“How long did Dr. Carter reckon the old man had been dead?” Bradstreet asked. “That should narrow the time down a bit.”
“He couldn’t say; or he wouldn’t. Said the day was so warm, and the room so stuffy, and the body so muffled up with clothes and covered with books, he couldn’t be definite within an hour or so.”
“Sounds reasonable enough.”
“We’re not going to get any help from Dr. Carter. It’s as well to be clear on that point.”
“That’s because——” Bradstreet began, and broke off.
“Because he thinks, if it’s proved not to be an accident, suspicion will most naturally fall on Baildon’s wife and daughter.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. He wants the whole thing hushed up, for fear of hurting them.”
“We can’t exclude the possibility that he did it himself.” Ellis watched to see how Bradstreet would react, but the countryman did not bat an eyelid.
“I had thought of that, of course,” he said. “But I don’t reckon ’tis likely.”
“Because he’d know suspicion might fall on them? I agree. If he’d meant to do it, I think he’d have provided them with a proper alibi. Packed ’em off together for the afternoon where there’d be a hatful of witnesses.”
“He might do. He’s a bit of an impulsive sort, is Dr. Carter. Been in more than one police court case, years back, over losing his temper. Violent, like.”
“Not the sort to do in a helpless old boy in a chair, you mean. Much less to plan it.”
“You take my meaning very quick,” Bradstreet said.
“Still, we can’t eliminate him. Now; what we want, first of all, is evidence of any callers at the house during those two hours and a half. And I doubt very much if we’ll get it.”
“Be lucky if we do.”
“Failing that, we want a full list of anyone who might have had occasion to call. It will be up to them to prove they didn’t.”
Bradstreet nodded again.
“We want tabs on our American friend. The two women, by the way, were very anxious to sell me the point that he said he’d come back. Almost as anxious as they were about the liability of the books to fall.”
“People often behave in a suspicious way when they’re scared or upset. I’ve noticed it scores of times.”
“So have I. But, if you’ll excuse my saying so, there you go again. Everyone’s up in arms to defend those two. Damn it, we’d hardly get a murder verdict here if he’d had a knife stuck between his shoulder blades.”
Bradstreet smiled peacefully.
“I’m glad you realise you may not get one, Mr. McKay.”
“I bloody well know I won’t—unless something turns up in the meantime.”
“That’s all right, then.”
The brown eyes twinkled suddenly, and Ellis laughed.
“Well, as I said, we must get tabs on our American. I think he’s neither here nor there, but that doesn’t matter. Then there’s another bloke; a friend of Gilkie’s here. Tell the Inspector, Gilk.”
Gilkison started indignantly.
“Nothing of the kind. I have no sort of dealings with the fellow. He’s a known rogue.”
Bradstreet twinkled again, and sucked his pipe.
“Who is this, Mr. Gilkison?”
Still indignant, Gilkison told him of Nelder’s presence in the inn the day before, and of his belief that it must in some way be connected with Matt Baildon.
“We’ll rope in Nelder,” Ellis said, “and find out first, if we can, whether the estimable Matt gave any of his bedside callers a letter for him. One Treweek, his daughter said, is the likeliest.”
“You’ll be lucky if you get any truth out of him,” the Inspector remarked.
“Perhaps we can scare him.”
“I’ve seen more than one Petty Sessions try, and come short of it.”
Ellis grunted, and pulled out his pocket book.
“I’ve got a list of people here—for God’s sake, Gilk, sit still. Have you got St. Vitus’ Dance? What are you slapping and flapping at?”
“Midges,” said Gilkison shortly.
“You should smoke, and keep them off. Puff at him, Inspector.”
“No, thank you,” Gilkison said hastily. “I shall go in in a minute.”
“Stern duty keeps us at our post. You, of course, may abandon us if you choose.”
“That’s all very well. They don’t bite you.”
“They know better. They don’t visit the Inspector either.”
“I can’t say they trouble me,” Bradstreet smiled. “Some find them very vexatious, I know.”
“Here’s the list. Mrs. Exworthy, who comes in twice a week to clean. Mrs. Baildon gave me to understand she was likely to resemble old Treweek. We can but try. Treweek, aforesaid. Mr. Rawlings, the vicar.”
“I shouldn’t hardly suspect him,” smiled Bradstreet.
“Not of bumping the old boy off. But he may have posted a letter. Mr. Pawle. Who’s he?”
“An old retired gentleman, interested in Spiritualism and the British Israelites.”
“Bradstreet—you’re a gem. A perfect miniature biography. I can see we shall get nothing from Mr. Pawle If Matt did give him a letter, he’d be far too honourable even to look at the envelope. The last on my list is Mr. Rattray, who I understand coaches Joan Baildon in Latin. What about him?”
The Inspector considered before replying.
“Rattray? He’s a very decent, pleasant spoken young fellow. A bit on the serious side. Headmaster of the boys’ grammar school, runs Scouts and Sunday school classes. Has an invalid wife.”
“Another perfect cameo. Inspector, your talents are wasted here. Does he push her about in a bath chair?”
“Yes. Have you met him?”
“I saw a chap this morning who’d fit in with your account.” He told Bradstreet how he had spent the morning.
“He’s a possibility, then,” Ellis said. “Though it’s less likely, if he was passing in the morning. Anyone else? Any regular visitor that you know of?”
“I don’t know the family as closely as all that,” said Bradstreet. “I haven’t been in more than two or three times in the past twelvemonth.”
“Got an alibi yourself?” Ellis grinned at him.
“Good enough, I reckon.” Bradstreet’s eyes gleamed back with pleasure. “There’s one other person might be on the list, though. I don’t suppose old Baildon would ask her to post a letter for him, nor she do it if he did.”
“Who’s that?”
“Miss Caunter, from the girls’ school. Miss Eunice Caunter. She takes a great interest in Joan Baildon, and has been helping her with her work for the last couple of years. The maid’s clever,” Bradstreet went on, “but her eyes have kept her back. You’ll have noticed they’re weak.”
“Partly due to neglect, I’m told.”
“So I believe. Miss Caunter has always taken the maid’s part, and had more than one row with the old man. One time, he forbade her the house. But he had the sense to see he was getting something for nothing: so——”
“She didn’t charge for her services, then?”
“Nothing, I believe. And he couldn’t stop Joan from seeing her at the school, so he suffered the extra lessons to go on. Most times, though, Joan used to go down to Miss Caunter’s place.”
“Used to go?”
“I gather she hasn’t been so often since Mr. Rattray started to coach her. After all, she hasn’t a great deal of time. She’s still at school.”
“Does Rattray also work for love?”
“That I couldn’t say.”
“I’m glad to find something you can’t say. You who pretend you don’t know much about the family. What’s it like when you really claim to know?”