The Longer Bodies (33 page)

‘“Next I sought out my devoted sister and laid my case before her. Although suitably horrified at the thought of a second murder, she agreed that my personal safety probably depended upon the commission of the violent deed, and conceived what I believe to be the idea of a lifetime. She said, ‘Go with one of the others to his hut. Remain with him for the rest of the evening. Go on remaining with him. Make yourself as complete an alibi as you can, because at about a quarter to twelve tonight
Timon Anthony will come home
!'

‘“We discussed the plan for ten minutes longer. I then sought out Hilary Yeomond, and, after helping him remake his bed—the maids never turn the mattresses!—I invited him up to the house to play chess with me until the noises at the gate of the sunk garden proved that my sister had kept her word. We had previously arranged the business of setting fire to Yeomond's hut to cover ourselves if necessary.”'

Bloxham's mouth fell open. He put down the papers and gazed at Mrs Bradley with a face that was almost ludicrous in its expression of shocked amazement.

‘Setting fire to Yeomond's hut? But—but
that
was those Cowes!' he stated blankly.

Mrs Bradley nodded.

‘
BUT THE CONFESSION
wasn't signed,' said Bloxham, ‘and he denied that he had written it. Still, we've got him tight enough, and he confessed all right to me when I'd arrested him. Funny he should have written that about the waterproof, though. We can't find it where he stated, but, even if we had, I see now why his sister was so certain nobody would connect it with her.
Of course
none of us had ever seen her in it! She's given us the slip, I'm thankful to say. Got away to South America.'

‘Thankful to say?' exclaimed the newly released Miss Caddick, opening her pale eyes wide.

‘Yes, thankful to say,' repeated Bloxham firmly. ‘That girl did nothing except try and keep her wretched brother out of taking the consequences of his crimes. I'm glad she got away with it. I still can't make out, though,' he continued, turning to Mrs Bradley—for the four of them, together with Clive and Celia Brown-Jenkins, Priscilla Yeomond and the Digot family, were at tea—‘how you got to know enough about things to force that confession from him—'

‘Which he denies having written,' said Mrs Bradley, with her eldritch chuckle.

‘Yes, dear Mrs Bradley,' said Miss Caddick, tenderly stroking Mrs Bradley's yellow and black jumper sleeve, ‘do tell us how you knew that Mr Kost and I were not the wicked culprits.'

Mrs Bradley peered into her cup.

‘A flight of arrows and a heart—no, two hearts,' she remarked abstractedly. Kost and the erstwhile companion-secretary, who was now a lady of independent means, for old Mrs Puddequet had obligingly unbelted the twenty-five thousand in a singularly sporting manner, exchanged loving glances and a gentle pressure of the foot beneath the chaperonage of the teatable at which both were seated.

‘Yes, you will recount to us, perhaps, your splendid methods,' said Kost politely.

‘My methods?' said Mrs Bradley. ‘Well. I began by considering the most unusual feature of the case. That, of course, was the drowning of the little mermaid. After all, to have filled the corpse's pockets with stones would have served the murderer's purpose. Who would have chosen to sacrifice the statue? It was a frightful piece of work, judged as art. Was there an artist among those concerned? There was. Amaris Cowes. The rest was easy, and only required to be put to the proof. The disturbances at one o'clock on that Saturday morning were part of the practical jokes played by Timon Anthony. The body could have been put into the lake more easily in the light of day, or, at any rate, in the half-light of dawn, than in darkness, or even in the moonlight. Well, Amaris Cowes turned up at the house about an hour before dawn. That was the first point on which I disagreed with the inspector'—she grinned at him—‘for, although Amaris Cowes could not have been the murderer, she could have been, and in fact she was, the accomplice.

‘Whom would she have consented to help in such a matter at such extremely short notice? I gathered from Margaret here that the three branches of the Puddequet tree were not even on ordinary nodding terms with one another. It must have been her brother, then, whom she helped.

‘I could not convince the inspector about Amaris Cowes. I did try. As for Richard, his second alibi was really foolproof. The thing that I asked myself over and over again was where on earth Anthony could have been between the time Mr Kost went into the public house and the time that awful noise went on outside the sunk garden. As I could think of nothing else, I concluded that Anthony had been killed much earlier than had been supposed by the police, and that the noise at the gate was a blind. You remember,' she added, turning to Bloxham, ‘I demonstrated to you how it would have been possible for Amaris Cowes, immediately she heard her brother and Hilary Yeomond shouting from the terrace, to run round the house and get to Miss Caddick's bedroom door by using the back staircase.'

Bloxham nodded.

‘That brought me back to Richard Cowes again,' said Mrs Bradley briefly, ‘and the business of burning down Hilary Yeomond's hut.'

‘Did you know of the existence of the S.P.P.I.?' said Rex Digot. ‘I've found out that there really is such a society, but Richard Cowes is not the president of it. I suppose it was just his vanity which made him say in his confession that he was.'

Mrs Bradley grimaced horribly. Then she said:

‘I suppose you all believe that that written confession was genuine?'

‘Well, he's confessed the whole thing, verbally, to me since,' said Bloxham.

‘My dear lady!' exclaimed Colonel Digot. ‘Genuine! Why, just look into the facts for yourself!'

Mrs Bradley laughed, and, reaching out a skinny claw, she seized a currant-bun from the cake-stand and regarded it with rapture.

‘I
have
looked into them,' she said, ‘and I came to the conclusion that, if somebody had to be hanged, it might as well be the real murderer and not our friend Kost. Therefore, at the midhour of night, when all the world was sleeping, I took pen and paper and a good deal of thought, and wrote in my best copperplate the Confessions of Richard Cowes. After all, he himself told you in the little sitting room that day that he had committed both the murders, but you would not believe him!'

MARGERY ALLINGHAM

Mystery Mile

Police at the Funeral

Sweet Danger

Flowers for the Judge

The Case of the Late Pig

The Fashion in Shrouds

Traitor's Purse

Coroner's Pidgin

More Work for the Undertaker

The Tiger in the Smoke

The Beckoning Lady

Hide My Eyes

The China Governess

The Mind Readers

Cargo of Eagles

 

E. F. BENSON

The Blotting Book

The Luck of the Vails

 

NICHOLAS BLAKE

A Question of Proof

Thou Shell of Death

There's Trouble Brewing

The Beast Must Die

The Smiler With the Knife

Malice in Wonderland

The Case of the Abominable Snowman

Minute for Murder

Head of a Traveller

The Dreadful Hollow

The Whisper in the Gloom

End of Chapter

The Widow's Cruise

The Worm of Death

The Sad Variety

The Morning After Death

 

EDMUND CRISPIN

Buried for Pleasure

The Case of the Gilded Fly

Holy Disorders

Love Lies Bleeding

The Moving Toyshop

Swan Song

 

A. A. MILNE

The Red House Mystery

 

GLADYS MITCHELL

Speedy Death

The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop

The Longer Bodies

The Saltmarsh Murders

Death and the Opera

The Devil at Saxon Wall

Dead Men's Morris

Come Away, Death

St Peter's Finger

Brazen Tongue

Hangman's Curfew

When Last I Died

Laurels Are Poison

Here Comes a Chopper

Death and the Maiden

Tom Brown's Body

Groaning Spinney

The Devil's Elbow

The Echoing Strangers

Watson's Choice

The Twenty-Third Man

Spotted Hemlock

My Bones Will Keep

Three Quick and Five Dead

Dance to Your Daddy

A Hearse on May-Day

Late, Late in the Evening

Fault in the Structure

Nest of Vipers

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Copyright © The Executors of the Estate of Gladys Mitchell 1930

Gladys Mitchell has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

First published in Great Britain by Victor Gollancz in 1930

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