The Cursing Stones Murder (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series)

by George Bellairs

  At the gateway of the vicarage a car was parked and they could see Inspector Perrick in his raincoat, pottering in the front garden, eating a windfall apple. He waved to them and joined them at the door.

  "Thought I'd call on my way back from Peel. They told me you'd been seeing the Corteens and then you went to Levis's place over the Round Table. You were at Dr. Fallows's house, as well. I guess you'll have made the linkup between the Levis-Fallows-Quine people and you perhaps suspect one or the other of them of murdering Levis. That's as far as I've got, too. . . ."

  Perrick chuckled.

  "You seem to have spies out all over the Island," said Littlejohn. "You'll be suspecting me next."

  "Hardly, sir. But there's no doubt come into your mind to find out all about what the Fallows couple did on the mainland before they came over here. It's rumoured that he was the party responsible for their marital unhappiness in England. Now, she seems determined to return the compliment over here. I'm wondering what was the real state of affairs that made Fallows leave St. Sylvester's and a first-class job and tuck himself away on the Isle of Man."

  Littlejohn smiled.

  "Exactly. I was just going to telephone when we got in and ask my colleague, Cromwell, to look into matters on the spot."

  Mrs. Keggin, the housekeeper, appeared impatiently at the door, accompanied by the dog, who had already left the car to forage for her tea.

  "Are ye going to stop out there all night? Tea's laid and spoilin'."

  "Come and have a bite with us, Perrick," said the Archdeacon.

  "Mebbe I will, sir. I've had a bothering and fruitless day. We've been all through the papers we took from Levis's desk and there isn't a single letter to give us a lead. He must have destroyed all his correspondence. . . . One thing we found. Levis had been divorced. He kept it dark, presumably to be able to tell women who became a nuisance to him that he'd a wife over the water. He's left all his money, a tidy sum, to his brother who's out in Kenya, with the exception of five thousand pounds. And who do you think gets that?"

  "I haven't a notion."

  "Old Mrs. Corteen! There's a codicil mentioning his only child, Fenella's boy. It also says that Fenella is unfit to handle money. It looks as if Levis had a sense of humour and a conscience, after all. Let's eat, sir, shall we? I've been so busy, I haven't had a bite, except a hard apple, since breakfast."

  6

  CLADDAGH HOTEL

  A FINE, sunny morning; more like spring than autumn. After breakfast, Littlejohn telephoned to Scotland Yard and spoke to his colleague, Sergeant Cromwell. Judging from the joy and exuberance in Cromwell's voice on hearing from his chief, Littlejohn might have been absent for years at the ends of the earth.

  "St. Sylvester's, sir. Of course. That's an easy one. Sergeant Grebe's courting one of the sisters there. . . . Yes, Grebe. You remember, the one who got shot in the thigh in the Isle of Dogs affair. He fell for the sister who looked after him. He'll be only too glad to go and inquire. Fallows? Dr. Fallows. Right, sir. I'll 'phone back this evening."

  "Not before, old chap. I'll be out all day. I'm taking Mrs. Littlejohn sightseeing to Ramsey."

  The Archdeacon was staying at home preparing his sermon for Sunday.

  "On your way, you'll pass Sulby Claddagh, where the builder fellow, Casbon, said Levis met Mrs. Fallows. . . ."

  "I'll call, parson. There's no telling what we might pick up in their old haunts."

  They took the road over Foxdale and, at Ballacraine Corner, struck the T.T. course, through Glen Helen, Kirk Michael and Ballaugh.

  "There's Peel again. . . ."

  From the road near Kirk Michael they looked back and could see the little city, with its promontory thrusting the castle and ruined cathedral towards the sea. A small train, emitting a lot of smoke and steam, bustled and whistled into Michael station. Beyond Ballaugh, at Sulby Glen station, they found their way, as directed by the Archdeacon, to Sulby Claddagh. There the Sulby River turned from Sulby Glen and ran through green water-meadows in the direction of Ramsey.

  The Claddagh was like an amphitheatre of flat land, surrounded on two sides by trees and bushes and dominated on the other by the crumbling, green peak of Cronk Sumark, Primrose Hill. A good road ran through the fields and Letty and the dog got out to walk as Littlejohn started off for the large house at the end of the valley. Here it was that Greenhalgh, a come-over, had bought a Georgian mansion and converted it into an hotel and road-house. Situated in a quiet spot, but not far from the main road and transport, the Claddagh Hotel had become popular among the smart set and many holiday visitors for its comfort, its cuisine and cellars, and its dinner-dances. Regardless of cost, Greenhalgh had gutted and modernized the old place and widely advertised it.

  Littlejohn parked the car, crossed a bridge over the stream, and found himself in a large garden with well-kept lawns and formal flower-beds stretching to the hotel. To add an atmosphere of continental brightness to the scene, small tables covered by gaudy parasols had been spread along the terrace. The only people about were an elderly man in tweeds and a large woman in a tight dress drinking coffee in a desperate effort to enjoy the last of the fine warm weather. They eyed Littlejohn up and down, sizing him up as a possible new guest.

  Before the Chief Inspector reached the main door, four dachshunds appeared followed by a tall man in flannels and sportscoat and a woman with bare arms and a voluptuous figure in striped rayon. They seemed to be arguing. When the woman saw Littlejohn, she said something sharply to her companion, turned, and walked into the hotel with an animated stride and a provocative swing of the hips. The man approached Littlejohn.

  "What can I do for you, sir? My name's Greenhalgh."

  He looked like the owner of a roadhouse. Tall, nonchalant, with a military moustache, bilious brown eyes, large alcoholic nose, and fleshy mouth. A man ready to provide anything you could pay for. Littlejohn handed Greenhalgh his card. The man's eyebrows shot up.

  "Scotland Yard! You on the Peel murder, sir? Didn't know they'd got so far."

  He had a soaked, husky voice and a sniff which made him sound to be drinking deeply.

  Littlejohn didn't explain his connection with the case. To pretend to be officially on the job was the only way to get information. Greenhalgh kept eyeing the Inspector up and down with his watery protruding stare. There were heavy bags under his eyes.

  "Come inside."

  Through the large main doorway into a thickly carpeted hall. The place was a mixture of ancient and modern. Two suits of armour in corners, swords crossed over the inner doors, modern electric lanterns illuminating the hall and staircase, and over the large open fireplace near the entrance, an impressionist picture, presumably hung there to baffle everybody.

  "Come in my office. . . ."

  A small cubby-hole under the stairs, with a hatch through the wall to the adjoining bar, whence Greenhalgh presumably refreshed himself as he worked at his accounts. A desk, a chair, a metal filing cabinet, a typewriter, and little else. Greenhalgh offered the chair to Littlejohn and sat on the desk himself.

  "Drink, Chief Inspector? I'm just going to have one myself."

  He tapped on the hatch and two glasses of whisky and a syphon were thrust through by a feminine hand embellished by bangles and a wedding-ring.

  "Say when. . . ." He passed his cigarette case to Littlejohn.

  "Good health!"

  It seemed to be their slack period at the hotel. There was hardly a sound in the place except the barking of the dogs which now and then seemed to start fighting among themselves. The solitary window of the room faced the Claddagh and Littlejohn could see Letty throwing stones in the river for the dog, which splashed and paddled around in high glee.

  "What did you want, Inspector? Surely we have no connection with the Peel affair."

  "The murdered man came here sometimes, sir?"

  Greenhalgh nodded, emptied his glass, tapped on the hatch, and received another.

  "Yes, come to think of it, he did!
"

  "Did he just drop in casually or . . ?"

  "We hold a dinner-dance here almost every evening in the season. People come from all over the Island. Levis came quite a lot. He liked dancing."

  "Did he come alone, or with a party?"

  Greenhalgh leered and took another nonchalant drink.

  "Well. . . . He usually brought a partner. Sometimes a different one every week; sometimes the same one for a week or two. . . . Then he'd have a change. He was fond of the girls, you know, and was a chap for plenty of variety."

  "Did he stay here or leave after the dance?"

  "Sometimes he stayed if it got late or if he'd shipped more drink than was good for him in a fast car."

  "And then his partner would stay as well?"

  Greenhalgh gave another alcoholic sniff and fixed Littlejohn with his bulging eyes.

  "Now, now, Inspector. No insinuations, if you please, old chap. If Levis stayed, you could hardly expect him to chuck out his guest and tell her to walk home. Of course they both stayed, but they occupied separate rooms. I've my reputation to think of."

  Judging from his appearance, thought Littlejohn, the owner of the Claddagh would usually be too far gone to bother about any such thing late at night.

  "I've my reputation to think of. They're a bit particular over here and word soon gets round if you're being irregular. No week-ending here, sir."

  "I'm not suggesting it, Mr., Greenhalgh. Do you remember whom Levis did bring from time to time? Anyone in particular?"

  Greenhalgh eyed Littlejohn's half-empty glass with displeasure.

  "Come on, Inspector. Drink up and have another."

  "I'm quite all right, sir, thanks."

  Greenhalgh tapped on the hatch again and received almost automatic service. This time, in merry mood, he caught the hand which passed the glass and kissed the finger-tips with mock gallantry. The hand moved across his cheek gently in the direction of the ear and then, having located it, gave it a hearty box; then it was withdrawn. Littlejohn never saw the owner of it. Greenhalgh sniggered. He was ripe now for intimate questioning.

  "Did Levis ever bring anybody particular to the dances?"

  Greenhalgh, his mouth full of whisky, gesticulated to show that something good was coming in the way of scandal.

  "He brough' quite a lot of pretty girls . . . but mos'ly holiday makers he'd picked up. Gave 'em a goo' time and then dropped 'em. But there were one or two he stuck to for a bit. The li'l Quine girl, f'r instance. Small kid, not bad-lookin' and then not good, if you get watta mean. Snub nose. But vivacious, full of life, a real goo' pal. . . . S'wat I mean. A goo' pal. Levis brought her a time or two. . . . Then he met another and dropped li'l Quine. Doctor's wife, name o' Fallows, Pam Fallows, from Peel. Met her here at a party. . . ."

  Greenhalgh became a little incoherent as his glass grew more empty. He kept regarding Littlejohn's remaining whisky with distaste.

  "Have a li'l more drink, eh?"

  "No thank you, sir. I'm driving a car and have to be careful. The police must set a good example."

  Greenhalgh guffawed.

  "Yo're tellin' me! Where was I? Oh yes. Fallows. Pam Fallows." He beckoned Littlejohn to come closer.

  "They met here and she fell for him right away. At first, Levis didn't seem smitten, but soon he'd got it as bad as she had. She seemed to grow on him. Not much of a figure. Not my sort. I like 'em lush an' bonny meself. . . . But she was a clever one. Intellecshule, if you get me. Sophishticated and p-p-poised. Just what Levis wanted."

  "They came here often?"

  "Quite a lot. Stayed overnight a time or two. Quite respec'ble, but drunk too mush wine, so couldn't drive safely. Or so he said."

  Mr. Greenhalgh thereupon winked.

  "How did it end?"

  "Her husband called one day and asked about her. I wasn't in, but my missus saw him. Bit cut up, he was. My wife said he got to it gradually. Said it was a nice place and his wife had said she came with friends. He hadn' bin himself. . . . That sort o' stuff. Levis was mentioned and the missus had no more sense than to tell him they'd been together. He looked awful at that, I believe. Bit short o' savvy of the missus to say it, but you know what women are. . . ."

  "And that ended it?"

  Greenhalgh gestured excitedly and drew nearer than ever to Littlejohn. He blew a blast of whisky across the desk.

  "Not by a long way, sir. It finished Mrs. Fallows. But then, it had finished before that. Levis was here with another girl before the doctor came. And this girl was a smasher, believe me, a smasher."

  The hotelier thereupon beat on the hatch again, was served, and drank morosely.

  "Smasher. Don't blame Levis for brushin' off Mrs. Fallows. When he came in with the girl, everybody's eyes turned on her. Dark as night, she was. Tall, slim and graceful, black hair and a face you'd never forget. Classic, sir. Classic. Pardon me. . . . "

  Greenhalgh hiccupped.

  "Wonnerful complexion. An' believe it or not, no make-up. A nacherall beautiful complexion. Made some of the painted dolls look sick, I can ashure you, Inspector."

  "A holiday maker again?"

  Greenhalgh waved frenzied hands.

  "Not at all. Native. An' that's what beats me. I've seen the gal somewhere an' can't remember where. But this is the point. She was a country girl. Not Levis's class at all. Innocent. That's what she was. Innocent. No airs. Didn't even know how to enter a room properly. Came in as if she was takin' a walk down the road on her own, instead of tryin' to impress."

  "Did they come often?"

  "Twice. Once a week and then Levis didn' come any more. We wondered what had happened to him. It seems he was at the bottom of the sea. Pore Levis. Down among the dead men, sir."

  "This girl—you've no idea where she came from? Did anyone here know her?"

  "They were all like me. They thought they ought to know her, but couldn't put a name to her or say where she came from. Levis, of course, didn' say. They were here the night the police came, but they weren't booked because they were guests, you see."

  Littlejohn looked hard at his fuddled companion.

  "What is all this about, Mr. Greenhalgh? Police; guests; what are you getting at?"

  Greenhalgh tried to sort himself out.

  "Simple. It was Sunday. No drinkin' allowed whatever by Manx law on Sunday unless you're stayin' in the hotel. This Sunday, the police called to see all was right. A few guests had got drinks and they took their names because they were dinner guests, not stayin' in the place, yer see. I got fined, and so did those they booked."

  "What about Levis?"

  "I said he was stayin' here the night, didn't I? And his partner."

  "Had they checked in?"

  "Yes."

  "Before the dinner-dance?"

  Greenhalgh looked put-out.

  "You tryin' to trip me up? All the same, Levis is dead, so I might as well tell you. Most always Levis booked two rooms when he booked his table for the dinner. You see, it was just in case he got too squiffy to drive home."

  "I see. It was part of the game, was it? He was never fit to drive home. Is that it?"

  "No need to sound so shirty about it. He booked two rooms. I saw to that."

  "Adjacent ones, I suppose."

  "Well. . . . Do you want him to take one in the attic and the other in the cellar? Besides, it showed Levis's sense of what was right, if you ask me. He didn' want to risk his partner's neck by drivin' under the influensh of alcohol. Which reminds me, what about another drink?"

  "No, thanks, sir. And this trick of Levis's was played on the girl you describe as dark and innocent?"

  "Not the first time. He took it easy on the drinks. She didn't take much and he drove her off that night. But the last time we saw him, he regaled her on champagne and suggested he wasn' fit to drive her home. Besides, he'd told the police they were stayin' at the hotel, hadn't he?"

  "What name did she give in the register?"

  "Levis wrote it in. Smith. . . . M
iss Smith, Douglas. Smith. Now I ask you. It wasn't up to me to call Levis a liar as he signed the book, but I'd me doubts. Ve-e-ery grave doubts, sir."

  "Which police force made the raid?"

  "Raid? It wasn' a raid. Just a check-up. This is a decent place. No raids here, sir."

  Littlejohn got up from the table and looked through the window across the Claddagh. The sun was shining, a party in a car were unpacking a basket ready for a picnic, and Mrs. Littlejohn was drying the dog with a towel after her revels in the river.

  Levis had brought a nice girl, according to the views of the half-tipsy Greenhalgh. A nice girl who had taken Mrs. Fallows's place in his affections, if you could call them such. He'd brought her once and had behaved himself. Then he'd brought her again and been up to his old tricks. After that Levis had disappeared. He'd been murdered and fed to the fishes. . . .

  "You didn't say which force called and checked-up. Was it the Ramsey police?"

  "Yes. Cost me ten quid of a fine. All in a day's work, sir. I've seen to it that it didn' happen again, so you won't bear it against me, will you, Inspector?"

  "It's no business of mine. But have the police been round here about Levis's death, Mr. Greenhalgh? Has Inspector Perrick or anyone else been questioning you about his movements prior to his disappearance and murder?"

  Greenhalgh looked owlish and surprised.

  "No. Why should they? I didn't have anythin' to do with it. I lost a very good customer in Levis, but that was all. No, the police haven't been here. You're the first, sir, and, if I may be permitted to say so, I'll hope you're the last. Don' wanter get mixed up in things of that sort. Bad for trade."

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the hall and the door slammed.

  "Greenhalgh! GREENHALGH! ! Where the hell are you?"

  The hotel-keeper sprang to his feet and rushed into the hall.

  "Greenhalgh! Where the hell's that taxi? It's three quarters of an hour late. Did you order it, man?"

  "Yes, Colonel. Should be here any minute."