“I’m rather glad,” he confided to Littlejohn. “Trying a woman for murder’s an awful thing. Especially in a case like this. It’s all happened for the best …”
Littlejohn was quite sure it had.
Chapter XX
A Narrow Shave
“It was a narrow shave, Letty. I nearly messed the whole thing up.”
Mrs. Littlejohn’s sister, whose husband, a clergyman, had recently had a “call” from Rugby to Melton Mowbray, had sent them a pork pie. Littlejohn was despatching a liberal portion with relish.
“I gathered from your letters that you wished you’d never seen the place at all, my dear.”
“You’re right. Dirtiest case I’ve ever handled and I nearly made a horrible mistake … This pie’s delicious. Why didn’t Herbert and Fanny move to Melton before and why did he take so long considering whether or not to accept the call? With pies like this in the town you’d have thought he’d have jumped at it …”
“You were saying, you nearly made a horrible mistake. How?”
“The evidence all pointed to one man. A fellow called Hiss. A champion trombone player, by the way. All my instincts were against believing him guilty, but I followed the evidence and applied for a warrant. I ought to have known better.”
“I’d say the same myself, Tom, knowing you. Anyhow, it all ended right?”
“By a fluke, yes. My bacon was saved by an accident. Hiss had a heart attack through over excitement at a concert where he was performing. Through that I learned from his doctor that he couldn’t possibly have run down and up a lot of steps leading to the scene of the crime. He was shielding a woman and prepared to hang for her if needs be.”
“Why?”
“He loved her. And she was no better than she should be. And he knew it. But …”
“How old was he?”
“Between fifty and sixty, I’d say.”
“Dear me …”
“So learning that, I had to turn my mind to the only other possible, the woman herself. I felt sure then that she’d done it. But how to prove it …”
“And then?”
“I’d to bully her into confessing.”
“No wonder you didn’t like the case …”
“I was told I wasn’t a gentleman!”
“A woman, too. What’s going to happen …?”
“Nothing. She’s dead. Poisoned herself with some pills she took from Hiss’s sick-room. He wanted to see her, so I just let them have a minute together before I took her to the police station.”
“Were you in the room when she took the pills?”
“I was in when she pinched them and put them in her pocket. She must have swallowed them as we went downstairs. It was very dark … Digitalis. They worked hard enough on her at the hospital, but she wouldn’t co-operate. Took a long time to die, too … Digitalis is slow and not too painful …”
“I can’t understand you letting her take the pills in the first place. It’s not like you …”
“This pie’s delicious. Please pass me some more chutney …’
“Did you see her taking them?”
“You ought to ask Fanny to send a pie every week. This is a real treat …”
Littlejohn didn’t meet his wife’s eyes. He was busy with the sauce. But Letty Littlejohn hadn’t been married to the Inspector for twenty years without knowing his little ways. She didn’t pursue the question.
“You’re late this morning, Tom.”
“Salton didn’t agree with me at all. Relaxing place and nobody stocked the tobacco I smoke. I never want to see it again.”
“Well, hurry up then, and be getting off to your Yard and play with your criminals. You’ll be getting a late mark.”
Dr. Flanagan, who took quite a fancy to Littlejohn completed the case by sending him two newspaper cuttings from the Clarion, dated six months after Littlejohn had shaken the dust of Salton from his feet.
An interesting wedding took place at Mount Horeb Chapel last Tuesday between Mr. Lambert Hiss, the well-known local musician, and Mrs. Ada Scattermole. Pastor Jacob Boorman officiated. The reception was afterwards held in the Sunday School. An interesting feature of the entertainment which followed was the first performance of a work dedicated to Mr. Hiss for the occasion by his old friend, the eminent conductor, Sir Gilbert Drawbell. It was entitled Solemn Nuptial Roundelay, and scored for oboe, two french horns, two bassoons and trombone. Mr. Hiss played the trombone. …
Littlejohn read it out to his wife, who by this time knew all the ins and outs of the Hiss affair.
“Safe in the arms of Ada! Well, well,” was his comment.
The other cutting was short.
“The inquest was held yesterday on Mr. Harold Claypott who was found dead in the billiards room of the Temperance Bowling Club on Friday last. He had been unwell for some time.
Cromwell also received a newspaper cutting from a Mereton admirer.
At the Mereton Maternity Home on May 4th, to Councillor and Mrs. Humphrey Godwin, a son (Claude Humphrey). Both well. A brother for Basil.
“He’s become a town councillor! Greengoose must have worked the trick,” said Cromwell, bursting excitedly into Littlejohn’s room and showing him the clipping.
“A brother for Basil!” growled Littlejohn disgustedly.
THE END
A Note on the Author
Gorge Bellairs is a pen name of Harold Blundell (1902–1985), a crime writer born in Lancashire. Blundell was a prolific writer who published over 50 crime and mystery novels in his life, most of them featuring the detective Inspector Littlejohn.
Blundell also wrote regularly for the Manchester Guardian.
Discover books by George Bellairs published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/GeorgeBellairs
Death Before Breakfast
Death on the Last Train
Devious Murder
Murder Adrift
For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain references to missing images.
This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain in 1948 by John Gifford Limited
Copyright © 1948 George Bellairs
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448214457
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Death on the Last Train Page 18
