Tom Brown's Body (12 page)

'Miss Loveday referred to Mr Conway as a puppy,' Mrs Bradley went on. 'It was, perhaps, a revealing description. Our choice of words can disclose our secret thoughts in a way we do not always intend.'

'I see. You mean that her saying it that way provides, in itself, a clue,' said Mrs Wyck. 'I do see what you mean.'

Her tones were serious. Mrs Bradley nodded slowly and rhythmically.

'Mind you, there is no more reason, in a way, for suspecting Mr and Miss Loveday than for suspecting half a dozen other people,' she said, 'but they interest me very much. By the way, I wonder whether I might ask Mr Wyck an impertinent question?'

'Christopher would be prepared – more than prepared – to answer
any
question that would help to clear up this wretched business,' said Mrs Wyck, who had dropped completely her first assumption of lightheartedness and now looked the worried woman which Mrs Bradley knew her to be. 'He'll be down to dinner in a minute – yes, here he is, with the sherry. Christopher, Mrs Bradley has something to ask you. It has a bearing.'

Mr Wyck made no attempt to appear light-hearted. He poured sherry from the decanter, handed the glasses round, put his own glass on a small table, and dropped wearily into an armchair.

'A man from Scotland Yard is coming early to-morrow,' he said. 'I don't see what he can find out now. I'm sick to my soul of the police!'

'I wonder whether I know the man they are sending?' Mrs Bradley enquired.

'Detective-Inspector Gavin,' Mr Wyck replied.

'Good. He is engaged to my secretary. I am glad he is the one to come,' said Mrs Bradley, without betraying the fact that she had told the Chief Constable to ask for him. 'Now, look here, Mr Wyck, what I want to ask you may have some bearing on the case, and it is this: supposing there were a vacancy for a Housemaster – suppose, for example, it had been Mr Loveday, Mr Mayhew, Mr Reeder, or any other Housemaster who had been killed, and not Mr Conway – who would have received the appointment to the vacancy?'

'Well, it is a point I can only deal with unofficially, in a way,' replied Mr Wyck, betraying no surprise at the question. 'Officially, the governors fill the vacant posts here, from my own to that of the most junior member of the Staff. Unofficially, however, my own suggestions are almost invariably adopted. In the case which you postulate, my own choice would have fallen upon Kay. He is a sound fellow, a capable and quiet disciplinarian, and, although he is not particularly popular with the boys at present, I think time would tend to adjust matters, since there is nothing in his character, so far as I have been able to observe him, which boys would persistently and inherently dislike. Conway made a set at him, you know, and some sycophantic boys have followed that very ill-advised lead. Of course, John Semple is the man I myself should prefer as a Housemaster, but he is too young at present, and, besides, the governors do like our Housemasters to be married.'

'They take no exception to Miss Loveday's acting as her brother's housekeeper, though?' Mrs Bradley asked. Mr Wyck glanced sharply at his wife, but she smiled slightly and shook her head.

'Well, it is curious that you should raise that point,' said Mr Wyck, apparently reassured by his wife's reactions, 'because there has been considerable discussion at recent meetings about the position of Miss Loveday in that House. It has been remarked upon that she seems to be in charge of it and that her brother occupies a secondary position. I have argued against this theory, of course, but I have encountered a certain amount of scepticism which, I am compelled to admit, is not unjustified. However, Loveday's is not an altogether satisfactory House, as the fact that those two boys, Merrys and Skene, were able to break out at night would seem to indicate.'

'So that Mr Conway, even after the announcement of his engagement to Miss Pearson, would not have been your choice of a Housemaster?'

'No,' answered Mr Wyck decisively.

'Would it be impertinent to ask your reasons?'

'I have two reasons. The first is that poor Conway was most improperly biased towards boys. A boy such as Issacher, for example, and a really brilliant but somewhat eccentric lad, such as Micklethwaite, would have stood no chance with him. I should hesitate to place Prince Takhobali in his House, or any other Eastern, near-Eastern, or Southern boy.'

Mrs Bradley, who had not before encountered these tactful adjectives, nodded solemnly.

'I see,' she said. 'Sound. Very sound, if I may say so.'

'My second reason,' pursued Mr Wyck, disregarding the compliment, which he had applied to himself years previously, 'is that a master who confuses the married state with a merely temporary liaison is not the man to place in charge of immature natures.'

'I agree entirely,' Mrs Bradley replied. 'And now I wonder whether you would connive at deceitfulness?'

'Certainly,' Mr Wyck replied without hesitation. 'The morals of the head of a school are always elastic. What do you want me to do?'

'I should like to be present at the School plays, and then I want you to pretend that I am going away a couple of days before the end of term; but I mean to sneak back here again without a soul except David Gavin and ourselves being the wiser. Is that possible?'

'It can and shall be done. This means that you have definite suspicions of someone here?'

'Yes, I'm afraid it does.'

'I see. A little more sherry?'

Mrs Bradley accepted gratefully.

*

Insinuating Monster! So you think I know nothing of the Affair of Miss Folly Peachum?

IBID.
(
Act 2, Scene 9
)

'U
NHAPPILY,'
said Mrs Poundbury, 'we haven't a Hamlet in the House. You will appreciate that it is so much simpler to have at least the chief parts taken by boys in our own House. The rehearsals, you know, and just that last little ounce of whatever it is that puts the polish on the principals. We should have done Hamlet, without a doubt, had we had Issacher, who is quite the type, Gilbert says, and is, like most Jewish boys, quite marvellously fluid on the stage, but we haven't him. It really is unfortunate!'

Mrs Bradley remarked that to have a fluid Hamlet would scarcely be just to Shakespeare, and at this Mrs Poundbury relinquished serious platitudes for a girlish and attractive giggle.

'I've heard Gilbert on the heartrending subject of "too, too solid flesh",' she observed. 'The trials of a schoolmaster's wife! However, what we
are
putting on is something much nearer to the hearts of our Philistine House. Gilbert has produced three short plays. One is a play about murder.'

'Oh?' said Mrs Bradley. 'Won't that . . .?'

'Oh, Gilbert asked Mr Wyck, and Mr Wyck saw a couple of rehearsals. He doesn't object at all. He thinks it will help to rationalize the situation here. The boys show no signs of it, but they must be pretty well strung up, like the rest of us.'

'Are the rest of you strung up?' asked Mrs Bradley; but she did not say whether she agreed with Mr Wyck's application of psychiatric principles to the minds of his boys. 'Well, I shall look forward to it all very much,' she added, with sincerity and no mental reservations. 'Now, tell me – are you prepared to meet the young man from Scotland Yard?'

Mrs Poundbury looked surprised, and then she laughed and exclaimed, 'Who on earth am I, to take up the time of Scotland Yard?'

'You are a woman with a secret,' Mrs Bradley calmly replied, 'which secret may cost you very dear if you insist upon keeping it. Speak, Mrs Poundbury, speak; for, if you do not, I wash my hands of the consequences.'

'But I haven't any secret!' cried Mrs Poundbury. 'Not, at any rate, the kind of secret that could interest Scotland Yard.'

'Think again!' Mrs Bradley advised her. 'What did you do on the night of Mr Conway's death?'

'I?'

'You.'

'But I've told you – I've told the police – I've told everybody – I was asleep in my room, the room I share with Gilbert! And he was asleep there, too! At least, I don't know whether he was asleep, of course, but he was most certainly there. We've both got the same what-do-you-call it? – alibi. We can give it to one another. No one can contest that!'

'One might if a certain note of assignation were found,' said Mrs Bradley drily.

'Oh, but I – Oh, but!' said Mrs Poundbury, taken by a stratagem and struggling in the net of the fowler. 'Oh, damn and
blast!
How did you know?'

'I suppose you did have the common sense to burn it?' Mrs Bradley brutally enquired.

'No, I – no, I didn't,' said Mrs Poundbury, shedding all her artifices and insincerities, and looking, all at once, a terrified girl. 'I was so furious with poor Gerald for not turning up – of course, I realize now why he didn't – that I forgot all about the note until I heard – well, until I heard of his death. And then I couldn't find it! I've looked simply everywhere, but it's gone!'

'Your husband
wasn't
in the bedroom,' said Mrs Bradley, even more drily than before. 'Do you believe that
he
killed Mr Conway?'

'No, no! Of course I don't! Gilbert couldn't kill anybody. He wouldn't hurt a fly. I
know
he wouldn't! I – I –' She broke off, and gazed in agony at Mrs Bradley's sharp black eyes and alarmingly snake-like smile. 'Oh, do help me! Do help me! You
must!'
she cried suddenly and wildly. 'It
must
be somewhere! Where did I put it? Where
could
I have put it? Oh dear!'

'You tell Scotland Yard all about it. That's the only help I can give. And
find
the note. It must be somewhere,' said Mrs Bradley, declining to help her at all. 'And your husband can be violent. You yourself told me that.'

*

Mrs Kay received Mrs Bradley without any semblance of cordiality whatsoever.

'I don't know what you expect me to tell you,' she said. 'I don't know where my husband went or what he did on the night when Gerald was murdered, and as for boys – well, if you knew as much about them as I do you would realize that nine times out of ten their statements are all lies. I wouldn't hang a dog on evidence supplied by boys!'

'I wouldn't hang a dog at all,' remarked Mrs Bradley, turning thoughtfully towards the iron fence which separated the Kays' cottage from the School drive. It had been overlooked (probably for some good reason) by the Government collectors of scrap metal during the war.

'The point is,' said Mrs Kay, following her in some haste, 'whether you want to hang my husband. I've been fairly nasty to Benny, but he didn't do it, you know.'

'You were not at home at the time, Mrs Kay,' Mrs Bradley pointed out, gently enough.

'No, but I know Benny. He's a coward, and that means he isn't a murderer. If he were . . .'

'If he were?'

'Well, he'd have murdered
me,
and long enough ago, at that,' said Mrs Kay, with a snort of wifely amusement.

'It is interesting that you should say that,' Mrs Bradley remarked. 'You don't think perhaps – but no! Murders are sometimes committed for love, but far more often for money.'

'Money!' said Mrs Kay, with another sardonic snort. 'There isn't much money in
this job
! If Benny had taken
my
advice, he would have thrown it up and gone into business long ago. He has plenty of brains, and could have held down a decent job, if only he'd given his mind to it, instead of sitting down and waiting for poor old Loveday's pair of shoes!'

'This holding down of jobs is extraordinary. It sounds as though sometimes the job can be stronger than the man. Is that so?' Mrs Bradley enquired.

Mrs Kay looked at her suspiciously.

'It's just an expression,' she said.

'But how strange an expression! "The labourer is worthy of his hire" is another expression, and, to my mind, a preferable one. What kind of job is it which must be held down? Why does it squirm to get away? And, in the name of vocations, if your husband prefers schoolmastering,
why
shouldn't he follow his bent?'

Mrs Kay did not answer. After a pause, in which distaste of and annoyance with her visitor were both plainly indicated, she said:

'All this chapel-going, too!'

'By the boys?'

'By the boys and the masters. That is what I meant. And by stupid old spinsters like Miss Loveday. I call it morbid. She attends
all
the services, and they are really only meant for the boys!'

'You call it morbid,' said Mrs Bradley, under her breath. 'I wonder why?' Mrs Kay regarded her with suspicion and deep dislike.

'Don't
you
call it morbid?' she demanded. 'These boys and men are brought up like monks. I don't believe in it. There's bound to be trouble, and trouble, you see, has come.'

'And you think that with no chapel-going there would have been no murder?' asked Mrs Bradley, deeply interested, but not altogether in the subject under discussion.

'Oh, I don't say that! I simply meant . . . oh, I don't really know what I'm talking about! Look here, I'll be frank. I don't usually whine to people about my affairs, but I wouldn't, mind having some advice. What would you do if...'

'If I'd received a note which took me out on a wild-goose chase ... or a fool's errand?' said Mrs Bradley, saying the last two words so deliberately that Mrs Kay flushed with annoyance.

'Well, yes,' she said, swallowing her anger. 'That's just it. It came – or was supposed to come, from –'

'Of all people, Gilbert Poundbury,' said Mrs Bradley gleefully. 'Beautiful! Beautiful! Do you like jig-saw puzzles, I wonder, Mrs Kay?'

'No, I've no patience with the things!' said Mrs Kay, betraying by her tone, no less than by her words, first, that this was the literal truth, and, secondly, that her lack of patience applied equally to her visitor. 'They're only fit for children! I wouldn't waste time on them myself.'

'Yes, children
do
have patience,' said Mrs Bradley thoughtfully. 'They must have, mustn't they? – or they could never suffer grown-up people. Why do we call ourselves grownup? We can only be so in the body, most of us. Has it ever struck you, Mrs Kay, that the majority of these so-called and self-styled grown-ups behave very, very much worse, more stupidly, more selfishly, than they would ever expect children to behave?'

'I've never thought about it,' said Mrs Kay, now very angry indeed, 'And if you're trying to be insulting . . .'

'I'm not only trying, I'm succeeding,' said Mrs Bradley smoothly. 'Never mind that, for the moment. What excuse did Gilbert Poundbury make for wanting to see you that night?'

'Since you're so well versed in my bad behaviour, you can probably guess!' said Mrs Kay, beginning to look thoroughly sulky as a protection against being asked any more questions.

'But there is just one thing I think you ought to make clear to Scotland Yard,' said Mrs Bradley, ignoring the façade and speaking to the terrified woman behind it. 'That is, if you want my advice.'

'Thank you! I don't think I do!' said Mrs Kay flatly. 'I suppose you mean I ought to explain that I
wasn't
away from this neighbourhood on the night of Gerald Conway's death? Thank you again! I'm not exactly going to stick my neck into a noose for Scotland Yard's benefit!'

'That is a serious decision to make. I advise you very strongly indeed to reconsider it,' said Mrs Bradley with finality.

Mrs Kay said suddenly, 'You can tell your monkey from Scotland Yard that I've been leading you up the garden.'

'You haven't, you know,' said Mrs Bradley, solemnly shaking her head. 'You think things over, and behave like a sensible woman. And just you give the police that note. It may be of first-rate importance.'

Mrs Kay turned and came back.

'Look here,' she said unwillingly. 'I don't want to get into trouble, but I haven't got any note. I learnt to burn the things long ago. Still, if you haven't done anything wrong, you can't be found guilty, can you?'

'Well, it is not a wise move to withhold evidence,' said Mrs Bradley.

'Well, look here, then,' said Mrs Kay, 'I trust you, although I don't like you. I'll tell you what happened, and you can tell your Scotland Yard nark what you like.'

'Nancy the Nark,' said Mrs Bradley amiably. Mrs Kay looked startled.

'You don't suspect
her?'
she demanded.

'Why? Do you?' Mrs Bradley retorted.

'Oh, I see. I said "nark" and you – and you just repeated it.' Mrs Kay looked relieved, and laughed, and, the tension thus eased, as Mrs Bradley had intended that it should be, she continued, 'You see, Gerald and I – well, Benny isn't all that fun, and Gerald was an exciting sort of person in his way, and I hated being stuck down here with nothing but boys, boys, boys, and a few narky – I mean, bitter sort of women, all schoolmasters' wives and sisters and things – so, well – you can see how it was.'

'No, no,' said Mrs Bradley. 'You must explain clearly, if you are going to explain at all. This film dialogue is misleading.'

'Beast!' said Mrs Kay, bursting into tears. Mrs Bradley looked pleased. 'You're as bad as Gerald! That's the kind of beastly thing
he
would say! I hated him, and I hate you! I
hate
you! I hate you! I hate you!'

'Very interesting,' said Mrs Bradley. 'In other words, you did
not
receive a note making an appointment that evening, but you think that Mrs Poundbury did. Further to that, you really
were
away from home. You were
net
in this neighbourhood at the time of Mr Conway's death.'

Mrs Kay pulled herself together.

'I'm sorry,' she said apologetically, 'if I was a bit rude, but I was never educated like you and all these schoolmasters, and, to tell you the truth, the whole set-up gets me down. All I want is money and a good time. That's not much to ask for, at my age, is it?'

'According to present-day standards it is the minimum that any self-respecting person could desire,' said Mrs Bradley deliberately. 'What makes you so certain that your husband committed the murder, Mrs Kay?'

'I don't think Benny
did
do it,' replied Mrs Kay lugubriously. 'He's a poor sort of fish, but he wouldn't dirty his hands with murder. The trouble is, I know he was up to something that night, and he won't tell me what it was, and I feel almost worried to death. He tells nothing but lies, and until he comes out with the truth, I don't see how I can help him. I'd stick to him all right if he'd trust me, but Benny doesn't trust anybody. Sometimes it makes me so mad I feel I could kill him; and that's a nice thing to be saying, with Gerald Conway lying dead and cold!'

This conversation left Mrs Bradley thoughtful. It would have been so fatally easy for Kay and Poundbury to have pooled their grievances that night, inflamed themselves and one another to the point of murder, and then to have set upon the unsuspecting Conway . . . supposing (and this was the snag) that they knew where to find him.

There was another flaw in the theory that they were the murderers, however. It was that these two would not have used the Roman Bath; they would most certainly have used the river; and the absence of any trace of river weed, or mud, or sand in the clothing of the corpse would dispose of the theory completely.

Mrs Bradley found herself longing for the resumed inquest, so that the point could be cleared up finally. Meanwhile there was not much doubt what the two wives thought about matters.

Mrs Bradley was almost certain that Mr Poundbury had been out of the House that night, or for part of it. She was almost certain, too, that the note of assignation had been sent to him and not to his wife. The absent-minded Poundbury must have left it lying about for Mrs Poundbury to find. She had read it, and drawn her own terrible conclusions.