The Complete Tommy & Tuppence Collection (135 page)

The medical evidence had been given. Two passers-by not far from the gate had given their evidence. The family had spoken, giving evidence as to the state of his health, any possible people who had had reason for enmity towards him (one or two youngish adolescent boys who had before now been warned off by him) had been asked to assist the police and had protested their innocence. One or two of his employers had spoken including his latest employer, Mrs Prudence Beresford, and her husband, Mr Thomas Beresford. All had been said and done and a verdict had been brought in: Wilful Murder by a person or persons unknown.

Tuppence came out from the inquest and Tommy put an arm round her as they passed the little group of people waiting outside.

‘You did very well, Tuppence,' he said, as they returned through the garden gate towards the house.
‘Very well indeed. Much better than some of those people. You were very clear and you could be heard. The Coroner seemed to me to be very pleased with you.'

‘I don't want anyone to be very pleased with me,' said Tuppence. ‘I don't like old Isaac being coshed on the head and killed like that.'

‘I suppose someone might have had it in for him,' said Tommy.

‘Why should they?' said Tuppence.

‘I don't know,' said Tommy.

‘No,' said Tuppence, ‘and I don't know either. But I just wondered if it's anything to do with us.'

‘Do you mean–what do you mean, Tuppence?'

‘You know what I mean really,' said Tuppence. ‘It's this–this place. Our house. Our lovely new house. And garden and everything. It's as though–isn't it just the right place for us? We thought it was,' said Tuppence.

‘Well, I still do,' said Tommy.

‘Yes,' said Tuppence, ‘I think you've got more hope than I have. I've got an uneasy feeling that there's something–something
wrong
with it all here. Something left over from the past.'

‘Don't say it again,' said Tommy.

‘Don't say what again?'

‘Oh, just those two words.'

Tuppence dropped her voice. She got nearer to Tommy and spoke almost into his ear.

‘Mary Jordan?'

‘Well, yes. That
was
in my mind.'

‘And in my mind, too, I expect. But I mean, what can anything then have to do with nowadays? What can the past matter?' said Tuppence. ‘It oughtn't to have anything to do with–now.'

‘The past oughtn't to have anything to do with the present–is that what you mean? But it does,' said Tommy. ‘It does, in queer ways that one doesn't think of. I mean that one doesn't think would ever happen.'

‘A lot of things, you mean, happen because of what there was in the past?'

‘Yes. It's a sort of long chain. The sort of thing you have, with gaps and then with beads on it from time to time.'

‘Jane Finn and all that. Like Jane Finn in our adventures when we were young because we wanted adventures.'

‘And we had them,' said Tommy. ‘Sometimes I look back on it and wonder how we got out of it alive.'

‘And then–other things. You know, when we went into partnership, and we pretended to be detective agents.'

‘Oh that was fun,' said Tommy. ‘Do you remember–'

‘No,' said Tuppence, ‘I'm not going to remember.
I'm not anxious to go back to thinking of the past except–well, except as a stepping-stone, as you might say. No. Well, anyway that gave us practice, didn't it? And then we had the next bit.'

‘Ah,' said Tommy. ‘Mrs Blenkinsop, eh?'

Tuppence laughed.

‘Yes. Mrs Blenkinsop. I'll never forget when I came into that room and saw you sitting there.'

‘How you had the nerve, Tuppence, to do what you did, move that wardrobe or whatever it was, and listen in to me and Mr What's-his-name, talking. And then–'

‘And then Mrs Blenkinsop,' said Tuppence. She laughed too. ‘N or M and Goosey Goosey Gander.'

‘But you don't–' Tommy hesitated–‘you don't believe that all those were what you call stepping-stones to this?'

‘Well, they are in a way,' said Tuppence. ‘I mean, I don't suppose that Mr Robinson would have said what he did to you if he hadn't had a lot of those things in his mind. Me for one of them.'

‘Very much you for one of them.'

‘But now,' said Tuppence, ‘this makes it all different. This, I mean. Isaac. Dead. Coshed on the head. Just inside our garden gate.'

‘You don't think
that's
connected with–'

‘One can't help thinking it might be,' said Tuppence.
‘That's what I mean. We're not just investigating a sort of detective mystery any more. Finding out, I mean, about the past and why somebody died in the past and things like that. It's become personal. Quite personal, I think. I mean, poor old Isaac being
dead
.'

‘He was a very old man and possibly that had something to do with it.'

‘Not after listening to the medical evidence this morning. Someone wanted to kill him. What for?'

‘Why didn't they want to kill us if it was anything to do with us,' said Tommy.

‘Well, perhaps they'll try that too. Perhaps, you know, he could have told us something. Perhaps he
was
going to tell us something. Perhaps he even threatened somebody else that he was going to talk to us, say something he knew about the girl or one of the Parkinsons. Or–or all this spying business in the 1914 war. The secrets that were sold. And then, you see, he had to be silenced. But if
we
hadn't come to live here and ask questions and wanted to find out, it wouldn't have happened.'

‘Don't get so worked up.'

‘I am worked up. And I'm not doing anything for fun any more. This isn't fun. We're doing something different now, Tommy. We're hunting down a killer. But who? Of course we don't know yet but we can find out. That's not the past, that's Now. That's something
that happened–what–only days ago, six days ago. That's the present. It's here and it's connected with us and it's connected with this house. And we've got to find out and we're going to find out. I don't know how but we've got to go after all the clues and follow up things. I feel like a dog with my nose to the ground, following a trail. I'll have to follow it
here
, and you've got to be a hunting dog. Go round to different places. The way you're doing now. Finding out about things. Getting your–whatever you call it–research done. There must be people who know things, not of their own knowledge, but what people have told them. Stories they've heard. Rumours. Gossip.'

‘But, Tuppence, you can't really believe there's any chance of our–'

‘Oh yes I do,' said Tuppence. ‘I don't know how or in what way, but I believe that when you've got a real, convincing idea, something that you know is black and bad and evil, and hitting old Isaac on the head
was
black and evil…' She stopped.

‘We could change the name of the house again,' said Tommy.

‘What do you mean? Call it Swallow's Nest and not The Laurels?'

A flight of birds passed over their heads. Tuppence turned her head and looked back towards the garden gate. ‘Swallow's Nest was once its name. What's the
rest of that quotation? The one your researcher quoted. Postern of Death, wasn't it?'

‘No, Postern of Fate.'

‘Fate. That's like a comment on what has happened to Isaac. Postern of Fate–
our
Garden Gate–'

‘Don't worry so much, Tuppence.'

‘I don't know why,' said Tuppence. ‘It's just a sort of idea that came into my mind.'

Tommy gave her a puzzled look and shook his head.

‘Swallow's nest is a nice name, really,' said Tuppence. ‘Or it could be. Perhaps it will some day.'

‘You have the most extraordinary ideas, Tuppence.'

‘Yet something singeth like a bird. That was how it ended. Perhaps all this will end that way.'

Just before they reached the house, Tommy and Tuppence saw a woman standing on the doorstep.

‘I wonder who that is,' said Tommy.

‘Someone I've seen before,' said Tuppence. ‘I don't remember who at the moment. Oh. I think it's one of old Isaac's family. You know they all lived together in one cottage. About three or four boys and this woman and another one, a girl. I may be wrong, of course.'

The woman on the doorstep had turned and came towards them.

‘Mrs Beresford, isn't it?' she said, looking at Tuppence.

‘Yes,' said Tuppence.

‘And–I don't expect you know me. I'm Isaac's daughter-in-law, you know. Married to his son, Stephen, I was. Stephen–he got killed in an accident. One of them lorries. The big ones that go along. It was on one of the M roads, the M1 I think it was. M1 or the M5. No, the M5 was before that. The M4 it could be. Anyway, there it was. Five or six years ago it was. I wanted to–I wanted just to speak to you. You and–you and your husband–' She looked at Tommy. ‘You sent flowers, didn't you, to the funeral? Isaac worked in the garden here for you, didn't he?'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence. ‘He did work for us here. It was such a terrible thing to have happened.'

‘I came to thank you. Very lovely flowers they was, too. Good ones. Classy ones. A great bunch of them.'

‘We thought we'd like to do it,' said Tuppence, ‘because Isaac had been very helpful to us. He'd helped us a lot, you know, with getting into the house. Telling us about things, because we don't know much about the house. Where things were kept, and everything. And he gave me a lot of knowledge about planting things, too, and all that sort of thing.'

‘Yes, he knew his stuff, as you might say. He wasn't much of a worker because he was old, you know, and he didn't like stooping. Got lumbago a lot, so he couldn't do as much as he'd have liked to do.'

‘He was very nice and very helpful,' said Tuppence firmly. ‘And he knew a lot about things here, and the people, and told us a lot.'

‘Ah. He knew a lot, he did. A lot of his family, you know, worked before him. They lived round about and they'd known a good deal of what went on in years gone by. Not of their own knowledge, as you might say but–well, just hearing what went on. Well, ma'am, I won't keep you. I just came up to have a few words and say how much obliged I was.'

‘That's very nice of you,' said Tuppence. ‘Thank you very much.'

‘You'll have to get someone else to do a bit of work in the garden, I expect.'

‘I expect so,' said Tuppence. ‘We're not very good at it ourselves. Do you–perhaps you–' she hesitated, feeling perhaps she was saying the wrong thing at the wrong moment–‘perhaps you know of someone who would like to come and work for us.'

‘Well, I can't say I do offhand, but I'll keep it in mind. You never know. I'll send along Henry–that's my second boy, you know–I'll send him along and let you know if I hear of anyone. Well, good day for now.'

‘What was Isaac's name? I can't remember,' said Tommy, as they went into the house. ‘I mean, his surname.'

‘Oh, Isaac Bodlicott, I think.'

‘So that's a Mrs Bodlicott, is it?'

‘Yes. Though I think she's got several sons, boys and a girl and they all live together. You know, in that cottage half-way up the Marshton Road. Do you think she knows who killed him?' said Tuppence.

‘I shouldn't think so,' said Tommy. ‘She didn't look as though she did.'

‘I don't know how you'd look,' said Tuppence. ‘It's rather difficult to say, isn't it?'

‘I think she just came to thank you for the flowers. I don't think she had the look of someone who was–you know–revengeful. I think she'd have mentioned it if so.'

‘Might. Might not,' said Tuppence.

She went into the house looking rather thoughtful.

The following morning Tuppence was interrupted in her remarks to an electrician who had come to adjust portions of his work which were not considered satisfactory.

‘Boy at the door,' said Albert. ‘Wants to speak to you, madam.'

‘Oh. What's his name?'

‘Didn't ask him, he's waiting there outside.'

Tuppence seized her garden hat, shoved it on her head and came down the stairs.

Outside the door a boy of about twelve or thirteen was standing. He was rather nervous, shuffling his feet.

‘Hope it's all right to come along,' he said.

‘Let me see,' said Tuppence, ‘you're Henry Bodlicott, aren't you?'

‘That's right. That was my–oh, I suppose he was by way of being an uncle, the one I mean whose inquest
was on yesterday. Never been to an inquest before, I haven't.'

Tuppence stopped herself on the brink of saying ‘Did you enjoy it?' Henry had the look of someone who was about to describe a treat.

‘It was quite a tragedy, wasn't it?' said Tuppence. ‘Very sad.'

‘Oh well, he was an old one,' said Henry. ‘Couldn't have expected to last much longer I don't think, you know. Used to cough something terrible in the autumn. Kept us all awake in the house. I just come along to ask if there's anything as you want done here. I understood–as a matter of fact Mom told me–as you had some lettuces ought to be thinned out now and I wonder if you'd like me to do it for you. I know just where they are because I used to come up sometimes and talk to old Izzy when he was at work. I could do it now if you liked.'

‘Oh, that's very nice of you,' said Tuppence. ‘Come out and show me.'

They moved into the garden together and went up to the spot designated.

‘That's it, you see. They've been shoved in a bit tight and you've got to thin 'em out a bit and put 'em over there instead, you see, when you've made proper gaps.'

‘I don't really know anything about lettuces,' Tuppence admitted. ‘I know a little about flowers. Peas, Brussels
sprouts and lettuces and other vegetables I'm not very good at. You don't want a job working in the garden, I suppose, do you?'

‘Oh no, I'm still at school, I am. I takes the papers round and I do a bit of fruit picking in the summer, you know.'

‘I see,' said Tuppence. ‘Well, if you hear of anyone and you let me know, I'll be very glad.'

‘Yes, I will do that. Well, so long, mum.'

‘Just show me what you're doing to the lettuces. I'd like to know.'

She stood by, watching the manipulations of Henry Bodlicott.

‘Now that's all right. Yes, nice ones, these, aren't they? Webb's Wonderful, aren't they? They keep a long time.'

‘We finished the Tom Thumbs,' said Tuppence.

‘That's right. Those are the little early ones, aren't they? Very crisp and good.'

‘Well, thank you very much,' said Tuppence.

She turned away and started to walk towards the house. She noted she'd lost her scarf and turned back. Henry Bodlicott, just starting for home, stopped and came across to her.

‘Just the scarf,' said Tuppence. ‘Is it–oh, there it is on that bush.'

He handed it to her, then stood looking at her,
shuffling his feet. He looked so very worried and ill at ease that Tuppence wondered what was the matter with him.

‘Is there anything?' she said.

Henry shuffled his feet, looked at her, shuffled his feet again, picked his nose and rubbed his left ear and then moved his feet in a kind of tattoo.

‘Just something I–I wondered if you–I mean–if you wouldn't mind me asking you–'

‘Well?' said Tuppence. She stopped and looked at him enquiringly.

Henry got very red in the face and continued to shuffle his feet.

‘Well, I didn't like to–I don't like to ask, but I just wondered–I mean, people have been saying–they said things…I mean, I hear them say…'

‘Yes?' said Tuppence, wondering what had upset Henry, what he could have heard concerning the lives of Mr and Mrs Beresford, the new tenants of The Laurels. ‘Yes, you've heard what?'

‘Oh, just as–as how it's you is the lady what caught spies or something in the last war. You did it, and the gentleman too. You were in it and you found someone who was a German spy pretending to be something else. And you found him out and you had a lot of adventures and in the end it was all cleared up. I mean, you were–I don't know what to call it–I suppose you
were one of our Secret Service people and you did that and they said as you'd been wonderful. Of course, some time ago now but you was all mixed up with something–something about nursery rhymes too.'

‘That's right,' said Tuppence. ‘Goosey Goosey Gander was the one in question.'

‘Goosey Goosey Gander! I remember that. Gosh, years ago, it was. Whither will you wander?'

‘That's right,' said Tuppence. ‘Upstairs, downstairs, in my lady's chamber. There he found an old man who wouldn't say his prayers and he took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs. At least, I think that's right but it may be a different nursery rhyme I've tacked on to it.'

‘Well, I never,' said Henry. ‘Well, I mean, it's rather wonderful to have you living here just like anyone else, isn't it? But I don't know why the nursery rhymes were in it.'

‘Oh there was a kind of code, a cypher,' said Tuppence.

‘You mean it had to be sort of read and all that?' said Henry.

‘Something of the kind,' said Tuppence. ‘Anyway, it was all found out.'

‘Well now, isn't that wonderful,' said Henry. ‘You don't mind if I tell my friend, do you? My chum. Clarence, his name is. Silly name, I know. We all
laugh at him for it. But he's a good chap, he is and he'll be ever so thrilled to know as we've got you really living amongst us.'

He looked at Tuppence with the admiration of an affectionate spaniel.

‘Wonderful!' he said again.

‘Oh, it was a long time ago,' said Tuppence. ‘In the 1940s.'

‘Was it fun, or were you ever so frightened?'

‘Bits of both,' said Tuppence. ‘Mostly, I think, I was frightened.'

‘Oh well, I expect as you would be, too. Yes, but it's odd as you should come here and get mixed up in the same sort of thing. It was a naval gentleman, wasn't it? I mean as called himself an English commander in the Navy, but he wasn't really. He was a German. At least, that's what Clarence said.'

‘Something like that,' said Tuppence.

‘So perhaps that's why you come here. Because, you know, we had something here once–well it was a very, very long time ago–but it was the same thing, as you might say. He was a submarine officer. He sold plans of submarines. Mind you, it's only stories as I've heard people say.'

‘I see,' said Tuppence. ‘Yes. No, it's not the reason we came here. We just came here because it's a nice house to live in. I've heard these same rumours going
about only I don't know exactly what happened.'

‘Well, I'll try and tell you some time. Of course, one doesn't always know what's right or not but things aren't always known properly.'

‘How did your friend Clarence manage to know so much about it?'

‘Well, he heard from Mick, you know. He used to live a short time up by where the blacksmith used to be. He's been gone a long time, but he heard a lot from different people. And our uncle, old Isaac, he knew a good deal about it. He used to tell us things sometimes.'

‘So he did know a good deal about it all?' said Tuppence.

‘Oh yes. That's why I wondered, you know, when he was coshed the other day if that could be the reason. That he might have known a bit too much and–he told it all to you. So they did him in. That's what they do nowadays. They do people in, you know, if they know too much of anything that's going to involve them with the police or anything.'

‘You think your Uncle Isaac–you think he knew a good deal about it?'

‘Well, I think things got told him, you know. He heard a lot here and there. Didn't often talk of it but sometimes he would. Of an evening, you know, after smoking a pipe or hearing me and Clarrie talk and
my other friend, Tom Gillingham. He used to want to know, too, and Uncle Izzy would tell us this, that and the other. Of course we didn't know if he was making it up or not. But I think he'd found things and knew where some things were. And he said if some people knew where they were there might be something interesting.'

‘Did he?' said Tuppence. ‘Well, I think that's very interesting to us also. You must try and remember some of the things he said or suggested some time because, well, it might lead to finding out who killed him. Because he was killed. It wasn't an accident, was it?'

‘We thought at first it must have been an accident. You know, he had a bit of a heart or something and he used to fall down now and again or get giddy or have turns. But it seems–I went to the inquest, you know–as though he'd been done in deliberate.'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence, ‘I think he was done in deliberate.'

‘And you don't know why?' said Henry.

Tuppence looked at Henry. It seemed to her as though she and Henry were for the moment two police dogs on the same scent.

‘I think it was deliberate, and I think that you, because he was your relation, and I too, would like to know who it was who did such a cruel and wicked thing.
But perhaps you do know or have some idea already, Henry.'

‘I don't have a proper idea, I don't,' said Henry. ‘One just hears things and I know people that Uncle Izzy says–said–now and then had got it in for him for some reason and he said that was because he knew a bit too much about them and about what they knew and about something that happened. But it's always someone who's been dead so many years ago that one can't really remember it or get at it properly.'

‘Well,' said Tuppence, ‘I think you'll have to help us, Henry.'

‘You mean you'll let me sort of be in it with you? I mean, doing a bit of finding out any time?'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence, ‘if you can hold your tongue about what you find out. I mean, tell me, but don't go talking to all your friends about it because that way things would get around.'

‘I see. And then they might tell the coshers and go for you and Mr Beresford, mightn't they?'

‘They might,' said Tuppence, ‘and I'd rather they didn't.'

‘Well, that's natural,' said Henry. ‘Well, see here, if I come across anything or hear anything I'll come up and offer to do a bit of work here. How's that? Then I can tell you what I know and nobody'd hear us and–
but I don't know anything right at the moment. But I've got friends.' He drew himself up suddenly and put on an air clearly adopted from something he'd seen on television. ‘I know things. People don't know as I know things. They don't think I've listened and they don't think I'd remember, but I know sometimes–you know, they'll say something and then they'll say who else knows about it and then they'll–well, you know, if you keep quiet you get to hear a lot. And I expect it's all very important, isn't it?'

‘Yes,' said Tuppence, ‘I think it's important. But we have to be very careful, Henry. You understand that?'

‘Oh, I do. Of course I'll be careful. Careful as you know how. He knew a lot about this place, you know,' went on Henry. ‘My Uncle Isaac did.'

‘About this house, you mean, or this garden?'

‘That's right. He knew some of the stories about it, you know. Where people were seen going and what they did with things maybe, and where they met people. Where there were hiding-places and things. He used to talk sometimes, he did. Of course Mom, she didn't listen much. She'd just think it was all silly. Johnny–that's my older brother–he thinks it's all nonsense and he didn't listen. But I listened and Clarence is interested in that sort of thing. You know, he liked those kind of films and all that. He said to
me, “Chuck, it's just like a film.” So we talked about it together.'

‘Did you ever hear anyone talked about whose name was Mary Jordan?'

‘Ah yes, of course. She was the German girl who was a spy, wasn't she? Got naval secrets out of naval officers, didn't she?'

‘Something of that kind, I believe,' said Tuppence, feeling it safer to stick to that version, though in her mind apologizing to the ghost of Mary Jordan.

‘I expect she was very lovely, wasn't she? Very beautiful?'

‘Well, I don't know,' said Tuppence, ‘because, I mean, she probably died when I was about three years old.'

‘Yes, of course, it would be so, wouldn't it? Oh, one hears her talked about sometimes.'

II

‘You seem very excited and out of breath, Tuppence,' said Tommy as his wife, dressed in her garden clothes, came in through the side door, panting a little as she came.

‘Well,' said Tuppence, ‘I am in a way.'

‘Not been overdoing it in the garden?'

‘No. Actually I haven't been doing anything at all. I've just been standing by the lettuces talking, or being talked to–whichever way you put it–'

‘Who's been talking to you?'

‘A boy,' said Tuppence. ‘A boy.'

‘Offering to help in the garden?'

‘Not exactly,' said Tuppence. ‘That would be very nice too, of course. No. Actually, he was expressing admiration.'

‘Of the garden?'

‘No,' said Tuppence, ‘of me.'

‘Of you?'

‘Don't look surprised,' said Tuppence, ‘and oh, don't sound surprised either. Still, I admit these
bonnes bouches
come in sometimes when you least expect them.'

‘Oh. What is the admiration of–your beauty or your garden overall?'