The Hidden Man (5 page)

It was a small weapon, fit for a coat pocket or a bedside drawer, with a curling somewhat bulbous grip and a stumpy barrel. I thumbed the hammer so that, in an easy, silken movement, it came into the cocked position. Then with a bare touch to the trigger I released the hammer. Its flint flashed against the frizzle, there was an instantaneous faint crack as it hit the pan, and the gloomy business room was charged with a scintillating flicker of lightning from the sparking flint.

‘This would be better locked up at my office,' I told Hazelbury. I slipped it into my pocket with the flask and stepping out of the shop turned homewards – and dinnerwards.

*   *   *

Fortified after a meal of mutton stew with dumplings, and gratified by half an hour's conversation with my dear wife Elizabeth, I rode out to see old Mrs Pimbo at Cadley. The villa, Cadley Place, that her son had built some eight or nine years before, stood a little way back from the road, and had two gates, with the legends ‘In' and ‘Out' painted on them. The drive was in the shape of a shallow horseshoe, at the top of which stood the residence. It was a house of some pretension to the latest architectural fashion, though by no means so big as to support more than three servants living under its slate roof. It boasted four high sash windows in its front, two on either side of a porch supported by elegant columns, a further floor above and an attic floor with three dormer windows for the servants.

One of these, a scrawny maid hardly older than a child, opened the door to me in a markedly timid way. I asked for the mother of Mr Pimbo.

‘Mrs Pimbo, she's in the salon,' she told me.

‘Then will you tell her I am here to see her?'

The girl looked flustered. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder into the hall behind, so I added by way of encouragement,

‘This is Coroner's business. I would be obliged if you would announce me without delay. It is a matter of importance.'

She bobbed and blushed and opened the door wide for me to enter.

‘I'll show you the way, if you please, Sir.'

I was conducted into one of the front sash-windowed rooms. It was a parlour, though it was easy to see why a man like Pimbo would want it referred to as a ‘salon', for it was papered all over, and furnished according to the mode – that is, more sparsely than Elizabeth and I would consider homelike. A pair of settees was ranged facing each other on either side of the fireplace with a low tea-table of walnut wood between them; an escritoire of the most fashionable design stood between the windows; and a brass-faced clock in a tall inlaid case was mounted against the wall opposite the fire, giving out a sonorous tock.

By the time I had taken all this in, the maid had silently made herself scarce. Alone in the room, old Mrs Pimbo stood before the clock and was examining it intently with her eyes. Not having previously met this evidently retiring lady, I found her to be small and stout, and dressed in the fashion of two reigns ago. I put her age at about sixty-five.

I announced myself.

‘Good day, Mrs Pimbo. I am Titus Cragg, Coroner of Preston.'

Though she heard my words, Mrs Pimbo did not turn to greet me. Her attention remained fixed on the clock.

‘I cannot imagine who has brought this in here, this … machine?' she asked in a faint, wondering tone. ‘Was it you?'

I moved a little way into the room.

‘No, madam. Your son, perhaps. Is it newly bought? It is certainly handsome.'

‘You say it is handsome? I do not. I don't like it. I don't understand it. What did you say it is for?'

‘Surely you know that it is a clock!' I said.

‘A clock? Is that what you call it? A clock. A clock.'

She was musing over the word, as if testing its soundness.

‘Yes,' I said, ‘for telling you the time, you know.'

I at once realized my mistake in persisting with this. Someone who does not know a clock when she sees it is unlikely to benefit from having the matter explained.

‘For telling me the time?' she repeated.

‘Yes.'

At last she turned and acknowledged my presence.

‘So you! Who are you? What's your name?'

‘It's Titus Cragg, madam,' I repeated. ‘I am the Coroner.'

‘And have you come to tell
me
the time?'

‘Not exactly. I—'

‘Fiddlesticks! What's the use of telling the time, if not exactly?'

The transition from remoteness to sharpness in her tone disconcerted me.

‘What I meant was—'

‘No, Sir! No! Don't excuse yourself! I do not like the time. I do not like being told it, either exactly or, or … or not. So kindly be off with you!'

She raised her arms and showed me the flat of her hands, as if to ward off an evil spirit. Then she spun around and went towards the fire, where she perched on one of the settees and sat silent for several seconds with her gaze resting on her knees, seeming to compose herself. When she raised her eyes again, she took in my presence anew, as if I had just entered the room.

‘Oh! A stranger! Hello. And who are you?'

‘Cragg, Titus Cragg,' I told her for the third time, moving now to sit on the facing settee. I thought that I may as well broach my business, however unexpected the result may be. ‘I have come about your son.'

She shook her head.

‘My son. He's dead.'

‘Yes. I am very sorry.'

‘Don't be. It was the smallpox, you see, but so long ago and he was only a young man, unmarried as yet.'

‘No, madam, I mean Phillip Pimbo, the goldsmith.'

‘Oh! Ha! The goldsmith, you say? I suppose that is right. My husband is certainly a merchant in gold, jewels and such stuff. All trinkets and trumpery! I wanted a gentleman to marry but I only got a bauble-monger.'

‘Forgive me once more, I am referring to your
son
Phillip.'

‘The boy, is it?'

Her voice became peevish, as of one overburdened with cares.

‘What do you mean by referring to the boy? What do you
mean
? Scrapes is it? Scamping off again? Rolling his hoop under horses? Stealing apples? Such a boy for mischief! What's he done now?'

‘No. I, er, well, I am sorry to say that he—'

The door catch snapped and a woman, whose age I put at a little above thirty, bustled in. She wore a plain dress and cap, and a wide belt around her waist to which was hooked a ring holding several keys. The two most noticeable things about her, however, were first that her face and figure were strikingly beautiful, with a strong nose, deep black hair, dark eyes and wide, full mouth; and second that she wore her left arm bandaged and in a sling of soft leather.

‘I'm sorry, I was detained at the kitchen door,' she said. ‘I'm Miss Peel. I keep the house. You should not have been shown in here, you know. I cannot imagine what possessed that girl. She's new to us, but it is no excuse.'

I rose and bowed first to Miss Peel, then to Mrs Pimbo, and turned back to Miss Peel.

‘I'm afraid I specifically asked to see Mrs Pimbo. Perhaps I intimidated the girl – unintentionally, of course. I am the Coroner, you know.'

I took a sideways step towards her and continued in a lower voice.

‘Might I have a private word with you instead, Miss Peel?'

Compressing her lips together, the housekeeper stood aside to let me out. I bowed again to Mrs Pimbo, who was now looking placidly puzzled, and so left her. Miss Peel followed, locking the door behind us.

‘You shut your mistress in?' I asked.

‘For her own good. She goes a-wandering else.'

Miss Peel led me across the hall, along a short passage and into a smaller and more old-fashioned stone-flagged room.

‘I am fortunate enough to have my own parlour in this house,' she explained. ‘Please sit.'

The parlour was furnished in plain style with a beechwood work-table and two upright chairs tucked under, a dresser and a couple of high-backed fireside armchairs. She gestured towards one of these and hanging my hat over its arm I settled myself there. She sat opposite me.

‘You have seen the condition of Mrs Pimbo,' she said. ‘It is quite impossible to speak sensibly with her, so I am afraid you will have to explain your business to me.'

‘Do you not already know why I've come?'

‘I have not the slightest idea.'

‘So you have not heard the terrible news from town?'

The muscles of her face tightened fractionally, and the eyebrows arched.

‘No. What news is that?'

So I told her gently that Pimbo had been found dead in his business room. I said nothing about the pistol, or his wounded head, which made her response very singular: she emitted an involuntary cry, something like a mirthless laugh, then clapped her free hand to her mouth.

‘Oh! Did he murder himself?'

‘What makes you ask that, Miss Peel?'

Her eyes flashed this way and that and then looked down. She withdrew the question.

‘I … well, I don't know. I suppose he didn't. I suppose he was taken ill.'

‘Forgive me, but it so happens that he was not. It pains me to tell you, but I must. Mr Pimbo died violently, from a gunshot – a pistol.'

‘Oh,' was her only reply.

There was a silence while the clock on her mantel ticked nine or ten times. I studied her face. It betrayed nothing. Whatever that sudden explosive sound had been – a laugh or a cry – she had subdued the emotion behind it.

‘For how long have you kept house for Mr Pimbo?' I asked at last.

She got hold of a spring of her hair and pulled it down the length of her cheek.

‘Five years. Ever since his mother began to be … as she is.'

‘I wonder: had Mr Pimbo been particularly given to melancholy in recent days? Had he given any indication that he might try to end his life?'

She shook her head, as she wound the hair around her forefinger.

‘Not that I observed, or heard.'

‘Had he been worried or anxious? Melancholy? Had his manner shown any change?'

She let go of the hair and straightened her back a fraction.

‘Not towards me, Mr Cragg. Not towards me.'

In repeating the phrase her voice sounded a new expressive note – with just the slightest hint of bitterness. I leaned towards her, shamelessly performing a familiar lawyer's courtroom trick to indicate my friendly concern.

‘Go on, Miss Peel.'

My trick did not work. She stiffened again, then rose from her chair.

‘All this is a great shock, Sir, and I am quite nonplussed.'

‘Of course you are,' I said, also standing up. ‘This is not the time. I'll leave you now, and return tomorrow when I hope you will have composed yourself. Will that be convenient?'

‘I suppose you must. I shall expect you.'

‘I just need to know one more thing now, if you can help me. Did Mr Pimbo spend last night here?'

‘He supped here and was still here late in the evening when I retired.'

‘When did he leave this morning?'

‘I did not see him. I expect he left at daybreak. He often did in summer, with the early sunrise.'

‘He would walk to Preston?'

‘He would.'

‘And was his dog with him?'

‘Suez was always with him.'

‘Thank you.'

I stooped to pick up my hat, which had fallen to the floor, and involuntarily brushed against her injured arm, causing her to give a sharp cry of pain. I began to apologize, until she asked me not to.

‘As you can see, I have hurt my arm, but it is nothing really.'

‘How long have you been in pain?'

‘For two weeks, no more. A burn.'

‘That is long enough for a burn to heal, in the normal way. It should not still be hurting you. What does your physician say?'

‘Oh, I haven't seen one. It will heal in time.'

‘It may, but you should consult a doctor.'

Without further mention of the injury she conducted me to the front hall and I stepped out under the porch. As I turned to give her goodbye, she stayed me, her lips forming into something, but not exactly, like a smile.

‘Mr Cragg, your profession makes you experienced in these things. What must be done with my employer? With his body, I mean. If I do not make the necessary arrangements, whatever they may be, I don't know who will.'

‘Only the funeral arrangements need concern you, Miss Peel. I suggest you speak to your vicar, but you will not be able to bury Mr Pimbo until I have held an inquest.'

‘And in the meantime, what of the body?'

‘Under most normal circumstances it would come to lie in his own house, but in this case it must remain in Preston until the inquest.'

‘When will that be, Mr Cragg?'

‘In a few days, no more.'

I settled my hat on my head.

‘Until tomorrow, Miss Peel. And, if I may, I shall bring my friend Dr Fidelis to look at that arm.'

*   *   *

As I reached Town Moor I reflected on the several things about Pimbo and his family that I had learned. Mr Phillip Pimbo had held quite advanced ideas about housebuilding and decoration. Mrs Pimbo had lost her mind. The little maid was new. But the housekeeper, even superficially, was less easy to read. Miss Peel's first words on hearing of the death of the master of the house were to ask if he had killed himself. Then she had sharply given up the thought when I did not immediately confirm it. And her reply to my question about a possible change to his behaviour: ‘not towards me!' That surely meant something too.

I had reached the Town Moor and was half way across it when I remembered the strong room key. I had quite forgotten to search for it.

 

Chapter Four

B
EFORE GOING HOME
I called again at Pimbo's shop, not only to ask if the body was securely locked up but also to see if any word had come from Zadok Moon. None had. I told Hazelbury that, should Mr Moon appear, he was to be directed without delay towards me.