Wobble to Death (12 page)

Sergeant Cribb was standing with Thackeray by the huts, which were unoccupied. The tenants were all away at the track. A large afternoon audience was in the Hall, making itself heard above the band’s blare. The competitors were out there, entertaining them.

Cribb had picked up one of a pile of iron struts of various lengths, that had been used in the construction of the hut roofs. This one was about eighteen inches long, and the thickness of a walking-cane. It could make an ugly weapon.

‘Heavy enough to do the job, and the right size. One good swing at the back of his skull when he’s lying there, turned over towards the wall. Child could have done it with a bar like this.’ He swung it sharply through the air, bring-ing it down hard into his other palm. ‘I bungled, Thackeray. Should have looked closer for signs of foul play.’

‘It seems to me,’ Thackeray consoled him, ‘that as the party that bashed him pulled the hair neat over the wound you couldn’t be expected to find it, Sarge.’

‘Hm. Should’ve checked. Whole thing was too neat. Still, that’s past. Lesson to us both. Point is, Thackeray, the man was bashed and left to die.’

‘To make it seem he took his own life.’

‘Yes. With a note in his own handwriting beside him. How that was done bothers me. I’m having it looked at, compared with other writings from his hand. He could have planned on suicide anyway, of course. I don’t think so, though. No, Mr Monk knew he was clear the moment we suggested checking his lodging. And men of his sort don’t take to suicide unless the hangman threatens.’

‘So we’re left with two murders,’ commented Thackeray. Cribb tossed down the bar and brought his hands up to grip the constable’s arms.

‘That’s the sum of it, Thackeray. Name your suspects.’

Thackeray looked about him cautiously. The din behind them continued. Everyone else was absorbed in the race.

‘It’s hard to know which to start with. I suppose Jacobson’s the prime suspect. He’s deep under the hatches, you found out, and he was the last to see Monk alive. He could have fixed a heavy bet somewhere on Chadwick, and downed Darrell to settle his debts. Then he’d fake the sui-cide to put the rap on Monk.’

‘Good. We’ll watch him. Who else?’

‘Chadwick himself. He stands to make a mint of money out of this, and Darrell was his only rival—but going too well that first day. It wouldn’t do for a nob like Chadwick to get beat by one of Darrell’s class.’

‘Motive—honour of the regiment. Right. Any other nominations?’

‘I’ve got a queer fancy about Herriott, Sarge. Suppose he backed Chadwick to win so that his bets would cover any loss on the promotion. Darrell’s form on that first day might have panicked Herriott into trying to nobble him. He could have tipped in more strychnine than he realised. A purler or two among the runners is good business, too. Listen to that crowd.’

‘Sol Herriott, then. You’re doing famously. Who else?’

Thackeray was encouraged. He expanded on his theories, shaping the whiskers under his chin to a point as he spoke. ‘Ah. Outsiders, mostly. Who stands to gain most? O’Flaherty, I reckon; Chadwick, of course; maybe Chadwick’s trainer. I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen the man around. He keeps to himself.’

‘Harvey.’

‘Him, then. And this doctor bloke—Mostyn-Smith. I can’t make out what he’s doing in this affair. I suppose, if you look at it logical, anyone here after ten-thirty last night could have fixed Monk. Then we’ve got to find which of them had a motive for killing Darrell. Perhaps we ought to know more about him, Sarge.’

‘First-rate suggestion,’ declared Cribb. He was beginning to form an affectionate respect for Thackeray’s painstaking deductions. ‘We’ll go and see the one suspect you missed. Should tell us more about Darrell, and might clear up a few mysteries about herself.’

‘Herself?’

‘Mrs Darrell, Constable. Never discount the lady.’

‘But I don’t see how—’

‘She’s visited this Hall twice. First time, the afternoon before Darrell went down. Second time, last night.’

CHAPTER
12

Cribb fixed the eye with a look of authority.

‘This is police business. Important business. We must see Mrs Darrell tonight. If she’s out, I must insist that you tell me where she is and when you expect her to return.’

The response was immediate.

‘The Mistress is at Highbury, visiting friends—the Darbys. She always goes there for tea on Thursdays. I expect she’ll get back before seven.’

‘We’ll wait,’ announced Cribb. ‘Inside, if we may.’

After a moment’s hesitation the eye disappeared, and there was the sound of a door-chain being released. Then Taylor admitted them.

‘That’s better, love,’ said Cribb. ‘Doesn’t do to keep Mr Robert standing on the doorstep, does it? This is Constable Thackeray—good man to have in the house on a lonely November night. You remember me?’

The twitch of her lips showed that she did. She seemed uncertain what to do with her visitors now they had gained entrance.

‘We’ll not trouble with the drawing-room,’ Cribb went on. ‘Thackeray here’s a burly fellow. Likely as not he’ll tumble over the small tables she’s got in there. We’ll come in the kitchen with you. Smells good to me. What’s on the stove?’

Without protesting, Taylor led them through a curtained archway and down some steps to the kitchen. She was a bright-eyed girl in her twenties, without the deportment of a girl of better class. But her figure was so generously pro-portioned that any movement in the close-cut black dress was attractive to the visitors.

Cribb marched into the kitchen with the air of a prospec-tive purchaser.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Chance to prove our credentials.’ He picked up a bowl from the table-top. ‘What d’you make of this, Thackeray?’

The constable saw the point of the game. He sniffed pro-fessionally at the bowl.

‘Chicken-broth, I’d say, Sarge. Probably made up from Sunday’s joint.’

‘Good,’ said Cribb. ‘Followed by . . . ?’

‘An orange, peeled by hand.’

Taylor’s eyes gaped wide.

‘Not so difficult,’ commented Thackeray in a superior tone. ‘You threw all the peel on the fire, but look at your fin-ger-nails—right hand.’

‘Oh, very smart,’ said Taylor without much admiration in her voice. ‘Now tell me what else I had for tea.’

‘One large muffin,’ answered Thackeray, unperturbed. He lifted a toasting-fork from a patch of crumbs at one end of the table. ‘Very fattening that.’

‘And you finished it all off with a cigarette—ah, now you blush!’ declared Cribb. ‘Taken from the late Master’s rooms, I dare say—or is the Mistress a secret smoker herself?’

‘How d’you know that?’ Taylor demanded.

‘The smoke,’ Cribb explained. ‘Even the orange can’t stop that from lingering. Like me to open a window?’

Giggling at the discovery of her secret, Taylor lit the gas under the kettle. Cribb judged that the time was right for serious questions.

‘Your evening off, Monday, you said?’

She turned from the stove.

‘That’s right,’ and added archly, ‘I’m courting steady, though.’

‘Pretty lass like you would be. Simple deduction that. You were out with your young man last Monday, then?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Quite late, I expect?’

Taylor was blushing. ‘Not all that late.’

‘Back by midnight, then?’

‘Before that. Mistress won’t have me coming in after.’

She filled the tea-pot, trying to appear uninterested in the questions.

‘Mistress have any visitors that evening?’

‘Don’t know, rightly. She went out to dinner, but didn’t bring no one home.’ She simpered, concealing something.

‘Dinner? Who with?’ asked Cribb.

‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

Self-protection, rather than loyalty, was making her reluctant to talk.

Cribb tried again.

‘Could have been one of several, you mean.’

‘Well, it weren’t her husband,’ Taylor said with emphasis. Cribb pressed her.

‘When you came back—before midnight—she was home, then?’

‘She was.’ The hint of a smile was still there.

‘And alone?’

‘And alone,’ repeated Taylor.

‘Hasn’t always been like that, eh?’ asked Cribb, recalling a confidence Taylor had hinted at before.

‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Lonely for a ped’s wife, when he’s in training.’

She caught the ironical note in his voice, and echoed it.

‘Oh, terrible lonesome. Poor lady’s beside herself with loneliness.’

‘Or beside others, eh?’ suggested Cribb.

‘Now, now, Mister!’

‘But nobody on Monday night?’

‘I never said that,’ Taylor corrected him. ‘I said she brought no one home.’

‘Someone was already here?’

Taylor threw back her head laughing.

‘You a detective? No, Mister, nobody was here, and I saw nobody all night. That didn’t stop me hearing a cab draw up in the early morning, and leave two hours later. But don’t you let on to Mistress I said that. I’ll say it’s not true, not a word of it. I could have been dreaming, couldn’t I?’

‘The early morning? What time?’

‘Oh, after one, I’d say. Maybe nearer two.’

‘Who opened the door?’

She giggled. ‘I didn’t, I’m sure of that. She must have— no, I remember. Whoever it was let himself in. I heard a key turn in the latch.’

‘Heard no voices?’

‘I wouldn’t have, unless they was shouting, and they didn’t do that. D’you take sugar?’

It was clear that Taylor had said all that she would about the early morning visitor. Cribb returned to small-talk and tea.

A few minutes after this one of the set of signal-bells above the door jerked into life.

‘Front door,’ announced Taylor, on her feet at once. ‘Mistress, I’m sure.’ She hurried away to answer the sum-mons. In a minute she returned.

‘Mistress will see you in the drawing-room in five min-utes.’ She lowered her voice, confidentially. ‘I’m in a nice pickle for bringing you gents in here.’

Cribb gave his unfailing wink.

‘We’ll tell her we took you by storm.’

Soon enough formality was restored to the household and Taylor ushered the detectives starchily into Cora’s pres-ence. She sat in a shell-backed easy chair. A pair of upright rosewood chairs had been set out for the visitors.

‘I am sorry that I was out,’ Cora began, ‘but if you had made an arrangement I should have made a point of being here.’

Cribb accepted the mild reproof.

‘Mrs Darrell, I don’t know whether you heard this morn-ing’s news.’

‘Of what, Sergeant?’

‘Oh—er—Monk’s death, Ma’am.’

She whitened at once. The ticking of the clock, under a glass dome, suddenly seemed to increase in power, a pulse-beat magnified many times.

‘Sam Monk—dead?’

‘Died of gas-poisoning, Ma’am.’

Her thoughts struggled for a logical sequence.

‘You mean . . . dead? Suicide? He took his own life? Blamed himself—’

‘Not exactly, Mrs Darrell. We think he was probably murdered.’

Cribb watched her reaction most closely. Her eyelids were lowered as she absorbed this second shock. Her hands tightened their grip on the handkerchief she held until the fingers became drained of blood. When she eventually found words, she was coherent.

‘Who would kill him? Why should anyone want to mur-der Sam?’ An implication of Monk’s murder dawned on her. ‘You think someone blamed him for Charlie’s death, and killed him for it. You can’t believe that I . . . He was an old friend, Sergeant. I said some terrible things about him. Perhaps he
was
negligent. I might have sued him—but mur-der! That isn’t a woman’s way.’

‘That’s open to discussion,’ Cribb said. ‘And I’m not sug-gesting anything to involve you in this. But let’s get the facts right. Evidence seems to exonerate Monk.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The tonic, Ma’am. He mixed it perfectly. Just as the recipe said. Someone else must have tipped in the strychnine.’

‘I don’t understand how—’ Cora was dazed.

‘Don’t you try, Ma’am. That’s our job in Detective Department. Ready to answer some questions, are you? We need to know more about your husband. Got to find why someone should want to poison him.’

‘I shall try to help.’

‘Good. Anyone owe your husband money—unpaid bets, or anything of that sort?’

‘I feel sure I should know if there was anyone. Charles has never mentioned such a thing.’

‘No grudges—old scores? Top-class runner. He must have pricked a few reputations on the way up.’

‘I think he was well liked, Sergeant. He had no enemies that I heard of, and many friends.’

‘How did he get along with Chadwick? Did they race together before this?’

‘I don’t think he knew the man. I believe Mr Chadwick doesn’t usually participate in open contests. I’ve never spo-ken to him, and I doubt whether Charles did.’

‘So there couldn’t have been any pre-race agreements about pace and so on. It’s not unusual in foot-racing, I believe.’

‘I think not, although I can’t be certain. The trainers may have arranged something, of course.’

‘And your husband would run to Monk’s orders?’

‘Well no. Sam generally left Charles to manage his own running, but I suppose he might have told him to run to a certain pace this time. He was more of an assistant and masseur than an adviser. He was a friend too. I think Charles liked to have his support.’

‘You and your husband made many friends through his running?’

‘Yes.’

‘Some would visit this house socially?’

‘Some of them, yes.’ A note of caution entered her voice. ‘Some came when your husband was away training at Hackney, didn’t they?’

Her head automatically jerked towards the door that Taylor had closed.

‘Friends of both of you, of course,’ Cribb added. He was working hard to keep her confidence buoyant.

‘Yes. A few times.’

‘Foot-racing people—runners, trainers and so on?’

‘Yes.’

Time for a difficult question. He got up and added a piece of coal to the sinking fire. When he turned to face her, his voice was soft, but his eyes lynx-like.

‘I’m interested in last Monday evening. You’ll tell me who came then, won’t you, Ma’am?’

The response was instantaneous.

‘I was out on Monday evening.’

‘Oh yes. Visiting the Hall?’

‘No. I dined out—with friends.’

‘You won’t mind me asking,’ said Cribb, in a way that he had of assuming co-operation. ‘I have to cover this time carefully. Who were these friends?’

This time she did hesitate before answering.

‘The Darbys.’

‘People you’ve just left. See them often, do you?’

‘They are old friends.’

‘Highbury, you said, Mrs Darrell?’

‘Holly House, in Gittins Lane.’

Cribb glanced towards Thackeray. The information was already being noted. The constable’s writing was accurate, but laborious, and it was understood between them that he would record only essential information.

‘What time did you get back from Highbury, Ma’am?’

‘About twelve, I think. No, it must have been earlier. I was home before Taylor, and she gets in by midnight.’

‘And then, Ma’am?’

Her mouth tightened.

‘What do you mean?’

‘After you got home, Mrs Darrell. You might not see the importance of this, but we have to cover everyone’s move-ments. Did you go to bed?’

‘Not at once. I sat in this room.’

There was a difficult pause, while Cribb waited for her to continue. She said no more. At length he broke the silence. ‘I didn’t want to put my next question, Ma’am. It’s now necessary. But I’ll save you some embarrassment by answer-ing it myself. You had a visitor after you got back.’

She did not respond, but looked through Cribb, visually obliterating him.

‘I shouldn’t press you if this wasn’t deuced important,’ he explained. ‘We’re professional men, Mrs Darrell. We are trained to be discreet. I’ve information that you had a caller after midnight—early Tuesday morning, in fact. Who was that, please?’

Quite suddenly Cora’s poise collapsed.

‘This isn’t fair!’

She bowed, weeping into the handkerchief, her shoulders convulsing with each sob. Her voice rose and fell hysterically.

‘How can you keep tormenting me like this? You come here telling me that Charles is dead, and probably mur-dered, and then you suggest that I entertained a man here on the night before he died. Who are you to make these accusations? I want my father here when you question me. It isn’t fair! Why should I tolerate this?’

Cribb waited until the sobbing became more controlled. He spoke in a low voice, quite slowly.

‘You deny that a man came here that night?’

She jerked her face free of her hands. Her eyes, reddened by the outburst, flashed fury.

‘I have
nothing
to answer to this impertinent question. I think that you had better leave this house.’ She reached for the bell-rope.

‘We shall then, Ma’am,’ said Cribb, quite calmly. ‘But do consider this. Your husband died on Tuesday. His trainer was murdered yesterday. You could be in danger too. If you’re keeping information from us it may prevent us stop-ping this. I’ll ask you no more questions, Ma’am. I apologise for upsetting you. If you should think again—or if you need help—you can contact the police office at the Hall. They’ll find me at once. Good evening to you.’

Outside, the fog had thickened. By midnight it would be as dense as Sunday’s. After trying for a hansom for twenty minutes, they decided to take a bus. Cribb was determined to return to the Hall before signing off for the night.