The Problem at Two Tithes (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 7) (23 page)

‘What do you want, Corky?’ said Freddy.

Corky affected a look of innocence.

‘Why must you always assume I want something?’ he said. ‘Perhaps I come to give you moral support. For are we not colleagues, comrades, bosom bedfellows in our chosen profession?’

‘Bosom bedfellows? What a ghastly thought,’ said Freddy. ‘Now, do scoot off, there’s a good chap. Angela and I have important things to do.’

‘Oh, it’s
Angela and I
, is it?’ said Corky. ‘I see—so this is how you get your stories, yes? By seducing decaying gentlewomen, and taking advantage of their vanity and joy at having ensnared a young man in their declining years to induce them to tell you everything.’

‘Freddy, if you wanted to whack him one on the nose with that boot, I shouldn’t do a thing to stop you,’ said Angela with some energy.

‘Just my joke, madam—although who am I to say whether it mayn’t have just a
soupçon
of truth to it? Naturally, I should never
dream
of suggesting such a thing in print, however,’ said Corky with a leer.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Angela, drawing herself up magnificently and taking a step towards him. ‘Because if you did, I should be forced to sue firstly you, then that loathsome rag of yours for employing you, and finally your mother for giving birth to you in the first place. I have lots of money and a solicitor who has nothing better to do at present, so don’t think it’s an idle threat.’

Her voice came out as a hiss, and for the briefest of moments she looked like a mythical and terrifying creature poised to tear the eyes from the head of a poor innocent soul lying bound to a rock. Corky flinched.

‘I suggest you apologize to the lady,’ said Freddy.

Corky looked sulky and muttered an apology.

‘Now then, as I said, the best thing you can do is to leave us alone,’ said Freddy. ‘The police will be arriving shortly, and as you can see we’ve some new evidence to show them.’

‘So I gather,’ said Corky. ‘But why waste it on the police? I mean to say, by all means give it to them later, but can’t you see that you hold in your hands this very minute a most sensational story in itself?’ His face assumed a pitying look. ‘Freddy, Freddy, you can’t expect to make a success of this business if you fail to think of the business first and foremost. Justice is all very well, but the most important thing is that it be
seen
to be done. The general public have a right to know all that concerns them, and this shotgun is vital evidence. Think of the dramatic impact a photograph of this weapon would have, when splashed across half a page with below it the caption, “This is the gun that killed an innocent man and sent a guilty one to hang.”’ For a moment, his expression held a touch of the sublime. ‘Why, such a scoop would be the making of us both!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s simply not done to interfere with a police investigation. You can’t just go running off with evidence because you think it might make a pretty picture for the evening edition. This gun is probably covered with finger-prints and you’ll ruin them.’

‘Pshaw!’ said Corky. ‘Does anyone care about finger-prints these days? I thought they were old hat.’

‘Sorry, Corky,’ said Freddy. ‘We’re giving this to the police and that’s that.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Corky. ‘You have me once again. But you can’t blame me for trying.’

He sniffed and turned to walk away. Freddy set the gun down and bent to put on his boot, and quick as lightning Corky turned back and made a dart for it.

‘A-ha!’ he exclaimed in triumph, and made off at a run, the gun under his arm. Freddy, still wearing only one boot, immediately set off after him and the two young men disappeared around the back of the church.

‘Oh dear,’ said Angela. She picked up the boot and hurried after them.

In the churchyard, she found Corky weaving in and out of the headstones, pursued by Freddy, who was a fast enough runner but somewhat hampered by being only semi-shod. In and out they dodged, Corky giggling maniacally all the while, until they had run all the way around the church and were once more at the front. By this time Corky, who was not the fittest of men, was starting to flag slightly. He paused for an instant to decide which way to go, and in that instant Freddy took an enormous leap and brought him down to the ground. For the next few moments all that could be seen was a mass of flailing arms and legs as Freddy tried to wrestle the shotgun out from under Corky. Meanwhile, Angela stood at a safe distance and glanced about her, wondering whether she ought to go for help, for the fight seemed evenly matched and looked as though it might go on for hours.

‘Get off me!’ cried Corky. ‘I’ll have you for assault.’

But Freddy was not listening. He had managed to turn Corky over and had a knee on his chest as he tried to wrench the gun out of his hands. There was a struggle and then Corky somehow managed to bring the gun up. It clipped Freddy on the side of the head and he yelled and loosened his hold. In a trice, Corky was on his feet, and before anyone could say anything pointed the gun at Freddy, who was panting on the ground, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud click. Freddy gasped in outrage and called Corky an unrepeatable name.

‘Ouch!’ exclaimed Corky, and dropped the gun, for Angela had just stepped up and rapped him smartly on the knuckles with Freddy’s boot.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she said severely, as Corky sucked his hand and regarded her balefully. ‘You idiot,’ she went on, as Freddy picked up the shotgun and got to his feet. ‘If that had been loaded
you’d
be the one with your photograph in the paper tonight. You can’t possibly be
that
keen on getting a story, surely.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Corky feebly.

‘Rot,’ said Freddy. ‘You did it deliberately. Why, you might have killed me! And not only that, but if there were any finger-prints on it before, then you’ve rubbed them all off. You ass, Corky. What do you think the police are going to say when they find out?’

‘Oh, and of course you’re going to tell them,’ said Corky. His voice had become a whine. ‘Not exactly honourable, is it, to squeak on a fellow reporter.’

‘You hardly deserve the title,’ said Freddy with dignity. ‘And that’s beside the point, anyway. This is a murder weapon, and people will be asking questions about it in court. For all we know, someone’s life may have depended on those finger-prints.’

‘Ah, yes, the murder,’ said Corky, looking suddenly thoughtful. ‘Did I hear you say you’d called the police?’

‘Yes, and we’re expecting them at any minute,’ said Freddy.

‘I see,’ said Corky. ‘Very well, then, I shall leave you to it. I’m awfully sorry about firing the gun at you, old thing. It was just in the heat of the moment and all that. Of course I knew it wasn’t loaded.’

He smiled genially then turned on his heel and walked off.

‘What is he up to?’ said Angela. ‘I can’t believe he’s just going to leave us and miss out on the fun.’

‘I expect he’s remembered some kittens he forgot to drown earlier,’ said Freddy, rubbing his head. ‘Let’s just be thankful that he’s gone for now. He’s given me a ringing headache.’

‘Perhaps I oughtn’t to have threatened to sue him,’ said Angela. ‘I suppose it might have provoked him slightly.’

‘Oh, no. He doesn’t need to be provoked to act like an imbecile,’ said Freddy. ‘He can do that wholly off his own bat. You were rather marvellous in your fury, though. I've never seen you in a temper before.’

‘Yes, well, he is quite extraordinarily irritating,’ said Angela. ‘I don’t wonder he annoys you. Now, then, I think we ought to do something with this shotgun, just in case he comes back. Let’s go back to the vicarage and ask Mrs. Hunter to look after it, shall we?’

‘An excellent idea,’ said Freddy. ‘She will no doubt keep us talking for another hour and that will fill the time nicely until Inspector Jameson gets here.’

Inspector Jameson finally arrived in Banford Green at about half past two, later than he intended. His superintendent had caught him as he was about to leave, and had kept him in conversation about a blackmail case which the super insisted required delicate handling, for it involved a minor politician. Jameson listened politely and agreed that everything possible ought to be done to keep the case out of the public eye, but all the while he was fighting the urge to tap his feet and glance at his watch. Finally, the super let him go, and he hurried down the stairs and out of the building. Once in his car and safely on the Surrey road, he turned his mind to the matter at hand. Mrs. Marchmont’s hurried telephone-call had given him little information but had lifted his spirits more than he dared to admit to himself. Could she really have found the evidence necessary to exonerate Norman Tipping—and by extension, Kathie Montgomery—from the charge of murder? Sergeant Primm had telephoned the night before to inform him of their arrest, and Jameson had congratulated him, outwardly pleased at the progress that had been made on the case. Inwardly, however, he had hated himself for the part he had played in putting Kathie in gaol, and he had spent a sleepless night trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing. He hoped very much that Angela’s evidence could be relied upon. She was not the type to exaggerate the importance of a thing, but on the other hand she was not of the police, and therefore could not be expected to know what sort of evidence would stand up in court and what would not. Still, she had never let him down in the past. Perhaps she had succeeded in finding something that the police had missed.

The first thing he saw as he parked the car by the green was William, Angela’s chauffeur, who was just then emerging from the Red Lion Inn in company with an old man. They seemed to be on very friendly terms, and Jameson raised his eyebrows—first, because it seemed an odd sort of thing for Angela’s driver to be doing at that time of day, and second, because the man did not look to Jameson like the sort of person with whom William would normally keep company.

The old man went away, and William saluted the inspector cheerfully.

‘Hallo inspector,’ he said. ‘I guess you’re expected.’

‘I think so,’ said Jameson. ‘Am I to understand that you know what this is all about?’

‘Not the whole story,’ said William, ‘but I do know that Mrs. Marchmont and Mr. Pilkington-Soames have been doing some investigating this morning, and have found out one or two mighty interesting things.’

‘Where are they now?’ said Jameson.

‘Why, I don’t know,’ said William. ‘They set me on to finding something out for them, and I was just going to look for them.’

‘Is that what you were doing in the Red Lion?’ said Jameson.

William nodded and grinned widely. He looked very pleased with himself.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and find them, and you shall hear all about it when I tell them.’

They left the bustling centre of the village and walked towards the head of Church Lane. They had not gone far down the lane when they saw Angela and Freddy walking towards them.

‘Oh, inspector, I’m so glad you’ve come,’ said Angela as they approached. She wore the brightest smile. ‘We’ve just had rather an eventful morning, and I’m dying to tell someone about it. And you’re here too, William. Have you had any luck?’

‘I should say so,’ replied William.

‘Splendid,’ said Angela. ‘Suppose we convene somewhere more comfortable to discuss it.’

‘Where do you have in mind?’ said Jameson.

‘Why, I don’t know,’ said Angela. ‘You don’t think they’d let us use the police station, do you?’

In the end they all went back to the Red Lion and sat in the snug.

‘This is rather appropriate, as it happens,’ said Angela. ‘Now then, where shall we begin? First of all, inspector, I suppose I ought to mention that Freddy and I have found the shotgun that was used to kill Tom Tipping.’

Inspector Jameson sat up at once at this news.

‘Are you sure?’ he said.

‘Reasonably so,’ said Angela. ‘Unfortunately, I must also tell you that Corky Beckwith happened upon us just after we found it and made himself rather tiresome, and so any finger-prints there may have been to start with have been smudged or lost. Still, I think it may not matter in the end once you’ve heard the circumstances.’

She related the story of how they had found the gun, and Jameson whistled.

‘So it was there all along, chained up in the poor box,’ he said. ‘Rather remiss of us not to have looked there. Of course, we had rather assumed that the murderer took the gun away with him, but that’s no excuse for us not to be thorough.’

‘Oh, but if the murderer’s plan was to work then he
couldn’t
take the gun away with him,’ said Angela. ‘Not then, anyway. ‘I imagine he planned to come back for it later, but by that time Mrs. Hunter had had her accident and it was locked away.’

‘Where is it now?’ asked Jameson.

‘Mrs. Hunter is looking after it for us. She’s tremendously excited about it and has promised to defend it with her life, so I think it’s probably safe for now.’

‘Whose is it?’

‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ said Angela. ‘And I think we can answer that too. Or perhaps William can. He’s been finding things out for us.’

‘Who was that old man you were talking to?’ said Jameson.

‘His name is Ben Shaw,’ said Angela. ‘Didn’t you meet him when you were here before? He works at Low Meadow Farm for Andrew Norris.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Jameson. ‘The one who was eating lunch with Norris in this room when the murder took place. No, I hadn’t met him.’

‘That’s the one,’ agreed Angela. ‘He swore that Norris was with him all the time, and I wanted to find out whether that was true, so I asked William to find out for me. Ben herded cattle in the Chicago stockyards for a while in his youth, you see, and he took a great fancy to William when he found out he was American, so it struck me that we might take advantage of that fact. Did you have to get him
very
drunk, William?’

‘Not overly,’ said William with a grin. ‘He was only too happy to talk to me. He’s an old man and doesn’t care too much one way or the other what his boss gets up to, and he’s not too keen on the police, so I guess he wasn’t particularly interested in helping them.’