Such Is Death (17 page)

“What's he want, dad?”

“Never you mind,” said Mr Stringer.

“Perhaps I could call on you at the shop?” tried Carolus.

“You would be wasting your time. I've told you I've got nothing to say.”

““I could at least buy a coal-hammer there.”

“No you couldn't, because we've none in stock. I sold the last one to …”

“Yes, Mr Stringer?”

“To the Reverend Morsell, if you want to know.”

“Thank you,” said Carolus, “and good evening to you.”

I
F
his last two interviews had been difficult, they were nothing to the one that awaited him that evening. He was warned as soon as he entered the bar by Doris, now a firm ally if not a fellow conspirator.

“You better watch your p's and q's,” she told him. “She's on the warpath after you. She's been in once this evening threatening I don't know what and I shouldn't be surprised if she comes in again. I told her, we don't want any trouble in here, I said, but you know what she is.”

“I don't even know
who
she is,” said Carolus.

“Oh, go along. That Bella Lobbin, of course. She says you've been saying things about her husband. I suppose she thinks
she's
the only one that can go for him.”

Carolus sat down in a corner but he had not long to wait. The door from the street was thrown open and a red-faced stringy woman with prominent teeth and furious eyes pushed her way in.

“Is that him over there? “she asked the room at large and without waiting for an answer crossed and stood over Carolus. “What have you been saying about my husband? “she asked loudly.

“If you like to tell me his name I may be able to help you.”

“Never mind his name! “shouted Mrs Lobbin.” and I don't want any help from you, thank you. What have you been saying about him?”

“Now Mrs Lobbin! “called Doris.

“Oh, Lobbin,” said Carolus, as though it had just dawned on him. “Poor fellow,” he added feelingly.

“I'll give you poor fellow if you're not careful! “went on Mrs Lobbin with more verbosity than coherence. “Going round taking anyone's character away! There ought to be law against it.”

“There is,” said Carolus.

“It's a pity you don't follow it then. I've never heard anything like it. My husband's a good man and wouldn't hurt anyone let alone bang them on the head with a hammer, and here you go saying the police are after him and I don't know what not. What's it to do with you, anyway?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Then why don't you keep your nose out of it? That's what I want to know. Anybody would think you'd got a right to say things that aren't true. If there's any more of it you'll have me to answer to.”

“Have a drink? “suggested Carolus.

“I wouldn't touch your drink, not if you was to pay me.”

“Just a small one?”

“I'll have a rum,” said Bella angrily. “I call it real low-down of you to pick on him,” she continued, as though to show that her acceptance of a drink in no way weakened her case. “He hasn't done anything to you, has he?”

“Nothing at all.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking like that about anyone,” went on Bella Lobbin, her fury unabated as she received her glass of rum with a quick nod. “You'd very soon get into trouble if I had my way. Cheerio. Here's the best. You know very well my husband never had anything to do with it yet you go on blacking his name as though he was a crimingle.”

“But Mrs Lobbin …”

“Don't Mrs Lobbin me. I've heard what I've heard and I'm not going to stand for it. I'll tell you that. He's got quite enough ideas in his head as it is.”

Carolus, accustomed to pick up irrelevancies of this sort, said, “What kind of ideas?”

“Writing and that. He thinks he ought to have been a writer, if you please. Still, that doesn't make him a murderer.”

“No. Not necessarily,” agreed Carolus. “What sort of things did he write?”

“Don't ask me!” said Bella Lobbin. “It's bad enough to be married to anyone like that. Scribble, scribble, scribble. I don't know. But it's no reason for you to run round saying he did for this Ernest Rafter.”

“But Mrs Lobbin, I said nothing of the sort.”

“Next best thing you did. The police were after him tor it, you said.”

“He is certainly one of the suspects.”

“There you go again! ‘Suspects'! Who's a suspect, that's what I want to know. If my husband's a suspect, how is it we've got our coal-hammer all this time? Answer me that. I keep it in the shop now to show people. With all this talk going round you have to do something. There you are, I say. What's that, if my husband did it? It's never been out of the house, I say, so I'd like to know how it can have been used for the murder. Besides, the police have got the one it was done with. I saw it at the inquest.”

“But your husband was seen on the promenade that night, Mrs Lobbin.”

“Well, I've told him often enough not to go wandering about at night. But that's what he's like. I want to think, he says. Think! It's a pity he doesn't think of his business a bit more. Anyway, it's no excuse for you saying all sorts of things about him.” Carolus saw the resentment being brought back with artificial respiration. It was evident that Bella Lobbin had not said all she had promised herself to say. “What right
have
you to go telling people he's a suspect? It only needs a little talk like that to have the police round again asking questions. You ought to know better. Yes, I will have another. Besides, there's more than meets the eye in all this. What about that Mrs Dalbinney? After the way she behaved to me I'd believe anything of her.”

“Didn't you rather invite it, Mrs Lobbin?”

“What do you mean invite it? I told her what I thought of her, if that's what you mean, same as I'm telling you. I'm not one to keep anything to myself when I know I'm in the right. You know very well you've got no business to come interfering. Cheerio. All the best. The sooner you go back to where you come from the better for everyone, if you ask me.”

There was a long smouldering pause.

“And anyway, why couldn't you ask my husband to his face if you had anything to say, instead of going behind his back talking about him?”

“I will,” promised Carolus.

Mrs Lobbin finished her rum and rose to go. But for the benefit of those who had heard her outburst she could not leave without showing that she was no whit mollified by two rums, and meant to have the last word.

“So you mind what you're saying,” was her good-bye to Carolus, as with flushed face she stood over him. “Else I won't be answerable.”

On that she marched out.

“What did I tell you?” asked Doris. “Can you wonder at him spending his evenings in here when he's got her at home nagging at him all the time? It's a wonder he hasn't done something before now. He'll be in presently, poor fellow, glad to get away for a bit. She very seldom comes in here, I will say that. They live over the shop and I think she has a bottle there when she wants it.”

When Lobbin entered he looked round to find Carolus then came straight to him.

“I'm afraid my wife has been trying to pick a quarrel with you,” he said. “I'm sorry if she said anything out of place. She gets ideas in her head.”

“That's what she told me about you,” said Carolus smiling.

“Oh, that. No, I mean she gets hold of something and can't let it rest. I've tried to make her see that you and the police are bound to want to know all about those who were on the prom that night, but she won't see it.
Now I'm perfectly willing to tell you anything you want to know.”

“Thanks. I'd like very much to hear what you knew of Ernest Rafter.”

“I was a p.o.w. with him. That's all.”

“He behaved badly?”

“That's an old story and he's dead now. I don't want to rake up details. But there's no doubt about it he was in with the Japs.”

“And you suffered from it?”

“Look, Mr Deene, those of us who went through all that want to forget it. Most of us have forgotten it—except sometimes, at night. There's no point in trying to fix the blame. Rafter collaborated and that's that.”

“You bore no grudge?”

“I'd long since forgotten all about it.”

“Until?”

“Until one day the name suddenly connected in my mind with this family here.”

“And you told Mrs Dalbinney. Why did you choose her?”

“She's a lady,” said Lobbin simply. “Anyway, I didn't know the others much then. Bertrand's only taken to coming to the shop lately and Miss Rafter I just knew by sight.”

“Mrs Dalbinney asked you to say nothing about it?”

“Yes. She did. And I wouldn't have if my wife hadn't got hold of the story and gone round there and made a fuss. I told you she gets ideas in her head. Before I knew where we were it was all over the town.”

“But you had no idea that Ernest Rafter was still alive?”

“Not before that night, I hadn't.”

“That
night.
You recognized him, then?”

“I wasn't sure at first. Well, I wasn't
quite
sure all along. I saw this man in here with those peculiar eyes he had and at first I just thought he was like Rafter. Then there was something about him I thought I knew. He seemed a lot older than when I knew him in Burma.
When I knew him he looked quite a young man. Now he looked old and kind of bitter. It took me some time to be sure it was the same.”

“But you were sure in the end?”

“Yes, because I asked Doris his name.”

“So what did you do?”

“Do? Nothing. I had my own troubles that night.”

“You didn't think to let the Rafters know their brother was here?'

A smile crossed Lobbin's rugged and untidy face.

“The last time I did that it led to trouble so I wasn't going to have that again. I kept what I thought to myself. But I did wonder what the family would do when they knew he was here.”

“He didn't recognize you?”

“I shouldn't think so. He didn't say anything, anyway. He was knocking them back pretty fast.”

“You saw him leave the bar?”

“I didn't notice him going. But at some time before ten I saw he wasn't there any more. I asked Doris when he'd left and she said—‘oh a long time ago'.”

“You waited till closing time?”

“Pretty well. I usually do. Then I went for a walk.”

“Which way did you take?”

“Not towards this shelter where the man was found. Right up the other way towards the Palatine cinema.”

“See anyone you knew?”

“Yes. Mrs Dalbinney and her sister. It looked as though they'd just come out of the cinema. When I saw them they were walking back across the road from the prom.”

“But, Mr Lobbin, why didn't you tell them then that their brother was still alive?”

“Me? After what happened before? Not likely. I just kept going as fast as I could. I didn't want any more of that. They'd hear soon enough, I thought.”

“They certainly did. But it must have been almost irresistible to tell them then.”

“No, Mr Deene. I'd seen what had come of my putting
my nose in before. I just said good-evening and set off walking in the opposite direction.”

“Towards the shelter where the body was found?”

“Well, that way.”

“Who did you meet this time?”

“I met Mr and Mrs Bullamy.”

“Again, you didn't say anything to them?”

“No. They were over on the other side near the sea.”

“They say they didn't see you.”

“Quite likely they didn't.”

“How far did you go towards the shelter?”

“Not very far. Three or four shelters away. Then I turned back and met a young policeman. Then I went home.”

“I don't quite see why you went down there at all, Mr Lobbin.”

“I didn't want to go home straight away. Everything was shut.”

“There's another thing I'd like to ask yo ‘about. It's a bit personal but you've invited me to ask you any questions I like. During the evening did you leave here for a while and return?”

“I did, yes.”

“What was that for?”

“Well, Mr Deene, I can't deny my wife and I have a bit of a row every once in a while. We had one that evening. When I came out I left her—well, storming, if you know what I mean. I thought I'd just run round and see if she'd got over it. It's only a few doors away.”

“And had she?”

“No. Worse than ever. You've seen what she's like. So I left her to it and came back here. When closing time was coming round I thought I wouldn't go back there till she was asleep.”

Carolus gave him a friendly smile.

“You account for your movements very well,” he said, “but so does everyone else in this damned case.”

They had a drink together, then, as if touching on a far less solemn subject, Carolus said—“I hear you write.”

“Not really. Little bits when they come to me. I'd like to have been a writer, though. I think I might have been if I hadn't got married. I seem to be able to imagine things.”

“Fiction?”

“I suppose you'd call it that. I just make things up out of my head and put them on paper.”

“Do you keep them afterwards?”

“Some of them I do. Other things I destroy as soon as I've finished them.”

“You've never tried to publish?”

“Well, the
Selby-on-Sea Advertiser
put in a little bit I wrote about the smugglers that were supposed to be here in the old days. Nothing else.”

“You've written nothing about the murder?”