Give a Corpse a Bad Name (17 page)

‘I might,' said Toby, ‘but I should think the day after's more likely.'

She hesitated. ‘If I wanted to talk to you tomorrow or—or any time, would I find you here?'

Outside there was a roaring sound as Adrian succeeded in getting his three-wheeler cranked up.

‘Yes,' said Toby, ‘and tomorrow wouldn't be a bad time to come and talk to me—would it?'

‘Perhaps. I think I—perhaps …'

But though Toby stayed in the whole of the next day, Daphne Milne did not appear.

It was late on the Monday evening that he received the answer to his cable. It ran: ‘Shelley Maxwell died here in hospital appendicitis May thirtieth friend Henry Rhymer stated he had no relatives undertook burial Rhymer's present whereabouts unknown.'

With this cable Toby and George called on the Eggbears.

Mrs Eggbear had been just about to go to bed, in fact the first curler was already in her hair when the doorbell rang. But she insisted on putting the kettle on to make tea, and on talking so hard whenever Toby tried to explain to the sergeant why they had come that Toby relapsed into irritated silence. Even when he tried asking her how she got on with Mrs Langman in Purbrook she was chattering of other things so busily that his question was lost.

But that spurred Toby on. He repeated it.

When he had repeated it a third time it began to be apparent that it was precisely that question which Mrs Eggbear was working so hard to avoid answering.

Her husband yawned over his teacup.

‘Oh, get on and tell him,' he said, ‘he'll give you no peace till you do.'

‘But 'tis not the sort of thing that's of the slightest interest to you, Mr Dyke,' she said, her face flushing with embarrassment.

‘You never know,' said Toby.

‘I do know,' she replied. ‘This—is just a private matter, and nothin' to do with—with anythin' much.'

But at last she agreed, if Toby would step out of the room with her, to tell him. In the hall, in a half-whisper, she began: ‘'Tis this way. Mrs Langman has got nine children. Her's not an old woman neither, not more'n thirty-two. Well, when her was over at The Laurels Mrs Milne comes into the kitchen and sees her, and says: “Good afternoon, Mrs Langman,” says Mrs Milne, “how are you and how's the family?” “Oh, Mrs Milne, ma'am,” says Lucy Langman, “I'm expectin' again.” Mrs Milne, 'er looks sympathetic and says: “Dear, dear,” 'er says, “that must be a blow to you.” “'Tis that indeed,” says Lucy Langman, “I don't know what us'll do with eleven mouths to feed already—and then,” 'er says, “when's it goin' to stop? How many more am I goin' to have? Because,” 'er says, “you know what men are.” Mrs Milne don't say if she do or she don't, 'er just says: “But, my dear Mrs Langman, you can stop it whenever you want.” Lucy Langman shakes her head and says as Mrs Milne don't know Langman. “Why,” says Mrs Milne, laughin', “I don't mean that. But you can go to the clinic in Wallaford, where there's a very nice lady doctor, and I'll pay your fare into Wallaford, and the consultation's free, so it won't cost you anything, and you needn't have any more children.” Lucy Langman just sits there starin' at her, but Martha lets out a scream. “Birth-control!” her cries. “'Tis a deadly sin!” Mrs Milne says no, 'tis not, and Martha says as it says so in the Bible.”

Mrs Eggbear drew a long breath. Once she had got into her story she had enjoyed telling it. ‘You must forgive me tellin' you a story like that, Mr Dyke,' she went on, ‘like women mostly only tell amongst themselves, but you asked for it. And the long and the short of it is, you see, that Martha believes Mrs Milne is a tool of the Evil One, sent to snare her poor sister, and Lucy's so scared o' Martha she dursen't do anythin'. Myself,' said Mrs Eggbear, ‘I'm tolerant. I'd have liked to have a big family myself, and haven't had none. But nine and expectin' another …' She shook her head musingly.

‘Thanks, Mrs Eggbear,' said Toby, ‘I'm very grateful to you. It isn't quite the story I was expecting. Seems to me to show Mrs Milne in a not unfavourable light, though she wasn't, perhaps, particularly perceptive. Thanks very much, though. Now let's go back to your husband. I've got something to show him.'

Strange expressions chased one another over Eggbear's face as he read the cable.

Toby explained.

Eggbear's eyes grew absent-minded. He chewed at his lip.

Toby brought out the Maxwell letters. ‘And I've reason for believing,' he said, ‘that the missing suitcase will be found at The Laurels. George and I, we worked it out.'

‘How?' said Eggbear.

So Toby explained that too. He left it, however, as a theory; he omitted the verification.

Eggbear stuffed tobacco into his pipe with heavy, deliberate fingers. While Toby was speaking he nodded from time to time, but his gaze still had that inward look.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘I get it.' He sighed. ‘But maybe—' He stopped himself, and at last his meditative glance sought Toby's. ‘Maybe I belong not to say murder yet awhile. Maybe 'tis over hasty like. Maybe 'tis jumpin' to conclusions.'

‘I'm beginning to get tired of the look of this house,' said George the next morning, as once more he, Toby and Eggbear approached The Laurels. ‘I find myself wishing each time I come face to face with it that maybe it'll have turned green in the night. Say, Tobe, when are we going to London?'

‘Won't be long now,' said Toby, ‘that's to say, I don't
think
it'll be long now.'

‘You don't think. You don't think of me pining for the smell of a back-street. You don't think of anything but your own pleasures—crime and low company. You don't think …'

His muttering was interrupted by Eggbear. ‘This afternoon Inspector Whitear in to Wallaford, he'll be along.'

‘Oh,' said Toby, ‘they're beginning to sit up and take notice, are they?'

‘That's right,' said Eggbear. ‘Reckon he'd like a talk with you.'

Toby nodded. ‘What sort of man?' he asked.

‘Always has luck with sweepstakes,' said Eggbear, ‘and his tip on a dog's worth havin'. Mornin', Ruby,' he went on, as, in answer to his ring, the front door was opened, ‘missus in?'

Ruby nodded, but would not let them in until she had Mrs Milne's word that she was willing to see them. But while they were being kept waiting the door of the drawing-room was suddenly opened and Daphne looked out.

‘I thought it was you—' But seeing Eggbear beside Toby she stopped and looked as if she wished she had not shown herself to them. ‘You—d'you mind if—I think you'd better come in here,' she floundered. Her cheeks had flamed under their light dusting of rouge. ‘Isn't it t-t-terrible how cold it is? It just goes on and on, doesn't it? I don't like the cold, do you, Sergeant Eggbear? Though it's good for the land, isn't it? I mean, it kills pests or something, doesn't it? But I—I—'

But noticing the amusement on Toby's face, she fell silent.

Eggbear smiled at her paternally, George, prowling round the room, picked up a magazine from a chair and began to flutter its pages, Toby crossed to a window and looked out at a lawn that was crusted with the moonstone shimmer of hoar-frost. Yet Daphne's fingers went on plucking at the neck of her dress; her blue eyes, dwelling on the sleek, dark head outlined against the window, were full of nervous misery.

From somewhere out in the quiet countryside a noise reached them, a vibrant clatter. George looked up from his paper.

‘Boy-friend arriving,' he remarked.

Daphne's mouth worked. But before her sudden movement towards the door could take her out, Toby swung round.

‘Please stay!' Then, as if realizing how sharply he had rapped it out: ‘D'you mind?' And he smiled, at his most charming.

Daphne dropped limply into a chair.

In the hall, a quick, decisive tread sounded on the polished boards. At the same time, out on the roads, the rattle of Adrian's three-wheeler came nearer. Mrs Milne entered, nodded briefly to the three of them, and sat down. Her attention was on Toby, yet she spoke to Sergeant Eggbear.

‘More letters,' she asked, ‘or is it perhaps the driver of that sports car?'

‘No, ma'am,' he said, ‘'tis the corpse.'

‘I thought,' she said, ‘that he was dead and buried.'

‘Yes, ma'am, and identified—so us thought.'

‘So you—' She turned swiftly to Toby. ‘Would you mind telling me? West Country narration's very slow.'

‘But sure, very sure,' said Toby. ‘This is the sergeant's night out. You listen to him.'

Her eyes flamed dangerously. ‘Well, sergeant?'

‘Have you ever heard, ma'am,' said Eggbear heavily, ‘of Henry Rhymer?'

‘No,' she said.

‘You'm quite certain o' that?'

‘Eggbear,' she said, ‘you're an excellent man, but it's a pity one has to tell you everything twice. I have never heard of Henry Rhymer—only of Thomas.'

‘Eh?' said Eggbear. ‘Thomas?' His brow furrowed, and he looked at Toby for a lead.

‘True Thomas,' Toby explained, ‘who was abducted by the queen of Elfland. No concern of ours, Sammy—I don't think they ever found the body.'

‘Oh,' said Eggbear. ‘Now, ma'am, you'm quite certain in your mind—'

‘Yes,' she said wearily.

‘—quite certain that the name of Henry Rhymer is totally unfamiliar to you?'

‘Yes!'

‘And,' said Toby, ‘she isn't even interested. Hasn't even asked: “Why Henry Rhymer all of a sudden?”'

‘Sometimes,' she answered him, ‘I can think as quickly as you, Mr Dyke. You've hinted at a misidentification of the dead man. Presumably, then, the man we thought was Shelley Maxwell has somehow been identified as this Henry Rhymer. Well, I'm relieved to hear it. I'd sooner not be responsible for the death of my neighbours' only son. Apart from that …' She made a gesture of indifference.

Toby came across the room and sat down on a chair near her. Just as he began to speak the door opened quietly and Adrian came in. He went to Daphne's side and sat on the arm of her chair, nodding to the others without interrupting them.

‘Listen,' said Toby, ‘Shelley Maxwell died last May. He died in South Africa, in hospital, from appendicitis. He had a friend called Henry Rhymer. Henry Rhymer informed the authorities that, so far as he knew, Maxwell had no relatives. He saw to his funeral and took over his belongings—including an old leather suitcase. Did you say something, Miss Milne?'

‘Me?' said Daphne. ‘No, I—didn't, I was just fidgeting.'

Toby went on: ‘He also took over Shelley Maxwell's identity. He knew all his affairs, you see, and all about his family. He knew that Maxwell got letters from his mother, and that those letters contained money. So he set himself to learn Maxwell's handwriting. But either forgery wasn't one of his natural talents and came rather slowly, or else he was badly pressed for cash and didn't want to waste time. He wrote a letter with his left hand, saying he'd hurt his right. It worked splendidly. Lady Maxwell not only swallowed it, but sent an extra large remittance to cover possible doctor's bills. He wrote another letter or so with his left hand, then, when he felt sure he'd got the forgery good enough, went over to the right, and kept that up until about two months ago. Then he wrote another letter with his left hand. One can assume he was trying it on to see whether he could get some extra money again. He did, and bought a passage to England. We don't know why he wanted to come to England. Perhaps he'd got something on Shelley Maxwell, and thought the parents might pay to have it kept quiet. By revealing himself to the Maxwells he was giving up a small but steady income, so he must have felt sure he'd got on to something a good deal bigger. But perhaps it wasn't the Maxwells he was after at all. Perhaps it was someone else.'

‘Meaning me,' said Mrs Milne.

‘Yes,' said Toby, ‘that's just what I was coming to.'

She sat staring straight before her.

Adrian murmured: ‘Some sleuth! However did you find it all out, Dyke?'

Her eyes still on the wall opposite, in a voice even harsher than usual, she said: ‘I thought your job was to find out who's been writing those anonymous letters.'

‘Oh, I'm still trying to catch up with him,' said Toby. ‘When I know as much as he does, I dare say I'll be able to point at him.'

‘Him?' said Adrian. ‘Don't women ever take to that form of making trouble?'

‘Him or her,' said Toby.

With a little note-book open on his knee and a pencil pointing at an entry in it, Eggbear observed: ‘But all the same, you was expectin' somebody Tuesday evenin', eh, Mrs Milne?'

Her head moved abruptly as she turned to him. ‘I was—?'

‘Yes, ma'am, expectin' a man about half-past six Tuesday evenin', before you set out for the badminton.'

‘What's this?' said Toby. ‘Sammy, you never told me anything about that. George, what d'you think of that, Sammy's been holding out on us.'

Eggbear went on stolidly: ‘Constable Leat, in conversation with Ruby Leat on Sunday afternoon, learnt as you'd been expectin' a man to visit you, because Ruby overheard you to say—ahem—“He's late.” Then at six-forty-five approx. you said as you couldn't wait, and went out to the car. Perhaps, ma'am—' and he looked up from his note-book—‘you'd care to call Ruby in and question her.'

Mrs Milne shook her head. ‘Oh no, it's perfectly true. Only it hasn't anything to do with all this. Perhaps I should have told you sooner, because, of course, I can see how it must strike you. It just never occurred to me. You see, the man I was expecting was Mr Laws.'

With obvious surprise Daphne looked up at him as he sat on the arm of her chair. There was an odd expression on his face; his eyebrows had lifted as if he were faintly puzzled.