Bleeding Hooks

by Harriet Rutland

  “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Pussy. “It was part of his music-hall act, and he was teaching it some trick. I dare say he’s got fond of it in the same way as other people get fond of a cat.”

  “Well, I’m not going to look for it any more,” said Gunn. “Let’s go for a walk by the sea. We shall probably find it there anyway. All kinds of things get washed up by the tide, and they call it ozone!”

  They set off gaily down the wooded path leading to the sea, until they came to the smooth stretch of sand, where they behaved like any two healthy young people who find each other attractive, and who, for all they know, may be in love with each other.

  They played leap-frog, until Gunn neatly sent Pussy sprawling into a patch of wet sand; they played soccer with a pebble, until Pussy resorted to heel-tapping; then they joined hands, and went to peer into the little aquarium pools which the tide had left behind in the grey rocks, and teased the shrimps and tickled the red, jelly-like anemones until they folded up their crinkling, Medusa-tendrilled hair.

  “I’ll race you to the sandhills,” said Gunn, and arrived breathless, an easy winner, with Pussy, laughing, in pursuit.

  But as the girl sat on the soft sand to rest, pulling the slack of her brown, bell-bottomed trousers round her ankles to protect them from the piercing spines of the tough dune-grass, her mood changed. She threw off her gaiety as quickly and as unconsciously as she would have thrown off an evening cloak, and sat, morose and silent, with one elbow propped on her knee, and her clear green eyes gazing at the sea.

  Gunn, sensitive as always to her moods, sat close beside her, one arm around her shoulders, very still.

  The sea stretched out its deep-green depths serenely to meet the hazy blue sky. A white yacht rode gently at anchor, its sails furled. On the horizon appeared the faint blurred shape of a tramp steamer. In the distance the drone of a plane made scarcely more noise than an errant bumble-bee which taxied over their heads.

  Gunn rubbed his tousled brown head against her sleek blonde hair.

  “What’s biting you? Tell uncle,” he said.

  Pussy continued to stare at the sea.

  “Nothing,” she said, and her voice was as expressionless as her face.

  “Come on, out with it, or I shall recite to you,” he replied, and went on, appropriately enough: “‘O, woman, in our hour of ease, Uncertain, coy and hard to please –’”

  “Oh Lord. Anything but that!” exclaimed the girl.

  She put up a hand and began to play with his crisp hair.

  He waited.

  “Oh, well, if you really want to know, it’s Mother,” she said at length. “I’m worried about her, and I wish to God I’d never started thinking that Mrs. Mumsby didn’t die a natural death.”

  “Clear as mud,” said Gunn.

  Pussy gave his hair an unexpected tug.

  “Bother you!” she exclaimed. “It’s clear enough if you use what few brains you were born with. I don’t mind the other people in the hotel being suspected of murder, but I don’t like to think that Mother can be connected with it. I know she used to come to Aberllyn when I was a child, but she never told me that she’d been here since, and I can’t think why she should keep a thing like that to herself unless she has something to hide.”

  “I don’t see why she should tell you all that she does,” replied Gunn. “I’m damned sure that you don’t tell her one half of the things you do, or the places you go to.”

  “No,” agreed Pussy. “We always have been fairly independent. She gave up the home after my father was killed, so we were often separated, and of course I’ve been away at school, and abroad. I suppose Miss Haddox’s beloved niece wears white lace and pale-blue silk dresses and indulges in heart-to-heart talks with her mother, but we’ve never been like that. If Mother had had an affair with some man – bachelor flats, and all that, I mean – I shouldn’t expect her to tell me about it, but this seems such an unnecessary thing for her to keep quiet about.”

  “Perhaps she knew someone in the hotel, and didn’t want you to know that she’d met them before, or something like that.”

  Pussy nodded.

  “Don’t you see, that’s just it?” she returned. “Who could it possibly be except Mrs. Mumsby? I didn’t tell you before, but Miss Haddox saw Mother near the place where Mrs. Mumsby died that day, but when all the others went to see what had happened, Mother must have slipped back to the hotel, thinking that no one had seen her. You must admit that it looks suspicious, Piggy.”

  “But, good Lord!” cried Gunn. “You can’t suspect your own mother of murder!”

  “Why not?” demanded Pussy. “I should think I’m capable of it. I’ve got an awful temper, and so has she. She’s a very deceptive person altogether. She looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth – all petite and feminine. I know. I’ve seen men go soppy about her. But she’s terribly strong-willed really. I simply daren’t cross her sometimes.”

  “Oh, well, we’ve all got tempers,” said Gunn evenly, “but we don’t go about murdering people for all that. I dare say I’d go mad and knock a fellow out if he came nosing around you, for instance, but I shouldn’t stick poisoned fly-hooks in him.”

  “That’s very noble of you, I’m sure,” said Pussy, “but that book makes it even more suspicious. It’s the kind of weapon a woman might use. A woman can’t go knocking another woman down, and she hasn’t much strength in her hands usually, but any woman could use a poisoned hook. I could have murdered Mrs. Mumsby that way myself.”

  “Not you, my sweet,” returned Gunn. “You’d never think of doing such a thing.”

  “Why? Too kind-hearted?”

  “No, darling. Just not clever enough.” He jerked his head away from her retaliating hands and imprisoned them in his own. “Now, now, little girls mustn’t be rough,” he admonished.

  The sound of approaching voices stiffened them into silence.

  “The Pindars,” whispered Gunn. “Keep still till they’ve gone by.”

  He drew her head down to his shoulder and held her in his arms.

  But the voices did not grow fainter, and they suddenly realized that Mr. and Mrs. Pindar must have chosen an adjoining depression in the sandhills as a resting-place, and were held by a momentary indecision whether to move away, or to reveal their presence.

  Mr. Pindar’s words held them where they were. He had a peculiarly clear, cultured voice and they heard him distinctly.

  “I can’t go on any longer like this,” he said. “I’ve been in absolute hell for the past few days. I think I’d better make a run for it and leave you here. It will look better like that. You say that the Partridge girl is definitely suspicious of us. So was Mrs. Mumsby. It will be like that wherever we go, and we can’t go round killing everyone who suspects us, can we? I just can’t go on with it any longer.”

  Mrs. Pindar was crying, and her reply was indistinct. The man’s voice grew very gentle.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I know you’d stick to me through everything, whatever anyone found out, but men are different. A woman seems able to live an ordinary life, knowing all the time that a bombshell may burst over her head at any minute, but a man can’t endure the suspense. We shall have to separate. It will be hell, but at least there’s a chance for me that way. They’ll never suspect you of anything wrong.”

  The only word of Mrs. Pindar’s reply which was audible to them, was “coward”.

  “I deserve every rotten name you can think of,” said Mr. Pindar. “I’m an utter cad, and a filthy rotter, and – oh, what’s the use? I was mad to have done it – mad! We never ought to have come here. I never ought to have been weak enough to let you persuade me into it, but I don’t blame you, darling, I ought to have realized what was bound to happen. I ought to be hanged for it. But I’ll see that you don’t suffer. It’s your life that matters, not mine. I’d willingly lay down my life for you, and the least I can do is to go away from you. People are sure to find out: they’re getting nearer to
the truth than they realize now. We must separate as soon as possible. There’s one other way out of it, of course, but you know what that is.”

  “Yes, I know.” Mrs. Pindar’s voice was sad, passionate, obstinate. “But I can’t do it. I can’t.”

  “Then there’s no more to be said. I’ll arrange something before the week-end. Don’t hold this against me, my dearest. It was a rotten thing to do. But don’t hold it against me. Whatever happens you’ll know that I shall always love you as long as I live. I love you, adore you, worship you, and I’ll never cease to care for you. It’s the kind of love I’ve always derided before, the kiss-the-hem-of-your-skirt kind. You’re so lovely...”

  The sand deadened the sound of Pussy’s and Gunn’s footsteps as they crept softly away.

  Chapter 24

  “All fry Pass Smoking into Grilled Salmon,” said Gunn. “All fry Pass –”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” asked Pussy irritably.

  “Just repeating a sentence I made up to remind me of the stages in the life of a salmon. Alevin. Parr. Smoult. Grilse. Salmon. Cute, isn’t it?”

  “Cute, my foot! Why do you want to talk that nonsense now?”

  “So that you won’t be tempted to make any comment on the Pindars while we’re within earshot,” was the reply.

  “Humph!” said Pussy, and they walked half-way back to the hotel in silence.

  “Well, is it better – or worse?” asked Gunn in the inquiring tones of a solicitous eye-specialist.

  “Oh, worse,” Pussy said, almost in tears. “I like the Pindars. I think they’re a sweet pair. Of course she’s older than he is, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I can’t believe that he’s a – a – murderer.”

  “I like him, myself,” said Gunn, “but it has to be someone, and we like them all if it comes to that.”

  “If only it were Evans!” sighed Pussy.

  They returned to the hotel by a route which cut across the main road up a rocky hill, and down by a circuitous path bounded by a mossy stone wall, where, in summer, lizards flattened their bulgy sides in the sun. The wall ended abruptly at the boundary of the hotel grounds, and there they saw Claude Weston dangling his legs idly over its mortared end.

  He looked up as they approached, and slid to the ground, and, ramming his hands into the pockets of his grey-flannel slacks, stood rather awkwardly awaiting them.

  He smiled at Pussy, and addressed himself to Gunn. “Look here, I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself yesterday.” he said, flushing to the roots of his copper-coloured hair. “It must have looked funny to you, but I was damned fond of that monkey, and somehow things lately have been too much for me. It made me feel hoodoo, coming right on top of Mrs. Mumsby’s death – as if everyone I get really fond of is doomed to die!”

  “Forget it,” said Gunn shortly.

  Claude’s little speech embarrassed him.

  If you’d read it in a book, he thought, you’d think it a bit overdone. But Claude always was a bit melodramatic in everything he did. You couldn’t judge him by ordinary standards, but he was a decent chap.

  “Have you found your monkey yet?” asked Pussy.

  “No. Dad is still out with the beaters. I never realized how fond he was of Petkins: he always seemed to think him a bit of a nuisance before. But I’ve given up hope now. If he’d been anywhere in the village, we should have found him by now, especially as Dad has offered a reward. Someone killed him, that’s certain.”

  “It’s rotten luck,” said Pussy, “but I can’t see why you’re so sure about its being killed. It may have gone further than you’ve been able to look. Or it may have died naturally.”

  “We should have found his body if he’d died from exposure,” replied Claude. “Besides, that’s the way I feel about it, as I’ve told you. I suppose there’s as much sense in that as in anything else I feel or do.”

  “It’s strange that you should speak of Mrs. Mumsby and the monkey in one breath, so to speak,” said Pussy, as if she were not quite sure how to express what she meant. “I mean, I was wondering whether there might be some connection between them.” She noticed Gunn’s warning look, and floundered still further in the disturbed sea of her thought. “I mean – you often hear of dogs dying after their masters have died, so why not monkeys?”

  “Mrs. Mumsby wasn’t the monkey’s mistress,” remarked Gunn.

  “I know that,” she giggled, “but they were very fond of each other. No other woman in the hotel would have wasted her time in knitting it a jumper. Sorry, and all that, Claude.”

  “I don’t mind,” replied Claude. “Monkeys aren’t everyone’s choice, I know. Most people are a bit scared of them, and think they breed fleas. Women, especially. You nearly always find that a monkey is a man’s pet, and it’s queer, really, because women are fond of carrying pet dogs, and even tiger cubs, around with them.”

  “Perhaps they’re afraid that a monkey doesn’t provide sufficient contrast,” put in Gunn, ducking to avoid Pussy’s well-aimed fist. “But, seriously, there might be some sense in what Pussy says, for once, though I never knew that the monkey ever took any notice of Mrs. Mumsby.”

  “Oh yes, it did,” said Pussy. “It was there when she died.”

  Claude gave a gasp and went deathly pale.

  Gunn laid a restraining hand on the girl’s arm.

  “Have a heart, Pussy,” he said quietly.

  Pussy smiled reassuringly.

  “I think Claude would be glad to talk about it,” she said. “We might be able to help.”

  She rested her hands on the grey stones, and vaulted lightly on to the wall. Gunn, still puzzled, followed suit, and they sat there in silence, waiting for Claude to speak. He stood there for a second or two gazing down at the welted toes of his brogues, and streaked his long, nervous fingers through his shining hair. At last he looked up.

  “I suppose I might as well,” he said eventually. “I can’t keep it to myself much longer. Where shall I begin?”

  “Well, if we’re going to find the connection between your monkey and Mrs. Mumsby, we’d better go back to the day when she – she died,” said Pussy.

  Claude looked at her with admiring eyes.

  “You’ve more brains than I thought you had,” he said. “I suppose you don’t want to hear anything that happened before we landed for lunch that day?”

  “No,” said Pussy, swinging her legs. “That will do nicely.” Claude paced up and down in front of them.

  “Well, we landed earlier than usual,” he began, “because Dad wasn’t looking too well. He’s had a bit of trouble with his heart lately, and I suppose he’s been overdoing it a bit. Trout-fishing doesn’t do him any harm, but he had a week at the salmon when we first came, and that’s pretty strenuous. Anyway, we landed for lunch about one o’clock. We saw Mrs. Mumsby at her lunch as we rowed in, and she waved her hand to us, but when the boat was beached, the wall hid us from view. We saw Major Jeans’ boat here, but he wasn’t in sight, so he must have gone towards the road.”

  “Were there any other boats there?” asked Gunn.

  Claude looked rather surprised at his interruption.

  “Not that I could see,” he answered, “but of course that part of the bay twists in and out a lot, and there are high rocks in some places near the water’s edge, so they might have been hidden from view. Well, we had our lunch, and I dozed off a bit in the heat. I woke with a pain in my tummy and went off to get rid of it, with a piece of sandwich paper tucked in my pocket for emergencies.”

  Pussy grinned. She understood this language.

  “Did you take the monkey with you?” she asked.

  “Of course I did. He went with me everywhere. I took my rod with me, too. I thought Dad would be all the better for a rest, and I’d get a bit of sport fishing off the rocks. I didn’t expect to catch anything, you know, but it was something to do, and I’d seen a salmon rise in that deep pool just where the big grey rock slants down to the water.”

 
; “Cuthbert!” exclaimed Pussy and Gunn together.

  “Yes. Oh, I know it sounds absurd when I can hardly catch a trout, but it was just for fun. They say that salmon never feed in fresh water, and no one knows why they ever rise to a fly or bait in the lakes and rivers, so I thought there was a chance that one might do something silly when it saw my fly. I know that Major Jeans and Sir Courtney always joke about Cuthbert, and I thought how marvellous it would be if I could catch it, and bring it in to put down in the hall under their noses.”

  “What bait did you use?” asked Gunn.

  “I used a salmon fly, of course, if you can call that a bait. I took one out of Dad’s fly-book.”

  “What kind was it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about salmon flies. I just tied it on the end of a plain cast, and flicked it off before I’d been fishing for twenty minutes.”

  “But what about the monkey?” asked Pussy. “You couldn’t keep it on your shoulder while you were fishing, surely.”

  “No,” said Claude. “He always had a light chain fastened to his collar when I had him out, and I tied it to a low bush. He was quite happy there, trying to catch spiders and beetles. After I’d lost my fly and reeled in my line, I picked him up again and climbed to the top of a rock. I had a grand view of the lake and the ground all around me. I saw Major Jeans walking along the road, and two people very close together who looked like the Pindars, and Miss Haddox’s red sun-shade beyond them. I could see Dad sitting where I’d left him, and our ghillie still in the boat, and I saw another ghillie coming towards the road from the direction of the river. I saw Mother Mumsby asleep near a large grey rock, and I thought it would be fun to go down and wake her. I knew, of course, that she wouldn’t want to sleep too long or she would miss the fishing, so I thought she wouldn’t mind if I woke her up. I started running down the slope towards her, and I’d just reached the level ground when I caught my foot in a rabbit-hole and sat down with a wallop. Petkins jumped off my shoulder and disappeared out of sight, and when I’d finished rubbing my leg, I went after him. I heard him chattering, and when I found him, he was sitting on her shoulder, patting her face. It was horrible! I could see that she was dead, and it just turned my tummy upside down. I rushed out of sight in a panic, and was horribly sick. When I came back for Pet, I saw the ghillie there. But I never told anyone that I found her first, because I was afraid.”