“Goodfellow? Not so far as I remember and I think one would remember a name like that. What is his first name?”
“Robin, or so he says.”
“Good Lord! Aren’t parents odd when it comes to having their children christened! As for the corpse in the river, do you mean it was this Goodfellow chap?”
“I know it was not. The Rant sisters have met Goodfellow and they also saw the dead man. Goodfellow’s was not the corpse in the river.”
“Strange that nobody has come forward.”
“The answer may be that the dead man was a foreigner. By that, I mean that he did really come from abroad. The villagers call everybody a foreigner who was not born in the place. This man, perhaps, was a chance visitor. Even so, if he was on holiday at one of the hotels or was staying at one of the cottages, one would think he would be missed and then his photograph recognised. How long did you and the police doctor think he had been dead?”
“One can’t be precise when the body has been in water. The person who found him—this woman who works for the Rant sisters—had to get back to Crozier Lodge and on to the telephone, the police had to get from Axehead to Watersmeet, then the police doctor had to be summoned and he pulled me in to give a second opinion, as the circumstances were so unusual—”
“In what particular way?”
“Well, the dog was sitting on the trousers and the man was wearing nothing but briefs and a shirt. Anyway, we both came to the conclusion that he had been dead only a matter of a few hours.”
“At what time did you see him?”
“Between eleven and half-past.”
“If I suggested that he died at round about six o’clock, would that fit in with your findings?”
“Oh, yes, near enough.” The doctor looked interested. So far, Dame Beatrice thought, he had been slightly on the defensive, but not now. “What do you know that I don’t?” he asked brightly.
“Nothing which I can substantiate at present. Dr. Mortlake, I would like to go back to the time of Dr. Rant’s death.”
“I can’t tell you anything more about that. You have heard what I said in court. There is nothing more.”
“A question or two, if I may. You were living at Crozier Lodge at the time. You must have known what a foolish and dangerous course Dr. Rant was pursuing by drinking heavily while he was taking a powerful drug. Did you never warn him?”
“Of course I did, but once and once only. He went for me with the bottle of gin he had just emptied. Luckily for me, he tripped on the edge of the rug and fell flat just before he reached me. I didn’t approach the subject again after that. I decided it wasn’t up to me to try to save his rotten life. I wondered whether it would be better if I left Crozier Lodge and washed my hands of him and his affairs, but I had nothing coming in at that time except the salary he paid me as his assistant—I will say for him that the money came regularly month by month because, when I first signed on, I insisted on having it paid by banker’s order—but, apart from that, I felt that my presence in the house was a bit of protection for the two girls.”
“You were not in the least surprised when he died, I suppose, knowing what you did of his habits?”
Dr. Mortlake hesitated. He fidgeted with the strap of his wristwatch so that he could look down and escape from the hypnotic effect of Dame Beatrice’s brilliant black eyes. However, he was forced by her watchful silence to respond to her question.
“Well, to tell you the truth because it doesn’t matter now, I had formed an opinion—not based, I hasten to add, on anything tangible, but just an opinion—that although he had taken my warning so badly, he had begun to heed it.”
“So you were surprised when he died.”
“Oh, well, not really. The alcohol alone would have done for him in the end. He died a bit sooner than I expected, that is all.”
“Was the nature of the drug he was taking revealed at the inquest?”
“Well, the chemist was called and a very scared man he was. He could not produce the prescription. He said that Dr. Rant was hoping to patent the production and get a multiple firm of chemists to promote it, so he insisted that each prescription should be destroyed when the drug was collected. The chemist testified that the contents varied a little from time to time, as Dr. Rant (he supposed) continued his experiments. The coroner did not press the man, as, of course, he ought to have done, and I myself have no idea what the mixture was, since the bottles were always most carefully washed out as soon as they were empty.”
“That chap is a smooth talker,” said Laura later.
“The bedside manner, perhaps,” said Dame Beatrice, “but what he told us was revealing, I thought, didn’t you?”
10
Dead in the Valley
“I think you ought to have a lock put on that door,” said Susan one day to Bryony. “Now that you’ve heard one tramp has used the loft as a doss-house, others may follow and some may be very rough types. Besides, it’s known all over the place that you two are alone here at night. You ought to make the front gates secure as well. You can always let me have a key.”
“Something in what Susan says, don’t you think?” said Morpeth to her sister when the kennel-maid had gone out with two of the hounds. “I don’t at all care for the thought of a tramp getting into the grounds and sleeping in the loft. After all, if people know we are alone I expect they also know that, except for harmless, goofy old Sekhmet, the hounds are shut away at night and can’t protect us.”
“I agree. We’ll have a padlock put on the front gates and another on the outside of the loft door. Well, shopping day, so I’ll get the padlocks in Axehead while I’m doing the rest of it.”
“Why don’t you teach me to drive the car? We could then take it in turn to do the shopping.”
“You’re too nervous to make a good driver. Besides, I don’t think you would ever pass the test.”
“We don’t know that until I’ve tried.”
“This is no part of the country for a learner-driver. It takes me all my time to negotiate the road down to Abbots Bay and the hill to Axehead. I’ll teach you the rudiments out on the moor, if you like. It’s quiet and safe up there, but it wouldn’t help you at all when you face sharp bends and traffic and a hill of one in four when you wanted to get into Axehead.”
Morpeth said no more. She was not at all anxious to have the responsibility of driving the car, and the realisation that a driving test would have to be taken daunted her. When her sister had gone shopping, she prepared the vegetables for lunch and played for a time with Sekhmet and a rubber ball. It then occurred to her that a tramp, even though Adams had described him to her as “summat a cut above the usual,” might have left the loft very untidy and possibly in an offensive condition which ought to be dealt with before the door was padlocked against further intruders.
Morpeth armed herself with dustpan, soft-haired brush, and a duster and walked over to the garage. She mounted the outside stair and opened the door of the loft. The room had a window, but she left the door wide open in order to obtain more light as she looked around her.
The room appeared to be in order. She saw her father’s old but favourite armchair, a table with some books on it, his desk with its drawers, and a wardrobe from which she and Bryony had taken his clothes. They had disposed of them to a church jumble sale in Axehead except for his raincoat and a tweed hat he put on when he went fishing. Both garments were too grubby to be offered in such a state and Bryony had decided that it was not worth the money to have them cleaned.
There seemed nothing much which needed to be done in tidying the room except to dust it. Morpeth did this thoroughly, shaking the duster out at the open doorway every now and then. She opened the drawers, but they were empty, as she expected. It occurred to her that she ought to inspect the interior of the wardrobe in case the intruder had used it as a convenience. Dreading that such might be the case, she hesitated for a bit and then nerved herself to make the inspection.
The ward
robe was empty. The bag which the doctor had carried with him on his afternoon calls on his patients, the ancient raincoat, and the hat which Morpeth knew had been left in the wardrobe had gone. Morpeth, although fearing it was useless, searched the room again. Then she left the loft and went back to the house. On Bryony’s return from shopping, they unpacked the baskets, put away the food and the other household necessities, and made coffee. When they had settled down, Morpeth broke the news of the disappearance of the hat, bag, and raincoat.
“Father’s bag gone, and that old raincoat and hat?” said Bryony. “Must have been taken by the tramp Adams talked about. I suppose the man thought he could sell them, especially the leather bag. Is anything else missing?”
“Not so far as I know. Perhaps you would go and have a look round. You see, if the bag is missing, father’s scalpels and perhaps other dangerous things have gone. The bag was fitted up just as he left it.”
“After lunch, then. There’s no hurry. Have you done the vegetables? Susan will enjoy the cutlets I’ve brought in. What’s she doing this morning?”
“She is still out. She must be taking Anubis and Amon for a longer walk than usual.”
Susan came back with startling and disturbing news.
“Police all over the moor,” she said. “A hiker has found a body in that rocky valley which runs out to Castercombe.”
“Not another dead body?” exclaimed Bryony.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I met the shepherd whose flock graze the pastures below Cowlass Hill and he says the man’s throat was cut.”
“How horrible! Worse than the other death! At least that one was brought in as accident. This one must have been murder or suicide,” said Bryony.
“Yes, I suppose so. What’s for lunch?”
“You feel like having lunch after hearing a thing like that?” asked Morpeth.
“I didn’t see the body and I’m hungry.”
“Did the police stop you?”
“No. I was right over near the Witch’s Cauldron rock and they were mostly on the road. I thought they might be looking for somebody who had escaped from Castercombe gaol. Then, when I got to Cowlass Hill and met the shepherd, he told me what had happened. He got the low-down from his son, who happens to be a policeman. It seems to be a suicide so I suppose it was all right for the policeman to blab.”
“Did you see the police on your way back?”
“No. I kept well in the shelter of the rocks and then I took the cliff path, which is quite hidden from the road. Anyway, I think they were too busy to notice me.”
“You were determined to dodge them, I suppose,” said Bryony. “Well, I don’t blame you.”
“I should think not indeed!” said Susan, her sun-and-wind-roughed face flushing angrily. “If you had been given the going-over they gave me when they were in my cottage and found that silly hat and the piece of trouser-band, you would have dodged them, too. It was my rotten luck to find that dead man at Watersmeet and I don’t want any more to do with dead bodies for a long time to come, thank you!”
The news was all over the village by the early evening. The three women had supper at seven and Susan, presumably on her way home, called at the Crozier Arms for a beer and then, to the surprise of the sisters, she came back to Crozier Lodge with as much of the matter as she had been able to gather at the pub.
“Didn’t like to ask any questions,” she said, “me not being exactly what you might call popular in the village, but the barmaid was getting a pretty lurid account from a man who had a cousin in the telephone exchange in Axehead, so I gathered an earful, but whether it was fact or romance I wouldn’t care to guess. Apparently the police plan to telephone the hotels to find out whether any guest is missing, as nobody in the village seems to know anything.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like a convict, does it? Where was the body found?” asked Bryony.
“I told you, near enough. I don’t know the exact spot.”
“Perhaps the poor man had a sudden fit of depression. That valley can be very lonely at times and it’s a nasty spooky place, anyway,” said Morpeth. “Some people think it’s haunted.”
“Talking of lonely and spooky,” said Susan, “would you mind if I kippd here for the night? That’s what I came back to ask.”
“It’s not like you to be nervous,” said Bryony, “but stay by all means, if you want to. I wonder how soon the police will know who the dead man was?”
“Goodness knows. I suppose they’ll put out photographs, as they did of the man I found. This village will be getting itself a bad name if any more people die on holiday here.”
Nobody came forward to identify the dead man, so the police did as Susan had predicted. A day or two after Susan had returned to Crozier Lodge to make her report, Morpeth recognised a picture in the local paper. The sisters had gone into Axehead to take Nephthys to the vet for a check-up, as the hound had begun to scratch an ear and seemed slightly off her food. Morpeth had to pass a newsagent’s after she had left Bryony sitting in the car in the car-park, so she went into the shop to buy a couple of women’s magazines which the sisters favoured and which they passed on to Susan when they had finished with them.
A small pile of the papers was lying on the counter, so that Morpeth could not help seeing them. Feeling a sense of shock, since the caption above the picture on the front page was eye-catching and in large print, she picked up a paper, bought it and the magazines, and went on to the veterinary surgery with a sense of foreboding and deep unease, for she had no doubt whatever that the newspaper picture was that of Goodfellow. It was not the photograph of a dead man. It was that of an artist’s impression of what Goodfellow would have looked like before his throat was severed, but Morpeth had no difficulty in recognising the face.
In the vet’s waiting-room she realised this with a sick feeling of horror mixed with resentment at the tricks Fate seemed to be playing. The half-dozen other pet-owners, having looked up, but without curiosity, when she entered, returned to their magazines or to stroking their cats, and paid her no further attention. Her excitement made her impatient of delay. She felt that she could not return quickly enough to the car-park to show Bryony the newspaper.
Half an hour’s waiting-time before Nephthys could receive attention caused her to calm down and reflect upon what her next move should be. Obviously it was her duty to report to the police that she knew something important about the dead man and, for what it was worth, could give his name. In her naive, almost childish way, she thought the police would be sufficiently grateful for the information to give up pestering Susan and themselves about the body found in the river. Instead, therefore, of taking the hound straight back to the car-park, she called at the Axehead police station. An enlarged copy of the newspaper picture was conspicuously displayed at the side of the front door. Morpeth looked at it, hitched the hound’s lead to the railings and said, “Good girl, stay!”
“You’d better see the Chief, miss,” said the desk sergeant resignedly, when she had stated the purpose of her visit. “Yours is the sixth story, up to date. They range from telling us the man was an oil baron to suggesting he was the victim of a secret society, so I hope your account will seem a bit more sensible. You say you knew the man?”
“Well, I had met him. He called on us, thinking one of us was a doctor. He was quite insane, you know. I’m not a bit surprised he committed suicide.”
“Come this way, miss.” Morpeth and the detective-inspector had met at Crozier Lodge over the former enquiry. Harrow greeted her in avuncular fashion as soon as the sergeant showed her in.
“Well, well, well!” he said. “Sit down, won’t you, Miss Rant? So you’ve come along to help us.”
“I don’t know how much help it will be,” said Morpeth, “because I’m not at all sure that the name he gave us was his real name. He was quite mad, you see.”
“So what name did he give you?”
“He called himself Robin Goodfellow, but he also told us that he was O
zymandias, king of kings. When we heard that, Bryony thought he was a case for a psychiatrist and the only one we knew was Dame Beatrice, so Bryony took him to the Stone House.”
“That would be Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, of course. I’ll have a word with her. Now, to another point, Miss Rant: the woman who acts as your kennel-maid found the body of that man in the river, didn’t she? We understand that on the morning of this Goodfellow’s death—if you are right and the dead man is the man you knew—she was out on the moor with a couple of your dogs. She met a shepherd over Cowlass Hill way, didn’t she?”
“We always take the hounds on to the moor for a run. There’s nothing in that. Susan would naturally go there.”
“Did she often go as far as the lower slopes of Cowlass Hill?”
“I don’t know. We please ourselves how long we stay out and how far we go. It mostly depends on the weather.”
“She did meet this shepherd out there, though, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she said so. She made no bones about telling us,” said Morpeth, beginning to panic. “How do you know it was Susan? She wouldn’t have given the shepherd her name, meeting him casually like that.”
“We have our methods.” He was careful not to add that the police had not known for certain, until that moment, which woman the shepherd had spoken with. The shepherd had proved very inept at describing a female whom he had never previously met, but he had described the Pharaoh hounds this woman was exercising, so it was merely a case of finding out which of the three from Crozier Lodge had been out on the moor that morning. Harrow felt a sense of triumph now that he knew Susan had been the one. Almost too good to be true, he thought, but it was true. She had found the first body, incriminating evidence had been discovered at her cottage, and now it was clear that she had been in the vicinity of a second man on the morning of his death.
Harrow was still in the dark as to the reason for Susan’s having left her cottage so early on the morning of the Watersmeet death. He had made attempts to get her to change her story, but she adhered to her assertion that she had been for a swim, although he had made it very clear that he did not believe her.
The Crozier Pharaohs (Mrs. Bradley) Page 11
