The Trouble With Harry (10 page)

At 1 a.m. the four people and the two spades made their way once more to the grave in the bracken. The heath at this hour was completely out of the world. The moon had crimsoned and swollen and was falling after the sun; between the trees and over the bracken and the shrubbery there lay the faint suspicion of a mist. It brought a thin chill to the air and lent an aspect of fairies and goblins and film sets.

Now Miss Graveley and Jennifer, wearing their coats across their shoulders like cloaks, stood in the darkness watching the captain and Sam disinter Harry for the third time.

Jennifer said suddenly, ‘I’ve been thinking.’

The men went on digging and Miss Graveley went on watching.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Jennifer said, ‘that maybe we could forget the way it really happened.’

Sam stopped digging and looked across at her. Miss Grayeley looked at her. The captain went on digging.

‘I could tell how he visited me today and then went off in a temper. That’s all we need know of him being here,’ Jennifer said.

Miss Graveley had been considering all the possibilities and now she shook her head. ‘No. Somebody else might get the blame. And somebody else might not have such a good motive as I did. After all, you are allowed to kill in self-defence, aren’t you?’

Sam began pushing his spade into the ground again. ‘I wouldn’t worry about somebody else getting the blame,’ he said. ‘It could only be attributed to some person or persons unknown, the way it often happens.’

‘How do you know that?’ Miss Graveley asked. ‘I
can think of at least two people on this heath with a good motive for having killed Harry.’

Sam stopped digging and this time so did the captain.

‘Go on,’ said Jennifer.

Miss Graveley smiled apologetically. ‘I’m only thinking of what the police would call a motive – first you, Jennifer, because you were married to him.’

‘That’s certainly a good motive,’ Jennifer agreed.

‘And so is Sam’s,’ Miss Graveley said. ‘Now.’

‘Mine?’ said Sam. ‘Why would I want to kill him? I never met him.’

‘You didn’t have to meet him to have a motive for killing him,’ Miss Graveley said gently.

‘She means me,’ Jennifer said. ‘Don’t you, Miss Graveley?’

Miss Graveley bowed her head slightly. ‘Of course.’

Sam gave a short, unconvincing laugh. ‘But I didn’t fall in love with Jennifer till after Harry was dead.’

‘Try telling that to the police,’ said Miss Graveley.

‘She’s right, Sammy boy,’ the captain contributed.
‘You’ve both been living up here in the woods a long time …’

Jennifer said: ‘On second thoughts we’d better stick to the truth.’

The men went on digging and a reflective silence fell upon the group. Soon they were scraping the last of the earth away from Harry with their hands. They dragged him out of the hole and laid him alongside.

Harry’s face was fixed coldly on the cold sky, and mingled with the tang of the earth they could detect the scent of his hair oil.

‘Ugh!’ said Jennifer.

Sam put his arm around her, then he said: ‘We’ll have to get the story right. Times and so forth. If it happened early afternoon we’ll have to think of some reason why the police weren’t informed before now. Then there’s the mess he’s in – that’ll take some explaining.’

‘We’ll have to clean him up,’ Jennifer said. ‘It’s horrible, but there’s nothing else for it. We can’t risk complicating Miss Graveley’s confession.’

‘And as for the delay,’ Miss Graveley said, ‘I can
explain that I was so upset by the occurrence that I went straight home and rested.’

‘Only natural,’ said the captain.

‘They’ll think you rested a long time,’ Sam commented doubtfully.

‘That’s all right,’ Jennifer said. ‘Miss Graveley can tell them that she was too frightened to say anything about it but when she got to bed she found it was preying on her mind so she got up, dressed, and came down to ask my advice—’

‘They’ll think it a bit of a coincidence, won’t they? – I mean, since he was your husband?’ Sam asked.

Jennifer bit her lip, thinking. The new captain grabbed Harry’s feet suddenly and said: ‘Well, come on, we’d best get him down to the bungalows if we’re going to clean him up. P’raps we’ll think of a good story on the way down.’

Sam took Harry by the shoulders and the little procession got under way. They walked slowly and tiredly along the heath path and the mist swirled around them. Under the big oak tree near the top of the bungalow path they put their burden down on
the dewy grass and squatted for a rest.

‘He seems to get heavier all the time,’ Sam complained, taking out a half of a cigarette while the captain thumbed his pipe bowl.

‘Listen!’ Miss Graveley exclaimed. ‘Somebody’s coming!’

‘Hide the body!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Quickly!’

‘Too late,’ said the captain. ‘Put your cigarette in his mouth, Sammy – go on!’

Sam hesitated only for a moment, then he stooped and thrust the glowing cigarette between the cold, stiff lips. All four of them ducked into the bracken.

A man came along the path. He came slowly, as though he were out for a leisurely constitutional. When he got close, the captain recognised the tramp who had spat in Harry’s eye and stolen his socks and shoes earlier in the day. This tramp was holding a conversation with himself, and it seemed to the watchers that he might not notice Harry at all. But Harry’s bare feet were spread across the path and the tramp kicked them. He swore, stooped, and looked down into Harry’s face. He kicked Harry again, then, satisfied, he reached out his hand and plucked the
smouldering cigarette stub from Harry’s mouth and put it into his own.

Sam, watching from the bracken, quivered, and it was only Jennifer’s restraining hand that kept him from leaping out to object to this acquisition of his property.

When the tramp had moved on, mumbling something from Virgil, Sam and the others came out and watched him out of sight.

‘People like that,’ said Miss Graveley, ‘have no sense of decency.’

‘Take Harry’s feet,’ Sam said to the captain.

The captain went to obey but immediately there came the sound of more footsteps, this time hurrying.

‘This is ridiculous!’ said Jennifer crossly. ‘No respectable people walk abroad at one o’clock in the morning.’

They had no time to plan anything before the newcomer was upon them. He was a tall, thin man, carrying a canvas bag under his arm and a butterfly net over his shoulder. He was walking quickly with his head down.

‘Dr Greenbow!’ said Jennifer.

‘Crikey!’ said the captain. ‘That butterfly must have given him a chase. I last saw him about eight hours ago, disappearing in a nor’-nor’-east direction.’

‘Good evening,’ said Sam politely when the doctor reached them.

But the doctor did not reply for he was fast asleep. Before they could do anything he had tripped over the body of Harry and fallen flat, his net prodding the captain in the stomach and his bag tumbling open on the ground. He sat up immediately, as one well used to being aroused from deep sleep into skilled alertness.

‘Hello!’ he said, his eyes wide open.

Sam stepped forward and helped the doctor to his feet. The doctor looked at Harry and said: ‘I beg your pardon; most careless of me—’ He broke off and looked around him, sudden panic showing in his eyes. ‘My Painted Lady! Where is she? What happened to my Painted Lady?’

‘You tell us,’ the captain suggested.

‘She’s escaping!’ The doctor leapt up suddenly and made a dive for his bag. He was just too late. A large and beautiful butterfly, smothered in gay colours,
emerged shyly from the bag and took flight; it flew tentatively, experimentally, as though unused to late hours. It fluttered drunkenly away across the bracken and by a trick of moonlight and mist it was suddenly gone.

With a heartbroken cry the doctor began to follow, then he stood still, uncertain, straining his eyes in several directions, his thin head bobbing like a turkey searching for worms.

‘What happened to her?’ he asked miserably, turning back to the others.

‘Somebody switched her off,’ said the captain.

The doctor groaned and came back to the path, collecting his bag and net. ‘All day,’ he crooned. ‘All day I’ve been chasing her.’

‘You haven’t been chasing her all night as well, have you?’ asked the captain.

‘Practically. I caught her just ten minutes and fifteen seconds past nine o’clock,’ said the doctor, climbing sorrowfully to his feet. ‘And I was so tired I went to sleep. I was miles from home. Then I woke up and found it was late and began to walk. I must have gone to sleep while I was walking. I don’t
remember getting this far. I’m really very tired. Extremely tired.’

‘How very unfortunate,’ Miss Graveley commiserated. ‘Perhaps you will find her again tomorrow.’

‘If I do it will finish me,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m quite exhausted.’ He glanced down at Harry. ‘So is your friend apparently.’

Sam and the captain exchanged a glance; Sam nodded. The captain said:

‘Would you mind looking at him, doctor? We think he’s met with a bit of an accident.’

The doctor stooped and felt Harry’s pulse, absently. His gaze wandered tiredly across the bracken, still in search of the Painted Lady. He was silent for so long they thought he had fallen asleep again. Presently Sam nudged him in the back.

‘How about Harry?’ he asked.

‘He’s dead,’ said the doctor impersonally. ‘Been dead a long time.’

‘Do you think it was accidental?’ Sam asked.

The doctor raised a thin finger. ‘How can I tell?
Death is so often an accident.’

‘But can’t you tell us just how he died?’ Sam persisted.

The doctor yawned and tapped his hand on his mouth politely.

‘Suppose we take him to where there’s more light,’ he suggested.

‘Good idea,’ Sam said. ‘Come, Captain, take his feet.’

Just after 1 a.m. they filed into ‘Chaos’. And sitting in an armchair was Abie, a pistol in his hand and a brave, defensive glitter in his eyes. As Sam entered the room Abie squirted him with a jet of milk from the gun.

‘Abie!’ Jennifer said, going quickly across to him. ‘Whatever are you doing?’

‘I woke up,’ Abie said. ‘I heard someone crying and I woke up.’

Jennifer looked at Sam. ‘That must have been Mr Douglas.’

‘Then I heard someone laughing and I woke up again,’ said Abie.

‘Mr and Mrs D’Arcy,’ said Sam.

Abie looked with faint curiosity at the body of Harry as they placed him on the sofa. His young memory stirred at the sight of the dead, familiar face. ‘Get up, you brute,’ he said. He redirected the pistol and a jet of milk went on to Harry’s face.

‘Abie!’ said Jennifer, catching the look of mild surprise on the doctor’s face. ‘You mustn’t do that. The gentleman’s dead.’

‘He’s a brute,’ Abie said sullenly, reaching across to replenish his pistol from the milk jug on the table.

The doctor knelt down by the body and the others gathered around.

‘H’m,’ said Doctor Greenbow, wiping some black soil from Harry’s face.

‘What’s the verdict?’ the captain asked.

Miss Graveley shivered delicately. ‘Don’t use those words, please, Captain Wiles,’ she said.

‘He’s dead,’ said the doctor. ‘Been dead some time.’

‘We know that,’ Jennifer said. ‘Can’t you tell us how he died?’

Sam, Jennifer, Captain Wiles and Miss Graveley exchanged anxious glances. Although they had
decided to make a full confession, they were not eager to begin. Besides, this encounter with the doctor had complicated matters. They would now have to fashion their story to explain the midnight frolic with the dead man.

‘It was his heart,’ said the doctor. ‘He had a seizure. This hot weather—’

Sam’s mouth opened and nothing came out.

‘His heart?’ said Jennifer.

‘A seizure?’ said Miss Graveley with immense relief.

‘Well, I’ll go to sea!’ said the new captain. ‘Death from natural causes!’ He sank into a chair and sagged back.

Jennifer was looking at the corpse in disbelief. ‘But he always boasted he never saw a doctor in his life!’

‘More’s the pity, my dear,’ said the doctor, getting to his feet. ‘If he had he might have been alive now.’

‘What an awful thought!’ Jennifer exclaimed.

The doctor misunderstood her. He got to his feet and held her arm in a professionally sympathetic manner. ‘Did you know him?’

Jennifer nodded. ‘I was his wife,’ she admitted.

The doctor looked at Abie and his face lengthened
several inches. ‘I’m really deeply sorry,’ he intoned, ‘for you and the little man.’

Abie squinted his eye along the barrel of his gun and took careful aim. As the jet of milk went into Harry’s face again he said: ‘Get up, you brute.’

The doctor looked hard at Abie, then rubbed his eyes. Suddenly he looked around at the others and his face was broken by a cavernous grin. He said, with sudden understanding: ‘Do you know, this is the first nightmare I’ve had in years.’

Sam popped his fingers to his ears and waggled them at the doctor while the others regarded him disconcertedly. He extended his hand to the staring medico. ‘Come, let’s go find the Painted Lady,’ he suggested.

The doctor grabbed his net and his bag and joined Sam at the door. ‘The Painted Lady,’ he said eagerly. ‘The Painted Lady!’

Sam led him out of the bungalow and up the woodland path, leaving the others staring after them. ‘The bit you’ll enjoy most when you wake up,’ he said, as they walked, ‘is where the little boy squirted milk at the corpse.’

‘Yes,’ said the doctor, giggling happily. ‘Yes, yes, yes …’

By the time Sam returned, ‘Chaos’ had the appearance of a steam laundry. Harry was stretched out on the table, his trousers were in the kitchen being sponged by Miss Graveley, his coat was being pressed by Jennifer, and the captain was fitting on him a pair of his own shoes.

Sam stood inside the door and looked approvingly at all this industry. ‘I see you got my point,’ he said.

Jennifer took his arm. ‘I think I’ve got an awfully clever fiancé,’ she claimed. ‘I was beginning to puzzle how we could explain things to the doctor. I wonder how he could tell it was Harry’s heart.’

‘Look at his face now I’ve washed it,’ Miss Graveley said. ‘It’s blue!’

‘He
must
have got excited,’ Sam commented.

Jennifer said: ‘He was too late. He should have got excited years ago.’

Miss Graveley bustled out of the room again, saying: ‘Well, come along. Let’s finish him off.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Sam asked.

‘Put him back where we found him,’ Jennifer said, ‘and let Abie find him again tomorrow.’

‘Then what?’ Sam asked.

‘Abie will come down here and tell me; I’ll phone the police, and everyone will be happy.’

‘What about the cut on his head?’ Sam said, viewing the body critically.

‘I’ve thought of that,’ said Miss Graveley, coming into the room with Harry’s trousers. ‘I’m going to put some plaster on it, then they’ll think it was done before he died.’

Sam nodded approvingly. ‘I think that covers everything,’ he said.

‘Then let’s cover Harry,’ suggested the captain. He took the trousers from Miss Graveley and she went quickly into the kitchen again in search of sticking-plaster.

Soon they sat eating supper while Abie lay gently snoring in the next room and Harry lay clean, polished, brushed and dead on the sofa.