Death at Hallows End (15 page)

Carolus turned pointedly to Spaull.

“Do you know anything that may throw light on the disappearance of Duncan Humby?”

Spaull considered.

“I don't quite know. Perhaps you had better read my statement when it's finished.”

“But why on earth do you
want
to dictate a statement? If you know anything, why not tell it to the police?”

“I have answered all the questions put by the police perfectly truthfully.”

“Then why come to me?”

“Why not?” put in Zelia. “Humphrey remembers you from his schooldays when you were always investigating something. He saw you down at Hallows End the other day, so we put two and two together. I told him to dictate the story. He's not a good raconteur.”

“I see. Will you be prepared to answer questions on your statement, Spaull?”

Once again it was Zelia who answered.

“It depends on what they are,” she said. “We're not going to be involved in this thing for anybody.”

“I certainly see no reason why
you
should be involved, Miss Harris. Indeed I do not see how you come into it at all, or why you have done me the honour of this visit.”

Zelia attempted a disarming smile.

“Humphrey's hopeless on his own, Mr. Deene. He's so unpractical. You surely don't mind my giving him a little moral support?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“He has often talked about you. We felt sure you would advise him.”

“I will certainly read his statement. But I warn you I may find it my duty to hand it on to Detective Sergeant Snow who is investigating the case.”

“Well, if you say so,” agreed Zelia.

“I hope it will include details of what took you to Hallows End, Spaull.”

“It will begin at the beginning and go on till it comes to the end; then stop,” promised Zelia archly, on which they took their leave, promising to deliver the report that same day.

At four o'clock that afternoon, it was handed in a carefully sealed envelope to Mrs. Stick by Spaull who escaped before she could deliver it to Carolus.

Carolus immediately sat down to read it.

Statement of Humphrey Fowler Spaull

W
HEN
I
WAS A SMALL
boy I knew nothing, of course, of an irregularity about my parentage. I cannot remember my mother actually saying that my father was dead but it was with this supposition that I reached my teens.

My mother seems in retrospect very young—she was in fact twenty-nine when I was born and died at fifty, two years ago. She was a cheerful person who enjoyed running her successful little business and was popular in the district. She sent me to the Queen's School as a day boy and I became captain of the school teams, both Rugger and Cricket.

At fifteen a woman friend of my mother's told me that I was old Grossiter's natural son, that my mother had been his housekeeper and had been set up in her shop by Grossiter just after I was born. This disturbed and perplexed me a good deal but I did not ask my mother about it. Nor did I ever hear my mother speak of Grossiter except casually as a local character.

I was just twenty when mother died. She had told me that she wanted me to sell the sweet shop after she was gone because there would be enough money then for me to complete my education and fulfill her dearest wish by entering a profession. Her affairs, she said, were in the hands of Mr. Duncan Humby and I should go to him if she died.

I did so a week after my mother's funeral. At first he was civil enough, went into details of selling the shop and told me that apart from this there would be about 2,000 pounds for me from my mother's little estate. Then I made the mistake of telling him the story I had heard about our relations with Grossiter, and he changed his manner in a moment, treating me as though I was a blackmailer. He did not answer my question but said that no good would come of my enquiring into these things, and adopted a rather threatening attitude. “This much is true,” he said, “Mr. Grossiter has been extremely kind to your mother who once worked for him. There is nothing more to be said and I hope you will not mention the matter to me or to anyone else again.” He became brusque where he had been polite and dismissed me as though I were an undesirable.

This rankled a great deal and I formed a dislike for Humby which I have never lost. It was perhaps his air of authority and well-being which made me think of becoming a solicitor myself. I had never been much good at passing exams but I decided that if I really applied myself I could learn what was necessary about law, and after the sweet shop was sold, I obtained a job as junior clerk with the firm of Dawley, Rowe and Blanchard, who were the chief rivals in Newminster to Merryweather, Priming and Catley, Humby's firm.

The firm, for which I worked happily for a year, had acted for Grossiter at the time when my mother worked for him. I found this out by chance and learned that afterwards there had been some dispute between our then senior partner William Rowe and Grossiter, and Grossiter had taken his business to Humby. It was some weeks before I had an opportunity of looking at the files of that time and I finally did so only about a month ago. The story, when I knew it, surprised me a great deal. I was not Grossiter's bastard son, as I had supposed, but the offspring of his son Raymond Grossiter. When old Grossiter
found out about his son and my mother, he was furious and threw both of them out of his house—almost literally, I gathered—though he did not treat them parsimoniously. For my mother he bought the shop, for his son he bought a ticket to South Africa and paid a large sum into a bank for him there. I believe they never so much as corresponded again.

On learning the truth about my parentage, I decided to see old Grossiter myself. I am, after all, his grandson and I felt he should take some interest in the career I had adopted. But I found myself prevented from approaching him by the man Darkin who guarded the house like a trained dog. I tried writing to my grandfather, but receiving no reply, I guessed that my letters were not reaching him. I went to see Mr. Humby, but he told me to leave his office.

The truth was, I wanted to get married to Zelia Harris and I felt that old Grossiter should help me to do so, considering the circumstances of my birth. I was determined to get to see him and eventually—in a pub called the Black Horse—I made the acquaintance of a woman employed in Grossiter's house as a char. She promised to inform me of all that went on and said that if Darkin was going to be absent from the house at any time for long, she would let me know and I could get in.

Before this happened, however, she brought me other news. Grossiter and Darkin were going to Hallows End to stay with Grossiter's nephews and might be there for a week or more.

I saw this as my chance. I asked for and obtained a fortnight's holiday and Zelia drove me to Hallows End. I knew nobody there and thought the best person to see was the Rector. He told me about Mrs. Rudd and I became her lodger. That was on the day after Grossiter had arrived at Monk's Farm—that is to say Saturday, September nth. I kept out of the way as far as possible, particularly of Darkin, and I am almost certain that for several days he knew nothing of my being in Hallows End.

Rudd died on Wednesday the 15 th, and on Thursday afternoon I succeeded in seeing my grandfather. I had noticed that Darkin usually took a walk in the afternoon in the direction of the village, and was absent for at least an hour. The brothers, or one of them, usually remained about the house or farm, but on that day they had gone out together in their lorry, leaving the coast clear. I found the back door unlocked and looked into rooms until I found the one in which Grossiter was dozing on the couch.

He began to fire questions at me. Who was I? What did I want? Was I anything to do with the Neasts?

I said I supposed I must be in some way related to the Neasts because they were his nephews. So he said, “Then you're one of those bloody Hickmansworths, are you?”

I said no, and told him my name.

He stared for a minute, then seemed to relax.

“Bless my soul. Are you indeed? I often wondered what had become of the child. Milly SpaulPs son, eh? Stand in the light. I want to see you.”

He seemed delighted. He asked me what I was doing and about my schooldays, and a good many questions about my mother. He took it for granted that I knew whose son I was and asked if I knew Raymond and his wife had been killed. At last I got a chance to tell him that I wanted to get married and on that he began to ask me searching questions about my affairs and prospects. I answered him frankly and he seemed pleased.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said. “Don't count on anything, though. You're no responsibility of mine, as your mother well knew. But if I can see my way into helping you to get married I may very well do it. Who is the girl?”

I told him about Zelia and he asked
what
Harris. I explained that Zelia's father has a senior position in the Borough Surveyor's office and he seemed reasonably satisfied. Then suddenly he said, “How much do you think you need?”

I decided to be bold and said straight out, 10,000 pounds. He looked a bit sour at that, but presently gave a little smile. “You don't mind asking for it, do you? Well, we'll see what we can do. But one thing you can be certain about—you won't be in my will. I've made up my mind to that. No member of my blasted family will be in it. Not one.”

He was a vigorous old boy and talked loudly. It seems incredible to me that he should have died of heart failure only a few days later.

We were interrupted by the entrance of Holroyd Neast, a creepy sort of person, I thought. Grossiter seemed to get pleasure in playing me off against the rest of them.

“Where's that blasted Darkin?” he shouted at Holroyd Neast. “This young man's been prevented from coming to see me when he had every right to do so. You hear that? Every right! D'you know anything about it?”

Neast's ugly grin disappeared.

“No,” he said. “I have never seen this young man.”

That was a lie, to begin with. I'd run into him that very morning.

“Well, Darkin has, and deliberately prevented him from seeing me.”

Darkin came into the room at this minute.

“You'll be sorry for this,” the old man shouted. “I know very well why you tried to prevent him seeing me and you've
exactly
defeated your own purpose. I'll see to that. You'll soon know where
you
stand. What about his letters? He says he has written half a dozen times. Why have I never received his letters?”

“You have always received every letter that has come for you, Mr. Grossiter,” said Darkin.

“Lies. Lies. But you've done yourself no good by this. You'll find that out one day. Now bring me my tea, you ape. Don't stand gibbering there!”

He gave me his hand.

“Come and see me again,” he said. “And I'll see what I can do.”

I walked out feeling as though I was escaping from a snake pit.

I did not go to see him again until early on the Monday afternoon—his last afternoon, as it transpired. I knew the Neasts were out because Mrs. Rudd said they always went to market on Mondays, but I thought Darkin was in the house. I went to the front door, rang the bell and asked to see Mr. Grossiter. He went away to ask, then showed me in.

But the old man was in a very different mood and seemed suspicious about something

“What made you come this afternoon?” he said.

No particular reason, I told him.

“Damned funny you should choose today. I told you you wouldn't be in my will, didn't I? Well, you won't. Not you or any of them. So it's no good trying to make me change my mind at the last moment.”

I have wondered since what he meant by that and suppose it was because he was expecting his solicitor that afternoon.

“I may or may not have done something else for you, but it's no good looking for that. The terms are all settled.”

He waved his hand as though he wanted me to go, and I thought it best to leave. Darkin was grinning when I passed him in the passage.

When I came out of the bungalow, it was about half-past three and I decided to walk to the village before returning to Mrs. Rudd's for tea. I did not go by Church Lane, but took the footpath which runs from the church and cuts off the main curve of Church Lane, joining it near the village at a point opposite to Puckett's cottage. Had I followed the road, my evidence might
be more valuable now for I should've passed Humby's car or seen him driving towards me. As it was, the only human being I saw between the church and the village came up behind and passed me on a bicycle just after I had joined Church Lane. I did not know the man then and he did not turn round to look at me, but I know now it was Stonegate, cycling home early because he was unwell.

After tea I went out again, and standing near the churchyard I heard the Neasts' lorry coming up the road, and out of sheer curiosity watched. Holroyd Neast was driving it and stopped for a moment at the gate of the bungalow. He got out there and went in while Cyril Neast took over the wheel and came on to the farmyard. He put the lorry in the barn where they always keep it, locked the barn door and walked back to the bungalow. I went back to Mrs. Rudd's.

I went to bed early that night. I sleep very lightly and some time later was awakened by a light flashing across my eyes. I knew what it was, for it had happened once before. A car with headlights was coming up the lane and turning into the farmyard. Just as it turns in the gate its lights just catch the windows of this cottage. I got up and looked out, but I heard and saw nothing. I looked at my watch and saw it was twenty past twelve. I thought nothing of it at the time.

Perhaps Cyril had been out on the booze and was putting the lorry away. But when I heard afterwards what had happened during the night, I remembered it.