Florence could not hold back a question. ‘Did the detective find him credible?’
‘Yes. He said Mr Bird struck him as the sort of man who’d refuse to lie under any circumstance – that if he and his godson had been in touch his response would have been a refusal to answer the question.’
‘So it would.’
‘But that did not mean Dovecote Hatch was no longer kept under surveillance. The hope remained strong that Leighton might make for it. This theory was strengthened when a man sent to track his former girlfriend’s movements succeeded, despite,’ LeCrane’s lips twitched, ‘her attempts to throw the London chaps off the scent by disguising her appearance and taking a circuitous route that would have done any career criminal proud. She was seen going into the Dog and Whistle, then huddled outside in conversation with George. After which she walked here. That was two nights ago.’
‘Sylvia Jones!’ An appreciative gleam appeared in Ned’s eyes. ‘What a trump girl! She had to still be in love with him despite his being the one who decided to break things off! What a relief that Lamorna and I became unengaged! I’ll cheerfully wait for years, if needed, for Sylvia’s sort to come along.’
‘She’s known as Toffee amongst friends and acquaintances.’
‘Is she Regina’s granddaughter?’ Mrs Tressler inquired of the inspector.
‘We have the birth certificates to prove it.’ LeCrane’s mouth twitched again. ‘Her own and her mother’s – the latter being for Sylvia Tamersham Stapleton, born at the ancestral home of the Tamershams on the correct date. And now we come to that sorry individual, Cyril Fritch.’
The three other people in the room waited expectantly.
LeCrane leaned back in his chair. ‘As I mentioned, he had been embezzling from his employer from quite early on in his employment. He did so, he says, to quell his mother’s nagging for money, well beyond his slender needs, for holidays and other social events. His job at the bookshop included not only doing the bookkeeping but, when needed, serving in the shop. He would sell a rare costly book without noting the sale in his records. He kept the receipts with the pathetic intention of most embezzlers of returning the money. He was near his wits’ end when Madge Bradley displayed an interest in him and eventually, under her guidance, found himself proposing to her. He did not for a minute believe she loved him, which he says was a relief. What he assumed to be her reasoning was that she wanted a husband, any husband, as a means of negating the stigma of being left at the altar. The light he saw at the end of the tunnel was a distant one. Madge would not come into her inheritance from the Stodmarsh trust until Regina Stodmarsh’s death, which could be years away, and in the meantime Madge had nothing beyond her yearly allowance. Then the worst possible happened. Mr Craddock decided to sell the bookshop, which would necessitate a stocktaking that would reveal the unaccounted volumes.’
‘I can’t help feeling sorry for him,’ interjected Ned. ‘For a man of his nervous disposition the shock must have been untenable. I’m amazed he didn’t cut his throat!’
‘He said he thought about suicide but hadn’t the courage for it, and decided instead to throw himself on Madge’s mercy. By now he knew her well enough to be sure she would not wish to see him publicly disgraced, because of its reflection on her, as a woman who had again shown faulty judgement in a man she had agreed to marry. So, on the rainy evening of Sylvia Jones’s showing up, he wheeled his bicycle around the corner of the Dog and Whistle and, using his key to open the gate, entered the woodland. He was not seen to do this because the man assigned to watch the pub had his eyes glued to its door, having seen Sylvia Jones go inside shortly before.’
LeCrane paused, but no one said anything, and he continued, ‘Fritch declares he was in a panicked state. He had dithered so long in leaving that he was likely to be late for his arranged meeting with Miss Bradley in the summer house. Regina Stodmarsh always made his presence at Mullings an unpleasant experience, even when he came here to work on the bookkeeping.’
‘He’s not exaggerating there, Inspector. She was beyond beastly to him. As to a pattern of dishonesty, I don’t believe he fiddled the accounts here. I went through the expenditures with him once a month and verified them, not out of a lack of trust but because I wanted to learn as much as I could, about the costs of running the estate.’
‘Also, he would have been a fool to dig himself in deeper,’ LeCrane pointed out. ‘The reason Mr Fritch had delayed in setting out was that his bicycle lamp wasn’t working and he was distracted in trying to fix it by the barking of the dogs from next door. When he failed in his attempt the obvious thing was to walk, but by then he was late, and if he were to have any time with Miss Bradley before the dinner hour, it pressed upon him that none should be wasted. Therefore, as I said, he wheeled the bike on to the path where he mounted it and set off, somewhat unsteadily because visibility was reduced by the rain and the surface was slippery. He had not gone far when he veered sideways and plunged into a ravine, felt the impact of a thud, and was flung off the bike. He assumed he’d hit a tree, but when he got up and unsteadily blundered a few steps, there was a flash of lightning and he saw the recumbent form of an old man with long gray locks and a beard.’
There was a punctuating hush before LeCrane proceeded. ‘Horrified, Fritch tried and failed to rouse him by importations and grabbing at his shoulders, knowing as he did so that the man was already dead. The rock that the back of his head had landed on was wet with something far darker than rain. A vision of a doomed future flashed before his eyes. Regina Stodmarsh would be enraged at the loss of her eccentric antiquity, but that paled in comparison to the rest. Yes, it had been an accident, but one caused by illegally riding a bicycle without a functioning lamp. Facing the shame of a trial would be torture for him. He would be sent to prison – where meek, nervy men are the sort hardened, vicious criminals most enjoy tormenting. Beyond that he could not think, other than to go on trembling legs to a telephone box and call Madge Bradley.’
‘She must have gone,’ said Ned, ‘because she came into dinner barely on time, which to my knowledge had never happened before.’
LeCrane inclined his head. ‘She met him where he’d told her he’d be, bringing with her a torch. They would manage matters together, she told him calmly. From which we may take it the real Miss Bradley had stepped out from behind the curtain. None of the flustered, self-deprecating murmurings she must have felt it necessary to acquire in order to gain sufficient sympathy from Edward and Lillian Stodmarsh for them to provide for her every need and comfort at Mullings.’
‘I didn’t like her at the beginning and not much at the end,’ said Ned. His mouth tightened and the rest of his face closed down.
‘What were her instructions to Mr Fritch, Inspector?’
‘The first was that they get rid of the bicycle. The front wheel had been twisted out of alignment.’
‘I remember her mentioning at dinner that it had been stolen. How very clever!’ Florence suppressed a shiver.
‘They would have to count on Fritch not having been observed wheeling it into the woods, but that was a safe enough bet considering the rain and the extremely short distance between his house and the gate, which had taken only moments to unlock. She was saying that the best place to dispose of it would be the lake, when they heard a rustling followed by something, or someone, thrashing about in the undergrowth coming from opposite where they were standing.’ LeCrane broke to add an aside. ‘You will have noticed I’ve stopped saying, “Fritch said” … or “Fritch revealed under questioning”, but that is always a given. At that moment,’ he continued, ‘Fritch turned witless with terror, convinced there was a person close enough to have spotted them through a gap in the trees, if only as two shadowy figures. Miss Bradley told him to stay where he was and crossed the path, torch in hand, to almost instantly disappear from view. This was quickly followed by the sound of voices, hers and what sounded like a man’s.’
‘Jim!’ exclaimed Ned, Mrs Tressler
and Florence in unison.
LeCrane raised an amused eyebrow. ‘I may have forgotten to mention that Fritch, in his agitation to telephone Madge Bradley, had left the gate unlocked on leaving. After what was to him an agonizing wait, which he later calculated as about five minutes, Miss Bradley returned with the sodden young man who had not shaved in close to a week and appeared to be dropping on his feet. She explained succinctly who he was and why he was in the wood. His name was Jim Leighton, on the run from a murder charge of which he was innocent, having foolishly panicked knowing the cards would be stacked against him. He had come to Dovecote Hatch to try and speak with Mr Bird, his godfather, about what he should do, but on his way up the village street, he had seen a man outside the Dog and Whistle who looked to him like a detective. So he turned down a side street that came out closer to the pub than he’d expected, saw the gate to the woods, and found it unlocked.’
‘You now have us in suspense, Inspector,’ said Mrs Tressler. ‘It is Mr Leighton’s fate that matters to us. How did they decide to make use of him?’
‘Again, credit must be given to Miss Bradley’s quick thinking, Fritch being of course useless, apart from the one contribution he stammered out, of which she immediately saw the value. He remembered that as a boy Leighton had been in one of his English classes when he’d taught at a grammar school and, unlike his classmates, had not made fun of him. Miss Bradley seized on this tidbit as a means of making it seem more credible than it might have done, that she and Fritch would be willing to help him. Such a nice, kind boy could not have become a murderer.’
‘Go on, Inspector,’ urged Ned. ‘We’re all ears.’
‘Here was her proposal – that he hide out for a few days in the hut usually occupied by the ornamental hermit, whom he knew about from his godfather. She told him that they had a short while ago found the poor old man wandering about in the woods, and being worried about his hacking cough had persuaded him to go with them to Fritch’s house – which he had to himself since his mother was away. They said they had tucked him into a warm bed, given him a hot soothing drink, and had just been on their way to inform Regina Stodmarsh of their actions – dreading the onslaught of her response to their interference. Now, they could have a temporary reprieve to the benefit of themselves, and Jim Leighton would play the part of the hermit.’
Ned winced. ‘Of course, he swallowed it hook, line and sinker. What bloke wouldn’t in his place, probably faint from hunger and fatigue? Followed them like a puppy, I bet!’ He paused, his green eyes darkening.
‘Exactly,’ responded LeCrane. ‘We’ll get to Rouser very soon. Perhaps I should state here, Lord Stodmarsh, that I strongly suspect that had not such a perfect scapegoat been found in Jim Leighton, Miss Bradley would have selected you for the part. She was clearly primed for murder in that wood. I cannot doubt that her delay in disposing of Regina Stodmarsh long before came from the caution of self-preservation. The death of a second mistress of Mullings in short succession was bound to raise some eyebrows, leading to scrutiny, however innocently it might seem to have occurred. Your discord with Regina Stodmarsh over her refusal to release funds that would enable you to marry Lamorna Blake would have done nicely for a motive.’
‘That doesn’t make me any less sorry Jim got the brunt,’ Ned growled.
‘No, I didn’t think it would. On reaching the hut, Miss Bradley explained they’d need to find him the appropriate disguise, since a maid would bring food twice a day, although she was not allowed to speak to the hermit.’
‘But Jeanie wouldn’t have been fooled,’ said Florence. ‘She’d been out there too often and had none of the superstitious fear that would have had another girl ducking blindly in and out.’
LeCrane once more inclined his head. ‘Again, one of you is ahead of me. The disguise was no problem. Miss Bradley was well aware of the amateur theatricals put on at Mullings by Edward Stodmarsh in his youth. He’d once mentioned to her that he had played the role of Prospero in a long gray wig, attachable waist-length beard and coarse robe. She’d later looked for these amongst the attic trunks and found them. She said she would return during the night with these items, and something for Leighton to eat. Before leaving the hut she stressed that they were depending on him to honour his part of the bargain. The next objective was to hide the hermit’s body where it could be readily discovered when the time was right, which meant not before the police showed up to investigate Regina Stodmarsh’s murder. The second body would lead them to the hut and, hey presto!, there would be Jim Leighton peering out through hair and beard. An outcry ahead of time would ruin everything – hence the need to remove Rouser, with his Labrador scenting abilities, in case he should either be taken for a walk or let loose in that area.’ LeCrane glanced at Ned.
‘I took him out there every day, even when we spent much of it at Farn Deane,’ Ned responded. ‘Where did they put the hermit?’
‘In the ravine by the path, which meant only having to drag him a few yards from where Fritch had collided with him on the bike. It contained plenty of dead leaves and broken-off branches, making for only a few minutes to cover him up. Another death to be blamed on Leighton. It would be assumed he’d knocked the man down, and there was the bloodstained rock for confirmation.’
‘I cannot believe that Fritch was such a fool,’ mused Mrs Tressler, ‘that he did not know at that point what Madge had in store for Regina; otherwise it wouldn’t have mattered if the hermit were found the next day.’
LeCrane nodded. ‘Fritch claims that, in addition to his being the one who committed the murder, it was his idea in the first place. He returned to his home and Miss Bradley to Mullings, arriving, as has been said, virtually at the moment the gong rang for dinner. The rest followed smoothly. She collected the costume from the attic, a small amount of food and a container of lemonade from the kitchen, and took these to the hut where Fritch was also waiting. Afterwards they collected the bicycle and between them heaved it into the lake.’
Florence looked perplexed. ‘Something woke me around two in the morning, and when I looked out of my bedroom window I saw a figure standing by the lake, before turning and then seeming to disappear at the edge of the woods. I assumed while you were speaking earlier, Inspector, that had to be when they threw it in the water. Perhaps it was the sound of the splash that awakened me.’
‘More likely it was a bark or two from Rouser. Fritch says it was around that time when she brought him down the woodland path where they met halfway. Someone else looking out of a window at around two o’clock thought they saw a person enter the gate, but decided even if he were right it would be Constable Trump. What I think you may have seen, Mrs Norris, was Miss Bradley in an excess of caution peering into the water to reassure herself that the bicycle had not resurfaced. The next morning she pushed Jeanie down the back stairs and all was in train for the grand finale – the murder. When the horrifying news was broken she was well into her character part of the dithering, well-meaning cousin who feared above all else making a nuisance of herself. A nice touch was saying after getting off the phone from Fritch that she’d dissuaded him from coming over out of consideration for his nerves. What she’d told him was to release Rouser.’ LeCrane smiled thinly. ‘No doubt about it, she is a very clever woman, and yet she complacently overlooked the fact that there are other clever women at Mullings in the persons of Mrs Tressler and Mrs Norris.’ He looked to the former. ‘We come to the navy-blue dress she was wearing and claimed to have worn yesterday. Enlighten us about your observations in that regard, if you would be so good, Mrs Tressler.’
‘Yes, of course, Inspector.’ She turned to Florence. ‘You may not have had occasion to notice, Mrs Norris, that when she came down this morning the hem of her petticoat was showing.’
‘I did,’ said Ned.
‘I didn’t,’ Florence smiled at them both.
‘I naturally thought it was because she had dressed in a hurry,’ continued Mrs Tressler, ‘but that was made nonsensical
when she said she had on the dress she had worn yesterday, in which case the lengths of dress and petticoat would remain the same. The dress did appear to be identical – the neckline was quite distinctive – and then I remembered that yesterday I’d thought it an inch or two too long for her. Also, that she spent almost all of yesterday in her room sewing. And the answer slipped into place. She’d been making a replica dress so that when her room was searched, no bloodstained clothing would be found or noted to be missing. She need only strip off her underclothing, including the petticoat, remove her stockings and shoes and – knife in hand – tiptoe down the hallway to Regina’s bedroom. Then, deed done, speed off to the lake and dispose of both pieces of evidence in a tied sack weighted down by a heavy rock. Prior to returning to the house she could walk a little way further into the water, wash herself, and then go into the summer house, allow herself time to dry off, and return in a garment, such as a raincoat, that anyone might accidentally leave behind and later retrieve. I am grateful, Inspector, that you bore in mind the compressed version I gave you this morning.’
‘It is to you, Mrs Tressler, and to Mrs Norris, that I am indebted. I have never been more ably assisted on to the right path. Our tale of infamy is drawing to a conclusion. Fritch said the knife used was a discarded one from his kitchen – his mother was always losing things that had to be replaced – and that he had tossed it into the woods. He also stated he had snatched up Lady Stodmarsh’s pearls before hastening from the bedroom and dropped them not far from the hut, to cement the story that Leighton had broken into Mullings to steal something he could sell and had awakened her in the process. I have no doubt they were handed over to Fritch by Miss Bradley, possibly in the summer house.’ LeCrane nodded appreciatively at Mrs Tressler.
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Ned, ‘is that, given how she seems to have thought of everything, it didn’t cross her mind – as it might those of the police – that if Jim were presumed to be the killer, he would also be expected to have fled the scene immediately following the murder.’
Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery Page 30
