‘So we’re left with two murders,’ commented Thackeray. Cribb tossed down the bar and brought his hands up to grip the constable’s arms.
‘That’s the sum of it, Thackeray. Name your suspects.’
Thackeray looked about him cautiously. The din behind them continued. Everyone else was absorbed in the race.
‘It’s hard to know which to start with. I suppose Jacobson’s the prime suspect. He’s deep under the hatches, you found out, and he was the last to see Monk alive. He could have fixed a heavy bet somewhere on Chadwick, and downed Darrell to settle his debts. Then he’d fake the sui-cide to put the rap on Monk.’
‘Good. We’ll watch him. Who else?’
‘Chadwick himself. He stands to make a mint of money out of this, and Darrell was his only rival-but going too well that first day. It wouldn’t do for a nob like Chadwick to get beat by one of Darrell’s class.’
‘Motive-honour of the regiment. Right. Any other nominations?’
‘I’ve got a queer fancy about Herriott, Sarge. Suppose he backed Chadwick to win so that his bets would cover any loss on the promotion. Darrell’s form on that first day might have panicked Herriott into trying to nobble him. He could have tipped in more strychnine than he realised. A purler or two among the runners is good business, too. Listen to that crowd.’
‘Sol Herriott, then. You’re doing famously. Who else?’
Thackeray was encouraged. He expanded on his theories, shaping the whiskers under his chin to a point as he spoke. ‘Ah. Outsiders, mostly. Who stands to gain most? O’Flaherty, I reckon; Chadwick, of course; maybe Chadwick’s trainer. I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen the man around. He keeps to himself.’
‘Harvey.’
‘Him, then. And this doctor bloke-Mostyn-Smith. I can’t make out what he’s doing in this affair. I suppose, if you look at it logical, anyone here after ten-thirty last night could have fixed Monk. Then we’ve got to find which of them had a motive for killing Darrell. Perhaps we ought to know more about him, Sarge.’
‘First-rate suggestion,’ declared Cribb. He was beginning to form an affectionate respect for Thackeray’s painstaking deductions. ‘We’ll go and see the one suspect you missed. Should tell us more about Darrell, and might clear up a few mysteries about herself.’
‘Herself?’
‘Mrs Darrell, Constable. Never discount the lady.’
‘But I don’t see how-’
‘She’s visited this Hall twice. First time, the afternoon before Darrell went down. Second time, last night.’
CHAPTER 12
Mrs Darrell was not at home. The detectives explained to Taylor, who opened the door of the Finsbury Park house no more than the distance between her eyes, that they were aware of the time. It was dusk, and misty at that, and too late to be calling on a lady. But they were officers of the law, and their visit was essential to their inquiries. It could not be postponed. If Taylor would be so kind as to pass this on to her mistress, might she not agree to seeing them? Cribb summoned a winning smile. Thackeray stamped the tiled path and flapped his arms to emphasise the cold. Taylor closed the gap until only one eye was visible. Mrs Darrell was not at home.
Cribb fixed the eye with a look of authority.
‘This is police business. Important business. We must see Mrs Darrell tonight. If she’s out, I must insist that you tell me where she is and when you expect her to return.’
The response was immediate.
‘The Mistress is at Highbury, visiting friends-the Darbys. She always goes there for tea on Thursdays. I expect she’ll get back before seven.’
‘We’ll wait,’ announced Cribb. ‘Inside, if we may.’
After a moment’s hesitation the eye disappeared, and there was the sound of a door-chain being released. Then Taylor admitted them.
‘That’s better, love,’ said Cribb. ‘Doesn’t do to keep Mr Robert standing on the doorstep, does it? This is Constable Thackeray-good man to have in the house on a lonely November night. You remember me?’
The twitch of her lips showed that she did. She seemed uncertain what to do with her visitors now they had gained entrance.
‘We’ll not trouble with the drawing-room,’ Cribb went on. ‘Thackeray here’s a burly fellow. Likely as not he’ll tumble over the small tables she’s got in there. We’ll come in the kitchen with you. Smells good to me. What’s on the stove?’
Without protesting, Taylor led them through a curtained archway and down some steps to the kitchen. She was a bright-eyed girl in her twenties, without the deportment of a girl of better class. But her figure was so generously pro-portioned that any movement in the close-cut black dress was attractive to the visitors.
Cribb marched into the kitchen with the air of a prospec-tive purchaser.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Chance to prove our credentials.’ He picked up a bowl from the table-top. ‘What d’you make of this, Thackeray?’
The constable saw the point of the game. He sniffed pro-fessionally at the bowl.
‘Chicken-broth, I’d say, Sarge. Probably made up from Sunday’s joint.’
‘Good,’ said Cribb. ‘Followed by…?’
‘An orange, peeled by hand.’
Taylor’s eyes gaped wide.
‘Not so difficult,’ commented Thackeray in a superior tone. ‘You threw all the peel on the fire, but look at your fin-ger-nails-right hand.’
‘Oh, very smart,’ said Taylor without much admiration in her voice. ‘Now tell me what else I had for tea.’
‘One large muffin,’ answered Thackeray, unperturbed. He lifted a toasting-fork from a patch of crumbs at one end of the table. ‘Very fattening that.’
‘And you finished it all off with a cigarette-ah, now you blush!’ declared Cribb. ‘Taken from the late Master’s rooms, I dare say-or is the Mistress a secret smoker herself?’
‘How d’you know that?’ Taylor demanded.
‘The smoke,’ Cribb explained. ‘Even the orange can’t stop that from lingering. Like me to open a window?’
Giggling at the discovery of her secret, Taylor lit the gas under the kettle. Cribb judged that the time was right for serious questions.
‘Your evening off, Monday, you said?’
She turned from the stove.
‘That’s right,’ and added archly, ‘I’m courting steady, though.’
‘Pretty lass like you would be. Simple deduction that. You were out with your young man last Monday, then?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Quite late, I expect?’
Taylor was blushing. ‘Not all that late.’
‘Back by midnight, then?’
‘Before that. Mistress won’t have me coming in after.’
She filled the tea-pot, trying to appear uninterested in the questions.
‘Mistress have any visitors that evening?’
‘Don’t know, rightly. She went out to dinner, but didn’t bring no one home.’ She simpered, concealing something.
‘Dinner? Who with?’ asked Cribb.
‘I’m sure I don’t know.’
Self-protection, rather than loyalty, was making her reluctant to talk.
Cribb tried again.
‘Could have been one of several, you mean.’
‘Well, it weren’t her husband,’ Taylor said with emphasis. Cribb pressed her.
‘When you came back-before midnight-she was home, then?’
‘She was.’ The hint of a smile was still there.
‘And alone?’
‘And alone,’ repeated Taylor.
‘Hasn’t always been like that, eh?’ asked Cribb, recalling a confidence Taylor had hinted at before.
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Lonely for a ped’s wife, when he’s in training.’
She caught the ironical note in his voice, and echoed it.
‘Oh, terrible lonesome. Poor lady’s beside herself with loneliness.’
‘Or beside others, eh?’ suggested Cribb.
‘Now, now, Mister!’
‘But nobody on Monday night?’
‘I never said that,’ Taylor corrected him. ‘I said she brought no one home.’
‘Someone was already here?’
Taylor threw back her head laughing.