The Lake District Murder (British Library Crime Classics) (7 page)

“That sounds rather as if Higgins was threatening Mr. Clayton, doesn’t it?” suggested Meredith.

“That’s just what I thought at the time, sir. I tell you, the tone of ‘is voice fair gave me the creeps. Menacing it were—though in a nasty quiet sort of way, if you take my meaning?”

“Have you ever taken any particular note of any of Mr. Clayton’s or Mr. Higgins’s friends?”

“Friends!” Mrs. Swinley looked puzzled and surprised. “Why, they never had any friends. Not to my knowledge they didn’t. Leastways nobody ever called on ‘em when I was in the ‘ouse.”

“You’re sure you’ve never seen anybody about?”

“That I am!” But no sooner had Mrs. Swinley given vent to this emphatic statement, when a distant look came into her eye as if she were calling something to mind. Meredith leant forward eagerly.

“Well?” he demanded.

“When I come to think of it—I have seen a gentleman there. Twice that is, but not during the day. It struck me as curious, I remember, that the only times I have called along in the evening this same gentleman should have been at the cottage.”

After one or two apt questions the Inspector elicited the following information from the housekeeper. It appeared that on two occasions, separated by a matter of about a month, Mrs. Swinley had cycled along to the cottage after dark to let her employers know that she would be unable to turn up on the following day. The first time she had received a wire to say that her sister was dangerously ill and the second she had been asked by a neighbour, whose husband had been involved in a lorry crash, to look after her children. On each occasion, when Clayton had opened the door to her, she had noticed a third man in the parlour. She was quite certain that it was the same man. For one thing he had a slight stutter and for another he wore tortoise-shell glasses with very thick lenses. Asked by the Inspector to give a fuller description of this individual, Mrs. Swinley replied that he was short, well-dressed, with thin, cleanshaven features and weak eyes. She had, unfortunately, no idea as to what the trio had been discussing.

“And you first saw this gentleman when?” asked Meredith.

“Let me see now—it was last November. That was when my sister was first taken ill. The second time was just before Christmas.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

Feeling that Mrs. Swinley could help him no further, the Inspector cautioned her to say nothing of the interview, and climbed back into the waiting side-car.

“The Derwent,” he said to Railton.

“You won’t find anybody there I’m afraid, sir,” replied the constable.

“How’s that?”

“Mr. Higgins passed by here on his motor-cycle not five minutes back. Making for Keswick by the look of it.”

“Well, in that case we’ll pay a visit to the Braithwaite stores instead. There are one or two questions I want to ask Miss Reade.”

But again the Inspector’s luck was out. Mr. Reade, looking very business-like and obliging in his white apron, informed Meredith across the counter that his wife and daughter had taken the early train into Penrith. A letter had arrived by the first post from Harben, Wilshin and Harben, requesting his daughter’s immediate presence at their office. He did not expect her back till one-thirty.

“In that case, Mr. Reade, perhaps you can help me instead,” said Meredith in affable tones. “Could we go into that back room of yours, then we shan’t be interrupted?”

When the two men were seated in arm-chairs before a cheerful log fire, the Inspector said gravely:

“I want you to keep this to yourself for the moment, Mr. Reade. After the inquest on Clayton it will be public property, but until then I should value your silence. The fact is—” Here Meredith lowered his voice to impress the shopkeeper with the gravity of his statement. “We have good reason to believe that young Clayton was murdered!”

“Murdered! Good gracious me! But surely——?”

“I can’t tell you now the reasons for this belief, but you can take it from me that we’re pretty certain that there’s been foul play. But there’s one important factor missing from our chain of evidence—motive. This is where you can help. I want you to cast your mind back and see if you can remember anybody, save Clayton, who has paid attentions to your daughter.”

“You mean?”

“That it is just possible that the motive for Clayton’s murder was jealousy. Well, Mr. Reade?”

The shopkeeper puffed at his pipe for a moment in meditative silence, then:

“No—I think you’re on the wrong tack there, Inspector. Mind you, I’m not going to say there hasn’t been anybody else, but if so I know nothing about it. There’s the chance, of course, that Lily has kept quiet over the matter. On the other hand she’s a frank sort of girl and if there’d been any trouble of that sort I think she would have confided in me.”

“Quite. Now what about her friends. Has she any particular girl friend in whom she might have confided?”

“Well, there’s Rose Bampton, of course. She and Lily have been pretty thick ever since they were kids. If anybody could tell you about it, she could.”

“Where can I find her?”

“At the school, Inspector. She’s the assistant mistress.”

“In that case I think I’ll just run round and have a word with Miss Bampton.”

As they were passing through the shop however, the phone bell rang behind the ground-glass screen of Mr. Reade’s desk.

“Just a moment,” exclaimed the shopkeeper. “That may be Lily now. Perhaps they have got through their business earlier than they expected and are coming home by another train. If you care to wait a minute.”

The Inspector did care and he could not suppress a smile of intense amusement as the phone call proceeded. First the shopkeeper let out an astonished whistle, followed by a few exclamations of incredulity, which soon gave way to crows of delight and jumbled words of congratulation. When at length he hung up, he popped a grinning countenance over the top of the screen and demanded:

“What do you think? Lily’s had a rare bit of luck! You’ll never believe! She’s come into a matter of something over
two thousand pounds
!”

Meredith put up an excellent show of surprise.

“Really. I say, that’s splendid!”

“It’s young Clayton,” went on the shopkeeper, bubbling over with excitement. “Left everything to her, so it seems. But, by heaven, Inspector, I never thought the lad was worth that much!”

Meredith said that the thought had never crossed his mind either and after a lengthy discussion on the crazy ways of providence, during which he continually edged toward the door, he ascertained that the womenfolk would not be back until 1.30, and finally succeeded in regaining the street. A minute or so later the combination drew up in front of the village school.

His interview with the sturdy, athletic Miss Bampton, however, proved abortive. She felt quite certain that her friend had never so much as looked at anybody save Jack Clayton. According to her, Lily was a retiring, sensible sort of girl, full of fun, but not given to flirtatious interludes. She had, in fact, got the name among the village
beaux
for being stand-offish and unapproachable. Miss Bampton didn’t agree with this, but she felt quite sure that Lily had never encouraged any man except Clayton.

“Just as I thought,” muttered Meredith, more to himself than to the constable as they drove off. “We’re barking up the wrong tree. Jealousy wasn’t the motive. And as far as I can see Clayton wasn’t murdered for his money either.”

“You don’t think——?” began the constable respectfully.

“Look out!” shouted Meredith with sudden vehemence.

The combination swerved violently to avoid the passage of a large petrol lorry, which was lumbering round the corner in the very centre of the road.

“Swines,” muttered the constable under his breath. “Shall I turn and catch ‘em, sir? I could do it easy in a minute or so.”

Meredith shook his head. He couldn’t waste time on motoring offences, but although he hadn’t been able to register the number of the lorry, he had seen the words “Nonock Petroleum Co.” painted in flaring red letters along the sides of the bright blue tank. He wondered why the name seemed familiar. Then he remembered. The man whom Mark Higgins was to have met on Sunday morning at the Beacon was the manager of the Nonock depot on the outskirts of Penrith. He registered a vow to look in one day on the gentleman and air his official views about his lorry-men. It was a small concern, he figured, and the drivers probably had to cover a large area in far too little time. There was far too much of this “time-table” driving about as it was.

Higgins had not returned to the garage as they passed, but just outside Portinscale his high-powered motor-cycle roared into view and at the Inspector’s signal he drew up at the side of the road.

“Sorry to stop you, Mr. Higgins, but I wanted to let you know that the inquest is fixed for to-morrow at 2.30 in the police court-room. You will be needed to give evidence, of course.”

“Righto, Inspector. I’ll be there all right. Looks as if I’m booked for a dose of third degree, eh?”

Higgins laughed, prominently displaying his rodent-like teeth and generally heightening the ferrety cast of his features. Meredith was amazed at the change in the man. All his nervousness had vanished. He no longer seemed upset by the tragic death of his partner. Elation and satisfaction were written all over his rather unpleasing countenance. The Inspector wondered what had brought about this sudden change of mood. He did not have to wait long, however, before Higgins himself supplied the answer to this question.

“I’m glad to say that things have turned out as I hoped they would. Jack’s little bit in the business has come my way all right. I’ve just seen the solicitors.”

“So the will hadn’t been altered?” asked the Inspector casually.

“Doesn’t look like it, does it?” was the equivocal reply.

“I’m not so sure,” went on Meredith, watching the man closely. “I’ve just heard that Clayton has left Miss Reade a cool two thousand or so! What do you make of that?”

Higgins’s start of surprise was just too late to be really convincing. Meredith was certain that the man’s first reaction to the news was fear tinged with suspicion.

“Are you sure about that?” asked Higgins, as Meredith thought with an undercurrent of anxiety.

“Quite sure. I’ve just had the news from Mr. Reade himself. Looks as if there must have been a codicil added which you knew nothing about. Had you any idea that your partner was such a man of means?”

“By Jove, I hadn’t. He never mentioned it to me.”

“So you’ve no idea where the money could have come from?”

“None. I swear that, Inspector.”

The over-emphasis in Higgins’s reply was not missed by the Inspector. He felt more and more certain that Higgins
did
know something about the money, and what’s more, about the source from which it was obtained. Then why this evasion and secrecy? Surely it could mean only one thing? The money had accrued from some illegal business and Higgins was mixed up in it.

“There’s another thing you should know before the inquest,” went on the Inspector after a moment’s awkward silence. “The police have every reason to believe that Clayton did not commit suicide. In their opinion he was murdered. The suicide was faked to cover the murder—understand? And fortunately we have managed to see through the fake.”

“Murdered? But that’s out of the question! Poor old Jack had no enemies, Inspector. He was popular with everyone. That’s a damfool idea—that is! You can’t get me to believe that!”

“Maybe,” answered Meredith curtly. “But there it is. That’s all I can say at the moment.”

When they were once more on their way Meredith asked the constable: “Look here, Railton—what do you make of that man?”

“Shady, sir. That’s my humble opinion. An out-and-out rotter.”

Back at the Keswick police station a surprise awaited Meredith. Seated at his desk was the Chief Constable, Colonel Hardwick, in the company of Superintendent Thompson.

“Ah, Inspector! Gave you a bit of a shock I daresay. I don’t know whether it’s a case of Mahomet coming to the mountain or vice versa. At any rate here we are. Draw up that chair and light your pipe. We’ve got a lot to talk about. But first of all suppose you post us up to date with your investigations into this Clayton affair. Then when you’ve done we’ll hold the deck for a bit.”

Without wasting a single word on irrelevances, Meredith gave a succinct account of his doings since the night of the tragedy. He left nothing unsaid, stressing what was to his mind an important factor in the case, the large amount of money left by the deceased, touching on the complete absence of motive and airing his suspicions of Higgins’s integrity. When he had completed his recital he did not fail to register a swift glance of approval which passed between the Chief and the Superintendent.

“So you’ve no theory, Inspector—so far?”

“None, sir.”

“And I’m not surprised,” went on the Chief, after a few meditative puffs at his excellent cigar. “It strikes me that we’re up against a ticklish problem. I can’t help feeling, however, that there’s something more behind this case than a mere matter of personal vindication. You’ve already commented on the complete absence of motive, Inspector. Clayton does not appear to have been killed through motives of jealousy or financial gain. Revenge is a possibility that we can’t, at present, dismiss. On the other hand there’s one very commonplace motive for murder that you’ve overlooked, Inspector. Suppose I explain what I mean in this way. The Superintendent here and I are running some sort of illegal concern. In some way or other you blunder on our secret and swear to give us away to the police. If we were hardened criminals faced with that possibility, what d’you think we should do?”

“Kill me, sir,” replied Meredith with a grin.

“Exactly—silence you. That’s one suggestion. The other is this. Suppose the Superintendent and I have managed to get a hold over you and, because of that, forced you to come in hand and glove with us in our illegal business, and that later, for some personal reason, you want to back out of the concern. What then? Doesn’t the same thing apply? Once you were out of our clutches it would be easy and safe for you to communicate with the police and give us away, wouldn’t it?”