Murder on the Flying Scotsman (11 page)

With a sigh, Daisy realized she could no longer postpone telephoning Mrs. Fletcher.

The Newcastle police driver changed into low gear to cross the narrow bridge. ‘Nearly there sir,’ he said.

With a sigh, Alec realized he could no longer postpone telling Sergeant Tring. ‘Tom,’ he said in a low voice, hoping the driver and Piper in the front seat could not hear him,
‘there’s a reason besides our proximity why we’ve been called in.’

‘Ah?’ said the sergeant in a ruminative way which somehow conveyed his awareness of information held back.

‘The public-spirited citizen,
alias
meddlesome busybody, who insists the death’s a murder is Miss Dalrymple.’

The evening sun, low in the west, illuminated the grin of sheer delight spreading across Tring’s broad face. ‘Ah!’ he said, in a quite different tone.

Alec scowled. ‘That’s not the worst. How she’s managed it I can’t begin to guess, but she’s entangled my daughter in the case.’

‘Miss Belinda?’ Tom’s relaxed bulk took on a sudden alertness. ‘She was on the train with Miss Dalrymple, Chief?’

‘Yes, the devil knows why. I’ve a bone to pick with that young lady,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘With both of ’em, I shouldn’t wonder. But don’t go setting Miss Dalrymple’s back up, Chief. If you ask me, the first thing we’re going to need to tackle this
business is her evidence!’

CHAPTER 9

‘Daddy!’ Belinda scampered across the small room into Alec’s arms.

‘Sweetheart.’ Over her shoulder, he glowered at Daisy, fierce dark eyebrows meeting over his nose. His grey eyes, capable of icily piercing a malefactor through and through, were
hotly angry. He looked about to explode. Daisy hastily shut the door of the landlord’s small private parlour behind her.

‘Everything’ll be all right now you’re here,’ sobbed Belinda.

‘What I want to know is what brought
you
here, Bel,’ he said grimly. ‘I await an explanation, Miss Dalrymple.’

‘I think it’s best if Belinda explains,’ Daisy said with a reasonably successful assumption of cool composure. She sat down on a hideous sofa upholstered in magenta plush.
Thank heaven the bedroom and public rooms had been furnished with decent restraint, though the heating system left much to be desired.

Alec’s glare was quite warming, though. She undid the top button of her long, cable-knit cardigan.

‘I want to know how – and why – you persuaded my daughter to leave home with you,’ he snapped.

‘Daddy, she didn’t. It’s all my fault. I’ll never run away again, I promise.’

‘Run away! What’s this?’ Holding Belinda away from him, he studied her face. She developed a sudden interest in his Royal Flying Corps tie. ‘Come on, Bel, let’s
have it.’

Out poured the story: the Indian school friend she wasn’t allowed to see; his absence in the North, coinciding with Daisy’s message about taking the Flying Scotsman; the platform
ticket and stowing away on the train and Daisy’s paying her fare so the ticket-inspector wouldn’t arrest her. ‘And you will pay Miss Dalrymple back, won’t you, Daddy?
’Cause she bought me lunch, too.’

‘Of course, sweetheart.’ Alec gave Daisy a distinctly sheepish look. He ran his hand through his crisp, dark hair in an unusual gesture of exasperation. ‘But honestly Belinda,
of all the daft things to do!’

‘I
said
I won’t do it again.’

‘I really don’t think she will,’ said Daisy. ‘Any further punishment would be superfluous – she’s had a nasty shock.’

‘Ah, yes. You’d better tell me all about it, Bel.’

‘It was
awful
, Daddy.’ Shuddering, Belinda buried her face in Alec’s shoulder.

‘I think it’s best if I tell you first,’ Daisy proposed, ‘so that you’ll know just how much you really need to ask her, rather than putting her through it
unnecessarily.’

Alec’s disconcerted face made her lips twitch. The last thing he’d anticipated when he came roaring up to Berwick was to find
her
protecting his daughter from
him!

He bit his lip. ‘Perhaps that will be best. Off you go, then, sweetheart, and I’ll talk to you in a little while.’

Belinda looked dismayed. ‘I want to stay with you and Miss Dalrymple, Daddy.’

‘Grown-up talk, Bel.’

‘Go back to the lounge, darling, to Dr. Jagai.’

The child’s face cleared. ‘Oh yes, I’ll stay with him.’ She kissed her father and left.

‘Dr. Jagai?’ said Alec.

‘I’ll get to him in due course. You know I like to present my evidence in the proper order, otherwise I get confused.’

‘Present your evidence! Daisy, how the deuce do you keep getting mixed up in these affairs?’

‘For heaven’s sake, don’t you start ragging me! I’ve just had a frightfully uncomfortable – not to say unpleasant – bout on the ’phone with Mrs.
Fletcher.’

‘Mother! Oh lord, I forgot . . . She must have been biting her nails to the quick.’

‘I sent her a wire from York, then rang up as soon as we got here, to the hotel. Belinda spoke to her and apologised. But of course she blames me for Belinda’s sins.’ Daisy
noted Alec’s flush, acknowledgement that he had jumped to the same conclusion. ‘I couldn’t very well tell her it was her fuss over Deva made Belinda run away.’

‘No, I’m sorry.’ He looked tired and discouraged. ‘I’d better put through a call, though I haven’t time for long explanations. Mother does her best, but
she’s old-fashioned in some ways and not young anymore. If only . . .’ He stopped.

‘If only your wife had not died?’ Daisy said gently. She was on the verge of telling him about Michael, but this was no time for wallowing in vain regrets. ‘Your mother’s
attitude isn’t actually so old-fashioned, I’m afraid. You should have heard what some of the others were saying about Chandra Jagai. But let me begin at the beginning.’

With an effort he smiled. ‘Yes, of course. We’d better get on with it if I’m to speak to everyone this evening. Halliday’s managed to persuade all concerned to stay. He
must have put it to them quite forcefully, which means you certainly persuaded him there’s a case.’

‘He’s a good egg. Did he show you the scene of the crime?’

‘He tried. I was in too much of a hurry to see Belinda, but it’s just as well. You’ll be able to give me an idea of what I’m looking for, I presume. I’ll just get
Tring and Piper in here. They’ll need to hear this, and I’ll have Ernie take notes.’ He went out.

An official interview, then. Running over the course of events in her mind, Daisy shivered. She re-buttoned her cardigan and turned the cuffs down over her hands. The cold was partly internal,
but the room, like the rest of the hotel, was decidedly chilly, hardly surprising as the radiators were all lukewarm. When she mentioned the matter to the landlord, Mr. Briggs, he had blandly
explained that the boiler system was clogged with soot after the winter. The Raven’s Nest’s usual April customers were hardy anglers who never complained.

‘But I’m complaining,’ said Daisy.

Mr. Briggs could shut down the boiler altogether, let it cool, and have it cleaned out, or he could leave things as they were. How long did Miss Dalrymple intend to stay?

Miss Dalrymple had retreated, defeated, to the residents’ lounge, where a coal fire at least warmed half the room. It was balm to her soul to hear a blustering Desmond Smythe-Pike routed
in precisely the same fashion a few moments later.

She didn’t like Smythe-Pike, but she must try not to let her likes and dislikes influence what she told Alec. Could the gouty squire have murdered old Albert McGowan?

Alec returned, followed by Detective Sergeant Tring and Detective Constable Piper. Despite his size, Tom Tring’s tread was cat-soft, and Daisy noticed that Ernie Piper now walked less like
a flatfoot on the beat. The sergeant was wearing his less appalling suit, the vivid blue and green checks not quite so offensive to the fastidious eye as his favourite yellow and tan. He winked at
Daisy, his little eyes twinkling.

‘Evening, Miss Dalrymple. Nice to see you again. What have you got for us this time?’

‘Evening, miss,’ said Piper with a smile as he produced his notebook and two of his ever-ready pencils.

Tring lit the gas lamps as Daisy began the tale.

‘It all started with Anne Bretton. I was at school with her, and she’d seen me at King’s Cross and came looking for me in the train.’ Daisy saw Alec raise his eyes to
heaven and guessed what he was thinking. She nearly told him she had no intention of taking Anne under her wing, but she didn’t want Piper writing that down. ‘She told me she and all
her relations were on their way to Scotland at the command of her dying grandfather. He . . .’

‘His name, please, Daisy – Miss Dalrymple.’

‘Alistair McGowan, Laird of Dunston Castle. Anne and her husband had named their baby after him in an effort to persuade him to change his will in their favour. He’d left the huge
family fortune and castle and everything to his brother, not a penny to his daughter – that’s Anne’s mother, Amelia Smythe-Pike. Do you want his reasons, Chief, or is that
hearsay?’

‘It is, but it might give us a hint as to motive and this is not formal evidence, only notes to work from. I’ll have to get details of the will from his solicitor.’

‘Right-oh. In the first place, Alistair McGowan believes in inheritance through the male line. He had two daughters and Amelia Smythe-Pike had two daughters, so the baby is his first
direct male descendent. In the meantime, his closest male relative was his twin brother Albert, the victim.’

‘Who was to inherit everything,’ said Alec. ‘So Amelia Smythe-Pike and Anne Bretton, or their husbands, had the best of motives to rid themselves of Albert McGowan.’

‘Wait, it’s
much
more complicated than that. With Albert dying first, everything goes to their sister’s son, Peter Gillespie. Not only is he a male – frightfully
unfair, isn’t it? – but his mother married a Scotsman and he was born in Scotland, as were all his family. Alistair’s other prejudice is against the English. Amelia Smythe-Pike
married an Englishman, her daughters were born in England, and Anne’s husband is English.’

‘So it’s the Gillespies who profit from Albert’s death?’

‘Unless the others persuade Alistair to change his will. They could have a better chance with Albert out of the way.’

‘Hmm.’ Alec pondered. ‘Possible, but not a very strong motive.’

‘That’s what I thought, until I considered Harold Bretton’s and Desmond Smythe-Pike’s characters, not to mention Peter Gillespie’s.’

‘Whoa! I must hear about all these characters, but in spite of your liking for chronological order you’d better tell me first what it was about Albert McGowan’s death that
aroused your suspicions.’

‘In case you decide I was wrong after all?’ Daisy said indignantly. A muffled snort from D.C. Piper sounded suspiciously like a suppressed snicker. He bent his head over his
notebook.

‘It’s always possible,’ Alec pointed out. ‘I’ve been known to be wrong myself. Once or twice.’

‘Hah! Just listen to this. Albert McGowan, having spent many years in India, liked it hot. In fact he had a morbid fear of draughts. Though the train was fearfully overheated, he kept his
window closed and insisted that anyone entering his compartment shut the door quickly. Yet when he was found, the window was wide open.’

‘Since he wasn’t stuffed through it, I fail to see . . .’

‘You will. He suffered agonies from dyspepsia, for which he took bismuth. His valet, Weekes, put his medicine and a glass of water on a camp-stool by the window, yet he was found lying
with his head towards the door, the medicine out of reach. The glass was empty but upright and there was a puddle on the floor.’

‘He knocked it over with his foot in his death throes . . . Ah, you’re sure Belinda didn’t set it upright? She’s a tidy child.’

‘I didn’t actually ask her, but even the tidiest child is unlikely to stop to right a fallen glass when confronted with a dead body!’

‘True. Fingerprints, Tom, if Halliday hasn’t done it already.’

‘Right, Chief,’ rumbled the sergeant. ‘McGowan could have taken his medicine and spilled the water before he lay down, though.’

‘True,’ Daisy conceded. ‘However, the valet and Dr. Jagai agree he would never have lain down flat on his back, as he was found – it was Weekes pointing that out that
first made me suspicious. He had his own pillow, which Weekes had taken down from the rack for him. Not only was he not using it – possible, I suppose, if he was having a seizure or something
and felt too ill to arrange it under his shoulders – but it’s missing.’

‘Missing?’ Alec was suddenly alert.

‘And Belinda found this on the floor.’ Daisy triumphantly produced the curly feather. ‘I think the murderer smothered the poor old man and then got in a panic and shoved the
murder weapon out of the window, tearing it and knocking over the glass in the process.’

‘It might have been panic, or he might have had good reason. Tom, I want the railway line searched for that pillow, however many men it takes, from however many police forces. Let’s
hope the valet has some idea where the train was when he last saw it! And I think we’d better take a look at that compartment before we hear the rest. Piper, come with me. Join us, Tom, when
you’ve arranged for the search.’

‘Right, Chief.’

‘Sorry, Daisy. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

With that, the three men dashed off, leaving Daisy quite pleased with herself but frustrated. She went to find Belinda.

In the lounge, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe-Pike, Anne and Harold Bretton, and the mysterious Geraldine occupied a group of chairs near the fire. Smythe-Pike had one leg raised on a footstool. They had
all changed for dinner, the ladies in black winter frocks with long sleeves and high necks, topped with warm stoles. The warm weather in the South had not left them unprepared for the chilly North,
especially Daisy guessed, for the miser’s castle. The blacks, no doubt packed in case he died during their visit, served instead as mourning for Uncle Albert.

No sign of Belinda, nor of Chandra Jagai. Anne saw Daisy and gave a little wave.