Death on the Last Train (22 page)

“I'm not … I'm not. Don't take any notice of him, Alice …”

“Do as I tell you … Get the taxi.”

Alice backed out through the open doorway. Her mouth was open, her eyebrows still fixed rigidly in their astonished arcs.

Bessie Emmott sat and thumped the table with her fists like a child in a rage.

“What do you think you're playing at? I've got friends, I have. They'll make you suffer for this.”

“Don't you think you'd better tell me exactly what happened on the night Bellis died?”

“I've told you all I know before. Now get out before I shout for 'elp.”

Now or never, thought Littlejohn. He had his own ideas about how the crime occurred. It was up to him to test them at once. Otherwise, the investigation might drag on indefinitely.

The shop bell rang, but the pair sitting at the table took no heed of it.

“If you won't tell me, I must tell you then, Miss Emmott. Bellis was reduced to a nervous wreck by the anonymous letters. He carried a revolver, for safety at first, but then he began to talk about using it on himself …”

Bessie looked paralysed. Her mouth had sagged askew, her eyes were swollen with weeping and her face was covered with pink blotches. She had been wearing a net over her hair, but it seemed to get on her nerves and she tore it off, dishevelling herself at the same time.

“Shop!!”

“I'll go.”

Littlejohn rose and went through the red curtained door. It was the same little shrimp of a woman he'd seen the first night he called.

“What do you want, please?”

“Have you any cigarettes?”

There were a number of packets under the counter. Littlejohn threw two packets across. The woman almost fainted.

“My! Can I 'ave two more? My old man's just come 'ome from the Merchant Navy …”

Littlejohn passed across another couple of packets. The woman paid up and Littlejohn put the money with the remaining cigarettes.

“And now, madam, if that's all, I'll wish you good day.”

“My! Could you let me have another …?”

“No …”

Littlejohn almost pushed her through the door and then fastened it with the chain. The shrimp was already broadcasting the news about the windfall and a queue was forming.

“So you took the gun from Bellis and made him promise not to do himself any violence,” resumed Littlejohn when he got back. Bessie hadn't moved. “You saw him to the station on the night of his death and watched his train leave. On the way back, Hiss, the ticket man, gave you a letter Bellis had dropped in taking out his ticket. It was from Alice to Bellis. You read it as you sat waiting in the bus. You were so overcome by it that you had to get off at the next stop …”

Miss Emmott started to cry, quietly, convulsively. Her sobs shook the whole of her body and set her breasts heaving so that the whole untidy table trembled and the pots rattled.

“You got off the bus. You found yourself on the bridge and, to your amazement, saw below you on the line, the train on which you'd just put your friend. It was stopped at the beginning of the Salton cutting. You knew, as well as I do, that there were platelayers' steps down to the line. You told me you didn't. But you did. Everybody knows it. In your rage and eagerness to face Bellis with what you thought was a betrayal, you rushed down the steps and into his compartment. You'd his gun in your pocket and you shot him …”

Bessie Emmott beat the table with her clenched fists held before her as though manacled already.

“Stop! … Stop! … I've had enough. I can't stand it., I did it. I did it. Take me away. … Oh, my God!”

She was all in. Her nerve had broken and she was now frenziedly eager to relieve her conscience of its burden.

Littlejohn was quick to warn her that anything she said might be used in evidence later.

There was a rattling on the shop door and Cromwell's voice could be heard demanding entrance.

Bessie Emmott slid to the floor in a dead faint.

Littlejohn had never been more pleased in his life to see the honest, lugubrious face of his assistant, who, when he went to admit him was dismissing with angry gestures a large crowd eager to purchase cigarettes.

“I didn't mean to do it. I just saw red. Before I knew what I'd done I'd pulled the trigger. ‘Take that, you filthy beast,' I said. I didn't know what I was doin'. And now I believe what Alice says and I killed Tim for nothin' … For nothin' …”

Bessie Emmott had recovered quickly from her faint and was anxious to talk. She gabbled out her confession like a woman talking in her sleep.

Littlejohn had cautioned her again, but she only brushed him aside. She had killed Bellis for nothing and didn't care about anything else.

Cromwell was taking it all down in his black notebook. He couldn't write shorthand and was struggling to keep up with Bessie with a mixture of abbreviations and totally illegible scribble.

“Were you wearing gloves?” Littlejohn asked.

“Yes … I had them on all the time. An' I dropped the pistol on the floor … I don't know whereabouts, after I'd fired it. I couldn't realise he was dead. I didn't know where I was till I found myself back on the bridge …”

“What were you wearing?”

“A fur coat and that little hat there …”

Without turning she pointed behind her to a little blue creation like a Wren's cap sitting on top of a flower vase. It was a bit like a porter's cap, but how Godwin had made a fur coat into a guard's uniform was past comprehension.

“I'm glad it's over. I'm glad you know. I can't stand it any more. I've never slept since I did it. I keep seein' his face as I put the pistol to his 'ead, and the side of his head after … after …”

“Hi!”

Cromwell called out excitedly. She was going to faint again. They gave her some whisky.

“I loved 'im. I still do … I wish I could undo it all. I don't care if they 'ang me. I don't want to live … I can't bring him back by bein' sorry and don't want to go on …”

Her head was propped between her hands and she spoke in a despairing drone. Now and then she would look up and get a bit excited, but for the most part didn't seem to know properly where she was or what she was talking about.

“Why did you put the idea that it wasn't suicide into the heads of the police? It was you who pointed out the broken wrist, you know.”

“I thought they'd find out who wrote those letters and hang 'im. And I thought Dr. Cooper would be sure to find out about the wrist sooner or later. I thought it all out in a flash and I'd said it before I realised …”

“Who did you think wrote the letters?”

“Claypott. Tim thought it was 'im, too, although he'd no proof. Claypott went mad when Mrs. Bellis died. And he'd had a fight with Tim at the club, too, because Tim was nice to me.”

“Why didn't you do violence to Alice, as well? Didn't you think she was as much to blame as Bellis?”

“Alice …? Oh yes, Alice …”

Bessie fixed Littlejohn with a bloodshot glance.

“She was all I had left. I cooled down a bit on the way home, but I was so stunned at what I'd done to Tim that I hadn't the courage even to look 'er in the face. I thought she'd read it in my eyes. I was a bit sorry for 'er, too. I blamed Tim … Alice's a bit pathetic, like. Sort of lost innocent, if you see what I mean. I couldn't have raised me hand against her …”

“I think I ought to-tell you, Miss Emmott, how Hiss enters into the business. He read the letter and, thinking the world of you, kept close to you on the way home to see if he could help. He followed you off the bus, saw you go down the steps to kill Bellis and, when he heard of the crime, was prepared to say, just to shield you, that he committed the murder.”

Bessie didn't seem able to believe it. She had to wait a minute to let it sink in.

“He did that?”

“Yes. And now he's gravely ill, but wants you to call on him to tell you he has the matter in hand.”

“Bless 'im. I'm sorry I spoke harsh about him. A friend in need's a friend indeed. He won't need to swing for me, now. I'll do it myself.”

Littlejohn felt awful about it. The case was the most unpleasant he'd ever handled and he detested the idea of being responsible for a woman standing on trial for her life.

Bessie, overwrought, was weeping quietly again.

“Does Mr. 'iss still wanna see me?”

“I'm sure he does. If you like, you and I can call there on our way to Salton. You can have five minutes with him and try to put his mind at rest. He'll be very upset, for I'm sure he's set his heart on taking the blame …”

Alice was back with the taxi. She looked bewildered.

“Your aunt's coming to Salton with us to make a statement to the police there, Alice. You'll look after everything, won't you, while she's away?”

“Yes. What's the matter, Auntie Bess?”

Alice took the sobbing woman in her arms, stroked her tousled hair and fondled her. Then she turned on Littlejohn.

“What have you been doin' to her? I never saw her like this before. I thought you were a gentleman …”

“Now, now, Alice. Mr. Littlejohn's been very kind all along. I won't 'ave you callin' him names. You see, I killed Tim and I've got to go with him …”

Alice didn't seem surprised.

“I know you killed him, Bess.”

“You know …?”

“Yes. You were in such a state when you' got in that night. I knew somethin' awful had happened. As you were goin' out with Tim I heard you arguin' about his revolver and you said you'd keep it for safety. You put it in your fur coat pocket … When you got in it wasn't there. I felt for it and it had gone …”

“So you deliberately mislead me, Alice?” said Littlejohn.

“What did you expect me to do? Tell you how she really looked and about the revolver? You'd have tumbled to it right away. Blood's thicker than water and Bess is really all I've got. I broke with Harry Luxmore because he was rude about her …”

Then Alice broke down as well and the two women sobbed on one another's shoulders. Littlejohn was glad to get Bessie in the taxi and be off.

There was another painful scene at the home of Lambert Hiss.

Littlejohn was worried as to how a meeting between Hiss and Bessie and the revelation that he wouldn't be able to make his sacrifice after all would affect the trombone player. Fortunately, Dr. Flanagan's car was standing at the door when they arrived at the shop and the Irishman had just descended from the sick room.

Littlejohn put the dilemma to him.

“If Hiss isn't told and learns from other sources what's happened the shock might be dangerous. If, on the other
hand, Miss Emmott sees him and tells him that she's confessed, the results might be equally disastrous …”

“Blast ye for a meddlin' policeman. I'm a doctor fightin' to put Hiss on his feet again and here ye are doin' your level best to keep him on his back … Why couldn't ye have waited a day or two?”

“This can't wait. It's murder, doctor.”

“So is the other. The murther of Mr. Hiss. Anyhow, best let Miss Emmott see him. He knows she did it. That won't be much of a blow. It's her givin' herself up to justice that'll shake him. She must break it gently, sensibly and a bit at a time. Persuade him nicely; not spring it on him.”

Bessie didn't need telling how to deal with Hiss. That part of the affair went off rather easily. It was the Horebers who almost brought about disaster.

The meek women had gone home to get some sleep after night-watching and the militant members were now on duty. As soon as Bessie set foot in the shop they swooped upon her like tigresses protecting their young. Mrs. Golightly, a muscular married woman, who was secretly holding the fort for Ada Scattermole, barricaded the door between the shop and the house with her huge form and prepared to meet all comers.

Bessie was in no shape for a free-for-all scuffle and it looked like a deadlock.

“Get out of it!” bellowed Dr. Flanagan, suddenly appearing on the scene. “This is doctor's orders, so step lively. Get into the shop and stay there, or I'll move Mr. Hiss to the Infirmary out of the grasp of the lot of ye …”

That did it. Bessie was soon at the bedside of Lambert Hiss, who was torn between the joy of seeing her and the chagrin of not having yet been shaved.

Bessie Emmott gently told Hiss the truth and she managed to soothe him when he grew a bit excited and insisted that he himself had killed Bellis. The poor fellow couldn't even describe the revolver and finally
gave it up with a deep sigh and a pathetic look in his eyes.

“I'll never forget this, Lambert,” said Bessie. And at the sound of his Christian name on her lips, the poor man forgot the situation so much that he blushed and beamed. Then his sorrow returned and he wept.

Bessie Emmott kissed Lambert Hiss when she left him.

“It'll be manslaughter at the most, won't it, Inspector?” pleaded Lambert Hiss, as though Littlejohn were the judge himself. “They let them off in France for this sort of thing, don't they? Crimes of passion, they call them, don't they …? Done it 'ot blood. The jury'll see that, won't they …?”

“Now, Hiss, just be quiet,” interposed Dr. Flanagan. “The very best will be done for her, you may be assured. It's up to you to get well as quick as you can and then you'll be of some use to her, instead of exciting yourself and upsettin' her. Calm yourself …”

“Yes, that's right. I'll get well quickly. Then I'll be of some use … You shall 'ave the best lawyers, Bessie … I'll see to it …”

Bessie Emmott smiled at him gratefully as she left the room.

“I'm not good enough for him,” she said to Littlejohn in the taxi. “I'll never do Mr. Hiss any good … It's not in me. But I think he's the best and finest man I ever knew. Ready to give his life …”