Hardy dipped his head under the beams to cross the floor to the bar, through a doorway opposite. Thackeray escorted Harriet to a table screened from the other group by a short projecting wall, but still visible to Cribb.
The narrative in the corner finished as Hardy ordered his two beers and a cider, so his conversation with the landlord was heard by everyone in the room.
“Come by the river, have you, sir?”
“Over the bridge, actually. The village is charmin’ from the river, but we wanted to see it at close quarters.”
“I hope it didn’t disappoint you.”
“Quite the reverse. It’s as pretty a spot as any of us have seen. We’d like to stay the night. Do you have three rooms—or a single and a double?”
“Whichever you like. Have you got luggage?”
“One case only. It’s all in one for ease of travellin’. We’ll take three single rooms, then.”
“Two, three and four,” said the landlord. “The gentleman in the parlour is in number one. The party in the corner are going on to Culham. They’re following the route of the—”
“Don’t tell me—Three Men in a Boat!” said Hardy, loudly enough to be heard at the end of the room.
The Viking turned in his chair. The others also moved their heads for a better view, and a low shaft of sunlight flashed on two pairs of spectacles. At the other table, Harriet’s hand caught Thackeray’s and held it.
“Did somebody make a reference to the celebrated book by Mr. Jerome K. Jerome?” asked the man in pinstripes. As he spoke, his top lip rolled upwards to reveal a row of large, uneven teeth.
“Merely a quip,” said Hardy, appearing with his tray of drinks. “Three Men in a Boat. D’you see?”
If the man in pinstripes did see, he was not amused. “Are you familiar with the work, then?”
“I’ve heard of it, of course,” said Hardy, “but I wouldn’t pretend to have read it.”
“Just as well, sir,” commented the landlord, following him in to pursue the conversation. “These gentlemen know it better than a bishop knows his Bible. What does Mr. Jerome say about the Barley Mow, gentlemen?”
“Come, come. That’s no test at all,” said the large man. “It is well known that some of the book was written in this very house last summer. I’m sure you like to hear it repeated, Landlord, but anyone with the slightest knowledge of Three Men in a Boat must remember the complimentary things Jerome says about your inn. If you want to put our knowledge to the test, do us the credit of devising a more difficult question than that.”
The landlord coloured and found something needing attention in the taproom.
“I’ve got one for you,” said Cribb, apparently deciding that the conversation ought to be encouraged. “Where did the three men put up in Marlow?”
“Easy!” said the man with the thick spectacles. “The Crown. We were there on Tuesday night.” He spoke in bursts and with an excess of enthusiasm, as if every phrase ought to be punctuated with an exclamation mark.
“Splendid!” said Cribb, catching the habit. “What is it?—a pilgrimage you and your friends are making?”
The large man looked at each of the others and back at Cribb. “In a manner of speaking it is. We’re each of us admirers of Mr. Jerome’s work. From your question, sir, I take it that you share our enthusiasm.”
“It’s a book I greatly enjoyed, but never finished,” said Cribb. “I left my copy somewhere and haven’t picked up another since. My name’s Cribb, by the way. I’m travelling the lazy man’s way—by passenger steamer.”
“Humberstone,” announced the large man. “And my co-pilgrims are Mr. Gold”—he extended a hand towards the owner of the thick spectacles—“and Mr. Lucifer.” The lip lifted to display the teeth again in something between a smile and a snarl.
“So you stayed at the Crown on Tuesday,” Cribb repeated. “You must have passed through Hurley the day the body was picked up from the weir.”
“Body?” said Gold. “We heard nothing about a body.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have, unless we asked,” said Humberstone with a glare. “It isn’t the sort of thing people mention to strangers, like the weather.”
“A suicide, I suppose?” said Gold, shrugging off the rebuke.
“Only a tramp,” contributed the landlord, appearing again. “Probably drank too much and fell in. Carrying quite a lot of money, he was. Didn’t you see it in the newspaper?”
Lucifer shook his head. “One of our reasons for embarking upon this little excursion was to escape from newspapers and their dismal tidings. You cannot open The Times these days without reading of death and disaster. Thank Heaven for men like Mr. Jerome, who afford us a brief respite from such things.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Cribb, lifting his glass. “It’s a wonderful thing to get out of the City for a bit and take a boat up the river, even if it’s only in your imagination. Are you gentlemen in business together?”
“We work for a prominent life insurance company, the Providential,” said Humberstone. “As you may imagine, there isn’t much occasion for jollity in the claims department, so Mr. Lucifer here occasionally reads us items from periodicals he buys at the station bookstall in the morning. One of these is Home Chimes, in which he found the first instalment of Three Men in a Boat. Gold and I were surprised to hear belly laughs coming from his corner of the office, particularly as his job is answering letters from the recently bereaved. We insisted that he read the chapter aloud. We read it every day for a week, until the next issue of Home Chimes appeared. It was such a wonderful pick-me-up that we got through our work in half the time, and the claims department was soon known as the jolliest office in the Providential. Naturally we all bought a copy of the book as soon as it appeared and read it from cover to cover again. It followed quite without question that we arranged to take our holiday together on the Thames. We know every incident by heart, and consequently everything along the route has its interest, you see. By the way, Lucifer, one shouldn’t suggest that death and disaster are totally absent from the book.”
“Ah!” said Gold. “The dog in the water at Windsor.”
“No, I think Humberstone must be referring to the woman in the water at Pangbourne,” said Lucifer. “That unfortunate creature of sin who put an end to her troubles by drowning herself—like your tramp, I presume, Landlord. Are bodies often recovered from the river in these parts?”
“Occasionally, sir, occasionally. It’s more common the other side of Teddington, I believe, in the tidal river. The closer you get to London, the more unfortunates there are, you see. Women mostly, that have taken to a life of sin and come to regret it. I believe they jump off the bridges. I’d do the same if I was in their position, come to think of it, with that there Jack the Ripper stalking the streets murdering and mutilating those he finds.”
“The Ripper?” repeated Gold. “Hasn’t been heard of for months. Gone into retirement, in my opinion.”
“He obviously favours the winter for its dark nights and fog,” said Lucifer. “I have no doubt we shall hear of him again before the end of the year.”
“If the police were any good at their job, they’d have caught him long ago,” said Humberstone. “He leaves them enough clues. They even found the knife after one of the murders. A great long-bladed thing it was, with a wooden handle, and the blood still on it.”
Across the room Thackeray said confidentially to Harriet, “I think you ought to step outside for a bit, miss. This sort of conversation ain’t suitable for one of the fair sex.”
She had to make an effort to compose herself before replying. Thackeray’s suggestion had been kindly intended, no doubt, but what presumptions it made! “From what I have heard of Jack the Ripper’s doings,” she said, “my sex has more reason to be informed about him than yours. You may step outside if you like, but I shall remain.”
“Some say he took his own life after the murder in Miller’s Court,” Cribb was saying. “He spent at le
ast an hour dissecting that unfortunate woman. It was the ultimate in his style of killing. There was nothing more dreadful he could do.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the theory,” said Lucifer, speaking with disquieting authority on this subject. “A man of his description is said to have drowned himself in the Thames a few days after. A very convenient occurrence, for it reassured the public that London was safe again and stopped the accusations of police ineptitude. My own belief is that Jack slaked his thirst for blood last winter, but it will be as irresistible as ever when the nights get long again. Would anyone care for another beer?”
“The conversation seems to have taken a morbid turn,” said Humberstone, pushing his glass towards Lucifer. “Whatever got us round to this subject?”
Cribb helpfully recapitulated. “Three Men in a Boat and a body in the river.”
“Who would have thought there was any connection at all between Jerome and the unspeakable Jack?” said Humberstone.
“It takes all sorts to make a world, eh?” said Gold. “Take any night last summer in London. There was Jerome under one roof writing a comic masterpiece and Jack under another brooding on murder and mutilation. Lord knows what was going on under all the other roofs.”
“Safest not to inquire,” said Cribb. “Mind, I don’t suppose it’s generally known that Three Men in a Boat is read aloud in a certain life insurance office, but if it hurts nobody, I don’t see that there’s anything offensive in it. Doing the river trip yourselves is a stunning idea, if I might say so, gentlemen. Are you following Jerome to the letter?”
“So far as we are able,” answered Lucifer. “He is disconcertingly ambiguous at times. In Chapter 18 you will find that the three sleep under canvas in the backwater at Culham. Next morning, two or three pages on, they wake up three miles downriver, for they proceed to pass through Clifton Lock.”
“Perhaps Jerome had a drink too many in the Barley Mow,” suggested Cribb. “But do you propose spending the night at Culham?”
“Most certainly. Like the characters in the book, we want to be in Oxford as early as we can tomorrow. We shall have to leave here in half an hour.”
“I don’t suppose you have a dog like the one in the book,” said Cribb.
“Oh, but we do. We borrowed one for the excursion from a friend of Gold’s. It answers to the name of Towser, which is a poor substitute for Montmorency, but we have problems enough persuading the beast that we are well-intentioned, without altering its name. The skiff, so far as we can ascertain, is exactly similar to the one in the book. And we are visiting the same places, but we are not so slavish in our length of stay. You will remember that Jerome’s immortal trio spent two days at Streatley. One only was enough for us.”
“Why was that?”
“We saw all that there was to see in one morning. A pretty place, but not one to linger in.”
“Marlow’s got more to offer,” added Gold. “I’d have spent another night in Marlow gladly.”
“It’s very comfortable at the Crown, I gather,” said Cribb, seizing on this.
“Oh yes. Comfortable, indeed.”
“I’m trying to think which hotel the Crown is,” Cribb went on. “Is it the one near the bridge?”
“Tolerably near, yes,” Gold cautiously replied.
“With a good view of the river, from the best rooms, of course?”
“I don’t quite recall.” Gold hesitated, taking off his spectacles and replacing them as if that might improve his memory. “We had rooms at the back, you see, so you wouldn’t see the river from there.”
“If it’s the Crown at Marlow you’re talking about,” said the landlord, “you wouldn’t see the river wherever your room was. It’s at the top of the High Street.”
CHAPTER
15
A reluctant promenader—Introduction of forensic science—Towser makes his mark
“IF WE’RE GOIN’ to take a walk by the river before sunset, we’d best be movin’,” said Hardy, his eyes transmitting something of mysterious significance.
Thackeray, baffled, put down his glass.
“My word, yes,” Harriet piped up. “We mustn’t leave it any later.”
With copious nodding and touching of hats, they took leave of the others in the parlour and stepped outside.
Thackeray immediately rounded on Hardy. “What’s this about? Haven’t we done enough walking? If you want to promenade along the towpath with Miss Shaw, then ask her straight out, but understand that I’m not playing the part of blooming chaperone. I’m in no condition to walk anywhere except up them stairs to a proper bed.”
“Hold on, Ted,” said Hardy. “You’ll get to that bed in good time, but there’s things to do before that. I hope we all understood what was going on in there just now.”
“Of course we did,” retorted Thackeray. “Cribb was drawing them out as the beer loosened their tongues. You can’t tell me nothing about his methods, young Hardy. I was working with him when you was running about in short trousers.”
“Please moderate your voices, gentlemen, or they’ll be coming out to see what’s going on,” warned Harriet. “Let’s walk at least a short way from the windows. Then perhaps one of you will enlighten me as to the significance of the conversation we just overheard.”
They started towards the river, Thackeray kicking petulantly at stones along the path, Harriet striving to recollect Miss Plummer’s advice on the management of difficult pupils.
“First, will you tell us if you recognized them, miss?” asked Hardy. “Can you positively say they were the three you saw from the river the other night?”
Positively; this was what they would ask in court when she was there to testify. This was the reason why she was here. “I cannot be positive without seeing them in profile. The largest, Mr. Humberstone, certainly had the same sort of hat, and there was something of the Persian Gulf about him, but I did not get a view of the others from where we were seated. That isn’t much help, I’m afraid.”
“No matter, miss. Cribb caught them out famously, anyway. Their game is up. Did you notice the mistake they made over the Crown at Marlow? Couldn’t see the river from the bank! They’ve never been near the Crown, and that’s plain.”
“It might have been a slip of the tongue,” said Harriet. “I don’t see how anything so trivial as that condemns them. What does it matter where they put up in Marlow?”
“It matters because they claimed to be there on Tuesday, the night the tramp was murdered. If they did stay at the Crown, they’ve got an alibi. Marlow is two miles downriver from Hurley.”
“Couldn’t they have rowed up from Marlow after dark?”
“No, miss. There are two locks in that stretch of the river, Temple and Hurley. Locks are closed at sundown. They might have got to Hurley, but their boat couldn’t. That’s if they did put up at Marlow. If they were lyin’, as seems to be the case, they could have rowed beyond Hurley on Tuesday, murdered the tramp that night and carried on upriver in the mornin’.”
“But why should three respectable employees of an insurance company take it into their heads to murder a wretched vagrant?”
“That’s the biggest mystery of all, miss. Sergeant Cribb is doin’ his best to unravel it at this moment. First he needs absolute proof of their guilt. He was hopin’ you would identify them, but you say you can’t.”
“Not yet. If I see them in their boat, I shall try to be sure. The light is very poor in the Barley Mow.”
“Quite so, miss. You’ve got to be convinced. Proof positive. And I think I’ve got the means of obtainin’ it.”
“What’s that?” demanded Thackeray.
“This.” Hardy took the wrapped polony from under his arm and held it between them in his two hands like an oblation.
“That sausage?”
“We shall shortly put it to the service of Scotland Yard,” Hardy went on, “in accordance with the principles of forensic science.”
“Good Lord!”
“We are not so backward in the country as you might suppose, Ted. When you come up against a crime as sinister as this one, you have to bring the latest methods of detection to bear on it.”
“Sausages?” squeaked Thackeray.
“Murder on the river,” continued Hardy, undistracted by the outburst, “produces its own special problems for the detective. On solid ground the scene of a crime tells some sort of story if you go over it carefully. Footprints, marks of entry, bloodstains, strands of cloth, hairs. On the river, nothing. You’re lucky if the body is recovered. Happily for us the corpse in this case had certain marks of great significance.”
“Bruising round the neck and shoulders,” said Thackeray. “We know all this.”
“And something else.”
“The dog bite, you mean?”
“Exactly. Now suppose you and I could obtain proof that the dog on Humberstone’s boat was the same animal that sank its teeth into the dead man’s leg.”
“Strike a light!” said Thackeray. “Teethmarks—the sausage—that’s bloody smart, young Roger. Forgive my language, miss, but you’ve got to give praise when it’s due. Don’t you think it’s bloody smart too?”
“That is not the expression I would choose,” Harriet answered, “but the idea had not occurred to me, I confess. Do you think it will work?” To admit that Hardy’s plan had set her heart pounding with possibilities was inconceivable. Yet if he actually managed to obtain teethmarks on the polony that matched those on the dead man’s leg, the guilt of the three would surely be proved beyond doubt. The matter would no longer hinge on her ability to identify them. She would be absolved of that awful responsibility.
“We can but try,” said Hardy. “Let’s introduce ourselves to Towser.”
They walked down to the Lucrecia without subterfuge. The direct approach was always best with dogs, Thackeray announced, mentioning that before he joined the C.I.D. his duties had included rounding up strays for the dog pound. It did cross Harriet’s mind that Hardy had taken a little more than his share of the limelight. Fortified by Thackeray’s experience, Harriet and Hardy passed no comment on the intermittent barking as their footsteps sounded on the gravel.
Swing, Swing Together Page 7
