The Judas Kiss (19 page)

"Let them marry and practise somewhere else," Roger said. "The money will make that easy. Peter is a good fellow. I must ginger him up a bit next time I see him."

ROGER was to get the chance of gingering Peter Skelton sooner than he expected. While he and Ruth were at lunch a message came through that Grimsby was to be at the police station about three that afternoon and would be glad if Major Bennion could meet him there.

Before he set out Roger had a talk with Ben Orgles.

"Care to do a bit of sleuthing, Ben?" he asked.

"Rather out of practise," Ben grinned, "but I'll do my best. I try to keep my wits sharp by reading detective stories."

"Find them a help?"

"Not at first, sir. They riled me; the cops were always such mugs. But then I got the hang of it. I read the last chapter first and that puts me upsides with the Colonel."

"What Colonel?"

"Colonel Doyle. His Shylock 'Olmes is still the best of 'em, but they know from the start who dunnit. Now I know too, so we start fair."

"Something in that," Roger said, "though I do not commend it. But this is rather different. A man named Victor Gore-Black is courting Miss Emerald, next door. Perhaps you have seen him. I want you to find out all you can about him and whether he is the sort of fellow a decent girl should marry. He writes detective stories and he also works for the East Anglian Weekly Recorder. Another man, working for the same paper, apparently has no very high opinion of Gore-Black. His name is Inglis or Ingram. If you could get hold of him you might learn something. I cannot tell you much more; it is up to you. All expenses paid, but don't get into mischief."

"Trust me, sir," Ben said with his usual beaming smile. "It's as good as a holiday. I'll start first thing in the morning."

Roger set out for the police station. He had not gone far when he met Peter Skelton.

"Hullo, Peter. Where are you off to?"

"I have just heard about Garnet Michelmore," the young doctor said soberly. "I was going to the house to say how sorry I am."

"Particularly for Pearl?"

"Well, yes."

"You are in love with her?"

"I always have been, but I know it is hopeless."

"Don't be such a dumb fool," Roger did say dumb though it might have sounded like something else. "I know about the money, but if a girl loves a man that does not count."

"But, " Peter began.

"I know. You want your silly pride to drive her into the arms of Arthur Dixon."

"Heavens, no!"

"That is what you are doing. Be a man. Stand up to Dixon and tell Pearl you mean to marry her. Go in and win."

Roger walked on, little thinking how soon his words would have effect or how that effect would be brought about. When Peter arrived at Sunbay he found Dixon just in front of him, perhaps on a similar errand of condolence. He was making for the door of Pearl's flat. The sight was infuriating. For getting all ideas of professional decorum and remembering only Roger's words, Peter seized him by the arm and pulled him back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dixon demanded.

"If you are calling on Pearl," Peter said, "I will not allow it."

"You will not allow it! You can damn well mind your own business."

"It is my business I hope to marry her and I will not let you try to seduce her."

"Who the blazes do you think you are? Go and choke yourself with your own pills."

Dixon stretched out his hand to the bell. Peter pulled him back by the collar of his coat.

"Blast your impudence!" Dixon cried. Lashing out with his fist he caught the doctor squarely on the mouth and, slightly off his balance, Peter fell to the ground. But in a moment he was up again and had seized his rival round the waist to drag him from the door.

There was a tough struggle. They rolled on the gravel but were soon on their feet, fighting with their fists. Both were possessed with fury and all thoughts of propriety were forgotten. Dixon was perhaps the more scientific boxer but Peter had played rugger and was physically fit. He rained blows on his adversary, disregarding the punishment he received.

In weight and height there was little between them and each was out to win. Their battle was not unobserved, though they did not know it. Teague the gardener, bringing something to the house, watched them from over a hedge, his wicked little eyes dancing with glee. Never before had he had a ringside view of such a fight. Old Nan, coming to meet him, saw it from the other side of the drive. She tried to keep out of sight and had no intention of interfering.

That was not all. Pearl saw it too. She had heard the voices and had gone to the window. Through the lace blind she watched every blow that was struck. She hated fighting, yet she felt powerless to stop them. Perhaps in some dim way she realised the battle was for her, not only for her body but for her soul.

Peter was down again and Dixon rushed at him for a knockout blow. But with a low tackle Peter threw him. They both were soon up and with a common impulse they threw off their coats for more freedom of action. Then they were at it more fiercely than before.

Dixon was trying to keep at a distance, to avoid a clinch and to get in his blows with effect. He landed a heavy one on Peter's eye, but that was his last success. The young doctor knew what he was after. He retaliated with a tremendous right, left, the latter on the point of the chin. It would have felled any man. Dixon was down and out. It would be a longer count than ten before he knew what had happened.

"Peter, are you hurt?"

Pearl, running towards them, put the question. Peter's mouth was bleeding and his eye puffed up. His knuckles, too, were the worse for wear.

"Not much," he said. He turned to examine his fallen foe. "He will soon come round." He saw the gardener approaching. "Let Teague pour a bucket of water over him and tell him to go home. Pearl, I want to talk to you."

"Come in," she said. "I will bathe your face."

Roger Bennion, unconscious of the breach of the peace for which he was largely responsible, had continued his way to the police station, arriving at almost the same moment as Chief Inspector Grimsby and his assistant, Detective Sergeant Allenby, whom Roger had not met before.

"You were right, Major Bennion," Grimsby said. "The doctor finds the lipstick contained cyanide and is satisfied that it was the cause of death. Knowing her licking habit, the woman no doubt put it on thick. Of course if I had been aware of that I should have tumbled to it."

"Quite so," Roger smiled. Grimsby had to appear infallible to his young helper, a College man of whom he was secretly a little jealous.

"So the thing now," Grimsby proceeded, "is to discover how the Reverend Garnet got it and how he conveyed it to her."

"Also how it disappeared after she had used it," Roger added.

"That doesn't matter so much. As to getting it, the stuff is on sale at all the chemist's and hairdressers' shops. The poison was waiting for him in the gardener's shed and no doubt he mixed it the way you suggested. At some time he got a chance to slip it into her bag."

"That is surmise," Roger said. "There is no proof for any of it. It could equally well be charged against any of the other suspects on your list. You are arguing that because Garnet committed suicide, therefore he killed Adelaide. I do not believe it, though it would be a nice let-out for the actual murderer. I happen to know that Garnet was deeply distressed from entirely different causes which may well explain his unhappy state of mind."

"You are not suggesting a young parson drowned himself because his father took a woman without marrying her?" Grimsby asked sarcastically.

"I am not. It is something deeper than that."

"May I ask what?"

"I will, if necessary, tell the Coroner," Roger said, "but it will not help you."

"I think Major Bennion is right," Allenby ventured. "We have no proof against the clergyman that any prosecuting counsel would accept."

Grimsby turned on him angrily. "I know more about prosecuting counsel than you do, my lad. They don't prosecute dead men!"

"But they, or the commissioner, may want to be satisfied that you are not just taking an easy way out," Roger remarked, "and letting the actual criminal escape."

Grimsby resented the suggestion, but recognised the risk. He must not trip up on the case. "What do you think we ought to do?" he demanded, still considerably ruffled.

"As I suggested at first, I should search for all the lipstick on the premises where the family lived, and have it tested. I suppose your warrants justify that. It is only a chance that it has not been destroyed, but it should be done. If the murderer managed to get it away from the room where Adelaide died, he, or she, may think the trick would never be suspected and so may have kept it."

"Must be a woman. No man would have the stuff."

"We ought to swoop at once before anyone knows what we are after," Allenby ventured. "It must be something of the same colour, not the pale pink kind."

Before Grimsby could snub him, as he no doubt deserved, Roger said, "Something else I have to tell you. The diamonds have been returned."

"Who by? Who to? Where are they?"

Roger gave him the story of Gaston Bidaut's night visit just as Pearl told it.

"Well, I'm damned!" the Inspector exploded. "She had the man we wanted and she did nothing about it! She did not even mention it to me when I saw her this morning."

"You told her of her brother's death," Roger pointed out, "and the shock of that put everything else out of her mind. If Bidaut's story is true, and there is a good deal to support it, you have nothing against him. Anyway you are sure to get him if you want him."

"You bet I'll get him! And I will see the girl. I don't like the way she comes into it all the time. As I said before, she might have pinched the diamonds in the first place and made up this story as an excuse for keeping them."

"When you get Bidaut," Roger said, "I think he will confirm her story. Meanwhile get her lipstick and that of everyone else, including Old Nan's if she uses it!"

BEN Orgles had assisted Roger Bennion in several of his cases and was never happier than when called on to do a bit of investigation to assist his master. Although a born Cockney he fancied himself most as a Yorkshireman. In a broad check suit and with a heavy (imitation) gold watch chain across his ample waistcoat, he exuded genial prosperity, with just a touch of canny caution when the occasion demanded it. It is true his broad accents borrowed a little from Scotland and Somerset as well as his adopted county, and sometimes he forgot them altogether, but few were critical of trifles like that. His rich treacly voice was a help. He set out for Ipswich full of confidence, though the result of his efforts was to surpass his expectations.

He made a lucky beginning. Having located the office of the Weekly Recorder, he looked for an adjacent tavern likely to enjoy the patronage of the staff. Round the nearest corner, not far from the Butter Market, he espied the Rising Hope. It was an encouraging name and he decided to put it to the test.

He entered a bar where at the moment there was only one customer. The customer was in conversation with a haughty and somewhat florid lady in charge of the taps. Apparently the talk was not going as the customer would have wished.

"I am sorry, Mr. Inglis," she was saying very coldly, "the boss says no more chalking up." That was good enough for Ben.

"Scuse me," he murmured with his beaming smile, "couldn't 'elp 'earing the name. Be you THE Mr. Inglis?"

The man regarded him hopefully. "I am Bob Inglis," he said. "There may be others."

"Aye, but not workin' for the Recorder."

"That is true."

"Ain't that marvellous! Same paper as Victor Gore-Black. Or be I mistaken?"

"You are quite right."

"Eh, that's fine. What'll you 'ave? Maybe you can tell me summat about him in a friendly way?"

Mr. Inglis promptly asked for a double whisky and Ben echoed the call. As he took a note from a wallet filled with many more, the haughty lady promptly supplied their requirements. Mr. Inglis added a little soda and tossed his off as if it had been water.