The Plague Court Murders - John Carr

Sharp in my mind was a picture, as I imagined it, of the servant-girl standing outside the closed door of Ted Latimer's room just before daybreak; and hearing the intruder's voice cry, exultantly, "You never suspected it, did you?"

"Masters," I said, still looking at the mask, "who, in the name of God-! Who got into that fellow's room this morning? And why?"

The Inspector said imperturbably: "Did you ever see the slate-trick worked? Look here. Lummy, I wish I dared pinch some of this stuff! It's expensive in the shops, much more than I can afford...." He turned round to face me. His voice grew heavy. "Who? I only wish I knew, sir. I only wish I had. And I'm getting worried, so help me. I only hope the person who called on young Latimer this morning wasn't the same person "

"Go on. What do you mean?"

He said in a low voice "-the same person who called on Joseph Dennis this afternoon, and was going up the walk leading Joseph to that house in Brixton, and patting him on the back.... "What the devil are you talking about?"

"It was the phone call; don't you remember? The phone call from Sergeant Banks, when Sir Henry talked all that nonsense about the Russell Square Zoo. He was making such a row about the call that I didn't have time to tell him then; and, besides, I don't think it's important. It can't be important! Blast it, I'm not going to get the wind up like I did last night!"

"What was it?"

"Nothing much. I sent Banks, who's a good man, out to get a line on that house, and the Mrs. Sweeney who runs it. I told him to keep a sharp eye out. There's a greengrocer's just across the street, it seems, and he was standing in the door talking to the grocer when a cab drove up.... The grocer pointed out Joseph getting out, with somebody else who was patting him on the back and leading him up to the gate in the wall around the house...."

"Who was the other person?"

"They couldn't see. It was foggy and raining, and the body of the cab was in the way. They could only see a hand urging Joseph forward; and by the time the cab had driven off the two were inside the wall round the house. I tell you, it's all bosh! It was only some caller, and what the devil could I do about it?"

He looked at me a moment, and then said that we had better go upstairs. I made no comment on the story; I only hoped he was right. On the stairs we heard a new voice coming from the hall. Marion Latimer was standing in the middle of that cold place, her face rather pale, and holding out a crumpled sheet of paper. She was breathing quickly; she started a little as she saw us emerge from the door at the rear of the hail. From somewhere close at hand we could hear H.M.'s voice booming over the telephone, though we could distinguish no words.

"-they must know something about him in Edinburgh," the girl was saying to McDonnell, almost pleadingly. "Or else why should they send this telegram?"

I had realized before that she was beautiful, even at that dark hour in the squalor of Plague Court: but not to the dazzling extent she showed against the background of Darworth's crookedly brilliant hall. She was dressed in some sort of shimmering black effect, with a black hat and a large white-fur collar. It might have been animation, it might have been only more make-up; yet, despite the pale face, her eyes had a softness and appeal as though the woman had found herself again after some blighting influence. She greeted us quickly and warmly.

"I couldn't resist coming over here," she said. "Mr. McDonnell left word he was on his way, and said he wanted to see me. And I wanted all of you to see this. It's from my mother. She's in Edinburgh now ... staying there....

We read the telegram, which said:

"MY BOY IS NOT HERE BUT THEY SHAN'T HAVE HIM."

"Ah," said Masters. "From your mother, miss? Any idea what it means?"

"No. That's what I wanted to ask you. That is, unless he's gone up to her." She gestured. "But why should he?"

"Excuse me, miss. Has Mr. Latimer the habit," asked Masters with blunt contemptuousness, "of running off to his mother when he's got into trouble?"

She looked at him. "Do you think that's altogether fair?"

"I'm only thinking, miss, that this is a murder case. I'm afraid I've got to ask for your mother's address. The police will have to look into this. As for the telegram - well, we'll see what Sir Henry makes of it?"

"Sir Henry?"

"Merrivale. Gentleman who's handling this. He's using the telephone now; if you'll sit down a minute. . . ."

The door of the telephone-closet creaked, letting out a wave of smoke and H.M. with the old pipe fuming between his teeth. He looked sour and dangerous; he had started to speak before he saw Marion; then his whole expression changed instantly to a sluggish benevolence. He took the pipe out of his mouth, and inspected her in frank admiration.

"You're a nice-lookin' nymph," he announced. "Burn me, but you are!" (This, as heaven is my witness, is H.M.'s idea of a polite social compliment, which has frequently caused consternation). "I saw a girl in a film the other day, looked just like you. About the middle of the picture she took off her clothes. Maybe you saw it? Hey? I forget the name of the picture, but it seems this girl couldn't make up her mind whether to-"

Masters emitted a loud, honking noise. He said: "This is Miss Latimer, sir-“

"Well, I still think she's a dashed nice-lookin' nymph," returned H.M., as though defending a point. "I've heard a lot about you, my dear. I wanted to see you and tell you that we mean to clear up this mess, and get your brother back for you without any fuss.... Now, my dear, was there anything you wanted to see me about?"

For a moment she looked at him. But such had been H.M.'s obvious sincerity that it was hardly possible to rap out whatever may be the modern equivalent for "Sir!" Suddenly she beamed at him.

"I think," she said, "that you're a nasty old man."

"I am," H.M. agreed composedly. "Only I'm frank about it, d'ye see? Humph. Now, now, what's this-?" Masters had thrust the telegram into his hands, to shut off further discourse. "Telegram. 'My boy is brr-rr brrr-" he mumbled through it, and then grunted. "To you, hey? When did you get it?"

"Not half an hour ago. It was waiting for me when I got home. Please, can't you tell me anything? I hurried over here. . .

"Now, now. Don't get excited. Dashed good of you to let us have this. But I'll tell you how it is, my dear." He became confidential. "I want to have a long talk with you and young Halliday-"

"

"He's outside in the car now," she told him almost eagerly. "He brought me over."

"Yes, yes. But not now, you see. But we got lots of work to do; find the man with the scar, and so on.... So look here. Why don't you and Halliday arrange to be at my office tomorrow morning; say, about eleven o'clock? Inspector Masters will call for you, and show you where it is, and everything?" He was very easy and pleasant, but there was a slow dexterity about the way in which he maneuvered her towards the door.

"I'll be there! Oh, I'll be there. And so will Dean. . . She bit her lips. Her appealing glance took us all in before the door closed.

For a time H.M. remained staring at that door. We heard the sound of a motor starting in the street. Then H.M. slowly turned round.

"If that girl," he said with a meditative scowl, "if that girl hasn't tumbled off the apple-tree years before this, then somebody's been damned unenterprising. Nature abhors a vacuum. What a waste. Humph. Now, I wonder. .. ." He scratched his chin.

"You shoved her out of here quick enough," said Masters. "Look here, sir, what's up? Did you find out anything from that specialist?"

H.M. looked at him. There was something in his expression....

"I wasn't talking to Horseface," he said, in a voice that seemed to echo in the bleak hall. "Not just then."

There was a silence, and still the words echoed with ugly suggestion. Masters clenched his fists.

"It was at the end of that," continued H.M. in that heavy, unemotional voice. "It was a relay call through from the Yard....Masters, why didn't you tell me somebody called on Joseph at five o'clock this afternoon?"

"You don't mean-?"

H.M. nodded. He stumped over and flopped his vast weight into the black chair. "I'm not blamin' you.... I wouldn't have known.... Yes, you've guessed it. Joseph has been murdered. With Louis Playge's dagger."

XVII

CHOCOLATES AND CHLOROFORM

WITH the second murder by the person they described in their stereotyped fashion as the "phantom killer" - words which do not in the least convey the horror, or give a proper impression of the circumstances - with the second murder, the Plague Court case had not even yet taken its last and most terrible turn. Remembering the night of the 8th of September, of our sitting in the stone house staring at the dummy on the chair, I can realize that other things were only a prelude. All events seemed to return to Louis Playge. If Louis Playge still watched, he would have seen his own fate reenacted in the solution of the case.

But the second murder was ghoulish enough, especially in the actions of the murderer. As soon as the news came through, H.M., Masters and I piled into the latter's car and drove out that long distance to Brixton. H.M., spread out in the tonneau with the dead pipe between his teeth, snapped out the brief facts that had been given him.

Sergeant Thomas Banks, detailed by Masters to find out what he could about Joseph and the Mrs. Sweeney who owned the house, had spent the day in discreet inquiries about the neighborhood. There was nobody at home that day; Mrs. Sweeney had gone out visiting for the day, and Joseph to the motion pictures. An affable greengrocer, who supplied the little that was known about the house and its occupants, said this was Mrs. Sweeney's weekly day for visits, "in a Queen Mary hat and a coat with black feathers all over it." All he knew of Mrs. Sweeney was that she was suspected of having once been a medium herself; was very genteel; didn't mix with anybody; and discouraged conversation with neighbors. Since she had brought Joseph to live there about four years ago, the house had rather, a haunted reputation. People shunned it. Sometimes its occupants were away for long periods, and occasionally "a fine motor-car 'ud come up, with a bunch of toffs in it."

At ten minutes past five that afternoon, Sergeant Banks had seen a taxicab drive up through the mist and drizzle. One of the occupants had been Joseph; the other only a hand that was urging him towards the gate in the brick wall. round the house. Phoning this news to Masters, Banks had received instructions to get inside and have a look round, if it didn't strain his conscience. After the two had been inside some little time, Banks crossed the road and found the gate open. Inside everything seemed in order: a squat, two-storied house, a bedraggled lawn and strip of back-garden. A light was burning in a ground-floor room at the side; but the curtains were drawn, and he could neither see nor hear anything. At length Sergeant Banks, a somewhat unenterprising man, had decided to call it a day.

A public-house called the King William IV, some little way down from the house, at the, corner of Loughborough Road and Hather Street, had opened its doors by this time.

"Banks left the pub," said H.M., chewing at his pipe, "about a quarter past six. It was fortunate he'd stopped for that drink. To get his bus, he had to walk back past that house- it's called, burn me, `Magnolia Cottage.' When he was about a hundred yards away he saw a man tear open the gate in the wall, come out a-yellin', and rush up Loughborough Road. ahead of him. . ."

Masters kept the siren roaring on the blue car; this time we were flying back along the way we had come. He shouted, "Not-?"

"No! Wait, dammit! Banks chased the fellow and finally caught him. It turned out to be a workman, a sort of general odd-job man in overalls; scared green, and running for a policeman. When he got to talkin' coherently he kept talkin' murder, murder; and wouldn't believe Banks was a police officer until a constable came along and they all went back to Magnolia Cottage.

"It seems he'd got instructions from Mrs. Sweeney to bring a carload of dirt and mortar and make some kind of repairs to the back-garden. Well, he was late from his last job that day; so he thought he'd only dump the stuff in the yard and come back next day to do his work. So he comes in through the back gate, pretty nervous about the house, and thinks he'll go round the front way and tell Mrs. Sweeney it's too dark to go on with the job until tomorrow. And, on the way, he sees a light in the cellar window... "

They had given us a clear right of way through the West End. Masters was hurling the Vauxhall with dangerous swings and skids on the wet turnings. We shot down Whitehall, skidded left at the Clock' Tower, and out across Westminster Bridge.

"He saw Joseph lying on the cellar floor, still squirmin' around in a lot of blood, and trying to wriggle his hands. He was on his face, and the handle of the dagger was stickin' out of his back. He died while this fellow outside was watchin'....

"But that wasn't what scaredhim. so

much, it appeared, as the other thing. There was somebody else in the cellar."

I had turned round from the front seat, and was trying to decipher the strange, almost wild expression on H.M.'s . face as the lamps of the bridge flickered past it.

"Oh, no," he said satirically; "I know what you're thinkin'.... Just shoes. Just shoes again, but a worse kind. He didn't get a look at the other person. The other, person was stokin' the furnace.

"That's what I said. Banks says it's a big furnace for hot air pipes in the middle of the cellar. This workman was on the other side from the furnace door when he looked through the window, so he couldn't see who our little playmate was. Besides, there was only a candle burnin'. But there was a crack in the glass at the window, and the workman could hear the shovel bump on the furnace door, and then coal being scraped up, and the shovel bump again. ... That was when he bolted.... He must have given a yell, because he just saw somebody start to come round the side of the furnace.

"Shut up, now. Don't ask questions yet. Banks says that when he and the constable and this workman got back to Magnolia Cottage, and smashed a window to get in, there was still one of Joseph's feet stickin' out of the furnace door. But there was such a blaze inside that they had to get buckets of water before they. could drag him out. Banks swears he was alive when he was put in, but he'd been soaked in kerosene, so ..."

The lamps over the dark water faded as we slid into the shadows of the Lambeth side; and it grew even darker when we had penetrated out into the somber streets beyond Kensington Road. It may be a pleasant or even cheerful region by day; I do not know. But those miles of black thoroughfares, too broad and too infrequently lit with gas-lights; those ramparts of squat, double houses showing furtive gleams behind doors checkered in red-and-white glass; all this is enlivened sometimes by the glare of a cinema or pub, or those desolate squares full of small shops, through which trams scrape wearily and everybody in sight seems to be riding bicycles.