Here Comes a Chopper (9 page)

S
IMON
W
ASTELL
(or Henry King),
Man’s Mortality

‘IT’S A GOOD
thing you were all three more or less together,’ said Bob, when he had heard as much as the other two could tell him. Mrs Bradley had driven off with the police, and the three holiday-makers, at her request, were returning to Whiteledge to await her arrival. ‘If any one of you had been alone when you found a dead body you might have found yourself in queer street, I believe.’

‘I don’t see that,’ objected Dorothy. ‘No one would think that any of us had——’ She looked anxiously at Roger.

‘It’s all right. You can say it,’ said Roger, looking sheepish. ‘I’ve got over all that. I know what you
mean,’ he added, turning to Bob, ‘but I also know what Dorothy means. No one in their senses would think that Dorothy or I had cut off a fellow’s head, and I can’t imagine Mrs Bradley——’

‘Can’t you? Oh, I can,’ said Bob. ‘If the spirit moved her, that is. I wonder how it did happen, though? How far is the railway from here?’

‘Ah, that’s the point,’ said Roger. ‘You’ve put your finger on the spot. That chap’s head was most probably cut off by a train. But when we admit that, we come up against a snag immediately. A very nasty one, too. I
know
that engine-driver fellow wasn’t tight. Obviously he saw what he said he saw, and that was a body on the line. But, according to Mrs Bradley—and she’s a doctor, she ought to know—the fellow—the corpse, you know—couldn’t have been dead as soon as that. It’s the devil of a complication.’

‘The real question is,’ said Dorothy, ‘how did the body get from the railway to that copse? It’s rather a long way away.’

‘Somebody moved it,’ said Roger. ‘What’s more, they moved it in that wrecked car. I wonder what they did with the burnt-out car? We ought to look for that. Meanwhile, I suppose we must make for Whiteledge, if that’s where the inquisition will be held.’

‘The police were nice,’ said Dorothy. ‘I don’t think they’ll keep us very long. We shan’t go into the house, I suppose, until Mrs Bradley comes back? We can wait in the drive in the car.’

‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t go in,’ said Roger.
‘It isn’t as if we don’t know the Whiteledge people. And it looks as though we’re going to know them even better in the near future. After all, the chances are that one of them murdered the bloke.’

‘But you can’t say that! We don’t know who the dead man is,’ said Bob. ‘You’re simply taking it for granted it’s this chap Lingfield, but, after all, it may not be. You’d have to find the head to be able to prove who it is.’

‘It
must
be Lingfield,’ said Roger. ‘And, what’s more, Mrs Bradley knows it. That dog knew it, too. Took us straight to him, you know, as soon as he got on the trail.’

‘There might be another explanation of that,’ said Dorothy.

They reached Whiteledge an hour before Mrs Bradley arrived in the police car with an inspector and a sergeant of the County Constabulary. She seemed surprised to find them outside the gates of the house, and accepted with an eldritch but non-committal screech of laughter Dorothy’s reason for their having remained in the drive.

She left the police conferring in their car, took Dorothy and Roger up to the door with her, and knocked. The impeccable Bugle opened to them, and Mrs Bradley, hustling them past him in a way which seemed crudely unceremonious, thrust her two young people in at the first round-headed doorway.

There was nobody in the room but the spinsterish young-old woman who had been seated on Dorothy’s left at the dinner party.

‘Look after these children, please, Mary, my dear,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘and tell me where I can find your mother.’

Before Mary Leith could reply there came an official-sounding knock at the front door, and Bugle, after a suitable interval, appeared in the doorway of the room.

‘The police, Miss Mary, Mrs Bradley. Inspector Oats, accompanied,’ he announced.

At this, Mary Leith looked anxiously at Mrs Bradley.

‘Are they—have you …?’ she enquired.

‘They are, and we have,’ Mrs Bradley replied composedly. ‘So you see how necessary it is for you to find your mother at once.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ said the pale woman. She left them. Bugle hovered in the doorway.

‘Show the inspector in here, Bugle,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘and bring along some sandwiches and drinks. We are going to be here a long time.’

‘Very good, madam.’

The inspector and the sergeant entered, and everybody sat down until Lady Catherine and her daughter came in, followed by Captain Ranmore. The inspector, the sergeant and Roger got up at Lady Catherine’s entrance, and then there followed a slight reshuffle of seats which brought Roger and Dorothy together on a settee. They sat and surreptitiously held hands, both needing support and sympathy. Lady Catherine glanced at them once, and then addressed the police.

‘So you found him!’ she said. ‘I did not think you would. Poor Humphrey!—I mean, poor Harry! His was a tragic life and a tragic death. How did he do it?—A shot—“So quick, so clean an ending”—and I doubt it. It does not seem like him. Besides, shooting was too good for him, anyway. Now do tell me all about it!’ She settled herself cosily to await the revelations.

At this the inspector coughed.

‘I think, Lady Catherine,’ he said, ‘the inquiry had better be conducted in an official manner, if you take me. An unfortunate gentleman’s body was discovered in circumstances which lead us to believe we have a very serious affair on our hands, although, of course, the inquest will have to come before we can move very far, because of the difficulty of identification. So, if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions, that is all we shall need for today.’

The sergeant took out a notebook. Lady Catherine looked haughty but was really—she confessed afterwards—mad with curiosity, and only too determined to tell every detail she knew. ‘It’s not as though I
liked
poor Harry,’ she said later.

‘Very well, inspector,’ she observed. The inspector thereupon gave another slight cough and said:

‘I understand a gentleman is missing from this house.’

‘Yes. The owner, Mr Lingfield, did not return to dinner last evening, Inspector, and we have heard no more of him. As you know, we rang up the police this morning, as soon as I realized that Mr
Lingfield was still missing. I was not, myself, in favour of this course, as, of course, I dislike the uniforms, although I see you don’t wear yours, but, as I was over-ruled, we called you in.’

‘Yes, Lady Catherine. You did. Did you formulate any opinion as to where the missing gentleman might have got to?’

‘No. He was temperamental, and was apt to be inconsiderate. I did not trouble myself to wonder where he was, but I
did
feel a certain amount of exasperation at having my table put out because he had chosen to pick a quar——’

‘Please, Lady Catherine,’ said the inspector, raising a formidably large hand with a curiously pale palm. ‘I don’t want you to volunteer any information at the moment unless I specifically ask for it.’

‘Oh?’ said Lady Catherine, taken aback. ‘Very well.’ She waited for the next question.

‘If the gentleman was odd in his habits, as you suggest, Lady Catherine——’

‘But I
don’t!’
said Lady Catherine vigorously. ‘You are not to put that in your notes!’ she observed, turning towards the sergeant. ‘I said nothing of the kind! Odd in his habits indeed! Anyone would suppose poor Harry was a Mormon elder! … Although I’m not sure that that is totally unreasonable, either,’ she suddenly added.

‘You said Mr Lingfield was eccentric and temperamental, Lady Catherine,’ pursued the inspector.

‘Yes, I did. I agree. That
is
what I said. I did
not
say that he was odd in his habits. The idea! I
certainly should not enter the house (of my own volition) of anyone who was odd in his habits!’

She stared severely at the sergeant, who had discovered a microscopic portion of yolk of egg on his tunic and was methodically removing it with the nail of his right forefinger. He blushed, and applied himself to his notebook.

‘No, Lady Catherine?’ said the inspector in a tone which he meant to be encouraging. ‘Certainly not. But, if you don’t mind telling me——’

‘I will tell you everything,’ said Lady Catherine, in tragic and dramatic tones. The inspector coughed again, and caught Mrs Bradley’s eye.

‘Very good, Lady Catherine,’ he agreed. ‘Now, first, was there any reason for you to suspect that anybody wished Mr Lingfield any harm?’

‘Good gracious! Of course!’ said Lady Catherine. ‘But you mustn’t take any notice of what I say.’

The inspector ignored this.

‘Now, Lady Catherine,’ he said, ‘at what time did Mr Lingfield leave this house the last time he went out of it?’

‘I don’t know exactly. It would have been at half-past three, no doubt. I was told he would go out then, so I suppose he did.’

‘Then you cannot be sure he went out at half-past three?’

‘Well, no, but Mrs Denbies and my grandnephew—George, you know—went out with him. They all went riding on the Common. Ridiculous, actually. Quite the wrong time of the day. The morning would have been far better.’

‘Mrs Claudia Denbies and Master George Merrow,’ said the inspector, dictating these names to the sergeant.

‘Very good, sir,’ said the sergeant, writing them down.

‘Very good, Lady Catherine,’ said the inspector. He turned towards Roger, who bestowed on him no very friendly gaze.

‘You are taking it for granted, Inspector,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘that the corpse is that of Mr Lingfield?’

‘Well, no, madam, certainly not. The inquest will settle all that, or so we hope. But the fact remains that a gentleman is missing from this house, and a male corpse has been discovered in the vicinity.’

‘Of course, there’s such a thing as coincidence,’ said Roger. The inspector turned on him immediately.

‘How came you, sir,’ he asked, ‘to come upon the corpse in the coppice?’

‘I was looking for it,’ said Roger. ‘That is to say, I was looking for Mr Lingfield. That is to say, I was helping to look for him, you know.’

‘You knew Mr Lingfield, then?’

‘No, but the dog did. At least, we hoped it did.’

‘The dog, sir?’

‘We were tracking Mr Lingfield with the help of an Alsatian puppy.’

‘Why on the Common, sir? I mean, Lady Catherine says he went riding on the Common, but how did
you
know that?’

‘First, Inspector, I dined yesterday at this house.
Secondly, it was where we had seen him last. At least, we look it to be Mr Lingfield, but, of course, it may not have been. I couldn’t be sure, as I’ve never met him in my life.’

‘You had better explain all that, sir. You understand that the sergeant is taking down all that you say?’

‘Oh, Lord, yes, of course. I only hope he can spell.’

‘And that you may be required to sign your statement?’

‘Well, dash it, I’ve no reason to tell lies!’

‘Nothing would be gained by it, sir, if you had. We know what we know. I am here to make enquiries as part of my duty. Now, sir, perhaps I had better have your statement apart from those of the other witnesses to the finding of the body.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, yes. Carry on,’ said Roger, slightly panic-stricken because the inspector refused to lose his temper.

‘Very well, sir.’ The inspector looked at Dorothy and then at Lady Catherine.

‘Ring the bell, Mary,’ said Lady Catherine, ‘and when Bugle comes tell him to let the police have the small ante-room. Although I shan’t allow them to have the girl in there without a chaperone, mind. It wouldn’t be suitable. What do
you
say, Mrs Bradley?’

‘I think it would be quite suitable, in the circumstances,’ Mrs Bradley replied, ‘but I will go with the child when her turn comes, if you prefer it.’

‘I don’t see why we can’t both be together,’ said Roger.

‘I prefer to obtain your two stories quite separately, sir,’ said the inspector.

‘We’re not in collusion, dash it!’

‘No, sir, of course not. And, if you will accept my advice, that is not the word I should use if I were you. But the young lady might find it embarrassing, did she not quite agree with your statements, to contradict what you said, or even give a different account of the matter, in front of you.’

‘Of course I shouldn’t,’ said Dorothy. ‘I shouldn’t find it at all embarrassing to contradict him. And, after all, I know what
he
saw, and I know what
I
saw. It was exactly the same thing, and we
couldn’t
give different accounts.’

‘Nevertheless, miss,’ said the inspector, ‘I think you will find it more agreeable to bear with my ways just for once.’

Bugle appeared, and took Roger, the inspector and the sergeant to the small ante-room. It contained exactly three chairs. The inspector now looked at Roger rather as though he were an overdone steak when the inspector had particularly requested that his steak should be underdone, and fired away with his questions.

‘Where were you, sir, when you saw, as you allege, Mr Lingfield riding by across the common?’

‘I don’t
allege!
I don’t know who it was I saw. It happened that I was out for a walk with Miss Woodcote, and we saw three people on horseback. Two of them, as I now know, happen to be staying
at this house, and the third I have not seen since; therefore I conclude that the third may have been Mr Lingfield, as he is missing from the house party, and as he is said to have been riding on the Common on the day in question and with the two people I mentioned.’

‘I see, sir. Got that down, sergeant?’

The sergeant, unemotionally, and with word for word correctness, read out what Roger had said.

‘Now, as to your little jaunt, sir. May I ask if you were expecting to come to this house to spend the evening?’

‘No, of course I wasn’t! We got lost, and we’d walked a long way, and I came to the house to ask to be directed to the railway station. That’s all there was to it. But Lady Catherine had us stay to dinner because she didn’t want to sit down thirteen, although, as a matter of fact——’