The Chessman

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  Ashley cleared his throat. ‘There’s a suggestion, Mr Castradon, that the victim was a man called Ryle.’

  Castradon looked at him in blank astonishment. ‘Ryle? Good God!’ Here was one person at least who hadn’t heard the jungle drums of village gossip, thought Jack. ‘It can’t be Ryle,’ continued Castradon. ‘He wasn’t exactly popular, but to end up like that …’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It doesn’t make sense. I could well imagine Ryle getting into trouble with a gang of toughs up in London, say, but nothing like this. Why on earth do you think it’s Ryle?’

  ‘No one’s seen him for days,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a little early to say yet, of course, but no other local man appears to be missing.’

  ‘Why does it have to be a local man?’ asked Ned, then stopped. ‘I suppose you think only a local would be able to get in and out of the church?’

  Jack nodded in agreement.

  ‘That’s probably right,’ said Ned. ‘Mr Dyson keeps the church locked up. I don’t think you could get in without a key. But look here,’ he added with a frown, ‘surely that only means the murderer’s a local man. The victim could be anyone.’ He shook his head once more. ‘I just can’t believe it’s Ryle. It seems so unlikely, somehow.’

  ‘Ryle worked for you, didn’t he, Mr Castradon?’ asked Ashley. Ned nodded. ‘You said you could imagine him getting into trouble in London. Do you happen to know if he’d ever run foul of the law?’

  Ned shrugged. ‘I honestly can’t say. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had. It wasn’t the happiest of relationships, to say the least. In the end I had to give him the push. He always resented it.’

  ‘Could you give us a few more details, Mr Castradon?’ asked Ashley politely. ‘I gather he was a Londoner. Did you know him before he came to work for you?’

  ‘No,’ said Ned with a sigh. ‘I first came across him quite by chance. I thought at the time it was a lucky break.’ His mouth twisted ironically. ‘I didn’t think it was nearly so lucky afterwards. It was about nine or ten months ago. I’d been to see a client who lives outside Cobden Heath. It’s a remote piece of country and as the house is a couple of miles from the nearest train station, I’d decided to drive. As luck would have it, I broke down on the way home. There wasn’t an AA scout or a telephone box anywhere in sight and I’m no great shakes as a mechanic. I’d just resigned myself to walking back to Cobden Heath to find a garage, when this chap Ryle happened along. To do him justice, he did know his way around a car, and he had it running in no time. He told me he’d been on the tramp down from London and was heading for this part of the world because he’d been in the Royal Sussex during the war and thought he might run in to some old friends who could do him a bit of good.’

  ‘So he was in the army, was he?’ said Ashley thoughtfully. ‘I’ll be able to look up his records. Go on, sir. Did he meet any old friends, do you know?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. I got the impression that he had some family in the area, but I never heard of any subsequently.’

  Jack and Ashley exchanged glances. It obviously wasn’t mere chance that had brought Ryle to Croxton Ferriers.

  ‘Well, as you can imagine,’ continued Ned, ‘I was properly grateful that he’d fixed the car. We needed an odd-job man, so I offered him a billet. He lasted just over three weeks with me and was on dodgy ground most of the time.’

  ‘What finally led to you giving him the push?’ asked Jack.

  ‘He was an arrogant beggar and upset the other servants. I suspected him of petty thieving, too, but I never actually caught him at it. What finally did it though was when I caught him kicking the dog.’

  Jack, who had been reaching down to pat the spaniel, looked up sharply. ‘Kicking the dog? Why? Surely this old boy wouldn’t attack him?’

  ‘I don’t know what Rusty had done,’ said Ned with a shrug. ‘I’ve never known him go for anyone, but I saw Ryle from an upstairs window laying into the poor brute. I yelled for him to stop, charged downstairs and gave Ryle his marching orders on the spot. He had the cheek to ask me for a reference but I told him he was lucky to escape without a thrashing.’

  ‘You did come to blows with him though, didn’t you, Mr Castradon?’ asked Ashley.

  Castradon sighed deeply. ‘You’ve done your homework, haven’t you?’

  ‘What was the cause of the quarrel, sir?’ asked Ashley.

  Castradon drew his breath in and drummed his fingers on the side of the chair. ‘I’d better tell you,’ he said at last. ‘But I warn you, if Sue comes in, I won’t say another word.’

  He put a hand to his mouth. ‘The truth is, it’s damned embarrassing. Last Sunday evening I heard someone shouting at the front gate. I went out to see what the row was about, and it was Ryle. He’d obviously had a fair old bit to drink and was spoiling for a fight. Ryle said …’ His mouth tightened. ‘Ryle made the most offensive suggestions about Simon Vardon and my wife.’

  He held up his hands as if to ward off criticism. ‘I know I shouldn’t have risen to it. He was drunk and I should’ve told him to go and sleep it off, but the fact is … Well, I was jealous,’ he added in a rush. ‘Sue had seen Simon Vardon at his father’s funeral. The thing is, Simon Vardon is a very good-looking man. His brother’s a film star or something and you could believe Simon Vardon’s a film star, too, judging by his looks.’

  Jack could see the resentment in Castradon’s eyes. Good looks, he thought, were a sensitive subject.

  ‘Not that,’ Castradon added grimly, ‘I’m one of his fans. There isn’t any question about it, Sue noticed him.’

  ‘Noticed him?’ asked Jack with a lift of his eyebrow.

  ‘That’s all it was,’ agreed Castradon wearily. ‘It wouldn’t have been so bad, but all the old cats in the village noticed it too. I know there’s nothing wrong. Sue’s as straight as a die. I know that, but I was needled. I knew there’d been talk and I hated it. I … I must have been pretty unbearable ever since the funeral and when Ryle turned up, wanting a fight, I was only too ready to square up to him. To cut a long story short, I lost my rag and took a swing at him. He’s a cowardly little beggar and started yelling fit to bust. We were in the thick of it when old Dyson came charging down the path, forcibly wrenched us apart, and yelled at Ryle to run for it.’

  He gave a shamefaced grin. ‘It’s just as well old Dyson did stick his nose in, I suppose, because I’d have murdered Ryle …’

  He stopped abruptly. Jack and Ashley looked at him in silence.

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ said Castradon. ‘Yes, I admit, I wanted to give him the thrashing of a lifetime, but that was in the heat of the moment.’ He saw Ashley’s expression and looked at him in bewilderment. ‘You can’t honestly think I’d lie in wait for him, carve him up and put him in the church for my wife to find? That’s hideous. It’s insane. It’s a far cry from wanting to thump him.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ agreed Jack. Castradon looked at him gratefully. ‘What happened to Ryle after Mr Dyson intervened?’ he asked. ‘Did he make a run for it?’

  ‘Eventually. There was a car parked across the road that he tried to make off with. He actually managed to get the engine started, but I made a grab for him, he was catapulted into the back, gave a scream like a banshee – I must admit I was trying my level best to scrag him – and went hurtling off down the road. That’s the last I saw of him, and good riddance, too. Dyson and I broke off our argument to watch him go, said a few more home truths to each other, and it ended with me coming back in here and slamming the gate on him. I suppose you’ve had a colourful version of events from the Dysons, haven’t you?’

  ‘Mr Dyson was very reluctant to say anything at all about the matter,’ said Ashley.

  Castradon gave a twisted grin. ‘Which means that Mrs Dyson wasn’t so circumspect, I suppose.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘He’s not such a bad chap, old Dyson. I’d better go round and make my peace with him.’

  ‘Simon Vardon came into your office, didn’t he?’ asked Jac
k, mindful of the conversation he’d had with Mrs Jarvis and Mabel. ‘I gather it was a fairly stormy encounter. Was his visit related to your quarrel with Ryle, by any chance?’

  ‘No, it damn well wasn’t,’ said Castradon shortly. ‘Look, I don’t know who you’ve talked to or what you’ve heard, but I never laid a finger on Simon Vardon, much as he deserved it. I sent him off with a flea in his ear. To hear him say what he did was more than I could stand. I always thought the world of my father.’

  Ashley and Jack looked at each other, puzzled. ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’ said Ashley. ‘How does your father come into it?’

  ‘Vardon made certain accusations,’ said Ned. ‘My father was a great old boy, a fine man, and to have that swine Vardon say what he did …’ He broke off broodingly. ‘I don’t want this to go any further,’ he said abruptly. ‘To cut a long story short, Simon Vardon was after some shares my father owned. He didn’t make a proper appointment, but strolled into my office, cool as be damned. When I came in I found him with his feet on my desk. He’d sidled in without a word to my clerk, and made himself at home.’

  ‘That must’ve been very annoying for you, sir,’ said Ashley.

  ‘Annoying? I’ll say so. As I said, he wanted some shares my father had left me. I refused to sell and told him pretty curtly to get out.’

  Jack flicked the ash off his cigarette. ‘What shares were they?’

  ‘Some old mining shares,’ said Castradon with a shrug. ‘To be honest, I’d virtually forgotten all about them. They’ve never returned a dividend as far as I know, but they were my father’s and I’ve got no intention of selling them. Matthew Vardon – he hadn’t come into the title then – together with my father and a chap called Stamford Leigh had all gone out to South America together. They were all young men and hoping to make their fortunes. This was years ago, in the 1880s. My father rarely talked about his adventures but something happened out there that made him loath – that’s not too strong a word – Matthew Vardon for the rest of his life. However, before they quarrelled, the three of them formed a company, Antilla Exploration Limited, and those are the shares Vardon wanted.’

  ‘Were the shares available to the public?’ asked Jack.

  Ned Castradon shook his head. ‘No, it was always a private concern. The shares had been split between the three men and the agreement was that if they hadn’t been sold or willed elsewhere, then each party’s share would be split between the survivors or their heirs. Apparently Sir Matthew had acquired Stamford Leigh’s shares and Simon Vardon fancied getting the rest. Now if Vardon had asked me to sell him the shares in an ordinary, straightforward manner, I don’t say he’d have succeeded, but at least I’d have listened to him. As it was …’

  He broke off, his face darkening.

  ‘What happened?’ prompted Jack.

  ‘What happened is that Vardon attempted nothing more or less than blackmail.’ Castradon’s voice was icy. ‘He said that he knew and, what’s more, could prove, that my father had been responsible for the death of a native woman, an Indian, out in Peru.’

  ‘Good God,’ said Jack softly.

  ‘He said a great deal more into the bargain,’ said Ned, his mouth tightening in anger. ‘If I didn’t play ball, he would – with the greatest regret – make public the facts, as he called them, about how a well-loved man, a pillar of the local community, had started his career with rape and murder.’

  Ashley’s face contorted in disgust. ‘That’s an appalling thing to say.’ He hesitated. ‘Mr Castradon, you’ll excuse the question, but I didn’t know your father. You’re sure there isn’t any truth in Mr Vardon’s accusations?’

  ‘No, there damn well isn’t!’ bit back Castradon. ‘I could credit Sir Matthew would do something of the sort, but not my father.’ He stopped. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly, putting his hand to his face once more. ‘It’s a fair question. But that’s the whole trouble with this sort of scurrilous filth, isn’t it? To anyone who did know my father, the idea’s utterly ridiculous, but to anyone else …’ His fist clenched and unclenched. ‘Well, it might be believed.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything?’ asked Jack.

  ‘What can I do?’ demanded Castradon. ‘You can’t libel the dead. That’s a point of law. Legally speaking, Vardon can tell as many lies as he sees fit and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. What I did do was show him the door and threaten to knock the living daylights out of him if he dared to say one word about my father.’

  ‘Man to man, I can’t say I blame you for that, sir,’ said Ashley.

  ‘When was this, Castradon?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Tuesday,’ said Ned. ‘Tuesday afternoon.’

  Jack and Ashley exchanged quick glances. ‘Tuesday,’ repeated Ashley slowly. ‘Would you mind telling us what you did for the rest of the day, Mr Castradon?’

  Ned sipped his whisky and soda. ‘No. I haven’t any objection to that. I went to Eastbourne.’

  He lit a cigarette and blew out a long mouthful of smoke. ‘And that little excursion didn’t improve my temper, either. I received a telegram from a client, Sir Arnold Stapleton, asking for an urgent meeting at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning at his house in Eastbourne. Sir Arnold is the chairman of the board of a joint-stock company. It’s principally a City concern but Sir Arnold was an old pal of my father’s. There’s been a suggestion that when the present company secretary retires, I could take on the post, which would be a big step up, as far as I’m concerned. So I dropped everything, travelled down to Eastbourne, booked into a hotel and showed up bright and early at Sir Arnold’s house the next day, only to find Sir Arnold was in London and no one knew anything about the telegram.’

  ‘The telegram was a fake?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Castradon. ‘I got Sir Arnold’s butler to telephone him, to see if there’d been some mistake about where the meeting was supposed to take place, but Sir Arnold knew nothing about it. I’d been had, good and proper, but what the point of it was, I don’t know. If it was a joke, it was a pretty poor one.’

  ‘Which hotel did you stay in, sir?’ asked Ashley.

  ‘The Grand. I travelled down by the five thirty-two on Tuesday and came back the next day.’

  ‘Have you still got the telegram, by any chance?’

  ‘No, I chucked it in a bin at the Grand. I was pretty sore about the whole affair, as you can imagine.’ His brow contracted in a frown. ‘Look, what’s the point of these questions?’

  ‘It’s just a matter of routine, sir,’ Ashley said smoothly. ‘There’s just one last question. Did Ryle ever take drugs, do you know?’

  ‘Drugs?’ repeated Ned in astonishment. ‘No. I never suspected it, but he may have done, I suppose.’

  ‘I see, sir.’ Ashley glanced at the grandfather clock. ‘It’s past nine. I expect Mrs Castradon will be back soon. You’re taking Mrs Stanton home, aren’t you, Haldean?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He smiled apologetically at Castradon. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I told Isabelle I’d probably be here.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Ned absently. ‘Haldean, you were in the Flying Corps, weren’t you?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Your cousin’s told us about you. She said you got the DFC. You were a real crack pilot.’

  Jack heard the resentment in Castradon’s voice and was suddenly annoyed. He wasn’t going to apologize for his record or his medals.

  ‘I was decent enough, I suppose,’ he said coolly. ‘And lucky.’

  ‘Lucky.’ Castradon repeated the word. ‘I was in the Flying Corps.’ He touched his face. ‘That’s how I collected this. It was only my second time over the lines. That was in April 1917.’

  Jack felt instantly contrite. April 1917 – Bloody April as it was called by anyone who survived it – had left the Flying Corps reeling and nearly broken from the ferocious assault by the better armed and better organised Germans. They had hung on by the skin of their teeth, but the life of any pil
ot had been measured in hours. Punch drunk and weary from endless fights, he had survived by sheer chance. He felt a rush of fellow feeling towards Castradon.

  ‘That’s really tough,’ he said quietly.

  Ned shrugged. ‘I’m lucky to be alive, I suppose. The irony is that I only joined the Flying Corps because I wanted to get married. I’d been in the Artillery for nearly two years and didn’t have a scratch to show for it. I thought six months at home in a Flight Training School would be the best start I could manage to married life.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘It would have been better for Sue if I’d stayed in the army.’

  There didn’t seem much to be said to this, and it was with a sense of relief that Jack heard the front door open and voices in the hall.

  The three men stood up as Sue and Isabelle came in. They both, thought Jack, looked dog tired.

  Isabelle still wore her coat and hat. ‘Sue asked me if I wanted to stay for a drink,’ she said, ‘but I’d really rather get off if you’re ready, Jack.’ She stifled a yawn. ‘It’s been a very long day.’

  ‘Ned, we heard the most extraordinary thing at the meeting,’ broke in Sue. ‘Everyone says that the poor man in the church is Ryle. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve just heard.’ Sue looked on the verge of tears. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked gruffly.

  ‘Don’t you see, Ned?’ she broke out. ‘You quarrelled with him. Everyone thinks you’re responsible. You.’

  Castradon drew his breath in. ‘That’s absolute nonsense,’ he said shakily.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ she agreed eagerly. ‘It’s nonsense and we can prove it’s nonsense. Mrs Dyson said the murder happened on Tuesday evening, but you weren’t here on Tuesday evening. You were in Eastbourne. I don’t know who sent that telegram or why, but thank God they did.’ She turned to Ashley. ‘That’s real evidence, isn’t it, Superintendent? Ned has to be innocent.’

  Jack was suddenly aware of how tensely Castradon was waiting for Ashley’s answer. ‘It’s very good evidence,’ said Ashley soothingly. ‘We’ll have to follow it up, of course, as a matter of routine, but I don’t think you need worry yourself unduly.’