Death of a Commuter (11 page)

“Dreadful young woman.”

“I don't think she was drunk,” said Carolus. “I was watching her carefully. It may have been marijuana.”

“Whatever it was she must have had some object in coming here and making a scene. Elspeth was wonderful, I thought. Terrible thing for her. She's a very plucky woman. Enid, dear, we ought to be going.”

“Yes, Graham. I'm trying to think where I put my—ah, there they are. Patsy, your father says we must go. It's not far to walk.”

“Mumsie, we've got the car.”

They said good night to Chatty who said she was awfully sorry without specifying the cause. Mr. Scotter followed them out Carolus gave him enough time to be out of the way then said his good nights and thanks. Rupert Priggley, after reminding Bunty of their date tomorrow, followed.

“I'm going to take her primrosing tomorrow,” he told Carolus. “In Langley Wood.”

“You? Primrosing?”

“Why not? I
like
primrosing. Lovely little spring flowers. The trouble with you, sir, is that you have no romance in you.”

Next morning at breakfast Rupert Priggley had the politeness to ask Carolus what he intended to do.

“Just odd bits and pieces.”

“Then I know you're getting warm. I know those odd bits and pieces of yours. They always lead to the heart of the matter. Who are you going to see?”

“The vicar, perhaps. Edward Limpole's garden. That sort of thing. Loose ends, you might say.”

“I might but I know better. What I want to know is—when is something going to happen?”

“I don't know what you mean,” said Carolus. “We haven't been here three days and already you've had a man run down by a car, a face peering in at the window of a solicitor's house, a vicar with an ice-cream rammed down his throat and a woman gate-crashing a party to tell another woman she was being kept by her husband, or something like it. What more do you want?”

“Murder,” said Priggley, “or what are we wasting our time for?”

“Oh go primrosing,” said Carolus.

The vicarage was a modest villa in Manor Lane and its garden looked like a school playground. The door was opened by a fat boy of twelve who was in such a hurry to join some activity out of sight that he interrupted Carolus before he had finished asking for his father and pointed to a door saying, “He's in there.” Then raised his voice to shout, “C
OMING!”

“I'm afraid they've no manners,” said Mr. Hopelady, appearing in the doorway. “Do come in. Take a pew. Have a cigar?”

There was only one in the box and something told Carolus it would explode as soon as it was lit.

“You don't mind if I smoke my own? I'm used to them.”

The vicar was downcast but let it pass.

“Now what can I do for you?” he asked.

Carolus gave him the insurance company bit at some length then appealed for his help in clearing up one or two little scraps of information.

“Of course. Anything I can tell you,” said Mr. Hopelady, who seemed to be having a lot of trouble with his pipe.

“First about the night on which Felix Parador was … died.”

“Ye … e … e… s?” said the vicar on two notes, his eyes still on the bowl of his pipe.

“Did you have occasion to go out that night?”

“Out? Certainly not. I never go out at night.”

“By ‘night', I mean in the late evening.”

“Certainly not after ten. Never.”

They were interrupted by the crew of a space ship which had apparently earthed in the garden. But the vicar was equal to it.

“No! No! I told you!” His voice had an edge to it such as Carolus had only heard when he had complained of Priggley yesterday. “I can't be an inhabitant of Mars this morning. I'm far too busy.”

“We're going to put his car into orbit then,” said an astronaut grimly.

“You'll do nothing of the sort,” said the vicar. He went to the door and called his wife, who appeared in a moment but with wet hands. “Willa, I wish you'd not let them play these interstellar games. I'm busy this morning.”

Willa's flush deepened.

“You taught them, dear. They've left Elizabeth tied up by the leg in the back garden. She's got to be twenty minutes in space, they say, and the poor child's crying her eyes out”

“I only taught them to keep them out of the house. Matthew! Luke! Ann! What shall I tell them to do?” asked the vicar desperately.

“Go primrosing,” suggested Carolus. “I'll give them sixpence a bunch for what they gather in Langley Wood.”

There was a united screech and the space ship was abandoned.

“Now where were we?” asked the vicar.

“You were just saying that you were not out after ten o'clock on the night Felix Parador died,” Carolus reminded him.

“I said I was never—but wait a minute. There was one night when I was called out to see old Mrs. Grantham.”

“Yes?” said Carolus watching him intently.

“Dying, poor soul. Her sister telephoned for me. Twice, in fact. Could it be? Yes, I believe it
was
the night Parador died.”

“You went, of course?”

“Indeed yes. Although she lived five miles out. I was there for an hour the first time and no sooner had I got home than she phoned again. It must have been well past midnight when I finally got to bed.”

“Did Mrs. Grantham recover?”

“I fear not. She died two days later. I buried her.”

“She lived alone with her sister?”

“She lived quite alone for many years. Her sister had come to nurse her.”

“Where is the sister now?”

“Went back to America, I understand. She knew no one here. Except of course, Dr. Sporlott. A splendid fellow, that”

“I wonder if you noticed anything at all unusual when you were out that night, Mr. Hopelady?”

“Dear me! Is it as serious as that? Almost an interrogation, one might say. No, I observed nothing.”

“You were not on speaking terms with Parador, I believe?”

“You heard last night A ridiculous little dispute. I chanced to
have a very lifelike representation of a poisonous snake in my pocket one day when I went to see him. Just a little joke of mine, but unfortunately very lifelike. I did not know that Parador had an absolute terror of snakes of all kinds. His experiences in the East, I daresay. He saw it and really behaved like a lunatic. I tried to explain and picked the thing up, but this made it worse. When he realised the truth he ordered me out of the house. He had no sense of humour, you know.”

“I see. But he was the godfather of one of your children?”

“Yes. Mark. No, Matthew.”

“One other question which will seem to you quite idiotic…”

“I'm bound to admit I don't quite see where this is leading. But go on, my dear fellow. I'm quite willing to answer if it is helpful.”

“I think you called on Mrs. Parador that afternoon.”

“Which afternoon?”

“Of the same day. The day you went to Mrs. Grantham's sick-bed. The day of Parador's death.”

“Did I? I may have.”

Willa Hopelady entered with a tray on which were two cups of pale beige coffee with some arrowroot biscuits. Carolus feared she might join them, but she went out closing the door. Mr. Hopelady had had time to remember.

“Yes!” he cried. “You're quite right. It was that afternoon. I called on our dear Elspeth.”

“Would you mind telling me if you had any particular reason?”

Carolus thought there was something a little sly on the vicar's usually innocent face. He seemed to be wondering how much Carolus knew.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I had something in mind. I liked calling on Elspeth. We all do. She's a great favourite in the parish. But I hoped to persuade her to act as peacemaker between me and her husband. It was so ridiculous to keep up a quarrel over nothing. I thought she would be as glad as I to put an end to it”

“Did she agree?”

“Oh yes. She said he wouldn't be coming down that evening but she would talk to him when she had a chance. Unfortunately, as you know, she never had a chance.”

“What did she mean when she said he had so many calls on him?”

“Really! You
are
well-informed. I don't remember her saying that but it may have referred to something else. It is one of my unfortunate duties to ask for subscriptions for our various local charities. I may have just mentioned some deserving cause.”

“I see. I'm most grateful to you, Mr. Hopelady …”

“You haven't drunk your coffee! My wife won't forgive me if you spurn our simple hospitality.”

Carolus made an effort.

“I have to see Limpole,” he explained.

“The younger? Ah, yes. He's at home this week. I hope your efforts are successful And thanks for your ingenuity in thinking of primrosing. I'm afraid you may have more than you bargained for. It depends on the size of the bunches, of course.”

“It's raining!” said Carolus as the vicar began to open the front door, then realised that a watering can was spraying water from an upstairs window.

“Ha! ha!” Mr. Hopelady's laugh followed Carolus out to his car. “Ha! ha!” he shouted at Carolus's wet shoulders and head. Even as Carolus took his seat he could still hear it, a mite hysterical, mocking, moronic, ha, ha, ha.

It was not many yards to the Limpoles' house and from its gate he could see Edward far down the garden. He passed the front door and went across a lawn to find Edward gazing with satisfaction on a deep cavity he seemed to have made.

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Deene. You gave me quite a start. I had just finished digging.”

“It looks like a grave,” said Carolus truthfully.

“It's a compost dump,” said Edward seriously. “I wanted a large one. I've taken this week off from business to do several little jobs in the garden.”

“I hope your brother won't mind my coming straight down here?”

“My brother has gone to London as usual and my sister is out”

“So your place will be empty in that railway carriage this morning,” reflected Carolus.

“We don't seem to travel together so regularly since poor Parador Passed On,” said Edward. “None of us can ever forget our somewhat eerie experience. That young man who got in…”

“Young?”

“He gave me that impression.”

“Please go on.”

“It was not so much what he said. Anyone might have said that—meaning that the train was about to start and the other passenger would not be in time. It was the way he said it and the way he acted. It makes me uncomfortable when I think of it. I try to assure myself that it had no significance, but I cannot forget it.”

Carolus seemed to be absorbed by the shape of the cavity in front of them, but he looked up to see Edward staring at the brief-case.

“That looks like the one Parador used to carry,” said Edward.

Carolus smiled.

“Doesn't it?” he said.

Edward recovered himself.

“I have only one thing I want to show you,” said Edward. “
Unctualia petualis.
They have it at Kew I believe, but otherwise this is unique in the British Isles. It's Tibetan by origin. Let's go across to the greenhouse.”

Carolus, who had suffered from gardeners before, followed obediently. But in the greenhouse after a brief look round, his attention became riveted—not on
unctualia petualis,
an insignificant blue flower with spotted foliage—but on a small cupboard. The door had a lock to it but had been carelessly left open by Edward, for the keys were in it. On the shelf of the cupboard was a tube of Opilactic.

“Oh
that”
said Edward, following the direction of Carolus's stare. “I got that for my poor sister. My brother disapproves
strongly of any kind of sleeping tablet so I keep it out here. I daresay you noticed that my sister is somewhat highly-strung.”

Carolus said nothing, and Edward talked on.

We're both very worried about her, Mr. Deene. She behaves in a most eccentric way sometimes. Without any explanation or warning to us she goes for long walks, often at night”

“Yes. That must be disconcerting.”

It happened on the very night of Parador's death. When we returned from London she was not here. We waited until past nine o'clock then decided that we should go and look for her. Fortunately she usually keeps to the roads so there was a fair chance of finding her.

Carolus listened, apparently fascinated. But Edward broke off for a moment.

“I'm afraid I cannot offer you anything,” he said. “We are all strict teetotallers. But if you would care to come into the house we can at least be comfortable.”

Seated in an arm-chair Edward continued.

“My brother does not like using the car unnecessarily,” he said. “The price of petrol is really monstrous. But this time we felt it was essential.”

“It had happened before?”

“Something of the sort but this was more serious. We drove in all the likeliest directions, coming back twice to see if she had come in, but saw no sign of her.”

“Did you see anything…?”

“I know what you are going to ask. Anything that could be connected with poor Parador's death. No, nothing. We were looking only for my sister.”

“But you must have passed the Great Ring?”

“We did. It was in the first direction we took. But we noticed nothing unusual. Of course we weren't expecting it.”

“No. What time did you give up?”

“It must have been nearly one o'clock. As we both had to be on the train in the morning we could not go on any longer. About an hour later I heard my sister come in. Neither then nor at any time since has she said more than that she had been for a
walk. My brother and I are most distressed about it I trust you won't mind my having told you, a comparative stranger.”