The Longer Bodies (23 page)

The inspector had not supposed that old Mrs Puddequet would be able to give him a great deal of information about the events of the night on which it appeared that Timon Anthony must have met his death, and so, after obtaining from her the time of the first disturbance of the family peace—she gave it as seventeen minutes to twelve—he had sent the bathchair and its occupant out in charge of a constable and asked for Miss Caddick.

Miss Caddick was not feeling at all well. To begin with, ever since she had confessed to the clandestine occupation of her employer's dressing room by Kost on the night of Hobson's death, she had been exceedingly ill at ease. Suppose the inspector should forget his promise and let out the dreadful information to her irascible and intolerant employer? Suppose—more horrible still!—someone should be arrested for the murder, and the fact that Kost had been smuggled into the house by a maiden lady came out in evidence! She felt inclined to swoon at the thought. What of her spotless reputation? What of the ‘character'—written in old Mrs Puddequet's crabbed handwriting—which would accompany her application for another post when old Mrs Puddequet had dismissed her from Longer with screeched objurgation and calumnious epithet? What of her expectations, potent yet, although not to the extent of twenty-five thousand pounds?

Secondly, there were the two murders. Long and intimate acquaintance with the works of the more sentimental and romantic novelists of the very late nineteenth and the very early twentieth century had caused Miss Caddick habitually to put herself in the place of the heroine of these soul-stirring day-dreams. She was the hapless prisoner; she was the blushing bride; she was the deserted sweetheart; and she was the tear-compelling martyr, victim of a cruel, crushing, Philistine environment. Suppose, then—the thought must be faced!—suppose that she herself were already marked down as the next victim of the Killer, as she had begun to style this unknown hand of death! Sick with apprehension, she sat on the chair the inspector indicated, twisted her bony fingers tightly together, opened her pale eyes to their widest extent, and waited, stiff with nervous tension, for the inspector's first question. It was Mrs Bradley, however, who spoke.

‘The prevalence of the bull's-eye-sucking habit among spinsters of a certain age has interested me more than once,' said the beaky mouth in the birdlike, darting head. Miss Caddick, considerably affronted by this apparently casual remark, hastily bolted the striped sweetmeat which she had slipped subconsciously into her mouth whilst waiting for the return of Mrs Puddequet's bathchair from this very room, took a much firmer seat upon the chair, completely forgot her nervousness (which forgetting happened to be the very object of Mrs Bradley's otherwise tactless remark), and observed frigidly:

‘Indeed?'

‘Very good for the digestion, ladies,' said Bloxham, looking up from his papers, ‘but time flies.'

‘My own opinion exactly, inspector,' said Miss Caddick, with an unusual degree of tartness. Mrs Bradley, the first bit of her work accomplished, retired gracefully into the background.

‘Now, please, Miss Caddick,' said Bloxham easily. ‘To begin with, I believe it is correct to assume that you did not leave the house from dinnertime onwards on the night of Mr Anthony's death.'

‘It is most certainly correct to assume so,' replied Miss Caddick, in her best manner. (She would show this extraordinarily unladylike person in the exceedingly
loud
clothes that an undertaker's daughter knew how to conduct herself on public occasions!) ‘As a matter of complete accuracy, inspector, I was mulcted of my little hour after dinner in the morning room because dear Mrs Puddequet had one of her
restless
evenings, and I was obliged to sit in her bedroom and read aloud to her. Then, of course, we heard that dreadful noise—'

‘What noise?'

‘Why, Mr Anthony. He threw a stone through Miss Cowes's window and nearly kicked all the paint off the outside of the gate leading from the sports ground into the sunk garden.'

The inspector glanced at one of the javelins which stood in a far corner of the room.

‘It was not a stone he threw,' said Mrs Bradley, interpreting her cue. ‘It was a javelin.'

‘Really?' There was no doubt of the genuine excitement in Miss Caddick's voice. ‘A javelin? Somebody must have a—a—'

‘A javelin complex,' interpolated Mrs Bradley, with one of her startling hoots of mirth. ‘This is the fourth javelin which has appeared in the play.'

‘I think,' said Miss Caddick boldly, ‘that you speak too flippantly of serious things. Was there—was there
blood
on the javelin, inspector?'

‘The inference is that there was not,' replied Bloxham gravely. ‘That doesn't matter for the moment, though. At what time, Miss Caddick, did the first sound of disturbance come to your ears?'

Miss Caddick considered the question. ‘Well,' she said, with judicial impartiality, ‘I cannot see that there is any harm in telling you that. Mr Golightly gave it as eleven minutes to twelve, but I happen to know that Mr Golightly was somewhat fast.'

‘Er'—Bloxham's mouth twitched ever so slightly—‘would you mind explaining who and where that gentleman was?'

‘Well, inspector,' replied Miss Caddick coquettishly, ‘to set all your doubts at rest, I must explain that Mr Golightly is simply the grandfather clock which stands in Mrs Puddequet's bedroom.'

‘I see,' said Bloxham. ‘Thank you. Pray proceed.'

‘Well,
I
made it
seventeen
minutes to twelve.'

‘I see. Now, I wonder whether you noticed the time when you were awakened by the cry of fire.'

‘Oh, but I did,' said Miss Caddick eagerly. ‘As soon as the alarm spread I flew to dear Mrs Puddequet's room, because, of course, in the very natural
confusion
into which a household is thrown under the circumstances, I could not be certain whether the actual house or only one of the outbuildings was on fire, and dear Mrs Puddequet is
helpless
when it comes to a question of assuming her garments. Besides, I had to assist her into the bathchair in order that she should make her escape with the rest of us.'

‘You know,' said the inspector, with great sincerity and admiration, ‘you're a jolly brave woman to think about that cantankerous old body at such a time.'

‘Oh, but, inspector,' said Miss Caddick, opening her pale eyes even more widely than usual, ‘it's what I'm
paid
to do!'

‘At any rate,' continued Bloxham, ‘you can swear to the time?'

‘According to Mr Golightly,' said Miss Caddick, ‘it was exactly eight minutes to four; that is to say, allowing for Mr Golightly's little idiosyncrasies, it was—eleven from fifty-two equals forty-one—er—twenty-one—no, no!—nineteen minutes to four.'

‘Thank you very much, Miss Caddick.' The inspector finished writing, and then looked up with a smile. ‘Very helpful indeed. Now I've extracted a promise from Mrs Puddequet that she wouldn't discuss what was said in here. I wonder whether you'd mind—?'

‘Oh, I will be
dumb
, inspector,' said Miss Caddick fervently.

Bloxham's eyes twinkled.

‘Then so will I,' he said, with a meaning wink. With great thankfulness Miss Caddick departed.

The next in order on the sergeant's list were the four maids and the cook. Beyond the fact that they had been considerably alarmed by the sudden disturbances; that the kitchenmaid, who, in her terror, had rushed out into the grounds in her nightdress, had been ordered back to the house to make herself ‘fit to be seen'—this by the formidable Mrs Macbrae; and that that redoubtable lady herself, with genuine foresight and courage, had stayed in the house long enough to collect a cold joint, two loaves of bread, and a gigantic jar of pickles from her store in order that, if the house were burnt down, the family might at least be able to have a meal in the morning—none of the five had anything helpful to report.

Malpas and Francis Yeomond next followed one another into the official presence.

‘Well, Mr Yeomond,' said Bloxham to each of them in turn, ‘I might as well tell you that you're down on my list of suspected persons.'

Each of the brothers smiled faintly at this piece of information, but with slightly lifted eyebrows, as though he were being told a weak jest which happened also to be in rather questionable taste.

‘You see, it's deucedly awkward about you two,' went on the inspector, cheerfully. ‘Can't prove a single thing about you at present. Daren't believe what you tell us! Can't ignore it, either! You
were
in your hut at eleven-forty that night, I suppose?' he asked each of them in turn, and each assented. ‘Alone?'

‘Alone and asleep. I knew Cowes was up at the house, you see, and we never lock the door of the hut, so I didn't worry about his coming in. He could come when he pleased as far as I was concerned.' This was the answer given by Malpas.

‘Quite alone,' was Francis's unhesitating reply. ‘Didn't know in the least at what time to expect Brown-Jenkins. Knew he was out to paint the town, you see. I suppose I must have been asleep at the time you mention. Of course, the chap woke me with his cursing when he did get back. That was at about three o'clock. He was in a blazing temper about a punctured tyre or something, and woke me up to tell me about it. Well, long before he was through, Celia came and nearly kicked in the door of our hut, yelling, “Fire.” She was in a frightful stew, so out we dashed, and were first on the scene of action. We burst in the door and found H. was not inside, so we didn't sweat much after that. Helped make a chain to the scullery for buckets of water, that's all.'

‘This is interesting,' said Bloxham. ‘You burst in the door, you say? Did you get burnt?'

‘No, not burnt. Got our faces scorched a bit and a blister or so on our hands. The hut was fairly well alight, though. I shouldn't have gone in but for funk about H. Don't know why Brown-Jenkins fagged. Glad he did. Could scarcely have burst the door in by myself.'

‘There were no iron bars outside the door?' asked Bloxham keenly.

‘I really couldn't say for certain, but I don't think so. The first thing I said to Brown-Jenkins when he showed them to us on the following morning was to ask whether he had spotted them the night before, but he couldn't remember one way or the other.'

Bloxham nodded, and when Francis had been dismissed he turned to Mrs Bradley.

‘And there aren't even fingerprints on the beastly things,' he said mournfully. ‘Still, we know there
is
a practical joker in the house—'

‘
Was
,' said Mrs Bradley, with a hideous leer.

‘Not Anthony?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘Well, but, granted you're right for the javelins and the—er—the bathchair, and so on—what about Kost's part in the business?'

‘Kost,' said Mrs Bradley very decidedly, ‘had
no
part in the business.'

‘But Brown-Jenkins
saw
him,' persisted Bloxham. ‘He was on the terrace the night Hobson was murdered.'

‘Saw his grandmother!' retorted Mrs Bradley, with spirit. ‘He saw Anthony, of course, not Kost.'

‘Yes, but, look here! Those iron bars. A practical joke to try and make me think that the burning of Hilary Yeomond's hut was an attempt on the lad's life. You agree?'

‘With certain slight reservations, yes,' said Mrs Bradley.

‘Well, you agree that at the time that hut was set on fire we may assume those iron bars were not there? The joker, whoever he or she was—because, of course, we mustn't forget the ladies—'

Mrs Bradley bowed ironically at this courteous inclusion of her sex. ‘—came along after the firefighters were gone, and drove those bars into the ground—'

‘After the fire was put out,' supplied Mrs Bradley. ‘If that is so, inspector, how do you account for the fact that, although they had not been damaged by fire, those bars were still warm to the touch early next morning?'

‘Yes,' agreed Bloxham, after a moment's hesita-tion, ‘yes, there is that, of course.'

Mrs Bradley cackled harshly.

‘And yet,' went on Bloxham, ‘all the instincts of my turbulent youth rise up and inform me that, whether or not the iron bars were there when the fire actually broke out, the whole thing was either a joke, a plant, or a blind.'

‘Now,' said Mrs Bradley, nodding her black, birdlike head in approval, ‘you are talking sense, child. Can't you go one step further?'

‘No,' said Bloxham. ‘No, I can't. I've thought until my brains were standing out like cords on the top of my head, but the next bit of that particular crossword defeats me. You see, if only Anthony had not been dead for three hours and more—'

Mrs Bradley shook her head sadly.

‘Ah, well,' she said philosophically. ‘Who is the next victim?'

The sergeant, who had already glanced twice through the opening between the doors to find out whether they were ready to receive their next visitor, now received a nod for his pains, and called in a loud voice for Ludwig Kost.

‘Ludovic to you, my friend,' said Kost angrily as he passed him. ‘You have the Anglo-Saxon pronouncement of names, perhaps.'

‘Sit down, Mr Kost,' said the inspector. ‘I need not keep you long. It is my duty to warn you that you are on my list of suspected persons, and that you must be very careful this time not to mislead me. You understand?'

‘Indeed, yes,' replied Kost good-humouredly. ‘I must dot the i's.'

‘No. Just mind the p's and q's, that's all,' said the inspector. ‘Now then. Tell me all that you did from dinnertime onwards on the night of Mr Anthony's death.'

Kost reflected.

‘You will not be too hard on me, perhaps, if I go back and put in things I forgot first time?' he asked.