Dorothy Sayers - Busman’s Honeymoon

Bunter brought round the car and he hopped in, waving a friendly gesture. Peter caught Harriet, and explained what was wanted.

‘Poor little Twitters,’ said Harriet. ‘Are you going to be there?’

‘No. I’m going out for a breath of air. I’ll come back presently.’

‘What’s the matter? Kirk hasn’t been unpleasant, surely?’

‘Oh, no. He handled me with kid gloves on. Showed all the proper consideration for my rank and refinement and other inferiorities. My own fault, I asked for it. Oh, golly, here’s the vicar. What does he want?’

‘They asked him to come back. Go on out the back way, Peter. I’ll tackle him.’

Kirk and Sellon, from the window, had watched Mr MacBride’s departure.

‘Hadn’t I ought to fetch Aggie Twitterton down myself,’ suggested Sellon. ‘His lordship will maybe tell his wife to give her the tip.’

‘The trouble with you, Joe,’ replied the Superintendent, ‘is, you ain’t got no pussychology, as they call it. They wouldn’t do a thing like that, neither of them. They ain’t impounding no felonies nor yet obstructing the law. All that’s the matter is, he don’t like ‘urting women and she don’t like ‘urting him. But they won’t either on ‘em put out a finger to stop it, because that sort of thing ain’t done. And when things ain’t done, they won’t do ‘em-and that’s the long and the short of it.’

Having thus laid down the code of behaviour for the nobility and gentry, Mr Kirk blew his nose, and resumed his seat; whereupon the door opened to admit Harriet and Mr Goodacre.

The Rev. Simon Goodacre blinked nervously when confronted by the two officers drawn up, as it were, in battle array, and Harriet’s brief announcement on her way upstairs that he had ‘something to say to you Superintendent’, did little to set him at ease.

‘Dear me! Well. Yes. I came back to see if you wanted me for anything. As you suggested, you know, as you suggested. And to tell Miss Twitterton-but I see she is not here-Well, only that I had seen Lugg about the-er, dear me. the coffin. There must be a coffin, of course-I am not acquainted with the official procedure in such circumstances, but no doubt a coffin will have to be provided?’

‘Certainly,’ said Kirk.

‘Oh, yes, thank you. I had supposed so. I have referred Lugg to you, because I imagine the-the body is no longer in the house.’

‘It’s over at the Crown,* said the Superintendent. ‘The inquest will have to be held there.’

‘Oh, dear!’ said Mr Goodacre. ‘The inquest-oh, yes.’

‘The coroner’s officer will give all the usual facilities.’

‘Yes, thank you, thank you. Er-Crutchley spoke to me as I came up the path.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Well-I think he thinks he might be suspected.’

‘What makes him think that?’

‘Dear me!’ said Mr Goodacre. ‘I fear I am putting my foot in it. He didn’t say he did think it. I only thought he might think it from what he said. But I assure you. Superintendent, that I can confirm his alibi in every particular. He was at choir practice from 6.30 to 7.30, and then he took me over to Pagford for the whist-drive and brought me back here at 10.30. So. you see-’

‘That’s all right, sir. If an alibi’s wanted for them times, you and turn’s out of it.’

‘I’m out of it?’ exclaimed Mr Goodacre. ‘Bless my soul, Superintendent.’

‘Only my joke, sir.’

Mr Goodacre seemed to find the joke in but poor taste.

He replied, however, mildly:

‘Yes, yes. Well, I hope I may assure Crutchley that it’s all right. He’s a young man of whom I have a very high opinion. So keen and industrious. You mustn’t attach too much importance to his chagrin about the forty pounds. It’s a considerable sum for a man in his position.’

Don’t you worry about that, sir,’ said Kirk. ‘Very glad to have your confirmation of those times.’

‘Yes, yes. I thought I’d better mention it. Now, is there anything else I can do to help?’

‘Thank you very much, sir; I don’t know as there is. You spent Wednesday night at home, I take it, after 10.30?’

‘Why. of course,’ said the vicar, not at all relishing this tendency to harp upon his movements. My wife and my servant can substantiate my statement. But you scarcely suppose-’

‘We ain’t got to supposing things yet, sir. That comes later. This is all rowtine. You didn’t call here at any time during the last week, by any chance?’

‘Oh, no. Mr Noakes was away.’

‘Oh! you knew he was away, did you, sir?’

‘No, no. At least, I supposed so. That is to say, yes. I called here on the Thursday morning, but got no answer, so I supposed he was away, as he sometimes was. In fact I fancy Mrs Ruddle told me so. Yes, that was it.’

‘That the only time you called?’

‘Dear me, yes. It was only a little matter of a subscription-in fact, that was what I came about today. I was passing by, and saw a notice on the gate asking for bread and milk to be delivered, so I supposed he had returned.’

‘Ah, yes. When you came on Thursday, you didn’t notice anything funny about the house?’

‘Goodness me, no. Nothing unusual at all. What would there be to notice?’

‘Well-’ began Kirk; but, after all, what could he expect this short-sighted old gentleman to notice? Signs of a struggle? Finger-prints on a door? Footmarks on the path?

Scarcely. Mr Goodacre would possibly have noticed a full-sized corpse, if he had happened to trip over it, but probably nothing smaller.

He accordingly thanked and dismissed the vicar, who, once more observing that he could fully account for Crutchley’s movements and his own after half-past six, blundered vaguely out again, murmuring a series of agitated ‘Good afternoons’ as he went.

‘Well, well,’ said Kirk. He frowned. ‘What makes the old gentleman so sure those are the essential times. We don’t know they are.’

‘No, sir,’ said Sellon.

‘Seems very excited about it. It can’t ‘ardly be him, though, come to think of it, he’s tall enough. He’s taller nor what you are-pretty well as tall as Mr Noakes was, I reckon.’

‘I’m sure,’ said the constable, ‘it couldn’t be vicar, sir.’

‘Isn’t that just what I’m saying? I suppose Crutchley must a-got the idea of the times being important from us questioning so close about them. It’s a hard life,’ added Mr Kirk, plaintively. ‘If you ask questions, you tell the witness what you’re after; if you don’t ask ‘em, you can’t find out anything. And just when you think you’re getting on to something you come slap up against the Judges’ Rules.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sellon, respectfully. He rose as Harriet led Miss Twitterton in, and brought forward another chair.

‘Oh, please!’ exclaimed Miss Twitterton, faintly. ‘Please don’t leave me. Lady Peter.’

‘No, no,’ said Harriet. Mr Kirk hastened to reassure the witness.

‘Sit down. Miss Twitterton; there’s nothing to be alarmed about. Now, first of all, I understand you know nothing about your uncle’s arrangements with Lord Peter Wimsey selling the house, I mean, and so on. No. Just so. Now, when had you seen him last?’

‘Oh! not for’-Miss Twitterton paused and counted the fingers of both hands carefully-’not for about ten days. I looked in last Saturday after morning service. I mean, of course, last Sunday week . I come over, you see, to play the organ for the dear vicar. It’s a tiny church, of course, and not many people-nobody in Paggleham plays the organ, and of course I’m delighted to help in any way-and I called on Uncle then and he seemed quite as usual, and-and that’s the-the last time I saw him. Oh, dear!’