Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

“Yes,” said Blundell, “we did, but it didn’t help us a lot.”

“That bit went all right. He sent me a message from Dover. Telephoned from a public call-box — but I’ll forgive you for not tracing that. He said he was going straight through and would come along up to London with the stuff next day or the day after, or as soon as he could. Anyway, he would get a message through somehow. I wondered whether I oughtn’t to go down to Fenchurch myself — mind you, I never trusted him — but I wasn’t altogether keen, in spite of my face-fungus. I’d grown that on spec, you understand. I didn’t want you people following me about too much. And besides, I had one or two other irons in the fire. I’m coming clean, you see.”

“You’d better,” said Parker, ominously.

“I didn’t get any message on the 30th, nor yet on the 31st, and I thought I’d been had proper. Only I couldn’t see what he had to gain by double-crossing me. He needed me to handle the goods — or so I thought. Only then it struck me he might have picked up some other pal over at Maidstone or abroad.”

“In that case, why bring you into it at all?”

“That’s what I thought. But I got so windy, I thought I’d better go down to the place and see what was happening. I didn’t want to leave a trail, so I went over to Walbeach — never mind how, that’s off the point—”

“Probably Sparky Bones or the Fly-Catcher,” put in Parker, thoughtfully.

“Ask no questions and you’ll hear no lies. My pal decanted me a few miles out and I footslogged it. I made out I was a tramp labourer, looking for work on the New Cut. Thank God, they weren’t taking on any hands, so they didn’t detain me.”

“So we gathered.”

“Ah! I suppose you would go nosey-parkering round there. I got a lift part of the way to Fenchurch and walked the rest. Beastly country it is, too, as I said before. I’m not doing my hiking thereabouts, I can tell you.”

“That was when we ran across one another, I think,” said Wimsey.

“Ah! and if I’d known who I had the pleasure of stopping I’d have walked off home,” said Mr. Cranton, handsomely. “But I didn’t know, so I trotted along and — but there! I expect you know that part of it.”

“You got a job with Ezra Wilderspin and made inquiries for Paul Taylor.”

“Yes — and a nice business that was!” exclaimed Nobby with indignation. “Mr. Paul Bleeding Taylor and Mr. Batty Thomas! Bells, if you please! And not a hide nor hair of my Paul Taylor to be seen or heard of. I tell you, that made me think a bit. I didn’t know if he’d been and gone, or if he’d been pinched on the way, or if he was lurking about round the corner or what. And that chap Wilderspin — he was a good hand at keeping a hardworking man’s nose to the grindstone, curse him! ‘Driver, come here!’ ‘Steve, do this!’ I didn’t have a minute to call my own. All the same, I started to think quite a lot about that cipher. I took the idea that maybe it had to do with those bells. But could I get into the confounded belfry? No, I couldn’t. Not openly, I mean. So I made out to do it one night and see if I could make sense of the thing up there. So I made a couple or so of pick-locks, the forge being handy for the job, and on Saturday night I just let myself quietly out of Ezra’s backdoor.

“Now, look here. What I’m going to tell you is gospel truth. I went down to that church a bit after midnight, and the minute I put my hand on the door, I found it was open. What did I think? Why, I thought Deacon must be in there on the job. Who else was it likely to be, that time of night? I’d been in the place before and made out where the belfry door was, so I went along nice and quiet, and that was open, too. ‘That’s all right,’ I thought. ‘Deacon’s here, and I’ll give him Tailor Paul and Batty Thomas for not keeping me posted. I got up into a sort of place with ropes in it — damn nasty, I thought they looked. And then there was a ladder and more ropes a-top of that. And then another ladder and a trapdoor.”

“Was the trap-door open?”

“Yes, and I went up. And I didn’t half like it, either. Do you know, when I got up into the next place — Gee! there was a queer feel about it. Not a sound, but like as if there might be people standing round. And dark! It was a pitch-black beast of a night and raining like hell, but I never met anything like the blackness of that place. And I felt as if there was hundreds of eyes watching me. Talk about the heebie-jeebies! Well, there!

“After a bit, with still not a sound, I sort of pulled myself together and put my torch on. Say, have you ever been up in that place? Ever seen those bells? I’m not what you’d call fanciful in a general way, but there was something about the bells that gave me the fantods.”

“I know,” said Wimsey, “they look as if they were going to come down on you.”

“Yes, you know,” said Nobby, eagerly. “Well, I’d got to where I wanted, but I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t know the first thing about bells, or how to get to them or anything. And I couldn’t make out what had happened to Deacon. So I looked round on the floor with the torch and — Boo! — there he was!”

“Dead?”

“Dead as a door-nail. Tied up to a big kind of post, and a look on his face — there! I don’t want to see a face like that again. Just as though he’d been struck dead and mad all at one go, if you see what I mean.”

“I suppose there’s no doubt he was dead?”

“Dead?” Mr. Cranton laughed. “I never saw anyone deader.”

“Stiff?”

“No, not stiff. But cold, my God! I just touched him. He swung on the ropes and his head had fallen over — well, it looked as if he’d got what was coming to him, anyhow, but worse. Because, to do them justice, they’re pretty quick on the drop, but he looked as if it had lasted for a good long time.”

“Do you mean the rope was round his neck?” demanded Parker, a little impatiently.

“No. He wasn’t hanged. I don’t know what killed him. I was just looking to see, when I heard somebody starting to come up the tower. I didn’t stop, you bet. There was another ladder, and I legged it up that as high as I could go, till I got to a sort of hatch leading out on to the roof, I suppose. I squatted inside that and hoped the other fellow wouldn’t take it into his head to come up after me. I wasn’t keen on being found up there at all, and the body of my old pal Deacon might want some explaining. Of course, I could have told the truth, and pointed out that the poor bloke was cold before I got there, but me having picklocks in my pocket rather jiggered up that bit of the alibi. So I sat tight. The chap came up into the place where the body was and started moving round and shuffling about, and once or twice he said ‘Oh, God!’ in a groaning sort of voice. Then there was a nasty soft sort of thump, and I reckoned he’d got the body down on the floor. Then after a bit I heard him pulling and hauling, and presently his steps went across the floor, very slow and heavy, and a bumping noise, like he was dragging old Deacon after him. I couldn’t see him at all from where I was, because from my corner I could only see the ladder and the wall opposite, and he was right away on the other side of the room. After that there was more scuffling, and a sort of bumping and sliding, and I took it he was getting the body down the other ladder. And I didn’t envy him the job, neither.

“I waited up there and waited, till I couldn’t hear him any more, and then I began to wonder what I should do next. So I tried the door on to the roof. There was a bolt inside, so I undid that and stepped out. It was raining like blazes and pitch-black, but out I crawled and got to the edge of the tower and looked over. How high is that cursed tower? Hundred and thirty feet, eh? Well, it felt like a thousand and thirty. I’m no cat-burglar, nor yet a steeple-jack. I looked down, and I saw a light moving about right away up the other end of the church, miles away beneath me in the graveyard. I tell you I hung on to that blinking parapet with both hands and I got a feeling in my stomach as though me and the tower and everything was crumbling away and going over. I was glad I couldn’t see more than I did.