“That night, sir, we’d been to the ‘Hole in the Wall,’ a respectable hotel.…”
“Respectable! Haw, haw, haw.…”
“You shut up! Respectable I sez, don’t I? We spent the evenin’ quiet, havin’ a few drinks and ’erbert, who can sing, though I sez it meself, gave a few songs.…”
“My gawd!”
“Look ’ere, Ted Griffiths.…”
“All right, Mrs. Peacop. Go on. Keep out of this, Griffiths, please.”
“That’s right, sir. Our way ’ome lays past Worth’s foundry. We stayed on finishin’ our drinks for a bit past closin’ time at hal’-past ten. St. Chad’s ’ad jest struck eleven as we passed the foundry. The door of the offices was open an’ a light on. That’s what caught our eye, like, it bein’ black-out. ‘They’ll be ’aving the A.R.P. after ’em,’ sez ’erbert to me. ‘They will that,’ I sez back. Then, we see two men talking. ‘That’s Mr. Henry,’ sez me ’usband, him working at the foundry as labourer in the stores. ‘Oo’s ’e got with ’im?’ I sez.”
“Yes?”
“‘Why, it’s ole Bartlett, the one as useter box an’ wrestle at the athletic club,’ sez ’erbert. An’ so it was. An’ him and Mr. ’enry was ’aving a few words, I can tell yer.”
There was a wealth of meaning in the deliberate understatement.
“What were they saying, Mrs. Peacop?”
“I’m comin’ to that.…”
“Better be quick.… Them rarebits ’ll be in lovely condition if you goes on at this rate.…”
“Griffiths, please!”
“That’s right, sir, keep ’im in ’is place. ‘An’ don’t yew come ’ere threatenin’ me at this time o’ night agen. I’ve somethin’ better to be doin’,’ sez Mr. Henry. ‘Yew don’t give me cause, then,’ ups and sez Bartlett as brazen as brass. ‘Next time it’ll not be words, it’ll be deeds,’ or somethin’ like that, sez Bartlett. ‘Yew’ll be an ’ospital case.…’ ‘Be off with yer,’ sez Mr. Henry and shut the door. With that we goes on, sir.”
“And you told Griffiths here?”
“Yes, sir. And you could ’a knocked me down with a feather when ’e comes later and sez Mr. Gerald wants it keepin’ quiet as it’s disrespectable to ’is brother’s memory to talk scandal after he’s gone. As if I would.… Anyway, he gives me two pounds.…”
Under the questioning eye of Littlejohn and Kane’s withering scrutiny, the ex-policeman wilted, shrank and almost took to his heels to get away. Instead, he thrust his hand into his trousers pocket, extracted three crumpled pound notes and passed them to Mrs. Peacop.
“Wot’s these?” gasped the good woman.
“Second instalment,” rumbled Griffiths sheepishly.
Their eyes met. Griffiths’s face grew mottled as though he had been severely slapped on both cheeks and forehead.
“Why, you … you …” hissed the woman and, as if to prevent herself from doing violence to Ted, rushed into the kitchen, where she could be heard lighting the gas and furiously rattling cooking utensils.
“I wanted to be sure she did keep quiet before givin’ her the lot,” said the steward in an effort to cover himself. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled pieces of bread on the table into small dirty pellets.
“Now, Griffiths,” continued Littlejohn. “This must be kept to yourself.… Where are the two men, among others, who gave Mr. Gerald his alibi on the night of the crime? Are they here now?”
“Mr. Wortlye and Mr. Hipton …” interposed Kane.
“Yes, sir. I was there, too. Markin’ for the games and servin’ drinks. Mr. Gerald was here all the time.… Well into the mornin’ about one o’clock, he left. When the others went. We generally close about then.”
“And they were actually in the middle of a game?”
“Finished one about quarter to twelve and then … lemme see.… Yes. Mr. Gerald played the first with Mr. Wortlye. That finished about a quarter to twelve. Then he took on Mr. Hipton after they’d ’ad a drink or two, in between like.”
“What time did they begin the second game?”
“About twelve fifteen, I’d say. Drinkin’ an’ talkin’, they were. I was busy at the bar just then, but I saw ’em all together.”
“Get hold of Mr. Wortlye, alone, please, and bring him here, will you? Now quietly.… We don’t want all the club chattering about our being here. Mr. Gerald Worth isn’t here, is he?”
“No, sir. A bit too soon for him. Mr. Wortlye finishes early. He’s Director of Education, you know.”
Griffiths left the room and shortly returned followed by a small thin man, with a face like an Old English sheep dog, for he had thick unruly grey hair on top, a strong, short, shaggy beard to match, and heavy disorderly eyebrows. He walked with a peculiar gait like one climbing a ladder. Mr. Wortlye frowned as he entered, nervously fingered a corded pince-nez hanging from his neck and then clipped it on his nose.
“Evening, Inspector,” he said to Kane, who introduced him to Littlejohn.
“We’re just checking alibis in connection with the Worth case, sir,” said Littlejohn. “Could you give a little more precise details of that of Mr. Gerald Worth? You were with him between say eleven-thirty and twelve-thirty on that night?”
Mr. Wortlye looked searchingly over the top of his glasses and cleared his throat.
“Longer than that! Longer than that! But for your purposes, that’ll do, I guess. Yes. We were together all the time.”
“Can we go over the details of how you spent the time?”
“Certainly.… Gerald and I played a game of snooker till, say, quarter to twelve. We keep our eye on the clock at that time, you know. Got to think of work the day after.… At quarter to twelve we finished. Gerald won. I paid for drinks.”
“Did you take them right away?”
“No. We sort of made the usual post-mortem of the game.… Then, I ordered the drinks from Griffiths here. Didn’t I, Ted?”
“You did, sir.”
“While we were waitin’, we talked again … oh, and yes. We adjourned to the lavatories.…”
“How many of you?”
“Gerald, myself and Hipton, who said he’d take Gerald on next. Then we came back and had our drinks. They started their game about twelve-fifteen. I know that, because I left ’em at it at about half-past when I went home.”
“Let’s get this a bit clearer. How long were you in the lavatories, sir?”
“A few minutes, that’s all. Now, let me see.… Yes, we left Gerald there. He was away about ten minutes.…”
Littlejohn could scarcely hide his excitement. He daren’t look Kane full in the face, lest an exchange of glances should give the game away, but he could hear his colleague’s sharp intake of breath.
“If you’re thinking his alibi’s no good on that account, Inspector, don’t. Because the door of the washroom opens on to the billiards room. He couldn’t have sneaked out without our seeing him.”
“That was the only brief period when Mr. Gerald was out of your sight during the time in question?”
“Yes. I couldn’t very well follow him into one of the cabinets, could I?”
Wortlye cackled and blew into his beard.
“That was, let us say, between twelve o’clock and ten past?”
“Yes.…”
“Thank you, sir. I must ask you to promise not to divulge to anyone the subject of this interview.”
“I promise, of course.… You don’t mean to say … Gerald?”
“No, sir. Purely routine.”
“I thought! Well, I’ll be off.…”
He stumped out, swinging his pince-nez between his fingers.
“Now, Griffiths … Mr. Hipton, please. And don’t forget. No fuss.”
“Trust me, sir.”
“Well … I’ll be damned! It’s in the bag …” said Kane when they were alone.
“Looking a bit brighter, Kane. But not for Mr. Gerry.”
Frederick Hipton, largest draper in Trentbridge, entered.
He did not seem to have full control of his limbs, for he swung his long arms loosely as he came and apparently had difficulty in directing his short, stumpy legs in the direction he wanted to go. He approached the police officers with a rolling gait, clapped his hands together and started to rub them.
“Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you?”
He had a large and sandy haired head, which he held on one side, almost as though suffering from a deformity. A huge bulbous nose, straggling sandy moustache and crafty green eyes. Hardly to be trusted to keep a secret unless it paid him.…
“We’re just confirming alibis in connection with the Worth case, sir. I wanted to check that you were with Mr. Gerald Worth between eleven-thirty and twelve-thirty on the night his brother died.”
“Yes, I was. Why? Is he suspected?”
“No, Mr. Hipton. Just routine.… That’s all, thank you very much.”
“But …”
Hipton shrugged his shoulders, looked at the policemen as though critical of their efficiency and shambled out.
Kane raised his eyebrows.
“Why did you …?”
“Don’t trust him. He’ll promise to keep quiet and then, as soon as Gerald arrives, he’ll tell him. A toady.…”
“Come to think of it, you’re right. What now?”
“Let’s have a look at the lavatories, Griffiths. Anyone playing in the billiards room?”
“Only one table, sir. Things don’t get going there until after eight when the members drift in.… This is a good time.”
They made their way through the billiards room. A well kept place with five tables and a bar at one end. The evening light was draining through the glass roof. A door in the wall led to the washroom. Griffiths piloted them through. Two men were playing billiards on one of the tables, but were too immersed in their game to pay much attention. Through an open door at the far end came the sounds of voices. There, a boy was serving light teas prepared by Mrs. Peacop. Already, the rarebits were calling forth adverse comments.…
“Right, Griffiths, we won’t detain you. I guess you’re busy time’s just starting. See you later,” said Littlejohn.
At this broad hint, the steward withdrew, somewhat reluctantly, with slow feet.
The lavatories, well constructed in white tiles, were spotlessly clean and in keeping with the rest of the club. There was obviously plenty of money passing through the accounts. This was the only better class club in town and attracted all the middle and upper class clubmen, though the name of it would have excluded many of them had it been strictly applied.
On the outer wall stood three cabinets constructed of what looked like modern opaque glass sheeting. To these the Inspectors directed their attentions. Each was fitted with a small sash window let in the wall; each window was a little open at the top. Littlejohn tried each of them. They all moved freely.
“See?” he said to Kane. “A man could get through any of them. I contend that Gerald came down here with his friends, excused himself and locked himself in one of these. Then, when, as we’ve heard them say, his friends left the place, he climbed through. Look.…”
Across the narrow street on to which the trio of windows gave, was the wall of one of the sheds of Worth’s storeyard. Just round the corner was the back gate to the place.
Littlejohn, nimble in spite of his large bulk, squeezed himself through one of the open windows. From outside he examined each sill. The work was interrupted a time or two as men came and went in the lavatory. Until the prey was in the trap and secured, the police had no intention of scaring him.
“Meet me in Griffiths’s room,” said Littlejohn to his colleague at length, and went round and entered the club by the main door again.
“There are distinct marks of somebody’s shoes on the middle sill,” he said when they met. “The dust and dirt of ages had accumulated there and the sill in question bears plain traces—scars caused by the side of the sole. There’s a store yard just outside. Now we know everything.
“Gerald knew that Henry would be outside at midnight. He managed to fix it in the intervals between games. Got his alibi, left his friends thinking he was shut in one of those places. In less than ten minutes he’d gone into the store yard, attracted his brother to the engine shed, lured him in, shut the door and gassed him. Then, he unlocked the door of the shed, hared back to the open lavatory window, slipped into the club again, washed his hands and strolled to the billiard table.…”
“Quick work. He’d not much time.”
“He was lucky. Gas acts quickly, doesn’t it? Also, at that hour with not many but the stay-out-o’-nights at the club, nobody heard him climbing about and in and out of the window. As regards the alibi, too, the time was best, psychologically. No doubt, his companions were half fuddled with drink and half asleep from the late hour. They just took no account of a perfectly normal absence of ten minutes. Like Chesterton’s postman being an almost invisible man, the time spent on such short trips isn’t counted in the day’s schedule.…”
Kane was getting out of his depth again.
“Come along and I’ll show you the window sill, Kane.”
At the “Rod and Line” Vera Worth kept her appointment with the officers, and Cairns led her to a private room where they were awaiting her.
They were not long together. Littlejohn outlined his plan to Mrs. Worth. They made the necessary arrangements and then she left for the Hall.
At a little after eight o’clock, Littlejohn and Kane sat down to a hearty meal cooked by Mrs. Cairns herself. The feast was full of a kind of festive expectancy. If things turned out as they hoped, the Worth case should end that night.
CHAPTER XXI
THE TOWER ROOM
P.C. CYRIL WINDIBANK sat in the cosy kitchen of his cottage in a state of ecstatic coma. Before him, in imagination, were arrayed, tier upon tier, the members of a vast orchestra. He himself, clad in flawless evening dress, stood on a rostrum before them. By his side a beautiful artiste played the piano. In one of the musical bobby’s hands was a long, slim baton. This he frenziedly used to thrash the air, at the same time weaving curious patterns with his left or stabbing the air viciously with it to call in an oboe or a clarinet. Now and then, he made pugnacious thrashings with his clenched fist to incite the drummer to get a move on. The pianist played exquisitely. Soon, amid applause, she would gracefully rise from the silent instrument, undulate towards the conductor’s rostrum and shake him by the hand, holding his huge paw between her two delicate palms, with their long fingers caressing his own.
In real life, P.C. Windibank was seated before his radio set, in his shirt sleeves, with his boots off. His eyes were closed, his huge hands convulsively pawed the air and every now and then a finger would jerk forth, admonishing this or that instrumentalist or calling him into the hunt. His wife was busy knitting socks for the forces in another easy chair. She took not the least heed of her husband’s epileptic antics. For twenty years that sort of thing had been going on and she had grown quite used to it. At first, she had thought him wonderful.… He was choirmaster at the local Baptist Chapel and the most musical member of the Trentbridge force. His favourite orchestra was now combining with his favourite pianist in a rendering of Schumann’s Piano Concerto.
“Titirara diddle dee-dee-dee, pom-pom …” burst forth P.C. Windibank, unable to refrain from joining in.
There was a thunderous knocking on the front door.
“Who the haitch is that at this time o’ night, and the orchestra workin’ up for the last movement …? See who it is, Gertie, while I put me boots on.…”
Mrs. Windibank returned from the front door accompanied by another tremendous lump of constabulary beef. All the constables in Trentbridge looked alike from behind! Enormous!! It was a marvel where they all came from. Even thin striplings began to swell visibly after signing-on and taking uniform.…
The wireless continued to play. P.C. Windibank was determined to impress his visitor, Charlie Pugmire, police constab
le, that his tastes were far and above those of the rank and file of bobbies, even if Kane had unduly withheld the promotion due to one of his talents.
“Jest a minute, Charlie.… Jest listenin’ to a lovely bit o’ music. Hear that …? Tididy-um-pom-pom.… Nearly makes you cry, doesn’t it?”
“Sorry, Cyril, but it’s urgent.… Got to turn out. We’re throwin’ a cordon round Trentvale Hall.… Inspector and that Scotland Yard chap have jest gone up and twelve of us have to follow.…”
“Why pick on me on my night off? Listen to that.…” P.C. Windibank indignantly indicated his wireless set.
As though gifted with an intelligence of its own, the machine suddenly decided to change its mind. The orchestra and piano slowly faded away and, as P.C. Windibank’s eyes grew puzzled and he cocked his head in mute query, the radio set began to explain unctuously:
“… and there we must end our symphony concert from a concert hall in the south west, as the time is eight-forty-five. For the next quarter of an hour you will hear a gramophone recital of swing numbers played by Billy Tilly and his Boys.”
“Come on, Charlie,” roared Windibank. “Let’s get out. Thank God for crime.…” And they made a heavy exit to the sound of trumpets.
At the main gates of the Hall, a sergeant in charge of a posse of enormous constables met the two new arrivals.
“You, Pugmire, under that french window. Windibank … and it’s taken you long enough to get here … watch the front door under the shade of that there large ’olly bush.… And, as I’ve just told the rest, nobody’s to come out.… Stop ’em, by force if needs be. Got it? Now, all of you, to yer places and see you take proper cover. Moon’ll be out in about a quarter of an hour and remember … yer dealin’ with a killer.…”
The dark helmeted mountains scattered themselves. Windibank, his ears burning from the sergeant’s rebuke, stationed himself behind a large, clipped holly bush, one of a pair which stood one on each side of the main door of the house. They must have been there from the first, for they were strong, spreading trees, almost solid from masses of leaves.
Death in the Night Watches Page 17
