Gerald that Bartlett was at the works on the night of the crime. That’s why Gerry sent us the telegram. Where Griffiths got the information from, I can’t think. We’ll find out if that’s the case.”

  “But why send us an anonymous message like that? He might have known we’d see through it.”

  “His second slip. The first was the murder of Miss Rickson. We’d no definite proof concerning who killed Henry. But the case is much blacker against him with Miss Rickson. He sent the message because he’d got the jitters. Why don’t we arrest Vera after all he’s done to incriminate her? There must be a hitch somewhere. Has she really produced a watertight alibi that’s satisfied us? In that case, we might turn our attention to him. So, having heard of Bartlett’s movements from Griffiths … mind you, this is just a theory … having heard that, he can’t bear to let the chance pass. He hands us the tip.”

  “The sooner we see Griffiths the better.…”

  They found ex-P.C. Edward Griffiths finishing his tea in his private quarters at the Trentbridge Gentlemen’s Club. He had just polished off a large Welsh rarebit and was now in the midst of bread and jam.

  Trentbridge seemed to teem with huge policemen, active and superannuated, but Griffiths was the biggest of the lot. As he rose from his feasting, Littlejohn seemed to shrink in height, for the man towered over him. His great girth kept others at a respectable distance from him. His face was like a pink full moon. His head was half bald, and the rest of the hair was clipped to the skin. His neck hung over his collar in great folds. He had a large grey moustache and bushy eyebrows, hands like hams and enormous feet.

  He had outgrown his suit which was skin-tight. His jacket, in particular, looked as if he had been poured into it. It kept slipping up over his haunches and he yanked it back from time to time.

  Ted Griffiths was a local character, greatly respected for his integrity and willingness. Although heavy and ungainly in body, he was remarkably quick and light on his big feet. The members of the club found him so useful in anything from preparing a meal to refereeing a billiards or cricket match, that they had twice increased his wages to prevent him from retiring. His family were always trying to persuade him to take it easy. It speaks well for Ted’s paternal authority, that he refused to heed them, for there were fourteen of them. Six boys and eight girls, all grown up, and twelve of them married. The great shame of Ted’s existence and one likely, unless removed, to bring down his grey hairs in sorrow to the grave, was the fact that hitherto, between them, they had only produced two grandchildren for him.

  The steward was sitting at a considerable distance from the table on account of his paunch. He seemed to be suspended in thin air, for his huge form completely hid his means of support. As he rose, wiping his hands down the sides of his trousers, he disclosed a small chair which had an air of pathetic ill-treatment.

  Griffiths got ponderously on his feet. The room seemed full of him. He took a drink of tea to clear his mouth and gulped.

  “Evenin’, gentlemen,” he said without cordiality.

  He disliked Kane who, he thought, had deliberately stood in the way of his promotion during his active days in the force, thereby cutting his pension.

  Kane introduced the other two and Littlejohn shook hands cordially with the ex-constable. Thereupon Griffiths took a liking to him. Kane had never once in all the years done that. Here was somebody teaching him his manners, and a Scotland Yard man at that.

  “Evenin’, sir. Like to sit down.…”

  “Thanks, Griffiths. We’re in a bit of a hurry, but have one or two points on which we’d like your help in the Worth case which we’re investigating.”

  “Always ready to help,” beamed the steward, face shining with proud pleasure, pale blue eyes receding with smiles into their surrounding wrinkles of fat. One of his front teeth was missing. “Once a policeman, always a policeman.”

  Kane snorted. He thought Griffiths was being a bit free. He stood stiffly, eyeing the mess of food on the table with disapproval. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Griffiths to stand up when he was spoken to, but Littlejohn was sitting on the outraged chair himself with Griffiths now completely covering another of the same build.

  “To come straight to the point then,” went on Littlejohn, puffing at his pipe. “What did Mr. Gerald Worth give you ten pounds for the other day?”

  Large beads of sweat sprang like hailstones from the brow of Ted Griffiths. His first emotion was one of fear lest he should, unconsciously, have compounded a felony; the second was one of rage at Cairns for having blown the gaff on him.…

  An appetising blast of cooking cheese blew into the room from the kitchen.

  Griffiths mopped his brow and lit a cigarette which seemed absurdly small stuck in his huge face. He suffered from smoker’s cough and, as soon as he took his first puff, was seized with a violent paroxysm, which sent his whole mighty frame into an upheaval.

  “I’ll tell you that without the least hesitation, sir,” he panted when the earthquake had subsided. “It’s a matter of no account really. Just concerns Mr. Henry Worth meetin’ a chap called Bartlett before he died, and havin’ a row with him. Mrs. Peacop, the club charlady, ’appened to tell me that as her and her husband was passin’ the foundry about eleven on the night o’ Mr. Henery’s death, she saw Bartlett, a Communist chap, leavin’ the office on unpleasant terms. Quarrellin’ like. Mrs. Peacop tells me, casual like, the follering mornin’ and when Mr. Gerald comes in a day or two later, I jest mentions it, casual like, to him. Thought it might be of use.…”

  “Why didn’t you let me know, Griffiths?” said Kane peevishly.

  Littlejohn could have given him the answer from the way the ex-constable had of looking at his one time chief.

  “Never thought another thing of it.… Jest thought it was gossip, till I see Mr. Gerald and even then, I jest told it him for somethin’ civil to pass the time o’ day. The way he took it, you could a’ knocked me down with a feather.”

  “How did he take it, Griffiths?” asked Littlejohn.

  “Looked funny at first, and then: ‘Griffiths,’ he sez, ‘don’t you be tellin’ that to anybody.… Tell it to nobody,’ he sez. ‘Understand that? There’s been enough scandal talked about my pore brother in this town the last few days without more. Jest forget it. Here’s somethin’ to help you. Won’t help the police, our family, nor anybody else to go broadcastin’ that. An’ give this to the woman who saw ’em.’

  “You could ’ave blown me down when he handed me a ten quid note for myself and a fiver for Mrs. Peacop!”

  “Where can we find Mrs. Peacop?”

  “In the kitchen now, sir. Lucky she comes to help clear up and cook the teas as well as clean up in the mornings. Mrs. Peacop! Mrs. Peacop!! Hey!!!”

  From the kitchen there suddenly emerged a tall, bony, tired looking woman, wearing a dismal black hat and with her scrawny arms bare to the elbows. She was drying them on a sopping cloth which she convulsively wrung in her hands as she was interviewed.

  “Wot? I’ve got rarebits on …” she said acidly.

  “Turn out the gas fer a minute and come here, Mrs. Peacop. These police officers want a word with you.”

  Mrs. Peacop’s bosom was braced high by corsets and as she clutched this in anguish there were loud creaking noises.

  “Wot ’as ’e bin at agen?” she asked, in plaintive e
xasperation. With that she scuttered off, like a small-part actress who has said her say and seeks the wings again. There were popping noises as she put out the gas cooker. That night, the rarebits of her customers in the dining room were stringy and leathery and were the subject of many complaints. She re-appeared.

  “Wot’s ’e bin at?” This time bellicosely, boding no good for the absent Peacop.

  Financially and alcoholically, the absent Peacop was a constant source of anxiety to the faithful, hard working woman now facing the detectives.

  Griffiths burst into loud laughter, which sounded like the whooping of a ship’s siren in a fog.

  “It’s not your blessed ’erbert this time, Mrs. Peacop. A couple o’ policemen, yes … but these is two Inspectors—one from Scotland Yard itself. Herbert ’asn’t rose to that honour yet.…”

  “You keep a civil tongue in yer ’ead, Ted Griffiths, and don’t yew dare run down my ’erbert in front o’strangers.”

  The good woman’s fighting spirit was rising.

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Peacop,” intervened Littlejohn. “Nothing of a personal or family nature.… We’re just seeking a bit of information from you. It was you who saw Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Henry Worth together on the night Mr. Worth died, wasn’t it?”

  The daily help melted at once.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Tell us what happened then, please.”

  Mrs. Peacop flung the tea towel through the open kitchen doorway and gripping her right elbow with her left palm and the left with the right, hugged herself until her stays creaked in protest.

  “I suppose Ted Griffiths ’as told yer that me ’usband is partial to ’is drink.…”

  “Partial? Partial? Haw, haw, haw,” hooted the steward.

  “You keep out o’ this. I’m talking to the gentleman.… Sometimes he takes a drop more than’s good for ’im. If I go with ’im, I can see as he behaves himself.…”

  She was pluckily standing between her Herbert and the criticism of the rest of the world. What she did to him when they were alone was their own business. Others interfered at their peril.…