Smallbone Deceased Read online

  Chapter Eight

  MONDAY

  Discovery of a Document

  Women never reason, and therefore they are (comparatively) seldom wrong. They judge instinctively of what falls under their immediate observation or experience, and do not trouble themselves about remote or doubtful consequences. If they make no profound discoveries, they do not involve themselves in gross absurdities.

  —HAZLITT: Characteristics.

  Mr Birley started the day in a bad temper.

  He was never at his best on Monday mornings. He regarded the presence of the police in the office as a personal affront; and his outlook had not been improved by a masochistic weekend among the newspapers.

  Accounts of the Lincoln's Inn murder were, in fact, less numerous and circumstantial than they might have been; this was partly due to shortage of space and partly to the climax of the Association Football season.

  However, one paper had rubbed salt into his wounds by speaking of 'the firm of Horniman, Barley and Craine', and the Sunday Scribe, which ought to have known better, had referred to them as 'the well-known firm of divorce lawyers'. (It was true that Horniman's had recently abandoned their pre-war niceness in this matter—as had most of their professional brethren—and the firm now clutched out occasionally at the lucrative hem of the goddess of matrimonial discord; but well-known divorce lawyers! Good God, people would be coupling their names with—and—next.)

  And then, no sooner had he reached the office, than Inspector Hazlerigg had come asking for him, with impertinent questions about a Mrs Groot, and a Miss Holding, and a Miss Someone-or-other else. Questions, too, which Mr Birley found himself annoyingly unable to answer.

  'Now look here, Inspector,' he said, in his most intimidating voice, 'I can understand that you have to ask questions about this—er—death, and about Smallbone, and his affairs and so on. But questions about private workings of my firm, I cannot and will not tolerate. If you persist in wasting my time and my staff's time in investigating matters which have no possible connection with this—er—death, then I shall have no alternative but to speak to the Commissioner—close personal friend of mine.'

  'I am here,' said Inspector Hazlerigg without heat and without rancour, 'to investigate a murder. I shall question whom I like when I like and about what I like. If you inconvenience me in any way I shall apply for an order to close this building, and no business will be able to be transacted until I have finished my investigation. And if you would like a word with the Commissioner, ring Whitehall 1212 and ask for extension nine. I will see that you get put through.'

  'Oh, well—ah—hum—really,' said Mr Birley. 'I don't want to be obstructive.'

  When Hazlerigg had gone he sent for Bob.

  'Who are these Groots and Holdings?'

  'I've just been asking Miss Cornel,' said Bob. 'It's quite all right. They're beneficiaries under Colonel Lincoln's discretionary will trusts. You know he left Dad about five thousand to use the income as he thought fit—'

  'Whether or not it is quite all right,' said Mr Birley heavily, 'I cannot say, since I have never been favoured with a sight of the will in question. . . .'

  'I'll get Miss Cornel to look you out a copy.'

  'If you please. I was about to add that as head of the firm I might perhaps expect to have been informed—'

  'Well, I—'

  'Your father saw fit to make you his sole beneficiary. That, of course, was entirely his affair. He also handed over to you, as he had power to do under our Articles of Partnership, his full share in this firm. In my opinion, and if you will excuse my saying so, that was a mistake. But it does not alter

  the fact that I have certain rights as the senior partner.' 'Of course,' said Bob.

  'And another thing. I notice you lean a great deal on Miss Cornel. She is an admirable person in her way, but when all is said and done, she is only an employee—'

  'Miss Cornel,' said Bob, flushing a little, 'was very attached to my father. She is also extremely useful to me. Neither fact seems to constitute any very good reason for wanting to get rid of her.'

  'I wasn't suggesting that we got rid of her,' said Mr Birley coldly. 'But it is not a good thing for anyone to get too fixed in their routine. Supposing we made a change. Miss Cornel might work for Mr Craine and you could have Miss Mildmay.'

  The blood rushed to Bob's face, and departed again as suddenly, leaving him white.

  Fortunately Mr Birley, who was in the full tide of oratory, noticed nothing.

  'You know what we used to say in the army,' he went on. 'It's a bad officer who allows himself to be run by his N.C.O.s.'

  Mr Birley's experience of the army was, in fact, confined to one year in the R.A.S.C., which he had joined in 1917 when it became clear that it was either that or conscription into the infantry, and Bob toyed for a moment with the unkind idea of reminding him of it.

  Seeing no point in provoking hostilities, he said something noncommittal and got out of the room.

  Mr Birley then rang for Miss Chittering, and as soon as she got inside the room started to dictate a lengthy lease at high speed. Miss Chittering was a competent shorthand typist, but no one other than a contortionist could have taken down dictation at the speed at which Mr Birley was speaking. As soon as she was forced to ask for a repetition Mr Birley snapped at her and increased his speed.

  Five minutes of this treatment was sufficient to reduce

  Miss Chittering to tears and to restore a certain amount of Mr Birley's amour-propre.

  II

  In the secretaries' room Anne Mildmay and Miss Cornel, faintly assisted by Miss Bellbas, were trying to sort out the weekend roster for Bohun's benefit.

  I’m sure,' said Anne, consulting a small diary, 'that I came in on February 27th, because that was the day after my admiral took me out to the Criterion and tried to get me tight on gin.'

  'Who's your admiral?' said Miss Bellbas.

  'A friend of father's,' said Anne. 'He's over ninety. He commanded a gunboat in the Crimea. He's been trying to rape me ever since I left school.'

  'My goodness, said Miss Bellbas. 'what a persistent man.'

  'So I remember perfectly well, I had a hangover like nobody's business. Every time the telephone went I felt like screaming.'

  'It was me the Saturday before. That's right, anyway,' said Miss Cornel. 'It shouldn't have been my turn at all, you remember, but Cissie asked me to take it for her. I can't think why—'

  'Possibly she had a date,' suggested Henry.

  This suggestion was greeted with a certain amount of levity, but Miss Bellbas said: 'Do you know, I believe Miss Chittering has got a boy-friend.'

  'Nonsense,' said Miss Cornel. 'She doesn't know one end of a man from the other.'

  'Then why does she come up to town on Saturday mornings? She lives right out at Dulwich.'

  'Shopping,' suggested Henry.

  'Don't be so Victorian,' said Miss Mildmay. 'Girls End. They do all that during their lunches.'

  'Where did you see her?' asked Miss Cornel.

  ?t r A

  ‘In the Strand, about twelve o'clock. I believe he works in a shop opposite Charing Cross, and she comes up and meets him when he gets off at midday on Saturdays.'

  'Oh! A counter-jumper. She's welcome to him.'

  'Anne. You're a snob.'

  'Certainly,' said Miss Mildmay with composure.

  'Be that as it may,' said Henry. 'Can anyone tell me about the other Saturdays.'

  'What do you want to know all this for?' asked Miss Cornel.

  'Don't be silly,' said Miss Mildmay. 'It's Hawkeye the Inspector. He thinks we murdered the little man on a Saturday morning.'

  She said this lightly enough, but Bohun thought he detected a very slight edge of strain in her voice, an artificial lightness which was not so very far from the fringe of hysteria.

  The others evidently noticed something as well, and there was an awkward silence, broken as usual by Miss Bellbas, who said with alarming frankness
:

  'I didn't murder him.'

  'Of course you didn't, Florrie,' said Miss Cornel. 'If you had you'd have told us all about it, immediately afterwards. What are the other weekends you've got on your little list? Saturday 13th—well, that was Cissie, of course. She did mine, in return for me doing hers. March 6th, that would have been you, Florrie.'

  'Oh dear. I expect so,' said Miss Bellbas. 'If the list says so, then that's right. All I know is, I did my own turn.'

  'Who was it with?'

  'Mr Craine.'

  'That's right, according to the list,' said Miss Cornel.

  'I don't expect you'd forget a long morning spent alone with Tubby,' said Anne. 'It's a thing that lingers in a girl's memory. Did he make you sit very close on his left-hand side so that every time he opened his desk drawer he practically undressed you?'

  'Good gracious, no,' said Miss Bellbas. 'Is that what he does to you?'

  'Of course,' said Miss Cornel. 'It's all right, though, isn't it—he went to Marlborough.'

  'Well,' said Anne. 'What about that time he took you to the station in a taxi after the staff dinner?'

  Henry withdrew.

  Ill

  'My husband's a jockey, a jockey, a jockey, my husband a jockey is he,' said Mr Cove. 'All day he rides horses, rides horses, rides horses—'

  'Mr Cove.'

  'Yes, my love.'

  'There's a man to see you,' said Miss Bellbas.

  'What sort of man, heart of my heart?'

  'A little man, with grey hair.'

  'Indeed?'

  'Mr Cove.'

  'Yes, my sweet.'

  'You oughtn't to say things like that.'

  'Good God!' said John. 'I only said "Indeed".'

  'You said "my love" and "my sweet", and something about your heart. You oughtn't to say that to me unless you're in love with me.'

  'But I am,' said John. 'Madly.'

  Miss Bellbas considered this.

  'Then why don't you ask me to marry you?'

  'I would,' said John, 'but—please don't tell anyone, it's not a thing I want generally known—I'm married already.'

  'Who to?' said Miss Bellbas.

  'A female taxing master in Chancery,' said John. 'Show the gentleman in, there's a dear. You mustn't keep the aristocracy waiting.'

  'He said his name was Mr Brown.'

  'That's just his incognito,' explained John. 'It's the Earl of Bishopsgate.'

  The gentleman whom Miss Bellbas brought in certainly didn't look like an earl. His salient features were, as she had said, smallness and greyness. He looked not unlike a little beaver. John addressed him as Brown and gave him a number of instructions which were accepted with servility. At the end of the interview a couple of pound notes were pushed across the table and the stranger departed, almost colliding, on his way out, with Mr Bohun.

  Henry, however, was too occupied with his own troubles to ask any questions.

  'What unsatisfactory witnesses girls are,' he said. 'I've spent about half an hour with them and I'm still not absolutely certain who came in on what day.'

  'If it's your precious list you're worrying about,' said John, 'you needn't. It's all right. I've asked Sergeant Cockerill.'

  'Good,' said Henry absently. He was still thinking about that curious little incident in the secretaries' room.

  'Do you know Anne Mildmay well?' he asked abruptly.

  'No,' said John. 'But it's not for want of trying. I rather went for her at one time, you know.'

  He sounded serious. Henry looked at him for a moment and then said: 'Yes, a very nice girl.'

  'There's a certain lack of conviction in your tone,' said John. 'But don't apologise. Anne is that type. Either she gets you completely, or she leaves you cold. Cove on Love.

  'Anyway,' he went on, T left her cold. She didn't allow me any doubts about that. If she didn't actually throw a lump of mud in my eye, that's only because it wasn't a muddy day. I then behaved in the most traditional manner, and went out and got roaring tight, and finished up in the fountain in Trafalgar Square

  and spent the night at Bow Street

  . Since then we've been fairly good friends.'

  'I see,' said Henry. He hadn't invited the confidence, and he felt no scruple in docketing it for future reference. There was a point of chronology which it might be useful to confirm.

  Later that morning the opportunity presented itself. John had gone out to examine deeds and Bob Horniman, dropping in to borrow a volume of Prideaux, stopped to chat.

  'You were in School House, too, weren't you?' he said.

  'Years ago,' said Bohun. 'I'd be lying if I said I remembered you.'

  'Well, that's a good thing, anyway/ said Bob. 'I remember you very well. You were aloof, thin, scholarly and mysterious.'

  'Good God!' said Bohun. 'I expect I was covered with spots as well, but you're too kind to say so.' 'How are you finding it here?'

  'Splendid, thank you/ said Bohun. 'Never a dull moment, really/

  'We can't guarantee a corpse a week. How's the work? I expect it's all quite easy. With your Final only just over you've probably got everything in your head.'

  There was a note of envy in his voice, and Bohun guessed that the responsibilities of partnership might be sitting shakily on an almost complete lack of technical knowledge.

  'Here a bit and there a bit,' said Bohun. Td hate to have to go through with my articles again. That really was uncomfortably like hard work. John Cove seems to bear up all right, though.'

  'John's a good chap/ said Bob. 'And not nearly such a fool as he makes out. If only he found things a bit more difficult he might have to work a bit harder—which wouldn't do him any harm. It's that fatal charm of his—'

  'A charm,' said Bohun, 'which Miss Mildmay appears to have been the only person in the office capable of resisting.'

  He perpetrated this thundering indiscretion deliberately, turning his back on Bob as he did so. The glass front of the bookcase made a convenient reflector.

  The shot went home with surprising effect. On Bob's face, in the fleeting, reflected glimpse which he allowed himself, Bohun saw a look which he had no difficulty in recognising. Half of it was made up of possession and the other half of apprehension.

  A small section of the puzzle fell neatly into its place.

  'Why do you say that?' Bob made a perfunctory effort to sound casual.

  'Really,' said Bohun. 'I'm afraid that was very indiscreet of me. I imagined that it was public knowledge—from the way he discussed it with me.'

  'John and Anne—Miss Mildmay.'

  'Yes. Apparently she turned him down. It was unforgivable of me. If I hadn't thought that you knew, I should never have mentioned it.'

  'No, I didn't know.'

  'You'll oblige me very much, then,' said Bohun, 'by forgetting all about it.'

  'Of course,' said Bob. 'Naturally.'

  'Liar,' said Henry, after Bob had left the room.

  IV

  Mr Birley, having disposed of Miss Chittering, looked round for fresh conquests. After a moment's thought he rang the bell and summoned Mr Prince to his presence.

  Mr Prince, who has already flitted vaguely on the outskirts of the story, was an elderly Common Law clerk. He had spent his professional life with the firm of Cockroft, Chasemore and Butt, whom he had served efficiently, and on the whole happily, for forty years. Unfortunately the firm had failed to survive the war and Mr Prince had found himself thrown on the labour market. Bill Birley had snapped him up gratefully, made full use of him and paid him a good deal less than he was worth. Since Mr Prince stood in considerable awe of Mr Birley, and in even greater fear of losing his job, he was a very convenient whipping-block. Mr Birley reduced him to a state of quivering impotence in something less than five minutes, and then clumped downstairs to plague Mr Waugh, the cashier.

  Mr Waugh had heavier reserves than Mr Prince, but was at the disadvantage of only having been a fortnight in the firm. It was not long before Mr Birley
had cornered him into admitting several small breaches of the Horniman routine. Using these as his text he proceeded to preach Mr Waugh a pungent sermon on the virtues of Order and Method. Mr Hoffman, who was working at a table in the cashier's room, was a silent spectator. When Mr Birley had taken himself off he added at the foot of the account he was casting, a note in his meticulous handwriting. It seemed to cause him some amusement.

  V

  'You seem to be a bit off colour, Miss Mildmay.' 'Yes, Mr Craine.'

  'Not sickening for anything, I hope.' T hope not, Mr Craine.'

  'I expect you've been put out by all these unpleasant goings-on in the office, you mustn't let it get you down, you know.'

  'No, Mr Craine.'

  'Anyhow. It's obviously nothing to do with you. We shan't begin to suspect a little girl like you of running round committing murders. Ha, ha.'

  'I feel like it sometimes,' said Miss Mildmay, moving her chair two foot further to the left.

  'Dear me, I expect we all do sometimes. But, seriously, my dear, the thing is not to worry'

  'I'm not worrying, Mr Craine.'

  "That's right, then.'

  'And, Mr Craine.'

  'Yes.'

  T only mention it in case it has escaped your attention, but that's my hand you've got hold of.'

  'Good gracious, so it is. Well, now. Dear Sir, We thank you for yours of the fourteenth ultimo enclosing the draft Conveyance as amended and approved, and we are now proceeding to have the same engrossed for execution by his Lordship.'

  VI

  Mr Birley felt as Napoleon might have felt after the destruction of a couple of minor European monarchies and a German bishopric. His appetite was sharpened by his victories, and he was contemplating with some pleasure the approach of lunch-time. It occurred to him that there was one more recalcitrant subject to reduce to submission.

  He rang the bell and sent for Bohun.