The Crime at Halfpenny Bridge

by George Bellairs

  “No, sir.”

  “He must have hidden them somewhere.… Any way, it doesn’t matter now. When they’re found the police will see to it that they’re destroyed, won’t they? Or else give them back to Nancy? They’re addressed to her, you know. They’ll be all right, won’t they … they will … you’ll promise me that?”

  “I’ll see that they do nobody any harm, sir.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. I can only say I’m glad I told you and have cleared my friends. I can’t tell you what I owe them for the past ten years of peace and joy in their home. The temporary madness about Nancy passed off, you understand, but the friendship for them all remained.… They were good to me.…”

  “You’re tired out, sir. I must be off.…”

  “You’ll send me the statement round for signing, Inspector? And then, when I’m well and fit to get up, I’m in your hands. Part of this sorry tale will have to come out, but, at least the Emmotts will be safe,”

  “Yes. I’ll send round the statement, sir. I’m afraid that in this informal talk I’ve failed to warn you of one thing. Your statement may be used in evidence and before you sign it, the men who bring it will also caution you.…”

  “That’ll be all right, Inspector. I understand. I quite understand.…”

  Littlejohn left the room bewildered. Hoggatt and Cromwell were as dumbfounded when he told them what had happened. The official typist was making a proper job of the statement and Littlejohn was telling his colleagues of the latest development.

  “… But it’s too far-fetched to believe,” said Hoggatt. Littlejohn rammed down the tobacco in his pipe and lit it.

  “Of course. The poor old chap’s making a very gallant attempt to shield his friends. He knows nothing about Lee and his connection with the case, and his murder. He knows nothing about what’s happened to the letters. All he knows about the crime is what he’s heard from the gossiping Kissack, the hospital porter, and the newspaper accounts of the inquest, which Kissack’s been giving him to read. Furthermore, I enquired about the fire-escape as a means of exit in the night. The Sister said it was quite true. The door was always loose. But not on the night Sam was killed, or a few nights before. The fire-escape had been painted and they’d locked the door because the smell of paint was filling the wards and making the serious cases feel sick.…”

  “Well what was all Boake’s rigmarole about, then?” Cromwell was laboriously puffing his meershaum again. “Boake heard I’d been talking to Podmore. He heard, too, from Kissack that I’d been enquiring about the Emmotts. So he primed himself with a tale for me to put me off the track. We’ll let him sign the statement, but we’ll not relax our vigil. This interview has supplied us with one important new bit of evidence. Sam Prank had got hold of some love letters Boake had written to Nancy Emmott!”

  “Good Lord!”

  “Yes. Sam had one payment out of Boake and then offered them to him at a price, telling him to send the money to him at a rendez-vous on the quay. Nancy Emmott called the morning after Prank’s threats. Boake sent her down to get George, whom he probably told of the letters and the blackmail. George acted vigorously.… That’s one more point in the case against George Emmott. A proud lot like those weren’t going to have Nancy’s name dragged about the town as carrying on an affair with old Boake.… So …”

  “The pity of it was, however, that Sam had given the letters to Rosie Lee for safe keeping and when Sam died, Rosie tried to cash-in. With the results we know. But Boake doesn’t know.…”

  Hoggatt was quite excited.

  “We ought to keep an eye on the Emmotts,” he said.

  “Somehow, I don’t think that need worry us unduly. They seem quite convinced that we don’t suspect a thing,” replied Littlejohn. “At any rate, I’m going there again this evening. I’ll put a question or two to them, and after that, you’d better have a man up there to keep watch on them unseen.”

  Cromwell looked more melancholy than ever.

  “I never met such a mess of a case. We suspect George Emmott, but how are we going to prove anything? We’re no nearer now than when we started.…”

  “Yes, we are,” replied Littlejohn, smoking calmly. “We’ve at least a scent to carry us along. The whole business to my mind centres round the Boake-Emmott affair. We’ve got a syspect. We’ve put the machine in gear and now we’re off after him.…”

  The statement was finished and ready for Boake to sign. A sergeant and a constable in plain clothes took it to the Samaritan and, after duly cautioning Boake, obtained his signature to it, he having read it carefully.

  That night Boake died in his sleep. He had managed to get hold of a bottle of morphine from the hospital medicine trolley which was sometimes left in the corridor by his door.

  XVIII

  A SUDDEN SET-BACK

  BEFORE Boake died, however, Littlejohn visited the Emmotts again. The schoolmaster’s confession was so obviously an effort to shield them, that the Inspector felt an urgent need to study their reactions to certain questions. He took the short cut across the swing-bridge. As he tendered his halfpenny toll, Tebb peered through at his face and excitedly invited him into his box.

  “I bin wantin’ to see you.… I’ve more news for you about that ticket … W340694 you said, didn’t you? Well it was issued at a quarter to eleven …!”

  They could have knocked down Littlejohn with a feather!

  “Are you sure, Tebb?”

  The gatekeeper was hurt.

  “Wot d’yer think I’m botherin’ about, if it isn’t?”

  The cascade-like moustache bristled.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m cornin’ to that if you’ll only let me. A chap called Bulmer who’s courtin’ a girl on the Head, was held-up by the accident last Saturday. You see ’ow it was? There was I huntin’ in the dock for the chap as had fell in, and the bridge gates and turnstile locked. Up comes Bulmer, can’t get through and waits there, lookin’ through the bars o’ the bridge and watchin’ wot’s going on till I gets back to the tickets. I lets him through and there you are.…”

  “Well?”

  “Now, I’m cornin’ to it …”

  Tebb drew himself up and thrust his face close to Littlejohn’s, breathing a blast of peppermint over him.

  “I know it was about a quarter to eleven, because it struck that just as we got Prank on the dockside an’ I went to the bridge to see if anybody was waitin’ there to pay. There was one or two, but Bulmer spoke to me, see? So, I knew ’im. Well … I saw Bulmer just after you’d gone and I asks him if he’s got his turnstile ticket that I give ’im last Saturday. He pulls out about a dozen from the ticket-pocket of his overcoat. Seems to save ’em up, as you might say. I picks out the one I wants right away. And the number’s W340692.…”

  “And which way do you think 340694 was going … To or from the Head?”

  “I’d say from. Because after Bulmer spoke and went through, I seem to recollect lettin’ one or two more through as was behind ’im. Couldn’t make out who they was in the dark. But I always lets the lot through for one way first, and then those for the other. The turnstile’s geared both ways, a different pedal workin’ each. Look!”

  And he showed Littlejohn the mechanism.

  The Inspector had to admit that, although he was disappointed in the new developments, Tebb had certainly added a substantial contribution to the case. He gave him the price of a whisky and soda and the little man seemed hardly able to wait for his relief to arrive and enable him to dissipate it. He was doing double shift, he said. His pal had just gone off to give his daughter away at her wedding and they had changed places to enable him to make a proper job of it.

  “You’d think it was the first, the fuss he’s makin’. He’s married-off four out o’ five daughters.… Now, if it was me.…”

  In the excitement of his bit of sleuthing, Tebb had forgotten his clients on the bridge and was neglecting his duties. A queue had formed and was growing abusive. Littl
ejohn slipped away just in time to avoid the gatekeeper’s view on the wedding ceremony and how a man who had many daughters to dispose of ought to face it.

  On the way to the farm Littlejohn pondered the new development.

  George Emmott had not arrived on the scene, then, until after the murder. That was, if he had not already been on the quay, crossed the old free-bridge and then returned to the scene of his crime to see how things were going on. Or, perhaps to give himself an alibi at the bridge. But, if it was all done in the dark and he hadn’t made himself known to Tebb, what good was such an alibi? Perhaps he’d dropped his weapon in the scuffle and returned for it. Among the crowd that gathered there, he would perhaps have been unrecognised and found what he sought.…

  It was all very strange and disappointing.

  The threshing-machine was busy at Headlands Farm and Littlejohn spotted George busy superintending operations in a field adjacent to the house. The Inspector managed to slip past unobserved and rang the front-door bell. Nancy answered and seemed surprised to see him. She led him into the stuffy front room again.

  “You’re soon back, Inspector,” said the girl, her cold blue eyes expressionless as ever, but her lips and hands moving nervously.

  “Yes, Miss Emmott. I’m afraid I must bother you again, but this was found among the late Sam Prank’s effects and I thought you’d like to have it back.”

  He produced the snapshot of Nancy which Cromwell had secured.

  The girl made as though to snatch it and then recovered.

  “Why! It’s mine.… It was with the …”

  She halted and taking the photograph thrust it in the pocket of her apron.

  “It was with the …?” repeated Littlejohn.

  “Nothing. I wan’t thinking what I was saying.”

  “It was with the letters did you mean?”

  The girl was definitely rattled this time.

  “I said no such thing and if you’re going to …”

  With an impulsive gesture she threw open the door into the house and called to her father.

  “The police-inspector’s here again father.…”

  She led the way to the kitchen where the old man was sitting in his usual place, as though he hadn’t moved since Littlejohn’s last visit. Nancy Emmott seemed to be seeking her father’s protection.

  Old Emmott was not smiling this time. He had caught the look in his daughter’s face and his own expression froze.

  “What do you want again? Can’t we be left in peace by any of you?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I was just returning a photograph we found in the late Sam Prank’s belongings.…”

  “Photograph? Where is it? Give it to me.… Have you got it? Give it to me.”

  Under the benign exterior lurked a real old war-horse!

  Nancy handed over the picture.

  “What was Prank doing with this, Nancy? Who gave it to him?”

  “I don’t know. I never …”

  “Send for George. He should know of this. He’s with the thresher.”

  Nancy hurried out.

  “I can’t see why you should keep worrying round here,” grumbled Emmott petulantly. “We’ve nothing to do with Prank and his affairs.”

  “How then can you explain his possession of the picture of your daughter?”

  “He must have got it from one of her friends. It was taken years ago and she gave several copies to people.… I have one myself. George took it, I think.”

  George Emmott clinked into the kitchen. He, too, was in a rare temper.

  “You again! I’ll trouble you to keep away from here, Inspector, if you don’t want pitching out on your neck. We’re too busy to be bothered by a lot of meddling bobbies and I won’t have my father and sister pestered.…”

  “I can look after myself,” chimed in the old man. “The Inspector’s just returned a picture of Nancy which was found in Prank’s pocket or something.”

  George looked at the photograph and glared at Littlejohn.

  “Well? What does it signify? He’s probably pinched it from some place. You didn’t give it to him, did you, Nance?”

  “Eh?”

  The girl seemed miles away. Then she replied without conviction.

  “… Oh no. I didn’t give it him.”

  “There you are,” snapped George. “And now perhaps you’ll be off. As you see, I’m busy to-day. Farmers haven’t time to waste like the police.”

  Littlejohn, half-sitting on the kitchen table, listened to it all patiently.

  “Have you quite finished, Mr. Emmott?” he said at length. “Because I haven’t. I want to know why you were down on the swing-bridge a quarter of an hour after Prank was murdered and where you were at half-past-ten.”

  George’s face grew bright. He seemed pleased with his own thoughts. He was going to take a rise out of Littlejohn.

  “From nine o’clock till half-past-ten last Saturday, I was with a cow that was having calving trouble here. The vet was with me. Winterbottom, from town. He’ll confirm it if you like. And the reason why I crossed the bridge was I went part way back with him. Smart of you to find out I was there.”

  “Why did you go all that way with the vet. at that time of night?”

  Littlejohn outwardly was unperturbed as ever and George Emmott was a bit disappointed with his reaction to the triumphant alibi. Inwardly, however, the Inspector felt his heart sink. More trouble!

  George Emmott was talking.

  “If you’ve ever spent the best part of two hours with an agonised cow in calf, you’ll know the need of a breath of fresh air and a change. I walked down with Winter-bottom, crossed the toll-bridge and came back by the old bridge. And now, have you done?”

  “No. On Saturday morning you visited Mr. Boake in the hospital. First, Miss Nancy took him flowers. That’s so, isn’t it, Miss Emmott?”

  “Yes. I can do that, I hope, to a friend without starting a hue and cry.”

  “Then Mr. Boake sent you for your brother, who was outside in the van?”

  “Yes. You seem to know all about it.”

  “When your brother came to the ward, did you return with him, Miss Emmott?”

  “No.”

  “You went back to the van?”

  “Er … yes.”

  “Sure?”

  George Emmott again flared up.

  “What the devil are you getting at? Leave the girl alone. She’s nothing to do with Prank’s death. Nor have any of us.…”

  “It’ll pay you best to help the police in this matter, Mr. Emmott. It’s double murder, remember, and your family have connections with both the dead men.”

  Old Emmott intervened. He had been sitting quietly casting his eyes from one to the other of the arguing group.

  “Answer his questions, George, and let’s get it over,” he said sternly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Emmott. I’ve nearly finished. What did Mr. Boake want you for, Mr. George?”

  The young farmer’s face flushed a dirty red.

  “What the hell’s that got to do with you?”

  “I’ll tell you, then. Some way or other, Sam Prank had got hold of a packet of letters written by Mr. Boake to Miss Emmott. I think the photograph was originally with the letters, too. They were, shall we say, sentimental letters and for Mrs. Boake to have got them might have caused misunderstanding and scandal to both. Boake and your family.…”

  “Nancy! George! Is this true?”

  Old Emmott apparently hadn’t known a thing about the letters.

  By way of reply, Nancy Emmott flounced from the room and slammed the door.

  “Send Mercy up to her at once and see that she’s all right,” said Saul Emmott to George, who at once obeyed as though it were a royal command.

  “You’ve upset the girl. She’s not used to this kind of thing. I see George knows all about it. He’ll answer you,” continued the old man, bewildered and apparently ready to give his family the length of his tongue for keeping him in ignorance as s
oon as the visitor’s back was turned.

  George returned and churlishly faced the music.

  “Well, get on with it,” he said truculently.

  “I was saying Prank had got the letters. He called at the hospital in urgent need of money and tried blackmailing Boake.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes. And Boake sent for you and told you so. He asked you for help and advice, especially as your own sister was concerned.”

  “Why wasn’t I told?” thundered old Emmott angrily.

  “We didn’t want to worry you, dad. You’ve enough …”

  “I should have been told. I should be told everything concerning our family and its honour. Now look at the mess you’ve landed yourself in.…”

  “I’m in no mess, as you call it, father. I admit Mr. Boake told me that Prank was blackmailing him. I told him to let me go to the police. He said he daren’t risk it. I insisted. I told him we were interested parties as well as him and that I was going to tell the whole thing to the police.…”

  “Why didn’t you, my boy?”

  “Because Boake made me promise not to until he’d had time to think it over. I said I’d call again the next day. Meantime, Prank died and, as far as I was concerned, was past doing us any harm.”

  “But weren’t you anxious about the letters?” interjected Littlejohn.

  “Why should I be? If they were found in Prank’s effects, probably they’d have been returned. I intended having a word with our lawyer, only …”

  “Only?”

  “I was busy and hadn’t the time.… I …”

  “I suggest to you that Lee called here with the letters and tried to sell them to you.…”

  “I never heard such damned nonsense in my life! What should Lee know of them?”

  “Prank owed Lee money and left them with him for safe-keeping or security. After Prank died, I suggest Lee tried a bit of blackmail himself. He tried to get at Boake, too, but was refused admission to the hospital. So he came here, didn’t he?”

  “Don’t get me mad, Inspector. Nothing of the kind happened. He called here, as I said before, after blackmarket stuff …”