Dead Man’s Shoes (10 page)

“This is Socker. I'll tell him to come up to the Place presently to see you.”

“What about the public bar of the hotel?” suggested Carolus. “Wouldn't he feel easier there, if he's got anything to say?”

Marylin smiled.

“I'm sure he would. I'll tell him.”

Socker as he approached looked a cunning leprechaun of a man, middle-aged and dark. His face was hairy without definite lines of limitation between hair, moustache and stubble of beard. He touched his hat to Marylin with an expression rather like the leer of a stage lecher.

“Oh, Socker, this gentleman wants to ask you a few questions this evening.”

It seemed doubtful whether Marylin's words had any importance or meaning for Socker. He continued to gaze at her with lascivious slyness.

“He's staying at the Barton Bridge Hotel. Will you meet him in the public bar there?”

“What time?” asked Socker, without ceasing to grin at her.

“What time? Nine? Nine, Socker? Very well.”

“Thank you, Mrs Sweeny,” he said.

They left him and Carolus felt that at every few yards he was turning to look over his shoulder at Marylin.

They entered the cool wood through which a narrow avenue ran.

“This is Burghley Wood, Greg's favourite walk. The place where it happened is farther on.”

They continued for about a quarter of a mile, speaking little. There was something awe-inspiring about the tall trees around them.

“It's round the next bend,” said Marylin.

Her voice remained firm enough, but there was a suggestion of suppressed emotion in it.

A surprise awaited them. As they came round the bend they saw about thirty yards ahead a tall black figure completely motionless in the pathway.

“Gus,” whispered Marylin. “What on earth? That's just where it happened, you see. Anyone would think he was revisiting…. I don't like it, Carolus.”

It was the first time she had used his Christian name, and her hand fell for a moment on his forearm. Carolus said nothing and they went forward.

When Mr Gusset saw them coming he came towards them. He was a large, moon-faced, youngish man. He did not appear to be embarrassed at being found in this place. He had a hearty voice and an enthusiastic manner of speech.

“Bravo!” he said to Marylin. “That's courage for you! Face it out and have done with it.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Marylin seriously.

“I? Ah, you may well ask. To tell the truth, I hardly know. Not curiosity, certainly. I felt I
should,
you know.”

Marylin, who seemed rather ruffled by something, introduced Carolus and Rupert. Mr Gusset took command of the situation.

“You've done it now. You've seen the place. Now let us …”

“No!” said Marylin sharply. “Mr Deene wants to examine it. He's investigating this thing.”

Mr Gusset blinked.

“Oh, I see.” It was his turn to appear uncomfortable.

“Tell him,” Marylin said to the Vicar. “Tell him how it happened.”

Unwillingly Mr Gusset said, “The body was found there
in the undergrowth. The police think he was shot here, where I'm standing.”

Carolus looked carefully but quickly about him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I've seen all I want.”

“Then we will wend our way,” said the Vicar. “I was coming to see you anyway this afternoon.”

“I know. You phoned.”

When they came out of the wood they seemed to leave its gloom behind them and turn to topics which for Mr Gusset at least were evidently brighter.

“We're having the Scouts' camp next week,” he said. “I hope Gregory's permission to use Hill Wood still holds?”

“Of course.”

“Fine! Splendid! Couldn't be better for the lads. They can have a dip in the old millpond then. Jolly for them first thing in the morning. Wash the cobwebs away.”

“How many will you have this year?”

“Six. There were only five last year, so we're increasing. The Boys' Club's gone up, too. Nine, counting Tom Richards, who's not Quite Right, you know. I really feel we're getting somewhere. I had eleven for Sung Eucharist last Sunday. I quite understood your absence, of course. I'm afraid the Mothers are declining, though. Only six last meeting. Television's the counter-attraction.”

“Is it?”

“I fear so. The Institute's never been what it was since they began getting sets. It makes work in a parish like this so much harder. Big parishes don't notice it. But with my gallant four hundred.”

“Is that the total population?” asked Carolus.

“It is. But we make an effort to hold things together. The choir is magnificent. Simply magnificent. Since Gregory started giving them the Annual Treat they have never failed me. Of course we have to stick to the familiar tunes. But they're keen, bless them. Keen.”

Marylin seemed to feel that Carolus was growing a little restive.

“You won't mind if Mr Deene asks you a few questions, will you? We've all had to face it, you know. Where were you at the time of the crime, and so on.”

“Of course not. Of
course
not.”

“Let's start with that, then, Mr Gusset. Where were you?”

“Where was I? Now let's see. I went to the Place that afternoon to see Gregory. About the Guild, you know. I found that he had left to have tea at the Packinlays.”

“You didn't know it was his custom?”

“No. I didn't. I set out to walk across to the old lodge.”

“You came this way?”

“Not quite. I took the short cut across the big meadow. But it's not very far from here.”

“You did not hear any shot fired?”

“No, no.”

“That is rather odd. The time of the murder seems likely to have been between three-thirty and four. That is just the time at which you were walking from the Place to the Packinlays' house.”

“I say, you
have
got it taped! Am I a suspect?”

“I didn't say that. But I can't understand your not hearing those shots. Three, there would have been.”

“Of course, I might have heard them without remembering. I might have thought it was just the gamekeeper.”

“Did you?” asked Carolus.

“It's a funny thing, but now you come to press me I
do
seem to have some sort of remote recollection of something of the sort.
Three
shots, you say? It could be. It could be.”

“But was it?”

“I cannot go farther than that. When the police first asked me I said no, quite definitely and in all honesty. I had no recollection of anything of the sort. But in the light of what you say … I still may be mistaken, of course.”

“You are quite certain that you did not pass through Burghley Wood, Mr Gusset?”

“Oh, quite certain of that. Everyone calls me Gus, by the way. Even the lads, I'm ashamed to confess. I try not to keep up the dignity too much. It's a barrier in my work.”

“When did you first hear what had happened?”

“To Gregory, you mean? Oh, next morning. I did not even know that he was missing that night.”

Mr Gusset came back to the Place to tea, but soon took his departure. When he had gone Marylin turned to Carolus.

“You don't actually suspect Gus, do you?”

“I honestly haven't got anything that you could call a suspicion of anyone yet.”

“Where do you go from here?”

“After Socker, you mean? Oh, I must see Lance Willick. I haven't met him yet, and he's really the most important person in the case.”

“In what way?”

“He's the heir. Also, he's the only man in the world, apparently, who admits to being a friend of Larkin's. Moreover he can tell me a lot of things I don't know about Larkin.”

“It's a pity you missed him.”

“If Packinlay had told me yesterday that he was here I would have come up. It might have saved me a trip to Tangier.”

“Didn't
Gilbert tell you? He knew, because they met. How very odd!”

“There are a number of things about this case, small things most of them, which are even more odd. I'm utterly at sea, but I'm not worried by that. I like odd things.”

W
HEN THEY
were driving back to the hotel Carolus told Rupert that after he had seen Socker he would have finished here.

“I suppose you're going to pull that corny line about not knowing the murderer till the last minute.”

“I honestly don't know. Who do you think?”

“I'm the stooge. I'm not supposed to have theories.”

“But you've got one?”

“Yes. I think Larkin was employed by Lance Willick to do it.”

“Plausible. What have you to support it?”

“Nothing in the line of fingerprints and whatnot. But it does seem likely. Here's this Lance living in Tangier and friendly with the frightful man that Larkin appears to be. Larkin knows Gregory's habits …”

“How? To our knowledge he had never been here.”

“Well, Lance knows them and can tell Larkin. Larkin's a fool in some ways and Lance persuades him that if he goes over and gets away before he's arrested he can't be extradited from Tangier. Actually I believe extradition is a bit tricky. Larkin swallows this and agrees to do it for half the lolly. He flies over, shoots Gregory and flies back—all in order. Lance has explained that
he
can't do it because he couldn't collect if he couldn't go to England. When Larkin gets back to Tangier he finds that he can and will be extradited, so he decides to go home and try to fight it out. After all, nobody saw him do it. There's only circumstantial evidence against him. But on the way his nerve fails and he decides to commit suicide.
Voilà.
All weighed and paid. How do you like it?”

“There is nothing impossible about it, but it leaves too many factors unaccounted for.”

“I thought you'd say something like that.”

“Also there is nothing really to support it. Not a shred of evidence. It's a feasible theory. It could even turn out to be the truth or very near it. But we can't possibly say yet. We haven't seen Lance Willick.”

“Soon put that right. I've always had a faint hankering after the excitements of Tangier.”

“You'll probably find it's as quiet and orderly a place as any other.”

“We are going, then?”

“Yes. The ship on which Larkin was travelling, the
Saragossa
, sails on Tuesday. I've been lucky enough to get two passages on her. You'd better cable to your father for permission.”

“He'd think I was nutty. I haven't asked his permission to do anything since I was ten.”

“Maybe, but you're not coming with me till you've got it. Mr Hollingbourne is staying at St Leonards-on-Sea, I gather. You could …”

“All right. All right. I'll cable.”

The public bar of the Barton Bridge Hotel had not been given what Mr Habbard called ‘the amenities required by modern motorists'. It had benches and bare wooden seats and distempered walls. Its dart-board was well lit, its shove-ha'penny table well placed and its bare stone floor clean, but there was nothing ornate or antique about it.

The barman was alone when Carolus entered, reading his evening paper, and he looked up without curiosity and poured drinks without comment.

“Has a man called Socker been in?” asked Carolus.

“I don't know anyone. I only started here today.”

“I see.”

Presently Socker came in, leading by a piece of cord a
mongrel with some retriever blood. He sidled up to Carolus, who greeted him by asking what he would have.

“Rum,” he said unexpectedly, then added with a confidential leer, “it keeps your pecker up.”

His drink bought, Socker waited for a question before starting any idle chatter.

“Do you know Lily Gunn?” asked Carolus.

Socker grinned.

“Know her? Ay. She's a kissy, cuddly little piece, if ever there was one. She's a buxtom young party, like
that.
She don't mind a walk in the woods on a nice summer evening. She's not one of them to go crying to anyone nor yet to ask for this or that. She don't scratch or bite nor yet giggle and simper. She's as pretty as a picture, and she's not afraid of the dark. She's …”

“I see you know her intimately. Have you seen her during the last month or so?”

“Seen her? Of course I've seen her. I've seen most of her, if the truth were known. Seen her and dandled her and coddled her….”

“You must have an interesting love-life,” put in Rupert Priggley.

“I've seen her, all right. Chucked her and wheedled her….”

“Have you talked to her much?”

“Talked? Not much talking with her. There's cooing and wooing and …”

“Did you ever talk to her about the late Mr Willick?”

Socker looked at Carolus as though he was insane.

“Now what on earth do you think would make me waste my time talking about Mr Willick with a nuzzly, nestly little duck like that? If I talked to her at all it was all lollipops and pretty one, not serious about other people or anything of the sort. She's not a moppet to go sermonizing to, but a flimsy, flirty little pet to take in the meadows.”

“What I want to know, Socker, is something important.
Will you please think back and give me a careful answer? Did Lily Gunn ever ask you anything about Mr Willick? And did you ever tell her or anyone else about his afternoon walk?”

“Now you're coming round to it and I can make sense of what you say. Lily Gunn never asked me anything except whether her dress was spoilt. And I never told anyone that Mr Willick was having a game with that stuck-up piece at the Old Lodge….”

“What?” Carolus was genuinely shocked.

“What?” mimicked Socker. “What else? He went there every afternoon, and sometimes Packinlay was in and sometimes Packinlay was out. But there was always a nice big chair and that mopy, dopy one who never speaks a word but didn't need to when he was calling on her.”