The Murder of Busy Lizzie mb-46 Read online

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ he said, producing his key. ‘We’ll go in by my door, shall we? You stay out here, if you like, while I have a butcher’s.’

  ‘No. If it’s anybody nasty, two of us will be better than one.’

  There was nobody in the chalet and no signs anywhere that anyone had attempted to force an entrance. Sebastian drew the curtains in both bedrooms and in the tiny sitting-room and Margaret switched on the light. They opened a small flask of brandy which Sebastian had talked the barman into letting him have, and he had just poured out a small tot for each of them when there came a sharp tapping on the window. Sebastian was so startled that he almost dropped the flask. Margaret was petrified.

  ‘It’s him!’ she said, her voice rising to a terrified squeak. ‘No! Don’t go near the window! Don’t!’

  ‘Oh, rot!’ said Sebastian, in an unconvincing tone; but he did not go to the window. He called out, ‘Push off, whoever you are! Get lost! Drop dead!’

  There was silence. They waited, but nothing else happened, neither did they hear the sound of retreating footsteps for, although there were paved paths up to the doors of the chalets, there was grass under the windows.

  ‘I wish to God people wouldn’t think it funny to play the fool at night,’ said Sebastian. Scarcely had he spoken when there came a thunder of knocks on his bedroom outside door. It sounded as though somebody was hammering on it with a heavily-knobbed stick.

  ‘It’s the murderer!’ whispered Margaret. ‘Don’t open the door, whatever you do! First Aunt Eliza, then Ransome and now us! I said it before, and—’

  ‘Oh, rot!’ said Sebastian. He raised his voice and, in a shriller tone than he intended, he called out,

  ‘Is that you, Father?’ The banging had ceased and, more to reassure his sister than himself, he called out again, ‘Is it you, Father?’ There was no reply. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded; but again there was no answer except a deep-throated, bloodcurdling laugh. Sebastian snorted in annoyance. He felt sure of his ground now. ‘It’s one of the bird-boys acting the fool. I’m sure of it. I’m going to catch him out,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ whispered Margaret, ‘don’t go! Please don’t go! Don’t open any doors. It’s almost dark outside and—well, there was that man—’

  ‘All right, then,’ Sebastian whispered in return. ‘But I still think it’s somebody acting the goat. You go to bed and I’ll come in and sit with you if you want me to, but don’t get all in a tizzy. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s only some lunatic trying to be funny, you know, or else another tight chap—or even the first one back again.’

  ‘I can’t go to bed while somebody is trying to get into the chalet.’ Margaret was frightened and betrayed the fact.

  ‘Good gracious, nobody is really trying to get in,’ said Sebastian. ‘It’s only a drunk, I tell you, or some boorish foolery. They’re probably doing it at all the chalet doors. Buck up, old thing! Don’t let your nerves get you down.’ He spoke unusually roughly, since his own nerves had received an unwelcome jolt.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be so glad to be leaving!’ said his sister.

  ‘Yes, well, all right, but not to worry. Look, we haven’t touched our brandy. Let’s have a sip or two, shall we? We only had a couple of drinks at the hotel just now.’

  Marius reached Puffins at just after ten o’clock. He had been for a walk first to collect his thoughts, but it was still light enough to allow him to find his way down the surprisingly steep path which led from the sea-road to Dame Beatrice’s front door.

  ‘I must apologise for calling on you without warning,’ he said, when he was shown in to a sparsely-furnished sitting-room, ‘but I shall be leaving Great Skua again by the first outgoing boat and I have problems which I cannot solve.’

  ‘Psychological problems?’ asked Laura, the only occupant of the room. ‘We’re busy, you know, on Dame Beatrice’s memoirs. Besides, a course of treatment is apt to be a long job and, if you are leaving the island so soon, you’d be better advised to consult somebody in London.’

  ‘I don’t know whether one would call mine a psychological problem, and, in any case, even if I were in need of a psychiatrist—and (like most people) I may be, for all I know—I have not come to consult Dame Beatrice on my own behalf in the sense which I think you mean.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve come about the death of Mrs Chayleigh,’ said Laura.

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Marius gratefully. ‘The open verdict at Friday’s inquest was most unsatisfactory. I am convinced that my sister was murdered.’

  ‘All right, I’ll get Dame Beatrice. She was the first doctor to see the body. Sit down, won’t you?’

  Dame Beatrice, summoned from the room she used as a study, treated the visitor to an alligator smile and said that she was delighted to see him.

  ‘Of course we are interested in your charming children,’ she added. ‘I wonder whether it is owing to their representations that you have come to see me?’

  ‘As a family we throw ourselves upon your mercy, I fear, Dame Beatrice. You will know, of course, that I crossed to the mainland to attend the inquest and my unfortunate sister’s obsequies, but I wonder whether you have heard what the coroner’s jury had to say? They brought in an open verdict, and I have no doubt that the police will be questioning us very soon. Dame Beatrice, I am certain that my poor sister was murdered. I believe you have been concerned with investigations into sudden deaths—homicide and kindred matters. I realise that you are extremely busy and that, so far, I can produce no concrete evidence that my sister’s death was the product of malice aforethought, but…’

  ‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘so you have heard about the pig.’

  ‘The pig? What pig? The children mentioned a pig?’

  Dame Beatrice told him. Then she added,

  ‘I will look into the matter, of course. In fact, I had intended to do so on my own account and as a matter of interest, but it is a pleasure to be assured that I shall not be meddling in something which is hardly my concern, except…’ she looked significantly at him ‘… except that a rumour seems to be floating around among the hotel servants that your sister was last seen making her way towards this house. I was not in residence at the time, of course, nevertheless, as the present occupier, I shall be glad to do what I can to establish the reason for Mrs Chayleigh’s disappearance and the manner of her death, if only for my own satisfaction. Had she, to your knowledge, any enemies?’

  ‘None, so far as I know, but I have been out of touch with her for many years.’

  ‘Does anybody obtain any monetary advantage by her death?’

  ‘Well, that’s the difficulty. I saw her lawyer after the funeral and it seems that she left all of which she died possessed to be divided equally among her natural son Ransome Lovelaine — my sister, as you may have been informed, changed her name to Chayleigh when she inherited the Chayleigh house and estate on this island and adopted the status of a married woman for what, no doubt, she thought good and sufficient reasons — myself and Miss Crimp.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Suppose that I should die first—I do not know how many years Miss Crimp has to her credit, and age is nothing really to go by — but supposing that I have the shortest life-span — then my share is to be divided between the other two. In other words, except for the last of the three of us, we have no more than a life-interest in our share of the property. The survivor, however, takes all and can dispose of it at will. That is the thing in a nutshell.’

  ‘And supposing you are right, and that your sister was murdered,’ said Dame Beatrice, giving him another sharp glance, ‘would a third share in her property have tempted one of you to kill her, I wonder?’

  ‘I can only speak for myself,’ said Marius, ‘and I can assure you that I did not kill my sister for that or for any other reason.’

  ‘Besides, you were not on the island at the time of her death and no doubt you can prove that. What about Ransome? Would he think that, as her
nearest relative, he should have been left everything instead of only one-third?’

  ‘That would mean he murdered for revenge as well as for gain, would it not?’

  ‘Very likely. What about Miss Crimp? She also might feel that she had a major claim as she helps to run the hotel and, I imagine, has shares in it.’

  ‘Yes, I believe she has. My son and daughter tell me, however, that the hotel is doing very badly and that my sister (and, I suppose, Miss Crimp) are in debt. Sebastian says that they have no proof of this, but they learned it, I believe, from Ransome.’

  ‘If there are debts, these, presumably, would need to be discharged before any benefits could accrue to the three claimants.’

  ‘I shall make it my business to find out exactly how matters stand, but, judging by the fact that my sister had made no record of my booking at the hotel, I fear she may have been very slap-dash and careless and her affairs may need a good deal of disentangling. Of course, I suppose she was a very busy woman, but even the busiest person should be businesslike.’

  ‘Very busy?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Would you think so? From various bits of gossip which Laura has picked up since we have been here, it seems that the hotel is rarely more than a quarter full, even in the height of the summer, and that the ornithologists’ numbers are a phenomenon.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think they’re paying full rates,’ said Marius. ‘Well, I must not take up more of your time, Dame Beatrice. I am most obliged to you for being willing to look into my family affairs, and I will be guided by you in every particular.’

  He rose to leave. Laura appeared and escorted him to the door.

  ‘It’s very dark tonight. Can I lend you a torch?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, it is only a step and, once I am up out of this dip, the hotel lights will guide me,’ Marius replied. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Gavin. I am greatly obliged to you for your help.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing yet,’ said Laura, who had been present at the interview. She kept the door open to light him through the small front garden and then called goodnight as he disappeared among the shrubs. She returned to Dame Beatrice and said,

  ‘What’s his real problem, I wonder. He’s scared about something. Are you going to do anything about it?’

  ‘Well,’ Dame Beatrice replied, ‘it might fit in very well with our other task, the one laid upon us by our dear Robert.’

  ‘Which, so far, we have not begun.’

  ‘You are always so impatient. We have to begin by establishing in the minds of the inhabitants that we are friendly, innocent and completely occupied with our own concerns. Only then can we operate with any assurance of succeeding in our enterprise. Nobody will be in the least surprised by our open interest in Mrs Chayleigh’s death. It is the talk of the island. Everyone, whether he knows anything about us or not, will fully expect that we shall be sufficiently interested to make enquiries and listen to gossip.’

  ‘You seem pretty cold-blooded about the wretched woman’s death.’

  ‘I did not know her, and that absolves me from prejudice. It is as well to approach the death of strangers with an open mind, although one is precluded from doing so in the case of relatives, friends and acquaintances.’

  ‘Granted that Mrs Chayleigh was murdered, do you think it was for what she had to leave?’

  ‘It is possible, of course.’

  ‘Even if she left debts?’

  ‘The murderer (if there is one) may not know about the debts and, moreover, it is not yet established that she left any. The story appears to rest on the so-far unsupported word of the illegitimate son, who may have the best of reasons for minimising the supposed value of his inheritance.’

  ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘I have not made up my mind about that. It may be useful for me to have a talk with Mr Ransome Lovelaine.’

  ‘Be sticking your neck out if he happens to be the murderer, won’t you?’

  ‘My neck is not very long, dear child.’

  ‘Wonder what Père Lovelaine thinks you can do?’

  Marius, taking the steep upward path towards the road which led back to the hotel, was pondering on this problem with such absorption that, until a flying figure dived at him out of the darkness and astonished and infuriated him by bringing him to the ground, he had no idea that his departure from Puffins had been witnessed by anybody except Laura, and therefore he was totally unprepared for this unmannerly encounter.

  It was fortunate for him that the path, although rather rough, was on a sharp slope, for, instead of his opponent being able to get his hands on his victim’s throat, as appeared to be his intention, the pair of them rolled over and over towards the front door of the house. Marius was small and spare and made no claim to athletic prowess, but he had never been self-indulgent and was in good condition. Moreover, he did not lose his head. Realising at once that he was no match for a much heavier adversary and one who had taken him by surprise, he adopted his only real means of defence, and shouted loudly for help so long as he could keep the other man from throttling him. He had good lungs and a rather high tenor voice which carried well. The front door of Puffins was flung open and a flood of light fell upon the struggling pair.

  ‘What the hell?’ enquired the voice of Dame Beatrice’s sturdy manservant George. He was immediately joined by Laura, who said, ‘What is it, George?’ At this the aggressor scrambled up with some celerity, kicked out at the prostrate Marius and made off at a scrambling gallop which almost at once took him out of the orbit of the light which shone from the house. Marius picked himself up, limping from the kick which, intended for his groin, had taken him harmlessly but painfully on the top of the left thigh, and apologised for creating a disturbance.

  ‘He must have mistaken me for somebody else. Perhaps he thought I was an escaping burglar,’ he said when, having been taken into the house and given brandy, he had recounted his experience.

  ‘Well, be that as it may,’ said Laura firmly, ‘I’m going the rounds of the house before you leave, to make sure the doors and windows are shut, then I shall arm Henri, our cook, with our heaviest poker and his special kitchen knife, and George and I will escort you back to the hotel.’

  ‘What is Henri’s function to be, then?’ Dame Beatrice meekly enquired.

  ‘Guard duty, until George and I get back.’

  ‘You really mustn’t trouble to come with me,’ said Marius, proving that, in spite of his children’s opinion of him, he possessed heroic qualities.

  ‘Nonsense!’ said Laura. ‘I only hope the dotty blighter tries again, that’s all.’

  Marius did not bolster up this hope, but made no further protest about being escorted back to the hotel.

  chapter fifteen

  Ariadne’s String-box

  ‘Or else tuck up your gray frock,

  And saddle your goat on your green cock,

  And may his bridle a bottom of thread

  To roll up how many miles you have rid.’

  Ben Jonson

  « ^ »

  But who could it have been, Father?’ asked Sebastian after breakfast on the following morning.

  ‘I really believe, now that I have had time to consider the matter, that it was Eliza’s murderer, my boy.’

  ‘But why attack you?’

  ‘There was the attack on and the attempted drowning of Ransome, if you have described the incident correctly.’

  ‘You mean it’s a family thing? Well, I’m rather glad you think so, because I’ll tell you something else. Somebody made two spirited attempts to get into our chalet last night. Maggie scared him off the first time, but—’

  ‘Good heavens! I trust your doors were locked?’

  ‘They’re self-locking and the windows were shut. Maggie and I like a fug. No, the chap, whoever he was, was trying to force a window when Maggie spotted him. Later he nearly battered a door down with his knocking. Then he gave a dirty laugh when we challenged him and breezed off. We didn’t get much sleep, I can t
ell you. Don’t suppose you did, either.’

  ‘What did Dame Beatrice have to say?’ asked Margaret.

  ‘She did not commit herself, my dear.’

  ‘Not even after you were set upon?’

  ‘She thought that was an interesting development.’

  ‘Means she thinks there’s somebody gunning for us,’ said Sebastian, ‘and really there can’t be much doubt about it now. I suppose you’ve no idea who your attacker could have been, Father?’

  ‘None at all. It seems that somebody must have followed me to Puffins last evening and waited for me to emerge.’

  ‘That sounds like somebody staying at the hotel who saw you leave and followed you. I suppose you didn’t happen to mark his face in any way when he collared you?’ suggested Sebastian.

  ‘I’m afraid not, my boy. My only object was to keep his hands from my throat. All I know is that he was a heavier man than I, and may have been an older one, but of that I cannot be sure.’

  ‘Did you get any clue as to the way he was dressed? I mean, for instance, did you get any impression of an oiled-wool jersey, such as the fishermen wear, or a bird-watcher’s anorak or anything identifiable, Father?’ asked Margaret. Marius shook his head.

  ‘I could not say what he was wearing, except that his boots were heavy. The kick on the thigh which I sustained is extremely painful.’

  ‘Good thing it wasn’t in your ribs,’ said Sebastian. ‘That’s the usual target. Well, what’s our course of action?’

  ‘I really think we had better carry out my plan of leaving Great Skua. I dislike to turn my back on danger, but really there seems little point in our remaining here under these circumstances, when we cannot even identify our enemy. I shall be glad, I must say, to receive your assurance that you will both exercise every care, right up to the moment of our embarkation. I do hope, Sebastian, that you will make no difficulties about returning home with your sister and me.’

  ‘Oh, I think the three of us should stick together,’ said Sebastian. ‘Aunt Eliza and Ransome and now you, Father, is coming it a bit too thick. By all means let’s catch the next boat. It will be a score for Boobie when we all come crawling back, but there are worse things than her shouts of triumph.’