Helen Passes By: A Bobby Owen Mystery Read online

  “By the way,” he added, “Collier is here, one of the Public Prosecutor back-room boys. Do you know him?” and Bobby said he did, and would be very glad to have the pleasure of meeting him again, and the Commander looked very much as if he had found that pleasure one of a somewhat doubtful savour.

  CHAPTER VI

  WAYLING REAPPEARS

  Mr. Collier greeted Bobby as an old friend, and Bobby greeted Mr. Collier with that wary and suspicious deference any police officer shows towards any official of the Public Prosecutor’s department, rather like that shown by a worker in any of the arts to a critic.

  Lunch itself proved an excellent meal, with fish that had that morning been swimming in the sea, and wine the Commander produced with a shy and proud smile. It was Australian. The Commander had begun to drink it in a spirit of grim and devoted patriotism, and for once, surprisingly in this imperfect world, grim and devoted patriotism had been fully rewarded. Now the Commander was finding himself suspected, most unjustly, of having large investments in the Australian wine trade.

  “Old Spikes was here to dinner the other day,” he told his two guests, the reference being to a well-known admiral. “He fancies himself no end as a judge of wine—on his club’s wine committee and all that. I gave him a glass of this and asked him to name it. He said it was a Chateau, but he couldn’t name it. New to him, he said, but as good as any. He wouldn’t believe it was Australian till I showed him the bottle. And I’m not sure even now he isn’t half inclined to believe there’s a catch in it somewhere,” and the memory of this mild triumph so pleased the Commander that he almost forgot his grievances and almost smiled on Bobby, but less so on Mr. Collier.

  Of this more favourable atmosphere Bobby took full advantage. The skill with which he accepted the Commander’s ideas, turned them upside down and inside out, and then returned them to the Commander as his own indubitable offspring was much appreciated by Mr. Collier. Afterwards, though, he modified his approval by remarking to Bobby that his procedure had been a trifle crude and could only have succeeded so well with a born sucker like Commander Seers. To which Bobby retorted that we are all of us born suckers on one side at least, and probably more. Mr. Collier had no reply to make.

  In this favourable lunchtime atmosphere Bobby took an opportunity to mention the kingfisher incident which hitherto he had avoided for fear of exciting still further the Commander’s prejudices and so perhaps putting Lord Adour still further on his guard—if indeed there was any justification for the vague suspicions that seemed current. Casually, Bobby asked if the kingfisher had been seen by others and was it such an extremely rare bird? Professing—quite truly—great ornithological ignorance, he said he had always supposed the kingfisher was fairly common. The Commander explained that there had been complaints that the recent industrial activity in the district, and some consequent pollution of the river, had driven away a pair that had become before the war almost a kind of communal pet. Sometime previously a claim had been made that they had returned. This had been denied, and so Lord Adour, seeing the bird, had wished to obtain a snap as conclusive evidence. Unfortunately, the bird flew off before the snap could be obtained. Very casually, Bobby elicited the information that no one else had seen the bird either that day or subsequently. It appeared also that Miss Adour had been equally interested at the reappearance of the kingfisher, but she had been too late to catch a glimpse of it. Probably the bird had been disturbed when Lord Adour deposited his gun against a nearby tree and hurried off to get his camera.

  Later on, when Bobby and Mr. Collier had taken their leave and were driving off together, Mr. Collier asked why Bobby seemed so interested in the kingfisher incident and Bobby said he didn’t know exactly. All incidents connected with an obscure and difficult crime were interesting, and Mr. Collier grinned and said, of course, Bobby was fully entitled to keep his thoughts to himself. So Bobby said sadly that so far he had no thoughts either to keep to himself or to give away. What did Mr. Collier himself think of it all?

  “Not my job to think about it,” Collier answered promptly. “We aren’t an investigating body. All we do is to lick into shape the stuff you give us.”

  “I know,” said Bobby bitterly, remembering how often his reports had come back to him spattered all over with such red ink comments as: “This is irrelevant,”

  “Such statements are wholly inadmissible,”

  “Requires further confirmation,”

  “Not evidence as it stands,” and so on and so on.

  Mr. Collier grinned again. He knew exactly what Bobby was thinking. He said:

  “Notice how Seers went all goo-goo whenever that Adour girl’s name was mentioned. I thought he was going to cry.”

  “Have you met her?” Bobby asked.

  “Not me,” said Collier; “and don’t mean to if I can help it. Safety first is my motto. I’m a married man.”

  In a more serious vein he went on to say that his boss, pally with all the big legal noises in the new Government, had been told there was real anxiety in high political circles over possible Bain case developments. Behind the scene activities—and how formidable and even disastrous these can be—were going on with the aim of forcing the hand of the new Government and obliging it to adopt measures for which, in its view, the country was not yet ready, which indeed might have very unpleasant consequences at the next election. Jack Cade Junior’s writings were extremely influential. He had an extraordinary knack of putting forward the most extreme ideas in the most mild and even deprecatory language imaginable. If he and the group working with him, with the further assistance of the indignant and resentful Seashire Herald, managed to get it widely believed that “hidden forces,” now exposed by their efforts, had been at work to influence the police and protect a man of high social and financial standing, then their position would be greatly strengthened.

  “Of course,” Collier added, “so far as Sammy Robinson alias Jack Cade Junior is concerned, there’s a certain amount of family feeling involved. He was on quite friendly terms with his nephews. His nearest relatives. He has no children.”

  “Going to make things difficult,” Bobby remarked. “I believe he’s got a man working for him he’s managed to get pushed on the Seashire Herald staff.”

  “Oh, he’s out for blood all right,” Collier agreed. “The ultimate aim is to get the police nationalized, so to speak. Under complete central control, that is. None of your troublesome local independence. One government, one police. It could easily be taken as the first step towards a political police.”

  “Good God,” exclaimed Bobby, whose hair was nearly standing on end at the mere thought of such an unholy mingling of police and politics, abhorrent to gods and men alike.

  “Oh, it’s on the cards,” Collier assured him. “Of course, in these days anything is on the cards. Luckily, most of it stops there. The new Government,” he went on, speaking without sympathy, “is up to its eyes and over in trouble. I won’t say they’ll be grateful, because, of course, governments know nothing about gratitude. It’s something quite outside their scheme of things. But if you can handle the job O.K., they may remember you next time they’re in a hole and want someone to pull ’em out again. Mind you, they don’t care a twopenny damn whether Adour is guilty or not. Purely a side issue. What is important is that there shan’t even be rumours that Adour’s political or social position or his money have given him any protection whatever.”

  “I see,” said Bobby, reflecting ruefully that the very last thing he had ever expected was to be mixed up in what seemed very much like a backstairs political intrigue. “You don’t think,” he asked, “that Seers would willingly protect anyone he thought might possibly be guilty?”

  “I’m perfectly sure he wouldn’t,” Collier answered. “He has far too strong a sense of duty. Can you imagine a devout Roman Catholic suspecting the Pope of heresy? As soon imagine Seers suspecting a peer of the realm of crime, especially a peer with a pedigree going back to Saxon times, even i
f the College of Heralds does rather look at it down its collective nose. Seers doesn’t even know he is the Toriest Tory in the country. He just considers himself a sensible, reasonable chap thinking naturally in the same way as all other sensible, reasonable chaps.”

  They parted then, Collier going on his way and Bobby driving only a short distance before parking his car by the side of the road, near Coldstone Spinney, though this was really more a fair-sized wood of elm and beech than what is usually understood by “spinney.” It had been originally planted by Lord Adour’s grandfather to give protection to the house from the sea breezes that came in just here through a gap in the high cliffs that in a general way afforded shelter to this low-lying land near the banks of the small Adour River. Leaving his car there, Bobby entered the wood and visited first the scene of the crime, where a roped-off space still indicated the spot where the body had been found. There he looked about for a little, though he discovered nothing of any interest. He decided that later on he would return and make another and more careful examination. Then he walked on towards River Farm. At a turn of the path he met Wayling, slouching along in a more dispirited and aimless way than was usual with him, generally avid in pursuit of either a loan, a drink, or a woman.

  “Hullo. Is that you?” Bobby exclaimed. “What are you up to now?” he asked suspiciously.

  “What do you mean? Up to what?” Wayling asked, looking offended. “Well, was I right or wasn’t I?”

  “You were well-informed, anyhow,” Bobby agreed. “See here, Wayling, are you mixed up in this business in any way?”

  “Of course not,” Wayling answered indignantly. “Damn it all, Owen, can’t you ever stop being a policeman, not even when you meet an old pal?”

  “Not when I’m dealing with a murder case and meet the old pal near where it happened,” Bobby retorted. “What about that five pounds, by the way?”

  No man since the world began has ever looked more bewildered than did Alexander Wayling at this question. He stood and stared and searched his mind and memory. Apparently in vain.

  “What five pounds?” he asked finally.

  “The five pounds you pinched when you called at my place,” Bobby told him.

  “Oh, that,” exclaimed Wayling, suddenly enlightened. “Was it five pounds? Surely not. I don’t know how it happened … just one of those things. I say,” he added earnestly, “I do hope Mrs. Owen wasn’t inconvenienced?”

  “I’ve a jolly good mind,” Bobby exclaimed angrily, for now he was really annoyed, “to give you the thrashing you deserve.”

  “Now, now,” protested Wayling, like one speaking to a fractious child, “you can’t do that, you know. Deputy Chief Constables, prospective Deputy Assistant Commissioners, can’t do that sort of thing. Couldn’t possibly afford a summons for assault. I’ll send you a cheque to-night.”

  “The same sort you gave Templemore?” Bobby inquired.

  “Did you hear about that?” asked Wayling in return, his expressive voice vibrant with indignation. “I do think Templemore behaved extraordinarily badly. I asked him to wait twenty-four hours till I had paid in the funds to meet it with. What did he do? Instead of waiting, he rushed the thing through and it was sent back. Quite inexcusable on the bank’s part, but you know what pedantic, red-tape places banks are. I’ve been advised to sue Templemore for damages for harm done to my reputation. My solicitor tells me I should have an excellent case.”

  Bobby gasped and gave it up. He felt the incredible Wayling was too much for him.

  “What are you doing down here, anyway?” he demanded.

  “Having a day or two’s holiday by the sea. Jolly little place, Toad-in-Hole. I don’t mind telling you there’s a spot of business in it, too. It’s dead as a port, of course. Stone dead. But some big people in the City I’m in touch with are considering developing it as a really high-class seaside resort. No trippers, you know. For the best people only. I don’t know if it’ll go through. I’m not bothering much. A holiday with me first of all. Business is just a side issue. After all, after six years of pretty strenuous war work, one does need a bit of a rest.”

  “War work?” repeated Bobby. “You? What war work?”

  “Oh, very hush-hush,” Wayling answered, and this time his voice sank to a thrilling whisper. “The story can’t be told even yet.”

  “Come off it,” retorted Bobby rudely. “All you’ve had to do with war work is to dodge it. Do you know anything about the people round here? If you do, I may forget about that five pounds.”

  “You may forget it,” Wayling said with dignity. “I shall not. I always make a note in a book I keep for the purpose. I’m afraid there’s no information I can give you. I’m only a visitor here. How could I get to know anything?”

  “From the barmaids in all the pubs in the place,” Bobby told him. “Barmaids know it all and you are on kissing terms with them all before you’ve been in a town half a day. Do you know anything about Wing Commander Winstanley? Is that where you’ve been, to River Farm?”

  “Oh, you’re on him, are you?” Wayling asked. “How did you hear? Been cultivating barmaids, too? What would Mrs. Owen say?”

  “Don’t play the fool,” snapped Bobby. “You had better remember this is a serious matter and I’ll stand no nonsense. Now then, out with it.”

  “It’s nothing much,” Wayling answered, sulky and a little frightened; for Bobby’s voice had had an edge to it, and this was unfamiliar ground. Wayling knew all the answers, when it was a woman, a drink, or a loan. But serious crime was different. Of that he had no desire to be suspected, and Bobby’s voice and manner had all at once taken on a new tone and aspect, grim and formidable. Wayling said: “I did hear at the ‘Fisherman’s Arms’ that Itter Bain and Winstanley had had a bit of a turn-up. Winstanley got the worst of it. Knocked out. Both the Bains—Itter and Mauley—are, were, real toughs. Mauley settled one dispute at the works by offering to fight the men’s leader, a shop steward. Bare knuckles. The shop steward fancied himself no end and took it on. He got a bad licking in ten rounds. Mauley was so pleased with himself he gave the men what they wanted, and there’s been no more trouble.”

  “Mr. Mauley Bain sounds interesting,” Bobby remarked and remembered the warning Haile had given him. “I shall have to try to get a talk with him. Does he seem to take his brother’s death hard?”

  “He’s drinking a bit—sulky drinking, if you know what I mean. A thing I hate,” declared Wayling. “Wrong. Mischievous. He uses the ‘Good Haul’ generally. That’s the newest pub. The ‘Fisherman’s Arms’ is the old one, but the beer’s the same in both. Equally bad.”

  “Barmaids equally kissable?” Bobby asked.

  “If a girl isn’t kissable,” said Mr. Wayling slowly and thoughtfully, “well, what is she?”

  Bobby attempted no answer to this profound and searching question. Instead, he said:

  “Do you know what Winstanley and Itter Bain quarrelled about? Was it over Helen Adour? Have you met her, by the way?”

  Wayling did not answer directly, but his whole expression slowly changed. It was a cloudy, heavy day, but for a moment Bobby thought it must be some stray beam of sunshine that had so illumined his companion’s twisted, ill-proportioned features. That rich, deep voice of Wayling’s sank almost to a whisper, yet a whisper vibrant with emotion as he said, as if intoning a prayer:

  “Once or twice. Once I walked up from the village with her. When you’re with her, when you’ve been with her, it’s all different, the world, everything. It’s like sunshine and fine music all around and you hardly know the earth’s there you’re walking on.”

  “Good Lord,” said Bobby helplessly, and Wayling seemed suddenly to be recalled to himself.

  “If you laugh, I’ll kill you,” he snarled, and hurried away.

  CHAPTER VII

  RIVER FARM

  “Miss Adour must be a remarkable young woman,” Bobby mused as he watched Wayling’s disappearing figure till the trees hid him from sight.
“I’ll have to try to get a look at her myself as soon as I can.”

  The footpath he had been following ended now abruptly at a gate, on it a notice:

  “PRIVATE. TO RIVER FARM ONLY.”

  As River Farm was his destination, Bobby opened the gate and entered the field to which it admitted. A number of sleek-looking black-and-white cows were grazing there; the Holsteins, he supposed, over the handling of which there was, he gathered, some dissatisfaction in agricultural control circles. Bobby stopped to look at them admiringly. An elderly man was coming towards him, apparently, from his dress, a farm worker of a superior type, a foreman or bailiff probably. He wore no welcoming smile. It was in a distinctly sulky and resentful tone that he said:

  “We was expecting you. We heard you was snooping around.”

  “If I am,” retorted Bobby, “it would do you no harm to be civil.” To this remark, he added one of his most intimidating frowns. Then he said sharply: “Where is Mr. Winstanley? I wish to see him.”

  “Wing Commander Winstanley,” answered the other with more than a little emphasis on the title, “is up at the house. He’s expecting you. He can’t get around like he used to with that game leg of his; and if it wasn’t for the R.A.F. and the likes of him, where would be the likes of us?”

  “That’s quite true,” agreed Bobby more gently; for this was clearly a loyal servitor, and a loyal servitor generally means a good master.

  “Them’s the cows,” said the man, nodding towards them.

  “Oh, yes,” agreed Bobby, slightly puzzled by this abrupt change of subject. “Look very nice, too. This path takes me to the house, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” said the other. “Man and boy I’ve worked on this farm fifty year come Michaelmas, and head foreman now, and I’ll say this any day to any man. The young master’s got an eye for the land as good as what his dad had, and his dad’s was better than most anyone I ever heard tell of.” Then he said: “But young’s young all the world over, master or man, and when a young woman the likes of her passes by, isn’t it nature as a young man’ll stand and stare and forget ought else?”