Adders on the Heath (11 page)

Arthur kicked his small sister's rag doll and came over to Laura.

'My Uncle Alf's a policeman,' he said.

'Jolly good,' said Laura. She hoisted him on to her knee. 'So is my husband.'

Mrs Bath looked slightly apprehensive.

'So you
are
police,' she said.

'No, no, but we are working with the police for a special reason which, when I explain it, I am certain you will appreciate,' said Dame Beatrice. She told as much of the story as was necessary. 'So, you see,' she said in conclusion, 'anything which will remove suspicion from this young man and, possibly, from my own grand-nephew, who was with him when the body of Mr Colnbrook was found in the place to which the foresters had removed it, will undoubtedly relieve their minds and ours.'

'Yes, I see that,' said Mrs Bath, 'though I shouldn't have thought, myself, that they had anything to be afraid of, being strangers to the club and all that.'

'Ah, but that is the trouble. Mr Richardson was by no means a stranger to the club. He had not only met Mr Colnbrook on two previous occasions; he had quarrelled with him.'

'I'm not surprised. That Bert Colnbrook was a nasty piece of work. I was always warning Mavis Wight against him. "If you
must
have one of them," I said to her, "you better pick that Bunt." Arthur, you sit still on the lady's lap, else off you get.'

Arthur wriggled to the floor, trotted over to his sister and gave her a hearty push. His mother landed a slap on the seat of his pants and the two children immediately settled down to the amusements with which they had been occupied when the visitors arrived.

'What did the other men think of Mr Colnbrook?' asked Dame Beatrice.

'They didn't particularly mind him, no more nor some of the girls. He was always ready to spend money, you see. The only thing about the girls-the sensible ones, I mean-was that when they'd been to the pictures once with him they didn't usually go again, excepting for Mabel and Mavis. Mabel was-well, I don't want to say anything against her, and, of course, she isn't really a club member, but her and Mavis always declared that Bert behaved himself with
them
, but, being that she
was
my sister (and living near, what's more), and us having to keep our name clean, my brother-in-law, Mabel's husband, only married three months, being in the police, well-'

'I see. Would Mavis be a well-built, blonde-haired girl about five feet eight inches tall, with a dimple in the right cheek and a slight stammer?'

That's not Mavis. That's Penny the Putt. But, pardon me, how come
you
know her?'

'I have never met her, but that is the description Mr Richardson gave of her. He met her on the occasion of his first passage-at-arms with Mr Colnbrook. This took place in a railway waiting-room, I believe.'

'Excuse me,' said Laura, 'but I think Arthur is trying to force one of his bricks into the baby's mouth.'

'Stop that, Arthur! Do you hear? Else Uncle Alf will take you to the lock-up.' Mrs Bath rose and removed the brick from Arthur's hand. 'Penny,' she went on, as she put all the bricks on top of the ironing table, 'told me all about that station waiting-room lark. She saw it as a joke, but I didn't half tell her off for
her
part in it. Disgraceful! "The young fellow might have got into serious trouble for Attempted," I said, "and a nice thing
that
would be for him. You better steer clear of that Bert Colnbrook," I said, "else you'll find yourself in contempt of court," I said. But she only laughed it off and told me I ought to have seen the young fellow's face when Bert accused him of trying to have Relations.'

Dame Beatrice clicked her tongue and proffered the opinion that Mr Colnbrook had scarcely acted like a gentleman.

'Gentleman? Him?' Mrs Bath sniffed contemptuously. 'Ask Geoff Borrowdale. He'll tell you!'

'I should like to meet him.'

'Well, see, what's today? He'll most likely be at the club tomorrow. He generally trains from seven to eight. He'd be good if he trained more, but he runs a Youth Club in Southampton two nights a week, and has the Boy Scouts Tuesdays and Fridays.'

'An admirable young man.'

'He does it to get away from his widowed mother. She objects to most things, but she can't hardly object to him doing good works. She runs the Unmarried Mothers at the chapel. They go there because she gives them tea and buns. No, you
can't
have a bun, Arthur. It's early closing.'

'I wonder,' said Dame Beatrice, 'whether your sister, the policeman's wife, can give me any further information?'

'What, Mabel? Well, you won't get any police tales. Alf never lets on about his job. I can give you her address. Wouldn't you like a cup of tea before you go?'

Dame Beatrice and Laura politely declined the offer and, having been furnished with the married name and address of sister Mabel, they made their way to her red-brick house.

Mabel was fashionably dressed and her living-room sported a cocktail cabinet. She greeted the visitors with suspicion.

'Well, I don't know,' she said, when Dame Beatrice produced her credentials in the form of an introduction from Mrs Bath. 'Anyway, you better come in. Now, what can I do for you?' Dame Beatrice glanced at Laura and raised her eyebrows.

'You can tell us something about a man named Colnbrook, I believe,' said Laura.

'Bert? Him that was done in? Well, he had plenty of dough and didn't really mind spending it.'

'What does the word
"really"
signify?' asked Dame Beatrice.

'Oh, well, as to that,' said Mabel, 'if you know what I mean, he expected to get value for money.'

'And did he?'

Mabel grinned and suddenly looked like her sister.

'Sometimes yes and sometimes no,' she said. 'Anyway, not so far as I was concerned. "I'm going to be a respectable married woman," I told him, "so I don't want none of your larks." And that's what I am now, of course. He didn't half sheer off when he knew I'd married a policeman. My sister still don't believe I behave, but I do.'

'I understand that you do not belong to the Scylla and District Social and Athletic Club,' said Dame Beatrice.

'More social than athletic, if you ask
me
,' said Mabel. 'Yes, I do belong, in a kind of way. That's to say, I do the teas and things.' Her air of suspicion had vanished. 'Of course, I have to support my sister at the club parties. I believe in families, don't you?'

Dame Beatrice, whose family ramifications resembled (she sometimes thought) the luxuriance of a tropical forest, solemnly agreed.

'Apart from the reluctance of some of his women acquaintances to further their friendships with him, would you know whether Mr Colnbrook had enemies?' she asked.

'Enemies?' Mabel shook her head. 'Not to say enemies, no. In fact, he was quite popular in some quarters. A chap who doesn't mind splashing his lolly is bound to be liked by some.'

'You are referring to his men friends, as well as to young women, I take it?'

'That's right. Saloon-bar types.
You
know.'

'And you never heard of any serious quarrels?'

'Not me, no. One or two may have threatened to knock his block off if he made another pass at their girl friends, but only in the ordinary way of give and take, if you understand me.'

'Nothing, in short, that was likely to lead to murder?'

'Oh, gracious me, no!' (It was obvious that she had not heard about the threat uttered by Richardson.)

'And the other man, Mr Bunt?'

'Ah, now,
him
. That's quite a bit different. He was under what you might call a cloud.'

'Drummed out, in fact?' asked Laura.

'Well, there was trouble with the committee, I believe. Somebody did tell me something about it, but I didn't take much interest. Anyway, he left, and that's about all I know.'

'We didn't get much
there
,' said Laura, as they drove back through the town.

'Negative evidence, to employ a paradox, is sometimes useful,' said Dame Beatrice.

CHAPTER NINE

DAME BEATRICE STATES THE CASE

'...though her coffin was fairly sound and unbroken, there was no trace whatever inside it of a body, bones or dust.'

M. R. James-
The Ash-Tree

Laura, over the telephone, obtained Mr Borrowdale's address from the club secretary and asked to be directed also to the stadium. She and Dame Beatrice arrived there on the following evening, after an early dinner at the hotel, in time to see Borrowdale 'doing his stuff,' as Laura termed it. Herself no mean athlete in her youth, she looked on at his performance with interest. He was a half-miler, he informed her later, but was catching up on his sprinting.

'Tell you anything more than you already know about Bunt and Colnbrook?' he said. 'No, of course I can't. Enemies, as such, no, of course they were not. Reason why they got themselves murdered? No idea. Not a very choice couple, of course, but nobody in the club would have killed them.'

As he refused to say (or did not know) any more, Dame Beatrice and Laura left him and returned to the hotel.

'Our Mr Borrowdale doesn't seem to know much,' said Laura, 'unless, of course, he knows
too
much. I should think we may have to tackle him again.'

'Meanwhile we had better make contact with the Superintendent,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Exactly how? We've nothing new to tell him.'

'Have we not? Well, time, as always, will show.'

The hotel was tenanted by a very lugubrious Richardson and a rather deflated Denis. They were in the smallest lounge, the old gentleman who usually commandeered it being on a visit to friends.

'The Superintendent is chasing Tom,' said Denis. 'Seems to think that, after all, it was a bit suspicious our finding Colnbrook's body in that enclosure. The only thing that upsets the police theory is that Tom, on his own and without any form of transport, could never have carted the body so far from his tent. I'm pretty sure, too, that they're checking on
my
movements on the night in question.'

'They have already done so,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Even if I'd had a car, I'd have had to leave it on the heath and cart the body into the enclosure,' said Richardson. 'You could never get a car along that woodland track. The whole thing would have been a sheer impossibility, but
still
the police are on to me, and probably as Scab says, on to him as well, if they've checked his movements.'

'It just means they really haven't a clue,' said Denis, 'but it's a bit much that they should keep picking on Tom.'

'Well,' said Dame Beatrice, 'let us do a little straight thinking and then I shall compare our findings with those of the Superintendent.'

'Our findings? But we haven't found out
anything
!' Richardson protested.

'Have we not?' Dame Beatrice produced her notebook. 'We have found a long list of possible suspects and we may even be in a position to add to it later.'

'Oh, you mean the members of the Scylla and District,' said Richardson, 'but I can't see anything much in that. I mean to say...'

'Take heart, laddie,' said Laura, 'and give the oracle a chance to tell her tale.'

'Here, then,' said Dame Beatrice, 'is a categorical survey of those who may have had the means, the opportunity, and a motive for wanting Mr Colnbrook and Mr Bunt out of the way.'

She stepped over to the door and turned the key in the lock, then she made certain that the french doors which looked out on to the garden were securely bolted down.

'This is the stuff from which thrillers are fabricated,' said Laura, gratified by these proceedings. 'Shall I look in the cupboard under the bookcase to make certain no spy is lurking?'

'It is just as well to take precautions against our being interrupted,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Now to the matter in hand. Logically, (and here I am bound to see the point of view of the police), Mr Richardson must be our principal suspect, with Mr Bradley as his accessory after the fact or even his co-partner in crime.

'Let us examine the evidence against them. Of Mr Richardson's plan to pitch a tent on the heath we need say nothing. What
does
seem a little out of the way, however, is that, on his own admission and on the evidence of the hotel ledgers, he took all his meals, even his breakfasts, here. One had supposed that the whole art of camping out included the minor arts of cooking and catering for oneself. Still, we may let that pass.

'What cannot be got over so easily is the circumstance that Mr Bradley was obliged to delay his coming, and to upset previous plans, on the flimsy and unlikely excuse of having to play polo. Cricket, yes. Cricket is a sacred game. Football, particularly Rugby football, is a possible excuse for breaking a previous engagement. Possibly there might be an injury to another player. "Bradley will not fail us." One can visualise the scene and hear the ensuing dialogue. But polo-that unnecessary contribution to dangerous occupations, a relic of the days when India was part of the great British Empire and it was more gentlemanly to ride a pony than to dash about on foot in the broiling sun-polo will not do as an excuse.'

'I
did
play polo,' protested Denis. 'And it
was
because one of the team couldn't turn out. And, dash it all, if the Duke can get away with playing polo, so can I.'

'Ah,' said Laura, 'but
your
playing polo was just a blind. I can see Dame B's point. You
did
play polo, yes. But what did you also do when Colnbrook and Bunt were killed? The polo doesn't let you out. That's what the Superintendent thinks.'

Denis nodded. Richardson looked gloomier than ever.

'So the police
have
got something on us,' he said. 'Scab could have popped down here by car, as arranged, helped me with the bodies and popped back again to fix up this polo alibi for himself. Only, you see, he didn't.'

'Of course he didn't,' said Laura, 'but Dame Beatrice has to cut down the wood so that we can all see the trees.'

'A striking metaphor,' said Denis. 'Go on, dear great-aunt. Who comes next on your list?'

'Oh, but I haven't finished with you two yet. We have three headings, remember. I have dealt with opportunity. There remains means and motive.'

'I can do those for you,' said Richardson. 'From my last teaching post I could have got hold of both the poisons used. From the heath itself I could (I suppose) have supplied myself with adders-although there is nothing to suggest that either of the bodies showed adder bites-and as for motive, well, I've managed, in the case of Bunt, to keep mine hidden, but it's known I had two rows with Colnbrook, and-there you are! Also, as Laura, no doubt, has told you, I knew those chaps were in this neighbourhood.'

'Admirably expressed,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Let us move on to the other candidates. Chief among these, of course, are the members of the Scylla and District Social and Athletic Club, but until we can discover means and motive for any or all of these-opportunity would present no difficulty at all, one assumes-I fear we cannot particularise.'

'One thing,' said Denis. 'If Tom could have got hold of the prussic acid and the potassium stuff, so could the science bloke at the school.'

'And the art master,' said Laura. 'Didn't you say that he went in for engraving?'

'There's also that little toad of a lab. boy,' said Denis. 'You mentioned him, I think.'

'The difficulty here is that we cannot show, at present, any connection between any one of these three and the dead men,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Where was this school, Mr Richardson?'

'In a little place called Want, not far from Basingstoke.'

'I see. Not so
very
far away from
here
, either.'

'No, I suppose not. But it's absurd to think that Joliffe and Draco could have had anything to do with the murders, and the lab. kid is only seventeen, although a bit of a wart.'

'So was Henry Thingummy only seventeen,' said Laura. 'You can't go by age.'

'A boy of seventeen might murder
one
person. But to kill
two
, unless he were...' said Dame Beatrice.

'A pathological case?' said Denis. 'Yes, it would seem to be beyond the scope of the average lad, but all the same...'

'There's no such thing as the average lad,' said Laura, belligerently.

'Oh, but there is,' said Richardson. 'You'd be surprised. There's a common factor. If you'd taught in boys' schools...'

'Only because everybody dreads being different from everybody else,' said Laura, interrupting him. 'You can't tell what they all
really
think, and I shall always maintain that...'

'There are still a few daring young men on the flying trapeze?' asked Dame Beatrice, giving an eldritch cackle.

'Well, I don't claim to be one of those. But we're straying from the point, aren't we?' said Richardson, defeated, he thought, by the ladies. 'We were talking about my last school.'

'And now,' said Dame Beatrice, 'we are going to talk about your last employer. You coached his son, I believe, and left them your holiday address. Why did you do that? Furthermore, what kind of people are they, and where do they live?'

'Oh, they live just outside Southampton. I didn't like them much, but I don't see any reason why they should be mixed up in these goings on. I gave them my address because they asked for it and promised to send me my last month's pay, which they have done.'

'And the son whom you coached?'

'Oh, a bit short on intellect and rather a little wart, but I felt sorry for the poor kid. He was spoilt most of the time; otherwise he was groused at because he wasn't grateful enough for the spoiling. Quite a hopeless sort of situation, I thought, and not at all calculated to produce a first-class citizen. I'll write down the address for you, but I really don't want them bothered. There
can't
be any connection.'

'You are probably right,' said Dame Beatrice, 'but, as Laura would tell you, we must leave no stone unturned. To resume, and to rejoin our sheep, there remain other suspects and it is for you, Mr Richardson, to decide which we examine first.'

'Well, but who are they? I can't think of anybody else.'

'Oh, but surely! What about the people in the house from which you tried to telephone? What about the people (visitors and staff) who live, or did live, in this hotel?'

'Some assignment!' said Laura. 'And, of course,' she added, 'there are always the members of other athletics clubs. Some of
them
may have had it in for Colnbrook and Bunt.'

'Why, so they may,' said Dame Beatrice, leering at her in a confidential fashion.

'Good heavens, of course not!' said Richardson, aghast. 'It's not the sort of thing that's ever done!'

Denis clicked his tongue sadly.

'Et tu, Brute
?' he asked. Richardson gave him a sharp glance which was not misinterpreted either by Laura or by Dame Beatrice.

'So there
is
a nigger in the woodpile,' said the former, when, having bade the young men good night, she was seated in an armchair in her employer's first-floor room.

'By that, you infer...?' said Dame Beatrice.

'That there is something more which Tom ought to tell us. That baby boy ain't as innocent as he would have us believe.'

'Dear me,' said Dame Beatrice mildly. 'I really think you'd better go to bed.'

'The bar is still open,' said Laura. 'I will repair thither and seek truth in the bottom of a glass of their excellent beer.' She did this and was ready with her findings for Dame Beatrice at breakfast on the following morning.

'What I
don't
understand,' she said, 'is the business of swapping over the bodies. Why go to all that trouble? Why not have left Colnbrook in Tom's tent and carted Bunt's body into that enclosure? It just doesn't make
sense
!'

'The difference between sense and nonsense is understood only by the critics of modern plays, dear child.'

'One man's meat is another man's-here, I say!' exclaimed Laura. 'Haven't we perhaps
got
something there? Could one of them have been taking it as a medicine?'

'You've been doing too much reading,' said Dame Beatrice, 'but, yes, I am compelled to agree that, although prussic acid can scarcely be classed as a medicine, there
is
a very mild preparation which is used in food as a flavouring.'

'So where does that get us?'

'Nowhere,' admitted Dame Beatrice, treating Laura to a crocodile grin. 'But remember, in the words of the immortal Quince, that truth makes all things plain. In addition, although Pyramus did not kill Thisbe, he was, in a sense, as responsible for her death as the lion was for his.'

'Sez you!' said Laura, incensed by this intrusion into her own treasure-house of apt quotation. 'Well, where do we go from here?'