Death on the Cherwell (British Library Crime Classics)

by Mavis Doriel Hay

  “The rug, yes, since a rug has turned up. As for what was under it, don’t you think that was simply the second paddle, which we know she had, lying in the bottom of the canoe, with its end on one of the thwarts? With a rug over it, it might easily give the impression of ‘traps,’ as described by Bayes.”

  “But why the rug?”

  “That may be the key to the conundrum. You’ve found it?”

  “Yes; not more than half a dozen paces from the steps of Lond’s ruined boathouse, just as it might have caught up on the bushes if someone standing near those steps—or perhaps pushing in a little way between the bushes and the wall—had hurled it away. Wishing to get rid of it, as it might be. You couldn’t see it from the steps or the path, which explains why my men didn’t spot it. It might have been there for years if that girl hadn’t gone blundering in,” he added gloomily.

  “No means of identifying it?”

  “It’s a common enough type of rug and no name on it, of course. We’ve been through Ferry House, and it’s as the young lady said: two long strips of carving have been sliced off above the fireplace in the long room at the back. We’d have seen it quick enough without hearing of it from her; regular eyesore it is now. It seems clear that the old man was cutting away something carved there, rather than any accidental marks, because his chisel followed along what seems to have been a sort of border to the rest of the carving, quite neat and deliberate.”

  “Nothing else of interest in the house?”

  “Not a thing. That’s to say, there’s the hammer he was using with the chisel; useful little tool to knock a woman on the head with, but it seems too small to have made that bruise.”

  Braydon contemplated his map for a few minutes.

  “It seems to me that we have two problems,” he announced. “First of all, why did Miss Denning go up the river alone in her canoe? She had done it before; on this occasion—and possibly on others—she had planned beforehand to do it.” He paused.

  “That’s so, sir,” Wythe agreed. “From all that’s said she wasn’t an impulsive sort of woman. She was in the habit of mapping out her plans for the day.”

  “It looks as if she went for some purpose, presumably to meet someone secretly—unless you can think of any other object of a trip up the Char? She went up above the Parks footbridge and returned. That looks as if she kept her appointment with Unknown No. 1. Now someone else comes into the picture—Unknown No. 2. Possibly he intended to make away with her; possibly he merely wanted to talk to her without having to go to the college. In that case we must assume that the conversation was such as would lead to a quarrel and violence. Unknown No. 2 may have known of her appointment, or may have heard of it after she started out and deliberately intercepted her on her way down. Or he may have seen her, by chance, from the river bank. He may have some connection with Unknown No. 1, or may know nothing of him at all. In either case No. 1 might be expected to lie low because, in the first place, there’s something fishy about those secret meetings, and in the second, he might expect to be under suspicion, at any rate until No. 2 is found.”

  Wythe considered this for some moments. “If it’s made known at the inquest that she returned safely under the Parks bridge, you think No. 1 may come out into the open?”

  “It’s possible; if No. 1 was ignorant of No. 2’s intentions and if we throw out some feelers. In fact, I think the press should be given Bayes’s story, if they haven’t ferreted it out already, with an indication that we hope No. 1 will come forward, making it sound not too sinister.”

  “I understand, sir. You agree, I take it, that she was knocked on the head and drowned between the Parks bridge and the top of Persephone Island, in fact, near Lond’s boathouse?”

  “It seems the obvious place; perhaps too obvious. I want you to have a further search made of the banks between that and the bridge, both sides and every inch of the ground. The canoe was presumably brought up to the bank and moored there. The woman, even if she fell out of the canoe into the water, must have been dragged on to the bank; you can’t haul a body out of the river into a canoe, I should say, unless the canoe is aground or very securely moored. There ought to be something to show for all that.”

  “You’re not forgetting that mark, sir, on the bank in Ferry House garden, above the old boathouse?” Wythe inquired. “Just the place from which to push off a canoe into the current, so that it would float down the main stream.”

  “I have not. Nor have I forgotten that the steep muddy bank there is not just the place from which a man of between seventy and eighty years old—or indeed anyone else—would drop the body of a fair-sized woman into a topply canoe. Something may have happened there; it’s like the mark of one foot slipping down the bank; but it’s not the place where a body was shipped. I don’t even see how it could be done from the steps, lower down. You know what they’re like—green and slimy with mud and river deposit; rickety into the bargain. They wouldn’t stand the weight, let alone the marks that would be left by anyone struggling there with a corpse. Someone may have landed there, of course; if he was careful to pull himself up to the bank without putting a foot on the steps—which would be possible, with the river at its present height.”

  “You’re not thinking that one of those girls made the mark, sir?” asked Wythe. “You remember we found it before that Miss Watson made her little survey, and I’m pretty sure none of them strayed down there earlier—unless it was before the body was found.”

  “No, I rule out the girls,” Braydon told him. “If you can find anything to explain that mark, well and good. I only say that I don’t believe it indicates the spot where the corpse was embarked, and that’s the spot I want you to find, if you can.”

  “We’ve been pretty thorough in our search, I can promise you,” Wythe grumbled. “But of course, I’ll put them on to it again, if you say so. All the town will be mooning up and down the Parks bank and the fields to-day, since it’s Sunday, hoping to pick up clues, not to mention those college young ladies.”

  “I think I’ve given them something to occupy their attention elsewhere,” Braydon told him.

  “Old Lond and his gardener are both snug in their beds this morning, to all appearances,” Wythe continued. “I’d sooner see them safe in the cells. You don’t think——?”

  “No, I don’t. They’re not the sort that can make a quick get-away. You can keep an eye on them, but I don’t think it will do you any good.”

  “Then what do you think, sir?” exclaimed Wythe in some exasperation.

  “I’m not really thinking yet. I’m going to seek information above the Parks bridge. I want you to concentrate on the banks below the bridge. I also want you to find out where Ezekiel Lond really was on Friday afternoon. Give up trying to prove that he was at Ferry House and see if you can’t prove that he was somewhere else. I want you also to see the farmer. Lidgett. Try to find out what he was doing in the fields by the river, how long he was there, and if he really spoke to Bayes. It would be useful to see if Bayes can identify him.”

  “Right, sir, I’ll get on with that. Bearing in mind, I take it, that someone may have an alibi for two-thirty-seven but not for three-thirty-seven?”

  “Yes; remembering, of course, that that may have nothing to do with the case. And follow up anything you come across, but try not to put the wind up anyone. I may be back here by lunch-time.”

  “I’ve got the car here, sir, in case you wanted it,” said Wythe, as they left the hotel.

  “No, thanks, I’d rather walk. It clears the brain. And I want to go through the Parks. You’d better take it for your Marston visit, after you’ve set your men to work on the banks.”

  The superintendent inserted his bulky form carefully into the black M.G. Midget which stood by the pavement in Cornmarket Street and drove off to the police station. There he issued his instructions rapidly, and before long the little car nosed its way out of Blue Boar Street into St. Aldate’s, turned into the High and went snorting away ac
ross Magdalen Bridge towards Marston.

  On the near side of the village Wythe turned the car into a lane on the left leading to Hall Farm. He had been here on the previous day, only to find that James Lidgett was away at Aylesbury market. He parked the car in the lane, pushed open the garden gate and walked up to the plain square house of red brick.

  A small, chubby girl opened the door.

  “Is Mr. Lidgett in?” Wythe inquired, smiling at the child.

  She pouted at him and twined one leg round the other. “My dad’s in bed,” she informed him.

  “Tell him that Inspector Wythe wants to see him most particularly, and ask him how long he’ll be. Say I can come back in half an hour.”

  The child hesitated. “My dad won’t get up till dinner-time to-day,” she said at last.

  “Now be a good girl and run up and tell him what I said,” urged Wythe encouragingly, “or else ask your mother to come.”

  The child turned away and clumped slowly up the steep stairs which led out of the hall. The kitchen door at the end of the passage stood open and Wythe could hear someone moving about there and clattering plates. Probably Mrs. Lidgett, he thought, and probably she has overheard, but she’s not going to give any help. A surly lot, these Lidgetts!

  The child came down the stairs again, considerably more quickly than she had gone up, and faced Wythe in the doorway, looking up at him defiantly.

  “My dad’s cross,” she announced.

  “I shall be crosser if I don’t see him soon,” Wythe informed her. “Did he say when he would be down?”

  The child shook her head.

  “Tell him that I shall be back here in half an hour and if he’s not up then I’ll see him in bed. Now, mind you tell him, at once!”

  The child made no reply, but shut the door emphatically as soon as Wythe turned away. He got into the car, sputtered down the muddy lane and back towards Oxford and drove on till he came to New Marston, the settlement of small new houses at the point where Ferry Road turns off towards Persephone College. Here he turned into a side street and stopped outside one of a row of unattractive yellow brick houses.

  “Is Mr. Lond in?” Inspector Wythe asked the stout, untidy woman who came to the door in answer to his knock. She looked rather worried when she saw him.

  “He’s in his room, read’n’ the papers, Inspector. Three or four of ‘em he sent my Bobby out for this marnin’. I’d a-hoped you wouldn’ be botherin’ of ’im any more. He was in a fair way yes’day an’ out till all hours an’ came home lar’ knows what time o’ night, knock’n us up an’ all, but he’s more settled-like this marnin’. It’s a shame to upset the pore ol’ gennleman, that it is. ’E don’ know a thing about it, an’ that’s a fack!” She made no attempt to let him in, but stood squarely in the narrow doorway, looking at him with an anxious smile.

  “I wish I could be sure of that, Mrs. Marley,” Wythe replied. “The trouble is, Mr. Lond himself won’t help us. I want to ask him where he was on Friday when, as you yourself told me, he went out in the morning and didn’t come back till tea-time—about five, I think you said? If he will tell me that, I may not have to worry you or him any further.”

  “Is that true?” the woman asked suspiciously.

  “I’m making no promises,” said Wythe cautiously. “But if Mr. Lond has nothing to hide I don’t see why he shouldn’t tell me what I’m asking. One thing is certain, that I shall keep on worrying everyone until I do find out.”

  She considered this. “?’E’s not so partic’lar about ’is meals, y’know. It’s not the first time ’e’s missed ’is dinner. See here; I’ll find out if I can, an’ you come rahnd ’ere again later on and mebbe I can tell you.”

  Wythe hesitated. This was irregular. “I seem to be enlisting her in the force,” he thought to himself. But from experience he knew the difficulty of extracting any information from old Lond and perhaps his landlady knew how to humour him.

  “All right!” he agreed. “I’ll be back some time this morning.”

  He scattered the little group of boys who had been attracted to his car like wasps to a jam-pot, and aroused their open-eyed admiration by the way he backed and turned, and shot off again towards Hall Farm.

  As Wythe had expected, Jim Lidgett was shaved and dressed and downstairs and evidently on the watch for the car, for it was he who opened the door, almost before the inspector’s hand had released the knocker. Wythe had not seen him before but had often heard him described as obstinate and bad-tempered, and having met his surly wife and sulky child, had pictured the farmer himself as a heavy-featured, clumsy man. He was surprised to see him tall and well-built, trim in his dress and in his movements, clean-shaven and with very closely-clipped greyish hair.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” said Lidgett, with a quick smile. “Come in. Surprised to find a farmer in bed at ten in the morning, I’ll be bound?”

  “A bit unusual, certainly,” Wythe agreed, following the man into a chilly parlour in which a fire had just been lit. The room, with modern arm-chairs upholstered in green velvet, a gaudy carpet with deep pile, and an expensive-looking gramophone, indicated prosperity. Wythe made a bee-line for the chair with its back to the window, so that Lidgett could hardly avoid taking the one which faced the light.

  “I’m making inquiries in connection with the death of Miss Denning who, we believe, was drowned in the Cherwell on Friday afternoon,” Wythe explained, watching Lidgett’s face closely. In spite of the ready smile, it was not a pleasant face, he decided. The sharp nose and keen eyes gave it a look of cunning. Lidgett’s expression at the moment revealed only that he was on his guard.

  “You’d better tell me a bit more, Inspector,” he said. “All I know is what I’ve read in the paper—and not much of that. I was at Aylesbury market all day yesterday, as you know, and came home late. Some people seem to think a farmer has nothing to do but mooch about his fields all day; they forget the business he has to attend to.”

  “That sounds as though you’re doing well,” Wythe suggested.

  “None too bad. Farming’s all right if you’ve got brains, and use ’em,” Lidgett replied.

  “Well, this is the point; we know that Miss Denning went up the river in her canoe on Friday afternoon. It is important for us to be able to fix the exact times of her movements. I understand that you were in your fields by the river bank and probably saw her, so your information may be of value. You know Miss Denning, I believe?”

  “Her at the college on the island?” inquired Lidgett, unnecessarily. “I know her well enough, when I see her. I’ve tried to do business with her, as you know, but she was so set on getting hold of Mr. Lond’s old ruin that she would hardly look at my site.”

  “That was a disappointment to you, I take it?” Wythe suggested.

  Lidgett grinned. “As for that, someone else may be wiser. I don’t let it worry me. There’s buyers in plenty for the land round here.”

  “To return to Friday afternoon, I suppose you saw Miss Denning go past in her canoe?” Wythe asked.

  “You’re supposing too much,” said Lidgett, with another quick smile. “I saw nothing of her, though I don’t deny I was in those fields.”

  “At what time were you there?”

  Lidgett considered. “I was up here about the rickyard and the byres after dinner, till two or thereabouts, as my men can tell you. Then I walked across to the river and followed the bank all the way down, as far as Mr. Lond’s place.”

  “Where did you strike the river?” asked Wythe.

  “About opposite the Rhea.”

  “That’s a bit above St. Simeon’s, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. I may have been there about a quarter past two, but there’s no telling exactly. I don’t see what good this is going to do you, Inspector,” Lidgett remarked pleasantly; “since I didn’t set eyes on the lady.”

  “I don’t quite know how you failed to see her,” said Wythe. “Do you remember meeting a young man with a dog, as
you came down by the river?”

  “White terrier? I remember him all right and I shouldn’t be surprised if he remembers me.” Lidgett seemed amused.

  “He was going down towards the Parks bridge, I think, and overtook you?” Wythe suggested.

  “You haven’t got it quite right. He came across the fields, rather from this direction, with his blasted terrier rampaging about among my cows. Whatever these young undergrads learn at college, they don’t learn much common sense. We had a few words and he went on ahead of me, along the bank.”

  “And you followed, I take it?”

  “I went on, along the same path, with no call to move at the pace he was going,” Lidgett amended.

  “And do you know,” said Wythe impressively, “that this young man, Mr. Bayes, as he crossed the footbridge saw Miss Denning come down the river in her canoe?”

  “Not having seen the young gent since, I didn’t know that,” replied Lidgett cheerfully. “But it seems you’ve got your evidence about her being there, so why come bothering about whether I saw her or not?”

  “I want to fix the time, which this Mr. Bayes isn’t sure about,” Wythe explained patiently. “I also want to know how it was that when Mr. Bayes saw the canoe from the bridge, you, who must have been on the bank a little above the bridge, say you didn’t see her at all?”

  Lidgett barked a short laugh. “I can’t tell you how it was, Inspector. You say she passed me and of course you know. There may have been a hundred canoes passed down the river that afternoon, for all I care. I wasn’t there to watch the races; I was there to look at my banks. As long as these here canoers keep to their blasted canoes they can paddle up and down all day and all night, for all I care. But if they come scrambling up the banks into my fields they’d better look out, I say. And that’s that!”

  “Do you mean to tell me,” Wythe persisted, “that you don’t know whether one canoe or several canoes or no canoes at all passed down that river whilst you were walking slowly along the bank?”