Our Jubilee is Death (11 page)

“No. That is what I was thinking. If any of your shoes were wet, salty or clogged with sand it must have been from another excursion that night?”

Graveston blinked, but remained silent.

“Did you go out again that night, Graveston?”

“I went to bed, sir. I can't pretend I didn't.”

“But did you get up again?”

“To answer a call of Nature—yes, sir.”

“You did not leave the house?”

“No.”

“You do not know whether anyone else did?”

“On such matters I cannot speak, sir. It would not be right for me to do so.”

“You sleep deeply?”

“No, sir. I cannot go so far as that. I slept fitfully.”

“When did you clean Mrs Bomberger's bath-chair?”

“I am unable to say, sir. I cleaned it whenever it was necessary, that is all I can tell you.”

“You had recently formed a habit of taking Mrs Bomberger to the top of the cliffs?”

“It was the lady's wish to go that way.”

“Did you ever think how easy it would be for you to let the bath-chair run over?”

“Such thoughts would never enter my head. I should not think it right to contemplate a possibility like that.”

“We can't always control our thoughts. But we can be honest with ourselves about them. All right, Graveston. You have resolved not to tell me the truth. I shan't ask you any more. But I warn you that if you have told the same lies to the police as you have to me you're in danger of immediate arrest on a charge of murder.”

“Me, sir? That couldn't possibly be. I had nothing whatever to do with it.”

“With what?” shouted Carolus.

“With the death of Mrs Bomberger. I understand the lady died from an over-dose of sleeping-pills.”

“Why did you clean that bath-chair in the small hours of that morning?”

“I did no such thing. I can say no more.”

Carolus sent him to ask Gracie and Babs Stayer and Miss Pink if they could see him and in a few moments the household was gathered. Carolus spoke very briefly.

“I have no more enquiries to make here,” he said, “and
I am delighted that it is so. I do not know why you told my cousin you wanted me to investigate if you were not going to give me the facts. I feel it is only fair to warn you, and I hope you will pass the warning on to Mr and Mrs Cribb, that you all, and particularly one of you, that you
all
are in danger. Neither I nor the police can do anything for you while you persist in keeping us in the dark.”

“Danger? Of what?” asked Gracie.

“Death,” said Carolus and left them. He went quickly to his car and drove back to Blessington.

P
RIGGLEY
was waiting for him.

“I trust you'll never again expect me to do anything quite so banal as that,” he said in a bored voice, apparently referring to the task given him yesterday. “Shadowing a man with a squint! Really, I might be Valentine Vox, or something. Won't you ever grow up, sir?”

“You thoroughly enjoyed it,” said Carolus. “What's more, you've probably done it extremely well. Let's hear about it.”

“Are you giving me lunch? I'm beginning to find that the
table d'hôte
in the Grand Restaurant Romano-Ritz at the Royal Hydro, to say the least of it,
palls”

“You'd better ask Mrs Stick.”

“Easy,” said Rupert and went out to the kitchen. In a few moments he returned in triumph. “Though she says ‘Mind you, if it had been one of them mixed up with this nasty business there wouldn't have been, and I don't mind if Mr Deene knows it.' ”

Rupert poured out sherry for Carolus and himself, sniffing appreciatively over the glass before almost gargling with the wine as he swallowed, in the manner of a professional taster. It was clear that he believed he had a good story and did not intend to be hurried.

“That's a squalid character,” he said at last. “Insults-to-women stuff. You know, walks along, sees a decent woman out shopping or what-have-you, and just says something nasty to her as he passes. Walking behind him made me quite ill. Each time he passed a woman alone I would see him stoop towards her and then watch her colour up and hurry on.”

“It's quite common,” said Carolus, “and very hard to deal with, because the women hate complaining, which entails repeating what the man has said. Very unpleasant. Go on.”

“He led me all over the town on this, and I was just going to let him go to hell and tell you to find someone else for the job when he looked at his watch. I guessed he had made a decision to go home, and I was right. He disappeared into
Peep O'Day, Board Residence, Sorry We're Full, Write Next Tear,
16 Windsor Terrace. I went and had a cup of tea at the café on the corner, from which I could see the entrance of his place. I was sure he had not had enough amusement for the day and waited for him to come out. It took about an hour and I was getting pretty bored with a rather dreary blonde behind the counter of my café before I saw him slope into the evening air. I waited till he was well out of sight, then went over to Peep O'Day and asked for the proprietress.

“ ‘We're full up,' said a bright little woman with a grey fringe. ‘I know. I'll write next year,' I told her. ‘I wanted to see you about something else.' She seemed a bit doubtful, but eventually asked me into her kitchen. ‘What is it?' she said; ‘because I'm so busy I haven't time to turn round.' I didn't hedge. ‘It's about that man who has just left,' I said, ‘Squint. Gold teeth.' I could see at once that she had had her own doubts about our man. ‘It's a bit difficult to explain, Mrs …' ‘Salter,' she said. ‘Mrs Salter. I'm afraid it may take a few minutes.' I'd got her curiosity thoroughly roused now. She wouldn't have let me out of that room for a fortune. ‘Sit down,' she said.

“I gave her the works. Strictly true except that I invented a sister of mine who had been insulted. I intended to give the man a good hiding. ‘Not in my house,' she stipulated, and I agreed. My sister would not let me go to the police, but I was thinking of other people's sisters, too, etcetera, etcetera. Mrs Salter came out with quite a lot. The man's name is Poxton and he has been here three
weeks. He now owes one week's rent, but has promised the money tomorrow ‘for certain, as he is receiving a large sum'. He doesn't come down to breakfast in the morning, though Mrs Salter doesn't ‘do' breakfasts up in bedrooms. ‘Well, I couldn't do it. Not when we're full up like this.' He ‘lies in', as she says, until just on lunch-time, then goes round to the Feathers, and comes in late for lunch, which makes it so awkward for everybody. ‘I've only got the one woman to help me and naturally we both want to get washed up.' In the afternoon he goes out as he did today.

“But it is his nocturnal movements which interest Mrs Salter. He's out, as she says, ‘till all hours'. He has his key, as all the boarders at Peep O'Day have, and has come in as late as two o'clock in the morning. ‘And after what you've told me,' said Mrs Salter, ‘I don't dare to think what he may be up to.' I asked what time he usually goes out at night, and she says it is never before nine and usually between nine-thirty and ten. I thought of hanging about last night for him to emerge, but decided to wait till I had told you what I'd learnt.”

“Good.”

“I'll go tonight, shall I?”

“I shall go.”

“But you'll let me come?”

“I'm afraid you would find it what you please to call corny, Priggley. Following a man by night.”

“Of course it's corny. But corn can be fun. I'll call for you at eight forty-five.”

“I don't think I'll take the responsibility.”

“Oh, come off it, sir. It's not as though the man were a murder suspect.”

“Why not?”

“He's just a repulsive cad who mumbles filth to women.”

“That doesn't mean that he's not a suspect. Rather the contrary. You're far too apt to dismiss people from suspicion because there is this or that about them. A murder, this murder anyway …”

“If it
is
a murder …”

“If it is a murder, could be committed by almost anyone. Even by someone who appears merely funny like Mrs Plum, someone who seems the soul of ordinariness like Ron Cribb, someone frightened like Alice Pink, someone hysterical like Gracie Stayer, or someone downright like Babs Stayer. Besides more sinister characters like Graveston. It could be the work of an attractive woman like Gloria Cribb or a businessman like George Stump. It could certainly have been done by a nasty piece of work like this Poxton.”

“I suppose so. Anyway, I'm coming. After all, we're in the holidays.”

“Are you sure he didn't see you yesterday?”

“Certain. Part of his act was not to turn round when he had spoken to a woman. I kept well behind.”

“That won't be so easy tonight.”

“Why not? There's a full moon.”

So at nine o'clock Carolus and Priggley had a coffee at the Kozee T Rooms on the corner of Windsor Terrace and Carolus had an opportunity of seeing the ‘rather dreary blonde' described by Priggley. But that evening Priggley did not seem to find the lush young woman in the least dreary.

It was nearly ten o'clock before Poxton came out of Peep O'Day. Carolus saw now that he was a tall man, fairly heavily built. He wore a light raincoat and a colourless hat.

It soon became evident that he had some urgent objective. He showed no disposition to repeat his insulting behaviour of yesterday afternoon, but started to walk towards the sea without pausing anywhere.

It was, as Priggley had predicted, a night of good, strong moonlight, and the sea looked like the surface of the moon itself. The streets of the town were quite brightly lit, and while Poxton continued to walk along the promenade as he was doing it would be easy to keep him in sight from far
enough away. When he left the range of the promenade lights there might be a problem.

The band was still playing in the pagoda-like bandstand, and although the evening was chilly the promenade was populous. ‘Listening to the band' remained a beloved occupation in spite of all the counter attractions of the cinema, radio, television, not to mention public performances of music and drama. A great number of people spent a very happy hour or two shivering in uncomfortable and expensive deck-chairs while bandsmen in uniform beat out the traditional Selection from
Teomen of the Guard
or something from
Peer Gynt.
Poxton led them right past the bandstand, and Carolus wondered if he could be aware that he was being followed and was trying to lose them. But no, he walked on steadily, heedless of the crowd as he was of the music. He was going northward.

When he came to the end of the promenade he did not hesitate a moment, but dropped to the sand below it. It now seemed certain that he was going to walk round the headland to Trumbles Bay.

“Pity we haven't got a football,” said Carolus.

“I suppose you said what I thought I heard you say. Or am I going mad?” asked Priggley.

“I said a football. We could then have a jolly game dribbling and passing all round our man and he'd think nothing of it.”

“Gosh, you're right. I'm relieved. For a moment I thought you were suffering from arrested development. Tell you what, we can fake up something to kick with litter rolled up. And heaven knows there's plenty of litter.”

“You need some string.”

“I've got some,” said Priggley unexpectedly. “Don't you know it's one of the things every schoolboy carries in his pocket?”

In a few moments the ball was made. Carolus waited until Poxton would be well on his way round the headland, then, with a good deal of shouting and false merriment
which Priggley particularly enjoyed, with cries of “Oh, good shot, sir!” “Rotten luck! ” “Very hard lines!” and “Well played!” they passed Poxton. It was as well that they adopted these tactics, as Poxton, after leaving the promenade, gave frequent glances behind him to make sure he was not followed. Presently they reached the shadows of the rocks in Trumbles Bay. Here they took up their position and waited for their man to appear.

The whole bay was brightly lit by the moon except on the south side, which Carolus had chosen. Here were some tall stark rocks, and it was easy to remain invisible among them.

“But I think he'll go up to the house,” said Carolus. “I suggest your getting there ahead of him. I'll wait here. See and hear all you can, but don't take risks. And don't leave the shadows on this side.”

Priggley faded from sight within a few yards and Carolus cursed the inadvisability of lighting a cigarette. It was not many moments, however, before Poxton appeared and marched, as Carolus had anticipated, right across the middle of the bay towards the track which led up to Trumbles. When he too became invisible—at a much greater distance than Priggley, because he was in moonlight—Carolus could afford to enjoy his smoke.

It seemed to him, who was the least impatient of men, a very long time before anything happened. He consoled himself a little for the boredom of a long wait by thinking that if this went as he hoped it would bring him far nearer a solution than he had been at any time since the case began. With any luck he would at least know what had happened on this shore that night.

Priggley was suddenly beside him, a little out of breath.

“Pink the Secretary met him at the gate. They scarcely exchanged a word, but she handed him a packet. He'll be across in a minute.”

“Right. Stay here. Understand?”

Priggley appeared to know when Carolus intended an order to be kept.

“Yes. I'll stay here till you shout for me.”

Soon the tall figure was in sight, hurrying now.

Carolus walked out of the shadow.

“Poxton!” he said loudly.