Death Before Breakfast (23 page)

‘One question,
Mister
Barnes, then. You're very fond of Miss Macready?'

Barnes would have blushed had he been that sort. She was already giving him the helpless look. He had, it was true, made great but fruitless efforts to curry her favour. He was in the habit of regularly sending her presents of pineapples and bananas, because she had once described them as exotic and reminding her of far-away places.

‘We're all fond of Miss Grace in these parts. Why?'

‘You, in particular, would do anything for her?'

‘Yes. We all would.'

Barnes wasn't going to wear his heart on his sleeve. He covered himself by including, presumably, the rest of his crew.

‘The question I want to ask is this: where did you pick up Jourin's body the night you carried it to your garage and dumped it in the forecourt?'

Grace would have rushed to Barnes, presumably either to strike or embrace him. Anything to keep his mouth shut. Cromwell intercepted her and pushed her away.

‘Don't tell him, Sammy. Don't say a word. They're trying to pin this on you and me.'

Barnes looked like a bewildered schoolboy, all his self-assurance gone, torn between saving himself and protecting poor Grace who suffered from arrested development.

‘Now,
Mister
Barnes, you'd better tell me the truth. If not, you run the risk of being charged as an accessory. Where did you pick up the body?'

Barnes could hardly speak.

‘At my house. She asked me if she could go there with him for a quiet talk. Miss Grace and me was good friends and I knew she was a bit sweet on Jourin. She met him on his way to see her brother and brought him round to my place, as she said she had private business with him. I guessed what it was …'

He smirked, in spite of his fears.

‘Go on …'

‘I left 'em together for a bit. After all, they was lovers. I didn't want to be in the way. Then, after a while, she came to the kitchen, where me and Ada was eatin' our supper. … Tripe and onions. …'

The doctor suddenly roused himself.

‘For God's sake, Sammy!'

Barnes looked hurt, but went on.

‘She took me to the other room and there was Jourin
laid-out. He'd been stabbed. She said he'd tried to assault her and she defended herself with a bread-knife, the room they was in bein' the dining-room, you see, and the knives and forks bein' lyin' on the sideboard. …'

‘And she asked you to help her?'

‘Yes. I thought a bit, and then I did the best I could. I couldn't very well send for a proper doctor and have it found out. They'd have put her in the jug for years. I felt sorry for her. …'

Another of them!

‘So you took him to the garage and left him there?'

‘Of course I didn't. I'm not the sort to leave a wounded man bleedin' to death without attention. The car was in front of the house. I'd left it there, because after supper I always take it round, garage it, and see the place is locked and the takings in the safe. I couldn't tell Trodd how it had happened. So I put the body inside the area where the pumps are, tooted on the horn, and buzzed off. I knew it 'ud bring out Trodd, who was workin' late, as he'd think it was somebody wantin' petrol. …'

He looked round at all of them to see if he was doing all right. When he caught Grace's eye, he recoiled. She was no longer the poor helpless half-wit, but an angry woman.

‘You swine! You're teaming-up with the rest to get me hanged. It's all lies! I never called at your house. Macready's put you up to this.'

‘You know very well, Miss Grace, I'd. …'

‘Get on with it, Barnes. …'

‘So, it's
Barnes
again, is it, Super., now you've got the upper 'and? That's what comes of trustin' people. There's no more to tell.'

‘Trodd answered your toot on the horn. Then what?'

‘He sent for me and I went round there, pretendin' I'd called for the takin's as well as to see what was up. I sent for Dr. Macready. He was the only one we could fetch.
Any other doctor called-in and Jourin would have been identified and we'd all have been in the soup. …'

He looked round him miserably.

‘Soup! It looks as if we're in it now, good and proper.'

‘And the rest we know.'

‘As you say, the rest you know. The doc. rose to the occasion, as you might say. …'

‘Until Jourin tried to escape from Peeples' place and died. Who moved the body?'

Barnes swallowed hard.

‘I did. I was just leavin' my house to go to the garage. I thought I'd better go early, before openin' time, and see that things was decent and ship-shape. We'd had Jourin's body on the bed in my back-room there and there was blood all over the place. We cleaned up the night before after we'd moved him, but I somehow felt I'd be easier in my mind if I inspected it again.'

‘You say you were just leaving your house. … You were on the doorstep, in fact.'

‘'Ow did-you know? Yes. When up runs Peeples like he'd seen a ghost. “Jourin broke out of my place, run in the street, and he's died on the pavement opposite. Whatever shall I do?” And he starts to weep. I tell him not to be a bloody fool and go and get the doctor. When I got to July Street – I actually run all the way …'

Littlejohn would have liked to see him, running. Probably like a huge bouncing balloon.

‘. …There was a woman comin' down towards me. I hurried back till she'd gone. She didn't seem to see the body.'

If only he'd known!

‘When she was out of the way, I found the corpse. The man was dead. I always think quickest early in the mornin'. I remembered the milk runabout. So, I ran to the garage and got it. …'

He paused, realising to what he had committed himself.

Littlejohn finished the story for him.

‘And you picked up the body, trundled it off, and dropped it in the canal.'

Barnes looked indignant.

‘What else could I do? It was Jourin, you see. If he'd been identified. …'

‘As you told us before; if he'd been identified, the fat would have been properly in the fire.'

Dead silence for a minute and then Grace gave tongue again.

‘It's all lies.'

Barnes didn't seem to hear. He was brooding on his own particular problem.

‘Who blew the gaff on us? Who told the police that Jourin was in July Street that night? Was it Peeples?'

Poor old Peeples. But he was the only one of the gang who didn't get a prison sentence. The magistrates were convinced of his innocence, especially after he'd fainted twice in court. They gave him brandy. It had become a habit.

Grace Starr was arrested for the murder of Etienne Jourin. When she was searched at the police station, the du Pan diamonds were found strapped round her body with transparent adhesive tape. She was well defended at her trial and the charge was reduced to manslaughter. The jury seemed sympathetic, as well they might be when faced by Grace's usual act of an innocent in a wicked world. Any thought that the judge was affected by her attitude was dispelled by a sentence of ten years' penal servitude.

Macready and Barnes had the whole book thrown at them, but were principally dealt with for receiving stolen goods. After all, they'd done their best to bring Jourin back to life! Macready got seven years. Sammy, thanks to throwing the body in the canal, was put away for eight
years. He was foreman of the prison garage for a time; then he had a stroke and died. Ada's health has since improved. Trodd got twelve months.

Mr. Peeples is living in Chatham now, at his wife's old home. He won't be there long, for he is having a large house built at the seaside. He is now a manufacturing chemist, mainly concerned with a remedy which is yielding a golden harvest.
Peeples' Whooping-Cough Elixir
.

Mrs. Jump, the instigator of the events which deprived July Street district of many of its prominent citizens, didn't remain long in the neighbourhood afterwards. The bank for which she worked gave her the tenancy of a small, cosy flat above their branch in Brondesbury, which she cleaned every day. She still helps Mrs. Littlejohn, and once, in a burst of unusual confidence, confessed that had she thought that the July Street body would cause the Superintendent so much trouble, she certainly would never have mentioned it.

Gorge Bellairs is a pen name of Harold Blundell (1902–1985), a crime writer born in Lancashire. Blundell was a prolific writer who published over 50 crime and mystery novels in his life, most of them featuring the detective Inspector Littlejohn.

Blundell also wrote regularly for the Manchester Guardian.

Discover books by George Bellairs published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/GeorgeBellairs

Death Before Breakfast
Death on the Last Train
Devious Murder
Murder Adrift

For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain references to missing images.

This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

First published in Great Britain in 1962 by John Gifford Limited

Copyright © 1962 George Bellairs

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eISBN: 9781448214464

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