by Leo Bruce
Carolus’s eye fell on an open calf-bound book.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Gibbon. I’m not a historian like you, but when my dear Molly leaves me for an hour or two I usually devote the time to the Decline and Fall. Molly doesn’t encourage serious reading,” smiled Bertrand.
Carolus did not like leaving that cosy room and the warm electric fire, not to mention the brandy, but he said good-night to Bertrand and set off for Prince Albert Mansions.
This time the door was opened by Paul.
“We rather wondered if you’d come round,” said Paul as he led him to where Mrs Dalbinney and Emma were sitting.
“Really? What made you think I might?
“Mrs Dalbinney answered.
“We are already informed,” she said.
Carolus remembered Vivienne’s phone call.
“The hall porter, I suppose?”
“The hall porter came up to tell us that Mrs Lobbin has been murdered in the same brutal way as …”
“No details are known yet,” said Carolus sharply. “Lobbin has merely said that he found his wife dead.”
“Is it true?” asked Emma quickly.
“I don’t think Lobbin imagined it, naturally.” Carolus spoke drily. “But at the same time we have very little information. The police are investigating now.”
“She was a dreadful woman,” said Mrs Dalbinney.
“And she has met a dreadful end.”
“We are, of course, very sorry to hear about it, but at the same time it cannot affect us as the previous murder did. Not even the police could find any connection between our family and the murder of a newsagent’s wife. You will not need to ask us questions this time, Mr Deene.”
“No. I shan’t. I came round to give you this news because I have been acting for you, but, as you suggest, this is a very different matter.”
“Do you think the same person was responsible for both murders?” asked Emma.
“How can I possibly guess? I know nothing of the second murder yet.”
“It was done with a hammer,” Paul pointed out.
“So Lobbin said. He was dazed at the time. I may know a little more later when I have seen the police. But I don’t think we should try to form any conclusions yet.”
“Conclusions, no, but surely you must have some suspicions, Mr Deene?” said Mrs Dalbinney rather harshly. “You are an expert investigator and you have been devoting your time for some days to enquiries about a murder. Now another murder has been committed in the same town and—at least so it would appear—by the same or similar means. Are you without any opinion on these? When are we to hear who is guilty?”
“I am not without suspicions and if the facts are as we believe from Lobbin’s remarks, I think there is only one murderer involved. But I’m not prepared to say any more at present.”
“It is most unsatisfactory,” pronounced Mrs Dalbinney. “Our family name …”
“Mrs Dalbinney,” said Carolus with some exasperation. “A woman has been killed and whether or not he was the killer, one man at least is very near insanity this evening, I should judge. I don’t think anyone is much concerned with your family or its name. I certainly cannot pretend that I am.”
“You were employed to protect it.”
“I was employed, as you put it, to find out who killed Ernest Rafter, and I have now every hope and intention of doing so.”
“‘Now’? Why ‘now’?”
“Because very often, though it is a tragic truth, the only way to find the facts about one murder is through another one. In this case almost certainly.”
“You mean you had to wait until this wretched woman was battered to death before you could discover who killed Ernest?”
“That is deliberately to misrepresent what I said. But let’s not argue about it. I tell you only that now I believe I shall very soon know the whole truth. May I use your phone?”
Paul rose and led Carolus to a small room with a lot of books in it. A telephone was on the desk and Carolus was amused to see a large money-box beside it with a typewritten notice on it: ‘Local Calls 3d. Please Ask Operator Cost of Others.’
He got through to Locksley Rafter at his home in Bawdon.
“Mr Rafter? This is Carolus Deene. I thought you ought to know that there has been another murder here in Selby.”
“Already informed,” the solicitor told him.
“Really? Then I needn’t tell you that …”
“No thanks. Good night.”
Carolus thoughtfully put a florin in the collecting-box and went back to Mrs Dalbinney.
“I didn’t know you had telephoned your brother,” he said.
“Of course. Immediately. He is not only my brother but my solicitor.”
“Was he surprised at the news?”
“Not in the least. He has always suspected Lobbin.”
“Ah yes. I remember he told me in that expansive way of his.”
“My brother does not waste time or words,” said Mrs Dalbinney.
“Or money, I hope,” added Carolus impertinently.
“Certainly not.”
“One other thing I would like to ask. Your brother Bertrand’s secretary lives in this building, I believe.”
This produced tension. Paul looked as though he wanted to laugh and Emma kept her eyes down.
“Or her parents do,” amended Carolus. “Could you tell me the number?”
Mrs Dalbinney spoke as though she disliked doing so.
“Do you know, Emma?”
“The second floor. Number 29,” said Emma.
“Thank you.”
Carolus realized that all three were looking at him inquisitively, wanting more information.
“I’ll just look in,” he said. “Her parents’ name is French, I take it?”
This time Mrs Dalbinney was openly pained by the necessity to give information.
“Chigby,” she said. “Mr and Mrs Chigby. French is the daughter’s married name.”
“I see. Thank you. Good-night,” said Carolus.
The third and last door at which Carolus rang that night was not opened for several minutes. Then Molly French, wearing a coat and hat, appealed and said—“Darl … Oh, it’s you. I was expecting Bertrand to call for me.”
“Disappointing for you,” said Carolus, then told her about the murder.
“I expect he’s upset,” said Molly, “that’s why he didn’t come. He should have been here at nine. My father and mother won’t have the phone. Will you be an angel and run me back?”
“I’ll certainly run you back,” said Carolus, “though I can’t promise to be an angel.”
On that piece of fatuity they went downstairs and got in the car.
17
WHEN Carolus reached John Moore’s office later that night he found John looking over-worked but alert, kept going by a strong brew of police-station tea. Carolus had known his friend to work through the night and was not surprised that he should be prepared to do so today.
“Thank heavens the wife hasn’t joined me in Selby yet,” he said, “she’d raise hell with me for keeping at it during Christmas. But what can I do? The preliminary reports are still coming in.”
“Yes. It was an awkwardly timed murder from your point of view.”
“You said you’d got something to report, Carolus. Do you mean that, or is it one of your fly-by-night theories?”
“I’ve certainly got no theory to put to you,” said Carolus,
“and I don’t know how much use to you my little bits of information may be. But I’m quite willing to give you them.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“I was in the bar of the Queen Victoria when Lobbin came in at exactly 8.27 as I noticed. He had left the bar a few minutes earlier to go home and see his wife with whom he had quarrelled more violently than usual that evening. He was gone five to seven minutes by my reckoning.”
Moore nodded, and Carolus went on to describe i
n detail Lobbin’s appearance and behaviour in the bar, both before and after his dramatic announcement.
“The bar was crowded at the time,” said Carolus, “mostly with people I did not know, but there were also a number I had met while I was mooning round making enquiries.”
“Is that what you call it? Go on.”
“Your policeman Sitwell came in with a very showy young woman.”
“I know.”
“And the parson who was on the promenade on the night of Ernest’s murder was showing himself a good mixer with a glass of ginger ale.”
Carolus described Mr Morsell’s care of Lobbin.
“I know,” said Moore again, “he came round here with him. I had quite a job to get rid of him. Officious type and I don’t like all that ‘old man’ stuff.”
“Bodger was in,” said Carolus, “and a man called Stringer.”
“How did you run into him?”
“He too was on the promenade that night, though I don’t think Sitwell saw him. He spoke to Morsell, who is his Vicar.”
“I know the man.”
“Then there was a man called Biggett,” said Carolus slyly, for he remembered that Moore had not yet traced the ‘muffled-up’ figure of the night of the murder. He thought that Moore was unlikely to admit this.
“Who?”
“Biggett. A Londoner who has recently come to live here. Retired.”
“Do I know him?”
“I can’t say. He’s short and stout and walks about the promenade at night muffled up to the eyes.”
Moore grinned.
“You mean?”
“Yes. I found him,” said Carolus, “quite by luck, of course.”
Carolus give Biggett’s full name and address, which Moore wrote down.
“What is rather interesting about him is that he travelled down from London with Ernest Rafter that day. Ernest told him, quite frankly, that he was going to his family for money.”
“How did you meet this man?”
“He continued his walks after the event, though avoiding Sitwell, I gather. He is a creature of habit.” Carolus enlarged on this. “He always had two half-pints of beer on Christmas night and that, he said, was why he came to the Queen Victoria this evening. He arrived at the bar while I was outside Lobbin’s shop waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me! In another moment you’d have been up those stairs.”
“At all events that is just when he arrived.”
“It seems to have been quite a party in the bar. Anyone else?”
“The Bullamys, of course.”
“Why, ‘of course ‘?”
“They’re in every evening.”
“Are they? I admit I was rather interested in the Bullamys before this second murder. I’ve had a report on them from Australia. Somewhat shady characters. She did a short term of imprisonment some ten years ago. More recently they appeared to have come into or obtained a large sum of money and decided to ‘retire’, they said—though it was hard to know from what they were retiring. They gave out that they were going to live in England and here they are.”
“Is there any evidence that they knew Rafter?”
“None, though they were in Brisbane at the same time. However, you say they were in the bar. Do you know what time they came in?”
“About eight, I think. That’s their usual time. I noticed them talking to Lobbin once—nothing unusual about that. Earlier in the evening Emma Rafter came in for a quick drink, by the way. She often does.”
Moore did not seem much interested in that. But he was appreciative of Carolus’s information about the bar’s customers that night.
“Very useful, Carolus. Any other bits and pieces you’ve picked up?”
“One or two. All connected with the first murder. I’m afraid you’ll consider most of them irrelevant now. Though perhaps not the fact that Lobbin left the bar of the Queen Victoria for a short time on the night Ernest was killed. That night, as tonight, he had quarrelled with his wife. Apparently when he had had a drink he worried about it and when round to see her, but found her just as intractable and returned.”
“I get the full point of that,” said Moore.
“You know all about the scene between Mrs Dalbinney and Lobbin’s wife?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“And the movements of Emma Rafter and Isobel Dalbinney that night? They went for a breather on the promenade and saw Lobbin near the Palatine Cinema at soon after ten.”
“Yes. I know about that.”
“Morsell’s finding the public lavatory closed …”
“No. What’s that?”
Carolus told him and went on to the Bullamys and the man they saw crossing the road.
“They came and told me that. But only a few days ago. They did not mention it when I first saw them.”
“I think I scared them into coming to you. Then I take it Locksley Rafter has told you of his movements that night?’
“Oh yes. He seemed to want to convince me that he had been quite near the shelter at the time of the murder.”
“Curious, isn’t it? The only other thing I have to tell you is that Ernest Rafter had an envelope full of treasury notes in his breast pocket that night. Did you know that?”
“I did not actually know he had it on him, but I knew he received an envelope with money in it. His King’s Cross landlady says that the only letter he received during his two weeks with her contained money, because he immediately pulled out some notes and paid her. Unfortunately it was not registered or we could have traced the sender.”
“And it was not found on the body?”
“No envelope containing money. Seven pounds in a pocket case in his hip pocket.”
“So robbery could have been the motive?”
“It could, I suppose. Or one of the motives.”
“Or the money could have been removed to suggest robbery?”
“That, too.”
“Or the corpse could have been rifled by someone other than the murderer?”
“I suppose that can’t be ruled out.”
“Look, John. You’re putting on your old air of inscrutability. Do you think you know who killed Ernest Rafter?”
“I can’t answer that just now, Carolus.”
“And Bella Lobbin?”
“I’m holding her husband.’
“Have you sufficient evidence for that?”
“Enough to charge him. I can’t do anything else.”
“I’d like to know your case, as it stands.”
“First of all it’s a matter of common sense. Unless you want me to believe that there are two murderers in this town.”
“I don’t want you to believe anything.”
“It all boils down to motive, Carolus. As usual. Tell me who else in the word had motives for murdering both these people? Lobbin has made a statement in which he admits recognizing Ernest Rafter as a collaborator of the Japanese, who helped to make his life, and that of other prisoners, a greater hell than it already was. He denies having spoken to him, but says he saw him in the bar of the Queen Victoria that night and, although at first he was uncertain, he was afterwards quite sure of his man. I conclude that since you say Ernest had a wad of money on him Lobbin could have seen him pull it out in the Queen Victoria. So even if it was robbery …”
“Other people could have seen that. The barmaid in fact did see it and I daresay the Bullamys could have done so.”
“As I’ve told you, I don’t think the principal motive was robbery. The very way in which the murder was done argues a maniacal hatred.”
“Or a maniacal something-or-other.”
“I think Lobbin recognized Ernest, heard him say he was going to the promenade, went home and got his weapon …”
“But he still had a coal-hammer in his shop afterwards.”
“He could have had two, surely? Followed him down to the promenade, murdered and robbed him. I am driven to this conclusion because no one else had motive and
opportunity.”
“So far as we know.’
“Then the second murder. The side door of the house had not been forced. Only Lobbin and his wife had keys.”
“I’m not necessarily disagreeing with you, John, but I think it may be helpful to point out snags. Mrs Lobbin could have opened the door to the murderer if it wasn’t Lobbin.”
“She could have. But wait. We come to motive once again. Tell me who else in the world could have a motive for killing that woman? Lobbin had suffered from her tongue for twenty years. He made no secret of the kind of hell she made his life. She had killed his (perhaps silly, but to him very real) ambition to write. There is an end to everyone’s patience and I think he reached his tonight.”
“You haven’t convinced me yet. And I don’t believe you’re quite convinced yourself.”
“I haven’t had detailed reports yet, but I do know that the only fingerprints found in the room are those of Lobbin and his wife. Moreover the hammer used belonged to them.”
“It had been lying in the shop for some days. Bella Lobbin kept it as an exhibit to show it had not been used to murder Ernest. Anyone could have seen it there.”
“But the street door of the shop was locked. Did Bella Lobbin allow this mysterious murderer of yours to go down from the rooms above the shop to fetch the hammer with which to kill her? Who else could have got it but her husband?”
“Circumstantial,” said Carolus annoyingly.
“Then time. On a first examination the police surgeon, who reached the place at half past nine, an hour after Lobbin claims to have found his wife dead, thinks death occurred between one and three hours before he saw the body. So Lobbin could either have killed her before going to the pub and then gone back to ‘find’ her dead, or during the seven minutes while he was absent. At all events it seems, again on a preliminary examination, that this time the blows were unmistakably the work of a powerful man. In the other case the hammer was heavier and could have been used by almost anyone. This time a man of Lobbin’s build is strongly suggested.”
“What does Lobbin himself say to all this?”
“Denies it, of course. But can’t suggest anyone else who might have a motive for killing his wife.”
