Five Red Herrings (11 page)

Wimsey, who had been trying to hold the whole local time-table in his head and was hurriedly calculating arrivals and departures, broke in at this point.

‘I suppose he really had been through the place already?’

‘Oh, yes. He told us beforehand where everything was, and mentioned the ones he liked. He’d come in on the same train as we did — only I suppose he would go straight up to the Exhibition.’

‘On your train — the 2.16. Yes, of course, he would join it at Dumfries. It leaves there at 11.22, doesn’t it? Yes, that’s right. Did you see him at Dumfries?’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. He’d travel smoking, anyway, and we made for a nice, old-fashioned Ladies’ Compartment, not being great smokers in confined spaces. Anyhow, he saw us at Glasgow if we didn’t see him, because the first thing he said when we met him was, “I saw you at the station, but you didn’t see me. Was that Kathleen and her good man with you?” And then he mentioned that he had been in the same train.’

‘Pretty good,’ said Wimsey. ‘Well, as you say, we’ll have to see Ferguson — I mean, the police will have to see him.’

Miss Cochran shook her head.

‘You can’t deceive me,’ she said. ‘You’re in it up to the eyes. If the truth were told, I dare say you did it yourself.’

‘No,’ said Wimsey. ‘This is about the only murder I couldn’t possibly have committed. I haven’t the technical skill.’

GOWAN

Inspector Macpherson of Kirkcudbright was one of those painstaking and unimaginative people for whom no hypothesis is too far-fetched to be investigated. He liked material clues. He paid no attention to such a trivial consideration as psychologial improbability. The Chief Constable had put before him the ascertained facts about Campbell’s death, and he saw that they pointed to the guilt of some artist or other. He liked them. The medical evidence was what he liked best; good, solid, meaty stuff about rigor and the alimentary canal. The business about trains and time-tables pleased him too; it lent itself to being set out in tabular form and verified. The bit about the picture was less satisfactory: it depended on technical matters which he did not personally understand, but he was open-minded enough to accept expert opinion on such matters. He would, for instance, have taken his Cousin Tom’s advice on electricity or his sister Alison’s opinion about ladies’ underwear, and he was not unprepared to admit that a gentleman like Wimsey might know more than he did about artists and their paraphernalia.

Accordingly, he perceived that all artists were, for his purpose, suspect, no matter how rich, respectable or mild-mannered they might be, and whether they were known to have quarrelled with Campbell or not. Kirkcudbright was his district, and his job was to collect alibis and information from every artist in Kirkcudbright, young or old, male or female, virtuous or wicked, indiscriminately. He went about the thing in a conscientious manner, not omitting Marcus McDonald, who was bedridden, or Mrs. Helen Chambers, who had only just settled in Kirkcudbright, or old John Peterson, who was ninety-two, or Walter Flanagan, who had returned from the Great War with an artificial leg. He noted the absence of Waters and Farren, though he did not get as much out of Mr. Farren as Lord Peter had done; and during the afternoon he presented himself at Mr. Gowan’s front-door, notebook in hand and rectitude upon his brow. He had left Gowan to the last, because it was well-known that Mr. Gowan worked in the mornings and resented interruptions before lunch, and Inspector Macpherson had no notion of making difficulties for himself.

The English butler opened the door, and in reply to the Inspector’s inquiry, remarked briefly:

‘Mr. Gowan is not at home.’

The Inspector explained that his business was official, and again requested an interview with Mr. Gowan.

The butler replied loftily.

‘Mr. Gowan is h’out.’

The Inspector begged to know when Mr. Gowan would be in again.

The butler condescended to explain further.

‘Mr Gowan is away.’

To the Scottish mind, this expression has not the same finality that it has to the English mind. The Inspector asked whether Mr. Gowan would be back that evening.

The butler, driven to be explicit, announced imperturbably:

‘Mr. Gowan has gone to London.’

‘Is that so?’ said the Inspector, annoyed with himself for having put off his visit for so long. ‘When did he go?’

The butler appeared to think this catechism ill-bred, but nevertheless replied:

‘Mr. Gowan left for London on Monday night.’

The Inspector was startled.

‘At what time on Monday night?’

The butler appeared to undergo a severe internal struggle, but answered, with great self-control:

‘Mr. Gowan took the h’eight forty-five train from Dumfries.’

The Inspector thought for a moment. If this was true, it left Gowan out altogether. But it must, of course, be verified.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I had best step in for a moment.’

The butler appeared to hesitate, but, seeing that a number of inhabitants from the close opposite had come out to stare at the Inspector and himself, he graciously gave way and let Macpherson into the handsome panelled entrance-hall.

‘I am investigatin’,’ said the Inspector, ‘this maitter o’ the death o’ Mr. Campbell.’

The butler bowed his head silently.

‘I will tell ye, wi’oot circumlocution, that there is mair than a suspeecion that the puir gentleman was murdered.’

‘So,’ said the butler, ‘I h’understand.’

‘It is important, ye ken,’ went on Macpherson, ‘that we should get all possible information from those that saw Mr. Campbell of late.’

‘Quite so.’

‘And as a matter of routine, ye understand, that we should ken whaur everybody was at the time the calamity occurred.’

‘Exactly,’ said the butler.

‘Nae doot,’ pursued the Inspector, ‘if Mr. Gowan were at hame, he wad be anxious tae gie us a’ the assistance in his power.’

The butler was sure that Mr. Gowan would be only too happy to do so.

The Inspector opened his notebook.

‘Your name is Halcock, is’t no?’ he began.

The butler corrected him.

‘H’alcock,’ he said, reprovingly.

‘H, a, double-l?’ suggested the Inspector.

‘There is no h’aitch in the name, young man H’ay is the first letter, and there is h’only one h’ell.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Inspector.

‘Granted,’ said Mr. Alcock.

‘Well, noo, Mr. Alcock, juist as a pure formality, ye understand, whit time did Mr. Gowan leave Kirkcudbright on Monday night?’

‘It would be shortly after h’eight.’

‘Whae drove him?’

‘Hammond, the chauffeur.’

‘Ammond?’ said the Inspector.

‘Hammond,’ said the butler, with dignity. ‘H’albert Hammond is his name — with a h’aitch.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Inspector.

‘Granted,’ said Mr. Alcock. ‘Perhaps you would wish to speak to Hammond?’

‘Presently,’ said the Inspector. ‘Can you tell me whether Mr. Gowan had seen Mr. Campbell at a’ on the Monday?’

‘I could not undertake to say.’

‘Mr. Gowan was friendly with Mr. Campbell?’

‘I could not undertake to say.’

‘Has Mr. Campbell visited at the house recently?’

‘Mr. Campbell has never visited this house to my knowledge.’

‘Indeed? Imph’m.’ The Inspector knew as well as Mr. Alcock that Gowan held himself very much aloof from the rest of the artistic population, and seldom invited anybody except for a stately bridge-party now and again, but he felt it his duty to put these questions officially. He ploughed on conscientiously.

‘Noo, I’m only juist checkin’ up on this maitter, ye ken, wi’ a’ Mr. Campbell’s acquaintances. Can ye tell me what Mr. Gowan did on the Monday?’

‘Mr. Gowan rose at 9 o’clock according to custom and breakfasted at 9.30. He then took a turn in the garden and retired to his studio in the customary manner. He partook of luncheon at the usual time, 1.30. H’after luncheon, he was again engaged on his h’artistic pursuits till 4 o’clock, when tea was served in the library.’

The butler paused.

‘Ay?’ said the Inspector, encouragingly.

‘H’after tea,’ went on the butler, more slowly, ‘he went out for a run in the two-seater.’

‘Did Hammond drive him?’

‘No. When Mr. Gowan takes the two-seater, he is accustomed to drive himself.’

‘Ah? Ay. Whaur did he go?’

‘I could not undertake to say.’

‘Weel, when did he return?’

‘About 7 o’clock.’

‘And then?’

‘Mr. Gowan then made the h’observation that he had decided to go to town that night.’

‘Had he said anything aboot that airlier?’

‘No. Mr. Gowan is in the habit of making occasional journeys to town.’

‘Without previous notice?’

The butler bowed.

‘It didna strike ye as unusual in any way?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Ay, imph’m. Did he dine before leaving?’

‘No. I understood Mr. Gowan to say that he would be dining on the train.’

‘On the train? Ye say he took the 8.45 from Dumfries?’

‘So I was given to understand.’

‘But, man, are ye no aware that the 8.45 disna mak’ ony connection wi’ London? It arrives in Carlisle at 9.59, which is verra late tae get dinner, and after that there’s nae train tae London till five meenuts past twelve. Wherefore did he no tak his dinner here an’ catch the 11.8 at Dumfries?’

‘I could not undertake to say. Mr. Gowan did not h’inform me. Possibly Mr. Gowan had some business to transact at Carlisle.’

The Inspector gazed at Mr. Alcock’s large, white, imperturbable face, and said:

‘Ay, that may be. Did Mr. Gowan say how long he would be away?’

‘Mr. Gowan mentioned that he might be h’absent for a week or ten days.’

‘Did he give you any address?’

11

‘He desired that letters should be forwarded to his club.’

‘And that is?’

‘The Mahlstick, in Piccadilly.’

The Inspector made a note of the address, and added:

‘Have ye heard from Mr. Gowan since his departure?’

The butler raised his eyebrows.

‘No.’ He paused, and then went on less frigidly. ‘Mr. Gowan would not write unless he had occasion to mention any special h’instructions.’

‘Ay, that’s so. Then so far as ye ken, Mr. Gowan is at this moment in London.’

‘For all I know to the contrary, he is.’

‘Imph’m. Weel, noo — I wad like tae speak a word wi’ Hammond.’

‘Very good.’ Mr. Alcock rang the bell, which was answered by a young and rather pretty maid.

‘Betty,’ said Mr. Alcock, ‘h’inform Hammond that his presence is required by the H’Inspector.’

‘Juist a moment,’ said Macpherson. ‘Betty, ma lass, whit time did Mr. Gowan leave here o’ Monday nicht?’

‘Aboot 8 o’clock, sir,’ said the girl, quickly, with a little glance at the butler.

‘Did he dine before he went?’

‘I–I canna juist charge ma memory, sir.’

‘Come, my girl,’ said Mr. Alcock, magisterially, ‘surely you can remember that. There’s nothing to be frightened about.’

‘No-n-no, Mr. Alcock.’

‘No,’ said Mr. Alcock. ‘You are quite sure about that. Mr. Gowan did not dine at home on Monday?’

‘No.’

Mr. Alcock nodded.

‘Then run and give Hammond my message — unless the Inspector wants to ask you anything further?’

‘No,’ said Macpherson.

‘Has — onything happened?’ asked Betty, tremulously.

‘Nothing whatever, nothing whatever,’ replied the butler. ‘The Inspector is just making some routine inquiries, as I understand. And, Betty, just you give that message to Hammond and come straight back. No stopping and chattering. The Inspector has his work to get through same as you and me.’

‘Yes — I mean, no, Mr. Alcock.’

‘A good girl,’ said the butler, as Betty ran out, ‘but slow in the uptake, if you understand me.’

‘Imph’m,’ said Inspector Macpherson.

Hammond, the chauffeur, was a small, perky man, mongrel in speech, but betraying a strong streak of the fundamental cockney. The Inspector reeled off his preliminary speech about routine inquiries, and then came to the point.

‘Did ye drive Mr. Gowan onywhere on Monday last?’

‘That’s right. Drove ’im ter Dumfries.’

‘What time?’

‘Eight o’clock for the 8.45.

‘In the two-seater?’

‘Naow, in the saloon.’

‘What time did Mr Gowan come in wi’ the two-seater?’

‘ ’Baht a quarter past seven, might be earlier, might be later. I was ’avin’ me supper at ’alf-past seven, and the Riley was in the garridge w’en I come back there.’

‘Did Mr. Gowan tak ony luggage wi’ him?’

‘Bit of a bag, like. One ’er they ’tashy cases — ’baht so long.’

He indicated a spread of about two feet.

‘Ay, imph’m. Did ye see him get into the train?’

‘Naow. ’E walked into the station and told me ter cut along ’ome.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Eight thirty-five as near as makes no difference.’

‘And ye cam’ straight back tae Kirkcudbright?’

‘Sure thing. Naow. Wait a mo. I brought a parcel o’ stuff back with me.’

‘Ay? An’ whit stuff wad that be?’

‘Two pictures of Mr. Gowan’s, what belonged to a gentleman in Dumfries. The boss didn’t want ’em sent by train, so I picked ’em up at the house. They was all done up waitin’ to be collected’

‘Ye went tae this hoose after ye had left Mr. Gowan at the station?’

‘That’s right. Gentleman name of Phillips. Want ’is address?’

‘Ay — ye may as weel gie’t me.’

The chauffeur gave it.

‘Did Mr. Gowan mek ony mention o’ whaur he was gaein’?’

‘ ’E only said ’e wanted ter catch the train for Carlisle.’

‘Carlisle?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He didna say for London?’

‘Not ter me. Train for Carlisle, ’e says.’

‘Ay — and when did he first gi’ ye the order?’

‘Mr. Alcock comes down w’en I was ’aving me supper, and says Mr. Gowan wanted the saloon round at 8 o’clock ter tike ’im ter Dumfries. And I says, “Right-oh!” I says, “an’ I can pick up them there pitchers at the same time.” That’s what I says and that’s what I done.’

‘Ay, verra guid. That’s quite clear. Thank you, Mr. Hammond. This is naething at a’, ye understand, but juist a simple formality.’

‘Thet’s all right. Finni?’

‘What’s that?’

‘I says, finni? meaning, is that O.K.? complete? ’ave yer done?’

‘Oo, ay, there’s nae mair wantin’ from ye at the moment.’

‘Well, cheerio, then,’ said the chauffeur.

‘Did you wish to see Mrs. Alcock?’ inquired the butler, politely, but with the air of one prepared to endure all things.

‘Oh, no — I’m thinkin’ it’ll no be necessary. Thank ye verra much, Mr. Alcock.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said the butler. ‘I trust that you will soon have the miscreant by the heels. Very happy to have been of use, I am sure. There are two steps h’up to the front door. A beautiful h’evening, is it not? Reelly, the sky is quite a poem. Good h’evening, Inspector.’

‘A’ the same,’ said the Inspector to himself, ‘it’ll no be amiss tae make inquiries at Dumfries. They’ll no have forgotten Gowan, wi’ his big black beard. It’s a queer thing he should suddenly be wantin’ tae spend two-three hours in Carlisle waitin’ for a train tae London. He micht verra weel ha’ hired anither car tae fetch him hame.’

He considered a little, as he wandered thoughtfully towards the police-station.

‘Forbye,’ he continued, ‘yon lassie didna seem juist sae ready wi’ her replies as they twa.’

He pushed back his cap and scratched his head.

‘Nae maitter,’ said he, cheerfully. ‘I’ll sort it yet.’

MRS. MCLEOD

Things were lively in the Close that night. Wimsey had escorted his visitors to their doors, and was thinking of turning in, when the sudden opening of the blue gate and the cries of a fellow-creature entangled and in pain urged him to go to the assistance of the Chief Constable, who had become involved with the bicycles in the narrow passage.

‘I don’t mind telling you,’ said Sir Maxwell, when at length he was safely seated in Wimsey’s armchair and comforted with Scotch, ‘that I am greatly disturbed about all this business. If I could see any clear line to follow up, it would be more satisfactory. Even supposing that your list of suspects comprises the whole of the possibilities (which at present, mark you, I am not disposed to grant) — even then, I simply do not know where to start an inquiry. That one or two of them should have no good alibis is only what one might expect — but that practically all of them should be open to suspicion really bewilders me.’

‘Dear me!’ said Wimsey.

‘Graham and Strachan,’ went on the Chief Constable, were both out all night, as you know, and have no explanations. Ferguson appears, from what you say, to be all right, but he has not been interrogated yet, and really, after today’s experiences, I am beginning to doubt whether anybody’s movements will bear investigation. Farren’s disappearance is so suspicious that, if it were not for the extraordinary behaviour of the rest, I should get out a warrant for him straight away. Gowan—’

‘Surely not Gowan, too?’

‘Gowan has gone to England, and there are points in Inspector Macpherson’s report—’

‘I haven’t heard that yet.’

‘No.’ The Chief Constable gave the gist of the Inspector’s interview with the servants, and resumed:

‘There are undoubtedly points there that need looking into. And now comes a most infernal business about Waters.’

‘Unbosom yourself,’ said Wimsey. ‘Trouble shared is trouble halved.’

‘Well,’ said Sir Maxwell, ‘when Waters didn’t turn up today with the ladies yonder, Inspector Macpherson made a few inquiries of Mrs. McLeod, who seems to have misled you — though, I think and hope, unintentionally. And these inquiries brought to light a very remarkable circumstance.’

‘Apparently Waters did ask to be called early on the Tuesday morning and did make the remark that he rather thought of going to Glasgow. On the Monday night, Mrs. McLeod heard him come in with you and go up to bed. Then you went out again. She puts this at about 10.30. Is that right?’

‘Meaning, did I leave about 10.30? Yes, that’s near enough.’

‘Well, then, some time between 11 and midnight, Mrs. McLeod heard somebody throwing pebbles at Waters’ bedroom window. Her room is next but one to his, and they both look out on the High Street. She looked out, and saw a man down below. She couldn’t make him out very well, but he seemed to be shortish and broad, well wrapped up in an overcoat and muffler. She was just going to shout down and tell him to shut up, when Waters’ window opened, and she heard Waters say angrily:

“What the devil do you want?”’

‘The man in the street said something which she did not catch, and then Waters said:

“Well, don’t make that blasted row. I’m coming down.”’

‘She then leaned out a little further and saw a four-seater car standing a few yards down the street. Waters came down presently in some sort of outdoor togs — a sweater and trousers — she thinks — and he and the man went into Waters’ sitting-room. They talked there for a bit, and Mrs. McLeod went back to bed. Presently she heard somebody run up to Waters’ bedroom and down again, and the front door was opened and shut. Mrs. McLeod looked out once more, and saw both men climb into the car and move off. In about three-quarters of an hour — being thoroughly wakened up by that time — she heard the door open softly again, and footsteps tiptoeing up the stairs into Waters’ bedroom.’

‘Nothing more happened after that, and at 7.30 she knocked on Waters’ door as arranged, with his shaving-water, and at 8 o’clock she put his breakfast in the sitting-room. She then went out to the back of the house to do some household work, and at 8.20, when she came in again, Waters had eaten a sketchy sort of breakfast and gone.

‘Now, there are two more interesting points. First of all, Waters went — ostensibly to see an exhibition in Glasgow — in an old sweater, a pair of grey flannel bags, tennis-shoes and an old burberry. And secondly, he took his bicycle with him.’

‘What?’ cried Wimsey.

‘He took his bicycle with him. Or rather, to be accurate, his bicycle, which stands just inside the front door, was there on the Monday night and was gone at 8.20. The presumption is that Waters took it.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘What do you make of that?’ demanded the Chief Constable.

‘What you want me to make of it,’ said Wimsey, slowly, ‘is that the man in the street was Campbell, come back to finish out his row with Waters. That they went off together to fight it out. That in the row, Campbell got his head bashed in. That Waters then concealed the body somewhere. Then he came home, in order to look as ordinary as possible. That he then thought out a plan of concealment, and that next morning he went off at the time previously appointed, put the body and the bicycle in Campbell’s car, and hared off to the Minnoch to fake the accident.’

‘Can you make anything else of it?’

‘I might make fifty things,’ said Wimsey, ‘but — not to practise any mean concealment — I will admit that the circumstances seem to fit the crime. Except, perhaps, for one point.’

‘Yes, I thought of that. What did he do with the body between midnight and 8 a.m.?’

‘No,’ said Wimsey. ‘No — I see no difficulty about that. All he had to do was to put the body in the car and run it along to his studio. There is plenty of open space there where people stand cars and carts, and nobody would take any notice of an old car with junk in it, covered with a rug. It’s not as if he’d left it in Piccadilly Circus. People leave cars in the street all night in this place, and nobody bothers. No, that’s not what’s puzzling me.’

‘Well?’

‘Well! If all that is true, where is Waters? He ought to have been here yesterday, blatantly establishing his entire innocence. What’s the good of concocting an elaborate fake like that, and then drawing suspicion on yourself by running away?’

‘Perhaps he got cold feet when he’d done it. Anyhow, your objection applies to them all, except Strachan and possibly Ferguson.’

‘That’s true. Well, Chief, I think you’ll have to send out the hue and cry after Waters.’

‘I suppose I shall. Will this mean Scotland Yard, do you suppose?’

‘Well, you’ll have to get help in tracing these people all over the country. They may be anywhere. But I’m still inclined to think that it’s a case where local knowledge can make the running best. But I’m not in a position to pronounce, don’t you know.’

‘Of course, I’d rather we could work it ourselves. Macpherson is a good man and so is Dalziel.’

‘That reminds me,’ said Wimsey, ‘how about the young man they detained at Stranraer?’

Sir Maxwell groaned.

‘A wash-out. He turns out to be a perfectly respectable stranger employed in a linen manufactory at Larne. Apparently he had leave to visit his family, who live in some obscure farm near Pinwherry. He was given a long week-end, finishing up on Monday night. It seems there was some kind of jollification on the Monday night, and the lad was over-persuaded to stay on for it. On Tuesday, as soon as he had recovered his senses, he bolted off to the station, thinking he could get back that afternoon, but mistook the time-table and then found he could get no boat before 7 o’clock that evening.’

‘Having, of course, missed the morning boat.’

‘Exactly. That was what he originally intended to catch, of course, but owing to the jollification, he didn’t. Well, having got to Stranraer, he decided that there was no point in returning that night, and that he might as well stay over and take the 6.10 boat on Wednesday morning. Consequently, Dalziel’s message to the Stranraer police caught him as he was boarding this morning’s boat. Dalziel has been working like a nigger all day, getting him identified by his family and by the station-master at Pinwherry and by the people at Larne, and the upshot of it is that his story is perfectly straight, and that he’s guilty of nothing worse than being too drunk to go back to work on Monday night. Confound the fellow! He’s wasted a whole day of our best man’s time, and left us exactly where we were before. I hope he’s sacked, that’s all.’