Mrs. Jeffries Weeds the Plot (28 page)

“Especially if McIntosh paid him off a time or two so he’d let his guard down,” Betsy put in. “It’d be easier to lure him up that footpath if he wasn’t suspicious of you.”

“Why did he have that purse on him?” Smythe wondered.

“We think he must’ve slipped into the garden after they’d buried the body and dug it up,” Mrs. Goodge said. She didn’t want to be left out just because she’d not gone with Luty and Betsy. “You know, so he’d have something real to wave under McIntosh’s nose.”

“Why do you think he approached McIntosh?” Hatchet asked. “Why not Eddington?” He still wasn’t clear on a number of things, but he was patient.

“He probably thought McIntosh would be easier. He probably didn’t have the nerve to go knocking on Eddington’s front door. He’d be much more comfortable going after someone of his own class. Besides, remember what happened to Smythe at the White Hare pub,” Betsy explained. “Porter went there asking questions about McIntosh. Maybe we’ll never know for sure, but he went to McIntosh instead of Eddington.”

Smythe smiled at Betsy and then turned to Mrs. Jeffries.
“All right, if McIntosh killed Porter to keep his mouth shut, why would Eddington kill McIntosh? If your theory is right and they’d known each other for years, why would Eddington want to kill ’im now?”

“We’re not certain,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “But I suspect it’s because Eddington decided to move on.”

“He didn’t just put his house on the market today,” Mrs. Goodge interjected. “One of my sources told me he’d been to see the estate agent toward the middle of August, just a few days after Porter’s body was found.”

“So he killed McIntosh so there wouldn’t be any loose ends about?” Wiggins frowned in confusion. “But why was Eddington killing women in the first place? That’s what I want to know.”

“I have an idea,” Mrs. Jeffries said, “but we won’t know for sure about his motives until we hear what the inspector has to say.” She glanced anxiously at the clock. “I do hope that Eddington didn’t catch a train to the coast. They’ll have a devil of a time catching the fellow if he gets out of the country.”

They caught Eddington as he tried to board a train for Southampton. He saw them coming, and for a moment Witherspoon thought he might make a run for it.

But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the dozen men converging on the platform that convinced him he hadn’t a hope of escape.

Eddington smiled slightly but said nothing as Witherspoon and Barnes approached. A porter, halfway down the train steps to the platform, saw the police and quickly disappeared inside. Gentlemen in top hats grabbed their ladies and stepped out of the way as the police constables made a wide circle around their quarry.

The train whistle shrilled just as they reached him. The inspector waited for quiet. “Phillip Eddington,
you’re under arrest for murder,” Witherspoon said somberly. “Constable, take him into custody.”

Barnes pulled out his handcuffs. Eddington sighed, dropped his bag, and held out his wrists. “I’m surprised you caught me,” he said conversationally, still smiling at Witherspoon. “You struck me as being a bit dim.”

“You were wrong,” Barnes said. He finished cuffing Eddington and then knelt down next to the bag the criminal had been carrying. It was a large black leather traveling case with a wide silver clasp. “What’s this, then? Shall I open it, Inspector?”

“Yes,” Witherspoon replied. He wondered why people always underestimated him. But then again, perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing. After all, Eddington had been caught. But being thought a dim sort of fellow wasn’t very pleasant. The inspector pushed that silly notion out of his mind. He’d concentrate on the task at hand.

Barnes pushed the clasp. “It’s locked.” Eddington still continued to smile. The constable reached up and stuck his hand into the man’s coat pocket. He pulled out a handful of bills, some coins, and a small silver key. He handed the bills and coins to another police constable. “Make sure this is logged in properly.” Then he knelt down, unlocked the case, and gave a long, low whistle. “It looks like Mr. Eddington was preparing for a long trip. The case is full of money, sir. Five- and ten-pound notes.”

“Let’s get him down to the station,” Witherspoon said, “and see what he has to say for himself.”

“I’ve nothing to say, Inspector,” Eddington told him calmly. “Absolutely nothing.”

It was well past eleven that night before the inspector arrived home. As he’d seen the kitchen lamps from the street, he went to that room first. “Gracious”—he
stopped just inside the door and stared at the crowd around his table—“you’re all here.”

“’Course we are,” Luty said firmly. “We want to know what happened. You can’t have something exciting like diggin’ up bodies happen and then expect us to go home without findin’ out if you caught that Eddington feller.”

They all watched him carefully. He looked dreadfully tired, but he didn’t appear to be annoyed. As a matter of fact, he looked almost pleased. “That sounds reasonable. I expect I’d be dying of curiosity myself. I say, is there anything to eat? I’m famished.”

Mrs. Goodge, who’d been almost asleep before the inspector arrived, got to her feet. “I’ve got some nice buns right here, sir.” She pulled a covered plate off the counter and slid it onto the table. Mrs. Jeffries, who’d slipped out of her chair when she heard him coming, said, “Do sit down and have some tea, sir. Let me pour you a cup.”

“That would be lovely.” He sat down and waited for them to finish preparing his snack. He picked up a bun and took a huge bite. “That’s wonderful,” he said as soon as he’d swallowed. “I expect you’re wondering what happened.”

“That’s why we waited here half the night,” Luty replied. She didn’t want to rush him, but she did wish he’d get on with it.

“We arrested Phillip Eddington at the train station,” Witherspoon said. “At first he refused to tell us anything at all. But when we confronted him with all the evidence we had against him, he confessed.”

“Three bodies is a lot of evidence,” Hatchet said grimly. He closed his eyes and shuddered. Watching them being dug out of the ground this afternoon had been quite gruesome.

“Oh, it wasn’t the bodies,” Witherspoon said. “It was
the marriage licenses. The fellow had quite a collection of them at the bottom of his bag. In the past fifteen years, he’s married and murdered seven different women.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“Good gracious, sir. I thought there was only three bodies,” Mrs. Goodge exclaimed.

“Three bodies at the house in Forest Street,” the inspector replied. “But there’s four more buried at his home in Halifax. We’ve wired the Canadian authorities. We’re waiting to hear back from them about what they find.”

“Cor blimey, ’ow’d ’e get away with that?”

“To hear him tell it”—Witherspoon sighed—“it was very easy. Eddington was careful when he picked his victims. He’d find a woman who had money and no relatives. After a short courtship, he’d propose marriage and the lady would agree. But as part of his proposal, he’d tell his victim that he had to go back to England to manage his estate, or, if the victim was English, that he had to return to Canada to manage the family business. The unlucky woman would generally give him her money to take to his bankers because, after all, she wasn’t going to be coming back. Once he had their cash, they’d sail off for either England or Canada. He always made sure he arrived in London in the dead of night. He wanted to be certain no one saw him. Before the poor woman realized what was happening, he’d cosh her over the head and then strangle her to finish the job.” He broke off and shook his head sadly. “Poor ladies. They never stood a chance. Then, with the help of Stan McIntosh, he’d bury them in the garden. His plan worked perfectly.”

“But that’s monstrous!” Hatchet cried. “Surely someone must have suspected he was up to something?”

“Who was there to suspect?” the inspector asked. “He made sure his victims were somewhat alone in the world
and he always made sure he arrived in either Halifax or London late at night so that no one ever spotted him with his wife.”

“But what about the ship? Surely people on the ship noticed him and his wife.”

“He used an assumed name. But that wasn’t quite as foolproof as he hoped. He admitted that’s how he and McIntosh started working together. Eddington always traveled on different steamship lines, but he didn’t realize that the staff frequently moved from one line to another. He had to cut McIntosh in on the scheme when McIntosh recognized him from an earlier trip on another vessel.”

“I’m amazed he’s gotten away with it for so long.” Mrs. Goodge clucked her tongue. “Fifteen years. Seven women. That’s awful. Didn’t any of them have friends or relatives that inquired about them?”

“He took care of that,” Witherspoon said. “As I said, Stan McIntosh was his accomplice. We found a box of postcards under McIntosh’s bed. We’re fairly certain that McIntosh used those cards to send off to the victims’ friends. Pretending to be the victim, he’d write those cards and send them off. Her friends would receive cards saying married life was wonderful and she couldn’t be happier.”

“But how could McIntosh do that? People know each other’s handwriting,” Betsy said.

Witherspoon smiled sadly. “We’ve done some checking. McIntosh served three years in jail in New York for forgery.”

“But didn’t these people ever write back?”

“Of course. Eddington gave the women he duped the wrong address. He used the Helmsley Grammar School address as his own. They, in turn, gave that address to their friends before they left. McIntosh intercepted the letters.”

Mrs. Jeffries nodded. That explained why McIntosh wouldn’t let anyone else get the mail. “Didn’t people get suspicious when the cards stopped coming?”

“Possibly. But not enough to do anything about it. He was counting on the fact that we live in a busy, impersonal world. People come and go so much more than they used to. They drift apart. Remember, he picked women who hadn’t any close relatives. He was bragging about that, about how clever he was to pick people that no one really cared about.” Witherspoon closed his eyes briefly. “He used the newspapers to refine his search. He’d read the obituaries and probate news to see who’d died and left an estate. He hunted his victims on both sides of the Atlantic with the cunning and malice of the devil himself. He took ruthless advantage of women who were alone in the world and without anyone to see to their safety. But he wasn’t quite as clever as he thought; several people had started making inquiries.”

“Poor Miss Gentry. Lucky she didn’t become one of his victims,” Mrs. Goodge said.

“She was lucky, indeed,” Witherspoon agreed. “He admitted trying to kill her. He stole a coach and tried to run her down. When that didn’t work, he had McIntosh chuck those bricks off the wall at her head. He couldn’t afford for Miranda to start nosing around in his garden. Not with all those bodies.”

“Why not just kill the dog?” Hatchet asked.

“Constable Barnes asked him that,” the inspector replied. “He said he’d tried. But that he couldn’t get close enough to the animal to do it any harm.”

“Why didn’t he move the bodies?” Luty asked.

“He couldn’t. Not with the workmen coming and going at Miss Gentry’s place. Especially after the vandalism. The builder had someone staying there some nights. Eddington couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t be seen.” He sighed deeply. “The man is a monster, and God forgive
me for saying it, but I’m glad he’s going to hang. I thank the Lord we caught him before he could hurt anyone else.”

“
You
caught him, sir,” Mrs. Jeffries said gently. She could see he was very affected by the horror of this case. For that matter, now that they’d heard the gruesome details, they were all horrified as well. “Why don’t you go up to bed, sir. You look exhausted.”

“I
am
tired.” He got up and gave them a tired smile. “I want to thank all of you for your help. You did right in taking care of Miss Gentry today. I shudder to think what would have happened if she’d gone to that garden alone.”

A bit guilty, they all glanced at one another, but the inspector didn’t appear to notice. “I believe we should all have a bit of a holiday when this is over,” he continued. “Perhaps we’ll go to the country.”