The Santa Klaus Murder (21 page)

“Can you tell me now, Ashmore,” she asked; “just what was said to you to make you come away? I do want to clear up the mistake and I can't do that until I know just how it began.”

“It's a bit awkward, Missie, because I wasn't to teh, an' it was meant in kindness, I've no doubt—”

“I'm quite sure you ought to tell me now. We ought to know.”

“Weh, Missie, I s'pose it's aw right. I fee' a bit mazed an' not rightly abeh to judge, but if you say it's aw right—. Bingham, you see, Missie—who's a right smart young fellah, there's no denyin'—Bingham come along to my place in the evenin'—when was it? Where are we to-day?”

“Saturday morning,” Carol told him. “And I think you came to Tintern yesterday afternoon—Friday.”

“That's it; Tinnun. I wanted to see that place again; but it's not quite the same as it was. An' I misremembered how the river went, it's not so easy to do as you might think. I went up to the Suspension Bridge before I came here, but I couldn' do it. A terribeh long drop that is, Missie.”

“So you came here on Friday afternoon,” Carol reminded him. “Now when was it that Bingham came to your house?”

“Thursday evenin' it'd be. That's it. He said not to teh anyone, he was goin' beyond orders to come, but he thought I might be wishfu' to know what had happened at Flaxmere. Sir Osmond had been shot in the head, he said; murdered. Now do you mean to teh me, Missie, that it was aw a mistake?”

“No; I'm afraid that's true, but there
is
a mistake somewhere. Tell me the rest.”

“I'm right sorry to hear it, Missie. Not a good end for a man like that. Bingham to' me that he'd bin shot by someone dressed up like, so's they wouldn't know who he was. I diddun unnerstan' rightly, but these togs he wore, whoever he may be, was put in my car, Bingham says, when it stood in the yard back of Flaxmere, for me to bring away, so's they'd not be found, but the police, he to' me, knew of it and would be comin' to see me, and would they believe me when I to' them I knew nothing about it? ‘You bet your life, no!' Bingham says—if you' excuse me, Missie, for repeatin' such an expression. Weh, I was struck aw of a heap, but I says to Bingham, ‘There's nothin' in the car,' I says, ‘for I took it out this mornin', an' I saw nothin', an' if them things was ever there, which is a fair wonder, how is anyone to know?' ‘
They
know!' Bingham says. ‘They know everything, the police. There's finger-prints and what not. I shouldn' be surprised if they was watchin' when the man, whoever it was, came late on Christmas night to your garage and took the things away. Teh me,' he says, ‘did you search the car when you came back that night?' Weh, of course, Missie, I diddun so much as look in the back.”

“But do you really think the things were there?” Carol asked, as Ashmore paused.

I interrupted quickly: “I'm pretty sure they never were there. In fact, they have now been found in quite a different place.” I thought this bold assumption of what I hoped to be a fact was justified. Carol shot a startled look at me, but said nothing.

“Weh; Bingham seemed to know,” Ashmore said uncertainly. “He was sure, and it was aw up wi' me, he says, unless I got away at once, for good. If you help a murderer, he says, it's as good as doin' the murder, in the eyes of the police, an' who's to believe that you drove them things away from Flaxmere an' knew nothin' about it? Weh, I was pretty weh shook up, but I waited that night an' the police diddun come, but Bingham had said, mebbe they won' come at once, but they watch an' wait, though you never catch a sight of 'em, an' they come in time. I couldn' stan' it any longer an' so I come away, no' tellin' the wife anything, hopin' it'd be aw right for her that way.”

“She's worried about you being away,” said Carol; “but she's all right, and Ada too. We must get you back to them as soon as possible. It's absolutely certain that the things never were in your car, and nobody thinks they were and you've nothing at all to be frightened of.”

Whilst Carol borrowed a couple of thick rugs from the kindly manageress of the hotel, who seemed to think that we had discovered a long-lost ancestor, and I put up the hood of my car and wished I had taken George's staid old saloon instead, Nibley went off to the telephone and put a trunk call through to Inspector Rousdon. It was then about half-past eleven. We muffled the old man up in the front seat like a papoose and raced back to Flaxmere.

Chapter Twenty-One

End of the Search

by Colonel Halstock

The funeral took place early on Saturday morning. The procession went by the private gate from the park into the little churchyard at its edge and so the family did not have to go beyond their own domain. The church was pretty full of villagers and the household and estate servants. A few enterprising pressmen, who had not been able to discover the time of the funeral but had guessed the date and place, arrived early enough to see the ceremony and there was a bit of a scuffle between a photographer who climbed on to the churchyard wall to get some pictures of the family, and one of Sir Osmond's gamekeepers, who pulled him down. Except for this incident, everything went off quietly.

As soon as the procession had moved off down the drive, a squad of police under the direction of Rousdon began a second intensive search of the outbuildings round the garage yard. This time they lacked the assistance of Bingham, who was attending the funeral, but they found what we had hunted for so long. Rolled up in some sacking, the costume was neatly packed in the middle of a pile of wood blocks.

“Well, I'm jiggered!” said Constable Mere. “We looked in that pile! I'd've said there couldn't be a dead rat left in it, let alone Father Christmas' Sunday suit!”

It turned out that Bingham had been very helpful in that part of the search. He had said that from his own knowledge that pile had been there, exactly like that, for at least a month, but they had better look through it, all the same. He had lifted the blocks himself and in the middle of the work, Mere remembered, there had been a diversion. Bingham had thought they ought to look behind some heavy boxes of potatoes in another corner, and Mere had gone to help shift these. Bingham had gone on moving blocks alone, though he hadn't got to the bottom by the time Mere returned, and they finished the job together. Bingham said they need not put the blocks back again, so they left them as Bingham had piled them in the course of the search.

Rousdon carried off his prize to the “dark room” at the back of the house—the disused dairy which the doctors had used as a mortuary. When he examined it there he found that the outfit was complete except for a pair of eyebrows. It was more than complete, for tucked away in a sleeve there was a folded sheet of paper on which was typewritten:

If you wish to hear some confidensial information re certain members of your family be in your Study from
3.30
to
4.30
on Christmas Day Afternoon and you will hear from

Well Wisher
.

“Well Wisher! Seem to have heard of him before!” Rousdon remarked when he showed this to me. “Evidently the man recovered his decoy note from Sir Osmond's pocket and then got into a panic lest it should be found on him before he could destroy it, so he shoved it in here!”

I received this news when I returned from the funeral and whilst the family was gathered in the library to hear the will read by Crewkerne. None of them knew yet of the discovery of the Santa Klaus costume. I could imagine them all sitting on the edges of their chairs and Crewkerne nuzzling short-sightedly in the document and then lifting his head above it to peer at them down his long nose.

After their anxiety had been allayed, and whilst most of them were congratulating themselves that it might have been worse, George, who was one of the executors, and Crewkerne had a short interview with Miss Portisham in the study. She was delighted to hear that she would receive one thousand pounds.

“Really, I never expected it! It is—was—very kind of Sir Osmond to think of me in that way. I certainly never expected it, though Harry Bingham did say I should be sure to get something. Perhaps I ought not to mention that and of course I never heeded him, but this will come in very handy, for you see, Harry Bingham and I are engaged. I suppose you will not be needing my services any more, Sir George? Of course you will understand that nothing can make up to me for the death of Sir Osmond and I never hope to work for a more appreciative employer, but it is nice to know that he remembered me. Anything further I can do to help in going through Sir Osmond's business papers will be a pleasure—that is to say, it will be a labour of love—” Miss Portisham blushed in confusion and continued hastily—“but he left everything in such perfect order that there should be no difficulty at all. He was always so particular that nothing should be put aside until the matter was completely settled. So methodical! I'm dreadfully sorry, Sir George!” Miss Portisham fluttered away.

“I've said some hard things about that girl,” George remarked; “but, Good Lord! I'm sorry for her—if you're right, Colonel!”

George and Crewkerne rejoined the others in the library and as George paused with the communicating door half open to ask me something about my plans, I heard Miss Melbury's acid voice declaring that Osmond was mean, he always had been mean, but that he should class her with his valet and his chauffeur, and a little below his secretary, it was too much! She wouldn't touch a penny of his money!

I, too, was sorry for Miss Portisham. I had never liked her better than when, all of a twitter with gratitude and excitement over her legacy, she had blurted out those ridiculous remarks to George and had hurried off to tell her fiancé. I hated the plan which we had adopted because Rousdon was sure it would bring some further evidence which we lacked. Had I known that we were to discover this in another form, I would never have consented to his scheme.

I went into the hall and stood looking at a newspaper until Miss Portisham came in about a quarter of an hour later, by the door at the back. Out of the tail of my eye I saw her hesitate and look round and then come slowly towards me. She looked troubled.

“May I speak to you for a moment, Colonel Halstock? I—I don't quite know what to do. It is very upsetting. I— I was so happy; that is to say, of course, we are still under a dreadful cloud, but getting such a windfall I couldn't but feel pleased. It's like this, Colonel Halstock; Harry Bingham says there must be some mistake. He's in such a way about it; really I feel afraid. But he said I must speak to Mr. Crewkerne before he leaves. I don't quite like to go and look for him, seeing that he is still with Sir George, I believe, and the others. But Harry says I must speak to him before he goes because Harry thinks they haven't got hold of the right will. He's sure Sir Osmond made another one and left me—well, a lot more than Mr. Crewkerne said. I want to make it clear that I am more than satisfied and I thought Harry would be so pleased, but he is taking on so dreadfully about it. I thought, Colonel Halstock, you might advise me?”

I asked her if Bingham had given reasons for his belief in another will.

“Well, not exactly, but he does seem so sure. I think it likely, Colonel Halstock, that Sir Osmond spoke to him on the matter. It was not unusual for Sir Osmond to talk to him about business he was engaged on, of course in a general way. Naturally he would regard anything Sir Osmond may have said as confidential and would not mention it to anyone. He told me just now I was not to say a word about this to anyone except Mr. Crewkerne himself, because it is so confidential, but I thought it only right to consult you, Colonel Halstock? I do hope I have acted for the best? It seems so ungrateful, but I assure you it is not meant in that way.”

I told the girl that I thought Bingham was mistaken, and even let her know that Sir Osmond had intended to revise his will but had never carried out that intention. I promised to speak to Crewkerne and advised her to go to her own room until I sent her a message.

Then I heard the telephone bell ring. Miss Portisham instinctively started for the study and checked herself. I told her not to bother as I thought it was my call, and she went off upstairs. I joined Rousdon in the study, where he was listening on the telephone to a report from Nibley.

After that we went in search of Bingham and found him in his own flat above the garage. We entered very quietly, Rousdon first, and saw the man sitting in a chair, biting his nails and making the most horrible grimaces. We had a momentary glimpse of him like that; then he sprang to his feet and faced us. Two constables stepped forward and clipped on the handcuffs, while Rousdon charged him with the murder of Sir Osmond Melbury and gave the usual warning.

“It's a dirty lie!” Bingham spat at us. “A dirty lie, and I can prove it! I've an alibi! You can't cook the evidence of the whole servants' hall! I know why you're doing this; oh, yes, I know! You want to cheat that poor girl out of what's due to her! But I'll show you up! You can't silence me like this. Warn me, do you? Evidence—I'll give you some evidence!”

They took him away and at once began to search his rooms. For a long time we thought that these would yield nothing, but Constable Mere, nettled by the way in which he had been cheated over the pile of wood blocks, was determined to repair his reputation as a zealous officer and he would leave nothing unexamined. His diligence was rewarded by the discovery of a crumpled and soiled piece of paper in a finger of one of Bingham's driving gloves. It proved to be another note in Sir Osmond's writing of his proposed alterations to the will. It was evidently an earlier draft than the one Witcombe had purloined, and the various eighths, sixths and quarters had been juggled about and crossed through, but “
Grace Portisham
—£10,000; say 1/16” was clearly written and underlined. We conjectured that Sir Osmond had written it in the car, crumpled it and left it on the floor, where Bingham had found it. It was amazing that the man had put such faith in it as definite evidence of a clause in the will to this effect, but it is probable that Sir Osmond had mentioned a will to Bingham and had perhaps even added that he meant to leave Miss Portisham something considerable.

Evidently Bingham couldn't bear to destroy this tangible evidence—as it seemed to him—of his opportunity of marrying an heiress, and he doubtless gloated over the feel of it against his finger whenever he drove the car.

***

Having seen Bingham and his escort off the premises, I went to tell the family that our investigations were complete. It was evident from their various expressions of consternation, anger and uneasiness, that they had now inspected Sir Osmond's tentative embellishments to his will. Only Jennifer looked quite uninterested. She was lounging in a big arm-chair near the door, with her head flung listlessly back, staring miserably at the ceiling.

I gave them the news and watched her sit up, lean forward and grip the chair as I began to speak. She literally gaped in amazement and then relaxed in relief. Looking round, I saw that as great an astonishment gave way gradually to varying degrees of relief in all the other faces.

“Good Lord! Bingham!” George gasped.

“I always distrusted that man!” Miss Melbury announced. “But of course Osmond was a very poor judge of character.” She looked across the room at me, superciliously. “I am sure we must be grateful to you, Colonel Halstock, for
at last
relieving us from the terrible anxiety we felt so long as the criminal was still at large; we must all feel thankful that we, at least, are still alive. To
think
of that assassin having the run of the house, and a family of defenceless women and children in his power!”

“I say, Aunt Mildred, draw it mild!” George protested. “I mean to say,
I
was here, and Cheriton and the rest of us—”

Jenny had risen and was quietly moving towards the door. I opened it for her and as I did so I saw young Cheriton moving restlessly about on the other side of the hall. Once Jenny reached the door she was so quick that I couldn't help see her rush at him and throw herself incontinently into his arms.