Love Lies Bleeding

by Edmund Crispin

  ‘Just a moment.’ The headmaster’s voice was plaintive. ‘How did Galbraith know anything about Brenda?’

  ‘Oh, my dear Horace,’ Fen groaned. ‘If he was aware of the invisible-ink business, he must have realized the probable significance of Brenda’s disappearance, just as I did.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ The headmaster was abashed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘But then, of course, the unexpected happened. Brenda actually was alive, and my ballon d’essai worked – though prematurely, catching me hopelessly unawares. Someone tried to kill the girl. And that, I need hardly tell you, was incontrovertible proof of Galbraith’s guilt.’

  ‘How?’ Even at the risk of appearing moronic, the headmaster was determined to have everything clear.

  ‘Well, Brenda’s sole connection with the case consisted in knowing that Somers had stolen sulphuric acid from the chemistry laboratory. If she lived, she would tell us about that, we should ask ourselves what he’d wanted it for, and by reference to scientific manuals we should very quickly come to the conclusion that he’d wanted it for invisible ink. But, you see, the only person in the wide world whose safety and immunity depended in any way at all on the invisible-ink hoax’s remaining undiscovered was Galbraith; therefore he was the only person in the wide world, after Somers’ death, with a motive for killing Brenda. I needn’t add that his safety did not, in fact, depend on the hoax’s remaining undiscovered; but Weems’ fictional report made him think it did – made him think that once his precious alibi was destroyed, he was lost.’

  17

  Peace Indivisible

  Fen paused to filch another of the headmaster’s cigarettes, and the headmaster leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  ‘Marvellous!’ he exclaimed admiringly.

  ‘Not at all.’ Fen’s diffidence was for once unfeigned. ‘Though it involved a lot of detail, the case was unusually plain and straightforward. And when I think of my imbecility in going to Melton Chart unarmed, I blush like an amorous kitchen maid.’

  ‘Now,’ the headmaster commanded inexorably, ‘let’s have a straightforward narrative, please. There are still things I don’t understand about the manuscripts.’

  ‘Some of it’s bound to be conjecture,’ Fen warned him. ‘All four protagonists are dead without telling us anything, and there are episodes which we can only guess at. But a likely reconstruction would run something like this:

  ‘It began last Monday, when, in the Beacon, Taverner told Somers casually of the existence of the manuscript, probably mentioning the name Love’s Labour’s Won. Somers, as an English teacher, would certainly be knowledgeable enough to take an interest, and on Tuesday evening he visited Mrs Bly to look at the thing, decided it was well worth having, and asked the old woman how much she wanted for it. She, no doubt, mentioned a hundred pounds, in joke at first but later in earnest, since she saw Somers was really anxious to buy it. And he – after some futile haggling – would have said something like, “Well, I’ll give you a cheque.” Being an old and suspicious woman, she would have refused that and demanded cash. He would have said, “All right, I’ll get the money from my bank and bring it to you tomorrow.” And she would have replied, “No good, because I’m going away to visit my son, and shan’t be back till Saturday; you can bring me the money then.”’

  ‘I can’t endure this hypothetical style,’ the headmaster complained. ‘Leave out the “would” and “must have” and “probably” and “doubtless”, and tell the story straightforwardly. I’ll stop you if you say anything nonsensical.’

  ‘I never say anything nonsensical,’ Fen replied coldly. ‘But I agree that your suggestion’s a good one,’ he relented. ‘So here goes.

  ‘Somers didn’t at all like the idea of so long an interval elapsing before this priceless thing came into his possession; he was afraid that Mrs Bly, suspecting its true value, would sell it in the meantime to someone else, for a much larger sum. So he asked her to sign a “promise to sell” and she, to whom a hundred pounds was great riches, agreed. We found this document, by the way, in Galbraith’s pocket; he evidently took it from Somers’ body. In his own hand, Somers wrote the words, “I, the undersigned, swear that on payment in cash of one hundred pounds I will hand over unconditionally to Michael Somers of Castrevenford School the manuscript found in my cottage and entitled Love’s Labour’s Won; provided that such payment be made within a week of the date of this agreement.” Mrs Bly signed, and Somers went off with the paper in his pocket. Since it was a conditional agreement, I imagine – though I’m no forensic expert – that it wasn’t legally binding, but Somers didn’t realize that, nor did Mrs Bly, and nor, when he came to hear of it, did Galbraith.

  ‘No wonder Somers was pleased with himself when he went to the Beacon for a drink last Tuesday evening, for if the manuscript was what he thought, he would be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life. He considered the possibility that the manuscript was bogus, and was inclined on the whole to dismiss it. One hundred pounds was too small an amount to be asked for a careful modern forgery, Taverner and Mrs Bly were a very unlikely pair of agents, and it seemed incredible that a forgery should have been buried at some time in the distant past as an esoteric practical joke. Moreover, Somers had examined the manuscript himself, and though he was not an expert, he knew just enough about such things to make sure that risking his money was worthwhile.

  ‘He read books on the topic of Shakespeare forgeries, and it occurred to him the following morning that he might get the advice of the local expert – Galbraith. Accordingly, he took Galbraith aside, and, secure in the possession of his promise to sell, poured out the whole story. Galbraith was interested (secretly very interested) and non-committal. But neither of them was prepared for the fact that Love overheard them, resented Somers’ buying the manuscript for so trivial a sum, mistakenly assumed that Galbraith was concerned in the business, confronted them both, informed them that it was his intention to put a spoke in the wheel if possible, and marched off.’

  Fen made an apologetic gesture. ‘That’s the best hypothesis I can think of, though of course it may not have happened exactly like that.

  ‘Somers and Galbraith separated, and in each of them money lust began to do its work. Somers was horrified at the possibility that Love, thanks to his ridiculous scruples, might snatch a fortune away from him. True, he had the signed agreement, but he knew Love’s iron determination, and didn’t put it past him to camp on Mrs Bly’s doorstep until she returned and then persuade her to break the agreement and risk an action for breach of contract. Love was, indeed, a formidable opponent, who was quite capable of ultimately preventing Somers from getting his hands on the manuscript. The conclusion, to Somers, was inescapable; Love had to die before Mrs Bly returned on speech day.

  ‘But Galbraith knew that Somers had a motive for killing Love. Consequently, Somers thought, he must supply himself with a good alibi – and we know what it was that he contrived. I needn’t enumerate all the various factors which helped him. The chief danger of the plan was that some other master might enter the common room and find him absent, but, as Wells told us, that was unlikely, and if it happened he could probably say that he had been in the lavatory; some risk had to be taken. The chief problem was to get sulphuric acid, since he dared not buy it openly at a shop, but the cupboard in the chemistry laboratory, with its flimsy lock, solved that difficulty.

  ‘He robbed it on Thursday evening, and was seen by Brenda. Rather pusillanimously, from his point of view, he tried to frighten her into silence. Then – or perhaps next morning – he went off and wrote out the appropriate number of reports, representing about an hour’s work, in invisible ink. On the Friday afternoon he learned from Etherege that Brenda had not been able to conceal her alarm, so he waylaid her, throttled her, or tried to, and planted the fake letter – a rather unnecessary trimming – in her study. Everything was ready for the evening.’

  ‘But what about the revolver?’ the headmaster asked.
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  ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten that. I think that Somers, passing the armoury on Friday afternoon and finding it unlocked and unguarded, must have stolen the gun on an impulse. It didn’t really matter what weapon he used, but since the opportunity offered, he took it. That same gun has been used all along, by the way – to kidnap Brenda, to shoot Love, to shoot Somers, and to shoot at Brenda and me in Melton Chart. I’m sorry to say that in the excitement of last night’s happenings I made a mess of the fingerprints on it, but at that stage they weren’t really required.

  ‘Well, Somers entered the common room just before ten on Friday evening – and must have been somewhat upset to find Etherege there. Etherege, however, went away almost at once, and he unwittingly helped Somers’ plan by counting the number of report forms which remained blank.’

  ‘That’s an important point,’ the headmaster interrupted. ‘Obviously the alibi wouldn’t stand unless there were some independent witness to swear that at ten o’clock Somers had just so many reports to write. How would he have managed that without Etherege?’

  ‘He would have used Wells, I think, on whose presence he could rely; would have said something to this effect, “Look here, Wells, I’ve got a bet on. I’ve told a friend I can write ninety-seven reports by eleven. So would you mind counting them, so that you can confirm that there actually were ninety-seven?” No doubt he had some such fabrication in mind for the purpose.’

  The headmaster nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Etherege and Wells having departed, Somers closed the curtains of the common room, so that no one outside would have a chance of observing that he was not there, went downstairs, and quitted Hubbard’s Building by way of a window. I think he must have had a bicycle handy – partly because he wouldn’t wish to be absent longer than was necessary, and partly for a reason which I’ll mention in a minute. Anyway, he proceeded to Love’s house, entered the French windows, shot Love where he sat, and returned to the common room; all of which would take him about a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘But look here,’ the headmaster objected, ‘if Somers had used a bicycle, we should have found it subsequently.’

  ‘Unless Galbraith removed it,’ said Fen, ‘which he’d have every opportunity to do. However, I don’t insist on the bicycle. All I maintain is that Somers must have got back by half past ten at the latest. That would have been a squeeze, walking, but not impossible.

  ‘Love’s movements during the preceding days we can assess fairly exactly. On Thursday he visited Mrs Bly’s cottage, found her absent, tried to discover where she was, and failed. But he did learn that she was due back on speech day, and I expect he had every intention of meeting her on her return and acquainting her with the real worth of the manuscript.’

  ‘She might not have believed him, you know,’ said the headmaster. ‘She might still have insisted on selling the thing to Somers.’

  ‘Agreed, but Somers dared not rely on that happening. Anyway, Love took no further steps before his death, except to begin writing that statement. What he was proposing to do with it defeats me – and it must have defeated him, too, since he never finished it. The only theory I can offer that makes any sense at all is that he felt he wanted a confidant, and decided that a piece of paper would be better than none. Much the same impulse goes to the keeping of diaries.’

  ‘You don’t think, then, that he did confide in any person?’

  ‘Unlikely. I think he would have done if Galbraith alone had been involved, but Somers was a different kettle of fish. Somers was Love’s protégé, and for Love to confess that Somers was engaged in a disgraceful, to Love, transaction would be an admission of misjudgment very wounding to his self-esteem. And I expect that in spite of disillusionment Love retained some of his pristine liking for Somers; he’d do his damnedest to prevent Somers from buying the manuscript, but he probably had no desire to hold Somers up to public obloquy.

  ‘In the meanwhile, Galbraith had been active. The circumstantial reasons which influenced Somers in assessing the genuineness or otherwise of the manuscript influenced him too. In any case, he determined that by hook or by crook he must have it. But how? Somers’ promise to sell seemed to him an insuperable obstacle. He might, of course, wait until Somers had the manuscript and then try to steal it, but if Somers were sensible he’d take it straight to a strongbox at the bank and Galbraith would never have a chance of getting near it. Burglary was an interim solution, and he tried that, but probably Mrs Bly, impressed with the hundred pound offer, took the manuscript away with her for safe keeping. Anyway, Galbraith couldn’t find it. He was driven to the conclusion that Somers must be killed before he could make good his claim to the manuscript on Mrs Bly’s return; and he must have made up his mind that as a corollary Love also would have to die, since Love, alive, would be in a position (a) to put the manuscript out of Galbraith’s reach, and (b) thanks to overhearing Somers’ conversation with Galbraith, to offer the police a very sound reason why Galbraith should have murdered Somers. With both of them dead, the police would have no reason to consider Galbraith as a potential murderer, since if and when the business of the manuscript came to light it could not possibly be shown that Galbraith was aware of its existence. He would seem to have no more motive than anyone else.

  ‘Galbraith made no special plans beyond, I suppose, arming himself in some way; he was shrewd enough to realize that elaborate preparations for murder increase the risk by multiplying clues and traces. On Friday night he simply followed Somers about with a view to seizing the most favourable opportunity, and was certainly outside the common room door when Somers spoke of his watch to Wells. When Wells and Etherege left, Galbraith had just time to hide in the lavatory or in one of the classrooms. Probably he intended to go in and kill Somers there and then, but Somers himself put a stop to that by surreptitiously leaving the building. Galbraith may have followed him to Love’s house, or may just have guessed what he was doing; for he knew, of course, that Somers had a sound reason for wishing Love dead. In any case, it was quite in Galbraith’s interest that Somers should do that particular job, and he simply waited for his return, or followed him back to the common room; and then shot him.

  ‘Having done so, the general condition of affairs became clear to him, and he saw how Somers’ alibi could be used to create an alibi for him. He finished heating the report forms, if Somers had not already done so; he tampered with the watch, for reasons I’ve mentioned; he opened the curtain so that the scene should be in every detail what it was when Wells and Etherege left the room; and he took the hundred pounds and the promise to sell from Somers’ body, by way of confusing the trail. But he made three fatal mistakes: after wiping the wristwatch and putting Somers’ prints on it he strapped it back the wrong way round; he either didn’t find, or didn’t realize the significance of, the clean sheet of blotting paper in Somers’ pocket; and – almost incredibly – he left the electric fire burning.

  ‘The time must by now, I think, have been between half past ten and twenty-five to eleven. I say “must” because at twenty-five to eleven Galbraith rang up the chaplain, probably from the call box outside the school gates, and it isn’t very likely that he killed Somers, and arranged the scene, between the phone call and 10.44, when he arrived at your study. Hence, by the way, my insistence on the fact that Somers was back from killing Love by ten thirty. And now comes a problem which you can clear up. That business about the muddle in the chapel seating arrangements – was it a fabrication?’

  ‘No,’ the headmaster said without hesitation, ‘it wasn’t. The muddle really existed, and Galbraith can’t have contrived it on the spur of the moment. I’m bound to admit that he didn’t necessarily have to bother me with it – but it wasn’t at all implausible that he should do so.’

  ‘I see. Then it was just a convenient pretext, ready-made. On leaving the common room he had to provide himself with a good alibi for about a quarter to eleven and onwards; and there you were at your Fasti meeting, heaven-provided for the pu
rpose. All other considerations apart, you had a complete alibi for the two crimes, and so your word would subsequently be trusted. Galbraith telephoned the chaplain about the seating arrangements to lend likelihood to his belated visit, allowed an interval to elapse sufficient to account for the journey from his lodgings to Davenant’s, and arrived just as the Fasti meeting was breaking up.’

  ‘He could not rely,’ said the headmaster rather defensively, ‘on keeping me talking indefinitely.’

  ‘He didn’t need to, because Wells would find Somers’ body at eleven (and he assumed, of course, that Love’s body would be found by his wife at a quarter to). All he wanted was to keep you talking till eleven – and that he could rely on, I suppose.

  ‘Next morning he killed Mrs Bly. There was plenty of opportunity, since – as I assumed – he had no commitments during speech day.’

  ‘Not after the chapel service,’ the headmaster agreed. ‘I took it he’d be about if he were needed, but I hadn’t tied him down to any particular job at any particular time.’

  ‘I see. Well, exactly what happened in Mrs Bly’s cottage we don’t know. Galbraith wouldn’t particularly want to kill the old woman provided he could get away with the manuscript unobserved. But since she’d laid eyes on him she had to die.’

  ‘Why?’ the headmaster demanded.

  ‘If she lived, she could tell the police about Somers’ interest in the manuscript; and the fact that after Somers’ death Galbraith had stolen it or bought it or whatnot would make the police realize that he had an uncomfortably pressing motive for Somers’ murder.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Go on.’

  ‘As I say, this part of it is very vague. Possibly Mrs Bly caught him attempting the theft, or possibly – well, there’s a variety of potential situations which you can work out for yourself. What it boiled down to was that Mrs Bly saw him and that therefore he had to kill her. And he had to stun Plumstead for fear that Plumstead might see him escaping and so be able to identify him subsequently. These tasks accomplished, away he went with Love’s Labour’s Won under his arm.