Death Comes to Cambers

by E. R. Punshon

  ‘Trailing me, are you?’ he demanded. ‘I’ll... I’ll... I’ll...’

  ‘Mr. Tyler, really,’ Bobby protested. ‘It’s our business to trail, as you call it, to get in touch with, as we say, everyone in any way connected with this business. We knew you were interested in the Cleopatra pearl; we knew it had disappeared with the rest of the jewellery. It was possible you might have some information to give us. The thief may, for instance, offer it to you for sale. In that case we should, of course, expect you to communicate at once with us.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ said Mr. Tyler thoughtfully, dropping into pure American. ‘I’ve had no such offer,’ he added briskly. ‘I don’t mind telling you, though, I was specially willing to oblige Lady Cambers about this Dene boy and his young woman, so as to have her in a favourable mood next time I mentioned the Cleopatra pearl. Mrs. Tyler has just naturally set her heart on it, and when she has set her heart on a thing, then I don’t hear the last of it till she’s got it. See?’

  Bobby said with sympathy that he did, and asked if Mr. Tyler had ever met Eddy Dene.

  ‘Once,’ answered Mr. Tyler. ‘He was there, at Cambers House, once when I was there. Oh, and I saw him in his pa’s store, too, when I went in to get some ink for my fountain-pen. I remember him because he seemed to be looking at you through the small end of the biggest telescope ever made. But Lady Cambers said that was only his way, and really he was always willing and eager to oblige. See here, young fellow, don’t let any of your Scotland Yard smarties get it into their heads I know anything about that pearl, or I tell you straight – I’ll go right away quick to the American Ambassador.’

  ‘I am sure, sir,’ Bobby answered formally, ‘you will find you have nothing to complain of in the way the investigation is conducted.’

  Mr. Tyler grunted fiercely, and looked fiercer still, and Bobby thanked him for all he had told him, and regretted that most likely he would have to be asked to repeat his statement later on, and might even be called as a witness at the adjourned inquest, and so took his leave.

  To himself he thought, not without a certain grave exultation: ‘At last it really looks as if the pattern were beginning to take form and shape.’

  CHAPTER 28

  THE LOST HORACE

  But next morning, when Bobby presented himself at the headquarters of the county police, it was to find that Colonel Lawson had already, early as it was, departed for London. He had been informed over the phone of the statement made by Jones, and, greatly excited by the news, had departed in his car at the earliest possible moment for Town, so as to interview Jones in person, and to hear further details on the spot.

  ‘I expect he’ll bring this Jones bird back with him,’ Superintendent Moulland told Bobby. ‘He said, before he went, he thought we ought to have charge of him. Anyhow, the case seems over if Jones was an eyewitness of what happened, and I can’t say I’m sorry, either. Give me a schedule to work to – times, names, hours of duty – and I’ll handle it as well as the next man. Give me straightforward instructions to clear the streets when there’s a row on, and I do it. But all this guessing in the dark who was where, when, and why, and if they weren’t, then where were they, and because of that then it follows that this isn’t so but something else is – well, I tell you straight, young fellow, it has me beat, and, what’s more, it isn’t my idea of police work, either. Guess, guess, guess all the time, and if you’re right you’re right, and if you aren’t you’re wrong, and all of it the same game as buying a ticket in a sweepstakes and hoping you’ve got the right number.’

  ‘Well,’ Bobby protested, ‘I don’t think it’s quite like that, because, after all, there’s no guessing about it, only the facts. Get your facts, and if you’ve got them right so they fit without contradicting each other, then you’ve got the truth, too.’ Very slowly he added: ‘I’ve got so many facts now, I feel almost sure I’ve got the truth as well.’

  ‘Not so difficult,’ observed Moulland, smiling a little, ‘when you’ve had the luck to be told who did it by someone who saw. Simple then to know who it was. But look here.’ He fumbled in a drawer of his desk and produced a packet containing Eddy Dene’s fountain-pen Bobby had discovered on the scene of the murder, and a long report on it from the new police laboratory. He put it down on his desk in front of him and poked at it disdainfully with his finger, and the longer he looked and poked, the broader grew his smile. ‘There isn’t a thing about it,’ he said finally, ‘they haven’t found out up there. It’s a wonder they didn’t add a history of rubber, and a report on the character and record of the factory-manager. And what’s it all amount to? Just nothing at all. Look at it yourself. The weight and length of the barrel and the cap, together and apart, put down to a decimal. The make of ink used – the “Perennial” they’re pushing so much just now I dare say they would give a fiver to be able to say so in their advertisements. There was one of their chaps in here trying to sell it us so hard I had to get a sergeant in to throw him out before he would go. The amount of the ink in the barrel is noted – full up it was – and the very clever, useful deduction drawn that it hadn’t been used much since filled. Very valuable to know that,’ said Moulland, with heavy sarcasm. ‘And they’ve found out the nib isn’t eighteen-carat gold, as advertised, not by a long chalk, and there are no fingerprints, and the nib is unusually broad. Fat lot of good knowing all that. If you ask me,’ said Moulland, putting pen, report, and packet back in his drawer, ‘a sheer waste of time and of the taxpayer’s money.’

  ‘I was always interested in that pen,’ Bobby observed thoughtfully; ‘and more than ever now you know so much about it, it seems like an old friend. How did it get where I found it?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘All the scientific laboratory reports in the world won’t help you to know that,’ retorted Moulland. ‘Most likely one of the crowd dropped it. I’ve got some work to do,’ he added meaningly. ‘Real work, too, not guessing-competitions.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Bobby, getting to his feet in obedience to this hint. ‘Are there any instructions for me?’

  ‘Only to wait here till the chief returns.’

  ‘I suppose I can mooch round a bit till he comes,’ Bobby asked. ‘I’ll keep in touch of course.’

  ‘You can do what you like,’ Moulland informed him, ‘so long as you’re on hand when wanted.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Bobby and withdrew, and first took himself to Cambers and the Cambers Arms, where he bought a soft drink, and then wandered round behind the building, where he found the landlord proudly surveying a placid-looking cow.

  Bobby was not altogether sure what part of the cow the milk comes from, but the proud looks of the landlord warned him this could be no ordinary animal, and so he proceeded to praise it in terms of cautious vagueness that could have applied equally well to a motor-bus. And the landlord, a simple soul, responded bravely.

  ‘She’s all you say, and more, sir,’ he assured Bobby. ‘You wouldn’t think, either, that last Sunday night I was sitting up with her expecting her to die on my hands. The whole blessed night I spent in the stable there, watching her, and look at her now.’

  ‘That was the night of the murder, wasn’t it?’ Bobby remarked.

  ‘That’s right. Bad affair that is, too; never known the like before in these parts – though it’s been good for business I would rather have been without. Crowds of people there’ve been, prying and staring, and wanting to know just where it happened and who did we think did it. I suppose you haven’t found out anything yet for certain?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Bobby answered slowly, ‘I am fairly certain I know who is guilty, but there’s always getting proof. Isn’t the window just opposite that of the room Mr. Jones occupied while he was here?’

  ‘Why, you don’t think it was him, do you?’ the landlord asked excitedly. ‘He went off in a mighty hurry the very next morning after it happened.’

  ‘Well, if we do suspect him,’ Bobby observed, ‘you can prove an alibi,
can’t you? He couldn’t have left his room by the door and gone down the stairs and out by the back way without being seen or heard. If you were sitting up with your sick cow all night, he could hardly have climbed out by the window without your knowing. And there’s no doubt he was in his room before the murder was committed?’

  ‘That’s so,’ agreed the landlord, looking quite relieved. ‘I’m glad of it, too. I wouldn’t care to think we had had a murderer stopping with us.’

  Bobby agreed that would have been an unpleasant thought, and took his empty glass back indoors, where he spoke to the maid who attended to the bedrooms.

  ‘You remember Mr. Jones who left last Monday rather in a hurry?’ he said to her. ‘Can you tell me what luggage he had?’

  The girl’s lower jaw dropped.

  ‘Oh, was it him did the murder?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘I believe,’ sighed Bobby, ‘if I asked who had the measles last, you would all think I meant that was who did it. Do you remember what luggage Mr. Jones had?’

  ‘A small suit-case, that’s all,’ the maid answered, in a slightly aggrieved tone. ‘It only held his shirt and drawers and his things to wash with, so missis told us to keep an eye on him in case he skipped off without paying; they try it on sometimes when they’ve so little with them as he had.’

  ‘Thank you. That may be important,’ Bobby said.

  ‘He could easy have hid the rope in his pockets that was used to strangle the poor lady,’ the girl pointed out, her eyes round at the thought.

  ‘So he could,’ Bobby agreed. ‘Could you tell me what time he got back here that Sunday night?’

  ‘It was after the rain began, because he was wet through with being in it; and it was before it stopped, I know that,’ she answered. ‘Somewhere about eleven, it would be. He went to bed, and he asked us to put his things in the kitchen to dry, and he had a hot drink – whisky, lemon, sugar.’

  ‘After he had gone to his room?’

  ‘Yes, about half-past eleven. I remember that because the clock struck the half-hour just as I was taking it to him, and I minded it was just the same time when I took the American gentleman an iced drink the night he stayed here. Only that was a hot, close night.’

  ‘Do you mean Mr. Tyler?’ Bobby asked, a little surprised. ‘I thought he stayed with Lady Cambers.’

  ‘They had words,’ she explained, ‘because he wanted to buy her big pearl they say’s ever so large, and she wouldn’t part, so he went off in a tear. That was why we were all surprised to see him back so soon. We thought he was going to have another try for it, but he never went near her that time. He was motoring to London from where he had been staying, and it got late, so he stopped here, that was all.’

  ‘I see,’ said Bobby. ‘You say he didn’t go near her that time. Did he any other, do you know?’

  ‘Well,’ the girl answered slowly, ‘it was my day off week before last, and coming home a bit late I saw him sort of hesitating at the turning that leads to Cambers House, first going up it and then coming back. I watched him, it seemed so funny like, but then he got back in the car and drove off. I suppose he thought it wasn’t any good – if she wouldn’t sell it, she wouldn’t, and no good worrying.’

  ‘I dare say that was it,’ agreed Bobby thoughtfully. ‘One never knows. By the way, are you bothered with mice here?’

  The girl, though slightly bewildered by this abrupt change of subject, admitted that they were. She also promised to communicate Bobby’s offer – of half a crown for eight or nine live mice – to the potman, who would no doubt, she thought, be able to fill the order. She also promised, with giggles, to say nothing about it, and to persuade the potman to similar silence. Bobby’s explanation – that he wished to train performing mice for exhibition at the next police sports – she accepted as fully adequate.

  ‘Tell him to take them as soon as possible to Station-Sergeant Weatherby, at the Hirlpool police-station, will you?’ Bobby asked. ‘I’ll ring him up and tell him to expect them – that’ll be half a crown for the mice, alive and in good condition, a shilling for the fare to Hirlpool, a shilling for delivery. That all right?’

  The girl thought it would be, and Bobby thanked her for her assistance and the information she had given him, and, though a little worried over the unexpected references to Mr. Tyler, which he felt might, or might not, prove of significance, he went to the telephone-box and rang up the Hirlpool police-station to give his message for Station-Sergeant Weatherby – already warned to expect it. He took the opportunity, too, to ring up the Hirlpool dentist who had attended Eddy Dene, and received a prompt reply that Eddy had in fact visited him and had a tooth extracted on the day following the murder.

  ‘Exposed nerve,’ the dentist said. ‘Sort of thing anything might set off – a chill, or biting on a crust or almost anything.’

  Bobby thanked him, said that was interesting, and, ringing off, went on to find Ray Hardy, whom he discovered walking home from work in the fields. Bobby was really shocked at the young man’s appearance; he looked so changed, years older, with red, inflamed, and sleepless eyes, and a pale, drawn expression.

  ‘He’s having a bad time of it,’ Bobby thought. ‘Dreams of being hanged every night. He’ll have a nervous breakdown soon.’

  He called to Ray, who had not seen him yet, and when the lad turned and recognized him, he started violently, and looked more than half inclined to run. But he stood his ground, though plainly on the verge of panic.

  ‘What’s it now?’ he asked, in a high, uncertain voice.

  ‘Have you come... do you want... My God, if you’re going to arrest me, do it and get it over. I can’t stand it much longer.’

  ‘No, because you’ve been drinking too much,’ Bobby retorted; and to himself he thought: ‘The poor devil is in such a state of nerves I believe I could get a confession out of him if I tried.’

  ‘Well, a chap must do something to keep up,’ Ray muttered. ‘They all think it was me. It wasn’t, but I can see them – pointing and thinking.’

  ‘You ought to have more sense,’ Bobby told him roughly, ‘than to take to drinking at a time like this.’

  ‘I’ve got to,’ Ray repeated, in the same sullen undertone. ‘I won’t touch another drop when it’s over.’

  Bobby produced his note-book and a pencil, and presented a blank page.

  ‘Write that there and sign it,’ he ordered. ‘Date it, too.’

  Ray stared, hesitated, but then obeyed the order given with such confidence.

  ‘What’s that for?’ he asked.

  ‘So you won’t forget,’ Bobby answered. ‘You’re the sort that’s best T.T.’

  ‘How do you know I’ve been drinking? Been watching, have you?’

  ‘Good heavens, no! I know because I can see; the same way I know you’ve been having bad dreams. I’ve got eyes in my head.’

  ‘You’re right enough about the dreams,’ Ray admitted, shivering a little. ‘What do you want, anyhow?’

  ‘I want you to tell me all over again, from the very start down to the smallest detail, everything you did or thought or said that Sunday night, down even to the colour of the tails of the rabbits you trapped.’

  Ray considered this.

  ‘Rabbits’ tails are always white,’ he announced.

  ‘Then don’t forget to say so,’ Bobby snapped. ‘Wire in.’ And Ray, controlled by the other’s stronger will, proceeded to repeat his story, amplifying the details, and admitting that in these midnight excursions of his he had made a practice of trespassing pretty widely on Lady Cambers’s land.

  ‘There was more rabbits there,’ he explained simply.

  ‘You never saw anyone else that night?’

  ‘I kept out of folks’ way,’ Ray explained. ‘I didn’t want any talk about what I was doing out so late. I saw vicar, though.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Coming out of the old shed beyond Low Copse. He had been taking shelter there against the rain. It was wh
ere I was making for when it came on so hard, like a solid wall almost, so I was soaked through pretty well before I knew it had begun. I stood against a tree, and the water ran down it like a gutter-pipe. When it let up, and I moved, I saw vicar coming out of the shed.’

  ‘You are sure it was Mr. Andrews?’

  ‘Yes. It was dark, but he struck a match to light his pipe, and I saw him plain. He didn’t see me. When he had gone, I went inside the shed, to wring the wet out of my things a bit, and there was a book of his on the ground. So I’d have known who it was even if I hadn’t seen him.’

  ‘What book was it? Have you got it still? Besides, how do you know it was his?’

  ‘It has his name in it,’ Ray explained. ‘It’s in foreign language – German perhaps; not French anyhow, I know that.’

  He produced a small copy of Horace as he spoke, and Bobby examined it with interest.

  ‘It ought to be returned to Mr. Andrews,’ he said. ‘I’ll do that for you, shall I?’

  ‘He’ll want to know what I was doing round about there,’ Ray protested.

  ‘Then you can jolly well explain,’ Bobby retorted, putting the book in his pocket. ‘If you don’t want it known where you’ve been, you shouldn’t go there. It was Solon said that, or else Socrates.’

  ‘Who’re they?’ Ray asked.

  ‘Dead,’ explained Bobby briefly, and Ray lost interest at once. ‘I’ll give you some advice on my own, though – keep off the drink, and if you must dream, dream of something jolly.’

  With that he nodded a farewell and went off towards the vicarage, leaving behind him a puzzled, but relieved, Ray, and thinking to himself that things were really beginning to clear a bit.

  ‘Though there’s one pretty bad hurdle to get over,’ he reflected, and grew lost in thought and deep contemplation thereof.

  CHAPTER 29

  A QUESTION OF CIGARS

  Fortunately for those legs of his Bobby had had to work so hard during his investigations into this case, he was lucky enough to meet the vicar almost immediately, so saving himself the journey back to the vicarage. Mr. Andrews knew him again at once, and paused of his own accord to speak, and when Bobby produced the little pocket Horace he claimed it immediately.