Case for Three Detectives (28 page)

“Wot about ‘im? 'Is Lordship was right enough. He is the stepson. 'E got into a bit of trouble over racing, and changed ‘is name: But ‘e's oright. 'E didn't put ‘is ‘undred quid on that ‘orse until Mrs. Thurston ‘ad giv' ‘im the pendant which 'e could pop for more than that, to cover ‘im if the ‘orse didn't win. 'E's oright, I tell you, I'm glad ‘is ‘orse did come in. It'll be drinks round to-night—if I get down there in time. Course he told one or two lies. Well, 'e wasn't going to let on about changing ‘is name. Why should 'e? 'E didn't want all that raked up, As for ‘is going to Sidney Seweil, well, what could be more natural? A run in the car was what anyone ‘ud want, cooped up ‘ere for a murder enquiry. It's not everyone 'oo enjoys 'em, you know. And of course 'e chose Sidney Sewell, that being the place 'e'd stayed at, But there was no secret about it, or 'e wouldn't of took N orris and Fellowes with ‘im.”

I was determined to find out whether the Sergeant's case was complete. “But the chauffeur?” I asked, “And the girl? And her ex-convict brother?”

The Sergeant smiled. “That's where I had the advantage, sir. See, being sergeant in a place like this, you gets to know people and v%hat they're up to. I mean, we know 'oo might be doing a bit of poaching, and ‘oo's liable to get tight. I knew this chap Fellowes pretty well—played darts with ‘im a good many times. Always starts on the double eighteen, 'e does. Never misses. Well, I knew 'e ‘ad a bit saved up, and ‘ad been looking for the right pub for ‘im and Enid for a long time. And I also knew that 'e'd just
settled to take over the Red Lion. Money was paid a week ago before any of this came along. And the brother, Miles, was to go and work for 'em. Pleased as punch they was about it. 'E wouldn't of wanted to go doing anyone in. Not ‘im. 'E was getting married and everyihink. 'E may ‘ave ‘ad a bit of a row with the girl over not ‘aving give in ‘is notice. But ten to one ‘e told 'er when they was out together on Friday afternoon that 'e'd tell Mrs. Thurston that night. And that settled it with Enid, so that when they got back to their car that afternoon their tiff was over. Then, as you remember, Mrs. Thurston sent for ‘im, before dinner, to tell ‘im about the rat-traps, which meant to tell him she wanted to see ‘im later. And he came out with it then and there in the ‘all, that 'e wanted to leave at the end of the week. No wonder you noticed 'er looking a bit upset when you were on your way up to change. She was upset, but she'd persuaded ‘im to ‘ave a word with 'er later. Well, at eleven o'clock 'e and Enid 'ears Mrs. Thurston go up to bed. 'E wants to see 'er at once and get it over, but 'e mustn't appear to be following 'em upstairs, So wot does 'e do? Wot would anyone do? Look at the clock of course and sez ‘Why, it's past eleven', as though it was later than wot 'e thought it was, to explain ‘is ‘urrying off.

“So 'e went to go in 'er room. Only 'e couldn't because Stall was in there, after ‘is two ‘undred. Not that Fellowes knew 'oo it was, only 'e 'eard someone talking. And it's my belief, as I've told you, that 'e was just coming downstairs to ‘ave another try, when 'e ‘eard those screams, and doubled back up again. The girl ‘ad a nasty experience, though. She was in the Doctor's room, right opposite to Mrs. Thurston's, when those screams started. No wonder she couldn't move for a minute. It must ‘ave turned 'er up, coming sudden like that with no noise first. Enough to give any girl a turn, especially when she ‘arf thinks 'er lover's in there. She stays where she is a minute, till she
“ears you battering at the door, then she comes out and must ‘ave been relieved to see Fellowes with the rest of you. 'E tells 'er to run downstairs, which she does, as we know from the cook.

“Mind you, it may of been lucky for Miles that 'e ‘ad that alibi. It might easily ‘ave appeared that someone would ‘ave mixed ‘im up in this, and brought out all about ‘is past, which wouldn't ‘ave done ‘im any good in the village, when 'e goes to 'elp at the Red Lion. But fortunately nobody knows anythink about it, except you gentlemen and me, so 'e's oright. 'E'll go straight enough now. 'E never chizzles on the dart-board, and that's a good sign. Why, only the other night I was playing against ‘im and I thought one of ‘is darts was in the sixty. ‘One ton,' I says, but he says, ‘No sixty. It wasn't there.' 'E could of ‘ad it as easy as wink, an' I shouldn't ‘ave known any different. But 'e didn't, see! Honest 'e was. We shan't ‘ave no more trouble with ‘im!”

It was just then, I think, that Mgr. Smith got up to leave us. He bore no grudge against the Sergeant, and like the good sportsman he was enjoyed being wrong at last. “You see,” he explained, “by the very nature of things it has never been possible for me to be mistaken before. And while there is error in a man, a man may be in error.”

He beamed round on us and picked up his parasol.

“Where are you off to?” I asked.

“I must go to the Vicarage,” he said, and scuttled out. We heard that it was several hours before he returned from the gloomy Vicarage, but what had passed in that time it was not our business to enquire.

When we had left the room I was seized by yet another doubt. “But, Sergeant,” I said, “there is one matter which you haven't explained. And now I come to think of it, it is a serious one. What about the Vicar? You cannot account for all his movements so simply. They were really most peculiar. First of all his questions to me. Then all that time
when he said he was out in the orchard, then his being by the side of the corpse so soon after the murder, and finally his saying that he had sinned. What does it all mean? Was he really mad?”

“Mad? No!” said Sergeant Beef. “'E isn't mad. That was just ‘is way of trying to get out of it—defend ‘imself, like.”

“Defend himself? Then he did have something to do with the murder?”

“No. Not that. But ‘aven't you really guessed, sir, what it was 'e was ashamed of? It's as plain as the nose on your face.”

“I can't say I have—unless it was this interfering puritan-ism of his.”

“No, not that. Though it's all part of it. You see the kind of man he was? Always seeing something wrong when there was nothing to see. Well, you know what goes with that, don't you? A nasty mind, that's what! No wonder 'e was ashamed of ‘imself. When he left here that night, where did he go? Out in the orchard, pacing up and down? Not he! 'E knew Mrs. Thurston would be going to bed in a minute, and p'raps didn't trouble to draw the blinds. And out 'e goes in the garden to see whether 'e could see anything 'e shouldn't. That's how he came to 'ear the screams, and that's why he was guilty afterwards.”

“In fact,” drawled Lord Simon, “as Monsignor Smith would say if he were here, he was not only a Nosey Parker, but a Peeping Tom.”

T
HE
public bar of the Red Lion was brightly lit, and the beer glowed happily in glass tankards. Enid, behind the bar, watched placidly, while Sergeant Beef and I attempted with zeal to win a game of darts against Fellowes and Miles.

“Police versus criminals, you might call it,” Enid had observed when we started, with pointed reference to my efforts of some months ago to assist investigation of the Thurston Mystery and not without recollection of how we had disinterred the unfortunate past history of the two men who were now our opponents. ‘Criminals', in this contest anyway, were on top, for the publican, whom I had met as a chauffeur, and his brother-in-law were, as Beef put it, ‘mustard at this game'.

Williams had been hanged a week before. When his trial had come on, the amount of evidence which had been collected against him was enormous, and I suspected that the prosecution had received some kindly hints from two at least of the investigators who had been concerned in the case. They had rallied good-naturedly to the Sergeant, who never lost his admiration for them. He was wont to wonder even to-day at their inventiveness, and envy their remarkable gifts.

Our game was finishing. Fellowes needed a hundred and fifty-seven to get out. Jealously I watched him throw his three darts, treble nineteen, treble twenty, double top—a brilliant bit of work. And when the well-merited beer was brought, we returned, not unnaturally, to talk of the tragedy which had first brought us together.

“It was a funny business, altogether,” commented Fellowes, not, as you will gather, imputing any comedy to
the affair, but referring to the element of unexpectedness which had been noticeable in it.

“Wasn't it?” said Enid, as she crunched potato crisps. “You could have knocked me down with a feather when I knew it was that Williams who had done it. I never liked him, though. Too ‘igh and mighty for anyone, he was. But you wouldn't have thought he was the one to do a person in, would you? Still, there you are. You never know, as they say.”

“I reckon it was a blarsted shame-, though,” said Miles. “To go and cut her throat like that. She'd never done anyone any harm.”

“Ah,” said Fellowes, “but when they gets in a mess over money they'll do anything. How much was it he'd had off of 'er? Six thousand quid, wasn't it? And nothing to show for it. He had to do something to keep her quiet.”

“I dare say, but that's no reason to go on like 'e did,” observed Enid. “And then shooting the Doctor as well. No one can't say he didn't deserve all he got. What was it that lawyer called him? A ‘homicidal opportunist', wasn't it? He certainly took his opportunity all right.”

“That's what made it so hard to get him,” I ventured to observe. I have learnt not to give my opinion too freely of late.

“Yes. And what I say now,” said Enid, “is what I've said all along—it was really clever of Sergeant Beef to have spotted him. Really clever, it was!”

“Hear, hear!” said Fellowes.

The Sergeant sucked his moustache. “Oh, I don't know,” he said, “there was nothink in it. I just went a'ead and carried out ordin'ry instructions. ‘Ad a look at the bloodstains, and the rest followed. That's where it came in. I told those gentlemen 'oo came down to investigate right from the start that it was too simple a case for them.”

“Unfortunately, Sergeant, they have been told that so
many times by the police that they couldn't be expected to believe you.”

“Well, but it was. What was there to it? Them inkstains, and then the stains on Williams's shirt, and that bit of pillow-case wot 'e'd been burning. That's all it was, and the rest came on top of it as easy as wink. It wasn't the case for them at all. I mean, wot they want is something complicated. This was just a police business—not even worth bringing the Yard down. There's things of this sort ‘appening every day. And all you ‘ave to do is carry out the ordin'ry instructions, take your notes, and there you are. Only I wish to gawd I could make up a story like they can. Genius I call
that.
Well, wot about another game of darts?”

THE END