The Case of the Famished Parson (An Inspector Littlejohn Mystery)

by George Bellairs

  “Lumme,” said the mate and gave in without a struggle.

  Each man handcuffed to a constable, the three smugglers scrambled without dignity up the sides of Bolter’s Hole to terra firma on top. The progress of the police couldn’t be described as graceful either. They’d been ordered to show no lights except answer signals, which they hoped to heaven were right, and they did part of the rocky ascent on their hands and knees, hoisting their quarry along willynilly. Other policemen unloaded the boats and carried their loot to a waiting van.

  Littlejohn and Bowater watched it all without taking much part but with great satisfaction.

  “Well I never,” Bowater kept saying in surprise, for Littlejohn himself had not anticipated such a haul in one trip.

  The whole of the cargo and men cleared-up, the two officers and two policemen boarded the boats and after starting the motors, steered for the Patrick Creegan. On the way they received and answered pin-point signals and soon were alongside the ship. They caught the rope flung out to them and ascended the rope ladder. At this point they almost gave themselves away, for their progress upward was far from nautical.

  “What the hell’ve you been doin’?” growled Captain Bradley by way of greeting. “There’s two more loads for you yet. We don’t want to be here all night.”

  “Evening, Bradley,” said Littlejohn.

  “Well, I’ll go to ’ell,” replied the Captain, and bolted for the rail. It is not quite certain what he intended to do. Throw himself overboard, or stand and fight with his back to the wall…. But he met the outstretched leg of one of the constables first, measured his length with a thud on the deck and threw up the sponge without a fight.

  Down in the cabin as they slowly sailed into port, Bradley was very bitter about his employers.

  “What the hell do they mean sending the right signal when you swine were about?”

  He didn’t say swine, but the other word might not be printed.

  “We changed the signals.”

  “You! Well, I like that. So somebody gave the show away, did they? I told the boss before we left this trip that you lot were about and he’d better call it off for a bit. He looked wise and said I could rely on him to do the right thing. And now look at us….”

  He burst into a torrent of more unprintable words until Bowater got mad and vulgarly told him to shut his trap.

  “Who is the boss? Sharples?”

  “If you know, why ask me? But I’ll get even with the little perisher. Havin’ me pullin’ his chestnuts out of the fire, while him and his pals sit pretty playing cards. And raking-in the dough. I’ll spill the beans, blessed if I don’t.”

  He didn’t actually say ‘blessed,’ but then…

  “Better tell us what happens on these trips and be done with it. It’s bound to come out …”

  “I don’t like the rough way I’ve been handled by you bastards,” grumbled Bradley and his language was interrupted this time by the blast of the siren warning the harbourmaster that they were wanting to enter port.

  “I’d better get on the bridge….”

  They went with him.

  But before the gangway was put out, the police had another talk with Bradley. It was as they had guessed. After leaving Dublin they made for a quiet spot and took on contraband and other stuff made ready by an agent in Eire. Then they made the crossing, unloaded the stuff at Bolter’s Hole, where it was met by men who carried it by hand to Sharples’s hiding-place, the cellars of a large house turned into a warehouse on the quay. The red and white lights ashore told that the coast was clear. Two white lights warned them to dump the stuff over the side. Better be rid of it than have it confiscated and the whole arrangement be ruined. They’d only needed to do that once, when an old fool of a parson turned up at Bolter’s Hole and recognised Harry Keast….”

  “Harry Keast?”

  “Yes. Harry was in charge of the gang of porters who carried the stuff to town.”

  “I guessed something of that kind,” said Littlejohn. “Who killed the parson?”

  “I don’t know. That was very hush-hush. They said it was an accident.”

  “Accident my foot. He was deliberately decoyed to Bolter’s Hole and murdered.”

  “You seem to know all about it. Suppose you do the tellin’ and let me listen a bit….”

  “That’ll do. What do you know about the parson, Bradley?”

  “Only this. Harry Keast told me the fellow got to takin’ a walk across to the Hole at nights, late on, to meditate quietly before bed. Meditate! A hell of a place to meditate in, I must say. He meditated himself to death through it, it seems.”

  “Never mind that, what did Keast say?”

  “Only that just as we were due, the parson turned up and saw our light signals. Spotted Harry, too, flashed a light on him and asked him what he was doin’ there at that time. The rest of the men with Harry cleared off. Harry said somethin’ about him and his pals being there crabbing or fishing or something and about it being a good time there at high night-tide. Harry just had time to give us six flashes on his torch and our boats turned back. We dumped the stuff, too. Sharples played merry hell …”

  “I’ll bet he did. What happened then?”

  “Well, the parson, I hear he was a bishop …”

  “He was….”

  “The bishop havin’ seen the lights started asking questions. Harry put him off, sayin’ perhaps they could talk it over and come again another night just to make sure and not kick up a fuss without cause. So they arranged to say nothin’ and come again to investigate. Harry said it was the best he could think up at the time, and it worked. He told me and Sharples. Next time we crossed somebody got the bishop there and brained him.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t ask me. Keast didn’t know, either. He didn’t like it, I can damn well tell you and neither did I. Harry had his own ideas and must have tackled Sharples. The next thing, poor Harry got shot. I’m on the look-out for a fresh job, or was. Guess I’ll not need one now for a bit….”

  “You’re right there, Bradley.”

  “Anyhow, remember I came peaceable and I’ve done my best to help you now, haven’t I?”

  “Sure.”

  “You don’t sound so certain….”

  “We want your help.”

  “Well … damn me! If that’s not the limit. You want my help. Well, well …”

  Littlejohn told Bradley what they wanted.

  “Not much in that, anyhow. But remember when it comes to me in court, I gave it willingly. That a deal?”

  “Right.”

  The gangway went out, the two remaining members of the crew went off the ship and were immediately collared by dock policemen. There was a confab. and then the men were allowed back to attend to the needs of the ship. They were the fire and enginemen and there were the boilers to be seen to. Below, the cattle, aware that land was near, were bellowing and stamping about in their stalls….

  The quay was dark, save for the riding-lights of the ships and the thin beams of distant lamps. The policemen had gone back to their little dock station. All was quiet except for the hiss of escaping steam and the noises of the cattle.

  Suddenly a dark figure appeared at the gangway, slipped along it and stood on deck. Captain Bradley left the cabin, his figure silhouetted against the background of light within.

  “That you, Bradley?”

  “Yes. Who are you and what do you want? No business aboard till we’re cleared by the customs.”

  “I’m Shearwater. You know me. I met you….”

  “Oh, yes. Well, what d’you want at this hour?”

  “Can we go in your cabin. It’s private….”

  The captain grunted and stood aside to let the man enter.

  “Sit down. I’ve things to do first.”

  Bradley indicated the chair clamped beside the table and Shearwater sat down. Then the captain left him alone.

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be about ten minute
s. Then we’ll talk,” he threw back over his shoulder as he went.

  Shearwater sat nervously at the table, casting his eyes round the cabin, fidgetting with the glass and bottle on the American leather cloth, putting his hands in his pockets and pulling them out again. He took a cigarette from his case and lit it….

  The door opened and closed again. Shearwater looked round.

  He started.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It was O’Shaughnessy, but he had changed. He no longer wore his clerical suit and gold-framed glasses. Instead, he was dressed in loose-fitting tweeds with heavy shell spectacles on his nose.

  “Didn’t expect me, eh? I might ask you the same. Where have you been?”

  The priestly benevolence had left him. There was no longer a mild look in his eyes, either. They seemed to have frozen to ice and shone with a relentless glacier light.

  Shearwater looked uneasy.

  “I came back to meet the Patrick Creegan. I’m scared, father. It’s not safe over here. I’m getting off to Ireland as soon as I can and taking passage back to Africa. I’ve got mixed up in something that’s too hot for me.”

  “Don’t call me ‘father’ either. I’m sick of the mealy-mouthed rôle. I’m no more a parson than you are. You’d have guessed that if you’d had any wits.”

  “Are you going back with them this trip?” I am.

  “I’ll have company then….”

  O’Shaughnessy laughed. He seemed to enjoy the joke.

  “No, you won’t. I’m going on my own.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve fixed it already with the captain.”

  “Have you, now? Well, we won’t trouble to unfix it, then. But you won’t bother me much. You’ll simply be cargo which we’ll dump half way across …”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this. Do you think I’m going to have you eternally in my hair for what you know about my affairs on this side. You gave me alibis when I needed them and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve already told the police they were phoney. Have you?”

  O’Shaughnessy strode to Shearwater, seized him roughly by the coat collar and shook him savagely.

  “Here … You let me alone. How should I see the police? I’ve been on the run from them since I ran out of the hotel….”

  “So much the better. Though I don’t believe you. Anyway, it’s unlucky you’re here and know me as I am without my glasses and clerical gear. I don’t trust you, Shearwater, so I’ll just have to put you where you’re safe….”

  “Look here, I’m going. If you want to get away, I’ll wait till the next boat. I’ll hide somewhere….”

  “Too late. You know too much….”

  “What do I know?”

  “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t run out of the hotel because you got scared I’d do to you what I did to the bishop and Harry Keast….”

  “You mean …”

  “Come on, you rat, you knew all along. You knew everybody had alibis but me and you knew I persuaded you to fake them for me. You tumbled to it and ran out before I dealt with you as I did the others….” I never…

  “Well, that’s just too bad, because now I’ve got to shut your mouth. One shut mouth more or less doesn’t make much difference.”

  Shearwater’s face turned the colour of putty and he made for the door, but O’Shaughnessy was in the way, standing there with a small, blue automatic in his hand.

  “You mean you killed the bishop and then Keast?”

  “Who do you think did it? The yellow-livered Sharples? Or his gambling pals? Or perhaps you thought the Dean and Chapter did it to get him out of the way?”

  “But why?”

  “First the bishop stumbled across our men landing stuff. Keast, who seemed to have a bit of respect for his cloth, put him off the scent, but we’d no assurance that he wouldn’t come prowling round again. We couldn’t let him stand in the way of our new trade, now could we? Not after all the trouble we’d taken making arrangements and picking the right spot. Sharples got cold feet and was for moving our pitch or getting the bishop some way or other to stop prowling round. But the bishop was a stubborn man and kept on at Harry Keast to help him find out what was going on and then tell the police. So I arranged for Harry to send him a telephone message and bring him out next time we were there. I told Harry we’d call-off the trip that time and he could show the parson nothing was happening. I didn’t call it off. Every trip’s hundreds of pounds in our pocket. We weren’t going to let a bloke nosing around in gaiters spoil it. I was there and coshed him on the head. Unluckily, the tide didn’t wash away the body and Harry got tough about what I’d done. So Harry had to follow the bishop.”

  “So you shot Littlejohn, too?”

  “I did. With the help of your alibi, I wanted to draw the scent off from Mervin to the bishop’s home or Greyle. All of us at this end got alibis again, including me, with your kind help. If I let you go, you’ll be straight off to the police and pin all this on me. I wish I’d got Littlejohn through the head instead of the leg, now. Then the local police would have still been combing the country round Cranage….”

  “I don’t think so. You see, Littlejohn happens to have an assistant as keen as he is. You’d never have got away with it. In fact, you won’t now.”

  “I shan’t if I leave you loose. Otherwise, once in Eire, I’ll find one of the old places and lie low till I can get safely away. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. But it gives me a certain amount of pleasure to see your surprise. You thought me a pious old fool, playing billiards with you and generally behaving mildly in between my little adventures….”

  “I’ve travelled all sorts of places, but I guess you’re the most callous killer I ever met.”

  O’Shaughnessy’s eyes blazed. He seemed to lose control of himself.

  “Killing’s never worried me since my father and elder brother were killed by your lot in The Trouble. Since then, no amount of treaties, milk-and-water peace talk or sentiment has stopped me carrying on the fight against the English. I helped the Germans in the war, and anybody who, by smuggling, racketeering, cheating or anything else is doing-down this blasted country will find me on his side. That’s why I agreed to help Sharples and his gang. That and the money there was in it.”

  “But the rifle Littlejohn and Keast were shot with. We had no rifle with us….”

  “No. That’s where my benevolent priestly air helped me. We followed Littlejohn just to see what he was at. When we found him nosing round Cranage, I got the idea that if he were attacked in the locality, interest would immediately be transferred there till we could clear things up at this end. When I left you, I followed him a bit and then saw a youth stalking rabbits with a rifle. I became a priest at once and gave him a lecture on cruelty to dumb animals. I knew that wouldn’t carry any weight at all, but when I offered him twice the price he’d paid for the gun, his cupidity got the better of him. I bought the rifle from him just so’s he shouldn’t harm the little rabbits. I guess he went straight off and got another and pocketed the profit. But what are we waiting for? Bradley’ll be back. I shall hide your body in one of the boats and you’ll leave us somewhere on the Irish side, where you’ll be washed up by the currents in a region where you’ll not be known….”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, O’Rourke….”

  The curtain over the open porthole was drawn aside by a hand and Littlejohn’s face appeared framed in the aperture. O’Shaughnessy raised his gun, but Cromwell, who had quickly entered by the door, knocked the weapon from the gunman’s hand and caught him a blow on the point of the jaw, which dropped him unconscious.

  “That’s for what you did to the chief,” he muttered, rubbing his knuckles with great satisfaction.

  CHAPTER XX

  THE LAST GAME OF CARDS

  SHARPLES entered the lounge first. Littlejohn was there already, smoking his pipe and watching the quayside. It was pouring with rain which, carried by the
wind, swept along the pavement like a heavy mist. The Patrick Creegan, a thin wisp of steam escaping from her funnel, was still tied-up. Her decks were deserted.

  “Morning,” muttered Sharples. “Rotten weather we’re having.”

  Littlejohn returned the greeting.

  “Where are the regulars? There’s generally a few about knitting and gossiping.”

  “Perhaps out.”

  Actually Littlejohn had arranged for Allain to keep the lounge clear of all except the gamblers. He didn’t want an audience for the last hand.

  Before they could continue the conversation a car drew up outside. Dr. Rooksby got out and rushed indoors to join his friend. Almost at once Hennessy and Wentworth followed.

  “Hullo. Nobody about … ?”

  Rooksby rubbed his hands and then glanced sheepishly at Littlejohn. He looked more uncomfortable still when Cromwell entered, followed by Bowater. The newcomers took a seat in the window and, after a cursory nod to the rest, started to chat about the weather and the shipping down below.

  “Care for a hand, Inspector? I’ll stand down.”

  Sharples was very affable. He rang the bell, ordered drinks, produced a pack of cards and got ready for the usual game.

  Littlejohn waved the offer aside.

  “Let’s all sit down. I want a talk with you gentlemen before you start playing. Bowater and Cromwell will be interested in this. Will you two join us, please?”

  The card players had nothing to say. Sharples and Rooksby looked thoroughly alarmed, Hennessy annoyed and Wentworth slightly amused.

  “What’s all this about?” drawled Wentworth.

  “Sit down and I’ll tell you….”

  They scattered themselves in chairs round the table in their usual spots as if by force of habit. Cromwell took out a notebook and a stylo pen and started to write. Sharples glared at him.

  “What’s all this. If it’s a police trick, I’ll not stand for it. I want my lawyer.”

  “You’ll see him soon enough, Mr. Sharples. I just want to tell you the Patrick Creegan put in here last night….”

  Sharples cackled nervously.

  “That’s a good one when we can see her right under our noses.”