Five Red Herrings

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  ‘It did that,’ said Macpherson, dourly.

  ‘I can’t pretend to be sorry to hear it. I jumped out at him, and he got me by the legs and we both rolled out into the road together. I hit out with the spanner for all I was worth, but he was about three times as strong as I was. He got his hands round my throat as we struggled, and I thought he was going to choke me. I couldn’t shout and my only hope was that someone would come along. But by a damned bit of luck the road was absolutely deserted. He let go my throat just in time not to strangle me altogether and sat on my chest. I tried to get another one in with the spanner, but he snatched it out of my hand and threw it away. I was horribly impeded all this time by having my driving-gloves on.’

  ‘Ah!’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Ah, what?’

  ‘That explains a lot, doesn’t it?’ said Parker.

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Never mind, Mr. Gowan. Carry on.’

  ‘Well, after that—’

  Gowan seemed now to have got to the most distasteful part of his story.

  ‘I was in a pretty bad way by this time,’ he said, apologetically, ‘half-choked, you know. And whenever I tried to struggle, he lammed me in the face. Well, he – he got out a pair of nail-scissors – and he was calling me the most filthy names all this time – he got out his scissors—’

  A twinkle – unsuppressible – gleamed in the Inspector’s eye.

  ‘I think we can guess at what happened then, Mr. Gowan,’ said he. ‘Forbye we found a nice wee hantle of black beard by the roadside.’

  ‘The damned brute!’ said Gowan. ‘He didn’t stop at the beard. He took off hair, eyebrows – everything. As a matter of fact, I didn’t know that till later. His final blow knocked me out.’

  He felt his jaw-bone tenderly.

  ‘When I came to,’ he went on, ‘I found myself in my own car in a sort of grass lane. I couldn’t think where I was at first, but after a bit I made out that he’d run the car up a sort of cartway just off the road. There’s an iron gate that you go through. I daresay you know the place.’

  ‘Ay.’

  ‘Well – I was in a hell of a state. I felt frightfully ill. And besides – how on earth could I show myself in Kirkcudbright like that? I didn’t know what to do, but I had to do something. I jammed my hat on, wound a scarf round the lower part of my face, and hared home like hell. It was lucky I didn’t meet much on the road, because I was all to pieces – couldn’t control the car. However, I got home – somewhere about a quarter past ten, I think.

  ‘Alcock was a brick. Of course I had to tell him everything and he concocted all the plot. He got me up to bed without meeting his wife or the girl, and gave me first-aid for cuts and bruises and a hot bath, and then he suggested that I should pretend I’d gone off to Carlisle. Our first idea was to say I was ill, but that would have meant visitors and fuss, and we should have had to have had the doctor in, and square him. So that night we decided to pretend I’d gone to Carlisle by the 11.8 from Dumfries. Of course, we never supposed there’d be any inquiry, and we didn’t think it worth while to send the car out specially. My housekeeper was roped into the conspiracy, but we thought it better not to trust the girl. She would be certain to talk. It was her night out, as it happened, so she wouldn’t need to know when I came in, or anything, and the only person who’d know anything would be Campbell. He might talk, of course, but we had to risk that, and, after all, when he came to his senses, he might realise that he’d be letting himself in for a charge of assault if he wasn’t careful. Anyway, anything was better than going about in Kirkcudbright and being commiserated.’

  Gowan wriggled on his chair.

  ‘Quite so, quite so,’ said Parker, soothingly. He passed the back of his thumb carelessly down his own profile as he spoke. It was irregular, but the chin was reassuringly prominent. He was clean-shaven and could, he felt, stand it reasonably well.

  ‘Next day,’ said Gowan, ‘we heard the news about Campbell’s death. Naturally, we never thought but that it was an accident, but we did realise that it was just possible somebody might want to ask me whether I’d seen him the evening before. It was then that Alcock had his bright idea. Hammond had actually been over to Dumfries the evening before at about 8.45 to do an errand, and Alcock suggested that he should tell everybody that I’d taken the 8.45 to Carlisle. Hammond was quite game to back up the story, and as people would have seen the car go, it all looked quite plausible. Of course there was the chance that I’d been seen driving home later than that, but we thought we could bluff that out as mistaken identity. Apparently the question didn’t crop up?’

  ‘Oddly eneugh,’ said Macpherson, ‘it didna. At least, not while a gude bit later.’

  ‘No. Well, Alcock was marvellous. He suggested that I should send a letter off by Tuesday afternoon’s post, addressed to a friend in London – you know, Chief Inspector, Major Aylwin, through whom you got on my track – enclosing a letter from me to Alcock with directions that it was to be posted immediately. The letter was written as from my club, telling Alcock that he and Hammond could take the saloon and go for a holiday, as I should be detained for some time in Town. The idea was that they should smuggle me away with them in the car and drop me just outside Castle Douglas, in time to catch the train to Town. I knew that I should never be recognised there without my beard, though, of course, Hammond or the car might have been identified. The letter duly came back to Alcock by the second post on Thursday, and we carried out the rest of the plan that night. Did it work?’

  ‘Not altogether,’ said Macpherson, drily. ‘We made oot that part o’t pretty weel.’

  ‘Of course, all this time I hadn’t the faintest idea that Campbell had been murdered. Alcock must have known, I suppose, and it would really have been better if he’d told me. But he knew, too, of course, that I couldn’t have had anything to do with it, and I shouldn’t think it ever occurred to him that I could be suspected. I had so obviously left Campbell in the rudest of health and spirits.’

  He made a wry face.

  ‘There’s not much else to say. I felt horribly groggy all Tuesday and Wednesday, and I had gravel-rash all over my face. The brute had rolled me on the rough ground, blast him! Alcock was a splendid nurse. He got the wounds clean and put healing stuff on them. Regular professional touch he had at it, the old scout. Wouldn’t touch me without washing himself elaborately in Lysol – took my temperature three times a day and all that. I believe he rather enjoyed it. On Thursday night I’d practically healed up, and was perfectly fit to travel. I got to Town without any trouble, and have been living all this time with Major Aylwin, who has been extremely decent to me. I only hope I shan’t be wanted in Kirkcudbright just at present. When Mr. Parker turned up this morning – by the way, Mr. Parker, how did you spot me?’

  ‘Pretty easily,’ said Parker, ‘when we’d written to your old school and got a photograph of you without your beard. We found the porter who had taken your luggage at Euston, the taxi-driver who had taken you to Major Aylwin’s flat, and the porter of the flats, who all recognised you. After that, you know, we had only to ring the bell and walk in.’

  ‘Good God!’ said Gowan. ‘I never thought about those old photographs.’

  ‘The men hesitated a bit at first,’ said Parker, ‘till we had the bright notion of painting out the eyebrows as well. That made the appearance so – pardon me – peculiar, that they identified you with little cries of satisfaction.’

  Gowan flushed.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘that’s my statement. Can I go home now?’

  Parker consulted Macpherson by a look.

  ‘We’ll have the statement put in writing,’ he said, ‘and perhaps then you will sign it. After that, I see no reason why you shouldn’t go back to Major Aylwin’s, but we shall ask you to keep in touch with us and not change your address without letting us know.’

  Gowan nodded, and later, when the statement had been typed out and signed, took his departure,
still with the same startled look upon his eyebrowless face.

  FARREN: FERGUSON: STRACHAN

  The Procurator-Fiscal had called a council of war, Sir Maxwell Jamieson had brought Lord Peter with him. Inspector Macpherson was there by right of office and so was Sergeant Dalziel. Dr. Cameron was there, to see that nothing was suggested which would conflict with the medical evidence. In addition, Constable Ross and Constable Duncan were present by invitation. This was magnanimous on the part of their superiors, to whom Duncan had contrived to give a good deal of trouble, but there was a feeling that, in this confused and disconcerting case, even the opinion of a subordinate might be worth hearing.

  The Fiscal opened the discussion by requesting the Chief Constable to state his views, but the latter demurred. He suggested that the police might, perhaps, put forward their theories with greater freedom if they were not previously biased by hearing his opinion. The result of this was a polite contest for second place between Macpherson and Dalziel, which was eventually won by Macpherson, on the ground that, as the body had actually been discovered in the Newton Stewart district, Dalziel had, so to speak, the premier claim upon it.

  Dalziel rather nervously cleared his throat.

  ‘Weel noo, my lord, Mr. Fiscal, Sir Jamieson and gentlemen,’ he began, somewhat influenced in his opening by the recollection of the procedure at Football Club dinners, ‘it wad appear tae be uncontrovairtible that this puir gentleman met his death some time Monday night by the use of a blunt instrument, an’ that his boady was conveyed tae the place whaur it was found. Forbye I’m thinkin’ we’re a’ agreed that the pairson as kill’t him wull ha’ been an airtist. Lord Peter Wimsey havin’ pointed oot that the vera handsome piece o’ pentin’ foond at the locus o’ the crime must ha’ been projuiced by the murderer himself. Owin’ tae the careful inquiries o’ Inspector Macpherson, we are able tae state that a’ the airtists in this district can be accountit for durin’ the period covered by the crime, forbye five, or maybe six, which is Mr. Farren, Mr. Gowan, Mr. Waters in Kirkcudbright, an’ Mr. Strachan, Mr. Graham an’ possibly Mr. Ferguson in Gatehouse. A’ these six airtists had a motive for killin’ the deceased, in so far as they had bin kent tae utter threats against him, and moreover, by a remairkable coincidence, no yin o’ them possesses a satisfactory alibi for the haill period under consideration.

  ‘A’ six o’ them hae made statements claimin’ tae exonerate themsel’s, an’ if we agree that the guilt lies betune the six o’ them, yin or mair o’ them must be tellin’ lees.

  ‘Noo, takin’ everything intae consideration, I am of the opeenion that oor inquiries should be directit tae the movements o’ Mr. Farren, and for why? Because he had a much bigger motive for murder than the lave o’ them. He seems tae ha’ considered that the deceased was payin’ too much attention tae Mistress Farren. I’m sayin’ nae word against the leddy, but that was the idea this Farren had got intae his heid. I canna credit that ony gentleman wad murder anither for twa-three words about a bit picture, or for a wee difference of opeenion consairnin’ a game o’ gowf, or a couple troot or a quarrel aboot nationalities. But when it’s a maitter o’ a man’s domestic happiness, there, tae my thinkin’, ye have a gude cause for murder.

  ‘We ken weel that Farren set oot fra Kirkcudbright that night wi’ the fixed intention o’ findin’ Campbell an’ doin’ him some damage. He gaed doon tae the cottage, where he was seen by Mr. Ferguson an’ he gaed up to Mr. Strachan’s hoose, an’ by his ain confession he left a letter tae say as he was away tae find Campbell an’ hae’t oot wi’ him. After this, he disappears till we find him at 3 o’clock on the Tuesday afternoon on the New Galloway road.

  ‘Noo, the Inspector and me thocht first of a’ that Farren had murdered Campbell on the road betune Gatehouse and Kirkcudbright, an’ we were puzzled how he cam’ there and why he should ha’ carried on that queer way wi’ Campbell’s car. We were obleeged tae bring Mr. Strachan intil’t. But noo we see as there was no necessity for a’ they whigmaleeries. We ken noo that ‘twas Mr. Gowan as met Campbell on the road an’ was assaulted by him, an’ that Campbell gaed away hame in his ain car as was likely eneugh. We ken likewise, fra’ Mr. Ferguson’s and Mr. Strachan’s evidence, that either Campbell was alive after midnight or that some ither pairson entered the cottage. It is my belief that yon ither pairson was Farren, as had been lyin’ in wait for Campbell in the vicinity o’ the cottage.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ put in Sir Maxwell. ‘I take it you accept Strachan’s statement as far as the note and his subsequent visit to the cottage are concerned.’

  ‘Ay, sir, I do that. Bein’ friendly wi’ Mr. Farren, he wadna hae inventit sic a tale, an’ it agrees fine wi’ Farren’s ain statement. I’ll tell ye what I think wull ha’ been the way o’t. I’ve got it a’ writ doon here on a bit paper.’

  The Sergeant wrestled with the pocket of his tunic and produced a fat notebook, from which he extracted a rather grubby sheet of paper, folded extremely small. He spread this out on the table, flattening it with the palm of a broad hand, and, having thus reduced it to order, passed it to the Fiscal, who, settling his glasses more firmly on his nose, read aloud as follows:

  Case against Farren

  Monday.

  6 p.m.

  Farren at Kirkcudbright. Finds Campbell in the house. Quarrel with Mrs. Farren.

  7 p.m.

  Farren proceeds by bicycle to Gatehouse.

  8 p.m.

  Farren arrives at Standing Stone cottage asking for Campbell, and is seen by Ferguson.

  8–9.15 p.m.

  Farren in various public-houses, using threats against Campbell.

  9.15 p.m.

  Farren goes to Strachan’s house and leaves note (on bicycle).

  9.25 p.m. till after dark.

  Farren in hiding, probably somewhere on the Lauriston or Castramont Road.

  9.45 p.m.

  Campbell meets Gowan when returning from Kirkcudbright.

  10.20 p.m.

  Campbell returns to Standing Stone Cottage with car. Heard by Ferguson.

  10.20 p.m. –12 midnight.

  Some time during this period Farren proceeds to Campbell’s cottage on bicycle. Lets himself in and kills Campbell. Hides body. (Note: Ferguson presumably asleep.) Farren goes out, locking door. Remains in hiding, perhaps in garage.

  12 midnight

  Strachan arrives in car (heard by Ferguson). Enters by means of key. Leaves note and departs.

  Monday 12 midnight – Tuesday 7.30 a.m.

  Farren re-enters cottage, destroys Strachan’s note, puts body in car, matures plan of escape, puts bicycle and painting materials in car, prepares and eats Campbell’s breakfast.

  7.30 a.m.

  Farren, disguised as Campbell, starts out from Gatehouse in Campbell’s car. Seen by Ferguson.

  9.35 a.m.

  Farren in Campbell’s car seen by workman passing turning to New Galloway road between Creetown and Newton Stewart.

  10 a.m.

  Farren arrives at Minnoch with body.

  10–11.30 a.m.

  Farren paints picture.

  11.30 a.m.

  Farren throws body into Minnoch and departs on bicycle, using the side road from Bargrennan to Minnigaff. (Note: conjectural; no witness as yet produced.) Eight or nine miles.

  12.30 p.m.

  Farren arrives at Falbae. Leaves bicycle in vicinity of disused mine.

  12.30–3 p.m.

  Farren walks by New Galloway road to New Brig o’ Dee; eleven miles: but he may easily have taken a lift from a passing motorist. The rest of Farren’s movements as per his statement.

  ‘That,’ said the Fiscal, looking round over the tops of his glasses, ‘appears to me a very plausible and workmanlike conjecture.’

  ‘It’s damned good,’ said Wimsey.

  ‘Really,’ said Sir Maxwell, ‘it seems to cover almost everything, and almost shakes me in my own convictions. It is so beautifully simple.’

  ‘Is it no,’ s
aid Macpherson, ‘a wee thing too simple? It disna tak’ intae account the remairkable episode o’ the bicycle that was sent fra’ Ayr tae Euston.’

  Sergeant Dalziel, modestly elated by the applause of the three most distinguished persons in the company, was encouraged to dissent from his superior’s view.

  ‘I dinna see,’ said he, ‘why yon bicycle should be took intae account at a’. I see no necessity tae connect it wi’ the maitter o’ Campbell. If onybody was tae steal a bicycle fra’ the Anwoth, and if, some gate, it was sent tae Lunnon by a mistake, that’s yin thing, but what for should we suppose the murderer wad gae oot o’ his way tae indulge in such antics, when there’s anither explanation that’s plain an’ simple?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Fiscal, ‘but why should a man take the trouble to steal a bicycle from Gatehouse to go to Ayr, when he could easily have gone the whole way by train? I’ll not deny there’s something very mysterious about the story of the bicycle.’

  ‘Ay,’ said Macpherson, ‘an’ how do ye account for the surprisin’ length o’ time ta’en to get fra Gatehoose tae the New Galloway road? It’s only seventeen mile by the high road when a’s said an’ dune.’

  Dalziel looked a little dashed at this, but Wimsey came to his assistance.

  ‘Farren told me,’ he said, ‘that he had only driven a car two or three times in his life. He may have got into some difficulty or other. Suppose he ran out of petrol, or got a blocked feed or something. He would probably first of all have a shot at doing something himself – sit about pressing the self-starter or peering hopefully under the bonnet – before he could prevail on himself to ask anybody for help. Possibly he merely ran out of petrol, and had to shove the car down a side-road somewhere and walk to the nearest garage. Or suppose he went by the old road past Gatehouse Station and got into difficulties up there. An inexperienced driver might waste a lot of time.’