Littlejohn called out for the farmer's wife.
"Come and have a cup of tea and a li'l cooish, Mrs. Kelly."
The woman arrived a bit surprised.
"What do you know about the li'l cooish, sir?"
"A good gossip, then. I'm interested in this photograph, Mrs. Kelly."
He had it in his hand and indicated Ned Crowe.
"I've just been over to see Crowe. I got a poor reception."
The woman sighed.
"Not the only one. He's taken to the drink. Him and my husband has had a fallin'-out. I can't think what's come over him. Maybe it's on account of Margat. He's not like the same man."
"What about Margat? Is that Manx for Margaret?"
"That's right. Her mother died when she was born and Ned brought her up himself. Thought the world of her, he did. It was Margat-ven, Margat-girl, all over the place with him. Worked like a slave to bring her up. Sent her to good school at Ramsey and saw she grew up lek a lady. The farm was a nice place then. He worked hard on it, did fishin' as well, and they made teas for a little extry. Ned's sister that died came to live with them. A lady, she was. . . . "
"Is this Margat on the picture?"
He indicated the dark girl.
"That's right. My Juan was sweet on her at the time. That was six or seven years since, when Margat was round twenty. My two boys is at sea. One an engineer in the navy and the other a steward on the Steam Packet. . . ."
"You've done well for them, Mrs. Kelly. And didn't Juan and Margat make a match of it?"
"Naw, sir. He met a girl he liked better in Liverpool, an' they got married. Margat thought he wasn't good enough, I guess, an' he soon got over it, thank the Lord."
"Is she still on the farm?"
"She was till about August this year. Happy as a pair o' skylarks her and Ned was. He bought a pony for her and she'd ride around the country and she was in with all the nice ones at Ramsey an' Peel. Then somethin' happened. Ned took to drinkin' more than he should and they must have quarrelled. One day she offs an' must have gone to the mainland to seek work, because she hasn't been about here since and Ned's taken it terr'ble bad. Look at him and his farm, now. Just ruins. As if the curse has come on them, the Eye, as you might say."
"They were good neighbours once?"
"The best. . . ."
Mrs. Kelly began to sob and took a bit to get herself under control again.
"What do you think happened to make them quarrel, Mrs. Kelly?"
The woman blew her nose and hesitated. She gave Littlejohn a queer look.
"It's not my business, I'm sure, but I think it must have been some man Ned didn't like and they quarrelled about it."
"You know the man?"
The woman began to knead her handkerchief into a ball and her lips set firm.
"We don't want any trouble, sir. We're not the interferin' sort at Ballacurry."
Littlejohn paused, drank his tea, and then looked straight at Mrs. Kelly.
"Was it Levis, the man who was murdered?"
The woman turned white and made a gesture with her hands like someone fending off evil. Littlejohn saw that she gripped her thumb between her index and second finger and held it tight in the form of a crude cross. She was full of the old superstitions.
"Yes, I think so."
Hardly a whisper.
"Tell me about it."
Mrs. Kelly gulped.
"You can't stop people talkin'. My husband heard things at Ramsey Mart when he went and they said things at the Chapel, as well. Levis was well known for his carryin's-on on the Island. My husband knew a farmer at Bride who said he'd tek a shot-gun to him if he saw him round his gel again. Well, Levis, he started runnin' around in his car with Margat. My husband saw him at Cursing Stones when he was in the top fields. Levis had the caravan down the glen for two summers and they said at the Chapel there'd been wicked goin's on there. He must have seen Margat when he was around, though they did say Ned Crowe kept her away from the glen because of Levis. But there's no stoppin' that sort of thing, try as you will, is there?"
"How long was this going on?"
"Not long, as far as I know. Two or three weeks, an' then Margat went. Like as not, her and her dad had quarrelled. Nobody seemed to see her leave the farm, but one of the sewing-class saw her at the airport as she was meetin' her sister from over. Margat was goin' on the aeroplane to Liverpool."
"Has she any relatives on the mainland?"
"Her mother's sister fives there. Near London."
"What part of London?"
"I can find out. She went to school with me and I was her bridesmaid when she was married at Kirk Michael to a soldier from London in the first war. She always sends me a Christmas card."
Mrs. Kelly rummaged in a drawer of the large sideboard which half-filled the room. Eventually she drew forth a card and passed it to Littlejohn.
Greetings and Good Wishes for Christmas and
the New Year from
Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Swanson,
Glen Maye,
Breck Road,
East Croydon.
Littlejohn made a note of it on the back of an old envelope. He took the photograph in his hand again.
"May I borrow this for an hour or two, Mrs, Kelly?"
The good woman looked puzzled.
"I'm going to ask you to have a li'l cooish with my wife over another cup of tea, whilst I just run on an errand. I won't be long."
Mrs. Littlejohn, used to her husband's ways, fell-in without a question and he left them over cups of fresh tea.
Twenty minutes later, the Chief Inspector was turning his car into Sulby Claddagh and making for the Claddagh Hotel. There were one or two cars in the park; a few clients had called for afternoon tea. Mr. Greenhalgh was in his office.
"He's doing his books," said the woman with unctuous curves and straw-coloured hair, with a knowing roll of the eyes.
"What again, Inspector! Glad to see you. What'll you have?"
Greenhalgh emptied his own glass, tapped on the hatch, and waited expectantly for Littlejohn's order.
"I've just finished tea, thanks, Mr. Greenhalgh. I've something to show you."
Greenhalgh held up his hand until the almost sacramental performance of passing through the next potation was completed. He was half drunk already.
"Good health. Sure you won't? Right. Spill the beans, sir."
Littlejohn showed his host the photograph borrowed from Mrs. Kelly. He pointed his finger at Margat Crowe.
"Know the lady, Mr. Greenhalgh?"
The watery eyes of the tipsy man almost shot from their sockets and rolled down his cheeks.
"Well, I'll be damned! Quick worker, Inspector. That's the late lamented Levis's beeootiful partner of the night the p'lice called to check-up. Not a raid, I do ashure you, sir. Jus' a check-up. Do you know her telephone number, Inshpector, because, if you do, I'll be very mush obliged?"
9
THE FRIGHTENED FISHERMAN
WHEN Littlejohn arrived back at Ballacurry, he found his wife reluctant to leave the good company of the Kellys. The farmer had joined the party and stood, a shy man of few words, by the door of the room as though ready to run away at any moment; but he never did.
"Here's himself back again," said Mr. Kelly when the Chief Inspector appeared and the dog, frenzied at seeing him again, bounded to greet him.
"We're still gossiping, you see. . . ."
The farmer found his tongue.
"My gough! Did ye ever see the lek when two women get talkin' together?"
"You're not so bad yourself, Mr. Kelly. He's just been telling us about Ned Crowe and Margat, Tom."
"It's true what I bin tellin' ye. Frettin' for his girl's what's made Ned as he is. Somebody ought to bring that gel back to him afore he dies of the drink."
Littlejohn filled his pipe and lit it.
"That might be a good idea, Mr. Kelly. We'll see what we can do. You think it was some quarrel about her affair with Levis cau
sed her to quit?"
"Aye, that's it."
"Can you remember exactly the date she left the Island?"
Kelly scratched his topknot of iron grey hair.
"Aw, ask the missus. I'm no good at the dates.'
Mrs. Kelly was making rapid calculations.
"It was the day I give the tay at the sewing-class at the Chapel. Mrs. Mylchreest . . . the one who saw Margat at the airport . . . had come back the day afore. August the twentieth! That's it."
Kelly heaved a loud sigh of relief and admiration.
"Wonnerful memory herself's got!"
Littlejohn sat thoughtfully down in the armchair beside the wheezing oil-stove.
"That was the day before Levis met his death. He was due to leave for Italy the afternoon he was killed. Could it be he planned to take Margat with him?"
Mrs. Kelly made shocked noises.
"As lek as not. A bad man, he was, for sure."
"They may have arranged to leave the Island separately and meet in England to avoid gossip. And someone heard of it and killed Levis. . . . "
Kelly scratched his topknot again.
"You wouldn't be suggestin' that Ned Crowe . . . ?"
"I don't know. I wish we could talk to Ned without his getting so heated."
"He was terr'ble fond of that gel. Margat, me villish, Margat, my sweet, you'd hear him callin' all over the place. She reminded him of his wife. . . ."
"I must try to think of a way. Meanwhile, can you tell me if Levis brought any other women to this caravan he kept here? Anyone you know?"
The Kellys exchanged glances.
"One or two, he brought. We're not the sort who go skeetin' through windows at what passes, but Levis would stop in his car nearly opposite our gate. We couldn't help seein'. . . ."
"Anyone you knew?"
There was another silence.
"Better tell him, missus. If you don't, someborry else will."
"The only one we knew out of the one or two as came with him was the doctor's wife from Peel. Missus Fallows; and the doctor such a nice man. A proper shame!"
"Did they come often?"
"Once or twice. One day, I think the doctor see them there. He comes this way to some of his patients. He goes as far as Michael along this road. I see Levis there and Missus Fallows. I think the two of them had been swimmin' in the sea. Shameless, it was, and her in nothin' but a swimmin' costume and him the same. A married woman! It was a hot day and they kep' on their swimmin' suits and was crossin' the field to Ned Crowe's, as lek as not for milk for some tea, when I see the doctor's car pass. An' the doctor never drew up, but he couldn't miss seein' them."
"When would that be?"
"Just after the T.T. races; about June."
"Before Levis started running around with Margat Crowe?"
"That's right."
"Does the doctor come to you when you need him?"
"Aye. A good docther, too," chipped in Kelly. "One o' the good ole sort. Come any time. I recollect one time he helped me with a cow as was difficult in calf. Proper good with his hands and as strong as a horse. You wouldn' think it, seein' him, quiet and on the fat side, but he handled that cow jes' lek she was a baby, movin' her about the cowshed floor himself."
Littlejohn was thoughtful as they drove back to Grenaby. He didn't seem to see the sun setting red over Peel or hear the winch of the still busy Manx Shearwater hauling in the scallops off Orrisdale Head. He spoke first as they breasted the hill at Foxdale.
"You can take your pick, Letty. I never saw such a crowd of suspects. Ned Crowe, Dr. Fallows, Mrs. Fallows, Johnny Corteen, and Lord knows who besides. When you get a man like Levis, fooling with women all over the shop, you drag in all kinds of people. And my hands are tied. I'm the amateur on the job, this time. I ought really to tell Perrick, but we must have something more concrete before putting him on the trail. . . . "
Littlejohn needn't have bothered, however, for Perrick was waiting for him at Grenaby. There he sat in his raincoat, in the Archdeacon's study, balancing a cup of tea on his knee and eating a piece of apple pie.
He rose quite unabashed as the Littlejohns entered.
"I was just going. I asked the parson to tell you we've released Johnny Corteen. I took him back to Peel and called here on the way home to Douglas. You've been taking a sea-trip, I hear."
Littlejohn showed no surprise. He was getting used to the omniscience of Perrick and it was becoming amusing.
"Yes. Tom Cashen took me out to the spot where he found the body and then he rowed me over to Lynague caves. Quite a place!"
Perrick took a swig of tea and carefully put his cup and saucer on the mantelpiece. Then he took a big bite of pie and vigorously chewed it before replying.
"You're thinking like I do. The body was hidden there before bein' rowed out to sea?"
"Yes. Perhaps in Ned Crowe's boat."
"You've asked him about it?"
"Well, no. As I walked from the caves to the road, I met Ned. He was very annoyed seeing me on his land. In fact, he threatened to take a gun to me."
"Did he, indeed!"
The Archdeacon, who had been standing by the window listening and saying nothing, interfered angrily.
"I must speak to Crowe. He and I were good friends once. His wife came from my parish and I married them years ago. She died when the girl was born. I don't know what's come over Crowe."
Perrick ate the last of his pie and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief.
"He's got a bit under the weather since his girl went to the mainland to get a job. She probably got tired of languishing on that tumbledown farm. I don't blame her. He educated her above her station as a crofter's daughter. It'll blow over. She'll start pining for the li'l Island again when she's been in London for a bit, and one day she'll come home. They all do."
"You seem to know all about it, Perrick."
The Archdeacon's eyes sparkled at the detective.
"It's my business, parson. The local police are better gossips than any woman. They tell me all that goes on. The port constable at Peel reported about the Chief Inspector's little fishing trip. Munn's Corner was all a-buzz with it. Well, I must be off back to Douglas. We'll keep in touch, Inspector. Nothin' you want to tell me, sir?"
"I'm afraid not, Perrick, Today's been more like a picnic than work."
"Did you get a good tea at Kelly's, Ballacurry?"
"Excellent, thanks. I saw the bobby going by on his motor-bike as my wife and I went in the farm. I suppose he passed it on."
"That's it, sir. As I once said, there's not much goes on over here that the police don't know. Good evening, all."
"You ought to have Perrick at Scotland Yard, Littlejohn," said the Archdeacon after the police car had left the road in front of the old vicarage.
"Yes. He's a good chap. It won't be his fault if the real culprit isn't brought to judgment."
And he went on to tell the parson all they had learned that afternoon. They were interrupted by the telephone. It was Cromwell ringing-up as promised.
"Before I answer it, sir, could I ask a favour? Could you find room for another lodger in the vicarage? I want my assistant over here with me. On holiday, of course, like me."
"Of course."
Cromwell was full of beans and Littlejohn could hear his voice as though he were shouting from the next room.
"We've got the dope you wanted, sir. Sergeant Grebe jumped at the idea of going over to St. Sylvester's to talk to his pretty nurse. He got a lot of news through her. Your end of the tale's all wrong, though. Dr. Fallows was a very decent chap. It was his wife caused the bother. Yes, his wife. Couldn't leave the men alone. Sort of disease with some people, isn't it? Nymphomaniac, the nurses at Sylvester's called her, according to Grebe, but you know what nurses are. Get exaggerating a bit, now and then, in their highfalutin professional way. It was all very simple. She got flirting with first one and then another, but finally got properly mixed-up with one of the psychiatrists. Dr. Fallows
caught them together and it seems he saw red. Socked the psycho on the jaw and laid him out cold. Quite a scandal, but they managed to hush it up at Sylvester's."
"And Fallows left for the Isle of Man?"
"Funny thing about it all was, that Fallows was crazy about his wife. All her carryings-on didn't seem to change him. He stuck to her, chucked up a fine job, and took her away into private practice, presumably where he thought she couldn't get into mischief. What a hope! Women'll get into mischief anywhere . . . even on a desert island."
"Hullo! What's suddenly made you a cynic?"
"Oh, nothing. Mother-in-law's just getting on my nerves a bit. Slapped one of the kids yesterday. I had to tell her if there was any slapping to be done, I'd do it. Then, of course, the wife started to cry. Said she didn't want any domestic bickering."
"I'll tell you what, Cromwell, come over here till it blows over."
"What? Me? Come over to the Isle of Man? I've never been there in my life and I'd like it. But you're only joking, sir."
"Dead serious. Listen, old chap . . ."
The address in East Croydon. Margat Crowe. What was she doing in London? Why was she there?
Littlejohn gave his colleague full instructions.
"Before you suggest bringing Margat back home to her father, get to know why she left the Island. Was it through Levis, or what? Then come over here with her to Grenaby by the morning 'plane the day after tomorrow. Don't tell anyone you're from the police. Explain it to the Assistant Commissioner, but ask him not to mention it to the Chief Constable here. I'm not butting-in officially. There's a good man on it in Douglas and I don't want to steal his thunder. Do your best. . . ."
"You bet, sir!"
The Cursing Stones Murder (A Cozy Mystery Thriller) (Inspector Little John Series) Page 10
