Death by the Book (18 page)

“Please forgive me. No doubt you’re right, Mrs. Burroughs. I’m just trying to think of who might have a motive to murder him.”

He could hear her weary sigh through the telephone. “I don’t know. He’d helped so many people, I can’t think that anyone would bear him any ill will. But I tell you, I’m almost sure it’s the same girl, that Allen girl and our Mrs. Johnson. We do see a great many patients, of course. I suppose it could be no more than coincidence.”

“Possibly, but I appreciate the information nonetheless. We’ll certainly look into it.”

“Thank you.” Again she hesitated. “Please don’t think harshly of Dr. Corneau. I suppose what he was doing wasn’t legal in the strictest sense, but he was trying to help as many people as he could with as little fuss as possible. I don’t see how that could be so very wrong.”

“Perhaps not.”

“I won’t be . . .”

Drew waited, but there was only silence from the other end of the line.

“You won’t be what, Mrs. Burroughs?”

“I didn’t have anything to do with those adoptions, but I did know about them. I’m not going to be in any trouble, am I? With the police, I mean.”

“I really don’t know.”

Drew wished he could have been of more comfort to the woman, but the law could be a capricious mistress, and there was precious little knowing whether it would look with a tolerant eye upon such a tangled issue. Adoptions had only recently become so official and complicated.

“Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, Mr. Farthering—”

“You needn’t worry on my account. Unless it turns out to be connected to the murders, I shan’t mention this to the authorities. But now the doctor is gone, I shouldn’t keep in that particular line of work if I were you.”

“No. Certainly. Thank you.”

“Thank
you
, Mrs. Burroughs. And try not to worry yourself too much. No doubt the doctor meant well.”

D
rew rung off and stood there for a moment staring at the telephone, his head swimming with the possible implications of what Mrs. Burroughs had just told him.

“Drew?”

He turned to see Madeline standing in the study’s doorway, and he went swiftly to her.

“That was the nurse from Dr. Corneau’s surgery. Seems there was more to the doctor than we knew.”

He told her what Mrs. Burroughs had said.

“Suppose this is the connection. Montford’s mistress went to Dr. Corneau because she was expecting a child. Clarice Deschner had implied she was seeing someone besides Roger Morris. Could she have been, too?”

The color came into Madeline’s cheeks. “You don’t suppose Roger, um . . . ?”

“I have no idea just how intimate she and Roger might have been, though poor Rog was obviously smitten with her. But whether such a child was his or someone else’s, if there was
such a child, Clarice hardly seemed the type to settle happily into marriage and motherhood.”

“No, it doesn’t seem that she was. Oh, Drew, what a tangled mess it all is.”

“I know, darling. But it will all be sorted out in time, never you fear.”

There was a telltale thumping in the hallway, and then Aunt Ruth appeared in the door. “Speaking of time, it’s time I retired for the night. I’ve had enough for one evening. Madeline, I suppose I can expect you back at the cottage no later than ten. That’s a quarter of an hour from now.”

“All right, Aunt Ruth.”

“And you, young man, see that she’s not a minute later. No funny business.”

“I will do my very best, Miss Jansen, I assure you. Shall I escort you there now?”

“No, no. It’s not far, and I don’t need any fuss.” She fixed Madeline with a piercing gaze. “Ten.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Aunt Ruth went out through the French doors and vanished into the darkness. Madeline merely stood there as if there were yet something to see.

Drew took her hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. I’m just jumpy tonight. I wish you had this all solved and we could just enjoy our time together. As it is, I always feel as if something else is going to happen.” She peered out into the night again. “I don’t like her going down to the cottage alone.”

He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “Do you want me to go after her? I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Would you? I’d really feel better if you would.”

He released her with a kiss. “Won’t be a moment.”

It was a fine night outside, even if there was very little moon. Auntie ought to have taken a torch with her. No use having her stumble in the darkness and no doubt blaming the entire English race for it.

As he approached the curve in the path, he could hear muffled noises from the other side of the bushes, and he broke into a quick canter. As he rounded the corner, he saw Aunt Ruth’s low bulk entangled with another dark shadow at the cottage steps.

“Good heavens!”

He sprinted toward the struggling figures, but the taller of the two broke away.

Aunt Ruth swung her cane. “You come back, you scoundrel!”

There was a solid thump as the stick made contact with the intruder’s backside, knocking him to all fours on the gravel path, but he was quick and scrambled up again. Aunt Ruth swung again, catching him a glancing blow on the arm that didn’t slow his escape. Before she could strike a third time, he wrenched the cane from her hands and tossed it into the bushes. Then he wriggled into the thicket of trees alongside the cottage and disappeared into the dense wood.

Pursuit was clearly futile, and poor Aunt Ruth was still on the ground, huffing and wheezing, unable to gain her footing and her dignity without the aid of her cane.

Drew knelt beside her. “Are you hurt, ma’am?”

“Just get me up. Where’s my cane? Why don’t you go after him?”

“He’s taken to his heels, I’m afraid. I think it’s much more urgent to get you inside.”

With a sufficient amount of decorum and no small amount of embarrassment on both sides, Drew managed to haul Aunt Ruth to her feet.

“Just lean on me, ma’am, and we’ll have you put right before you know it.”

She did lean on him, rather heavily in point of fact, and clung tightly to his arm, but she did not let anything like fear show in her face.

“Where’s my cane?”

“Let’s just get you inside and then I’ll come back and find it for you. The main thing is to have you safe and settled. Afterwards I’ll ring up the police.”

Aunt Ruth snorted. “The police? Your little bunch of Keystone Cops? You call up Scotland Yard and do it now. The audacity of the man, knocking me down like that.”

“Yes, to be sure. You can tell me all about it once you’re inside.”

“And for goodness’ sake, find out what happened to my cane.”

He wanted to go inside and make sure there were no other surprises awaiting them, but the woman was so insistent, he settled for switching on a light and sitting her down in the straight-backed chair by the door.

The light from the house made it easier for him to locate the cane. Avoiding the prickly holly leaves as he went on hands and knees to retrieve it was a different matter entirely. Still, anything to placate dear Auntie.

A few minor scratches later, he had the cane in hand. “Found it!”

He scrambled to his feet and turned toward the cottage and saw Aunt Ruth clinging to the doorframe, sagging almost to her knees, her face gray as ash.

“Please,” she breathed. “Young man.”

“Miss Jansen!”

He rushed to her side.

“What’s wrong?” He took her arm, helping her up again. “Come back inside and sit down.”

“No, no.” The old woman pulled away from him. “You’ve got to do something. There’s someone in the kitchen.”

“An intruder?”

“No. He’s dead. Oh, he’s dead.”

“Who’s dead? Do you know who it is?”

“I’m just not sure. I . . .” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “I think it’s that boy from California. Mr. Bell. He’s lying on the floor in there. His face . . . he’s . . .” Her voice choked down in her throat, and she swayed on her feet. “Oh, where’s my cane?”

Drew didn’t know how he dared it, but he pressed the cane into her hands and then put his arms around her, letting her sob against his chest.

“Don’t think about it just now,” he soothed. “I’ll take you up to Madeline, and she’ll see you’re all right.”

She made some sort of grumbling protest into the thickness of his coat, but he didn’t heed it. Instead he held her there for a few moments and then finally coaxed her into turning toward the house.

Abruptly she pulled away from him and started rummaging in the pocket of her dress for her handkerchief.

“I can walk.” She blotted her face and set her mouth into a determined line. “You’d better figure out what’s going on here, and do it quickly before we’re all murdered.”

“I mean to do just that,” Drew said, taking her arm. “
After
we get you safely into the house.”

Madeline was standing at the French doors when they came up the walk.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

Between the two of them, Drew and Madeline got Aunt Ruth to the sofa.

The old woman waved one hand. “Don’t mind me. I’ve lived my life. If I were murdered, it would be no great loss.”

“Murdered?” Madeline sat on the sofa and put her arm around her aunt’s shoulders. “Drew, what’s going on?”

“It looks as if someone’s dead down at the cottage.” Drew rang for Dennison. “I’ve got to get the police over here.”

“At our cottage?”

“I’m afraid so, darling. Your aunt thinks it may be your friend Bell.”

“Freddie? Oh, Drew, no. It can’t be. He was just—”

“I haven’t looked yet. Evidently it just happened. Your aunt surprised someone coming from the cottage and nearly caught him, too.”

“Oh, Aunt Ruth, you didn’t. Are you all right?”

“What kind of a country is this with people being killed all the time? She blotted her forehead again with her handkerchief. “I won’t stay in that place another night.”

Denny appeared in the doorway. “You rang for me, sir?”

“Oh, Denny. Good. Look here, ring up the police in the village, please, and tell them there’s a dead body down at Rose Cottage. Then you’d better give old Birdsong a shout, as well. I’m going down there to see what’s what.”

Denny inclined his head slightly, just as he would have done if Drew had asked him to arrange for tea. “Very good, sir.”

“And you’d best have Dr. Wallace out. To see to Miss Jansen and take a look at the body and all that.”

Aunt Ruth snorted. “I do not need a doctor.”

“Very good, sir,” Denny said.

“Oh, and please see if Nick would care to call round at the cottage with me.”

“At once, sir.”

Madeline’s eyes were wide. “Drew, you can’t go down there alone.”

“I’m not. I’m taking Nick.”

“I mean the two of you can’t go down there alone. You don’t know who might be waiting for you.”

“I think this is a perfect occasion for airing that little Webley revolver from your uncle’s desk.”

“No, Drew.” Madeline stood and took his hands. “I don’t want you to go out there. Let the inspector take care of it this time.”

“Now, don’t you worry, darling. The police will be here in no time, and I’ll have the gun. Besides, we saw the killer leave. He’ll be miles gone by the time we get there.”

She clasped his hands more tightly. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. All these killings. When it was just in Winchester, it wasn’t so terrible. I mean, things like that happen from time to time. But this one is close. It’s too close. It’s like it was when Uncle Mason was killed. Poor Freddie . . .”

Drew held her close to him. “We’re just going to take a look to see what happened, and then we’ll nip right back up to the house. You’ll hardly know we’re gone. Besides, your aunt needs you to look after her, so you’ll scarcely have time for Nick and me.”

Aunt Ruth rolled her eyes. “Humph.”

“Be right back.”

Drew went into the study, unlocked the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk, and took out the gun his stepfather had brought back from the Great War. It would be good to have this little bit of reassurance within easy reach.

He hurried back to the library just as Nick came into the room, electric torch and golf club in hand.

“The Webley, eh? I guess I won’t be needing this then.”

Drew nodded. “Best leave it behind, old man.”

“I suppose so.” Nick looked fondly at the club before leaning it against the fireplace. “Anyway, I’d hate to spoil my Double K mashie having to bash someone over the head with it. What’s this Dad says about there being some unpleasantness at the cottage?”

“Miss Jansen had a bit of a run-in with an intruder, an intruder who’s left a body behind.”

“Not one of the hatpin killings, is it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen yet. She thinks it may be Freddie Bell.”

“Really? That’s too bad. I rather liked him.”

Aunt Ruth thumped her cane on the floor. “Are you two going to stand around talking all night or are you going to find out what’s happened?”

“At once, ma’am,” Drew assured her, and then he turned to Madeline. “Now I absolutely forbid you to worry, darling.” He touched his lips to her temple. “We’ll be just fine.”

She nodded and managed a small smile. “Do be careful.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, young man.” Aunt Ruth thumped her cane on the floor once more. “Do you hear me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am. All set, Nick?”

D
rew and Nick were soon at the cottage. Light still flooded from the open front door, so Nick switched off the torch.

“This blighter you saw struggling with Miss Jansen, you say he took to his heels?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t think he’s back inside, but one can’t be too careful.”

They made a quick search of the cottage, but it was deserted. The only thing out of place was the body of Freddie Bell sprawled on the stone floor of the kitchen, his face black and distorted, hardly recognizable.

“Strangled.”

Drew didn’t touch anything but leaned down to read the message that was pinned into the man’s flesh.

He was bound to
molder before he was all grown up, the first fruit
of his kind.

Nick got down on his haunches beside him. “Any ideas on this one?”

“None. Clearly the same killer. Same handwriting, same sort of hatpin, same maddeningly vague message.”

The pin was brass with a large dragonfly on the end of it. Bits of colored glass sparkled in the wings. Drew leaned closer to peer at the pin, refraining from touching it. Then he studied the victim’s neck.

“Garroted, it looks like. Whatever was used was flat, about an inch wide judging by the marks on the throat. No other marks on the body it seems.”

Nick frowned. “Bell seemed a rather robust chap, didn’t he?”

“Exactly. Even if someone surprised him from behind, I would think he’d about tear the room apart fighting him off.” Drew looked at the cold, curled fingers of the corpse. “He ought to have skin and blood under his nails, bruises on his hands, marks where whatever was used to strangle him shifted in the struggle.”

“Perhaps he was hit over the head first. Or drugged.”

“Something like that would certainly do it. Then the murderer could strangle him with no complications, neat as you please.”

They both stood again, and Drew scanned the kitchen for anything out of the ordinary. Everything was in its place except for two dirty teacups sitting in the sink.

“That’s not like Miss Jansen, do you think?” Nick asked. “Leaving a mess when she was going out for the evening?”

“
Is
it like her, Detective Farthering?”

Both young men turned, and Nick immediately put his hands behind his back. “We haven’t touched anything.”

“Good evening, Chief Inspector,” Drew said. “You’re here quickly.”

“I was at the Queen Bess actually, after spending the day at the Deschner girl’s cottage,” Birdsong explained. “Nothing like a pint and a game of draughts at the end of a long day.”

“And here I was prepared to apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour.”

“You should apologize. I was winning.” Birdsong turned to the door. “All right, men, in here.”

A pair of police constables came into the kitchen. One began photographing the crime scene while the other dusted for fingerprints. Birdsong squatted down beside the body.

“Now, Mr. Farthering, suppose you two tell me what’s happened here. What’s this about a mess?”

“We were just wondering why Mr. Bell didn’t put up a struggle.” Drew pointed out the clean mark on the victim’s neck. “Looks like a strap of some kind, about an inch wide, strangled him, but it appears as though he just sat still and let it happen. Why?”

Birdsong nodded. “And your conclusion?”

“Knocked out with something. Coshed on the head, or perhaps drugged. And then we noticed the teacups there in the sink. Miss Jansen is an extremely tidy woman. I don’t think she would have left the cottage or allowed Madeline to unless everything had been shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

“So you think this bloke and the killer had a nice little tea party before he was made away with, is that it?”

“Seems logical. Anyone can slip someone a Mickey Finn under the guise of a friendly cup of tea. Just keep up the cheerful banter until the deed is done, eh?”

Birdsong pursed his lips. “Might be. Might be. Do you know the man?”

“I think so. He’s awfully, um, changed at the moment, but it’s this American chap Madeline’s gotten to be friends with, Freddie Bell.”

“American, eh? And how’s he mixed into all this?”

Drew glanced at the note. “Sounds as if he meddled where he wasn’t wanted.”

Sourness came into the chief inspector’s tone. “He wasn’t helping you lot with your investigation, was he?”

“Certainly not.”

“He seemed more interested in Miss Parker than the investigation,” Nick put in, and Drew scowled at him.

“That right?” Birdsong’s face took on that arch blandness it often showed when interrogating suspects. “And did that cause Mr. Farthering to become upset?”

Drew glared at Nick. “I didn’t kill him, Inspector. Don’t be ridiculous.”

The inspector merely nodded. “So what was he meddling in?”

“It’s the oddest thing. I had a bit of a do at Farthering Place last week, and Bell showed up at it. He claimed he’d been left a message at his hotel asking him to come. He seemed terribly embarrassed to find that I hadn’t invited him.”

“It wasn’t the young lady who left the message?”

“No.”

Birdsong considered for a moment. “Perhaps he just invited himself.”

“I don’t think so. He seemed a decent chap. For an American. He just didn’t seem the sort. I mean, he was brash enough, to be sure. He once told me he’d jumped into some Hollywood actress’s swimming pool. Uninvited, of course. But I think if that had been the case last week, he’d’ve laughed and owned up to it. Instead he looked genuinely shamefaced. Offered to remove himself at once.”

“At which point you asked him to stay, no doubt.”

Drew grinned. “
Noblesse oblige
, Inspector.”

“What’s that to do with him meddling?”

“There was also his hotel key. Madeline found it in her bag a couple of days ago. She hasn’t a clue how it got there. Bell utterly denied knowing anything about it and said he was going to find out who put it there and who left him that message inviting him to Farthering Place. Maybe he turned up something someone wanted left alone.”

“A bit strange, isn’t it? I don’t see how this fellow fits into the whole picture with the hatpin murderer.”

“Neither do I.”

Birdsong stroked his heavy mustache, thinking. “What you reckon this one means? The note.”

Drew read the message over again. “‘First fruit of his kind.’ What kind?”

“American?” Nick offered.

Drew smirked. “Not if the killer holds true to form and this is another Shakespeare reference. The Declaration of Independence was a little after his time, don’t you think?”

“Well, foreigner then. Or stranger.”

“Possibly. What about ‘He was bound to molder before he was all grown up’? Granted, he’s not old by any means, but he’s not a child either. Grown up into what?”

“Molder into what?” Nick added. “Of course, his body will molder once it’s put into the ground, but that happens to everyone, not just foreigners. We’ll all be rotten in time, grown up or not.”

“Wait . . .” Drew squeezed his eyes shut. “I know this one. Rotten’s the word. Rotten before he’s half ripe.”

He glanced at Birdsong and then at Nick, and Nick’s eyes widened. “
As You Like It
.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s this now?” the chief inspector demanded.

“It makes perfect sense,” Drew said. “If I can remember it just right, it says, ‘It will be the earliest fruit i’ th’ country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe.’”

“‘And that’s the right virtue of the medlar.’” Nick finished the quote for him. “Medlar or meddler, there’s little difference between the two.”

“That’s ‘his kind,’ a meddler, and the first fruit would be the earliest of course.” Drew studied the body once more. “Bell said he fancied himself something of a sleuth. Now, if we just knew what he’d been meddling in.”

The three of them turned at a tapping sound coming from the kitchen door. Dr. Wallace was there, bag in hand.

“They told me up at the house what’s happened. May I come in?”

“We’d be most grateful, Doctor.” Birdsong turned to the two constables who’d been working nearby. “You lads finished now?”

The one taking photographs nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“All right then. Take a torch and see if there’s anything outside that will help.”

Drew looked at Nick. “I say, Inspector. I hadn’t gotten to this part yet, but Miss Parker’s aunt, Miss Jansen, had a row with someone coming out of the cottage. I’ve no doubt it was the murderer. She gave him a good thrashing with her cane, I daresay, but he made off into the wood there.”

“You saw this?”

“I came up just as they were struggling. The blighter was off before I could get to him, and I didn’t think I should leave the poor woman on her own in the dark like that.”

“I suppose not. What did the man look like?”

“Neither of us got much of a look at him. He wore black all over, I know that much. Tallish.”

“And when was this?”

“Right before I had Denny ring up. A bit before ten, I’d say.”

The chief inspector made note of the time. “All right. I’ll have the men make sure there’s nothing disturbed until it’s light enough to see. Doctor, if you’d like to examine the body . . .”

“Pretty obvious from what I can see without an autopsy.” Dr. Wallace knelt down and turned the dead man’s head to one side, examining the inch-wide red weal that ran around the neck. “Strangulation via ligature.” He touched the face and hands and briefly pulled back one eyelid to look into the unresponsive eye. “Death no more than an hour ago. Probably less.”

Birdsong nodded his agreement. “Any sign he was bludgeoned with anything?”

The doctor lifted the head of the corpse and made another brief examination. “Not that I can see. Obviously, he didn’t struggle during the strangling.” He checked the wrists. “He wasn’t tied down.”

“No. Could he have been drugged?”

“Certainly a possibility. I’ll look into it when I get him on the table.” Dr. Wallace got to his feet. “I’ll have my assistants take him out now, Inspector, unless there’s something else.”

“No, no. You go ahead.”

Drew stopped the doctor as he headed toward the door. “I say, when you were at the house, were you able to give Miss Jansen something? To calm her, I mean.”

Wallace chuckled. “She’d have none of me, I’m afraid. Said she’d never been sick a day in her life and wasn’t about to be letting foreigners tamper with her. I left some sleeping pills with the young lady in case she changes her mind, but she seemed right enough as she was.”

“Sounds like the old girl, eh, Nick?”

Nick grinned. “It’s a wonder she didn’t take after you with that cane of hers, Doctor. From what Drew says, she was about one blow shy of catching our murderer.”

“Too bad she didn’t.” The doctor’s expression turned grim. “The killings are getting closer and closer together. We may well have one every day before long if this fellow’s not caught.”

No one said anything more. A moment later, Wallace’s white-coated assistants came in with a stretcher.

Birdsong stood watching, arms crossed, as they lifted the body. “You’ll let us know something as soon as possible, will you, Doctor?”

“Oh, to be sure.”

“You may want to have your cameraman back in, Inspector.” Drew pointed to the belt that had been coiled up under the body. A black-and-white harlequin leather belt just an inch wide. “I’d lay odds that’s what finished him.”

The doctor knelt down again, peering at the belt without touching it. “Most likely. Most likely.”

“Go ahead and take the body out, Doctor.” Birdsong hurried to the door ahead of the stretcher. “Here! Tompkins!”

Soon the constable with the camera came back into the cottage and photographed the belt where it lay. The other one checked it for fingerprints.

“Clean as Monday wash, Inspector.”

Birdsong scowled. “All right. You and Tompkins get up to the house, see that things are secure there. I’ll be along soon.”

“Right, sir.”

Once the constables were gone, Drew nodded toward the belt. “Might I have a look at it?”

Birdsong nodded. “By all means, whatever good it’ll do.”

Drew picked up the black-and-white strip of leather. “It’s a woman’s.”

“Recognize it?”

“Can’t say I do, Inspector, though it does put me in mind of that dress Miss Deschner was planning to wear the day she was killed. Roger Morris may well remember whether it was with the dress when they quarreled earlier that day.”

“Could be.”

Drew smiled a little. “Of course, you realize this lets old Roger out, don’t you?”

“Could be, Mr. Farthering, but he still has some questions to answer to our satisfaction.”

“Don’t be a poor sport, Inspector. You never really thought he was guilty in the first place.”

Birdsong shrugged. “We’re duty-bound to question any suspicious characters. Now, if it’s convenient, I should like to go with you up to the house and speak to your young lady’s aunt. Miss Jansen, is it?”

“That’s right,” Drew said.

“I’d like to find out what she remembers about the man she saw.”

“By all means.”

Birdsong followed Drew and Nick back to Farthering Place, where they found the whole house ablaze with lights. Madeline and her aunt had stationed themselves in the library with Bobby and Mack, the gardener’s men, posted outside the library window.

“I’m going to have the maid move our things into the house,” Aunt Ruth announced. “I won’t stay another night in that terrible cottage.”

Madeline looked at Drew. “I told her you wouldn’t mind. I hope it’s all right . . .”

“Of course I don’t mind. In fact, I’m glad you’re both here. The chief inspector would like to have a word. You remember Miss Parker, Inspector.”

“Certainly. Good evening, miss.”

Madeline smiled thinly. “Good evening, Inspector. Thank you for coming. Drew . . .” She bit her lip. “Was it . . . was it Freddie?”

“I’m afraid so, darling.”

“How did they . . . I mean, was he . . . ?”

“He was strangled with a belt. Perhaps the belt from Clarice Deschner’s dress. I’m sorry, love.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, covering an almost inaudible cry, and he put his arm around her.