‘Very well,’ Mrs Bradley agreed. Laura came in whilst they were talking. She gave them a glance, caught Mrs Bradley’s eye, and went out again, to find Gavin in the hotel vestibule. She buttonholed him at once.
‘So it’s up to you to look for proof,’ said she. ‘I rather hope you’ll find it.’
‘Proof of what?’
‘Of the fact that Connie Carmody tried to murder this Tidson.’
‘We can’t possibly prove it. According to Mrs Bradley the only witness was the cowherd, and he was quite certain that Connie did her best to rescue the fellow. There isn’t any doubt about that. Besides, you’ll find that Tidson won’t accuse her.’
‘How do you mean – won’t accuse her? I’d have thought, for his own safety, that he would.’
‘If he does, he will have to explain why she should want to murder him. Still, that might not fickle a downy old bird like Tidson.’
‘I don’t think he’d risk telling lies, in case Connie should tell the truth about Arthur Preece-Harvard.’
‘But there isn’t any truth about Arthur.’
‘So far, no. But if you think Tidson’s guns are spiked, you’ve got another thought coming. He doesn’t want to kill the kid himself, but he means to have the fortune, I should say.’
‘Guesswork, my sweet. Don’t be feminine.’
‘I hardly ever am,’ returned the Amazonian Laura. ‘And that’s why I’ll make a far better grandmother than wife. Anyhow, I don’t see why you want to worry this Connie. Haven’t you ever said you wanted to murder someone?’
‘Rather a lot of difference between saying it and trying to do it, don’t you think?’
‘Not according to Scripture,’ said Laura, ‘and, in any case, it’s only an academic difference, isn’t it? It simply means you haven’t got the pluck.’
‘I can’t allow that. The difference between committing a murder and not committing one is fundamental,’ argued Gavin. ‘And as for Scripture – well, never mind about that.
You’ve got something to tell me about Crete’s clothes, haven’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, I got them all right. They were weighted with stones, all small ones.’
‘In the river?’
‘Yes. I can show you the place.’
Chapter Twenty-One
‘. . . but I had gained a little sense, dropped my point, pulled off line and finally hand-lined him out.’
J. W. HILLS (A Summer on the Test)
‘OH, YES, your clue,’ said Mrs Bradley.
‘Well,’ said Gavin, ‘it’s a button off the boy Biggin’s shirt.’
‘Found where?’
‘Do you remember telling Laura about that walk you took with Tidson when you climbed Saint Catherine’s Hill?’
‘I remember, yes.’
‘And how, when you went with Connie, you found what looked like a tramp’s lair?’
‘Yes.’
‘The police, of course, have combed the whole neighbourhood very thoroughly indeed, and among the rubbish at the bottom of that hole they discovered this button which, we can say with certainty, came off Biggin’s clothing and has his prints on it. It’s really a trouser button, and has taken an identifiable impression of part of the boy’s left thumb. And there are other things.’
‘Including, of course, one sandal, and a pair of badly-stained gloves,’ said Mrs Bradley.
‘And another sandal has been seen in Tidson’s possession,’ said Gavin, looking reproachfully at her. ‘Unfortunately, I should not think it can any longer exist. I do wish you’d mentioned it earlier in the enquiry.’
‘I should have misled you,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘And it was a very well-worn sandal Mr Tidson lodged on the municipal dustcart on the morning after the death of Bobby Grier. I doubt—’
‘Yes, well, we must get that sandal,’ said Gavin, interrupting her. ‘It’s got to be found. That and the button should hang Tidson if the sandals match up, as they will. Besides, there are those gloves—’
‘The gloves are indeed a master touch, and have been very carefully planted,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘As to the sandal, I don’t know what you could prove from it. Mr Tidson is not likely to dispute that it was at one time in his possession, since several people actually saw him with it.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ agreed Gavin.
‘Very queer, though, about that sandal,’ observed Laura. ‘I can’t see why he should have brought it with him to the Domus. Isn’t that a very odd thing?’
‘Not particularly odd. It is the sort of thing people do subconsciously,’ said Mrs Bradley.
‘He made no mystery of it, certainly.’
‘Well, of course, we have to remember that it had not been the property of Bobby Grier, and it was Bobby’s death which, at that time, and for some time afterwards, occupied our attention.’
‘True enough. We didn’t know about Biggin then.’
‘I do hope you will find the other sandal, if you think it can possibly help you.’
‘We shall find it all right, if the municipal authorities have done their job patriotically.’
‘Salvage?’
‘Yes. I suppose the sandal was made of leather? Of course, he’ll be able to explain away the fingerprints, if he made any, but—’
‘Oh!’ said Laura, who was standing beside him.
‘Say on,’ said Gavin. ‘Or shall I say it for you? If there are no prints, that’s what he’ll have to explain, as he says he found the sandal along the river! He wouldn’t have had gloves on then!’
‘He’ll deny that it is the same sandal,’ said Laura, ‘even though the two make a pair.’
‘I know,’ said Gavin grimly. ‘But I’ll break him in halves if he doesn’t come across with what he knows. ‘I’m sick of old Tidson. He cumbers the ground. By the way, I thought we’d better play safe where the Preece-Harvard kid was concerned, so I’ve warned the College authorities.’
‘Good heavens! What did they say?’ enquired Laura. ‘Did they believe you? Didn’t they throw you out?’
‘No. I saw the Second Master. He listened to the whole thing very patiently, quoted Gilbert Chesterton, reminded me of the College rebellion of 1818, and sent me along to Preece-Harvard’s house-master.’
‘What did he quote from Chesterton?’
‘The Napoleon of Notting Hill. It was after I had told him about the naiad. He said, “Yesterday I thought that something next door to a really entertaining miracle might happen to me before I went to amuse the worms.” And then he went on to tell me that he had been a student of crime for many years, and had once been guest of the Detection Club. I said I liked Roger Sheringham and Nigel Strangeways much the best of all amateur detectives, and that I wished Father Ronald Knox had written more detective stories. I also invited him to visit our Rogues’ Gallery whenever he was in Town. Anyway, they won’t let Preece-Harvard out of their sight, although nothing will be said to him about it, so that’s a job taken out of our hands.’
‘That’s that, but what are we going to do about Connie?’ asked Laura. ‘As I see it, she’s the next problem.’
‘We’ve nothing to charge her with, Laura. We don’t know officially (and we never shall) that she tried her best to make away with Tidson,’ Gavin replied. ‘But now to waylay the little man.’
Mr Tidson laughed at the story of the sandal, and said that he had picked it out of the water and had brought it home to tease his wife and Miss Carmody about the naiad. He was plausible, sceptical, non-committal and, when pressed very hard, challenging.
‘I don’t know why you should think I had anything to do with these murders,’ he protested. ‘What could I gain from them? You cannot show that I ever met the two boys. The whole accusation is ridiculous! It is quite ridiculous, and you know it!’
‘As ridiculous as the naiad, no doubt,’ said Gavin. ‘You come with me, and I will show you where we found the other sandal.’
‘I have no idea why you think the other sandal would interest me in the
slightest, my dear Inspector,’ said Mr Tidson, waving his hands. ‘The sandal I placed on the refuse cart made one of a pair, I have no doubt, but of what pair it would not be easy to say.’
‘The gloves make a pair, too,’ said Gavin. ‘I hope to prove that the pair is yours.’
‘Gloves?’ said Mr Tidson. He seemed about to say more, but changed his mind.
‘Well, be seeing you,’ said Gavin, with a cheerfulness he did not feel. ‘Give my regards to the naiad.’
‘One moment, Inspector,’ said Mr Tidson. ‘There is one thing I ought to tell you. I admit that the naiad has been a considerable disappointment to me, so I propose to acquire a wireless set and listen to Cathedral choirs as an alternative.’
‘No more fishing with old boots?’ said Gavin, suspicious of this cheerful attitude.
‘I shall not go fishing any more. I am convinced that I shall never see my naiad. Moreover, I am afraid of Connie Carmody. You know, you should question her closely,’ said Mr Tidson. ‘She did her very best to drown me. She is a very strange girl. I think she is a schizophrenic. She probably killed those poor boys during one of her attacks. Split personality, you know.’
‘You old devil!’ said Gavin suddenly and with loathing. Mr Tidson looked mildly surprised.
‘I am only giving her the benefit of the doubt,’ he said, smiling a little. ‘She may not be a schizophrenic at all. She may be a werwolf or a vampire, for all I know.’
* * *
The municipal authorities found the sandal that Gavin wanted. It took some time, and the winter had begun to creep across the meadows, the willows were naked whips in the sudden gales, and the river leapt white and full between blackened banks before the case against Mr Tidson was resumed.
Mr Tidson had gone into lodgings. He declared that he dared not stay in the house with Connie. Crete, he observed horrified at the prospect of winter in England, had returned to Tenerife.
Gavin arrived at just after three on a grey and muddy afternoon in early October, and found Mr Tidson alone. Mr Tidson welcomed him, invited him in, and told him that the landlady had gone to the cinema for the afternoon, and that he hoped she would bring him home a kipper or a bloater for his tea.
‘You won’t need either,’ said Gavin. ‘You’re coming with me. I’ve a few questions to ask you.’
‘Oh?’ said Mr Tidson. He went over to his wireless set, and, in the middle of twiddling with knobs, he put his plump hand to his mouth and began to cough.
‘Look out, sir!’ said the sergeant. ‘I think he’s swallowing something!’
‘Here, you! Spit it out!’ shouted Gavin. He and the sergeant leapt upon Mr Tidson like a couple of tomcats on a rabbit. Mr Tidson opened his mouth.
‘All gone!’ he said, with a childish little giggle of glee. ‘It was only a cough sweet, Inspector.’
‘Now, look here, Tidson,’ said Gavin. A voice from the wireless receiving set interrupted him. There came the announcement of Choral Evensong. The inspector strode across to it to switch it off.
‘Oh, you can’t be in all that hurry,’ said Mr Tidson. ‘Do leave it on, my dear Inspector! They are going to do Wesley in E.’
‘And now for the truth,’ said Mrs Bradley. Mr Tidson looked at her appraisingly.
‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ he said.
‘We might,’ said Gavin aggressively. Mr Tidson shook his head.
‘Nonsense, my dear Inspector,’ he said. ‘You do not want the truth. You want to find me guilty.’
‘Same thing,’ said Gavin. Mr Tidson smiled. ‘By no means, Inspector,’ he said, ‘as Mrs Bradley realizes, even if you do not.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Gavin. ‘And keep it short.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Tidson, ‘I came here to look for my naiad. There seemed no reason at all why I should not see her. Besides—’ He paused.
‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘it falls to me to explain. Correct me, Mr Tidson, if I go wrong.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr Tidson, in great relief. ‘I place myself in your hands with the greatest confidence. At one point I thought you had failed, but I know now that I misjudged you. I should have retained faith, for, without faith, works, as the Scriptures point out, are redundant and dangerous.’
‘What Scripture points out,’ began Gavin, ‘is—’
‘Spare me the Biblical knowledge and the spiritual pride of Scotsmen,’ said Mr Tidson, raising a small, plump hand. ‘Mrs Bradley is about to tell you a bedtime story. Pray silence, Mr Policeman, for the grandmother whom you have been teaching to suck eggs.’
‘Mr Tidson,’ said Mrs Bradley, speaking mildly, although there was an expression on her face and in her birdlike, unmerciful eye which boded Mr Tidson no good, ‘you are waspish. You must forgive him, my dear David,’ she added, turning to Gavin. ‘You see, since he decided to look for his naiad in Winchester, young men of about your age have twice tried to teach him to mind his own business.’
‘You dare!’ shouted Mr Tidson, half rising from his chair. Gavin put out a large hand and pushed him back.
‘Three’s your unlucky number,’ he remarked. ‘Remain sensible, seated and civil, little man, or I might forget myself.’
‘Parlez doucement, lentement et en français,’ said Mrs Bradley appreciatively. ‘The first young man pushed him into the river. That must have been along the slightly gloomy railway walk from the road bridge towards the old weir, where the water is shallow and stony. That accounts for his coming back wet through, and it accounts for his abrasions. You remember?’
‘But—’ said Gavin, surprised.
‘Yes, I am sure there is some young fellow somewhere – and a girl as well, of course – who can testify that this happened on the night of Bobby Grier’s death,’ Mrs Bradley continued.
‘What is this insect, then – a Peeping Tom?’ asked Gavin, in deep disgust.
‘Very aptly expressed,’ said Mrs Bradley, regarding Mr Tidson with benevolent interest. ‘His nymphs are many and varied. Another swain at a later date punched him in the eye. He bore the mark of it next morning.’
‘Ah, the soap and the nailbrush,’ said Gavin. ‘But—’
‘Mr Tidson was so much annoyed by that particular incident,’ went on Mrs Bradley, ‘that he even struck his wife, providing her with an injury equal to, and similar to, his own. I don’t wonder she does not like you very much,’ she continued, turning to the unfortunate Mr Tidson.
‘I’ve spent all my money on her,’ he said, with a frightened look. Mrs Bradley nodded.
‘So much so,’ she said, ‘that you’ve been suspected of having designs on the life of young Arthur Preece-Harvard so that you could inherit his estate.’
Mr Tidson’s expression of fright and concern deepened. ‘But I don’t even know what the boy looks like!’ he protested. ‘I should not recognize him if I saw him!’
‘Mrs Tidson knows him,’ said Gavin drily.
‘Whether Mr Tidson knows him or not, or has designs on him or not, does not affect our enquiry,’ said Mrs Bradley.
‘Tidson has no alibi, then, for the death of Bobby Grier, but that doesn’t necessarily connect him with the death of young Biggin,’ said Gavin, frowning. ‘Well, that brings us back to Connie Carmody.’
‘Whose motive, as she has informed me several times, was to get me hanged,’ said Mr Tidson, plucking up heart and looking a great deal more cheerful.
‘And not such a bad idea at that,’ said Gavin unkindly. ‘However, we’re interrupting Mrs Bradley.’
‘Connie was the tenant of that flat on the Great West Road,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I knew that she must be. For one thing, we were told that the tenant was a woman. Besides, I knew that Connie would never have risked going there if she had thought there was the slightest chance of running into Mr Tidson.’
‘But what about the rent?’ asked Gavin.
‘Ask Miss Carmody. Connie had a hundred a year of her own from the late Mr Preece-Harvard’s private fortune, and her aunt, you will discove
r, supplemented that. Connie’s rather ungracious remarks about charity told me the truth. She did not regard her hundred a year as charity, and there was no earthly reason why she should. Where you went wrong, you know, Mr Tidson,’ she added, turning towards the little man, ‘was in letting her know that Mr Preece-Harvard was her father. That was very unkind, I thought. Naturally prone to brood and to feel ill-used, those tidings had the worst effect upon Connie. They also brought to her notice the full implication of what it would mean to you if Arthur Preece-Harvard should die. She began to see you as a double enemy – for you are right in supposing that Connie intended you mischief. She saw you first as an interloper, a nuisance and an expense to her aunt. It also became obvious to her that the flat on the Great West Road (which she had so very recently rented) would have to be given up, and, with it, every thought of her independence, if you persisted in living on Miss Carmody’s money.’
‘I thought Connie did not show Prissie sufficient gratitude, and that was why I told her about her father,’ protested Mr Tidson.
‘Well, be that as it may, Connie disliked you very much. Her first act of revenge and antagonism was designed to make you look foolish. She wrote the letter to the paper about the naiad. She selected a neighbourhood of which she had some knowledge (she had accompanied her aunt to Winchester during the season of air raids) and it soon became a matter of interesting conjecture whether a stranger (yourself, say) or only someone well acquainted with the neighbourhood, could have staged the two murders so successfully.’
‘Now I know it was Connie Carmody,’ said Gavin, with an innocent look, ‘I can’t see why I ever thought it was you, Tidson. Her character, her temperament, that one brick we found with the blood and the fingerprints on it—’
‘Yes, she was clever in a way about that,’ said Mr Tidson. ‘In fact, she was very clever indeed to risk leaving it with my dog’s blood and her prints. I suppose she had washed off the original human blood in the river.’
‘That is certainly an idea,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘And when one comes to think, she was very slow to enter that grove of trees the day she and I took a walk to the top of Saint Catherine’s Hill.’
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