Death in the Night Watches

by George Bellairs

  Pr … pr … pom, te … tiddle … om, te … tiddle … om … pom … pom.… Windibank worked himself up to a cadenza whistled under his breath.…

  Inside the Hall, in the dining room, all the surviving Worth family were at dinner. The meal was drawing to a close. The soft footed, fishlike butler was serving a savoury. As he scooped portions on to the plates of Mr. Gerald, Miss Alice, and the Count, he seemed to hold aloof, as though afraid to contaminate himself by breathing within a yard of them. But he hovered solicitously over Vera, his eye ever upon her, even when he gave her mere sidelong glances. He looked as though at any moment he expected her to call upon him for help.

  Vera sat at the head of the table, Gerald facing her at the other end, Alice and her husband on each of the two remaining sides. This family party was due to the fact that Vera had specially asked them all to meet her thus. She had something to say of importance to all of them. The others found it difficult to read her expression, for the shaded lamp illuminated the table brightly, but cast the rest in shadow. Their hands moved within the light, but their heads and faces bobbed in and out of the periphery as they bent to eat or drink.

  Little had hitherto been said. A few words about the day’s events, the manservant’s whispered questions and replies to them, a murmur or two as one or another passed this or that on the table. They were all on tenterhooks.

  Vera spoke at last.

  “I hope you’ll excuse me afterwards. I won’t be able take coffee in the lounge with you. I’m busy packing my things. To-morrow I’m going to visit my father … indefinitely.…”

  Gerald’s long fingers closed convulsively round the fork he was holding. He leaned forward as though hard of hearing or disbelieving what he heard. Alice’s hands slid down to her lap in a gesture of surprise and resignation. Count Châteaulœuf goggled and a piece of food hanging from his lips fell on the cloth. He milled around with his napkin.…

  “Rather short notice.… Any idea how long you’ll be gone?” It was Alice who spoke first. The skin on her temples seemed to grow tight and a pulse there could be seen beating.

  “Don’t be inquisitive, Alice,” said Gerald suavely. “Vera is always full of surprises. She’s her own mistress.… One would almost think she was ours, too, sometimes. We are never consulted.”

  Vera went on.

  “None of you need feel uneasy. My absence will in no way upset your own arrangements. If I feel later as I do at present, I don’t think I shall ever return here.…”

  The Count choked.

  “But … what about us.… The upkeep of this place … the … expenses.…”

  “You needn’t worry, Armand. I’ve provided for that. I’ve made up my mind to cut adrift from Trentvale Hall and all its unhappy associations. I ought never to have come here in the beginning. I’ve been to see my lawyer and arranged for a trust to be formed whereby the estate will be kept up as long as the family remain here. The income will be paid to Alice monthly. It will more than suffice to pay all expenses and keep you both in a manner suitable for the tenants of such a place. You’ll be the tenants, of course.…”

  Gerald sat back into the gloom. His face was inscrutable. The discussion might not have concerned him at all. Instead, he turned on the butler, who was standing, hands folded, by the sideboard, apparently pleased and relieved at what he had heard.

  “What are you doin’ there, Bancroft? Get out!”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “You are more than generous.…” The Count was slobbering.

  “Damn you, Vera. You make one feel like real poor relations. We really can’t …” Alice began.

  “It’s already arranged beyond argument, Alice. All that remains for me is to pack up and begone. I can’t bear living here any longer. And now, if you’ll excuse me.… I’ll see you again before I leave in the morning.”

  The men rose as she left her seat, but nothing was said.

  “Good night, all of you.”

  “Good night.…”

  When the door had finally closed, the remainder at the table put their heads together ominously.…

  Vera Worth, in her room, consulted her watch. Nine-forty. In five minutes the two Inspectors should be arriving.

  Outside, the two men had brought round a ladder, laid at the foot of the side wall for A.R.P. purposes, and erected it beneath Mrs. Worth’s window. At the appointed time, they mounted it and scrambled on to the balcony and thence indoors. Vera was waiting for them.

  The room had been disordered since Littlejohn’s last visit. Clara had been busy packing and had left many of her mistress’s belongings scattered here and there for her to sort and pack herself. There was tissue paper on floors and furniture, and trunks and suit cases lying awaiting final closing. Vera hastily cleared some of the mess and pointed to the adjoining bathroom.

  “That might be a good hiding place for the two of you. Gerald’s hardly likely to go in there if he calls,” she said after she had greeted them.

  “Not for both of us, Mrs. Worth,” remarked Littlejohn. “It’s not strategically sound for the pair of us to be bottle-necked in there. Suppose he tries swift violence, where are we? I think I’d better post myself there.…”

  He indicated the window embrasure, where, covered by heavy curtains, the ledge offered a comfortable seat and the alcove satisfactory concealment.

  “Very well, Inspector. Perhaps Mr. Kane won’t mind a bathroom chair.… Or, we could wheel in an easy.… But Gerald might miss it and wonder.…”

  “Don’t worry about me, madam.… I won’t want to be too easy. After the dinner Inspector Littlejohn provided me, I might fall asleep if I’m too cosy.…”

  Kane hawhawed self-consciously. He was exhibiting an almost prudish uneasiness at being in the bedroom of a strange woman. This was not mitigated by the presence of articles of intimate lingerie scattered about. In the face of danger, Kane looked afraid of being seduced.

  “We’d better be getting ourselves hidden,” said Littlejohn. “No telling when the alarm might occur.”

  The Inspectors took off their outdoor clothes and Vera placed them in a wardrobe out of sight.

  “There’s a matter I think I ought to mention,” whispered Vera, for the heat of the chase was descending on the party as though the expected prowler were on the very doorstep. “My revolver’s missing!”

  “Your revolver? I didn’t know you ’ad one.”

  Kane, whose normal duties consisted in seeing that those under his jurisdiction obeyed the thousand and one legal regulations, looked more comfortable as he turned his mind to mundane things. “You never applied to us for a permit.…”

  “I had one before I came here.… I forgot to renew it.…”

  “Most irregular.…”

  “You were saying, Mrs. Worth … the pistol’s missing?”

  Littlejohn thought it well to terminate this fit of disapproval.

  “It’s not a pistol, Inspector, but a small revolver my father gave me once. I used to shoot rats with it in the stables. I had it in a drawer here for a long time and almost forgot about it. To-night I remembered it and went to pack it. It had gone. I’m not saying it’s been stolen, but I can’t see where I could have mislaid it.…”

  “Was it loaded …?”

  “Yes. Perhaps careless of me, but nobody was in the habit of rummaging in the drawer where I kept it.…”

  “Sounds queer.… However, let’s get to our hiding places. We’ll be getting caught.…” Kane was getting a guilty look on his face again. Littlejohn wondered if he was afraid of Mrs. Kane and whether he’d tell her where he’d spent the evening, or not.… He imagined a heavy, jealous, possessive woman. Actually, she was much younger than Kane and somewhat of a fly-by-night.…

  “What if he’s got the loaded revolver with ’im, Littlejohn?”

  “We’ll have to take it from him, Kane.”

  “But we’re not armed.… Haven’t even got a truncheon myself. You’ve not got a revolver, eh?”

>   “No. We’ll have to find suitable missiles if we need ’em. The element of surprise is a point in our favour. Let’s be getting hidden.”

  Littlejohn took up his place in the window bay. Kane gingerly entered the bathroom and his eyes opened wide at the sight of it, for it was of green glass, with a bath and washbowl to match. He perched himself ponderously on a green chair, turned off the green shaded light at a green light switch and breathed a sigh of relief for the blessing of darkness, or rather of half light, for the door was half open and a long shaft penetrated from the bedroom.

  Vera Worth set about packing as though no interruption had occurred, but her body was tense and she had no heart for her task.

  Kane sat in an atmosphere of bath salts, scented soap and tooth paste, and thought how much more sensible was his own white tiled bathroom at home with its enamelled iron bath and the white tin cabinet in which reposed the moth eaten shaving brush and cokernut shell with a piece of lathery soap in it which he used every morning. Meanwhile, Littlejohn, his legs dangling from the window sill, fingered his cold pipe lovingly and wondered how long it would be before he would be able to light it. He sniffed the bowl.…

  Soft footsteps were approaching along the corridor. There was a knock on the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Gerald, Vera. May I come in?”

  “Yes. The room’s in a mess. I’m busy packing.…”

  Gerald Worth entered and screwed up his eyes as the bright light caught them after the dimness of the corridor.

  “Thought I’d come along and have a private word with you, Vera. Your news at dinner took the wind out of my sails a bit. I couldn’t say much with Alice and Armand goggling there.… So you’re leaving us, Vera. What for?”

  “I can’t bear this place any longer, Gerry. It’s got on my nerves. Your father … then Henry … then Miss Rickson. I can’t stand any more of it. I’ve a feeling that Miss Rickson wasn’t the last, either. I … I …”

  “What on earth are you talking about, Vera? Because the police thought Ricky was murdered, it doesn’t mean to say that we do.… Let ’em play about with their theories. They’ll get tired in time.…”

  Vera continued to pack. Littlejohn, watching through a slit in his curtain, thought she was rather overdoing the preoccupation with her job.

  Gerald was standing, too, his eyes roving about the room. He seemed to be waiting for something. He wore a lounge suit with his hands thrust deep into the side pockets of the jacket. The bright light gave him a dissipated look. His head was held slightly on one side as though he were listening.…

  “Did you think somebody deliberately killed Henry and Miss Rickson, Vera?”

  “I can’t think of anything else. It surely couldn’t have been accidental or deliberate suicide in either case.…”

  “Agree with the police, do you? Been questioning you of late again, have they? Who do you think did it …?”

  Vera continued to put objects into her trunk. It could hardly be described as orderly packing. Her hands trembled.

  Gerald seized her by the shoulders and turned her about to face him.

  “Come on, Vera. Tell me who did it.… The last man seen with Henry was a chap called Bartlett. They were quarrelling about his daughter—his lovely daughter. Henry had been casting lascivious eyes on her. The police are after him now, I hear.”

  “Leave me alone. You’d better be getting along. I’ve a lot to do before I retire for the night.”

  She freed herself and pointed to the door.

  “Oh no, you don’t, my lady. You’ve been high-and-mightiness of this place long enough. Now you’ll listen to me. You think I killed Henry and Ricky, don’t you …? Don’t deny it. I can see it in your eyes. Very well, then. I’ll tell you the reason of my little visit to you now. It was through you I did it all.… I didn’t want to kill Henry and Ricky.… You were the one I wanted out of the way. They got mixed up in the affair and I had to clear them off.… You took all our birthright … filched all that belonged to the family. Nothing but your death could put things right. I decided to rid the family of you. Then Henry and Ricky interfered.… So … I had to be rid of them. Gently … that’s the way I did it. They didn’t suffer. Died in their sleep both of ’em.…”

  Gerald Worth was warming to his tale. His eyes sparkled. His curly hair, through which he passed his hand nervously, hung like a limp mop over his brow. He towered above Vera, standing between her and the door, thrusting his body at her in a half swaggering, half bullying gesture.

  “Well. Why don’t you say something, Vera? I managed it very cleverly, you must admit. The police accepted my alibi without a murmur. I took ten minutes from start to finish in dealing with Henry. And as for Ricky … she was old and finished. It had to be done. She accused me of it and threatened to put that prowling fellow from London on my track. She knew it was you I was after. Yes. I’d been doctoring your tea … and I stuffed up your gun. You had a lucky break there.…

  “Henry caught me at your teapot one morning. What he was doing messing about the corridors in his dressing gown at that hour, I don’t know. He didn’t say anything at the time. But when your damned dog died, he began to smell a rat. He did a bit of private snooping on his own and threatened that if I didn’t end my plans for eliminating you, he’d have to tell the police. I couldn’t let him do that. Had to stop his mouth. Judge of my horror and surprise, when I found out that Ricky knew as well. The thing was becoming public property. So …”

  Gerald took a step closer to Vera, who retreated before him.

  “Well … what have you to say about it, Vera? Clever, wasn’t it, the way I kept suspicion from myself? Now I’m going to crown the lot. I’m going to kill you! Not only that. I’m going to make it look just like suicide, Vera. You’re going to die from your own revolver.… I took it when the rest of you were below just before dinner.”

  He took from his pocket a small revolver and balanced it airily in the palm of his hand.

  “You see, Vera, I knew you were leaving us to-night before you announced it at dinner. When I came in earlier this evening, I found the letter you’d written to your brother waiting in the hall for Bancroft to take to post. I took the liberty of confiscating it. For a purpose of my own. You’re tired of it all, Vera. That’s what you tell Stanley, in your sisterly epistle. Tired of it all and are going to put an end to it by leaving us and going to live with your father. You also say you think you know who killed Henry and Miss Rickson and will tell him more when next you see him, as you can’t write all that you know. What do you know, Vera? And how do you know who killed Henry and Ricky?”

  “Leave me alone, Gerald. You’re overwrought. Get along to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.…”

  “No we won’t, my lady. For, by that time, you’ll have followed the other two. They’ll find you dead, here, in the morning. Your own gun will be in your hand, there’ll be a bullet in your brain, and on the desk will be found a letter in your handwriting saying you’re tired of it all, Vera, and going to put an end to it. And that you killed Henry and Miss Rickson.…”

  “No such letter of mine will be found. You can kill me, you lunatic, but I’ll never write such a …”

  “My dear Vera, it’s already written and in my pocket ready for use. You very kindly supplied a full vocabulary in your own hand in your letter to Stanley. Whilst you were all waiting dinner for me, I was busy tracing out the necessary words on draughtsman’s paper. Then, I assembled them in the order I wanted, traced them thinly through on to a sheet of your own notepaper and finally went over the lot in ink in your own thick handwriting. You’d be surprised how convincing the finished article looks. The police’ll swallow it, just as they swallowed all the rest of my plans.…”

  “You must think the Scotland Yard man’s a fool, Gerald. Let me tell you …”

  “A perfect bloody fool. Up and down the town, backwards and forwards in the streets, and up here at the Hall until the place stinks of him and the po
lice. He’ll be glad of your confession and the chance to say he’s solved the case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t say your suicide was the result of the guilt with which he’s faced you.”

  Worth, by this time, was talking like one demented. He mouthed his words and slobbered, thrusting his face close to Vera’s.

  “You thought you’d got us all in your toils when you came here, didn’t you, Vera? Trapped the old man into leaving you his fortune. And not content with that, you wanted the two sons to crawl at your feet as well.…”

  “Well, Gerald, you nearly did, didn’t you?…”

  “No … NEVER,” screamed Worth.

  With a quick movement, he seized Vera by the arm, spun her round and held her, with her back close to his chest and raised the gun he was holding to her right temple.

  “Say your prayers, Vera.… Here ends …”

  A brass candlestick, skilfully flung by Littlejohn, caught him on the elbow and sent the pistol spinning to the ground. Before Gerald realized what had happened, Littlejohn was on him in two swift strides. They fell to the ground, struggling, but the scuffle was short. Kane arrived on the scene, carrying his own missile which he had just been ready to throw when Littlejohn beat him to it. A bottle of bath salts! Littlejohn rose from his seat in the middle of Gerald’s back, dragged him to his feet by the scruff of his neck.…

  Kane, assured that Littlejohn had a firm grip on their prisoner, walked purposefully to the wardrobe which held his overcoat and produced from the pocket of that garment a formidable looking document. He stood before Gerald Worth like a university professor presenting a diploma to a successful student on graduation day.

  “Gerald Worth, I arrest you …” he commenced to intone, and pointed to his warrant as though his salvation rested therein. But Gerald Worth wasn’t having any. With a final burst of energy, he wrenched himself free, flung Littlejohn and Kane together with a deft movement, and made for the door. He was through it in a flash, but unfortunately for him, the huge bulk of Bancroft, bearing a tray of something or other, barred his way. Worth made no effort to pass the mass of flab which would surely have yielded him place, but without hesitating, turned and sped in the opposite direction. There was no way out by that route, which ended in a staircase leading to the attics and tower room. Up the steps flew the fugitive, with the two detectives hard on his heels.