Wimsey 006 - Five Red Herrings Page 5

  ‘Oh, don’t speak in that unfeeling tone,’ exclaimed Mrs. Strachan. ‘The poor man’s dead, and though he wasn’t a very nice man, one can’t help feeling sorry about it.’

  Strachan had the grace to mutter that he was sorry, and that he never wished any harm to the fellow. He leaned his forehead on his hand, as if his head was aching badly.

  ‘You seem to have been in the wars a bit yourself,’ remarked Wimsey.

  Strachan laughed.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘most ridiculous thing. I was up on the golf-course after breakfast when some putrid fool sliced a ball about a thousand miles off the fairway and got me slap-bang in the eye.’

  Mrs. Strachan gave another small squeak of surprise.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, and then subsided swiftly as Strachan turned his parti-coloured eyes warningly upon her.

  ‘How tiresome,’ said Wimsey. ‘Who was the blighter?’

  ‘Haven’t the faintest idea,’ replied Strachan, carelessly. ‘I was completely knocked out for the moment, and when I pulled myself together again and went to spy out the land, I only saw a party of men making off in the distance. I felt too rotten to bother about it I simply made tracks for the club-house and a drink. I’ve got the ball, though – a Silver King. If anybody comes to claim it I shall tell him where he gets off.’

  ‘It’s a nasty knock,’ said Wimsey, sympathetically, ‘A beautiful specimen of its kind, but uncommonly painful, I expect. It’s come up nicely, hasn’t it? When exactly did you get it?’

  ‘Oh, quite early,’ said Strachan. ‘About 9 o’clock’ I should think. I went and lay down in my room at the club-house all morning, I felt so rotten. Then I came straight home, so that’s why I hadn’t heard about Campbell. Dash it all, this means a funeral, I suppose. It’s a bit awkward. In the ordinary way we send a wreath from the Club, but I don’t quite know what to do under the circumstances, because last time he was here I told him to send in his resignation.’

  ‘It’s a nice little problem,’ said Wimsey. ‘But I think I should send one, all the same. Shows a forgiving spirit and all that. Keep your vindictiveness for the person who damaged your face. Whom were you playing with, by the way? Couldn’t he have identified the assassins?’

  Strachan shook his head.

  ‘I was just having a practice round against bogey,’ he said. ‘I caddied for myself, so there were no witnesses.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Your hand looks a bit knocked about, too. You seem to have spent a good bit of your time in the rough. Well, I really came in to ask you to make up a foursome tomorrow with Waters and Bill Murray and me, but I don’t suppose you’ll, so to speak, feel that your eye is in just yet awhile?’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Strachan, with a grim smile.

  ‘Then I’ll be popping off,’ said Wimsey, rising. ‘Cheerio, Mrs. Strachan. Cheerio, old man. Don’t bother to see me off the premises. I know my way out.’

  Strachan, however, insisted on accompanying him as far as the gate.

  At the corner of the road Wimsey overtook Miss Myra Strachan and her nurse taking an evening stroll. He stopped the car and asked if they would like a little run.

  Myra accepted gleefully, and her attendant made no objection. Wimsey took the child up beside him, packed the nurse into the back seat and urged the Daimler Double-Six to show off her best paces.

  Myra was delighted.

  ‘Daddy never goes as fast as this,’ she said, as they topped the tree-hung rise by Cally Lodge and sailed like an aeroplane into the open country.

  Wimsey glanced at the speedometer-needle, which was flickering about the 85 mark, and took the corner on a spectacular skid.

  ‘That’s a fine black eye your Dad’s got,’ he remarked.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it? I asked him if he’d been fighting, and he told me not to be impertinent. I like fighting. Bobby Craig gave me a black eye once. But I made his nose bleed, and they had to send his suit to the cleaners.’

  ‘Young women oughtn’t to fight,’ said Wimsey, reprovingly, ‘not even modern young women.’

  ‘Why not? I like fighting. Oo! look at the cows!’

  Wimsey trod hastily on the brake and reduced the Daimler to a lady-like crawl.

  ‘All the same, I believe he was fighting,’ said Myra. ‘He never came home last night, and Mummy was ever so frightened. She’s afraid of our car, you know, because it goes so fast, but it doesn’t go as fast as yours. Does that cow want to toss us?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wimsey. ‘It probably mistakes us for a pancake.’

  ‘Silly! Cows don’t eat pancakes, they eat oil-cake. I ate some once, but it was very nasty, and I was sick.’

  ‘Serve you right,’ said Wimsey. ‘I’d better put you down here, or you won’t be back by bed-time. Perhaps I’d better run you part of the way home.’

  ‘Oh, please do,’ said Myra. ‘Then we can drive the cows and make them run like anything.’

  ‘That would be very naughty,’ said Wimsey. ‘It isn’t good for cows to run fast. You are an impertinent, bloodthirsty, greedy and unkind young person, and one of these days you’ll be a menace to society.’

  ‘How lovely! I could have a pistol and a beautiful evening dress, and lure people to opium-dens and stick them up, I think I’d better marry you, because you’ve got such a fast car. That would be useful, you see.’

  ‘Very,’ said Wimsey, gravely. ‘I’ll bear the idea in mind. But you might not want to marry me later on, you know.’

  WATERS

  It amused Lord Peter to lead the simple life at Kirkcudbright. Greatly to the regret of the hotel-keepers, he had this year chosen to rent a small studio at the end of a narrow cobbled close, whose brilliant blue gate proclaimed it to the High Street as an abode of the artistically-minded. His explanation of this eccentric conduct was that it entertained him to watch his extremely correct personal man gutting trout and washing potatoes under an outside tap, and receiving the casual visitor with West End ceremony.

  As he clattered down the close, picking his way past the conglomeration of bicycles which almost blocked the entrance, Wimsey perceived this efficient person waiting upon the doorstep with an expression which, though strictly controlled, might almost have been called eager.

  ‘Hullo, Bunter!’ said his lordship, cheerfully. ‘What’s for dinner? I’m feeling uncommonly ready for it. There’s a beautiful corpse up at Creetown.’

  ‘I apprehended, my lord, that your lordship would be engaged in investigation. Not being certain of the exact hour of your lordship’s return, I thought it wiser, my lord, to prepare a dish of stewed beef with thick gravy and vegetables, which could, in case of necessity, be kept hot without deterioration.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said his lordship.

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I understand from the butcher that the portion of the animal which I have been accustomed to call shin of beef is termed in these parts the – er – hough.’

  ‘I believe you are right, Bunter.’

  ‘I did not take the man’s word for it,’ said Bunter, with melancholy dignity. ‘I inspected the carcase and ascertained that the correct cut was removed from it.’

  ‘You are always so thorough,’ said Wimsey, appreciatively.

  ‘I do my best, my lord. Would your lordship desire me to refer to the comestible as – er – hough – during our residence in this country?’

  ‘It would be a graceful concession to national feeling, Bunter, if you can bring yourself to do it.’

  ‘Very good, my lord. I presume that the leg of mutton will again pass under the appellation of jiggot, as on the occasion of your lordship’s previous visit?’

  ‘Certainly, Bunter.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ Bunter sighed deeply. ‘Whatever is correct I will endeavour to do to your lordship’s satisfaction.’

  ‘Thank you, Bunter. We must try to be correct under all circumstances.’

  ‘Yes, my lord. Dinner will be served in twenty minutes, as soon as the potatoes are ready.’

  �
�Right-ho!’ said his lordship. ‘I’ll just run across the close and have a chin-wag with Miss Selby till dinner-time.’

  ‘Pardon me, my lord. I understand that the ladies have gone away.’

  ‘Gone away?’ said Wimsey, rather taken aback.

  ‘Yes, my lord. I was informed by the young person who attends upon them that they had gone away to Glasgow.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Wimsey, ‘they’re away to Glasgow. But that probably only means that they are out for the day. It does not necessarily imply, as it does down South, that they have packed up bag and baggage and departed on a long visit. Well, I’ll go and hunt up Mr. Waters. I rather want to see him. I may bring him back to dinner.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  Wimsey crossed the High Street and knocked upon the door of Waters’ lodgings. The landlady answered his knock and in reply to his inquiry observed that ‘Mr. Waters was away just now.’

  ‘When will he be back?’

  ‘I couldna say, my lord, but I’m thinkin’ he’ll be stayin’ the nicht in Glasgow.’

  ‘Everybody seems to have gone to Glasgow,’ said Wimsey.

  ‘Och, ay. They’ll all have went tae the Exhibition. Mr. Waters was away by the first train.’

  ‘What! the 8.45?’ said Wimsey, incredulously. From what he had seen of Waters the previous night he had hardly expected such energy.

  ‘Ay,’ said the landlady, placidly. ‘He had his breakfast at 8 o’clock and was away with Miss Selby and Miss Cochran.’

  Wimsey felt rather relieved. He had been afraid for the moment that this early activity might have something a little sinister about it. But, chaperoned by Miss Selby and Miss Cochran, Waters could scarcely have got into mischief. One more of his six suspects seemed to be safely eliminated. He left a message that he would like to see Mr. Waters as soon as he got back and returned to Blue Gate Close.

  He had finished his savoury stew, and was enjoying an admirable cheese soufflé, when there was a sound of two pairs of heavy boots labouring over the cobbles, followed by that of a voice inquiring for his lordship.

  ‘Hullo!’ said Wimsey, ‘is that you, Dalziel?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ The Sergeant shouldered his way through the narrow doorway and stood aside to allow his companion to pass. ‘I’ve been reportin’ this matter to Sir Maxwell Jamieson, the Chief Constable, an’ he has been gude enough to come round wi’ me for a word wi’ your lordship.’

  ‘Splendid,’ said Wimsey, heartily. ‘Delighted to see you both. We haven’t met before, Sir Maxwell, but that’s not to say I don’t know you well by reputation, as I fancy, you know me. There was a trifling complaint of speeding last year, I believe, in which justice was rather more than tempered with mercy. Have a drink.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dalziel, when Wimsey’s proffered hospitality had been accepted, with suitable signs of appreciation. ‘I’ve been makin’ inquiries along the line in accordance wi’ the theory, but I’m no sae verra weel satisfied t’ane way or t’ither. But first of a’, I’d have ye ken I’ve interviewed the folk at Borgan, and they tell me young Jock saw Campbell pentin’ there at ten minutes past ten when he gaed oot tae tak’ a message to a wumman at Clauchaneasy, and he was still sittin’ there when Jock returned at five minutes past eleven. Sae ye see, he couldna ha’ left the place till a few minutes past eleven at the airliest.’

  ‘When you say he saw Campbell, do you mean that he knew it was Campbell or that he only thought it was?’

  ‘Nay, he disna ken Campbell, but he saw a man in a big black hat and a plaid cloak, like Campbell was wearin’. An’ he thinks there was a big plaid or rug liggin’ by the side of him.’

  ‘Then it may have been the murderer.’

  ‘Ay, so it may, but it’s the time o’ day I wad dra’ your attention to. Ye’ll admit that, murderer or no murderer, he couldna ha’ left yon place till past eleven?’

  ‘That seems clear enough.’

  ‘Well, then, we come tae the investigations consairnin’ the railway. There’s no sae mony trains in the day between Stranraer and Girvan stops at Pinwherry or Barrhill.’

  The Sergeant pulled an L.M.S. time-table from his pocket and smacked it out upon the table.

  ‘Let’s tak’ the trains tae Stranraer first. The murderer micht verra likely be thinkin’ o’ escapin’ by the boat fra’ Stranraer, ye ken, and if so, it’s in Ireland we’ll have to be lookin’ for him.’

  He pulled out a thick pencil and jotted the times down on a sheet of paper.

  a.m.

  p.m.

  Girvan

  10.45

  2.16

  Pinmore

  11.1

  2.31

  Pinwherry

  11.8

  2.39

  Barrhill

  11.18

  2.50

  Glenwhilly

  11.33

  3.6

  New Luce

  11.41

  3.13

  Dunragit

  11.52

  3.26

  Castle Kennedy

  12 noon

  3.33

  Stranraer

  12.7

  3.39

  Wimsey shook his head.

  ‘He couldn’t catch the first train – not on a bicycle, at any rate. Barrhill is his nearest point, and, if you give him only five minutes to pack his traps and get started, that leaves a bare eight minutes for ten miles or so. It’s just conceivable that he might do it by car if he blinded like hell and the train happened to be late, but how could he have got the spare car along? Of course he could have hung about somewhere in the hills and taken the 2.50, or he could have ridden farther and picked the same train up at another station, but that would give him a very poor alibi.’

  ‘That’s so, my lord,’ said Dalziel. ‘I hadna overlookit the possibeelity. Noo, there’s a report come in fra’ the station-master at Pinwherry that there was a gentleman tuk the 2.39 at Pinwherry. He paid particular attention to him because he was a stranger and appeared out of the ordinar’ nairvous and excited.’

  ‘Where did he book to?’

  ‘That’s juist the interesting part of the matter. He tuk his teeckit to Stranraer—’

  ‘Why, of course,’ said Wimsey, with his eye on the time-table. ‘That explains why he waited for that train. That’s the one that makes the connection with the boat to Larne. It’s a rotten connection at that – over three hours to wait in Stranraer – but it’s apparently the only one there is.’

  ‘I was aboot to tell ye,’ said the Sergeant, ‘the gentleman inquired maist anxiously aboot the connection and seemed sair disappointit to learn that there was no boat before 7 o’clock.’

  ‘That fits in all right,’ said Wimsey, ‘though it’s queer he didn’t find out about the boats earlier, while he was thinking this crime out so carefully. What was this fellow like?’

  ‘Juist a youngish body in a grey suit and soft hat, they tell me, an’ carryin’ a wee attaché-case. Rather tall than short, wi’ a sma’ dark moustache. The station-master wad ken him again.’

  ‘Did he give any particular account of himself?’

  ‘He said somethin’ o’ havin’ misread the time-table and thocht there was a boat at 3.50.’

  ‘Well, that’s perfectly possible,’ said Wimsey. ‘You see there are three lines at the bottom of the page showing the steamer connections from Stranraer Pier to Larne and Belfast, and just above them, three lines showing the train-connection between Stranraer, Colfin and Port Patrick. It’s easy to mistake the one for the other. But look here, Dalziel, if there was no boat for him before 7, you must have been in time to catch him.’

  ‘That’s a fact, my lord, and so soon as I had the report I telephoned through tae the pollis at Stranraer to have a sairch made; but I got their answer juist before comin’ over here, and it was tae the effect that there was no sic a pairson on the boat.’

  ‘Damn it!’ said Wimsey.

  ‘They are conducting an inquiry in Stranraer
, in case he should be in hidin’ there, and are stoppin’ all cars enterin’ and leavin’ the toon, and naiturally they will keep a strict eye on tomorrow’s boat. But it is no unthinkable that the felly isna mekkin’ for Larne at a’. That may ha’ been juist a blind.’

  ‘Did he actually go to Stranraer?’

  ‘It seems so. The teeckets ha’ been checkit, and the third-class teecket issued at Pinwherry, was duly given up at Stranraer. Unfortunately, the porter whae collectit it is no an obsairvin’ body and canna say what like the mon was that handit it tae him.’

  ‘Well, you seem to have done pretty well on that part of the business,’ said Wimsey, ‘considering the shortness of the time. And it looks as though we really had got on to something. By the way, did the stationmaster at Pinwherry mention whether the passenger had a bicycle?’

  ‘Nay, he hadna a bicycle. I askit him how he came there, but naebody had noticed him come. It seems he juist walkit intae the station.’

  ‘Well, of course, if he was taking the Irish boat, he would probably get rid of the bicycle first. He had plenty of time to hide it up in the hills. Well – that looks rather hopeful. Still, we mustn’t rely on it too much. How about the trains in the other direction – the ones going to Glasgow?’

  Dalziel turned over a couple of pages, licked the thick pencil and produced a new list.

  a.m.

  p.m.

  p.m.

  Stranraer

  dep. 11.35

  12.30 (from Stranraer Pier)