Such Is Death (14 page)

Stringer was a lean and narrow little man, almost entirely bald, who wore old-fashioned gold-rimmed spectacles. He immediately went into conference with Doris, and Carolus turned his attention to the Bullamys who had just come in. They said good evening to him rather hurriedly before being served by Vivienne.

At nine o'clock or a few minutes earlier George came in for the second time to make up the bar fire. Lobbin was back now and talking to Bullamy. Doris and Vivienne were busy serving a number of new arrivals. There was a loud buzz of conversation above which could be heard Mrs Bullamy's hearty laugh.

At nine-thirty Carolus said good-night to Doris and went out. He was pleased to find that a wind had risen and that it was a dark blustering night, not, probably, as windy as the night of the murder but with conditions similar enough to give point to his re-enactment of the movements of the murdered man.

He did not hurry down the road which led to the sea, remembering that Rafter had walked ‘as though he was holding on to a rail'. It took him the best part of ten minutes to reach the promenade.

It was now that Rafter had met the policeman but tonight no figure in uniform was in sight. The promenade in fact seemed deserted.

After pausing for a few moments as Rafter had done, Carolus turned right and made his way against the wind towards the last shelter. But as he neared the first of the intervening shelters he saw a dark figure materialize from its shadows and found himself facing a solemn young policeman. It was clear that Sitwell had learned a lesson from his failure to discover the identity of the fat muffled man, and he scrutinized Carolus with suspicion before addressing him with somewhat exaggerated politeness.

“Good evening, sir,” he said.

“Evening,” said Carolus, who remembered John Moore's account of Sitwell. “Nice night for a murder, isn't it?”

Sitwell blinked.

“How d'you mean?” he said guardedly.

“Just my way of talking,” said Carolus.

“We don't want any more murders,” said Sitwell severely.

“No. You found the corpse, didn't you?”

Sitwell became an important public servant.

“I'm not saying whether I did or whether I didn't. We don't discuss such things.”

“No? Pity. I'm interested.”

“Oh, are you? Is that why you're hanging about here at the very time this murder was committed?”

“Yes,” said Carolus. “That's why.”

“I shall have to have your name and address,” said Sitwell.

“Certainly. Did you ever see that little muffled-up man again, by the way?”

Sitwell stared.

“What
little muffled-up man? “he asked haughtily.

“There surely wasn't more than one?”

“It seems to me,” said Sitwell, “that you are altogether too inquisitive.”

“You share the common opinion. Suppose I was to find the famous muffled-up man for you?”

Conflicting emotions were evidently tearing Sitwell to pieces. His official front must be maintained and yet if this person who seemed to know so much really could do what he suggested it would answer that still smarting reproof of Moore's.

“If you have any information,” he said, “it's your duty …”

“I haven't, yet. But I have a feeling I may find this now almost legendary figure.”

“In that case I hope you would report it immediately.”

“To you?” asked Carolus mischievously.

“If I was the nearest police officer,” said Sitwell. “Now may I have your name and address, sir? If you don't mind, that is.”

Carolus gave them. He was interested to have learnt by inference that the muffled-up man had not yet been found.

“Would you tell me where you are going?” asked Sitwell.

“Certainly. To the farthest shelter. That is, if it's open to the public?”

Sitwell thought this levity in bad taste.

“Good night, sir,” he said and continued on his way with slow dignified strides.

Carolus also went on, meeting no one else. As he passed each shelter he looked into it, as Sitwell must have done, but saw no one.

When he reached the farthest, the fateful shelter, he looked about him for a moment then sat in a corner out of the wind, the corner which, he judged, had been chosen by Rafter. Looking at his watch he saw that it was now 10.15.

It gave him a somewhat eerie feeling to realize that a few weeks ago a half-drunken man sitting where he was now had been battered to death. He thought how little he knew of the movements of the people involved at that time. Mrs Dalbinney and Emma Rafter were either leaving the promenade after their ‘minute' there, or already on their way to Mrs Dalbinney's flat. The cinema they visited was nearly a mile from here at the other end of the promenade. They saw Lobbin during that minute, though half an hour later he was between this shelter and the bottom of Carter Street, since Sitwell met him thereabouts. Mr Morsell was relieving himself on the beach two shelters away while his wife waited near the public lavatory. Mr and Mrs Bullamy were on their way to the same point and noticing a stranger cross the road. If the Bullamys passed the Morsells neither couple noticed it, or admitted it afterwards. Mr Stringer was somewhere on the promenade, since Morsell met him there, but his exact movements were as yet unknown. Sitwell was in the town. Of the muffled-up man nothing was known except that Sitwell passed him nearly half an hour after this time and that he reached the shelter soon after Sitwell had found the body.

It was all very confusing and some of it almost inexplicable except by supposing that some lying had been done. Yet still Carolus could not imagine any of his new acquaintances in front of him with a coal-hammer, about to bring it down on a stupefied man's head.

He sat there for ten minutes and was about to move
when he saw someone approaching briskly. As he came nearer Carolus sat very still and tense, for it was a small fattish man who wore a scarf almost up to his eyes.

His pace never slackened till he reached the shelter. He seemed about to sit down, but becoming aware of Carolus he made a queer choking sound of surprise and stood staring.

“Good evening,” said Carolus.

The man made no attempt to remove his muffler and his reply was a series of indistinct grunts which may have been meant for good evening.

“Nasty night,” said Carolus.

“Flwbble,” said the little man.

“Were you going to sit down?”

The sounds this time seemed to indicate a negative.

“This is where that murder was committed a few weeks ago,” remarked Carolus.

“Flwbbffble,” said the man, nodding doubtfully.

“Is this where Rafter was sitting?”

The scarf was not removed but Carolus gathered from the flwbble that the man did not know.

“But surely you must have seen where the corpse was when you found the policeman here? Before you went to telephone, I mean?”

The small man stared. Carolus could just see his eyes between the muffler and the rim of his hat and they were wide and startled.

“Flwbble, flwbble, flwbble,” he said indignantly.

“You ought to meet Vivienne,” said Carolus. “You two could have some delightful conversations.”

The little man still stared. Then without another flwbble he turned and started back towards the town.

Carolus waited a full two minutes till the man was out of sight, then went into action. He ran swiftly back to where the road curved away from the promenade then crossed it and hurried on in the same direction, keeping to the pavement. He did not think the little man could have seen him so far, but he had to find that rotund small
figure again without himself being seen. It might not, he thought, be easy.

F
OR
a time Carolus thought he had lost the little man, whose short legs moved at speed. Carolus did not return to the promenade itself but remained on the other side of the road which ran beside it, keeping in the obscurity of a shop entrance. He hoped to see him without himself being seen.

There was something very odd in the behaviour of this brisk and muffled person. On the night of the murder he had marched boldly up to the last shelter while Sitwell was there, and tonight he had returned to the promenade after Sitwell had completed his inspection. It could be quite innocent. He might be unaware that the police wanted to interview him. Or he might have some reason of his own for returning at a time when he hoped not to be seen. Again the fact that he had stopped short at the shelter when he had seen Carolus and appeared startled could be simply the reaction of a nervous man who remembered what had happened there, but it could be something else. If he was a creature of habit who always took his walk on the promenade at night, and had continued to do so since the murder, he must have taken great pains to dodge Sitwell. That again could be distaste for questioning or involvement, but there might be an uglier motive.

The whole thing was melodramatic and rather absurd, the scarf that was almost a mask, the muffled voice, the sudden departures of tonight and of the night of the crime, gave to this little noctambule something which intrigued Carolus but did not unduly raise his hopes. He could not think that the small man's information was going to solve his problem for him.

Besides it was beginning to be doubtful whether he
would see him again. It was useless to go out in search of him, for he might already have left the promenade and gone into the town and in any case Carolus wanted to follow him to his home without being seen.

It was nearly midnight before the man appeared as suddenly as before. His pace had not slackened. He materialized first near one of the shelters then marched boldly across the road. He did not look to right or left but kept his head down. He passed within ten yards of Carolus without apparently seeing him.

Carolus followed, keeping as far as he dared behind. But he had not far to go for when the small man had passed the Queen Victoria hotel he took a narrow turning to the right. Fortescue Street, noticed Carolus, and saw his quarry bolt like a rabbit into one of the small houses half way down. A light came on in an upper window which served as a beacon and approaching with a casual walk Carolus saw that it was number twenty-four.

Next morning he asked Mr Rugley about Fortescue Street.

“All due to be pulled down,” he said. “They were mostly little apartment houses. It was where the theatricals used go before the old Theatre Royal became a cinema. They still let rooms in the summer but there's going to be a block of flats built there soon.”

At number 24 Carolus found a card ‘Apartments' in the window and rang the bell.

“Yes?” said a gaunt woman wearily as she looked round a half-open door.

“I want to see the gentleman on the first floor,” said Carolus, remembering the lighted window of last night.

“Mr Biggett? He's not up yet. He doesn't get up till later.”

“Perhaps you could tell him I want to see him urgently,” suggested Carolus.

“Who shall I say?”

Carolus decided to take a chance. He felt instinctively that he would gain most by taking the offensive.

“Tell him the man he was talking to on the promenade last night,” he said.

“You better come in then,” said the landlady sulkily and opened the door of the front room, which smelt of flowerless plants and musty furniture. It was cold and cheerless and keeping on his coat Carolus took a horsehair chair.

It was fully half an hour before the door opened and a small men peered in. He was round-faced and round-eyed and wore slippers and shabby clothes without a collar and tie. He said nothing till Carolus began to talk.

“Mr Biggett? I want a little talk with you. I'm investigating the murder of Ernest Rafter.”

The voice when it came was scarcely more than a whisper.

“Police?” said Mr Biggett.

Carolus pretended he had not heard this and and went on forcefully.

“It's rather surprising that you have not come forward to give information. You were the first on the scene except for the policeman.”

“Nobody asked me,” said Biggett.

“But you must have known your information was wanted. How long had you been on the promenade that night?”

“About an hour. My usual time. It was not for me to come forward. I've not moved from here.”

“Had you been to that shelter earlier that evening?”

“Yes,” said Biggett at once. “It was my turning point. I walk first to that shelter, then right back to the jetty at the other end of the promenade, then back to that shelter, then home.”

“Every night?”

“Yes.”

“At the same time?”

“Very nearly. I like to stick to times and places.”

“You have continued your walks since the murder?”

“Yes. A little later. The murder was nothing to do
with me. I did not want to be asked questions about it. I did not want to waste my time.”

“Is your time so valuable, Mr Biggett?”

“To me, yes,” said Biggett simply.

“May I ask what you do with it?”

“I have retired. I read and write.”

“Write?” said Carolus, genuinely surprised.

“Yes. My journal. I have had a very interesting life. I was forty-two years with the same firm—of wholesale clothiers.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, a very short time. A few weeks, in fact.”

“You came from London?”

“Yes. I had a room in Hammersmith. My firm was at Shepherd's Bush.”

Fascinated, Carolus questioned on.

“Had you been long in that room?”

“Twenty-eight years. It was handy for my place of employment.”

“You are certainly a man of fixed habits, Mr Biggett. Forty-two years with one firm and twenty-eight in one room.”

“It was more than that. I had my lunch in the same restaurant for eighteen years until it was pulled down and I went to another farther down the street. I bought my paper from the same shop for …”