The Bloody Wood (16 page)

‘Begin with the least sinister hypothesis. More often than not, in affairs of this sort, it turns out to be the true one. Grace Martineau was accidentally drowned; her husband was heartbroken, and shot himself. Against that, there are the marks as of violence on Mrs Martineau’s neck. You say they’re only such as to occasion suspicion.’

‘Strong suspicion.’

‘Yes – but I’ve heard of that before. And the body of an elderly woman can be bruised easily, and in odd ways. But of course there is other evidence we have to consider. The thing takes place in a general context of what one may call lurking motives and obscure predicaments. So go on to the next least sinister hypothesis, so to speak, and review matters in the light of it.’

‘I’m blessed if I quite know what that is. One crime rather than two?’

‘Just that.’

‘Very well. It’s conceivable that Mrs Martineau died by accident and that her husband was murdered. Or vice versa. That means that somebody wants to kill the lady, but has no ill design – or effects no ill design –against Martineau himself.’

‘Charles Martineau may just have been too quick,’ Judith said. ‘He may have killed himself before somebody else, so to speak, could do the job for him.’

‘The brain reels.’ Colonel Morrison produced this with some faint design upon a humorous note. ‘But we’ll say, for a start, that Mrs Martineau was the only destined victim. Yes,’ – he kept up his attempt – ‘we’ll pursue our quiet rural walk thinking about that. Which of all these people, Lady Appleby, would you say comes to mind?’

‘Oh – Mrs Gillingham, decidedly.’

‘God bless my soul!’ Morrison gave Appleby a glance of alarm. He might have been reflecting that it must be pretty tough even for a Commissioner of Police for the City of London to have a wife with a mind which worked like this. ‘Is that what they call the least-likely-suspect theory?’

‘Not at all.’ Judith shook her head briskly. ‘Mrs Martineau was cherishing a plan that her husband should make a second marriage with Miss Rivière. But Miss Rivière believed – and so did the young man Bobby Angrave – that Mrs Martineau’s choice had fallen on Mrs Gillingham herself. This may have penetrated to Mrs Gillingham – she strikes me as a very astute person – and put ideas in her head. She’d get rid of Mrs Martineau before Mrs Martineau could push her own plan further, and then she’d get to work on the widower on her own behalf.’

‘I see.’ This notion kept Morrison silent for a dozen paces. ‘But isn’t that rather monstrous?’ he asked. ‘For you don’t mean, surely, that this widowed Gillingham woman had developed some violent sexual passion for Martineau?’

‘I should judge that most improbable.’

‘Very well, my dear lady. Surely no sane woman does another woman to death in the interest of an elderly and tranquil union with a husband thus bereaved? Or is Mrs Gillingham to be conceived of as in some state of financial desperation?’

‘I suppose she might be – although one sees absolutely no sign of it.’

‘My wife,’ Appleby said mildly, ‘takes rather a dark view of Mrs Gillingharn. But you will find her – for professional purposes, that is – prepared to take an equally dark view of almost anyone.’

‘Oh, I’m sure she is.’ Morrison, who was a little at sea, produced this with an air of compliment. ‘But there we are,’ he went on, more happily. ‘Here’s the village; there’s the village shop; and those, I suppose, are the cottages. Appleby, you know the one we’re after?’

‘Definitely. It’s the one with the honeysuckle by the door. But I hardly think, you know, that we should all crowd in.’

‘Of course not. And it’s a delicate matter, if our guess is right.’ He turned to Judith. ‘Lady Appleby, would it be asking too much–?’

‘I wasn’t supposing otherwise,’ Judith said, a shade tartly. ‘John, go and buy more of that evil-smelling tobacco, and take Colonel Morrison with you.’

Judith walked away, and the two men stood for a moment, watching her go.

‘My dear fellow,’ Morrison murmured, ‘your wife’s a remarkable woman. If I may say so without impertinence, that is.’ He pointed to the village shop. ‘It’s the post-office too, I see, and sure to be a centre of intelligence. No harm in asking a question or two, eh? The whole place must be alive with gossip by now.’

‘It must, indeed,’ Appleby said.

The village of Charne ended in a roundabout. To that point the buses from the city came, and only a couple of hundred yards short of it did they disengage themselves from the outermost of the municipal housing estates. But from the roundabout, so far, only a cul-de-sac ran into Charne itself – and this gave it its precarious and residual tranquillity. In exterior semblance it was more of a model village than was, perhaps, altogether agreeable to a picturesque taste, since in the late nineteenth century some well-meaning Martineau had knocked down a great many worm-eaten cottages and rat-infested hovels, and erected several uniform rows of dwellings, suitable for the labouring poor, instead. The work had been well and generously done, so that the inhabitants considered themselves commodiously catered for down to the present day. But the general effect was utilitarian. Nobody would want to stand and gaze at it for very long.

Appleby and Morrison, having bought their tobacco and made their inquiries, had certainly exhausted the interest of the scene by the time that Judith returned to them. She came to a halt and looked at them seriously. She might almost be said to have looked at them sternly and wonderingly, as if confronted by an alien species. And Morrison – Appleby noted – saw the explanation of this at once.

‘Lady Appleby,’ he said, ‘it’s as we thought?’

‘Yes. And just short of fourteen.’

‘And so far,’ Appleby asked, ‘they’ve kept quiet – the parents or whoever they are?’

‘Yes. It’s unbelievable. It’s dismally feudal. They think of it as trouble with the big house, and are reduced to a kind of frightened cunning. Yet Charles must have been the most just of landlords and most conscientious of squires.’

‘The first thing this calls for is a telephone message to Dr Fell, I’d suppose.’ Appleby’s tone was grim. ‘I’ll make it from the kiosk outside the post-office. It won’t take me three minutes. After that, I’ve a fancy for going back to the belvedere. As yet, I’ve hardly looked at it.’ He walked away.

‘At least,’ Colonel Morrison said to Judith, ‘this has nothing to do with Mrs Gillingham. And it does bring us up against a straightforward and provable crime.’

‘That is something, no doubt.’

‘What is your own impression of this fellow Friary?’

‘The man’s a blackguard.’

‘What happened to the Martineaus quite apart, it seems to be heading us for rather a nasty scandal. Not good for the county, that sort of thing.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘But at least we can get the fellow jugged. “Carnal knowledge” is the beastly phrase for it. Do you think he’s actually seduced this girl at Charne – Diana Somebody – too?’

‘Diana Page. I doubt it – but he may have. She was badly thrown off balance when she discovered that Bobby Angrave had no real interest in her.’

‘And Friary may have got her in the family way as well?’

‘That’s more improbable still. But one never knows.’

‘Such things happen, certainly. And a horrid mess it would be.’

‘It would be no worse for Diana, Colonel Morrison, than it is for the bewildered child in that cottage.’

‘Of course not. But the fellow must be a fool, among other things. You’re sure that Miss Page discovered what has happened to the child, and took the story to Mrs Martineau?’

‘There can’t be a doubt of it. And Mrs Martineau tackled Friary.’

‘And where does this lead us? That’s the question.’ Morrison paused, frowning. ‘This Page girl didn’t strike me as having much stuffing. Am I right?’

‘Quite right. She’s been trying to bolt.’

‘Suppose she has herself really been badly entangled with Friary. And then suppose Mrs Martineau, to whom she has alone confided her discovery here in the village so far, to die a mysterious death. Would it be a good bet that Miss Page would be so frightened that she wouldn’t utter a further word to anyone?’

‘I think so. She’d just want to run away from Charne, and never see any of us again.’

‘Then there you are. But here’s your husband.’ Morrison turned to Appleby as he came up. ‘Lady Appleby and I have elevated Friary to the position of chief suspect.’

‘It’s rather a stiff rise. Still, if we’re considering a crime, or crimes, committed from a motive of fear, Friary is distinctly in the running. If we think of the motive as greed, on the other hand, then Judith has found a useful outsider in Mrs Gillingham.’

‘And would you say there is a favourite?’ Morrison asked.

‘Good Lord, yes. Viewed that way on, Bobby Angrave is in a class by himself. And then comes his cousin, Martine. They give us the direction in which the property is presumably to go.’

‘It would be useful to have some certainty about that.’

‘Decidedly it would. And about some other things as well. But now, as I said, I want to have a look at the belvedere. And another look at Charles’ office, after that.’

‘And then have a word with people?’ It was almost casually that Morrison asked this.

‘If you want me to, yes.’

‘Good. I’d like to see this damned mystery cleared up before the day’s out.’

‘That’s a challenge, I suppose?’ Appleby reflected for a moment. ‘Do you know – I think I’ll take you on.’

As they approached the belvedere, somebody came out of it. It was Friary. He gave the three approaching figures a swift glance, and began to walk away.

‘One moment, Friary.’ It was Appleby who called out briskly. He waited until the man turned round. ‘Are you looking for anyone?’

‘For Miss Rivière, sir. Some instructions are wanted about luncheon. But I was mistaken in supposing her to be in the belvedere. It is Mr and Mrs Pendleton who are there.’

This, at least, was true. As Friary spoke, Edward and Irene Pendleton emerged from the building. They had much the air of cultivated tourists who have completed to their satisfaction the study of some minor antiquity.

‘Since you are here,’ Appleby said to Friary, ‘may I ask you one or two questions? It’s the convenient place, since they concern the belvedere.’

‘Irene and I must not barge in,’ Pendleton said. ‘We will make our way back to the house. Unless, of course, we can by any chance be of help.’

‘Then do stay for a moment.’ Appleby saw that the Pendletons were full of curiosity. ‘I think,’ he went on, turning to Friary, ‘that you passed the belvedere last night, on your way back from paying some call in the village?’

‘That is correct.’ Friary’s handsome features were not quite what they had been. There were dark rings under his eyes, and his expression was that of a man who knows that some ordeal lies ahead of him. Nevertheless he spoke steadily enough. ‘It was at precisely half past nine, sir.’

‘But you didn’t hear or see any sign of Mr and Mrs Martineau?’

‘No.’

‘You are aware that, for some time past, they have been in the habit of coming up here occasionally in the evening?’

‘Of course, sir. It was something very generally known.’

‘And on the previous night you were aware of them?’

‘Yes.’

‘On that occasion, did you see them, or merely hear them talking?’

‘It was only a matter of hearing, sir. If you will consider the position of this particular path in relation to the belvedere–’

‘Quite so. You went by close to the building, but at a lower level, so that only its upper part would be visible. Were you actually able to distinguish what Mr and Mrs Martineau were saying?’

‘A few words came to me, and then I had passed out of earshot. It would not have been proper to linger.’

‘Of course not. But, so far as what you did hear goes, it was a matter of entirely normal conversation?’

‘Oh, most certainly. Mrs Martineau, I believe, was saying something about the sunset, and its appearing to promise good weather on the following day. Yesterday, that would be.’

‘So it would. And that is the last time that you are aware of your late employers as having come up here?’

‘No, sir. It is not.’

‘But you say that last night–’

‘I am in no confusion, sir.’ Friary looked coldly at Appleby. Whether a trifle soft or not, the man wasn’t without fight in him. ‘I don’t think you will find that I have anything to retract.’

‘Well, that’s very satisfactory. And now, just what is this later occasion you are speaking of?’

‘It was yesterday afternoon, sir. The time was five o’clock precisely.’

‘You seem uncommonly fond of that sort of precision. Just what–’

‘Perhaps so, sir. But punctuality depends on an exact sense of time, and it is important to one holding a position like mine.’

‘I’m sure that is so.’ Appleby was aware that a slight lilt of insolence had come into Friary’s voice, but he paid no attention to it. ‘My question was going to be this. Just what were you doing up here at five o’clock?’

‘Am I right in detecting a note of hostility in that question, sir?’

This time, the insolence had emerged with a bang. Edward Pendleton could be heard as making a disapproving noise.

‘Everybody at Charne, Friary, must be prepared to accept stringent questioning.’ Appleby said this without irritation. ‘May I please have your answer?’

‘Very well. Since the master and mistress took to using the belvedere in the way we are considering, I have made it my business to come up from time to time and see that things are in order. Domestically speaking, a garden-house of this sort tends to be neither an indoor nor an outdoor responsibility. I have to see that the cleaning and so forth is not neglected. I trust that my explanation is in order, sir.’

‘Very well. And you say that Mr and Mrs Martineau were here at five o’clock yesterday afternoon?’

‘At that hour precisely, sir – if the expression does not again offend you.’

‘You went in and spoke to them?’

‘No. It was merely a matter of overhearing them, once more. I didn’t think it proper to disturb them.’