Cyril Hare - Untimely Death aka He Should Have Died Hereafter

“Of course. The meet was at Satcherley Way that morning.”

“Yes, sir. And Mr. Olding tells me that the stag was roused in Satcherley Copse.”

“In that case, the ground must have been a mass of hoofprints. So far so good. We’ve dealt with When and Where, but now I want to go to Why? And Why isn’t single here, but double or triple. First Why: Why was Jack Gorman on Gallows Hill at all?”

“It’s within easy walking distance of Sallowcombe, sir, and he had to go somewhere when he left. Other than that, I can’t suggest why he should have gone in that particular direction.”

Hester Greenway chuckled.

“I can,” she said. “He was within a mile of Highbarn Farm.”

“Highbarn Farm?” said Mallett in surprise. “Tom Gorman’s place, do you mean?”

“Certainly that’s what I mean.”

“But what should he be going there for?”

“What should anybody be going anywhere for at that hour of the morning? For breakfast, of course.”

“You think that Jack Gorman expected Tom to give him breakfast?”

Miss Greenway clicked her tongue in impatience at the denseness of the man.

“Not Tom, of course. Everybody on the moor knows he couldn’t stand the sight of him. He wouldn’t have given him a crust of bread. But Ethel would.”

“Who is Ethel?” asked Eleanor.

“Tom’s wife, Dick’s sister, Jack’s cousin-she’d give him breakfast or-or-anything else he cared to ask for. So would nine women out of ten in a twenty mile radius. Surely you knew that, Mr. Mallett?”

“I knew Jack Gorman had a certain reputation as a lady’s man, miss, but I’m bound to say it never occurred to me. You may be right, of course, but if he went to Highbarn, how was he to avoid meeting Tom?”

“It was a hunting day, wasn’t it? And Tom was acting as harbourer while the regular man was ill. That meant he’d be up and out of the place hours before. No-Jack’s only trouble would be to finish his breakfast before Tom came back for his. But he was pretty expert at dodging husbands, was Jack. He was a character and no mistake!”

Hester concluded her obituary of Jack Gorman with an indulgent laugh, in which Pettigrew joined and Eleanor rather pointedly did not.

“Well,” said Pettigrew, “we’ve got a fairly plausible answer to that question, at all events. My next one comes back to Joliffe. According to his story, having found the body, he immediately decides to conceal it. Why?”

“Because he knows that Gilbert is dying, sir, and he’s thinking of this base fee business if it is known that Jack has died first.”

“Is he, by Jove? Then he’s a very learned butcher. I’m a lawyer, or used to be, and I shouldn’t know the first thing about it if Puffkins hadn’t expounded it in words of one syllable.”

“I can explain that quite easily, sir. When he made Jack bar the entail, he was warned by the lawyer that advised him, of the importance of Jack surviving Gilbert. But of course nobody then ever imagined that he wouldn’t.”

“So much for that. Now for the next question. Having found Jack, he apparently just dumped him off the road at Bolter’s Tussock, where he wouldn’t be seen. Why didn’t he take him down and pop him into the deep freeze at once?”

“He couldn’t do that. He’s only got a little two-seater car. How would he have looked arriving at his business with a corpse on the passenger seat?”

“Granted. But at least I should have expected him to come back in double quick time with the van. Instead, he waited till late in the afternoon, which couldn’t have done Jack much good, considering the weather.”

“There’s good reason for that. It wasn’t until the afternoon that he could get his shop and cold store to himself. I got some very interesting information from Joliffe’s shop assistant about what happened on Saturday. Joliffe had to choose his time carefully, so that he would be back in the place after the staff had gone. I don’t know what excuse he intended to give for taking the van out after the normal delivery times, but he had a bit of luck in the shape of a last-minute S.O.S. for meat from a local hotel. He told his driver that rather than keep him working late on overtime rates he’d do the job himself. So he left the assistant in charge of the shop, took the meat to the hotel, collected poor Jack, and timed himself to get back to the shop after everyone had gone.”

Hester clapped her hands suddenly.

“Of course!” she exclaimed. “And he told us just the opposite!”

“Told you what, miss?”

“Don’t you remember, Ellie? That afternoon when you came to see me and your car broke down, Mr. Joliffe said he couldn’t give you a lift home because he had to be back in the shop before closing time. The sly old sinner, that was exactly what he didn’t want to be!”

“He did give us a lift, as a matter of fact,” said Eleanor, “though it was only a couple of hundred yards or so.” She shuddered. “And Jack must have been in the back of the van then.”

Hester gave a hoot of laughter.

“And I offered to get into the back and sit with the meat, because we were so squashed in front!” she exclaimed. “That must have given him a turn. No wonder he didn’t take to the suggestion!”

“This is all news to me,” said Mallett. “I had no idea that you had met Joliffe that afternoon. What happened, exactly?”

Hester told him briefly what had occurred.

“I thought he had just looked in at Minster to make passes at Louisa as usual,” she concluded. “But obviously he was killing time as well. To think I had only to open the back of the van and show the old villain up-it makes me mad!”

“Making passes at Louisa?” asked Pettigrew. “Is that one of our friend’s weaknesses?”

“It certainly used to be. He was always dropping in at the Grange-tempting her with choice steaks and slabs of liver, I shouldn’t wonder-but he must have cooled off lately. I haven’t seen him about since Ellie and I had our ride with the corpse.”

“This is an interesting digression,” said Pettigrew, “but I want to get back to my questions. We still have to tackle the ones that really matter-How? and By Whom?”

Mallett shook his head. “I wish I could answer those ones, sir,” he said.

“But this is absurd. There must be an answer. After all, there’s plenty of evidence available, one way and another. Let’s go over it together once more…”

For some time, Pettigrew had been vaguely aware that the tea-shop, which had been crowded when they entered, was emptying rapidly. He had also known that his wife was making signs to him indicating that he should either do something or refrain from whatever it was that he happened to be doing. He had disregarded both phenomena, the one because it did not concern him, the other from established habit. Now he met with an interruption which he could not disregard.

“Excuse me, sir, but will you be requiring anything else, because we are closing now?”

The waitress was kind but firm. Rather sheepishly, he took the bill that she gave him and made his way to the cash desk through a forest of empty tables and upturned chairs. He turned to find his party in a state of dissolution. Hester was bidding an affectionate farewell of Eleanor and explaining that she had an engagement to spend the evening with the Old Cocky-olly-bird-a name which elicited from Eleanor glad cries of loving recognition. Mallett was extending his hand to say Goodbye. A moment later they were swept out into the street.

Pettigrew saw Miss Greenway into a cruising taxi and turned to Mallett. For the first time he realized that his old friend was now well advanced in years. He looked not only old, but rather tired.

“What are your plans for this evening?” he asked him.