The Lake District Murder (British Library Crime Classics) (9 page)

“You are suggesting, then,” went on the Coroner in his thin, precise voice, “that the drug was administered by a second person?”

“Yes.”

Again the Coroner’s gavel came into play to silence the excited murmur which rose from the public end of the court.

“You realize, of course, what might be inferred from your statement?”

“Perfectly.”

At that Dr. Burney sat down, and after Dr. White had corroborated his colleague’s evidence, the Coroner asked if there were any further witnesses to call. The Superintendent, after an inquiring glance at Meredith, intimated that there were none and the Coroner forthwith proceeded to sum up. He pointed out that the jury had three questions to consider. First they had to find the cause of death. In his opinion they would have no difficulty about that. Dr. Burney had definitely stated that death was due to asphyxia caused by the inhalation of carbon monoxide, or, if they preferred it, exhaust fumes.

Secondly, they had to consider whether this asphyxia was caused accidentally or whether it was suicide or whether it was murder. With regard to this first point, they had heard the evidence of Mr. Perryman and Inspector Meredith—how the deceased was found sitting in an upright position at the wheel of his car with a mackintosh over his head, beneath which a length of hose-pipe, connected to the exhaust-pipe of the car, had been introduced. In his opinion, all these facts combined to suggest premeditation. If the jury were agreed that this was so, they would rule out the idea of accident. Had the deceased taken his own life? That this was a possibility, the jury could not ignore. All the outward facts of the case pointed to suicide.

On the other hand, there was the Inspector’s evidence to consider, and further, the evidence of Dr. Burney and Dr. White. They, at the request of the police, had performed an autopsy. The jury were cognisant of the result of this autopsy. A powerful drug had been discovered in the stomach and intestines of the deceased. In the opinion of Dr. Burney, an opinion which he, the Coroner, endorsed, it would have been pointless for the deceased to have taken the drug himself. The only alternative to this suggestion was that the drug had been administered by a second party. The jury had to ask themselves, “Why had this drug been administered?” If, in their opinion, it was for the purpose of incapacitating the deceased, so that the body might be placed in the driving-seat of the car, then it was clearly a case of murder.

The third question which the jury had to consider would arise only if they brought in such a verdict. If they found that murder had been committed, then they must state, if they could, the guilty party or parties. In his, the Coroner’s opinion, there had been no evidence forthcoming to warrant any such statement. They must, however, be guided solely by their own judgment and find accordingly.

As both Meredith and the Superintendent anticipated, the jury elected to retire. At the end of thirty-five minutes they filed back into the stuffy little courtroom. Then in tense silence the Coroner put the usual question and a thrill of horror animated the public benches when a verdict was brought in of wilful murder by some person or persons unknown!

CHAPTER VII

THE PARKED PETROL LORRY

“M
AJOR RICKSHAW
has been on the phone, sir,” said the Sergeant on duty as Meredith passed through the office on his way from the inquest. “Wants to have a word with you.”

“Who the devil’s Major Rickshaw? Never heard of him!”

“Retired Indian Army man, sir. Only just come to live in the district. He’s rented that house near the Old Toll Gate on the Grasmere road.”

“What’s it about? Did he say?”

“The Clayton case, sir. Said he was unable to come down and see you as he was confined to his bed with a chill.”

“I’ll go up at once.”

Railton being off duty, Meredith took the combination out of the garage and drove off in the direction of the Toll Gate. He had no difficulty in finding the house—a square, grey, weather-beaten edifice overlooking Derwentwater, standing back off the road in a fair-sized garden. The maid showed him at once into the Major’s bedroom, where the patient, a mahogany-skinned, hatchet-faced man, was lying propped up in bed reading the
Cumberland News
.

“Come in! Sit down, Inspector,” he croaked. “Excuse my voice, but I’ve got a chronic touch of throat. That’s it—draw up that chair. The closer you are the better. I’m damned if I can manage much more than a whisper.”

“That’s all right, sir,” said the Inspector heartily. “I understand you’ve got something to tell me about the Clayton case.”

“Quite right. I have. Saw that notice of yours in the paper.” He waved the
Cumberland News
in the air. “This paper. Mid-weekly edition only came out this morning—otherwise I’d have got in touch with you before. Are you ready to take down my statement? Good!”

In a series of fierce, staccato whispers Major Rickshaw described how he had visited the Derwent garage on Saturday night. He had been speaking at a Conservative meeting over at Cockermouth and was returning home with his wife in the car. At the Derwent he stopped for a couple of gallons of petrol, and was served, in his own words, “by the young chap with the Hitler moustache who was usually in charge of the pumps”. He supposed he had reached the garage about twenty minutes past seven. Neither he nor his wife got out of the car and as he handed over the exact money for the petrol he had no cause to hang about the garage for any length of time.

“What happened to the money? Did you notice, sir?”

“Yes—the fellow shoved it into the pocket of his dungarees.”

“Buff dungarees?”

“That’s it, Inspector.”

“What was the denomination of the coins you handed over, sir?”

“Just one coin, Inspector. A half-crown piece. I always swear by the cheaper forms of petrol. Never pay more than one and threepence a gallon. Though I don’t quite see——?”

“Just a small point. Nothing of importance,” returned Meredith quickly. “The really important question is this—did you notice anybody else hanging around the garage?”

“Not a soul! There was a light in the office, I remember. Couldn’t see if anybody was inside. Frosted glass, you see. There was a petrol-lorry drawn up in front of one of the pumps——”

“A lorry! Then there must have been somebody about!”

“Possibly,” snapped Major Rickshaw with some irritation. “But I’ve already told you, Inspector, that I didn’t see them.”

“Did you notice the name on the petrol-lorry?”

“Yes, I did! Nonock Petroleum Company. That’s Ormsby-Wright’s affair. Got shares in the concern. What’s more, they actually pay a dividend!”

“You feel quite certain in your own mind that the man who served you with petrol was Clayton, I suppose?”

“Confound it all, Inspector—I know a face when I see it.” With an irascible gesture the Major smoothed out the newspaper and jerked his finger at a photograph reproduced at the bottom of the column dealing with the tragedy. Where the Press had unearthed it Meredith could not imagine. Probably from the Reades.

“That’s Clayton, isn’t it, eh?” went on the Major. Meredith nodded. “And that’s the face of the chap that served me with petrol. Good enough—what? If you want a second opinion, I’ll ring for my wife.”

“It might be as well,” remarked the Inspector. “Not that I doubt your identification. But it was a dark night, remember, and one can’t be too careful in a case of this sort.”

The Major, therefore, pressed the bell and sent the maid to fetch Mrs. Rickshaw. After introductions had been effected, Mrs. Rickshaw, a somewhat wispy, faded lady of about fifty, corroborated her husband’s evidence in a tremulous voice, which drew forth a triumphant “I told you so!” from the bed.

Satisfied that he had gained all he could from the Rickshaws, Meredith drove back to the station in a thoughtful frame of mind. It was extraordinarily curious how the Nonock Petroleum Company kept cropping up. First there was Higgins’s customer, the manager of the Penrith depot. Then his encounter with the fast-driven lorry on the road just outside Braithwaite. And now on Saturday night a Nonock lorry had been drawn up beside the Derwent petrol pumps. He had already determined that inquiries would have to be made about the men on the lorry, and he decided to drop in at the Penrith depot on the following day.

In the meantime, what exactly had he learnt from his interview with Major Rickshaw? Precisely—nothing! It was annoying that the Major hadn’t stopped at the garage, say, at eight-thirty. He already knew that Clayton was alive and kicking at seven-thirty-five. He had Freddie Hogg’s word for that. What he really wanted, was to narrow down the time in which it was possible for the murder to have been committed. If only somebody turned up who had called at a later hour at the garage!

The next day, Inspector Meredith, in plain clothes, boarded the Penrith bus. The day was clear and sunny, though a cold wind was blowing up from the Borrowdale valley at the end of the lake. The vast hump of Saddleback rose gilded in the frosty air, laced with the white threads of distant waterfalls. Little patches of snow still clung to the weather-sides of the higher peaks, but already in the valleys there stirred the first subtle promise of approaching spring. The wine-like air filled Meredith with energy and optimism. Somehow he had a premonition that before the end of the day he would be able to look back on a considerable amount of progress. Why this feeling was so insistent he could not say. He rather doubted if he was going to gain much from the lorrymen. They must have left shortly after Major Rickshaw, because when Freddie Hogg cycled past some ten minutes later the lorry was no longer there. Still, as a matter of routine, the men would have to be questioned.

Nearing the depot, Meredith stopped the bus and alighted. He did not want anybody to see him entering the place and he knew that one or two Keswick people on the bus had already recognized him. The less the locals knew about his peregrinations the better were his chances of solving the case.

After a brisk walk he came to the entrance of the depot. The entire place was surrounded by a tall corrugated-iron fence, above which projected the roofs of the garages and stores. About a hundred yards behind, and slightly above the rear of the depot, ran the Cockermouth–Whitehaven branch-line of the L.M.S. Meredith noted a tank-car which had been shunted off on to the Nonock siding and a couple of stout poles from which dangled two flexible pipes, obviously used to connect with the union on the tank-car. Open meadows rose in a gradual slope from the siding, and the depot itself, standing quite on its own, looked unutterably bleak despite the clear March sunshine.

Just inside the gateway, which was ajar, Meredith noticed a little brick-built office raised on a platform of cement. At first glance the place seemed entirely deserted, and it was not until he drew level with the office that he noticed a man watching him from a window. Mounting the steps which led up to the office door, the Inspector rapped sharply and the face disappeared, to reappear a few seconds later in the open doorway.

It was then that Meredith had one of the biggest thrills in his life!

It was all he could do to suppress a sharp cry of astonishment, for the face which peered uncertainly into his was as clearly impressed on his memory as the title on the cover of a book. Not that he had ever met the man before. He hadn’t. But there was no gainsaying those thin, clean-shaven features, the weak eyes enormously magnified by the thick lenses of a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. Even if Meredith had doubted the evidence of his eyes, the moment the man opened his mouth he knew that he had not been deceived in his belief. That slight stutter offered conclusive proof. The man who confronted him was the man whom Mrs. Swinley had, on two occasions, seen at the garage cottage!

“Well,” demanded the man, with a rather truculent air, “what can I do for you?”

“Can I speak to the manager of the depot?” asked Meredith with emphasized politeness. “It’s a personal matter.”

“You’re speaking to him,” replied the man shortly. “My name’s Rose. What’s the trouble?”

Again Meredith suffered a sudden surprise. So this was the man with whom Mark Higgins had made that appointment on Sunday morning! It looked as if Mr. William Rose had a pretty close connection with the partners of the Derwent.

“I won’t keep you a moment. May I come in?”

Meredith grew more affable every minute.

“All right,” said the manager, kicking an office stool in his direction. “Sit down, won’t you?”

“Thanks,” said Meredith. “First let me introduce myself, Mr. Rose. My name’s Johnson and I’ve just rented a place for the winter at Braithwaite. Well, two days ago I was driving round a sharp bend in the middle of Portinscale when I was nearly run down by one of your lorries. I shouted to the driver to stop but I’m sorry to say, Mr. Rose, he ignored my summons and drove on. If I hadn’t had my wits about me I don’t mind telling you that I shouldn’t be here now talking to you.”

“Well?” demanded Rose acidly. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“My first idea,” went on the Inspector in an unruffled voice, “was to take up the matter with the police. But on thinking things over I decided to come over here and see you first. After all, I don’t want your man to lose his job or have his licence suspended. My idea was that you might give the fellow a straight talking-to and leave the matter at that.”

“I see.” Mr. Rose seemed to contemplate the facts for a moment, then: “You’re quite certain it was one of our lorries, I suppose?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“What time did this happen?”

The Inspector smiled to himself. It was rather a novelty being cross-examined for a change; besides, the fertility of his invention amused him highly.

“Let’s see—about seven-thirty in the evening.”

A look of sneering triumph came over the manager’s sunken features.

“Then I’ve got you! Our lorries aren’t on the road after six o’clock. They’re scheduled to garage here at six when I check in their returns. You’ve made a mistake, Mr... . Mr... .”