Our Jubilee is Death (21 page)

He found Mr Gorringer waiting in the small entrance hall of the hotel.

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting your cousin, Deene. I understand that she is well known in the theatrical profession.”

“Fay? Yes, she's quite a star in her way. She's staying here and should be around somewhere. Is there anywhere in this hotel where people sit?”

“Beyond the dining-room there does not appear to be much accommodation. I have arranged for us to use a room on the first floor called the Residents' Lounge, which will be reserved for us. I have seen Detective Inspector Whibley, who will be here in a moment, though he appears to treat this occasion with levity.”

“Can't we get a drink?”

“Not until six o'clock, I fear. I myself feel the need of some refreshment in these distressing circumstances.”

“Here's Fay. Mr Gorringer, Fay. He likes to be in at the kill.”

Mr Gorringer bowed and attempted a smile.

“Your cousin,” he said to Fay, “has a most unfortunate way of speaking of these things. It is true that on more than one occasion I have been present when he has made his … exposition. But not always with pleasure. I cannot take the same view as he does in these affairs.”

“Carolus is incorrigible. I asked him down because I was sorry for the unfortunate women out at Trumbles, and now two of them are dead.”

“Sad, I know. But I feel it only fair to Deene to hear his explanation before condemning him. Let us now withdraw a little while those concerned are arriving. It will save a great deal of embarrassment, I think.”

At six o'clock a young lady in black lace opened a small bar at the end of the passage and Carolus was able to fortify himself with a large whisky and soda.

“I have no doubt that there will be surprises, eh, Deene?”

“Oh, I don't know. It's fairly obvious, really. Anyone who knows all the facts should be able to say at this moment exactly how it happened and who is responsible.”

They finished their drinks, and at ten past six went up to the Residents' Lounge to find their audience almost complete. Detective Inspector Whibley smiled broadly to Carolus, as though to excuse his attendance at something so frivolous. Mrs Plum, away in a corner, obviously had her heart in her mouth, if not shivers running up and down her spine. Cupperly had brought his fierce-looking wife. The Matron-to-be of the Queen's School, Newminster looked severe and George Stump bland and expansive. Bomberger and Poxton had apparently made friends. No one was present from Trumbles itself, or from what Mr Gorringer called the afflicted family, but Primmley was there and so was Rupert Priggley.

“Now, Deene,” said Mr Gorringer, and there could be no more delay. Carolus took the plunge.

“W
HEN
I began to look into the death and burial of Lillianne Bomberger, the first thing I noticed was the conspiracy of lies which surrounded it. I will tell you what lies I mean in a moment, but in the meantime I want to say why they seemed significant. This was a matter of life and death and of the macabre discovery of a woman's corpse. If anyone lies in a case like this it can only be with very good reason. Nobody tells a series of prearranged lies for appearances' sake.

“That does not mean that anyone who lies is a murderer—of course not. He may lie to cover up someone or something or some act which has no direct connection with the murder. But if one can distinguish his lies and discover why he is telling them, one is going to come pretty near to a solution.

“I spoke of a conspiracy of lies, and I soon realized it existed, though I could not tell at first whom it embraced. Certainly some women were concerned in the burial of Mrs Bomberger. No man alone could have dressed her correctly in the very elaborate clothes she wore when she was discovered, and if she dressed herself Miss Pink in the next room must have heard her. Besides, when I reached Trumbles all three of the women there were obviously scared and obviously concealing information.

“Take Gracie's shoes, for instance. It occurred to me that if she had gone down to the beach when Mrs Bomberger was buried she would be unlikely to stop to put on plimsolls or anything. So I asked her what shoes she had worn and quickly perceived that she had not her answers ready. She contradicted herself several times, said the
shoes were nearly new, that she had given them to Mrs Plum …”

“That was a lie if ever there was one,” Mrs Plum could not help interrupting, “because she never gave me nothing of the sort, and if she had of done it would of given me the shivers to have worn them, thinking where they might have been!”

“Then,” went on Carolus, “she said she had thrown them away, and so on. Babs tried to repair the damage next day, but only succeeded in showing that she was in the conspiracy too.

“Then, whatever lies they had prepared for their movements, they had forgotten to arrange what they should say about the morning. Gracie Stayer, having used an unfortunate phrase about not being disturbed ‘until', had to say that Babs had come to wake her at eleven, whereas Babs said that having read a few pages of Mr Gorringer's forthcoming book instead of taking sleeping-pills, she slept right on till Mrs Plum called her to say the police had arrived …”

“I can afford to let that pass,” rumbled the headmaster. “Critical opinion from those to whom I showed the manuscript has been encouraging enough to make the woman's statement an absurdity. Besides, you are showing her to be untruthful. Proceed, Deene.”

“Miss Pink's interrogation came after the others, and there had been time to give her the most plausible story of the three. But these were only some of the lies. No one admitted to hearing anything unusual during the night, or leaving his or her room. Yet between 10 p.m. and the next morning the following things must have happened:

“Lillianne Bomberger was dressed in an elaborate gown.

“She was taken out of the house and down to the beach (for we know that, having taken so many sleeping-pills, she could not possibly have gone out herself).

“Though Miss Pink denied having entered Mrs Bomberger's
room that night, we know from her letter to her sister that she had actually given her sleeping-pills.

“The key of the drinks cupboard had been brought from Mrs Bomberger's room and some whisky and other drinks consumed.

“The glasses used for this, besides ash-trays, had been washed up.

“The bath-chair kept in the outer scullery had been cleaned.

“A light had been switched on in the potting-shed and shortly afterwards switched off again.

“Now I don't think you will call it exaggeration when I say there was a conspiracy of lies. One or two people might conceivably have slept through this and had no concern with its events—a whole household could not have. But everyone in this household, including the Cribbs, who stayed the night, and Graveston, who was employed there, told the same lies. Therefore—and this was an interesting conclusion—
everyone was in the conspiracy.”

“Are you going to tell us,” broke in George Stump, “that Lillianne Bomberger was killed by a conspiracy of six people?”

“I haven't said anything about her being killed. I said only that there was a conspiracy, and I say now that it was to bury her in the way she was buried.”

“Good God! But why?”

“Please let me answer that question when I come to it. I have admitted that much I shall tell you is supported only by circumstantial evidence. I must reconstruct events as I see them.

“At about two o'clock that morning it was discovered—by whom we do not yet know—that Lillianne Bomberger was dead. This caused an extraordinary flutter among those present in the house, and they met in what is called the large sitting-room to discuss the matter. Someone
suggested that they needed a drink and someone fetched the key of the drinks cupboard from Mrs Bomberger's room.

“The reason why each of these people was so deeply concerned was that, however Mrs Bomberger may have died, almost everyone had planned, or intended, or hoped to kill her. Gracie Stayer had bought an arsenical weed poison which she intended to use when occasion offered. Graveston had persuaded Mrs Bomberger to be pushed in her bath-chair every afternoon to the clifftop, from which it would be easy, on the right day of low visibility, to let the chair run over the cliff.

“Ron Cribb had the most ingenious plan. He had discovered that the cable of his hand-brake ran under his battery, so that by over-filling his battery with distilled water he could cause the acid from it to fall on the brake-cable and slowly, naturally, eat it away. No one examining it after any accident could suggest that it had been deliberately cut or frayed, yet when the moment came and there was only a strand left, he could put on the handbrake apparently quite securely, get out of the car, give it a shove from behind and watch it run over the edge of the cliff with Lillianne Bomberger inside it. It is an old gag for murder, but it works every time unless it can be proved that the driver omitted to put on his hand-brake.

“Moreover, every one of them had plenty of motive. Lillianne Bomberger was a much-hated woman, particularly in her own household, and to each of them she had behaved abominably, even to Gloria Cribb, whose child she resented. Ron Cribb she had reduced to bitterness by making him economically dependent, a position which his wife, with a growing son, would not let him escape. She had come between Babs Stayer and the man she wanted to marry, she had bullied and humiliated Gracie, Miss Pink and Graveston, who were all tied to her by the mysterious dominion she had obtained over their wills. And to all of them she was known to have left money.

“So when Lillianne was found dead the whole household
was scared and guilty and conferred on what should be done. Only the murderer or murderess knew the cause of her death—the rest were half thankful that it wasn't through his or her particular line, half fearful that they might even so be blamed.

“But someone at that conference, someone who had particular cause to be afraid, was strong-minded. In half an hour this person had persuaded them all, waverers and cowards and all, that they did not dare leave her body in the house, that
any one
of them might be accused of murder with previous attempts or plans as supporting evidence, and that the only hope was to get the body out of the house and make Mrs Bomberger's death appear the work of someone not in the household. This person probably used as arguments that a phone call from an unknown man had come through that night, that George Stump had called …”

“Ha! ha!” said Mr Gorringer derisively.

“And that there was actually a novel of Mrs Bomberger's called
Life Has Death For Neighbour
in which a woman murdered by her husband was found on the beach. People, particularly people with a guilty conscience, are not at their most strong-minded when woken at two o'clock in the morning. In the end this person, who had a particular reason for wanting it, succeeded in persuading the rest and they got to work.

“Two or more of the women went up and dressed the body in one of the dead woman's most elaborate gowns. Then she was carried to her bath-chair. I do not pretend to know exactly which members of the household went down to the shore, but certainly Graveston did with a spade that already and legitimately bore his finger-prints, certainly Gracie Stayer in her black velvet shoes, probably Babs Stayer, who took the precaution of wearing beach shoes, I imagine Ron Cribb, because as a man he could assist Graveston. Miss Pink and Gloria Cribb may have stayed behind. We shall know that in due course.”

“How?” asked Detective Inspector Whibley with a smile.

“Because when faced with the truth now one of the four survivors of that night will break down and tell you what happened. I, thank heavens, shall be a long way away.”

Mr. Gorringer cleared his throat.

“I feel,” he said, “that that is a signal for us to give Deene a little break from his exhausting task. Detective Inspector, may I offer you some refreshment?”

“Thank you. I'll have a lager beer.”

“I hope the young lady downstairs can supply it. We will see. You doubtless find Deene's exposition of interest?”

“There's very little so far which we did not know or suspect.”

“Ah! For once the private investigator and the official police are in agreement. That is indeed a break from precedent.”

“There's a long way to go yet,” warned Whibley.

Bomberger was seen to approach George Stump.

“I say, old man, is that right you're one of the executors?”

“I am.”

“I'm her husband, you know. Otto Bomberger. Can you tell me if there's anything for me in the will?”

“I prefer not to discuss it at present.”

“Oh, come on, old man. You can't do that, you know. It means a lot to me. You must remember whether I'm in or not?”

“I will go so far as to say that I
do
seem to remember a sum being left to Otto Bomberger. Yes.”

“Do you really, old man? How much was it?”

“Silence, please,” said Mr Gorringer. “Deene is now ready to continue his most lucid … er … discourse.”

“So Lillianne Bomberger's body was taken to a part of the sands which would be covered by several feet of water when the tide came in and buried there. It was almost directly opposite the house, the nearest point they could find. There was no attempt to forestall a discovery of the body—on the contrary, it was intended to be found next
day. A deep enough hole was dug to bury her standing with her head protruding and she was lowered into it. The party then returned to the house, so far as we know unobserved.

“Then these people, who had no experience of crime, set about, in a very foolish and amateurish way, to eliminate the evidence of what they had done. They thought the glasses from which they had drunk during their conference would show that there had been a conference and carefully cleared them away and washed them up, cleaning out the ash-trays. They did not realize that this would be in itself suspicious and, characteristically, they forgot to lock up the drinks cupboard and return the key to Mrs Bomberger's room. They knew that the sand and damp on the wheels of the bath-chair would be evidence that it had been down to the beach, but did not see that a noticeably clean bath-chair would call attention to itself. They arranged that all should have the same story, that they had gone to bed at eleven—in the cases of Alice Pink and Graveston rather later—and had heard nothing during the night, but they forgot to invent details for the morning. And so on.