Jack on the Gallows Tree (16 page)

“And in the morning?”

“I don't generally come across here till just before nine. Mrs Westmacott didn't like being disturbed and the women who came in to clean never got here before then. When I came across that morning I put the kettle on in the kitchen to make Mrs Westmacott her tea, then came to this room to pull the curtains back. The door was shut as usual
and I switched on the light to see my way across to the windows. I
saw her at once lying there and thought I was going to faint. I knew she was dead …”

“How?”

“Well, lying there in the morning. Besides you should have seen her face. Oh, you couldn't doubt of it, but when I felt well enough I went and just touched her. She was as cold as ice.”

“What did you do then?”

“Ran for my husband as quick as ever I could. He said afterwards I was white as a sheet and couldn't speak plainly. But when he realized what it was he went across, and as soon as he saw her and what she looked like he rang the police.”

“Before calling a doctor?”

“He could see it wasn't any good doing that.”

“Still …”

“Anyhow that's what my husband did, and it was a good thing, because the police brought their own doctor and we didn't have to have two. They very soon knew it was murder and of course that started everything. It was days before they'd let me do the room.”

“What's this about a piece of wire with spangles in it?”

“More like stars, they were, like you have on a Christmas tree. They found that on that little table there behind her couch. I never noticed it when I came in—well, I was so upset by seeing poor Mrs Westmacott like that—but as soon as they found it they showed it to me and asked if I'd ever seen it before. I never had and told them so. Mrs Westmacott did not make much of Christmas as we know it, you see; she used to say Christmas cards and Christmas trees and that were all German nonsense, brought over by Prince Albert and written up by Dickens. When the two young gentlemen were at home she used to have a boar's head cooked and wouldn't look at a nice bit of turkey. It was all apiece with the furniture, which she said ought to
go back to the Middle Ages. As for decorations like that, sparklers, and paper hangings, she wouldn't hear of them. So I knew those things must have been brought to the house, though what they were doing there I couldn't imagine.”

“I see. Now tell me about this man who bought some old gold from Mrs Westmacott.”

“Well, it was the young lady who came first. Ever so nice, she was, and explained about this Mr Ebony paying high prices. We never encourage anyone like that and always used to have
No Hawkers, No Canvassers, No Circulars
on the gate. But this young lady had a way with her and I said I'd just speak to Mrs Westmacott, in case. She had quite a lot of old gold stuff, from her family more than her husband's. So she agreed to see Mr Ebony when he came and they got on very well. When he started saying what he would give for the different pieces we were both surprised. Five pounds for this, six for that; well it came to about fifty pounds for what he said were the best pieces. The rest he just collected in a pile and said they were for the melting-pot and he could allow five pounds for the lot. When it came to paying he found he hadn't got enough money for the fifty pound lot, so he left a deposit of three pound on that. He just had enough to buy the little lot of rubbish for five pound and off he went. He never has taken the big lot.”

“And never will,” said Carolus. “Don't you see the swindle? The pieces he called rubbish were the only ones worth anything. He could afford to offer big prices for the others because he never intended to buy them. What, in fact, he did was to buy for eight pound about fifty pound worth of gold. Or more.”

“I should never have thought it, sir. He seemed a very nice man. I told him at the time I had a few pieces and the day before yesterday he came and bought them. Very good prices he gave me, particularly as some of them turned out to be pinchbeck.”

Carolus sighed.

“What time did he come?”

“In the afternoon.”

“Do you know if he bought any more gold in Buddington?”

“I don't think so. He was on his way back from the coast and just called in before driving off to London.”

“Was your husband there?”

“Oh yes, sir. But he never interferes with my business nor I with his. He was quite surprised at how much this Mr Ebony gave, in fact he said he wished he had some old gold to turn in, but he hadn't any. He'll be in presently and will tell you about it.”

“Did you happen to mention it to Gabriel Westmacott?”

“Yes, I did. I told him this Mr Ebony had been and not had enough money on him to take the other lot belonging to Mrs Westmacott, but that I'd sold him a few things of my own.”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“Well, the lady living opposite is a friend of mine. Mrs Plummer, that is, who looks after the big house you can see from here. I told her, because she's a person who thinks everything she does is clever and no one else knows anything.”

Carolus smiled.

“Yes, I know Mrs Plummer. Anyone else?”

“I did happen to mention it to old Miss Lightfoot when I met her in the street yesterday. She's housekeeper to Mr Raydell out at Lilbourne and used to come and see Mrs Westmacott sometimes, so I knew her quite well. I could see she was looking at my purse when we were in a shop together and I didn't want her to Think Anything, so I told her where it came from. But I haven't mentioned to another soul.”

At this point her husband appeared, a large grey-haired
ex-policeman who looked the part, and Carolus was introduced with explanations. Bickley, like his wife, appeared to have felt the loss of his employer.

“I don't know why you want to stay in this room,” he said. “I don't like coming into it.”

“The gentleman is asking about that man who bought the gold. He wants to know who knows about it?”

“Why? There's no secret. It was all your own stuff.”

“It's not that,” said Carolus. “I'll explain in a moment. But can you remember mentioning it to anyone?”

“Certainly I can. I had nothing to hide. I told them in the Dragon that night. It was as good as winning on a horse.”

“Can you remember who was there, Mr Bickley?”

“Let's see. It was Miss Shapely I first mentioned it to and of course that Gilling was hanging round her, as he always is. But what surprised me was that Colonel Baxeter was in that evening, drinking lemon juice and asking to have the windows open, which Miss Shapely wouldn't hear of. He doesn't often come in, but he was there the night before last and heard what I said, because he told me his wife had sold some pieces to the same man. He said someone had told him that he'd been done over it, but he didn't believe it.”

“Did you mention again that evening that Mrs Bickley had sold some gold to Ebony?”

“I daresay I did, because it was talked about in the bar.”

“Who was there, Mr Bickley?”

“So far as I can remember much the usual crowd. One or two strangers I didn't know, but mostly regulars. Humpling the bootmaker. He's not often in. Charlie Carew. Young Wright the chauffeur. Mr Sawyer. Mr Dan was there and bought me a pint as he always does. That artist chap Johnson who I don't care for.”

“Do you know a man called Thickett?”

“No. I can't say I do.”

“You'd know if he came often to the Dragon?”

“Yes. I expect I should. But what is all this about, Mr Deene?”

“I don't want to sound alarming,” said Carolus. “But I have reason to think that there may be another attempt at a murder.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Bickley. “Who is it going to be this time?”

Carolus looked uncomfortable.

“You see, both the two old ladies who were murdered had sold gold to Ebony …”

Bickley stood up.

“D'you mean he did it? That gold-buying chap?”

“Not necessarily. The point is that almost the only thing the two murdered women had in common was that they had purchased from Ebony. Now if there is to be another attempt …”

“You mean that he may try to attack my wife?” said Bickley.

“I hope I'm quite mistaken. But even if it was only a coincidence I think you ought to be careful. I don't think you ought to leave Mrs Bickley alone in the evening. It may be a false alarm, I may be as wrong as the police think I am, but all the same I think it's my duty to tell you. You've been in the police force, Mr Bickley. You will know what precautions to take.”

Bickley stared at Carolus.

“If you'll forgive me saying so, I think what you say is out of all reason. Just because she sold a few pieces of gold to the same man …”

“You may be right. Still I'm sure you don't want to take any chances. I hope it will only be a short while before we have the man.”

“Even if there's any truth in this, there must be others who sold stuff.”

“Not that we know of, surely?”

“What about Mrs Baxeter?”

“Oh yes. I will see them. Of course, it was before the other murders that she sold it. Still, I'll make a point of seeing them. Thanks for reminding me.”

“It's very upsetting,” said Bickley.

“Not to me,” said his wife. “I'm not afraid while Harry's with me, and it might be the means of finding out who did for poor Mrs Westmacott. Besides, I should be ready for him.”

“Suppose there are several of them?”

“I don't think there will be anything you can't deal with, Bickley. Stranglers of women are not usually very heroic characters. I shan't worry so long as you take my warning seriously.”

“Can't do anything else, can I?” said Bickley in a disgruntled way. “Why don't the police do something?”

“Because they think the idea is silly,” said Carolus. “They're experienced men and may well be right. But I don't quite see how you can chance it.”

“Nor do I. But it means I miss my pint at the Dragon, and ten to one it's all unnecessary.”

“You'll have your television,” Carolus pointed out.

Bickley's reply was unprintable.

F
INDING
that the Baxeters were not at home when he phoned, Carolus left a message asking them to get in touch with him as soon as possible. While he was awaiting this he was informed by the young woman at the reception desk
that a Mr Gorringer had called and was expected to return at any moment.

All too soon Carolus found himself facing the headmaster. He wore a solemn and anxious expression.

“Well, Deene,” he said, “this is a sorry state of things. The boy Priggley informs me that not only have you failed to elucidate the problem of the two murders but that you are actually expecting another.”

“Priggley exaggerates,” said Carolus. “I think it's possible that there may be an attempt, that's all. And the police, on whom you consider we should rely, think otherwise, or at least refuse to take the precautions I have asked for.”

“I see,” said Mr Gorringer gravely.

“Are you staying in the town?”

“I am. I have felt it my duty to be present here and perhaps—who knows?—lend some assistance, while taking every care that the name of the school shall not be involved in unwelcome publicity.”

“Tired of Brighton?”

“As I explained to you the Sandringham Private Hotel is no longer in the capable hands of our good Mrs Tunney. I need not enlarge on the somewhat disagreeable incidents that have made our stay uncomfortable. Suffice it to say that we are spending a week here at Buddington before returning refreshed for the new term.”

“In this hotel?”

“No, my dear Deene, not in this hotel. The Governing Body of the Queen's School, excellent in intention though they may be, do not see fit to increase my emoluments sufficiently to allow for luxury like this. We are staying at a small and I hope exclusive establishment named the Osborne. And now I shall be grateful if you will put me in the picture.”

Carolus gave the headmaster an outline of the case and as he finished he saw Colonel Baxeter himself approaching
from the entrance hall. He wore shorts and woollen stockings, an open khaki shirt and a jacket of grey homespun. Carolus quickly told the headmaster that he was ‘connected with the case' and Mr Gorringer was a little more gracious than might have been expected considering the Colonel's attire. His rank also seemed to quieten the headmaster's alarm.

“You wanted to see me, Deene?” said Colonel Baxeter when introductions had been made.

“Yes. A few words with you and your wife, if I could.”

“We are at your disposal. My wife has instructed me to invite you to share our lunch today and perhaps Mr Gorringer will join you?”

Carolus, who had dreaded a meal at Dehra Dun, now saw possibilities in the situation and Mr Gorringer, who knew nothing of the Colonel's rules of health, beamingly accepted.

The lunch was not a success. The headmaster, whose appetite was a healthy not to say voracious one, looked unhappily at the dish of various so-called ‘edible seaweeds' which had been skilfully prepared.

“Slouk,” said the Colonel, “excellent when dressed as this is with pepper and olive oil. Redware, you should squeeze a little lemon over that. Badderlocks which have also the pleasant name of Honeyware. They do not belie that name. Dulse you will find tastes like roasted oysters.”

“Interesting,” said Mr Gorringer without conviction. “And you feel no hardship in subsisting on these foods?”

“Hardship? You will find them delicious. We have a nut roast to follow with salsify and alecost.”

Carolus turned the talk to murder, as a relief.

“I daresay I'm an alarmist,” he said, “but I have an obstinate idea that there will be another attempt.”

“Then you are coming round to my opinion that only a maniac can have been responsible?”