Death of a Commuter (17 page)

“Yes, thanks.”

“No need at all. Willy James has a revolver.”

Carolus stared a little blankly.

“No need to stare like a ghost, darling. A lot of bookies have revolvers. Everybody thinks they keep money in the house. It's nothing unusual. Only no one's supposed to know.”

It was apparent that when Chatty raised her glass and said, “First today!” as she did now, she was using a figure of speech. She was not drunk but she could fairly be described as tiddly.

“Mind you,” she said, swaying slightly, “I'm not altogether sorry you're going. I don't think you're doing anyone here much good. In fact I'm damn sure you're not. Look at that ghastly
woman you brought to my party the other night Shouting at Elspeth. I don't call that very good behaviour.”

“I didn't bring…”

“Then upsetting people. All these enquiries you're making. People have got quite enough to worry about without that, darling. In fact I think it will be a damn good thing when you're gone if you ask me. Have another teeny one, darling?”

Carolus refused quite unruffled by her outburst.

“I know Willy James has enough to worry about anyway. Up late every night—God knows what he's doing. I don't know why you came here at all, but I do know you make things worse. However, cheers, darling. Happy days.”

Carolus made his escape and this time succeeded in walking back to the car and driving off. There was one rather curious spectacle, though, before he reached The Royal Oak, that was Mrs. Boggett mounting her scooter and riding gamely away. He was reminded of a circus he had once seen in which a huge bear rode a miniature cycle round the ring.

Boggett himself was in the Oak.

“You heard about the will?” he asked Carolus with an air of mystery when he had drawn him aside. “Thriver's been telling them all what's coming to them and what's not. There's a nice little bit for me. More than I expected. Enough to Have a Few with. And there's One I've been noticing, lives near the station. Only wants taking out and a little money spending on her …”

“Who else has been told?”

“Here's the laugh. The poor bloody vicar's been cut out altogether. Done one of his jokes once too often. He won't laugh now. The boy still gets it but not till he's twenty-two.”

“Does Mr. Hopelady know this?”

“Must do. I saw him this morning and you should have seen his face. White as a sheet, be was. Must be a big blow to him. The doctor's out, too, but I don't think he minds a—
She's
got money if he hasn't.”

“What else do you know about Mr. Parador's will?”

“Isn't that enough? Only thing is when I told my old woman she said she was going to give up going out to work. So profits
on the roundabout are losses on the swings. I hear you're going away?”

“Yes. This afternoon.”

“Found out all you wanted to know?”

“Pretty well for the moment, thanks.”

“I could always ask the old woman if she's got anything else to tell you.”

“Thank you, Boggett, but I think I've cleared up most of the points I wanted to know.”

“You think he swallowed those sleeping tablets?”

“Yes. I do.”

“I've said so all along. Stands to reason, doesn't it?”

“No,” said Carolus firmly. “Tell me, what has happened to Gobler?”

“Old Gobler? I hear he's not so well. Not so well at all. That was more of a crack than anyone thought for at the time, it seems.”

“I haven't seen him since the day the doctor took him home.”

“No more has anyone else, as far as I can hear. What would happen if he was to peg out, I wonder? They'd have to find out who'd done it, wouldn't they?”

“I suppose so. If they could.”

“I did hear they'd taken him into hospital. But you hear lots of things.”

“I do,” said Carolus, and went upstairs to pack.

But Carolus had one more encounter before he left Brenstead, and it was a very distressing one. He had paid his bill and was leaving when a boy whom he recognised as one of Hopelady's children approached him and said his father would like to see Carolus before he left. For a moment Carolus wondered whether this was yet another of the vicar's practical jokes, but remembering what Boggett had said, he told the boy to jump in and drove to the vicarage.

He found Mr. Hopelady very far from practical joking. He looked pale, as Boggett said, as though he had not slept all night His fingers played nervously with his pipe and tobacco which he did not succeed in bringing to the point of lighting.

“I take it you know about Parador's will,” he said and added rather bitterly, “You seem to know about everything.”

“I do, yes,” said Carolus. “I understand he has left your eldest son five thousand pounds.”

“Yes. But this was left to me originally. Parador told me so. It was to be used to help in bringing up all the children.”

“So I have heard. It does seem rather harsh.”

“Over nothing. Nothing at all. A small practical joke. No sane man would have done such a thing. That's what I wanted to ask you, Deene. Do you think Parador
was
sane? I begin to doubt it To make these sudden changes, then commit suicide. It cannot be called the conduct of a sane mart”

“I'm afraid there is no evidence of anything else. You would have to prove that he was certifiably mad to have the will disproved. His lawyer was perfectly satisfied with the condition of his mind when he signed it. In fact I'll go farther and say that I don't think there was anything insane about his revenge on what you describe as a practical joke. You told me he had no sense of humour. This may have been
his
idea of a joke, Mr. Hope-lady.”

“You mean? If so, it's too cruel. Too cruel. I have my family. The money would have been a godsend. I could have sent Matthew to a public school instead of the Brenstead Tech.”

“If you're so sure he'd have been better off, why don't you approach the executors? They may agree with you.”

The vicar shook his head.

“There were so many things I could have done,” he said, and Carolus saw to his embarrassment that he was near tears.

“Anyhow,” he went on, recovering himself, “you don't think I would have any hope if I disputed the validity of the will? It seems so extraordinary, the way it has turned up weeks after Parador's death.”

“Yes,” agreed Carolus, rising to go. “That
is
extraordinary. Most extraordinary. But I don't see how it can in any way invalidate it However, I'm not a lawyer.”

He left and this time there was no watering-can being emptied from above.

I
T
W
AS
P
LEASANT TO
R
EACH
H
IS
H
OME AND
H
AVE THE
D
OOR
opened by Mrs. Stick before he could get out his latch-key.

“I'm glad you're come, sir. I've got the young gentleman in bed upstairs with a nasty chill and it's Ladies' Night at the Druids tonight which would have meant me missing it.”

Carolus seeking his way among these seemingly disconnected remarks realised the sense of them.

“But it's not till eight o'clock so you've plenty of time if you want to Have Something before I go or I can Leave It Out for you.”

Carolus hung up his coat.

“I should like a whisky and soda first,” he said, and went into his small library where a bright fire was burning.

“It's been a lovely day here. But I knew you'd like a bit of fire when you came in,” said Mrs. Stick when she brought the tray and set it down by Carolus. “Yes, a nasty chill the young gentleman's got It's going out on that motor-cycle's done it. I wonder you allowed him to have it, sir, I really do. They're not safe, those things. It's a miracle he hasn't broken his neck before now.
As it is his temperature's been up to over a hundred.”

“How's Stick?”

“You know what Stick is. He'll want to know what you've found out about this gentleman he worked for.”

“Tell him I've no information yet.”

“Then there's Mr. Gorringer.”

“Hasn't he left for Belgium?”

“By what I hear he won't be going this year. I don't know all about it but it seems something's gone wrong where he usually stays and he's decided to stop here so I expect he'll be round when he knows you're back. Which he will do because that Muggeridge was hanging about when you came in. Have you put the car away, sir? That means you're not going out tonight?”

“No. I'll keep an eye on Priggley.”

“Then I'll tell Stick it'll be all right for us to go. Not that he'd miss it, anyway.”

There was a ring at the front door.

“I shouldn't be surprised but what that was Mr. Gorringer,” said Mrs. Stick, hurrying out.

Carolus heard the loud familiar voice in the hall and in a few moments the headmaster was with him.

“Ah, my dear Deene,” he said. “I trust you will forgive this intrusion. I have just been informed of your return and as there were several little matters on which I wanted a word with you I took the liberty of calling.”

“A drink, headmaster?”

“That would be most welcome. We have had our little troubles since I saw you, Deene. It will be the first time in many years that we have not spent our Easter vacation in Ostend.”

“With days, of course, in Bruges,” put in Carolus.

“With days, as you say, in the beautiful old city of Bruges. But our dear Madame Poinsteau, for many years the presiding genius of Pension Balmoral, has most unexpectedly decided to marry. Someone connected with the shipyards at Antwerp, I understand, a widower of considerable fortune. She decided to sell the Balmoral which is already in the hands of a couple from
Ghent whom I do not know. Madame Poinsteau acquainted us with the circumstances.”

“I see. So you're staying here.”

“Reluctantly, yes. My wife has taken it in very good part and made several clever witticisms about this matrimonial entanglement in the autumn of life. But I shall miss my annual change of scene. Now, Deene, to sterner matters. I understand that you have been in one of our new dormitory towns—Brenstead, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“And that your visit has not been unconnected with the recent demise of one of its leading citizens? Just so. I also hear that a Coroner's Court has pronounced on the case but that you have seen fit to disagree with the verdict Now all this would be no concern of mine, my dear Deene, were it not for one circumstance. Your life in the holidays is your own. But you had with you during your investigations a pupil from this school, a difficult pupil whom I myself had entrusted to your care. In a word, the boy Priggley.”

“I didn't see much of him, as a matter of fact” said Carolus in that casual tone which Mr. Gorringer so disliked.

“It was my hope that you
would
see much of him. He is sorely in need of the steadying influence of an older man.”

“He had the unsteadying influence of a younger woman. But that I understand is finished.”

“I sincerely hope so. You have no plans to return to this town?”

“Not for the moment Anyway, Priggley's laid up with a chill.”

“I am naturally sorry to hear of his illness but I cannot resist the hope that it will keep him out of harm's way. Did you reach any conclusions in the case of this Mr. Parador?”

“It is not a pleasant case.”

“You don't mean that it is in any way dangerous?”

“I don't know. It's the first time for some years I've found it necessary to carry a revolver.”

The headmaster sat up with a jerk that was not dramatised.

“A revolver, Deene? Are you serious?”

Carolus pulled a .38 from his side pocket.

“But this is shocking. Please put that firearm out of sight. I feel it my duty to say …”

At that moment he was interrupted. Mrs. Stick, entering behind him, let out a scream and dropped a salver on which was a siphon of soda-water.

“Look at him!” she said shrilly, pointing to the window.

Carolus turned, but not fast enough. No face was to be seen.

“A face at the window, Mrs. Stick?” said Mr. Gorringer, rising to his feet.

“With goggles! I saw it as plain as a pike-staff. Looking in, he was. Oh my God!”

“This must be investigated,” said Mr. Gorringer, making for the door.

“Don't open the front door!” shouted Carolus who was standing close to the window but almost wholly protected by the wall, watching the exterior. “Don't open the front door, you dam' fool!”

He was too late. Mr. Gorringer had pulled back the handle of the Yale lock and done exactly what Carolus had warned him against.

There was an eerie silence for about twelve seconds. Then, visible through the doorway of the room, Mr. Gorringer was seen moving slowly backwards, his hands above his head.

Carolus acted. Pulling out his .38 he fired once, blindly, at the window. The din in the small room was terrific and the window itself seemed to explode. Then a more welcome sound—someone was running towards the front gate. A car door slammed and a car, whose engine had been kept running, could be heard moving off rapidly.

The whole incident had occupied less than two minutes. Carolus calmly put his revolver back in his pocket.

“You'd better have a drink, Mrs. Stick,” he said.

“I never touch it,” said Mrs. Stick faintly. She was white and shivering. Carolus slopped out some whisky and poured it between her teeth. Then he turned to the headmaster and saw
that he was also in a bad way. A peculiar patchlness appeared in his cheeks and his eyes were glazed and staring.

“I must sit down,” he said, and did so.