Bismarck Herrings (Timothy Herring) Page 21

  “Tim, suppose the police don’t find anything at either house? Aren’t they going to be rather angry with you for bringing them on a wild-goose chase?—and such a crowd of them, too.”

  “I know. And now stop worrying. I’m beginning to think rather kindly of bed and a little sleep.”

  “We shall be pretty late back to the hotel.”

  “Never mind. I chose one which has a night porter. Oh, and, by the way, I’ll go alone to Herrings tomorrow.”

  “Just as you please, but why?”

  “So that you can have breakfast in bed and a thoroughly lazy morning, so thank me nicely and don’t begin any arguments.”

  “I wasn’t going to. So long as I know the police are at Herrings, I don’t mind what you do, and I’d love to have a thoroughly lazy morning. You’ll tell me all about it when you get back, though, won’t you?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Various Ladies

  Charon: “Shame on thy witching note,

  That made me thus hoist saile, and bring my Boat:

  But Ile return; what mischief brought thee hither?

  Phylomel: A deale of Love, and much, much Griefe together.”

  Charon and Phylomel, a Dialogue Sung

  Timothy left Cambridge at nine on the following morning, and found Dunne waiting for him at Herrings.

  “Ah, sir,” he said, “you’re in good time. I hadn’t expected you for another hour yet. I’ve been having a look around the outside. A nice place you’ve got here, sir.”

  “Pleased you think so,” said Timothy. “I’d gladly sell it, but you know what the old song says.”

  “ ‘My wife won’t let me,’ ” supplied Dunne cheerfully. “I don’t wonder. It’s a fine old pile. Historic, too, I don’t doubt. Well, do you mind if we go inside, sir?”

  Timothy cocked an eye at him.

  “I gave you the keys last night and, anyway, you left a man here. Don’t tell me you haven’t had a look round already,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, we have, of course, but there’s something I’d like to show you.”

  “Not my secret stair?”

  “Well, yes, sir, as a matter of fact, it is. You’d have found it yourself, in your own good time, sir. It wasn’t difficult to locate. These panelled rooms are all alike in one respect, sir, especially with the linen-fold type. Very easy to disguise the join and merely a matter of trial and error to find it. P.C. Richards had an interesting night, he tells me. He had a bit of a clue because he’s seen the little secret stair at Athelhampton in Dorset, you see.”

  “So have I. The point is, coming back to Herrings . . .”

  “I beg your pardon, sir? Herrings?”

  “Oh, my wife insists upon renaming the Hall. She is allergic to warlocks and their kind.”

  “Ah, yes, Herrings, of course. I understand, sir. Same as Batemans, and other such. Named for the original owners. Very common, especially all over Sussex, I believe. You were saying, sir?”

  “I wondered whether you had found anything interesting on the no-longer-secret staircase.”

  “Not a thing, sir, except that it has been used pretty recently. That was one of the things Richards discovered. I left an insifflator with him so that he could amuse himself this morning before I got here. He found some very nice sets of prints here and there about the house. We shall get them photographed and blown up, of course, but I don’t think they’ll help us.”

  “Not if some of them were made by Lorrimere and Colquhoun?”

  “Well, we shall have to see, sir. We’ve got the glasses they were using last night, but even if we prove (as I’ve no doubt we shall) that they have been in your house, I don’t think it will lead to anything of sufficient importance to be of any help to us. They might even say you invited them here, and if Gee backed up their assertion, well, we’d be stymied, as they say. It would be one word against another, and that’s not much use as evidence.”

  “Well, am I going to be allowed to see this staircase?” They went inside. The narrow spiral stair, beautifully fashioned in oak, was very short. It led directly from the Tudor room which had the oriel window, and it came out in the state bedroom in which Timothy and Alison had slept. “Just a short cut from parlour to bed, I suppose,” Timothy went on, when he had seen it. “I hope you’re not going to suggest taking it up, Superintendent, to find out whether there’s a load of cannabis hidden under the treads?”

  “On the lines of the princes in the Tower, sir? Oh, no, this staircase is all of a piece. There’s nothing hidden underneath it, or anywhere else in the house. You mentioned some palliasses, sir, that were laid down in the basement and elsewhere.”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure that illegal immigrants were brought here. I can’t prove it, of course.”

  “There was a case in the papers of cannabis being hidden in tins marked ‘meat tenderiser,’ sir, so why shouldn’t it have been secreted in those straw palliasses? Not at all a bad place to park the stuff, come to think of it. It would probably be in the form of a green powder packed into bags and hidden among the straw. Pity they got nervous and remove the palliasses so soon. I’d dearly like to have had a look inside ’em.”

  “So there were not, never have been, any illegal immigrants here? Is that what you mean?”

  “Well, they may have imported them along with the dope, sir, but they may not have actually landed them, of course. The coloured chaps might have come in as crew. There are all sorts of dodges, no doubt. All the same, from what you told me you overheard of their conversation, I think the immigrants came ashore all right.”

  “And when the time came, all they had to do about the dope was to paddle a small boat up-river to Lady Matilda’s Rest, give the cannabis to Mrs. Dasti and leave the rest to her? I suppose she got mixed up in the business through her husband and found, after he died, that she couldn’t get clear, even if she had wanted to.”

  “You’re not forgetting that we haven’t found any cannabis yet, sir?”

  “No, I’m not forgetting that, but I know Mrs. Dasti met Mrs. Gee in Horsebridge covered market, and there’s no doubt Lady Matilda’s Rest was marvellous camouflage for anybody peddling dope. I wonder how Mrs. Dasti managed to get the nomination to the almshouses, though? According to Miss Coningsby-Layton, the inmates were put through a mincing-machine of recommendations and tests before they were given a place in the almshouses, you know.”

  “With a Mr. Aily and a landowner like Mr. Lorrimere behind her, I don’t see a local council turning awkward on Mrs. Dasti; sir, do you? But, talking of Miss Coningsby-Layton, another little bit of information has turned up. Before I left the station this morning, one of my men picked up a letter which had come by hand. It was anonymous, but it must have come from one of the guests at the cocktail party, I think, if not from Lorrimere himself. It suggested we should try Pollingford Manor, not very far from here. Do you know anything about it?”

  “Nothing whatever.”

  “It’s a tumble-down old place right next to yours, sir, allowing for the woods and grounds in between.”

  “Oh, then I think I’ve seen it from the river, but surely it’s nearer Lorrimere’s place than mine?”

  “Not by a long chalk, sir. Things are deceptive from the river because it winds so much.”

  “By the way, Superintendent, I know it’s nothing to do with anybody outside the police force, but how is that business at those almshouses progressing?”

  “The demolition work has been completed, I believe, sir.”

  “You know I don’t mean that! I’m talking about the deaths of those two old ladies. I haven’t seen anything more in the papers, although I’ve been keeping a look-out.”

  “There’s been nothing to see, sir. We are pursuing our enquiries, but we haven’t got a real lead even yet. In the case of Mrs. Dasti we still have nothing but the information we had at the beginning. What you and I have just been discussing is nothing but surmise, so far as Mrs. Dasti is concerned or the illegal
immigrants either, come to that.”

  “Surmise that she went into the town to dispose of some stuff of some kind, you mean, and that we suspect the stuff was cannabis?”

  “You may think she pedalled the stuff, sir, but we haven’t traced her suppliers and we don’t know that we’ve found her contacts. I am certainly not prepared to charge anybody at present, although I could bear to put a name to those two workmen the matron spotted on that roof.”

  “And Mrs. Plumb? What about her death?”

  “We can’t find any tie-up between her and Mrs. Dasti except that they both lived at Lady Matilda’s Rest and that Mrs. Plumb had the name for being a bit of a snooper. It’s more than likely the deaths were not connected with one another. Mrs. Plumb could have been stabbed in a cinema by some young tearaway who was flick-knife happy. There are plenty of them about.”

  “I still think it was too much coincidence for that explanation to hold water, you know, especially in view of what she said—and what the coroner wouldn’t let her say—at the inquest. Can’t her relatives tell you anything?”

  “Nothing helpful, sir, except that she seemed pretty flush. Told them she’d always saved her pocket-money at the Rest instead of blueing it on sweets and things, like the others, and there’s nothing to indicate she wasn’t telling them the truth. Anyway, they can’t throw any light upon her death.”

  “I’d say Mrs. Dasti bribed her to keep her mouth shut about something she knew or had guessed about the transactions with Mrs. Gee in Horsebridge market.”

  “Then why should she have been murdered, sir?”

  “Presumably because she didn’t keep it shut, or else somebody was afraid she wasn’t going to.”

  “There’s something I ought to ask you before we go any further into all these matters, sir, and I hope you won’t take it amiss. Have you any personal grudge against Mr. Lorrimere, sir?”

  “I? Not particularly, except that he used this house in conspiracy with that actor fellow Colquhoun. By the way, do you know anything about a man—probably a ship’s officer—called Jankers? He was mixed up in the business, whatever it was. His name was mentioned in that conversation I overheard. He and Gee could have been those two men on the roof at Lady Matilda’s Rest. Neither of them would have been recognised there.”

  “Something in what you say, sir. No doubt we shall look into it when the time comes.”

  “You might begin by asking Gee how he came to be a waiter at that cocktail party. A more ham-fisted, uncouth juggler with trays and glasses I’ve never seen in my puff. Take my word, he was there for no good purpose.”

  He reported the conversation to Alison when he rejoined her.

  “I suppose Mrs. Plumb’s relatives are out of it?” she said. “If she really had money, she may have made a will.”

  “I imagine that angle has been fully investigated.”

  “But somebody must have known she was going to the cinema that day, and must have known where she would be sitting, too, unless it simply was some bloody-minded young hooligan out for kicks, as the loathsome expression is. It’s even possible that the wrong person got stabbed. Have the police thought of that?”

  “I’m sure they have. It’s always a possibility, and they are certain to have considered it. My view is that they have reached a dead end and that they think this business of rounding up drugs and illegal immigrants is a dead waste of time.”

  “Don’t keep saying ‘dead.’ It’s depressing.”

  “Yes, very Freudian, too. Anyway, they’re going to look at Pollingford Manor, I think. Wonder whether they’ll find anything there?”

  “Where is Pollingford Manor?”

  “Somewhere between Herrings and Lorrimere Court, but much nearer to Herrings, according to Dunne.”

  “Who owns it?”

  “I’ve no idea. It’s falling down, it seems. I shouldn’t think anybody lives there. Anyway, the police have had a tip-off and they’ve gone to give it the once-over. When they’ve finished with it, I wouldn’t mind taking a look at it myself.”

  “Oh, Tim, please don’t!”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Whether they find anything or not, it’s going to look rather peculiar if you go snooping round it, isn’t it? After all, we’re mixed up in all this on every possible count, it seems to me. There were the palliasses at Herrings, there’s Grete whom we haven’t so much as mentioned to anybody except P.-B., there’s Lady Matilda’s Rest, and there’s this tip-off you gave the police about the cocktail party . . .”

  “To which the answer was a lemon. Yes, I think I see what you mean. If I begin putting a foot wrong, I could be under suspicion from the police. Yes, it’s quite a thought, that. ‘Be thou as chaste as ice,’ and all the rest of it. Hau Kay, as Mr. Kaplan would say.”

  “You know,” said Timothy, as they drove away from Cambridge, “there are five key-sentences which unlock all the store of modern thinking.”

  Alison who, as usual, had been sitting silently beside him doing her own thinking, said:

  “Only five? What are they?”

  “I quote, as under: ‘You can have any colour you like, so long as it’s black.’ ”

  “That wouldn’t apply to our masters.”

  “Our masters?”

  “The trades unionists. But go on.”

  “ ‘I’m all right, Jack.’ ”

  “That would certainly apply to some of their officials.”

  “ ‘All men are equal, but some are more equal than others.’ ”

  “The Russian national anthem.”

  “ ‘I want four volunteers—that’ll be you, you, you, and you.’ ”

  “There’s a nice touch of P.-B. about that one.”

  “Finally—and this is where I come in: ‘You can include me out.’ ”

  “I hope that doesn’t apply to our marriage. Seriously, Tim, what are you trying to say? There’s something on your mind. This pessimistic streak is new to me. I’m the pessimist in this outfit. Remember?”

  “Oh, Alison, I know Mrs. Plumb was murdered because of something she knew and wasn’t allowed to say at the inquest. I only wish somebody could tell me what it was.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I know the answer.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Never more so, as they say often in books but seldom in real life.”

  “Say on. I shall know whether you’re right or not.”

  “Omniscient fellow! Your name is Ozymandius, king of kings!”

  “No fooling! Shoot.”

  “The clue for which you are seeking is Mrs. Gee. Ever since we realised she must be feeding and sheltering Grete I’ve known she must be far more deeply involved than we’ve ever given her credit for.”

  “Well, agreed, so far. So what?”

  “Don’t you see? She was the perfect go-between. Which of the gang could go unsuspected to Horsebridge market on pre-arranged Saturdays and meet Mrs. Dasti? Obviously a respectable working-class woman doing her week-end shopping.”

  “Yes, I’ve more or less said all this to Dunne, but, of course, everybody shops on Fridays nowadays. Isn’t it a double stamps day in lots of places?”

  “Some places give double stamps on Tuesdays, so don’t quibble. Anyway, Saturday was the only day in the week when it was least suspicious for Mrs. Dasti to go to the market, because it was pocket-money-spending day.”

  “Yes, but it was also a day when all the other old ladies spent their money, you know. One or two of them would be certain to notice that she spoke to a stranger.”

  “That’s how Mrs. Plumb came to spot that Mrs. Dasti always met the same person. At first I imagine she just noticed this as a fact. Later, I think she mentioned it to Mrs. Dasti—Mrs. Dasti, who, remember, may have got herself involved in the drug trafficking through no fault of her own. I think she got frightened when Mrs. Plumb began probing. First of all I believe she panicked and bribed Mrs. Plumb, but I think, too, that she may very we
ll have tipped off the Gees.”

  “So you think Jabez killed her? So do I. But when?”

  “Two questions seem to need two answers. I think Jabez was the one who murdered her, because he’s brute enough. The exact hour I don’t know. I can’t see Colquhoun killing anybody; he’s too much of a coward.”

  “They’re the ones who run amok and do desperate and silly things, you know.”

  “Possibly. Above all, now that I’ve spoken to him, I can’t believe that a man like Lorrimere would hit a defenceless old woman over the head and stab another one to death.”

  “I think I agree about that. He may have been the one who arranged the chimney-pot business, though.”

  “Do you think so? It was a very clumsy manoeuvre and didn’t work out. Again it sounds more like that oaf Gee to me.”

  “I shouldn’t give Lorrimere too many marks for brains, but he and Gee could have been the workmen the matron spotted on the roof.”

  “Have you forgotten Jankers, our unknown quantity? A man as well-known publicly as Lorrimere wouldn’t have been climbing on roofs. He’d have been recognised. I suppose, too, that you’ve remembered the medical evidence? That answers your second question, doesn’t it?”

  “Within wide limits. She was killed somewhere before or soon after midnight on the Saturday. But that means . . .”

  “Two things: first, that her death was premeditated, because it was on the Saturday afternoon that the chimney-pot was tampered with. But, Tim, that poses another problem. Why didn’t they use her own chimney-pot? On a Saturday afternoon she wouldn’t have been in her own cottage, so she wouldn’t have heard—”

  “Hey, wait a minute, though! Why wouldn’t she? Look, here’s the whole crux of the matter! It couldn’t have been her usual day for going into Horsebridge, and yet she went! That’s what Mrs. Plumb wanted to tell the coroner. She must have seen her there, and thought, in her Paul Pry way, that, because it was unusual, it must signify something. Then, in the light of the murder, she knew it did signify something.”

  “And that’s why she herself was killed.”

  “Look here, though! She didn’t tell the coroner because he wouldn’t listen, but she may have told those relatives she went to live with.”