‘When was the latest?’ asked Rattigan.
‘Four weeks ago. They were pretty regular until then.’ He handed them out for the others to look at.
‘Were they posted to Willoughby, sir?’ asked Yardley.
‘No, they were shoved in his personal posting box apparently, sans envelope. There’s a bank of them in the hall.’
‘I’m wondering why they stopped,’ said Rattigan.
‘So am I. Back to his room, I think.’
They searched a piece of furniture each.
‘Nothing here,’ said Nash throwing out the remaining oddments from the wardrobe. ‘We’d best look on top though.’
‘There’s a biscuit tin or something up there,’ said Yardley, shaking the paper linings from some drawers. ‘You can just see it from over here.’
Felix fetched it down. ‘Crawford’s Tartan Shortbread,’ he announced. ‘Not that dusty either.’
‘Any in there?’ asked Rattigan hopefully.
‘Aha! Better than that.’ He shook onto the table a fat manilla envelope and more of the now familiar letters. ‘I thought there would be some somewhere. Hmm, interesting. Purged of the usual obscenities this one says, “You’re a murderer, Willoughby, and you’re going to die.” Still signed the same — Avenger.’
‘No wonder he didn’t want anyone to see that!’ said Nash.
‘It’d seem pretty silly, childish even,’ conjectured Rattigan, ‘unless of course you were a murderer, then you might take it seriously.’
‘And he did die,’ said Yardley.
‘Let’s see what’s in here,’ said Felix. He opened the manilla envelope and pulled out a bundle of notes. ‘Crikey! Look at this lot. Count it Teddy.’
Rattigan did so. ‘Eighty-eight pounds, I make it. All in ones, used.’
‘Not a trivial sum for a schoolmaster to have, especially when last year he appeared to be broke. What’s this?’ He opened a small cash book. ‘Hmm, interesting.’
The others all crowded round it.
‘Too small to read,’ said Rattigan, fumbling for his spectacles.
‘Well I’ll tell you. It’s a list of masters at Thirkettle, some with comments against their names. This is for Nicholls: “No flies on this one. Leave alone.” And for Matteson, “Dreary bore. Mummy’s boy.”’
‘Pretty accurate, I’d say.’
‘Sadly, it is. Mummy was still alive then, one imagines. Aha! This name has a ring drawn around it. Campling! No description. Just says, “Try a tenner?”’
‘Blackmail?’ suggested Nash.
‘Makes you wonder,’ said Felix, ‘especially given those peculiar interrogations in the Spotted Cow. He could probably hope to dig up someone’s nasty little secret eventually.’
‘And foolish Campling fell into the trap.’
‘Well, perhaps. He could just have touched him for a loan of course, or failed to. Wait a minute, there’s more. Aha! I was half expecting this.’
‘The Headmaster?’ said Rattigan.
‘Is that a guess or a joke, Teddy? Because you’re dead right. Note just says, “See how it goes.”’
‘See how the engagement to Emily goes, perhaps? Armitage put on ice.’
‘Could be, yes. Though this is all very speculative, you know. Mustn’t get ahead of ourselves.’
‘I’m a bit confused,’ said Yardley.
‘So are we all.’
‘What I mean is, someone’s sending threatening letters to Willoughby, but Willoughby also appears to be blackmailing people. I can’t quite see the connection.’
‘If Willoughby was a bad lot, which he seems to have been,’ suggested Rattigan, ‘someone perhaps decided to take the law into his own hands.’
‘But why accuse him of being a murderer and not a blackmailer?’
‘Perhaps he saw it as both. Suicide as a result of blackmail. Or maybe Willoughby was a murderer.’
‘Can’t be at this school, then,’ said Nash, ‘must have been before. When did he arrive? Willoughby, I mean.’
‘Nineteen twenty-five,’ said Felix only half listening to this exchange. There was something forming at the back of his mind, as yet vague and inchoate and needing more facts to give it life.
‘What do we do about Campling, sir?’ said Yardley.
‘Er, nothing at the moment. Not on the basis of this. He’s hardly likely to own up to his sins now that Willoughby’s dead and they might not be illegal anyway, just embarrassing. More to the point he can’t be our murderer; we know that. He had someone with him all Sunday, unless you want to implicate the various luminaries of St Nicholas’ church. It would just be a distraction, which we don’t need. If it becomes necessary, I’ll pass him to Puttick.’ He held up the little book. ‘I’m more interested in Armitage being in here.’
‘Armitage has an alibi too,’ Rattigan reminded him.
‘That’s the trouble.’
Back downstairs Agnes was waiting for them. ‘There’s a Mr Polly wants you to telephone, sir. Have I got his name right?’
‘Yes. He’s my boss. May I make the call in your office?’
It was some time before he returned. ‘Well that’s interesting.’
‘Sir?’
‘Noble did indeed go away at the weekend but didn’t arrive at Stodley until late Saturday afternoon and left early on Sunday morning. I think we’d best have another word with that gentleman.’ Some hunches die stillborn, he thought, but this one is alive and well and growing into a healthy infant.
◆◆◆
‘I can quite see why you’d think I killed him,’ said The Honourable Arthur Noble. I can only say that I didn’t. Neither had I any intention of doing so.’
‘But you did write the letters, and build the dummy?’
‘Yes, all right, I admit it. I did.’
‘You realise that’s an indictable offence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Can I tell you the whole thing?’
‘I wish you would.’
Noble sighed heavily. ‘Bit of a saga.’
‘We’re in no hurry.’
‘Very well. My mother died when I was small and my father was stationed away for years on end. All I had was my sister Amy, seven years older, whom I adored. Still do. She married and they had a son, Robin. Her husband was killed at Amiens, almost at the end of the war. At age nine Robin was sent away to prep school, usual thing, and at age eleven Franklin Willoughby murdered him. He murdered him as surely as putting a bullet through his head. In the space of six years Amy lost her husband and her only child to violence and cruelty. She’d always been a little fey and now she went mad. She’s still mad. When I was kicked out of the army I felt I needed her. I went to see her in the asylum. I thought perhaps she wouldn’t recognise me but it was the other way round. It was the most horrible day of my life. I decided to do what I should have done long ago, which was to punish Willoughby. From then on it was all I wanted. I think perhaps I went a little mad myself. I traced him to Thirkettle and was lucky enough to get a job here. Then I started writing the letters. I wasn’t going to kill him, killing was too good for him, I wanted to hound him, to ruin him, to make his life as dreadful as my sister’s has become.
‘The trouble was, I wasn’t any good at it. I fully realise that. The letters were inept and wouldn’t have frightened a child. I should have been more subtle and raised the pressure slowly over the years, but I found I hadn’t the patience or the temperament for it. I’d already constructed the dummy in my room and it couldn’t stay there, so I pinched Willoughby’s working togs to clothe it, took it downstairs and strung it up. That was to be the last of it, the last of the Avenger. I’d come to realise I actually enjoyed working here, enjoyed teaching, and I wanted the Willoughby business finished with. I still hated him but now I plan
ned simply to present the Headmaster with the evidence of his crimes. If nothing else I’d put him out of a job and perhaps ensure he could no longer be a danger to children. I began to produce a dossier, but then he was murdered. His death has cheated me of my revenge. Mind if I smoke?’
‘Can you manage?’
‘Yes, it’s all right. My fingers aren’t too bad now. Bit sore.’
‘Where did you get the manikin from?’
The props room. I’m producing the play this year. As soon as I saw the thing it cried out to be used.’
‘Do you think it came there recently?’
‘I don’t know how long it’s been there; it was pretty dusty and right at the back. I wish I hadn’t seen it now.’
‘Do you have objective evidence for Willoughby murdering your nephew?’
‘Robin suffered from asthma. Willoughby knew that. He sent him running round the games field for some minor misdemeanour or other, even though he said he was feeling unwell. He collapsed and died.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘The whole class. They were children so no-one believed them. Except me.’
‘Mr Noble,’ said Felix. ‘Where were you on Sunday afternoon? You weren’t at Stodley; you left there during the morning.’
‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,’ said Noble. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Then I must ask you to remain on the premises for now, unless you come to see me first. Otherwise I shall have to arrest you.’
Chapter Eight
By the time they arrived back in the wood it was getting dark.
‘I don’t like this place at the best of times,’ grumbled Nixon, as they picked their way beneath a dank and fern-covered wall. ‘Suppose the Grey Lady comes?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ said Morley, ‘That’s just to frighten the new bugs.’
‘It frightens me!’ said Nixon, a shudder in his voice, ‘I don’t like ghosts.’
‘No such thing, in my view. There’s always an explanation.’
‘You don’t know that. There’s a theory that the mind can create these things simply by thinking about them.’
‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about, have you?’ said Morley. ‘It’d just be your own imaginings made manifest. Anyway, if that worked, I’d be forever finding Emily Armitage in my bed, and I don’t, so it doesn’t. QED.’
‘Emily Armitage isn’t made of ectoplasm.’
‘Maybe she is. It’s hard to believe her tits. Give me a hand with this door, will you?’
Nixon helped to force the ancient door back on its hinges. ‘It’s terribly dark in there,’ he observed.
‘Of course it’s dark. Got your torch ready?’
Nixon switched it on. The beam picked out a narrow tunnel of moist brick with little stalactites growing from the rounded ceiling. ‘Nothing here,’ he said, with some relief.
‘It’ll be right at the end. Note the lack of cobwebs.’
‘So what?’
‘So someone has been here before us, clearly the murderer.’
‘It could be anyone. Everyone knows about this place.’
‘The police don’t, only boys and masters. The masters won’t come because why would they? And the boys won’t come because they’re frightened, like you, or because some idiot always shuts you in and thinks it’s funny. Come on.’
After about twenty yards the tunnel abruptly terminated in a disappointing octagonal chamber about five feet across. ‘And because it’s boring,’ added Nixon disparagingly.
‘So you think the murderer’s crossbow is boring? Look! There’s even some ammo.’
The weapon was partially hidden beneath a piece of old sacking. Nixon stooped and pulled it away. ‘Well I’m blowed! You were right!’
‘Of course I was right,’ said Morley, huffing on his fingernails and polishing them on the lapel of his blazer. ‘I merely applied simple logic.’
‘Wait a minute though. This isn’t out of the attic, it’s homemade! Look, there’s a bit of an old label on it.’
‘Why shouldn’t there be?’
‘Because not a lot of people shopped at Woolworths in the sixteenth century!’
‘Well you can’t expect me to be right about everything. Isn’t it enough that I found the thing? The question is, what do we do with it?’
◆◆◆
‘I don’t want to bother you, Chief Inspector,’ said Mrs Andrews, a little anxiously, ‘but there are two boys wanting to see you.’
‘Then wheel them in, Mrs Andrews,’ smiled Felix. ‘We can stand boys. This is a school after all.’
‘Yes, but I feel I ought to warn you, it’s not just any boys; these two have a certain reputation, for practical jokes and the like.’
Felix laughed. ‘I’m sure we’ll be quite safe. We were boys ourselves once, you know. What are their names?’
‘It’s Morley and Nixon, sir. Upper Fourth.’ She turned to beckon them in. ‘All right, you two, just you behave yourselves and be polite to the Chief Inspector. No monkey business.’
Felix stood up to receive them. ‘Come in, gentlemen, and tell me what I can do for you. You are the entity known as Mornix, I believe?’
‘Yes, we are sir,’ said Morley. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Let us say your fame precedes you. Tell me, how did you become conflated in this way?’
‘It was our French teacher, sir, M. Moreau,’ said Nixon. ‘We kept getting the same marks in tests. He said it was beyond coincidence and that we must be conniving together, so from then on he was going to treat us as one person because we might as well be. But we weren’t cheating, sir, we’re just —’
‘Simpatico,’ said Morley.
‘Yes sir, that’s right. And after that it stuck.’
‘I see. And have you some information for us?’
‘Yes, sir, we have. We think it’s very useful and we’re hoping you won’t be cross.’
‘Why would I be cross?’
‘Well you see, we were discussing the murder and Morley said we ought to investigate it – as an intellectual exercise sir – but we didn’t have enough information even to make a start.’
‘So I regret to say we listened at the window,’ continued Morley, ‘and we heard you mention a crossbow and we went looking for it, and found it!’
‘All by the application of simple logic, sir,’ said Nixon. ‘Well, Morley did. But then we didn’t know what to do with it. We knew one was supposed to check it for fingerprints and we couldn’t do that, and we couldn’t even risk moving it, for fear of destroying the evidence.’
‘So we think Muhammad should go to the mountain, sir,’ said Morley, ‘if you wouldn’t mind.’
The crossbow duly recovered, the delighted boys stood and watched as Yardley puffed fingerprint powder liberally upon it and Nash took photographs from all angles.
‘Sturdy looking thing,’ said Rattigan. ‘Note the steel reinforcement.’
‘And the geared lever to get tension in the string,’ said Nash. ‘Nicely designed, I’d say.’
‘When will you know who the murderer is, sir?’ asked Morley.
‘We might not learn that,’ cautioned Felix. ‘We’ll only know who has handled it. And if we haven’t got their dabs already, we may have to take everyone’s in the school.’
‘Gosh!’ said Mornix.
◆◆◆
Descending the muddy steps through the wood, Felix paused at the rain-sodden remains of the boatshed. These had been carefully searched by the sergeants with rake and sieve, in the hope, rather than the expectation, of finding anything interesting. A substantial pile of metal fittings had been put to one side, evidence of their labours. The blaze had clearly been an intense one and so little had survived that had not Willoughby’s body been so fortuitously recovered it would surely have been render
ed unrecognisable, if not reduced entirely to the contents of a funerary urn. It had been an ingenious plan, if plan it had been, only thwarted by two men’s bravery and the purest luck.
There was no sunshine today and the waters of the Thames, slightly ruffled by a chill breeze, reflected only the slate grey sky. A handsome river launch, all varnished teak and chromium plating, was moored to the bank but there was no other traffic. A man in the enclosed wheelhouse was reading a book, his feet propped on the opposite banquette, and a woman beside him was knitting. Felix thought it looked very peaceful and cosy. He strolled the thirty or so yards to the lock and crossed over the sluice gates to the keeper’s cottage. A woman came to the door.
‘Are you looking for my hubby?’
‘Yes, if you’re Mrs Jackman. I shouldn’t mind a few words if I may. I’m Chief Inspector Felix from Scotland yard.’
Mr Jackman was reading his newspaper. He had it flat on the dining table and was dependent on his wife to turn the pages. His hands and forearms were more comprehensively bandaged than Noble’s, though his scalp seemed not so badly affected. He made to stand up to greet his visitor but Felix waved him down again. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself, sir,’ he said. ‘Still suffering?’
‘Yes, I flipping am!’ he said. ‘I’m fed up. If I’d known the beggar was dead, he could’ve stayed where he was.’
‘Well if it’s any consolation,’ said Felix, ‘it was only getting the body out that alerted us to it being murder. Has Mr Armitage been to see you at all?’
‘Humph, yes, he came down here eventually.’
‘Took his time though,’ sniffed Mrs Jackman.
‘He did give me a fiver for my trouble,’ said Mr Jackman, ‘which was something I s’pose. Though most of it’ll go to pay for some help. Lucky it weren’t the summer or it’d have been chaos. Then Mr Noble came and offered me another five pounds, which was very kind of him considering he was as badly hurt as I was. I said I couldn’t take it but he insisted. He’s a real gent, that young fellow. You wouldn’t hardly know him for a schoolmaster.’
An Education in Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 9) Page 7
