Here Comes a Chopper (13 page)

Roger bestowed on her a look of loathing. She cackled, prodded him in the ribs, to his great and evident annoyance, and remarked that, in any case, the inquest would have to be postponed at the end of the merely formal proceedings, she suspected.

‘To give the police time to frame a case against someone, I suppose,’ said Roger unjustifiably.

‘It’s as well for you that you have an alibi for the time of death,’ said Mrs Bradley. Roger flushed with bitter fury at this gibe, and left her. In a minute, however, he was back.

‘The only thing is, what
was
the time of death?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, after midnight,’ said Mrs Bradley. Roger’s long jaw dropped.

‘But—but——’ he stammered. Then he pulled himself together. ‘All right, don’t tell me,’ he said with dignity.

‘But I
am
telling you,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You are going to mention the engine driver, who saw the headless body well before midnight, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. He couldn’t have seen it if it wasn’t there!’

‘His name is MacIver, I think,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Have you never heard talk of the gift?’

‘Of course, but I don’t believe in it.’

‘Very likely not, Horatio, but, all the same, the possession of second sight is not a matter of faith but one of fact. Hector MacIver will be called at the inquest. You should make a point of being there.’

‘I’m being called in any case,’ said Roger. ‘Well, I suppose our party might as well start for Bob’s place. We’d better get back before dark.’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need to hurry,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Mrs Denbies will probably admit you
in a few minutes. I’ll go and see how she feels. You had better wait here until I come.’

It was Lady Catherine who next appeared upon the scene.

‘Sh!’ she said, approaching Roger, her finger to her lips. ‘Whoever it is is still practising, I shouldn’t let them know that you have seen them.’

‘Now, Aunt Catherine,’ said Captain Ranmore, entering just behind her in company with Mary Leith, the chauffeur Sim, young George Merrow, Bugle the butler and Eunice Pigdon, ‘what about tea? I think everyone would be better for it.’

‘It dawns on me,’ said Mrs Bradley, returning with a transformed and radiant Claudia, and looking with great commiseration at Roger, ‘that that poor child hasn’t had his lunch. No wonder he wants to go home!’

‘It’s getting dark, too,’ said Captain Ranmore. ‘Do you think you will find your way?’ be asked, turning to Roger.

‘Oh, I shall go with them,’ said Mrs Bradley, at once. ‘Bugle, what have you done with Mr Bob?’

‘He and his sister are in the small drawing-room, madam,’ said Bugle, ‘and that is where her ladyship ordered tea.’

‘Come on, then,’ said Captain Ranmore, leading the way.

‘You sent for me, sir,’ said Sim.

‘Oh, yes, to go into Dorking.’ Ranmore left the others and went out with the chauffeur to give him his instructions.

‘And that wretched policeman,’ said Lady Catherine suddenly. ‘Find him, Bugle. I knew I wanted you for something, and as I can’t think of anything else, I expect that’s what it is. Go and fetch him at once.’

‘He is looking at the archery butts, madam.’

‘Of course he is. That’s how Harry Lingfield was killed, but there’s no need for policemen to know that. Send him into the small drawing-room at once.’

W
ILLIAM
C
ARTWRIGHT
,
Falsehood

‘SO YOU WERE
not satisfied with Mrs Denbies’ identification of our corpse?’ said Mrs Bradley, meeting the inspector on the Common two days later.

‘Her non-identification, mam, it was,’ replied the inspector, straightening up from peering into a gorse-bush. ‘We were not at all satisfied, mam. I suppose you knew that Mrs Denbies was out in her little car on the night before you found the body thrown in here?’

He indicated the small copse whose environs he was surveying.

‘Oh, you’ve found that out, have you?’ said Mrs
Bradley, regarding him thoughtfully. ‘Yes, you were bound to, I suppose.’

‘So you knew it, mam?’

‘Certainly.’

‘You didn’t tell us.’

‘I assumed that if you had considered it important you would have questioned Mrs Denbies herself.’

‘May I ask how you came to be aware, mam, that Mrs Denbies had been out of the house that night?’

‘Mrs Denbies told me.’

‘How did that come about, mam?’

‘She had asked my advice about a private affair of her own, disregarded it, and came to tell me that she proposed to run contrary to it that very night.’

‘And was going to be out of the house, mam?’

‘And was going to be out of the house.’

‘You didn’t actually see her go, I take it?’

‘No, but I had no doubt that she went. Her bed, you see, was not slept in. Lady Catherine was rather annoyed about that. She called it “goings on,” and I dare say she was right.’

‘I’d better see Lady Catherine, mam. You ladies,’ said the inspector, wagging an admonitory head, ‘are not altogether co-operative, mam, if you don’t object to my saying so.’

‘It depends upon what you mean when you say so,’ Mrs Bradley replied with a startling little cackle. ‘I should say that over Mrs Denbies you and I have been quite remarkably co-operative. If
you are asking me to tell you about Mrs Denbies’ private affairs, however, I must decline to do so without her permission.’

‘Ethically, mam, your attitude may have much to recommend it,’ said the inspector, motioning to the sergeant, who had just crawled out from a bush, to come and join the party, ‘but as for socially, well, there I am inclined to think it subversive and isolationist.’

Mrs Bradley bowed gravely at this rebuke. The sergeant scratched a piece of mud off the thigh of his left trouser, and then looked in an embarrassed manner at his officer.

‘And when is the adjourned inquest?’ Mrs Bradley enquired. The inspector sighed deeply.

‘Trouble is, you see, mam,’ he observed, ‘that the adjourned inquest is fixed for tomorrow fortnight, and we don’t feel we’ve got satisfactory evidence yet of the identity of the corpse. Mrs Denbies has only confused the issue. We, and, between ourselves, mam, the coroner, too, all think the lady is mistaken, and that the corpse is Mr Lingfield, whatever she may choose to say. To take the most obvious point of identification, now. No lady is going to own in court she knew that a man had scratches on his—um—er, now is she?’

‘I see your point,’ Mrs Bradley gravely admitted. ‘Can’t you find somebody who valeted him? That should dispose of that point if Mrs Denbies is inclined to be squeamish. The court would accept the views of a valet, I presume?’

‘But where, mam, can I lay hands on such an individual?’

‘I should ask Bugle,’ Mrs Bradley replied. ‘Meanwhile, how go your researches in other directions?’

‘They don’t, mam. There is nothing to show how the body came to be placed in this copse. There’s not a single footprint that’s of any use to us.’

‘Curious. One would have thought that, at this time of year, the ground might be soft enough to take impressions. The corpse would have been a heavy one, I imagine?’

‘Pretty heavy, yes, mam. About twelve stone ten, with the head and the full suit of clothes. Whoever carried it——’

‘Was not a woman,’ said Mrs Bradley firmly, ‘and that disposes of Mrs Denbies, I think.’

The inspector put on a wooden expression and answered:

‘There is that, mam, of course. But you can’t rule out an accomplice. A good many people have been in.’

‘I wonder where the clothes are?’ Mrs Bradley remarked.

‘We haven’t found them, mam, and that’s another mystery.’

‘But you’ve looked all over the moor?’

‘Combed it from end to end, mam, right over from the other side of the railway and all along the line and the embankments and cuttings, in the tunnels—everywhere. There’s nothing to be found within a radius of ten miles of the house. Of that
we’re certain. We’ve had over fifty men on the job from the various police stations in this part of the country. Those clothes are either further off than we’ve searched, or else (as I’m more inclined to think), they’re in somebody’s house.’

‘I see.’

‘But this identification—we’ll need to get that done with certainty. Can’t have the corpse queried. That wouldn’t suit our book at all. Does it strike you as rather peculiar, mam, that Mrs Denbies should be so unwilling to identify the body as that of Mr Lingfield?’

‘No, it does not strike me as peculiar in the least, Inspector. As a matter of fact, the alternative theory is that somebody took care that the corpse should have some marks of identification similar to those of Mr Lingfield.’

‘What makes you say that, mam? I know you wouldn’t lead us up the garden, and you’ve got the medical knowledge,
and
you found the body. I’d be glad to have your views in full, if I might. I don’t want to make a mistake over this, as you can well imagine.’

‘Well, Inspector, I cannot help you much, except to tell you that the little boy, George Merrow, has seen scars, similar to those of the corpse, on Mr Lingfield’s body, but, it seems, on the other buttock.’

‘How and when, mam? This is news to me!’

‘It seems that George Merrow occasionally went swimming with Mr Lingfield. He saw the scars then.’

She produced George Merrow’s drawing and showed it to the inspector.

‘Not much doubt about that, mam. ‘We can take it, then, that Mrs Denbies’ negative evidence washes out, and that the body is that of Mr Lingfield. I don’t think there’s any need to take any notice which side of his bottom the boy drew the marks. Of course, in spite of Mrs Denbies, we’d concluded the corpse
was
Mr Lingfield, but it’s helpful to have it confirmed. I’m much obliged, mam. Mind you, our Doctor Shoesmith also believed it was Mr Lingfield he examined. Size, height, weight, length of arm—all corresponded to what he knew of Mr Lingfield, although——’

‘He had never attended Mr Lingfield professionally, I imagine?’

‘That’s just what I was going to remark, mam. Dr Shoesmith is our police surgeon, and doctor to a couple of football clubs—more that sort of thing. And as good a vet. as he is a doctor, I believe. He’s often told me—joking, mam, of course—that he could have made his fortune if he’d gone in for horse-coping, and—serious, this was—that old Lord Amplewood had once offered him about five times what he makes in his profession if he would act as vet. to his racing stables.’

‘And you think that, being such a very fine judge of horseflesh and such an able minister to its ills, he would have——’

‘Known that the body was Mr Lingfield’s, mam? Well, it seems crude, put like that, but I think
perhaps it’s true. He didn’t know, of course, about the scars.’

‘Still, it’s not evidence of identification,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘and we certainly don’t want to bring little George Merrow into a coroner’s court.’

‘And that’s the trouble, mam, to return to what we were saying. But you think the butler could help me?’

‘I think he might know of a valet, as I said. The coroner would accept, no doubt, the evidence of a valet?’

‘No doubt at all, mam. Come on, sergeant. Let’s go. Oh, by the way, mam, the young gentleman, Mr Hoskyn, was right to query the wrecked car. It is not the one that has lain here since the war. Some Good Friday holiday-makers found the pieces of that in the bushes and holes and so forth. We broadcast an appeal as soon as the gentleman queried the car, and weren’t long in getting a result. Holiday-makers, nuisances though they can be, aren’t a total loss.’

‘You seem to have put in an enormous amount of work,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Well, you see, mam, this is the second case of murder I’ve handled, and I had a bit of luck here and there over the first one—old Thomas Crooks, that was, on the other side of the county—and I got my promotion on the strength of it. So, naturally, I’m out to have a similar go at this one, especially as it’s considered a more important case, Mr Lingfield being a noted man and that.’

‘Well, you get hold of Bugle,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘He’s the man to find your valet for you.’

‘Many thanks, mam. Well, we’ll be off. Could we give you a lift to the house?’

‘No, thank you. I am going to London after lunch. I am not staying at Whiteledge now. Well, good luck, Inspector. Don’t be too hard on Mrs Denbies. Remember, she gives her recital this afternoon, and I’m afraid she is in a nervous state already.’

‘Are you going to attend the recital, mam, may I ask?’

‘I am, and I want to enjoy it.’

‘Mrs Denbies is neither here nor there, so far as we’re concerned, until we get the body identified beyond question. I shan’t be worrying her again yet. There’s nothing more I can ask her until her story is proved or disproved, and that must be done at the resumed inquest. Some funny things will come out in that, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Have you questioned her, then, about her midnight drive?’

‘Oh, yes. She says she was disturbed in mind, and drove out into the night to be alone with her thoughts.’

‘And you find that incredible, do you?’

‘By no means, mam. I know the feeling well. But it’s awkward, from our point of view, that she had the urge on that particular night. There’s witnesses, but they don’t help her. She stopped for petrol at a garage near Junction Station. Being rather a striking-looking lady, and her picture in the
Radio Times
and what-not, the garage hands
remember her clearly. It’s not too good on the face of it, mam. It’s too near where the engine-driver swears he saw the body on the line.’

‘Oh, dear! Yes, that
is
awkward.’

‘Taken in conjunction with the fact that the body was brought—presumably by car——’

‘To this copse, and therein tossed——’

‘And that Mrs Denbies refuses to identify the body as that of Mr Lingfield——’