Death at Hallows End (7 page)

“Your husband worked for Neasts?”

“Yes, for fifteen years. It was only when the new laws came in that they paid him properly, but then they couldn't help it. He was all right in the last few years but his working stopped him from drawing his pension.”

“He died in hospital?”

“Yes. Cancer. He'd been feeling off for some time and I kept telling him, why don't you go to the doctor, I said. When at last he did go it was too late. He had a lot of pain towards the end. I don't like to think about it, really.”

“Which day did he die?”

“On the Wednesday and buried on Saturday afternoon. There was a lot turned out for it and I must say the wreaths was lovely. Reverend Whiskins, well, Father Whiskins he calls himself, did the burial service. They'd brought the body over from the hospital at Swanwick, you see.”

“I understand you are putting a very fine memorial over his grave.”

“Well, I like something with a bit of show to it and Mr. Neast has been very good about that, I must say. I thought to myself they could underpay him all those years, then want to make a lot of it when he's gone. Still, I must say they've been very good about it.”

“They lost a relative of their own two days after your husband was buried,” Carolus remarked.

“Yes. I heard about that.”

“You never saw the gentleman?”

“No. According to what I hear he only came to the farm a few days before he died, and never went out so far as anyone saw. They only had the doctor to him after he was gone, so they tell me. It seems funny, doesn't it?”

Carolus thought that if he heard the word “funny” misused again he would throw up the case. It was beginning to haunt him.

“Do you remember last Monday afternoon, Mrs. Rudd? That was the day on which my friend set out for Hallows End and disappeared.”

“Not specially, I don't. It was a nice afternoon, if that's what you mean.”

“Did you go out?”

“Not to say out, I didn't. I fed my chickens and shut them up about five o'clock, I should say, then I was busy looking at the cards from the funeral.”

“When you were out of doors, did you hear anything unusual?”

“Goodness me, whatever do you mean?”

“From the farm or anywhere?”

“I shouldn't have heard anything from the farm, not if they were all murdering one another. It's too far away. Besides, there was no one there. Mr. Stonegate went home early that day because he wasn't well, and the Neasts was over at the market at Cashford.”

“You don't know what time they came back?”

“Well, they're usually back by about five, but of course I can't say to the minute. I didn't see or hear anything of them that evening but then I wouldn't, would I?”

“And since then? Have you noticed anything unusual?”

“Not to say unusual I haven't. But there's one man I don't like the look of, that's the one they call Darkin who came with the Neasts' uncle. Him I don't like the look of at all.”

“I wonder why?”

“Well, why doesn't he go away now the old man's body's been taken away and cremated? What's he still hanging round for, that's what I'd like to know. I saw him this afternoon creeping round all in black and I said to myself you're a nice one, aren't you?”

“The cremation was only this morning, Mrs. Rudd.”

“But what's he coming back here for? His job's finished, isn't it?

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I had to answer civil when he spoke to me, saying he's sorry about my husband and that. If you ask my opinion he's not all there, the way he looks at you. There's something funny about him anyway. Why, what's the matter, sir?”

“Nothing. Nothing. You were saying?”

“Yes, well, I don't like him, that's all. I never did from the first. He's Chapel, too. I heard him on about the Reverend Whiskins one day. What business is that of his, I'd like to know. If Reverend Whiskins is a bit on the High side and likes a few candles and that, it's us who've got to put up with it, not him. I saw him yesterday morning prowling round the church and the churchyard as though he'd like to blow it up. And when he went down to my husband's grave, I went out to him. ‘You keep away from that,' I said. ‘That's no business of yours.' ‘I was only admiring the flowers,' he told me. ‘Well, you admire them somewhere else,' I said. ‘That's my old man's grave, that is, and it's not for other people to come nosing at.' He went off after that but I was glad I told him.”

“You don't feel so strongly about your late husband's employers?”

“No. I can't say I do. They're a funny pair, there's no mistake about that, but not like what this Darkin was. Mean? Well, they
are
mean. I've never known them do a thing for anybody. But they've lived here a long time and we're used to them, as
you might say. They've never said a word out of place to me, anyhow.”

“What about the other man on the farm, Joel Stonegate?

“Stonegate? Oh, he's all right, I suppose. My husband and he never really got on, but I don't say the fault was all on one side. I've nothing to say against him. And he sent a lovely bunch of chrysanths to the funeral besides coming with his daughter.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Rudd. You've been most helpful.”

“I can't see how anything I've told you will help to find the gentleman missing, I'm sure. Was he coming to the farm, do you know?”

“He was on his way to see Mr. Grossiter, the Neasts' uncle.”

“That accounts for it, then.”

“For what?”

“For his car being up this lane. No one hardly ever comes up the lane unless it's to see the church, and there's a nice few in the summer do that. You see it doesn't lead anywhere after here. As soon as I heard about the car being there in the evening I said to myself, whatever was it doing in this lane, then? But what you say accounts for it.”

Carolus rose to bid her goodbye and as he did so was surprised to hear someone descending the narrow staircase of the cottage. He had assumed that Mrs. Rudd was alone, and looked enquiringly at her.

“That's my lodger,” she said, but offered no further explanation.

Carolus heard the front door open and someone go out into the night, but it was too dark to see.

“I didn't know you took lodgers,” he said.

“No more I don't usually. But when Rudd was taken to hospital and I was on my own here, it seemed a chance, and he's a very quiet young man.”

“Has he been here long?”

“He came the day after Mr. Grossiter arrived at the farm, I think it was. The Rector sent him to me. He's studying for an exam and sits reading books all day and writing bits on little sheets of paper. Doesn't go out much.”

“You say he's a young man?”

“Not more than twenty-two or three I shouldn't say he was. He's very polite and that, but it wouldn't do for anyone to offend him, either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He practises boxing and that. He's got one of these punch balls up in his room and thinks nothing of lifting weights up and down which would do for anyone else. There's only one thing I don't like about him—that's his young lady. She came over to see him last Monday. I could see at once what she was.”

“What was she?”

“No better than what she ought to be, and with airs and graces of I don't know what. Spoke to me like dirt, she did. She was trying to get him to do something he didn't want to, too. ‘You
must
do it,' I heard her say. No, I didn't like her.”

“What is your lodger's name, Mrs. Rudd?” asked Carolus.

“Spaull. Funny name, isn't it? Humphrey Spaull.”

Carolus bade Mrs. Rudd goodbye and went to his car to drive down to the village. He was determined to make one more call tonight, but to leave the Neasts until tomorrow. First, however, he would have to phone Mrs. Stick, and for this he drove to a phone box which he remembered seeing in the centre of the village.

His housekeeper answered in alarmed tones.

“Yes? Who is it? Who? Oh it's you, sir. It gave me quite a turn ringing here with the house empty.”

“Isn't Stick there with you?”

“Stick? Oh, yes. He's here. Your dinner will be ready in an hour. I've got a nice lapper oh for you.”

“
What
did you say, Mrs. Stick?”

“You're having rabbit tonight.”

“Oh, I see, yes.
Lapereau.
But I'm afraid I shan't be back, Mrs. Stick. I'm still sixty miles away. I think it would he better If I stayed the night here,”

“Well, of course it's not for me to say but you never know what damp sheets you may lie in and catch your death. I don't say anything about the dinner, though I did marinade the rabbit yesterday and was going to cook it ar lar Bordelice with a bottle of Bow Jolly. Still, if you want to eat some rubbish they give you
out,
you must do as you think fit. Oh, and there's a policeman called. A Sergeant Snow. He said he'll be in Newminster tomorrow again and will call on you about seven.”

“What did you tell him, Mrs. Stick?”

“You know very well what I told him. Not if I had my way he wouldn't call, I said. But it's no good talking. I'll put the rabbit back in the marinade and tell Stick to double-bar everywhere. We can't tell who may be hanging round in the night, now you've got mixed up again. Good night, sir.”

C
AROLUS HOPED FOR GREAT
results from the call he meant to make in Hallows End that evening, and in any case realised that for a particular reason it was necessary before he tackled the Neasts. Joel Stonegate, cycling home that Monday afternoon at about four o'clock, according to the landlord of the Falstaff, had actually seen Duncan Humby in his car. With any luck he might remember the car's position in the road, so that Carolus would know whether or not the Neasts could have passed it without difficulty on their way home from market.

But before he went to Stonegate's cottage he decided to have a drink at the Falstaff and book a room for the night. From the licence plate above the door he learned that the landlord's name was John Sporter.

“Found your friend yet?” Mr. Sporter greeted him. “No? It's pretty diff, I suppose. I know I shouldn't be much good detective-wise.”

“Have you a room for tonight?” asked Carolus.

“Natch we've got a room. That's what we're here for.”

“Good, Then keep it for me, will you? I'll be back in about an hour, I expect. And if you can manage something to eat I'd be grateful.”

“I don't know what the wife can do dinner-wise but there'll be something.”

“I want to call on Stonegate. I think you said his cottage was near here.”

“About halfway to Hallows End. You can't miss it. It's the only thatched cottage on that road. But if you wait till about eight o'clock he's almost sure to be up here. He's pretty reg.”

“I think I'd like to see him on his own ground,” said Carolus and went out to his car.

The cottage door was opened by a meaty young woman who did not immediately speak.

“Could I see Mr. Stonegate?” Carolus asked.

“Dad!” called the girl in a weary voice. “Here's another one.”

There was an incomprehensible call from behind her.

“He says come in,” the young woman told Carolus. “He's just finished his tea.”

Joel Stonegate was a heavy man in his late forties who wore glasses, at least to read the evening paper that was spread out before him. He did not get up to greet Carolus, but said with a little condescension, “Well, which is it this time? Press or police?”

“Neither,” said Carolus.

“Neither, eh? That's something new. We've had the lot here, haven't we, Doll? Anybody would think I'd got this chap who disappeared locked up in one of the bedrooms.”

“I wish you had,” said Carolus. “It would be a great relief to a number of people. I'm trying to get some news of him, you see. Both his partner and his wife have asked me to do what I can.”

“And being as I was the last to see him alive you come to me? That's just as it should be.” He leaned back in his chair complacently.

“But were you?” asked Carolus.

“Was I what?”

“The last to see him alive.”

“What do you think they've all been coming to see me for? The London papers sending down special reporters for an interview? Photographers flashing at me morning, noon and night? The police queueing up for interviews? If I wasn't the last to see him alive, I'd like to know who was.”

“So would I,” said Carolus. “But I didn't mean that. I meant
was
he alive? When you saw him?”

“I don't know what you're getting at. He was fast asleep.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know? Because I saw him. That's how I know. It's not the first time I've seen someone fallen asleep over the steering wheel of a car.”

“But Mr. Stonegate, did you get off and open the door of his car?”

“Certainly I didn't, and wouldn't do such a thing, either. I should call it presuming.”

“I mean, is it not possible that he was already dead when you saw him?”

“I don't know why you should get hold of such an idea. He looked as peaceful as a baby. I did just get off my bike and take a look through the window of the car and I could swear he was asleep. Had a few drinks at lunchtime, perhaps. The idea of him being dead never so much as came into my mind.”

“Exactly. But now that I mention it, can you be sure, looking back? Did you notice any movement, for instance?”

“No. He was well away. I'm the same myself, once I'm off to sleep wild elephants wouldn't wake me.”