Death at Hallows End (23 page)

“It was unusual for them to come in today, then? Did they ask any questions?”

“Asked where you were. I said I'd heard you say you were going over to Haysdown. They didn't say any more.”

“Do you ever get any of the Hickmansworths in here?”

Carolus saw it coming.

“No. Hickmansworth-wise we get nothing at all. They don't mix locally. Bit misan, all of them.”

Carolus bade Sporter goodbye with the secret hope that they would not meet again, and started driving back to Newminster, also, he decided, for the last time.

The reception he received from Mrs. Stick was not a warm one.

“You've done it this time, sir,” she said and never was the “sir” used less respectfully. “You know what there was today, don't you? A meeting of the whole staff before term starts tomorrow and you was the only one missing.”

“Mrs. Stick. I'm very tired, I've been through some most unpleasant experiences today and I should like a rest and a drink before hearing anything about staff meetings.”

“You'll hear about them soon enough,” predicted Mrs. Stick, nevertheless bringing a tray to set beside Carolus. “Wait till the Headmaster gets on to you tomorrow. He's been on the phone today. ‘Mrs. Stick,' he said, ‘would you kindly tell Mr. Deene that we all await his pleasure. The staff meeting was called for four o'clock and tea has already been served.' ‘He's not here, sir,' I said, ‘it must have slipped his memory.'
‘Slipped his memory!'
he said, ‘but it is the terminal staff meeting, Mrs. Stick.' Well, what could I say? I couldn't say you were hopping about after murderers, could I?”

“No, I suppose not,” agreed Carolus.

“There's only Cold for you tonight because I didn't know what time you were coming. Assy Etty on glaze, with a chocolate mouse to follow.”

“Mousse,
Mrs. Stick,” said Carolus absently.

“That's what I said, isn't it? Now you have your drink in peace while I go and see about it. Stick's gone to bed.”

As Carolus foresaw, his first class on the following morning was interrupted by the entrance of Muggeridge, the school porter, who resented most things about the school from the Headmaster's pomposity to the junior boys' habit of coming up behind him and tipping over his eyes the silk hat that Mr. Gorringer insisted he wear.

He spoke to Carolus in a confidential whisper loud enough for most of the class to hear.

“He's all fire and slaughter this morning,” he said, not thinking it necessary to use more than a pronoun for the Headmaster. “You ought to see him. Sitting up at that blasted desk of his like a heathen image. ‘Present Mr. Deene with the Headmaster's compliments,' he says, ‘and tell him I should be glad if he will step over here in the Break.' I felt like asking him why he didn't ask you himself when he saw you in chapel, but what's the good? He wants all the trimmings, so he better have them, I suppose. Anyway I've told you, haven't I?”

Carolus decided on a breezy approach and, on entering Mr. Gorringer's study and finding him sitting erect behind his desk, he did not give him a chance to speak first.

“I was coming over in any case, Headmaster,” he said, “to ask you if you happen to be free for dinner tomorrow.”

Mr. Gorringer raised his hand.

“I'm sorry to say, Mr. Deene, that before we can go into these lighter matters, there is a
mauvais quart d'heure
before us. I was astounded yesterday to find you neglecting the elementary courtesy of attending the small tea party which I gave the staff on the afternoon before we reassemble.”

“I know. It was disgraceful of me. But I had to get that Hallows End case settled before term began.”

Mr, Gorringer sternly cleared his throat.

“Am I to understand, Mr. Deene, that you were absent from a gathering that from both politeness and duty you should have attended, in order to pursue your insane hobby of so-called criminal investigation? That you neglected us in order further to embarrass an already overworked and efficient police force?”

“I found Humby's body yesterday.”

“I must request your silence, Mr. Deene. I want no reference made to the details of your unfortunate hobby. We waited for you … Did you say you found Humby's body?”

“What's left of it, yes.”

Mr. Gorringer joined the tips of his fingers.

“While in no way countenancing your neglect of your rightful profession, Deene,” he began, “I cannot help but admit that I have seen in the morning's newspaper that poor Humby has been found. Am I to understand that this was due to your researches? If so, it may put a slightly different complexion on my displeasure.”

“Not my researches. Sheer luck.”

“I also observed in my casual glance at the newsprint that an arrest had been made. Was this also in some way due to you?”

“I persuaded Snow to charge him, yes.”

“Then I suppose that once again I find the ground cut away from under my feet. I must overlook your defection in view of your success in a case which so nearly touches the school. But let there be no more of it, my dear Deene. The term has now begun and we have sterner duties to attend to.”

“There's nothing more for me to do at Hallows End. It's up to the police now.”

“I am relieved to hear it. Did my ears deceive me, or did you on first entering mention something about tomorrow evening?”

“Yes. I asked you to dinner.”

“Ah. Now that we have reached this happy composition of our differences, I shall be delighted to accept. Am I to anticipate that some light may be thrown on events at Hallows End and at Haysdown?”

“I've promised to give Detective Sergeant Snow my side of the case.”

“Illuminating, I feel sure. I shall anticipate it with pleasure. Meanwhile let us to our duties, Deene. Our pupils await.”

That evening Carolus had a call from Snow. He had not yet got a full report on the cadaver, as he now called it, but from his own observation said it was in a terrible state.

“A first examination showed that. You've never seen anything like it. It appeared that the wretched man had been battered to death by machinery. Bones smashed and the whole surface scarred. The killer must have been mad. There can be no sane explanation of that kind of brutality.”

“Terrible,” said Carolus. “Do you know how long your experts think he had been dead?”

“Not yet. I shall probably know all that when I see you tomorrow. Meanwhile I'm pretty worried about Cyril.”

“Why? Won't he talk?”

“Not a word, even of denial. I begin to think you've let me in for a crash over this, Mr. Deene. Super Moore says I was wise to take your advice, but what am I going to look like if I can't get more of a case together than we've got now?”

“Don't worry. You will. Doesn't Cyril say anything?”

“Beyond a demand to see a solicitor, nothing.”

“
Which
solicitor?”

“Not his brother's, but the man Darkin intended to see, John Stuff art.”

“That's good,” said Carolus. “That's very good. I don't think you've anything to worry about.”

“I wish I could agree. To my simple mind, it looks as though I've charged a man with murder on evidence insufficient to convict a ten-sentence recidivist with shoplifting.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” promised Carolus and put the receiver down. He then rang up Humphrey Spaull and asked him and Zelia Harris to dinner on the following evening. Spaull seemed a little confused and said he would ask Zelia if she was
free. He returned to the telephone, however, after a few moments in calmer mind, and said they would be delighted to accept. But Carolus did not invite Thripp and Molly Caplan, nor did he communicate with Theodora Humby.

“Six for dinner tomorrow,” he told Mrs. Stick. “Mr. and Mrs. Gorringer, Mr. Spaull and Miss Harris, Mr. Snow and I.”

“Well, it will be a nice change, sir, I'm sure for you to entertain a little after all this running about. I see they've caught this fellow down at Hallows End, so you won't have that on your mind. Mistr'an Mrs. Gorringer always find something nice to say about the dinner. Mr. Spaull and his young lady are those that came with his head bound up that Sunday morning, aren't they? But may I be so bold as to ask who
‘Mr.'
Snow might be?”

“Detective Sergeant Snow, Mrs. Stick. In charge of the Hallows End case. You know him perfectly well.”

“Well, you know what you're doing, I've no doubt, only I can't see that Mistr'an Mrs. Gorringer will want to mix with policemen and such. I know I shouldn't if I was them.”

“What will you give us, Mrs. Stick?”

“I thought you might start with a nice game soup, soup der chess as they say.”

“Soupe de Chasse,”
translated Carolus. “Yes?”

“Then a nomlet nice was …”

“Omelette Niçoise.
Certainly.”

“Then how about a blanket der vow?”

“Blanquette de Veau.
Excellent.”

“With creeps to finish up with.”

“Crêpes,
yes. Only not that overrated Suzette business.”

“Certainly not, sir. I wasn't thinking of it. Creeps hoax noicks was what I had in mind.”

“Aux noix,”
said Carolus who was proficient in Mrs. Stick's terminology. “Yes, that will be better.”

“You pound walnuts with pistachios and warm cream,” explained Mrs. Stick.

“Eight o'clock then,” said Carolus.

D
INNER WAS FINISHED
, Mr. Gorringer had pronounced it Lucullan, “positively Lucullan, my dear Deene,” Mrs. Gorringer had made a
mot
about a skeleton at the feast, at which her husband had laughed, Spaull had looked shy and Zelia more spirited than usual, while Snow had observed with some wonderment his fellow guests.

It was time for Mr. Gorringer to assume the role, so dear to him, of a chairman presenting a guest speaker.

“And now my dear Deene,” he exhorted, “let us to a more intellectual treat. We await your elucidation of events at Hallows End with an eagerness it goes hard to conceal. Will you not expound?”

Carolus, accustomed to Mr. Gorringer's flamboyance, heard the exordium unmoved, but, having lit a cigar, began quietly.

“An interesting case because the puzzle did not primarily lie in detecting a murderer but rather in establishing whether there had been a murder. In other words, this was not so much a who-done-it as a who-done-what.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Gorringer.

“At least, I cannot think that anyone could seriously doubt from the first that Holroyd Neast was the man. You could not have two such obviously homicidal lunatics in one group of people, certainly not two with such motives, opportunity and
ruthlessness as Holroyd had. The only way in which anyone else could be suspected was by going on that outworn principle of choosing the
least
likely person and gambling on him or her. By that method you might, I suppose, have had suspicions of Hickmansworth, Spaull, Thripp or even Mrs. Caplan or the Rector, but it would have been an artificial case not founded on logic or deduction. It could only be Holroyd aided by Cyril or Darkin, or both, and Holroyd was undoubtedly guilty.

“But guilty of what? That is what perplexed me all through and I cannot even now answer the question with any certain proof. I have little more than a hypothesis to offer. It convinces me, but it certainly would not convince a court of law unless it were confirmed, as I believe it will be, by a rush of incontrovertible evidence. Of that I will talk later.

“If one could accept the enormous coincidence that Grossiter had died naturally at such a supremely convenient moment as just before signing a new will which would dispossess his relations and manservant, it was plain sailing. Grossiter had died and Humby had been got rid of, either before reaching him or after Grossiter had signed. But I can never accept coincidence and had to search elsewhere for an explanation of events.

“I am frequently criticised for spending too much time in listening to the often irrelevant statements of witnesses and encouraging them to talk. So I must in self-defence point out that it was from two just such seeming irrelevancies that I obtained the key to this whole problem. Mrs. Humby said of her husband's physical culture, ‘He was not fit, really. A dickie heart ever since he had rheumatic fever. Dr. Boyce told him so a dozen times.' This I was able to confirm with Dr. Boyce. Humby's heart was in a very bad condition and might fail him at any minute.

“The other remark came from Holroyd Neast. I asked him if Monk's Farm belonged to him. To me and my brother,' he
said. ‘We bought it for a song. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's being able to seize an opportunity when I see one. I think it's one of the most important things in life.' Put those two statements from different people together and the whole problem becomes clear. Duncan Humby, after a particularly heavy lunch with his partner, and a fast drive of sixty miles, had a heart attack and died quite naturally in his car in Church Lane, Hallows End, and Holroyd Neast, seeing his opportunity, took advantage of it.

“Let us put ourselves in the position of the Neast brothers as they drove home that Monday afternoon. After many years in which they had not the slightest hope of anything from Grossiter's estate, the doors of promise had opened an inch or two. Their uncle had announced his intention of coming to stay with them with the object, they must have guessed, of considering them as his heirs. But his stay had been a failure. Poverty or parsimony had prevented them from making him comfortable and he had disliked their characters on sight. By his treatment of young Spaull in front of them, he showed pretty plainly that neither they, nor Darkin, need expect anything from his estate if he were to make a will.