Five Red Herrings (12 page)

12

‘Oh, don’t be vindictive,’ said Wimsey. ‘He couldn’t know how inconvenient he was going to be. He “maun ha’ gotten a rare fricht,” as the man in Ian Hay’s book said about the lice in his blanket.’

The Chief Constable grunted.

‘Any more news of the man with the bicycle who took the train at Girvan?’

‘No, except that they’ve checked the tickets and decided that he went to Ayr all right.’

‘How about the bicycle?’

‘The bicycle-ticket appears to have been given up too, though we can’t trace any ticket-collector who remembers anything about it. It would be much easier if we knew what kind of bicycle we were looking for.’

‘M’m. Yes. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to get hold of some exact descriptions. Mrs. McLeod ought to know what Waters’ bike looked like. I bet Andy could tell you every scratch and scrape on his old crock. It’s got new tyres on, by the way. That ought to be a help.’

‘And then there’s Farren’s bicycle.’

‘So there is. And there’s a very fine collection of bicycles, male and female, up our close. Anybody who urgently wanted to borrow one in Gatehouse or Kirkcudbright wouldn’t have very great difficulty. And they all look much alike — honest, hard-working bicycles, half as old as time. For all we know, the murderer’s bicycle, if he was a murderer, and used one, may have come peacefully back home by this time.’

‘That’s a fact,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘But we’ll circulate those descriptions all the same.’

SERGEANT DALZIEL

On the Thursday morning, Sergeant Dalziel woke unrefreshed and irritable. He had rather counted upon the young man at Stranraer. To have a murder reported at lunch-time on Tuesday, and to catch the murderer at 6.30 the next morning would, he felt, have been a smart piece of work. Now he had to start all over again. The voluminous, contradictory and confusing reports from Kirkcudbright worried him. Also he felt dissatisfied about the bicyclist at Girvan. Surely it must be possible to trace him and his bicycle. These inquiries by telephone were never satisfactory. There was nothing for it, he supposed, but to go himself. With a grunt of annoyance, he tucked himself into his shabby car, collected Police Constable Ross to act as his aide-de-camp, and set out to collect descriptions.

He began with the Anwoth Hotel. Here he had the advantage of interviewing the outraged owner of the missing bicycle. Information was forthcoming in abundance. He had to look for a six-year-old Raleigh, with two new Dunlop tyres. The frame was painted black; one of the handle-bar grips was slightly broken; the bell was missing and the brakes defective. There was a tool-bag containing a repair outfit; a pump on the cross-bar, and a carrier at the back. The Sergeant wrote down all the particulars, promised his best attention and passed on his way.

At Waters’ lodgings, his task was more difficult. Mrs. McLeod had seen the bicycle week after week standing in her front passage, but, like most people of her type and sex, had only the very vaguest idea of its appearance. It was ‘an auld yin,’ it was of ‘the ordinar’ colour,’ she ‘couldna charge her memory’ as to its fittings, though she thought there was, or had been, a lamp on it, because she had once had occasion to complain of drips on her floor. As for the maker’s name, it had not occurred to her to look for it.

Her small son, however, proved more observant. He declared that it was a very old Humber, very rusty, and that it had neither bell nor lamp nor pump. ‘But there’s Mr. Waters’ name on a wee luggage label,’ he added, pleased to supply so helpful a clue.

‘Ay, but I doot it’ll no be there the noo,’ said the Sergeant.

He passed on to Mrs. Farren’s. Here he at first drew a complete blank. Mrs. Farren ‘had not the faintest idea’ what was the make of her husband’s bicycle. She apologised for being so unpractical, and gave the Sergeant the impression that such details were beneath an artist’s notice.

‘I’m sure,’ she added, ‘I couldn’t even tell you what make my own is.’

‘H’m,’ said the Sergeant, struck by an idea, ‘could ye let me have a look at your own bicycle, ma’am?’

‘Oh, certainly.’ She led the way to an outhouse, and indicated a clean, well-kept Sunbeam, not new, but well-oiled, and with all its parts in good condition.

‘Ye keep it verra nice,’ said Dalziel, approvingly.

‘I like to have everything orderly and clean,’ said Mrs. Farren.

‘There is a real beauty in cleanliness and decency. Even in-animate things may breathe out a kind of loveliness if they are well cared-for. Do not you think so?’

‘Nae doot, Mistress Farren, nae doot, ma’am. Wad this machine and your husband’s have been bought at the same time?’

‘Oh, no — his is newer than this.’

‘Ah!’ said Dalziel, disappointed. ‘Imph’m. Aweel, nae doot Mr. Farren’ll be returnin’ home before verra long. Ye ha’ heard naething from him, I suppose?’

‘No. But that’s not really surprising. He does go off like this sometimes for days together. You know what men are — especially artists and fishers.’

‘Och, ay,’ said Dalziel, comfortably. ‘Weel, if we should meet wi’ him onywhere, we’ll tell him he’s expectit hame. Could I speak a bit word wi’ the lassie? She’ll maybe ken what kind o’ bicycle it is.’

‘Jeanie? Oh, certainly — though I doubt if she’ll know much about it. I am always telling her she should be more observant — though I’m afraid I’m a bad example to follow. By the way, Sergeant, do you mind telling me why—’

She stopped and laid her hand on her throat as if the words were difficult to say, or as though, while feeling bound to ask the question, she were reluctant to hear the answer.

‘Why what, were ye aboot tae say?’

‘Why all this fuss about my husband’s bicycle?’

The Sergeant looked hard at her for a moment, then turned his eyes away and answered pleasantly:

‘Och, ’tis naething. But there’s several bicycles missin’ lately, and we’ve found a dealer at Castle Douglas wi’ twa-three machines he disna seem able tae gie a verra gude account on. Sae we’re juist mekkin’ a sort o’ round-up throughout the district, tae see if we can identify ony o’ them. However, ye’re quite sure, Mr. Farren has his bicycle wi’ him?’

‘So far as I know. Why not? He — went away on it. But — I don’t know of course — he may have left it somewhere — how should I know? He might have had it stolen since Monday, anywhere, by anybody. I — have you found it anywhere?’

Under Dalziel’s steadfast eye, she was fumbling and stammering.

‘I’ll tak’ ma aith,’ said Dalziel to himself, ‘she kens fine there is some importance tae be attached tae the bicycle, and she disna ken whether tae say her man had it or no. Wha could ha’ tell’t her? It’s no that Lord Peter, for he’s clever, wi’ a’ his bletherin’ talk. And it’s no Macpherson, he’d never let oot a word. There’s some yin is expectin’ you bicycle tae be found in a queer place, I reckon.’

Jeanie proved, indeed, to know as little about the bicycle as was to be expected, and produced no information beyond the fact that Mr. Farren was accustomed to clean both machines himself, and took ‘a wheen o’ trouble’ over them. A man who cared for his tools, evidently, and particular in certain matters, though he was an artist.

A bicycle-shop in the town was more helpful. The machine was a Raleigh, not new, but in very good condition, black, with plated handle-bars. The shop had fitted a new Dunlop tyre to the back wheel a few weeks previously; the front tyre was of the same make and about six months old. Bell, brakes, lamps and brackets were all in good order.

Armed with these particulars, the Sergeant made his way to Girvan Station. Here he found the porter concerned, a middle-aged man named McSkimming, who repeated to him, in rather more detail, the account he had already given to the station-master.

The train from Stranraer was due in at 1.6, and on the Tuesday it had come in well up to time. It had just entered the station, when a gentleman had come in hurriedly, wheeling a bicycle. He had called to McSkimming, and the man had noticed the high, affected English voice, with its ‘Heah, portah!’ The gentleman had told him to label the bicycle for Ayr, quick, and the porter had wheeled the machine to the little case containing luggage-labels. While he was labelling it, the gentleman was undoing a strap which held a small leather case to the carrier, saying that he would take it in the carriage with him. As time was short, he had pulled out a note-case from his pocket and sent McSkimming off to buy him a third-class ticket and bicycle-ticket for Ayr. Running back with these, the man had seen his passenger standing at the door of a third-class smoker. He had handed over the tickets and received his tip, and had then placed the bicycle in the rear van. The train had moved out almost immediately afterwards.

No, he had not noticed the gentleman’s face particularly. He was wearing a grey flannel suit and a check cap, and he had passed his handkerchief over his face from time to time, as though he were very hot with bicycling in the sun. As he gave the tip he had said something about being glad he had caught the train, and that it was a stiff pull from Ballantrae. He wore slightly tinted spectacles — the sort that is used to shield the eyes from sun-glare. He might have been clean-shaven, or he might have had a small moustache. McSkimming had had no time to notice details, forbye he had been feeling very unwell at the time with the awful pain in his stomach. If anything, he was feeling still worse today, and dooted that handling heavy luggage on a hot day did a man no good.

Dalziel sympathised and asked whether he thought he would be able to identify the man or the bicycle if he saw them again.

The porter did not know — he thought not. The bicycle had been old and dusty. He had not noticed the make. It was not his business. His business was to label it for Ayr, and he had so labelled it and put it in the van, and there was an end of it.

So far, so good. The bicycle had had a carrier, but then, many bicycles had that. It had looked old, and therefore was not very likely to have been Farren’s, but it might have been either of the other two. There seemed to be no doubt that passenger and bicycle, whoever and whatever they might be, had safely travelled by the 1.11 to Ayr.

Dalziel thanked and rewarded the porter and returned to his car. Consulting the time-table, he saw that the train stopped only once before Ayr, and that was at Maybole. It would be worthwhile to call and see if, by any chance, the passenger had left the train there, instead of going on to Ayr.

At Maybole he interviewed the station-master, and learned that only two passengers had alighted from the Stranraer train on the Tuesday. Both were women and neither had a bicycle. This was only what he might have expected. The station-master added that the tickets of all passengers for Ayr by the train in question would be collected at Maybole. Eight third-class tickets had been given up — as was proved by a reference to the booking-clerk’s returns — including a third-class ticket from Girvan. Any discrepancy between the number of tickets issued and collected would be checked at the Audit Office at Glasgow and reported within three days, so that if there was anything wrong about these tickets, they might expect to hear about it by the next day. The bicycle-ticket of a passenger travelling to Ayr would not be collected at Maybole; it would be retained by him until he claimed the machine at Ayr.

Dalziel left instructions that any query arising about tickets should be at once reported to him, and the two policemen then made their way to Ayr.

Ayr is a good-sized station, acting as a junction for several lines of traffic. The main line from Stranraer to Glasgow runs straight through the station. On the west side of the main line is the principal platform, containing the booking-hall, bookstall and station entrance, with a number of bays for branch lines.

Here Dalziel directed his first inquiries to the question of the bicycle ticket. A reference to the records showed that a ticket issued from Girvan to cover a twenty-five mile journey had been duly given up at Ayr. The next question was, to whom had the ticket been handed? Since the passenger-tickets had all been collected at Maybole, there would have been no collector at the barrier on that particular occasion. Therefore, presumably, the ticket would have been given up to the porter who removed the bicycle from the van.

Dalziel and Ross interviewed the porters in turn, but all were quite positive that they had not taken any bicycle out of the Stranraer train on the Tuesday. One of them, however, recalled something about the ticket. After seeing a number of passengers out of the train, he had gone back to the rear brake to deal with the luggage. The guard had then handed him a bicycle ticket, saying that it belonged to a gentleman who had taken his bicycle out himself and wheeled it away. The porter had considered this a shabby trick to avoid giving a tip, but he supposed that the traveller had been in a hurry, since the guard had seen him briskly wheeling the machine away in the direction of the exit. By that time the passenger would, of course, have left the station. People were often mean about tips, bicyclists especially. With times so hard and money so tight you didn’t get twopence nowadays where once you would have got sixpence or a shilling. Call this a Socialist Government. Things were harder than ever for a working man, and as for Jimmy Thomas, he had sold himself, lock, stock and barrel, to the capitalists. If he (the porter) had had the right treatment, he would have been something better than an ordinary porter long before this, but with everybody getting at you all at once—

Dalziel cut short this jeremiad by asking whether the same guard would be travelling on the train that afternoon. The porter said, Yes, he would, and Dalziel determined to wait and interview him when he arrived. In the meantime he thought he and Ross might as well get some lunch, after which they would have to find somebody who had seen the bicyclist leave the station.

Over a hasty meal in the refreshment-room, the two officers discussed their campaign. It might take some time to trace the movements of their quarry after leaving Ayr Station, and it was necessary that Dalziel should be back at Newton-Stewart as early as possible, to keep in touch with Macpherson. There were a number of routine inquiries to be made at Glasgow, and it would, he felt be advisable to get hold of photographs of all the persons at present under suspicion, in order that the bicyclist might be identified, if possible. Since all the men were well-known artists, it seemed likely that an inquiry among the leading Glasgow newsagencies would produce the photographs, and this would be a far better plan than asking for them directly at Gatehouse and Kirkcudbright, which would have the effect of putting the suspects on their guard. It was therefore decided that Dalziel should board the train from Stranraer when it came in, and proceed to Glasgow, interviewing the guard on the way. Ross should keep the car and pursue his investigations as and how he could, reporting to Newton Stewart from time to time. If he got on the bicyclist’s track, he was to follow where it led and, if necessary, detain the man when he found him.