Resorting to Murder: Holiday Mysteries

by Martin Edwards

  ‘I do not understand,’ Stein said. ‘But come, what did you make of the body? What was the cause of death? Are you sure now?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Butler died of asphyxia.’

  ‘Asphyxia! How is that?’

  ‘He was smothered by some woollen fabric pressed over his mouth while he lay unconscious.’

  ‘Is it possible!’ Stein cried. ‘You can be sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes. Both lungs much congested and one side of the heart. Fragments of wool in the mouth and nostrils. He made no resistance. The tongue is only a little bruised. Medical evidence quite clear. You see what happened. Somebody arranged a fall of stones to kill him. It only knocked him out. So somebody rolled him away down the slope and smothered him. Probably with a tweed coat.’ He stood up. ‘Well, we’d better get on, Stein. Mustn’t be late for dinner.’ He began to shed clothes fast. ‘I say, my lad’—his face came out of the tail of his shirt as Stein withdrew—‘I’ve booked the bath.’

  ‘So? So!’ said Herr Stein, expressing the emotions of the human reason at the incomprehensible.

  When Reggie came down he saw Stein in a corner with a glass of watered port and Sir Samuel Ulyett and avoided that distressing mixture. Stein was a little late for dinner. ‘Pardon,’ he smiled. ‘Will you guess what he said to me?’

  ‘Oh, he was asking how you found the late Butler.’

  ‘And more, my friend. He asked me if the doctors were satisfied. That is very interesting. A death on the mountains like that—there is not one in a thousand where the doctors have anything to say.’

  ‘No. I’ve sometimes wondered about that. If I hadn’t blown into this mess you’d have called it another mountain accident and buried him all cosy. I wonder how many of the others are this kind.’

  Stein shrugged. ‘What can one do? There is never any suspicion.’

  ‘No. No. These people could have banked on being safe. I’m afraid we’re rather a nuisance, Stein.’

  ‘I think so, yes. Look, this Sir Ulyett, why should he think it anything but the ordinary accident? And he comes to ask me if I find foul play! Ach, I tell him nothing. I say the doctors will look at the dead man. But me—I look after Sir Ulyett.’ He nodded profusely.

  ‘Yes, I dare say you’re right. Have you looked into his alibi?’

  ‘Have no fear. I look into all their alibis. First, Sir Ulyett. It is true he travelled to Zürich the day before Butler came—that is strange; he departs to be absent when his old friend comes—but he went. He told the landlord he must go to a chemical factory on business—he makes chemicals himself, you remember. And he did go. The next time he is seen, he is back at Kandersteg station the afternoon that Trove was having tea with us. So when the stones fell Sir Ulyett was in Zürich. Second, Mr Woodham. It is true, he went to Brigue on the day Butler and Trove started. He told the landlord he had to see a friend passing through from Italy. He slept at Brigue that night and the next night. He came back to Kandersteg a little after Sir Ulyett. Those are very good alibis.’ Stein shrugged. ‘But a man may have his alibi and yet know too much. Pst! Do not look so solemn, my friend. They watch us from their table. Let us talk of it no more. They try to listen.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that.’ Reggie smiled. ‘Had you any more to say?’

  ‘Soon perhaps.’ Herr Stein smiled back at him the smile of a Teutonic sphinx. ‘I am not idle, my dear friend. But now let us be gay.’ He began to tell Mr Fortune all about London. He had been there once.

  The gaiety of this conversation did not diminish the anxieties of the other table. They were a glum company. Trove said nothing at all and looked misery. The girl was either watching him, or, when he met her eyes, pretending she wasn’t. Ulyett and Woodham talked in broken bits with effort and queer glances of uneasy understanding. The girl and Trove went out and left them still at table.

  Reggie watched them dreamily, but they were not encouraged to come and talk. ‘Well, well’—he rose—‘let’s try the garden, Stein.’

  But a little man rose out of the office and intercepted Herr Stein. Reggie sauntered on, sat in a remote corner and lit a cigar and the voice of Trove came to him, husky and excited. ‘I say, Fortune. Could I speak to you?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you. Do you think he suffered much?’

  Reggie lay back and looked about him. There was a glimmer of a woman’s dress in the gloom. ‘Did you?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Oh no. Not till I came to. But I mean, was it all over in a minute for him, like that?’

  ‘I wasn’t there, you know,’ said Reggie.

  Trove swallowed. ‘I mean, you can tell how quickly he died, can’t you?’

  ‘I’m only a surgeon. Not God.’

  ‘You don’t know? It’s pretty ghastly, you see. I don’t want to think of him lying there all night, alive; helpless, dying.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Reggie.

  Trove retired into the dark, and as he went Stein came. ‘We take our coffee here, yes?’ He sat down. ‘I hope I do not interrupt.’

  ‘I’d finished. I don’t know if he had. He wanted to know how Butler died.’

  ‘He also! My friend, they are very much afraid.’

  The high lamps which lit the garden were switched on and in the light Trove and the girl were seen with Woodham.

  ‘So. They confer.’ Stein chuckled.

  ‘Yes. What have you done with Ulyett?’

  ‘He confers with the landlord.’ Stein began to hum the Preislied for the benefit of a waitress bringing their coffee. When she was gone he went on in a low voice. ‘They sit down and wait for him. Good. We can talk so. He confers with the landlord, yes. Will you guess what he has done? So soon as he heard that we had found Butler dead he went to Butler’s room. He takes away to his own room a leather case. He spends some time in his room. Then he goes off quick to the telegraph office and sends a telegram. What do you say to that, my friend.’

  ‘Sounds all right.’

  ‘You think so, yes. The old friend takes charge of the dead man’s papers and telegraphs to the family their sad bereavement. That is all right. That is most correct. But the telegram was not to the family. It was to a stockbroker. It was in code.’ He gave Reggie a slip of paper. ‘My office has worked out the translation. That is not so bad for poor, slow Stein.’

  ‘My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!’ Reggie soothed him. ‘Splendid.’

  The telegram was instructions to a broker to stop selling rubber shares, and buy.

  Stein chuckled. ‘And now Sir Ulyett shall explain to me why when his friend is dead he seizes his friend’s papers and goes from them quick to change his game on the Stock Exchange.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Very interestin’ question. What’s the theory?’

  Stein sat up and laid a finger on his arm.

  But Reggie went on dreamily. ‘You mean Butler knew something Ulyett wanted? Yes.’

  ‘Pst!’ Stein warned him.

  But Reggie did not notice. ‘Yes. So Ulyett had Butler killed in order to get hold of his papers. Yes. You could work on that.’

  ‘Ach, righteous God!’ Stein muttered.

  ‘By all means.’ Reggie gazed at him. ‘But why?’

  Stein waved empty hands. ‘Have you no ears, then?’ he said. ‘No senses?’

  ‘Oh, I hope so. I think so.’

  ‘I made signs to you. And still you talk! Pardon, my dear Fortune, but it is unfortunate. Ulyett was coming this way. Now he is gone. See.’

  Sir Samuel was seen to arrive where the others of his party sat by the hotel door. Something was said between him and them. They all went in. ‘Seems rattled,’ said Reggie.

  ‘Is it not strange?’ Stein laughed angrily. ‘The man was coming to us—to listen to us perhaps, perhaps to ask what this means that the landlord requires of him Butler’s papers—and you let h
im hear you say he killed Butler. He is frightened, yes. Also he is warned. You permit me to say, it is provoking, my friend.’

  ‘Sorry to annoy you,’ said Reggie.

  ‘But did you not hear him come? Did you not see I tried to stop you?’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes. But I’ve been in a few cases myself, Stein. I thought you were wrong.’

  ‘Wrong! My God! Is it your way in England to let a man know you suspect him?’

  ‘Sometimes. To see what it makes him do. Very interesting and instructive. I want to see what Ulyett will do.’

  ‘So. You are very ingenious.’ Stein shrugged. ‘Me, I do not like it. I do not tell the suspect what he is to fear. It is for him to make the mistakes, not me. I ask him to explain this, to explain that, while he does not know how much I know, and when he blunders, I have him. But now Sir Ulyett is on guard. It will not do. You have spoilt my affair.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ Reggie said placidly. ‘How much do we know, Stein? That Butler was murdered, yes. That Ulyett wanted his papers which have some bearing on a gamble in rubber Ulyett is working, yes. And I’ve told Ulyett he killed Butler. He didn’t like my mentioning it at all. But we don’t exactly know it yet.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ said Stein. ‘That is what I complain of. You tell him what we are not ready to tell him, what we cannot yet act upon, and now while we seek the evidence he can work to guard himself.’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I’d like him to do. My dear chap, we don’t want more evidence. We want to get rid of what we’ve got. The existin’ theory is that Ulyett murdered Butler to steal his papers. But your evidence is that while Butler was murdered, Ulyett was in Zürich. That’s rather a difficulty.’

  ‘Pfui! I do not know everything, no. If the alibi is right, Ulyett did not do the murder with his own hands. And what then? Do you forget the Mr Trove?’

  ‘Yes. No. I remember him continuously.’

  ‘He also is very much afraid. He also wants to know if we suspect.’

  ‘No. Several curious points about Mr Trove. Well, well. I wonder what they’re up to now.’

  ‘I can guess what Ulyett is doing,’ said Stein gloomily. ‘He is burning Butler’s papers. Then he will tell us there were no papers. And we can prove nothing. I must thank you for that, my friend.’

  ‘I wonder,’ Reggie murmured. ‘Well, let’s come and see if there’s any ashes.’ Herr Stein growled and followed.

  By the door of the hotel Woodham sat alone. Reggie remarked on the beauty of the night and said he was just going to bed. Woodham was thinking of it. The others had gone some time ago.

  ‘You see!’ Stein muttered as they went upstairs. He hurried to Ulyett’s door and knocked. There was no answer. He tried the handle and found the door fast. ‘So.’ He scowled at Reggie. ‘If he has gone!’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, that’d be very interestin’,’ Reggie murmured.

  Stein knocked again more loudly, and still there was no answer. They waited and listened. Inside the room some one was coughing faintly, stopped, coughed again.

  ‘Oh, my aunt!’ said Reggie, and ran into the next room. From the window there he clambered on to Ulyett’s balcony. Light shone through the louvre shutters. He dragged them back and went in. Ulyett lay on his bed half dressed, unaware of his visitor; he breathed as if he had a cold; his face was dark. Reggie felt at his brow and his pulse. The arm fell limp as it was let go. He coughed.

  Reggie left him and unbolted the door to find Stein defending himself from a girl in a dressing-gown who wanted to know why he was disturbing her father. Reggie beckoned them in and shut the door behind them. She ran to the bed. ‘Your father has had an overdose of a sleeping-draught, Miss Ulyett.’

  ‘It’s absurd. It’s impossible. He never takes such things.’

  ‘So? So!’ said Stein, and contemplated the unconscious man.

  She shook him, she cried to him, ‘Father! Father!’ but he lay still and there came from him only that faint, choking cough. ‘Oh, Mr Fortune—’

  ‘Yes. Be quite quiet, please. What’s the doctor’s telephone number, Stein? Thanks. I don’t want anybody in here.’ Reggie ran out. When he came back he had a steaming jug and a coffee-pot. ‘Now, Miss Ulyett, everything’s goin’ to be done for him. You’ll go back to your own room, please, and say nothing to anybody.’

  ‘Oh, but you’ll tell me if—’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I know.’ He put her out. ‘Now, Stein, give me a hand.’ He took off his coat.

  ‘What is it? What is to do, Fortune?’

  ‘Veronal, I think. Hefty dose. We’ll wash him out and put coffee into him. That’s all, till the doctor comes along with strychnine and some other little things. Now—’ They worked upon the senseless man.…

  The doctor appeared with a bag panting, flushed, excited. ‘I come so quick as I can. You make work, Mr Fortune. What is this, then? Another accident?’

  ‘We’ll try strychnine, please,’ said Reggie stolidly, and the injection was made.…

  The doctor studied the unconscious body. ‘It was veronal? How? A suicide?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It is possible; it is very possible,’ Stein said. He looked at Reggie. ‘If he was afraid—then—’

  ‘A little digitalin wouldn’t do his heart any harm,’ said Reggie; and again the syringe was used.…

  ‘You came to him quickly?’ the doctor said.

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Reggie smiled. ‘We don’t generally get to these cases quite so soon.’

  ‘Righteous God!’ Stein muttered. ‘Fortune! Did you think this would happen when he heard—?’

  ‘No. I thought something might happen.’

  ‘You meant this?’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Reggie said slowly and felt Ulyett’s pulse. ‘I don’t know now, Stein.…’

  It was towards morning when he left the bedside. Though Stein shut the door quietly, somebody heard. The girl sped out of her room, a fluttering ghost in the gloom of the corridor. ‘Mr Fortune?’

  He led her back into her room. ‘I think he’s coming through, Miss Ulyett.’

  ‘You think!’ The white face trembled.

  ‘Yes. You can sleep now.’

  ‘I want to see him.’

  Reggie shook his head. ‘He isn’t conscious yet.’

  ‘You’ve left him in there alone!’

  ‘Oh no. No. The doctor’s with him. We won’t risk anything, Miss Ulyett. But he’s doing quite well. He has a good heart. Doesn’t use drugs much in the ordinary way, does he?’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t. It’s ghastly. I can’t believe he took anything.’ She shook and sank down on her bed, twisting her hands together.

  ‘Something happened to him,’ said Reggie quietly. ‘What do you think it was?’

  She flung back her head and he saw her throat throbbing.

  ‘Everything’s like a horrible dream,’ she cried. ‘Poor Dr Butler and now father. Mr Fortune! I believe it was Dr Butler’s death made father like this.’ Large dark eyes gazed at him in a miserable appeal. ‘The shock, you know? Couldn’t it be?’

  ‘Your father was all right at dinner.’

  ‘Oh no, Mr Fortune. He was wretched. He wasn’t a bit like himself. And afterwards when he came in from the garden we thought he was going to faint. They had to get him some brandy.’

  ‘Did they though,’ Reggie murmured. ‘Who thought of that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She pushed back her hair. ‘Adrian brought it, I think. What does it matter? He was frightfully upset. He drank it and said he was all right. But I had to help him upstairs to bed. I’m sure it was just shock, Mr Fortune.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. It has been a nasty business. But he’s in safe hands, you know. And now you’re going to sleep, while he’s pulling through. Good night.’

  Outsid
e in the corridor Stein waited. ‘So? The daughter has something to say?’

  ‘Yes. She says he came back from the garden sufferin’ from shock.’

  ‘So,’ said Stein with satisfaction. ‘That was surprising, my friend.’

  ‘And Trove brought him a drink.’

  ‘So?’ Stein smiled. ‘Always the Mr Trove.’

  ‘That’s surprising too, isn’t it?’ Reggie was a little shrill. ‘Good night.’

  When Stein came down in the morning, he was told that Mr Fortune had eaten his breakfast. He found Mr Fortune sitting on the small of his back contemplating the mountains from behind a large cigar. ‘And how is it now, my friend?’

  ‘’Twas the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain,’ Reggie murmured; his round face was pale and languid. ‘Thank you, we are doing as well as can be expected. Taken quite a lot of nourishment. But still prostrate. Lucky beggar. Doctor’s gone. Grenadier of a nurse in charge.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Have you got a nice quiet man about? Sort of fellow that can follow a fellow and not show up. Good. Tell him to look after me. I’m thinkin’ of takin’ a little walk.’

  ‘So. You fear something more?’

  ‘Oh Lord, yes. We aren’t done yet.’

  ‘So. You shall be guarded, my friend. But I beg of you, no more like last night. That was too rash.’

  ‘My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!’ Reggie sighed. ‘It didn’t do any dam’ thing. Run away.’ He saw Trove and Woodham at the door of the hotel. They watched him hungrily, and as Stein faded away approached him.

  ‘This is a bad business about Ulyett, sir,’ Woodham began. ‘I hear you were up all night.’

  ‘No. No. Lost my beauty sleep, that’s all.’

  ‘What is it?’ Trove blurted out. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘Well, Miss Ulyett thinks it’s shock.’ Reggie considered him dreamily. ‘You wouldn’t wonder, would you?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ said Woodham. ‘Poor old Ulyett! I’m afraid Butler’s death hit him rather hard.’

  ‘Yes, a bad business. I wonder.’ He stood up and stretched himself. ‘I was just going for a walk. If you two fellows have got time, there’s one or two little things I’d like to ask you.’