Death in Albert Park (19 page)

He was introduced to Tuckman, a talkative, opinionated character who at once launched into a dissertation on the murders while Ada Goggins sustained herself with cakes from a paper bag.

“What you've got to look for,” he told Carolus, “is someone suffering from one of the various mental disorders which produce murderers. Persecution mania, for instance. If someone is going about with the belief that an enemy is trying to kill him he may strike back. In this case it would be someone who believes his life is threatened by a small woman living in Albert Park. So he would look for such people and strike.”

“Quite,” said Carolus who did not want to interrupt Tuckman.

“Delusions of grandeur could account for these murders, too. A man or a woman suffering from them might see his victims as interfering with his aims. If Crabtree Avenue was, in his disordered imagination, his domain he would be merely ordering to the executioner those who interrupted his reveries.”

“Just so.”

“One type of epileptic may commit murder during a seizure and have complete amnesia afterwards. I wonder how much attention you or the police have given to this possibility. If I were in charge of the case the first person I should look for would be an epileptic.”

“Do you know any in the district?” asked Carolus.

“No. But surely Ribbing could help there. Then, of course, there's sadism.”

“What's that exactly?” asked Ada Goggins with her mouth full.

“It is a sex perversion centring round cruelty,” Tuckman explained, “which takes its name from the Marquis de Sade. No wonder you ask—the word is greatly abused. But sadism has accounted for some of history's most gruesome murders and the three we are discussing bear all the marks of sadism.”

“So all we have to do is to find a paranoiac, an epileptic or a sadist who was in Crabtree Avenue or Salisbury Gardens on the three occasions?” suggested Carolus who, like most schoolmasters, disliked being lectured.

“That's it,” said Tuckman. “I wonder you haven't found him already. I think we in the district have played our part. Our volunteer force has probably prevented several more attacks. We shan't relax our vigilance till the Stabber has been identified.”

“He may never be,” said Carolus.

“He will. You can be sure of that. He's bound to strike again and then we shall have him.”

“So you're counting on that?” said Carolus.

“We hope to prevent it, of course. Our vigilante force is quite large now and drawn from the whole district. Of course if he leaves the area altogether and breaks out somewhere else there's nothing we can do. But I don't think he will.”

“Seen that tall woman again, Mr. Goggins?” asked Carolus suddenly.

“I'm not sure,” said Goggins. “I thought, the other evening, I saw someone uncommonly like her come out of Perth Avenue and turn up Crabtree Avenue, but when I looked again she had disappeared.”

“I think he imagined it,” said Ada Goggins screwing up her empty paper bag. “Come along. We must get home to lunch.”

Carolus returned to his place for an opening attack on Mephisto whom he found more than usually capricious and illogical. ‘Grooms are stumped when in suitable roles'—ostlers was obviously the answer—but why should ‘a little dog making the maximum sound' be Teke', as it was obviously intended to be? Obscurity
was one thing, sheer facetiousness in the setter was unforgivable.

Just then he looked up and saw, sailing down the asphalt like a schooner, none other than Miss Pilkin with Ursus firmly held on a lead. He rose and raised his hat. Miss Pilkin peered at him a moment.

“Ah yes,” she said. “The young man who asked me those intelligent questions about my dangerous neighbours. You've met Ursus, haven't you? Yes, I see he recognizes you.”

Carolus made suitable small talk for a time then ventured to enquire about the Pressleys. Miss Pilkin answered readily.

“There is trouble about the Will,” she said. “There always is in a family of that kind.”

“How do you know?”

“The father, from Bromley, arrived the other night bringing his late wife's solicitor with him. At least I presume it was his wife's. A local solicitor, anyway. My excellent tenants recognized him, having employed him to draw up some document for them. The family opposite went into a long conference from which the man Pressley emerged first, in a towering rage.”

“I can't help wondering how you knew he was in a towering rage,” said Carolus admiringly.

“When a man turns back at the door to shout something unmentionable to those inside, then slams the door, then strides off down the street he may surely be considered to be in a rage. Later he was followed, with a little more dignity, by Crabbett and the solicitor. I do not of course know what was decided about the Will,” added Miss Pilkin regretfully.”

“Or even if a Will was discussed.”

“Of that I am certain. My instincts never mislead
me. Some sordid dispute was doubtless going on.”

“You have noticed nothing else of significance?”

“Isn't that enough?” asked Miss Pilkin dramatically. Then, gazing full into Carolus's eyes she said-—“And you, Mr. Deene, what have J
AM
noticed of significance? What progress have you made towards the apprehension of this murderer?”

“Not enough,” said Carolus. “I've collected a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Don't lose courage. Stick to it, Mr. Deene. For all my deepest intuitions tell me that
you're getting warm!
”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You're on the right track! I knew you would find the truth as soon as I saw you. You were so quick to understand the infamy of the family living opposite to me. You have perceptions—not perhaps as keen as mine but still quick and sure enough to guide you. Ursus knows this, too. Don't you, Ursus?” As if she had just realized this discourtesy of leaving someone out of a conversation, she now gave her full attention to the dog, speaking of and to him, fortunately, in adult terms. “Yes, he knows perfectly well, he says, that you will get at the truth. He's a little impatient just now because we're going to a lawn at the far end of the park, out of sight of Mr. Slatter, where Ursus can throw off his inhibitions with his lead. ‘Come
along,
he says, and I must go. Farewell, Mr. Deene. May you soon be successful.”

She sailed on.

As Carolus was about to leave the park he was intercepted by Slatter.

“I should like to know what you meant by telling what you did this morning.”

Carolus looked closely at him and saw that in spite of
his genial expression there was a hard glitter in the eyes.

“Exactly what I said. I think you are in some danger.”

“What kind of danger? From the police, d'you mean?”

“That too, for all I know.”

“You talked as though it was from the Stabber. Telling me to lock my door, and that.”

“Do you often go to the Mitre?”

“Yes, I do. And why not?”

“No reason at all. It's quite a meeting place, I gather.”

“There's a good few get in the saloon most evenings,” explained Slatter.

“And you have mentioned there that you were questioned by the police?”

“I daresay I have.”

“And said what you said to me, that so far as circumstances are concerned you could have been guilty of all three murders?”

“What about it?”

“It may be nothing. I may be wrong. But there's no harm in taking precautions.”

“I don't see it,” said Slatter obstinately. “If there was any danger the police would know of it.”

“The police know only one kind of danger,” said Carolus.

“Now look here,” said Slatter. “I don't know who you are or what it's got to do with you. But I'm not a fool—nor one to be scared by a lot of talk just because there's a madman about who stabs women. I was thirty years in the army before I got this job.”

“Really? What regiment?”

“RASC, if you want to know. I was a sergeant. If you think I'm going to be put out now by talk of hidden danger you're mistaken. I shall go on now as I've
always gone. I've never locked my door at night and I shan't now.”

“Then I can only hope I'm mistaken,” said Carolus and walked away.

He decided to lunch at the Golden Cockerel, to escape from Albert Park for a few hours. The fine weather seemed only to emphasize the drab respectability of the place and sunlight on the asphalt paths and struggling evergreens of the park was depressing. In the streets was an overpowering smell of Sunday dinners being cooked.

He found at the Golden Cockerel a note left for him by Miss Cratchley, the headmistress of St. Olave's Ladies College. She had phoned twice and called to see him but the staff had been unable to tell her where Carolus was. The note asked simply that Carolus should get in touch with her as soon as possible.

There was nothing for it now but a visit to the Mitre. He had a queer sense of climax as he decided this, as if he knew that it would bring him, if not to certainty, at least to a resolution of his most pressing doubts.

C
AROLUS
reached the Mitre on the stroke of opening time as many a customer, for no less urgent-seeming though for different reasons, must have done before him. He found the landlord alone behind the bar, a bald blue-chinned man with a narrow head and an alert manner.

Carolus decided to take advantage of his momentary lead over the other customers to put his case squarely and swiftly to the man, whose name he had learnt from the licensee's notice over the door was John Samuel Chumside. He did so and felt the landlord's keen glance on him.

“You see,” Carolus ended, “the Mitre's right at the centre of all this. I've found when I've investigated cases before that I can learn more in the local than anywhere else.”

“I daresay,” said Chumside.

“And in this case, particularly, almost every man in any way connected with the murdered women seems to use this house, as well as many of the inhabitants of Crabtree Avenue.”

“Only natural, isn't it? Being handy like it is. But its been a dam' nuisance for me, all this business. Gives the district a bad name, having this Stabber prowling around. Upsets my regulars.”

“Three women have been killed, Mr. Chumside,” said Carolus with a touch of severity.

“I know. I know. Three of them have been stabbed and maybe more to come. I was only saying it upset things. I'd be the first to want the man caught and put a stop to.”

“Then you'll give me what information you can?”

“It depends what you want.”

“I don't know that yet. I'm working on a hunch very largely. But I'd like to feel you'll help me if you can. You're in a unique position to know people's movements.”

“Well, I am and I'm not. For instance, very few women ever come in here. I don't know how it is but there are pubs that get that, especially in districts like this. The King's Head's full of women. Just up the top of the park, that is. They all take their wives in there. But not in this house. The men seem to like the saloon to themselves and it becomes a sort of habit. You'll see that for yourself presently.” Chumside paused. “All right,” he said at last. “I don't mind telling you anything I've noticed ifit's going to help to get this business out of the way.”

He was called away to serve and Carolus waited impatiently.

“It's a bit more complicated than you think,” he said when the landlord returned. “And I don't quite see how a busy man like you is going to have time to notice all I want.”

As so often happens, a challenge of this kind was accepted eagerly.

“Why not?” said Chumside. “The wife will be down in a minute and there's Fred who helps us out on Sundays as well as Laura who comes on late this evening because she likes to go to church. But she'll be here very soon. I can watch out for what you want.”

“I don't want to be here myself. Too many know of my interest in the case. Would it be possible for me to see you after closing time?”

“Come round the back,” said Chumside. “And don't let the Law see you. They're always standing about on the dot at ten. Now who is it you want to know about?”

“You mustn't suppose that these are necessarily suspects,” said Carolus. “I'm afraid there are quite a few.”

“Go on, then,” said Chumside.

“First you know Slatter the park-keeper?”

“Old Jack? Certainly I do.”

“Then from the avenue itself Goggins?”

“Yerss.”

“Tuckman?”

Chumside nodded.

“Young Gates?”

“Yes. What about his old man? He must be nearly eighty,” said Chumside.

Carolus shook his head. “But there's Whitehill,” he added. “And Turnwright.”

“I know both of them.”