Motives For Murder

by J F Straker

  ‘No one,’ said Anne. ‘I took it down to Colin at once — after I’d looked for you, of course. I wish you’d been here,’ she added sorrowfully; ‘then this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘So do I, miss. How about you, sir? Could anyone have seen it while it was in your possession?’

  ‘Quite impossible, Inspector.’

  Pitt went out into the empty hall, the others following. Against the opposite wall hung a miscellaneous collection of coats, raincoats, and other outdoor garments. At the Inspector’s bidding Colin pointed out his own.

  ‘Is it in the same position now as when you hung it up before tea?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  Pitt looked at the name-tabs on the coats on either side of Colin’s. ‘Mr Smelton’s and Mr Latimer’s,’ he announced. ‘Not that that has any significance. If no one knew you had the bottle it must have been discovered accidentally. Has anyone in the school got a raincoat similar to yours, Mr Russell?’

  ‘No, not quite the same. James Latimer has a fawn one, but his is lighter in colour and not so heavy.’

  The Inspector nodded absently, his mind momentarily elsewhere. But he listened attentively as Anne described the bottle to him in detail, and then dismissed the two culprits with no assurance that they would not later be called to account for their misdemeanour.

  They were half-way across the hall when Pitt remembered something.

  ‘Just a minute, Mr Russell,’ he said; and, as Colin turned and came back, ‘When you saw Mr Moull returning from his walk on the morning Mr Connaught was drowned — what colour were his trousers?’

  ‘Eh?’ Colin was startled. Then, realizing that detectives did occasionally ask questions which to the layman seemed pointless, and anxious to redeem himself in the Inspector’s eyes, he stood silent, wrapped in thought.

  ‘I don’t think I can remember,’ he said slowly, screwing up his eyes in a concentrated effort to visualize the scene. ‘But I do know that he was wearing grey flannel trousers at breakfast. Someone Miss Dove, I think it was — spilled tea on them, and he had to go up and change.’

  Pitt was still fuming when Maddox returned to the library with Doris. The girl was delighted at this further tribute to her importance, but disappointed when told what was wanted of her. Early morning tea, she thought, could not rate very high when it came to murder; unless, of course, there was poison in it, the same as there had been in Mr Russell’s milk.

  ‘They all have it,’ she said. ‘All except Mr Russell — he don’t drink tea. And Mrs Latimer has one of them electric things. You know — it tells the time and wakes you up and boils the kettle.’

  ‘Do you remember the morning old Mr Connaught was drowned?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘I remember him bein’ drowned,’ said the girl. ‘But if you was to ask me which day it was I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘Well, can you remember any morning during the past three weeks when you went into one of the bedrooms and found it empty? What time do you take the tea up, by the way?’

  ‘Just before seven.’ There was a pause while Doris considered the first question. ‘Yes, I can. I think it was about a fortnight ago that Mr Moull wasn’t in his room.’

  ‘He hadn’t just gone to the bathroom, perhaps?’

  ‘Well, his clothes wasn’t on the chair, and he don’t usually get up early. I mostly has to wake him. I left his tea on the table, just in case, but it was still there when I collected the cups.’

  ‘Had his bed been slept in?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Anyways, the bedclothes were pulled over the end, like he always does. I didn’t see no pyjamas; they must have been under his pillow.’

  ‘And you can’t be certain which day that was?’ asked Pitt.

  To his surprise the girl nodded vehemently.

  ‘Yes,’ she said excitedly, her bright eyes sparkling. ‘Yes, I can. I remember now it was the weekend Miss Farlin’ was away. The Saturday. He’s sweet on her, Mr Moull is, and I thinks to meself when I see he’s gone, I wouldn’t be surprised, I thinks, if he hasn’t cycled over to that cottage of hers to wish his lady love good mornin’. He’s that barmy about her, it’s just the sort of daft thing he’d do.’

  ‘Had he done it before?’

  ‘No, I can’t say he had,’ Doris admitted. ‘But then I’d never known him get up that early before, neither.’

  It takes us a little further, I suppose, thought Pitt. It’s not conclusive: Moull could have slept here and gone out early. But it’s something. Then, switching to another train of thought, ‘Were the others all in their rooms that morning?’ he asked. ‘Mr James, for instance?’

  The girl looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Funny you should ask that. Yes, the others were there. But Mr James — you see, he’d told me he’d be away that night, so I didn’t take him any tea in the mornin’. That’s how he come to give me such a shock later.’

  ‘How did he give you a shock?’

  ‘Well, you see, while they’re at breakfast I goes upstairs to collect the cups. The empties, as you might say. I’m always in a bit of a hurry like — I just pops into the rooms, puts the cups on me tray, and pops out again. And that mornin’, not thinkin’ —’ here Doris giggled at the memory — ‘I went into Mr James’s room, same as I always does — and there he was, fast asleep.’

  10 - The Ginger Horse

  The congregation of St John’s, Wainbridge, had just started on the Venice when Dicken, cap in hand and red in the face, his unevenly buttoned raincoat giving him a lopsided appearance, entered the church and slid into a pew as far removed as possible from the scowling Smelton. He had run most of the way to catch up with the others, having been delayed by a missing cap. He felt hot and uncomfortable, and his throat was dry, but none of these discomforts mattered when he thought of the momentous news he was about to impart to his schoolfellows.

  The Redways boys occupied a wing of the church well away from the rest of the congregation. The reason for this was not clear. It may have been the headmaster’s wish to protect his charges against possible contamination by other worshippers, or a desire by the rector of St John’s to shield his adult congregation from the boys. Certainly it enabled the master on duty, seated in the back pew, to keep a watchful eye on his flock.

  But boys in bulk are very Daniels in their bravery, however abject and submissive they may appear singly when in the presence of outraged authority. And the Redways boys had long since realized that, whereas in secular surroundings a misdemeanour might call forth a roar of disapproval or a stinging buffet on the head, in church no such reaction on the part of authority need be feared. Retribution might follow in due course; but boys live mostly in the present, and the opportunity to misbehave unchecked right under the watchful but helpless eye of authority was too tempting to be withstood.

  The favourite Sunday morning pastime of a select group, of which Dicken was a founder member, was to maintain a private conversation in tune with the airs and chants played by the organist, substituting their own words for those printed in the prayer-book.

  ‘The sea is His and He made it; and His hands prepared the dry land,’ sang the choir and congregation. But Oakes leaned towards the perspiring Dicken and chanted tunefully, ‘Why were you late for church? The Stinker is in an awful bait.’

  Dicken missed a verse to compose his answer.

  ‘I don’t care. I’ve got some absolutely wizard news. The Mule has done a bunk,’ he sang, slightly off key in his excitement.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I heard Mr Latimer telling the Inspector.’

  Unmindful of his surroundings, Oakes had emitted a low but piercing whistle of surprise. Now, suddenly aware that he had become the cynosure of all eyes, he hid his crimson face behind his prayer-book in confusion. During the psalms, however, he recovered his composure sufficiently to pass the news on to his other neighbour. Before the first lesson all, with the exception of those in Smelton’s immediate vicinity, were aware t
hat Christopher Moull had fled.

  The service over, there was a concerted rush outside the church to obtain further information from Dicken. But Smelton, seething with anger and indignation at the manner in which his authority had been flouted, broke up the crowd and called Dicken to his side. Keeping him there on the walk back to the school, he delivered a stern lecture on the virtue of punctuality and the sin of levity in church, mingled with threats of the punishment in store for the boy on their return to Redways.

  The rest of the school were indignant at this bottling up of the fount of information. But Dicken could not have enlightened them further. That Chris Moull had gone was the sum of his knowledge.

  ***

  Inspector Pitt replaced the receiver and turned to face his subordinate.

  ‘That’s about all we can do for the present,’ he said. ‘I don’t think he’ll get far. I wish we’d known of this earlier, but apparently it’s quite usual for the staff here to lie abed of a Sunday morning and miss their breakfast. Damned laziness, I call it.’

  Sergeant Maddox made no comment. He had been all in favour of putting Moull under lock and key the previous evening, but he saw nothing to be gained by reminding the Inspector of this.

  ‘He must have left in a hurry,’ said Pitt. ‘Not a thing missing from his room didn’t even take a toothbrush with him. But what scared him? That’s what beats me.’

  ‘No doubt now he’s the guilty party,’ said Maddox, delighted at this vindication of his hypothesis. ‘It must have been Moull who found the bottle in Russell’s coat pocket. That would have told him the game was up.’

  ‘H’m!’ Pitt’s lack of enthusiasm surprised the Sergeant. ‘Let’s have that constable in again and see if we can learn any more from him.’

  But Constable Prettyman, who had been on duty at Redways the previous night, had little further to report. Meticulously he went through his statement again. He had seen Moull leave the common room at eleven o’clock and go upstairs, but had not seen him come down again. At eleven-fifteen Miss Farling had gone along the corridor to the kitchen, returning later with a cup of tea. ‘She’d made a pot for herself; said she was sitting up late writing half-term reports. Very nice and friendly she was, telling me about the boys and the funny things they said.’

  ‘All pals together, eh?’ the Inspector commented. ‘Lucky your tea wasn’t poisoned. What happened after that?’

  ‘Well, Miss Farling went back to the common room, and about midnight Mr Latimer — the young one — came out of the study and said as how he was going to lock up and would I care to accompany him and see he did it proper. Which I did, sir. Regular tour of the premises, it was. He tried every door and window, even in the commonroom where Miss Farling was working. Then he said goodnight and went upstairs.’

  ‘What time did Miss Farling go to bed?’

  ‘Just after one, sir. She was the last person I saw until the maids turned up in the morning.’

  ‘And since none of the doors or windows was found unfastened this morning it follows that Moull must have left before midnight,’ said Pitt, dismissing the constable. ‘That gives him about twelve hours’ start.’

  ‘Unless he had an accomplice to lock up after him,’ the Sergeant suggested. ‘Miss Farling, for instance.’

  ‘Yes, that’s possible. Well, let’s have another look at his room.’

  ‘I wonder he didn’t take his bike,’ Maddox said, as they went into the hall. ‘With the start he had he could have gone a long way on that by now, and it’s safer than public transport. He must have known there’d be a check on buses and trains as soon as he was missed.’

  ‘I wonder about a lot of things,’ Pitt said irritably. ‘I wish to hell we could get a line on that ruddy poison. I’ve got my own ideas about it, but I want to know. Damn that interfering young fool Russell!’

  It was at this unpropitious moment that Colin chose to accost them. His reception was not cordial.

  ‘Well, sir, and what have you lost now?’ asked Pitt, glowering at him.

  ‘Cut out the ribbing,’ said Colin, aware that ribbing was far from the Inspector’s present mood, but anxious to appear casual. ‘Have you heard anything of Chris yet?’

  The glower merged into a thoughtful scrutiny. Dammit, he’s scared, was Pitt’s surprised decision. But — scared of what? Not of the possible consequences of losing the bottle, or he would have shown it yesterday. Yesterday he had been apologetic, embarrassed by his own stupidity, even defiant in admission of his guilt. But not scared. What had happened since, Pitt wondered, to frighten a man who, by the look of him, was not easily frightened?

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Were you surprised to hear he had gone?’

  ‘Very.’ Colin was emphatic. ‘I don’t believe he’s guilty, and I don’t believe he would run away if he were. I know Chris.’

  ‘But not very well, apparently. Was that all you wanted? To know if we’d picked him up?’

  ‘No. But I thought it might help if you could fix the time he left, and I happen to know that he was still in his room at three o’clock this morning.’

  ‘Eh?’ The exclamation came in unison from the two detectives. ‘How can you be sure of that?’ asked Pitt.

  ‘Because I heard him. I woke up suddenly — the walls are fairly thin, and I suppose it must have been some noise he made that disturbed me. I heard him moving about the room, and drawers being pulled out; I wondered what the devil he was up to at that time of night. Of course, I realize now that he must have been packing.’

  Whatever he was doing he certainly wasn’t packing, thought Pitt. ‘Did you call out to him to make less noise?’ he asked.

  ‘No. You know how it is when you wake up in the middle of the night; no matter what’s wrong you’re too damned lazy to do anything about it. I just looked at my watch, turned over, and went to sleep again.’

  ‘And that’s all you know, eh?’

  ‘Yes, that’s all.’

  Pitt wondered why such an apparently innocent question should have brought fear back into the young man’s eyes. Was Russell trying to mislead the police, to cover up for his friend? Was he, and not Miss Farling, the accomplice Moull must have had if he had left the building after midnight? Was that his fear — that by his words or actions he had irrevocably associated himself with Moull — and with what Moull had done? Or had he interpreted the question in a more general sense than had been intended? Was he, in fact —

  Robert Cramp came round the corner at full speed and brought himself to a stop by using Colin as a buffer. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he panted. ‘I was looking for Mr James.’

  ‘Well, look for him a little less energetically next time, will you?’ Colin said pleasantly, glad of the interruption. ‘Or we’ll get the Inspector to arrest you for speeding. What did you want Mr James for?’

  ‘I found this, sir.’ The boy held out a folded sheet of quarto duplicating-paper. ‘And it’s got his name on it, so I thought it must be his.’

  Colin took the piece of paper, opened it and glanced at the typescript, hesitated, and then said, ‘Where did you find this, Robert?’

  ‘Under the master’s desk in the Fourth Form, sir. Mr James dropped a lot of letters and things there when he was taking us for Latin yesterday. I suppose he didn’t see this when he picked the others up.’

  ‘All right. I’ll give it to Mr James when I see him. You’d better run along.’ And as the boy started off, ‘No, not run. Walk, Robert.’

  As Cramp disappeared Colin glanced again at the paper in his hand and then handed it to the Inspector. ‘I suppose I’m interfering again,’ he said, ‘but I think you ought to see this.’

  Surprised, Pitt took it. His surprise increased as he read. It was an IOU, clumsily worded in pseudo-legal phraseology, admitting the debt of one thousand pounds to John Henry Connaught. And it was signed by James Latimer.

  The Inspector pulled thoughtfully at his rather promine
nt nose and handed the paper to the Sergeant.

  ‘Interesting,’ he said slowly. ‘Most interesting. I see it is dated October the twenty-first — the day before Mr Connaught was found drowned.’

  ‘So that’s why he called on J.C. that evening. I told you we’d seen him, didn’t I?’ And as Pitt nodded Colin went on. ‘The part that interests me is that bit at the end, where he promises to transfer shares in the school if the debt is not repaid within the year.’

  ‘Is Redways a limited company?’ asked Maddox.

  ‘It’s a company of some sort, and the Latimers own all the shares. And if the old man had known that his precious son was contemplating the transfer of some of them — and to J.C. of all people — there might well have been another sudden death in the school.’

  ‘Whose? Mr Latimer’s? Or his son’s?’

  ‘Either. Joseph’s from apoplexy or James’s by murder.’

  ‘It probably isn’t legal,’ said Pitt. ‘I doubt if it could be enforced.’

  ‘Legal or not, it — Here!’ For Pitt had taken the paper from the Sergeant, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. ‘You can’t keep that, damn it! I promised Cramp I’d give it to James.’

  ‘Sorry, Mr Russell — I’ll do it for you. Don’t worry; I won’t tell him how it came into my possession.’

  ‘You don’t have to. Cramp will. Next time he bumps into James he’ll ask him if he got the paper, and then the fat will be properly in the fire.’

  Pitt was unmoved. ‘Tell him I snatched it out of your hand,’ he said serenely. ‘Tell him anything you like I won’t contradict you.’ He turned away. ‘I’d like a word with Mr James now. If you’re not keen on giving him that message yourself perhaps you would ask someone else to do so?’

  In the library Maddox said, ‘This doesn’t really concern us, does it? It’s interesting, of course — but it can’t have anything to do with Moull.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why bother with it?’

  ‘Because I’m still not convinced that Moull’s our man. That’s why.’

  Maddox opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it, stuck his hands in his pockets, and walked over to the window. Bags of evidence, the chap does a bunk, and he’s still not convinced, he thought angrily. What’s he waiting for? A confession?