Knock, Murderer, Knock!

by Harriet Rutland

  “No,” replied Mr. Winkley.

  “No?” repeated Dr. Williams in amazement. “Then what was the point of staging that open scandal between Miss Lewis and myself so that Ada could see us?”

  “Haven’t you tumbled to that yet?” asked Mr. Winkley. “Perhaps I’d better give you the case against Miss Astill from the beginning.”

  “Wait a minute,” said the doctor, getting up from his chair. “Let me fill your glass first.”

  Chapter 43

  “I first noticed Miss Astill,” began Mr. Winkley, after the amber liquid in the glasses of the three men had been adjusted to a satisfactory level, “on the first day of my visit to the Hydro, because she was the only one who seemed to suspect that I was from Scotland Yard. That was nothing in itself, but it did just strike me that it might be a case of the fear being father to the thought. Then I staged the reconstruction scene in the drawing-room...”

  “I could never make out why you concentrated on that murder instead of the one in the baths,” interrupted Palk. “To all intents and purposes you were going over a crime which had already been solved.”

  “You must remember that I never believed ‘Sir Humphrey’ guilty of the murder, and I had a feeling that all the clues lay in that first crime. However, I admit that I partly staged it in the drawing-room because I realized that, as Dr. Williams says, wild horses would never have dragged them into the baths, and I hoped that the murderer would be induced to come forward in some way.”

  “Then I was in danger on that settee,” remarked Miss Lewis. “I certainly felt that I was at the time.”

  “No. You see, I had taken the precaution to turn out the lights and no one could have found the exact spot to stab your head in the dark.”

  “I was furious with you about that reconstruction,” smiled Palk. “I really believed that you were one of these well-intentioned amateurs who do so much to hamper the police. You said at the time that you had gained some valuable information out of it. I always wondered whether you meant that or not.”

  “I got another piece of information which tended to strengthen my suspicion of Miss Astill,” returned Mr. Winkley, “but of course I exaggerated it all to blazes when I told you it was valuable. You see, the drawing-room furniture had been changed round as much as possible since the murder; that was the doctor’s idea to try and persuade people to make use of the room again; and the settee had been pulled crosswise to the one side of the hearth. I had been shown all over the Hydro by Dr. Williams, and knew that the settee had been standing directly in front of the hearth when Miss Blake’s body was found, but, as a new arrival, I had to pretend not to know this, and so asked how it was that Miss Lewis was so clearly visible to the whole room when she sat on the settee. It was Miss Astill who volunteered the information that the settee must have been moved since the murder, but I didn’t place too much importance on this at the time because it was quite possible that the maid who found the body had described the whole scene thoroughly to her. I just docketed the fact until after Bobby’s murder. Then I did get a definite line on Miss Astill, but it was just luck. As you know, when Grace screamed I ‘happened’ to be nearest to the shrubbery, and naturally ‘slipped’ in to have a look!”

  He cast an expressive glance at the Inspector, and Palk wriggled unhappily in his chair.

  “All right, don’t rub it in,” he growled.

  “Well,” laughed Mr. Winkley, “I sent Colonel Simcox up to the house for the doctor because I had only that minute parted from the old boy and knew that he hadn’t had time to kill a beetle let alone to kill a child. I was able to get a good look at everyone as he or she came into the shrubbery, but it didn’t tell me much until after Mrs. Dawson was taken away. Then Miss Astill knelt down beside the body with her back to all the others, and said, ‘He is safe in the arms of Jesus.’ Her voice sounded reverent enough, but when I looked down at her face I saw that it looked excited and suffused, just as it did half an hour ago, and her expression was... well... gloating is the only word that expresses it. It was the look you might expect to see on the face of a priest who has just made a human sacrifice to Moloch, and it set me thinking backwards, in the way that one is taught to tackle geometry problems at school. I at once assumed that she was the murderess and, as she didn’t look normal, I assumed that her motive was abnormal too. I went back to Newton St. Mary with the Inspector and we talked the case over together. I was lucky to recognize Harry the Punter and to make a good guess about Matthews, but it was really Sergeant Jago who solved the case for me. He put forward two suggestions which, I admit, he would never have done if he’d thought we were discussing the murders seriously. He said that all the victims had been young and good-looking, and that all the scandal of the Hydro was manufactured in Miss Brendon’s room. He also said that someone had just started a new scandal involving the names of Miss Lewis and the doctor.”

  The two people he mentioned exchanged glances, and Miss Lewis blushed unaccountably.

  “Inspector Palk gave me his records of the case,” continued Mr. Winkley, noting the blush without appearing to do so, “and I went very carefully over his notes relating to Miss Astill. I felt that I was on the right track when I dis-covered that she had become violently excited, almost frenzied indeed, when speaking of Miss Blake’s morals and clothes, or her lack of them. It occurred to me that a possible motive might be the removal of some form of immorality from the Hydro, which seemed to fit even better when I remembered that Miss Astill was always talking about her loyalty’ to it.

  “You may think this isn’t motive enough for murder nowadays, when most young people wear evening undress, and drink and say ‘My God,’ but you can’t judge Miss Astill by normal standards. She is a product of an age which is fast dying out, and is quite incapable of adapting herself to modern ideas and fashions. She is a spinster who has reached what is vaguely spoken of as ‘The Dangerous Age’ (if you can call any one age of woman more dangerous than another, which I doubt), who gave up all her youth to nursing an invalid mother and an irascible father. You heard her say that her father was a cavalry officer, and I bet he gave her hell. If it doesn’t convey much to you, let me remind you that an officer in those days was the product of a discipline which demanded that dying men should stand to attention and salute when visited by their superior officer in hospital. Brought up strictly as a prude, Miss Astill was kept out of contact with the outside world, and when she came to Presteignton Hydro after her parents’ death she lived amongst the same kind of people who still dressed in the fashions of their parents. The appearance of Miss Blake must have been a severe shock to her sense of propriety and modesty. I am told that Miss Blake came down for dinner the first time in a skin-tight, cerise evening gown with no back and very little front, with shoes and lipstick to match, and that she at once made a bee-line for Colonel Simcox, who, up to that time, had been Miss Astill’s recognized champion.”

  “She was got up to kill that night,” remarked Miss Lewis. “She would have been noticeable even at a night-club, so you can imagine what she looked like at the Hydro, where the women sport bottle-green or black velveteen dresses with high necks and elbow-sleeves in the evening. The men couldn’t take their eyes off her.”

  “Of course, it was all part of her work to dress like that,” said Mr. Winkley. “She attracted the men while Harry the Punter attracted the women.”

  Palk tapped his chin with the middle finger of his left hand.

  “But if Miss Astill felt that she was divinely inspired to clear the Hydro of all immorality, I don’t see why she left Nurse Hawkins alone,” he said. “Surely she and the Admiral were the obvious pair to start on. The place was seething about them all the time.”

  “In her own way Miss Astill was very fair,” replied Mr. Winkley. She never acted on hearsay alone. Miss Blake would never have been killed unless she had been seen going into the woods and into a bedroom with Sir Humphrey, and Winnie Marston would never have been killed unless she had been seen i
n the car with Matthews’ arms around her. Nurse Hawkins was all the time out for marriage; she was very careful, for her own sake, not to allow the Admiral to take the slightest liberty with her. It was only oglings and tender words between those two.”

  “But where does Ada Rogers fit in?” asked the doctor.

  “That’s where Sergeant Jago helped me,” said Mr. Winkley. “The Hydro scandals actually did originate in Miss Brendon’s room. Ada Rogers’ ruling characteristic was an overwhelming devotion to her mistress. When Miss Brendon’s sight began to fail, Rogers kept her own eyes and ears open more widely, so that she could gather as many scraps of information as possible to tell her. After that, she developed a tendency to give news value to each incident in order to entertain her mistress... after all, it is a method adopted extensively by all journalists today. Rogers was in a particularly advantageous position for getting news because she was the connecting link between the staff and the residents. She learned the gossip of the day from the housekeeper and retailed it to the residents through her mistress, and she also obtained it from the visitors to Miss Brendon’s room and retailed it to the housekeeper. Miss Brendon’s chief friend was Miss Astill. When Rogers had found some extra juicy piece of scandal, Miss Astill would be asked up to Miss Brendon’s room to tea on the following day. I knew that if we started a rumour about the doctor and Miss Lewis, and followed it up by staging the little bedroom scene right under Ada Rogers’ nose, that Miss Astill would be invited to tea by the old lady on the next day, just as she had been invited on the day after Winnie Marston had been seen making love to her father s chauffeur.”

  “Yes, that’s all very clear,” interpolated Miss Lewis, “but why did she act so quickly in my case? It was only twenty-four hours ago that Dr. Williams and I acted your little drama at the bedroom door, when we were sure that Ada Rogers would see us and pass the information of our “intrigue’ to Miss Astill through Miss Brendon. What made her act so quickly?”

  “She always acted quickly,” replied Mr. Winkley. “She had her own distorted idea of fair play. She never acted on suspicion only, but once she had real evidence of some supposed immorality, she acted at once. Miss Blake was killed the same evening that Miss Astill saw Sir Humphrey go into her bedroom; Winnie Marston was killed the morning after Miss Astill had visited Miss Brendon and learned of her affaire with Matthews; Bobby Dawson was killed probably within ten minutes of his doing or saying the thing which offended her. The attempt on you, Miss Lewis, was made an hour after she had seen Dr. Williams leave your bedroom. And again she was scrupulously fair to you in her queer way, for she would not have killed you on Ada Rogers’ evidence. She hid herself in the maids’ closet, just as she did before Miss Blake’s murder. You were convicted on the evidence of her own eyes. She acted swiftly because her method of murdering her victims was swift and simple. It did not need any elaborate preparation. But even if she had not moved quickly to kill her other victims, I knew she would be in a hurry to murder you, because for years she had cherished a secret passion for the doctor and she hoped that one day he’d look her way.”

  “Good lord!” exclaimed Dr. Williams with great feeling. “As if I’d look twice at an old hag like her!” He endeavoured to prove his statement by looking several times at Miss Lewis.

  “Once would have been enough,” replied Mr. Winkley.

  “Go on,” urged Palk, looking cross-eyed at the bowl of his pipe.

  “Well, as soon as Miss Astill heard of this new scandal, all she had to do was to take another knitting-needle out of Miss Brendon’s tatting cushion...”

  “What?” roared Palk, nearly knocking a front tooth out with his pipe.

  “Didn’t I tell you that?” asked Mr. Winkley with aggravating composure. “Yes, she kept the knitting-needles there. I suspected it as soon as Jago started talking about it. It was the obvious place and about the only one which was likely to be overlooked.”

  “It may be obvious to you, Mr. Winkley,” put in Miss Lewis before Inspector Palk could recover his breath sufficiently to ask the questions trembling on his lips, “but how did the knitting-needles get into the cushion in the first place, and how did Miss Astill get them out when she wanted them without anyone seeing her?”

  “I thought that part of it so clear,” replied Mr. Winkley. “Miss Astill put a supply... half a dozen, I should imagine... we can check up on that tomorrow... into the cushion, after she had decided to begin murdering certain people. It was quite easy for her to push them into the cushion when Miss Brendon was making her lace, if she chose a time when Rogers was absent for a few minutes. Miss Brendon’s hearing was acute, but any sound they made would mingle with the clicking of the bobbins. When Miss Astill wanted to obtain possession of what the newspaper reporters call ‘the murder weapon’ she could easily work one out of the cushion with her hands if she stood over it when the old lady wasn’t using it. It was easy enough, because Miss Brendon so rarely did any tatting within recent years, and all she had to do then was to slip the needle into the work-bag which she always carried around with her. It didn’t require much sleight of hand, and it was the obvious place because, although it was in everyone’s sight and thus allayed suspicion, it would never be likely to be moved from Miss Brendon’s room. I made sure that the needles were hidden inside the cushion, but didn’t have it moved because our only chance of proving that Miss Astill was the murderess was to catch her in the act of attacking someone.”

  “You wouldn’t think that a thin little woman like her would be strong enough to murder anyone,” said Miss Lewis.

  “She was very wiry,” said the doctor. “I’ve seen her lift Mrs. Napier to her feet more easily than Nurse Hawkins could do in spite of her extra weight, and, of course, anyone insane becomes possessed of almost superhuman strength, as the body feeds at the expense of the brain. You all saw how strong she was tonight.”

  Miss Lewis frowned.

  “I still don’t see why she murdered Bobby Dawson. He was such an innocent child.”

  “Are children innocent in these days?” asked Mr. Winkley. “We shall never know what immorality he was guilty of in Miss Astill’s sight, until the doctor’s little girl is fit to talk about it, and perhaps not even then. I can only guess that he did or said something which she considered immoral. He may have unbuttoned his trousers in front of her – you know how supremely unconscious of themselves little boys of that age are. To a woman with such a mania, only a tiny thing would be needed to make her decide to remove him.”

  “How horrible!” exclaimed Miss Lewis, her eyes filling with tears. “Just think of him standing there with his little hands held up to his face, counting up to a hundred before he could look round, and that... that fiend creeping up behind him!”

  They were all silent for a moment, then Palk said:

  “You haven’t told us how she did it, yet.”

  Chapter 44

  Mr. Winkley helped himself to another cigarette from the doctor’s silver box.

  “I imagine that Miss Astill had already planned to murder Miss Blake on the night of the concert,” he began, “and was waiting with her door unlatched to hear when her intended victim came up to bed. The fact that ‘Sir Humphrey’ actually went into her bedroom that night only served to justify the murder more completely to Miss Astill. She was, of course, just as incensed against ‘Sir Humphrey’ as against Miss Blake, but was cunning enough to realize that if she played her part well she would implicate him in the murder and so rid the Hydro of both of them at once. With this idea, her evidence was partly true and partly false. She very cleverly led you, Palk, to believe that she was going along to the lavatory when Sir Humphrey and Miss Blake came upstairs; but actually, as soon as she heard them, she slipped into the maids’ closet opposite Miss Blake’s bedroom and watched from there, just as Ada Rogers watched the doctor last night. She may have returned to her room then, but she didn’t wait long before knocking on the door, because Miss Blake was still fully dressed when she was murd
ered; so we can take it, I think, that she hadn’t had time to undress, since she would think nothing of going downstairs in a dressing-gown, or in her pyjamas, for that matter.

  “Miss Astill must have got her to go downstairs by saying that she had left her purse or some such thing in the drawing-room and was afraid to go down alone. You heard tonight how plausible she can be. When they got down to the drawing-room, she probably pretended that she could see her purse under the settee, and when Miss Blake stooped down to look, she stabbed her in that vital spot at the back of her head with the needle. Then she lifted the body on to the settee where it was found.”

  “But how did she know about that vital spot?” asked Miss Lewis. “It must have required some special knowledge... I mean, I should never have dreamed that you could kill anyone through the skull with a knitting-needle. Oh, I know that there are plenty of medical books about the Hydro, but I still don’t see how Miss Astill could have got the idea of killing anyone in that way from them, unless she knew what to look for.”

  “She did know,” replied Mr. Winkley. “Mrs. Dawson told her.”

  “That woman again!” groaned the Inspector.

  Mr. Winkley smiled.

  “Yes, Inspector. Our lady novelist had been studying all the medical books she could find, with the object of discovering some new and striking – if you will forgive the pun – method of murder for her new book. As you know, she is not the type of woman to keep any new idea to herself, and she promptly told the first person she saw all about it. Perhaps you remember that she was almost sure she’d explained this idea to someone, but couldn’t recollect to whom. I saw her again this morning and she was very helpful. She had recovered from the first stunning shock of Bobby’s murder, and her only thought was to find the murderer and see him hanged. I made her take her mind back to the time when she was planning her new book, and at last she remembered that it was Miss Astill with whom she had discussed the idea of killing anyone through the medulla with a knitting-needle. She had the book with her and had pointed out the exact position of the vital spot on a diagram of a skull. We know that Miss Astill had taken a course of nursing in her young days, so that she could attend her father, so she had a rudimentary understanding of anatomy, and she had plenty of opportunity for studying the backs of her victims’ heads.”