Death of a Commuter (14 page)

“I don't know. I've known worse reasons for cutting someone out of a will.”

“Yes, but they're so poor. And all those children. If he has I shall have to do something. Of course, the vicar's infuriating. But he doesn't really mean any harm. His poor little wife's always having to stick up for him.”

“He was out in his car that Thursday night” said Carolus flatly.

Elspeth looked genuinely surprised.

“
Was
he?”

“Going to see a dying parishioner, he told me. A Mrs. Grantham.”

“Oh yes. But she'd been ill for ages. She didn't die till some days later.”

There was a long silence.

“Carolus,” said Elspeth at last “you don't think that if Felix did cut anyone out they might … no, it's too farfetched.”

“I never make guesses like that If I do, I never admit to them.”

“They are such a strange lot here, you see. Look at Enid Thriver. You'd think she was not all there sometimes. But she can be as shrewd as anyone when she wants to. Then those Lim-poles. Felix had some business with them which I never quite understood.”

“I haven't met Charles Limpole yet.”

“He's the worst No, not worst, I don't mean that He's the narrower one of the two.”

“So I've heard.”

“What do you think of Dogman?”

“I've scarcely spoken to him.”

“I like her,” continued Elspeth. “I'm sorry for her, too. There must be something that makes her drink like that.”

Carolus refused to be drawn.

“I suppose I like almost everybody, really,” said Elspeth. “Though I must own I find Scotter a bit hard to take.”

“Yes. A rather extraordinary man,” said Carolus, making one of those banal comments which so often lead to enlargement of the other's theme.

“Felix used to know his father years ago. He was a red-hot socialist in the days before there were many. A carpenter by trade, I believe, but known around here as a rebel-rouser. Our Scotter's torn between loyalty to his father and his own social ambitions. He idolised his father, I believe, and was a boy of twelve when he found out that he had died in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp.”

“All that may account for his defensiveness.”

“Yes, but it's so difficult I don't think we're a bit snobbish in this town, but Scotter seems to do his best to make us. He's asked everywhere—he's a very good bridge player—but he's so class conscious one feels uncomfortable.”

“But an efficient chemist?”

“Oh yes. I should think
very.
I am giving you all the gossip, aren't I? But I suppose it's important or you wouldn't make me chatter.”

“How do you like Boggett?”

“You know,” said Elspeth, smiling as though she thought she were giving him a surprise, “I
like
Boggett. He's an old villain, of course, and as lazy as sin, but there's something about him. Felix used to get terribly exasperated with him, but as I told him he would never get anyone else to work in the garden. Not that he did much work, but it was something. Felix said he only came to pick up his wages. He sacked him once.”

“So I heard.”

“Boggett turned up after lunch one day terribly drunk and tried to cut the lawn. It was rather pathetic really. I persuaded Felix to take him back. Have you seen Mrs. Boggett? She works for Jimmy Rumble. She's twice the worker Boggett is. Don't you think it's time we had a drink?”

Carolus did. He had heard almost as much as he wanted of local tittle-tattle, but there was one thing more he intended to ask.

“I want to come back to Hopelady for a moment, if you don't mind.”

“Oh, poor Hopelady. He's a simple soul”

“You think so? He came here on that Thursday afternoon, I believe?”

There was no need to explain which Thursday. But Elspeth was puzzled for a moment.

“Did he? Yes, so he did.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yes. I'm afraid it was the usual. He wanted money for something. He hoped I could put things right between him and Felix. They really are very poor.”

“You mean he wanted to borrow money? For himself or his family?”

“That's what it came to, really. Felix had lent him money before, you see. Well, given it would be more accurate. You can't blame Hopelady. I can't think why he's not paid sufficiently.”

“Did you give him any?”

“No. Not that time. I really couldn't, you know, without persuading Felix. I said I'd try to do that but I really hadn't any to spare. Of my own, I mean. He was a bit crestfallen but I told him I would do what I could.”

“Did you see him again—until last night?”

“Oh yes. He was at the inquest, I think. Then, of course, he buried Felix.” The voice grew restrained. “I suppose I ought to be thankful they've done away with that ‘unhallowed ground' wickedness. Anyway, I saw poor Hopelady at the funeral. He's a bag of nerves, really. All that practical joking is the result of
nerves, I'm sure of it Where do you think our children have got to?”

With more feeling than seemed necessary Carolus said, “I should hate to guess.”

Elspeth went to the door and called “Bunty!” several times without result.

“Haven't you a fire alarm or something you can set in motion?” asked Carolus.

After a few moments, however, the two appeared, Rupert as cool as usual, Bunty a trifle ruffled.

“Wherever were you?” asked Elspeth.

“Bunty was showing me her needlework,” said Rupert.

Elspeth did not lose her good humour and Carolus and Rupert went round to the car and drove off.

“Is that child
dumb
?” asked Rupert rhetorically. “Hullo, what's this?” For standing in the drive facing them was a car with sidelights on.

Carolus pulled up and waited till the driver of the car came to his window. It was James Rumble.

“I thought it was you, Deene. Have you been bothering Elspeth with questions?”

Carolus could see that the man was choking with anger.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Then I'm going to tell you that I won't have it. She's been through quite enough already. You have no possible right to worry her any more. None!”

“Don't get hysterical,” said Carolus. “Mrs. Parador asked me to come and see her.”

“Because her conceited ass of a brother-in-law asked her to. Can't you see she doesn't know which Way to turn? What do you think she must feel, an autopsy on her husband's body, an inquest, haven't you any feelings? Can't you realise what she's been through?”

“I can. Yes,” said Carolus. “But unfortunately the truth isn't reached without some disturbance of people's feelings. As a matter of fact I think you will find Elspeth feels better for telling me all she has.”

“I very much doubt it. She wants to forget the whole nightmare. I know she does. The verdict has been given …”

“Listen, Rumble. Tell me honestly. Do
you
think Felix Parador committed suicide?”

Rumble tried to answer, mouthing his words. Then, almost shouting, he said, “What's that to do with it? I tell you I won't have her pestered in this way. She is just beginning to get over the ghastly business and you come along delving into it, upsetting her. I won't stand for it. I'm telling you, if you go on like this you'll have me to reckon with. You can question whoever you like, do what you like, but I won't have Elspeth upset.”

Carolus was not provoked to an angry retort. On the contrary he spoke with some sympathy.

“I know what you feel,” he said. “But you're mistaken, I assure you. I have done nothing to upset Mrs. Parador. It's only you who are ‘upset', as you put it. Go up and see her and you will find that what I tell you is true. Now please back your car and let me get past.”

Rumble hesitated, then began to turn away.

“Don't forget what I've said,” he suddenly shouted back. “I mean every word of it.”

Then he got into his car and started, rather inexpertly, to back towards the gate.

“Highly-strung character,” commented Priggley.

“The man's in love.”

“Oh, don't talk like a Victorian novel, sir. It's so morbid. I see what you mean, though. Think he'll give any more trouble?”

“No. She'll cool him down.”

“Did you learn all you wanted?”

“Yes. I've finished with what is called interrogation.”

“Thank God for that Let's go and have a drink.”

The saloon bar of The Royal Oak was empty but for Mr. Gray-Somerset who was thoughtfully filing his nails.

“You didn't tell me,” he said when he had served their drinks, “that you were some kind of detective. I could probably have been helpful to you. I've rather a flair for that sort of thing. M.I. you know for a number of years.”

“You must have had lots to talk about with Felix Parador then.”

“Not really. Different branch. Mine was very hush hush stuff.”

“Atomic research?” suggested Carolus.

The idea was evidently irresistible to Mr. Gray-Somerset.

“That sort of thing,” he agreed. “I happen to speak Russian.”

Carolus made a series of semi-articulate sounds.

“Ah. I see you do, too. Excellent. But about this man Parador. I rather doubt if he
was
M.I. Between ourselves I thought there was something rather phony about him, to be honest.”

“Did he come in here much?”

“Here? No. I met him at Gerry Petersfield's.”

“Does Lord Petersfield live near here?”

“No. No. No. This was some time ago. Gerry's a distant relation of mine. He agreed with me about Parador. Not quite ‘right' he said. I've thought of it since this thing happened. I met a lot of phonies when I was in the Congo. Seemed to collect there.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. But I had an interesting job there, Security sort of thing, only more on the active side. I was talking about it once to Dogman when a most extraordinary thing happened. He suddenly jumped up and said, ‘I don't want to hear anything about Security. Understand? I don't want to hear the word'. I said it was quite an ordinary word and he shouted, ‘Well, don't use it to me'. Then he walked out of the bar. What do you make of that?”

“Interesting,” said Carolus. “Has he been in here since?”

“Oh yes. Often. Soon forgot all about it. He once bought a horse I used to own. I lost a packet on that one. Picked it up later on the St. Leger.”

“Do you know the vicar?” asked Carolus.

“The vicar? Here, you mean? Hopelady? No! I've just seen him. Keeps the rival establishment down the road. He'd be surprised if he knew how many customers we have in common.”

“You don't subscribe to any of his charities, then?”

“No,” said Gray-Somerset sharply. “Not in my line.”

“I W
ANT TO
U
SE
T
HAT
M
OTOR-CYCLE OF
Y
OURS FOR A
F
EW
minutes tomorrow morning,” Carolus told Rupert.

“I didn't know you could ride a motor-cycle.”

“Yes. One of the few things I learned in the army. Mind if I do that?”

“It's insured,” said Rupert ungraciously.

“I have to be up early. Suppose you meet me at the Great Ring at ten o'clock?”

“Look, sir,
don't
be mysterious, please. Is this part of your so-called investigation?”

“It is. Quite an important part.”

“OK then.”

“Don't say OK,” said Carolus with pedantic fretfulness.” You know I detest the expression. There are perfectly good English equivalents. I don't mind Americanisms when they have particular force, as many of them have, but…”

“You've got something on your mind. That kind of irritability always means there's something brewing. But all right, then, I'll meet you at the Great Ring at ten.”

Carolus rose at seven and by twenty past eight was sitting in his car in the parking place by the station. Billy Flood hobbled across. “What do you want to know this time?” he asked with a greedy twinkle.

“Nothing, Mr. Flood. I just want to watch the departure of the commuters.”

“The big lot's gone on the 8.12,” he said. “You'll have to wait for the 8.52 now. That's the train most of this lot take,” he said, indicating his half-empty car park.

He was called to see a newly-arrived car into place.

“C'm'on, c'm'on, c'm'on, c'm'on,” he said. “Bit farther, c'm'on, c'm'on …” Crash. The car had hit the low wall. “That'll do,” said Mr. Flood, his duty accomplished.

“What about my bumper?” asked the driver furiously.

“What are bumpers for?” asked Mr. Flood, making out his ticket. “I like to get them close up to the wall,” he explained to Carolus. “Looks tidier that way.”

It was fifteen minutes before the arrival of anyone Carolus knew by sight, but in the meantime an almost continuous stream was arriving at the station, more female than male, he noted. It was thirty years since, as a preparatory schoolboy on holiday, he had seen his father off to the city on a morning train and he was interested by the changes, superficial though they were, in the scene. Less bowlers, less headgear altogether, more brief-cases, less baskets of produce, as many neatly rolled umbrellas. But there was the same rather uncommunicative manner, the same intentness on the matter in hand.

Thriver's car drew up driven by Patsy, and the solicitor got out, apparently without saying a word to his daughter. Patsy saw him and waved her hand as she drove away. Then up the road came Edward Limpole on foot accompanied by a taller, sterner man whom Carolus assumed to be his elder brother Charles. Not a word passed between them as they strode side-by-side to the station entrance and disappeared.