Mad Hatter

CHAPTER 14

‘Now, Thackeray. I’ve told you about my meeting with Mrs. Prothero. I’d be obliged if you’d give me your account of the meeting you had with Miss Floyd-Whittingham.’

Thackeray took out his pocket-notebook and cleared his throat in the best police-court manner. He was now becoming accustomed to the solemn little exchanges of information in the interviewing-room at Grafton Street police station, but the first time it had happened you could have knocked him down with a police-issue pencil. It was contrary to everything he knew about Cribb’s way of conducting inquiries. Anyone assisting Cribb was expected to glean a full understanding of developments from listening for occasional utterances never more than half a dozen words in length and watching for the tell-tale tilt of an eyebrow, or the twitch of a cheek-muscle. There were rumours, of course, that after Cribb’s music hall murder investigation, criticism had been voiced in certain quarters of sergeants who ordered constables to perform manoeuvres in ignorance of their full implications, but Cribb was unlikely to be influenced by that. It was far more likely that the Brighton ozone had gone to his head.

‘In accordance with my instructions,’ Thackeray began, ‘I proceeded to Lewes Crescent, arriving there shortly after eleven o’clock. Upon knocking at the door and announcing my business I was admitted by a maidservant who informed me that Miss Floyd-Whittingham was at breakfast. I impressed upon her the seriousness of my business and she agreed to take me to her Mistress without delay. I followed in anticipation of being admitted to the breakfast-room, but found myself instead being led upstairs and shown into what-er-not to beat about the bush-I found to be Miss Floyd-Whittingham’s bedroom.’

‘Her bedroom?‘ Cribb brought down his hand noisily on his thigh. ‘Thackeray, how do you manage it? You can make a compromising situation out of anything. Where was Miss Samantha, then?’

‘In bed, Sarge. With a boiled egg on a silver tray.’ He resumed his evidence-giving manner. ‘Naturally, I apologised for the intrusion, but she did not give the appearance of being discomfited.’

‘She didn’t disappear screaming under the bedclothes, you mean? Go on.’

‘She was decently covered with a white lace garment. I sat on a chair-it was quite ten feet from the bed-and explained the reason for my visit. I handled it delicate, Sarge, as you suggested, saying we was tracing the movements of a number of people on Saturday night. She admitted quite readily that she was at the ball with Dr. Prothero-called him Gregory. They was in the Dome from nine o’clock onwards, except for half an hour when they watched the fireworks from the Steine Gardens. That was between half past nine and ten. Otherwise they was there until one in the morning. She’s got a card with his name against the dances to prove it, Lancers and Galopades and Polkas. Gregory all the way down to the Last Waltz. She’ll vouch for him, I’m sure.’

‘Hm. Did she volunteer anything else about him-where she met him, for instance?’

‘In church, Sarge. She didn’t know he was married at first. He’s always behaved very proper, she said. He’s a decent, warm-hearted man and his wife don’t understand him.’

Cribb gave the celebrated tilt of the right eyebrow. ‘That’s one view of Prothero, then. What about Samantha? What’s your opinion of her, Constable?’

Thackeray tilted both eyebrows. ‘Oh, a regular beauty, Sarge! No question of it. A face like a china doll and a show of red hair I’ve never seen the equal of. I suppose she wears it different when she goes out, but it was hanging loose down her back when I saw it. I don’t know what she’s like dressed and on her feet, Sarge, but she’s a stunner in bed, I promise you!’

Cribb winced. ‘I believe it Thackeray, but I wouldn’t bandy it about in quite those terms if I were you. People jump to wrong conclusions.’

‘What bothers me,’ said Thackeray, undaunted, ‘is what a handsome young woman like that sees in a man of Prothero’s age-even allowing that he’s a dapper little toff.’

‘Oh, it’s not so unusual,’ said Cribb.

‘You’re right, Sarge! I do believe there’s a type of young woman that finds older men difficult to resist. I observed a certain look in Miss Floyd-Whittingham’s eyes as I entered the room.’

‘Focused on a grey beard, perhaps?’ murmured Cribb. ‘It sounds as though you had a lucky escape, Thackeray. You did escape, I take it? Never mind. We’ve more important things to discuss. Between us, we’ve now interviewed everyone who would seem to be connected with this case-Miss Floyd-Whittingham, the Protheros and Mr. Moscrop. I suppose there’s still the possibility of some complete stranger having met Bridget on the beach on Saturday night and murdered her, but in my experience that sort of killer doesn’t go to a deal of trouble afterwards to get rid of the body. No, I think we’ve met our murderer already. You’ve got your notebook there, and I’ve seen you working at it on and off throughout the week. If it wasn’t the Newmarket Handicap you were considering, I hope you’ve got something useful to contribute to the investigation by now.’

Thackeray was not unprepared. He licked his forefinger in a businesslike way and turned several pages of the notebook. ‘Well, Sarge, you’ve always advised me to look for a motive in a murder case, and I’ve been weighing up the parties concerned to see what reason they would have for putting an end to Bridget.’

‘A sound procedure, Constable. What conclusions have you reached?’

‘Ah. Well, let’s dismiss the least likely one first. So far as I can tell, Miss Floyd-Whittingham has never met Bridget, and wouldn’t have any reason to kill her. The only way she might be involved is as an accomplice to Dr. Prothero.’

‘Reasonable enough,’ said Cribb. ‘And she doesn’t sound to me like the sort of woman who’s handy with a cleaver.’

‘Them’s my own sentiments exactly, Sarge. And I’ve got the same reservations about Mrs. Prothero from what you told me of her. She’s got a motive, though, in my opinion.’

‘What’s that?’

‘She didn’t like Bridget at all. She told Moscrop Prothero engaged the girl himself. If she’d had her way she would have dismissed her. Now seeing that she’s so attached to young Jason, and Bridget was apt to go off swimming with Guy and leave the child in the charge of bathing-machine attendants, it don’t seem impossible to me that Mrs. Prothero might have got desperate, knowing that her husband didn’t take no interest. You told me yourself that Mrs. P. knew about the capers in the sea with Guy, so she must have known about Jason being left with strangers, too. That’s enough to strike panic into a woman of her nervous susceptibilities.’

‘I see the point,’ said Cribb, ‘but there’s still the dismembering to account for. That’s not a woman’s work.’

Thackeray had obviously thought of this. He tucked his thumbs confidently in the pockets of his waistcoat and said, ‘A woman as charming as Mrs. Prothero might not have to look very far to find a man prepared to wield a cleaver for her.’

‘Moscrop?’ said Cribb.

Thackeray rewarded his sergeant with a broad grin. ‘But I’ll leave him for a moment, if you don’t mind. The next on the list is Guy.’

‘The boy?’

‘Now that’s just it, Sarge. We’re disposed to think of him as a boy, but he’s fifteen years old and quite precocious from what I’ve heard. It ain’t every fifteen-year-old that talks to his elders and betters the way that lad does, or takes snuff, or has a dabble below stairs, to use a coarse expression.’

‘That doesn’t make him a murderer.’

‘Ah, but he ain’t what you would call a level-headed personality. Perhaps it’s on account of his age-I’m not sure about these things-but he sounds to me like a boy without a proper sense of responsibility. Moscrop says he saw him holding Jason above the crocodile tank. That’s the deuce of a risk to take with a small child, wouldn’t you say? He seems to have no respect for people at all, in his family or out of it. Now just suppose his philanderings with Bridget had gone a good deal further than the Protheros realised. Just suppose Bridget was in a delicate condition, or thought she was, at any rate, and told him so. I can’t help wondering whether he ain’t the sort of boy that might resort to murder in that situation.’

‘It’s plausible,’ admitted Cribb.

‘And so we come to Dr. Prothero,’ Thackeray went on, like a guide in a museum, turning the page of his notebook. ‘Now, here’s an interesting thing, Sarge. Moscrop told us that when he had his conversation with Bridget on the morning of the regiment’s march-past, it was she who gave him Miss Floyd-Whittingham’s name. She knew all about the goings-on at Lewes Crescent of an afternoon. And that was at a time when Mrs. Prothero herself thought the doctor was going the rounds of his former patients. It’s tailor-made for blackmail, in my opinion. I think that’s why Bridget was able to keep her job, even when Mrs. Prothero knew she was neglecting Jason. Prothero wasn’t going to dismiss her when he knew she could blow the gaff to his wife.’

‘Do you think he was paying Bridget money, then?’

‘That’s hard to say. She may have been satisfied with keeping her job. In those circumstances drawing a wage is a kind of blackmail, in my estimation. Well, Sarge, that’s the motive in Prothero’s case. Bridget demands too much, so he kills her.’

‘Leaving us with Mr. Albert Moscrop.’

‘Yes. I’ve left him till last deliberate, Sarge, because I think he’s the deepest one of the lot. It’s not that I’m unappreciative of all the information he’s given us. We wouldn’t have got this far so quick without him.’

‘You wonder why he’s so interested in the case?’

‘Well, you must admit that it’s a curious way to spend a holiday. I’ve seen the jokes in Punch about men at the seaside peering through spy-glasses, but I’ve never come across anyone with a whole bagful of telescopes and binoculars. For all his grand ideas about being in Brighton for the season, he’s got no intention of going to balls or parties. He just watches everyone else enjoying themselves.’

‘Eccentric,’ said Cribb, ‘but harmless.’

‘Ah, yes, up to a point, Sarge. But when the glasses settle on a married woman and won’t move off, then I’m not so sure if it is harmless. Allowing for the sort of man he is, deadly serious but completely inexperienced with the fair sex, I’d say that any woman at the far end of those binoculars should watch out. It’s the men of his age and his kind that get strange notions in their heads. They can very easily convince themselves that the unfortunate women they fix upon are encouraging ’em, and that can lead to ugly results.’

‘It’s an interesting idea,’ said Cribb, ‘except for the fact that it was Bridget who was murdered, and not Zena Prothero.’

‘But don’t you see,’ said Thackeray, passionately, ‘that a man with such a single-minded interest in a woman is going to be ruthless in pursuing her? I don’t think that child Jason strayed away from his mother on the beach. I think Moscrop abducted him-just to bring him back to her and provide himself with a reason for talking to her. A man in that frame of mind will do anything, Sarge.’

‘Hold on a bit!’ said Cribb. ‘Single-minded, I’ll give you. Humourless, yes. Capable of contriving some situation to meet Mrs. Prothero, yes. But anything! That won’t do, Constable. It’s woolly. Not the way a detective should think. If there’s a motive for Moscrop, there must be a clearly-reasoned argument, however odd the man may be.’

‘I was coming to that, Sergeant,’ protested Thackeray. ‘You’ll allow that he formed a strong attachment for Mrs. Prothero?’

‘Yes.’

‘So strong that he went to some trouble to find out for himself about her husband’s unfaithfulness?’

‘I should think that was his reason, yes.’

‘And he felt protective towards Mrs. Prothero, and angry about the husband who didn’t appreciate her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well it seems to me that things was building up to a crisis-point on the Saturday, the day of the murder. Mrs. Prothero had asked Moscrop to get the sleeping-potion analysed. By that time, he was ready to be her slave. He thought Dr. Prothero was contemptible. It was even possible- and I’m not putting it any stronger, Sarge-that the sleeping potion might contain some kind of slow-acting poison. Anyway, being asked to get it analysed was being put into a privileged position.’

‘You’re doing better now,’ said Cribb.

‘So Moscrop must have felt highly pleased with himself, meeting her in secret by the croquet-lawn and arranging another secret meeting for the Saturday, when he would give her the chemist’s analysis. She was sure to be in a grateful frame of mind. It would be Saturday night in Brighton. The fireworks would be under way. She might even agree to take a walk along the prom. with him. Imagine the prospect of that to a man who had hardly talked to a woman outside his telescope-shop!’

‘Careful, Thackeray,’ warned Cribb. ‘Let’s leave imagination out of it.’

Thackeray returned a sharp glance. ‘Well, the facts are,’ he said with emphasis, ‘that he chanced to meet Bridget in the Steine on Saturday morning and discovered that she knew all about him following her mistress and even the secret meetings. That was sure to be a severe shock to him. He was accustomed to being alone and watching other people from a secret, solitary position. Now he discovered that Bridget, this common servant-girl, knew a rare amount of what was going on. Then in the evening, when he went to meet his Zena, who should come instead, but Bridget! The formula never got back to Mrs. Prothero because Moscrop took Bridget along the beach and killed her. She must have become a nightmare to him and he found the quickest way he could of finishing it. Afterwards he hid the body in the arch and set about planning to dispose of it in his usual methodical way.’

‘Admirable!’ said Cribb, genuinely impressed. ‘Can you explain why he told us so much about his doings, though? Wasn’t it in his interest not to have anything to do with the police?’

‘I don’t think so, Sarge. He’d met Guy as well as Zena. They would have been sure to have mentioned his name when the questions began. It was clever thinking on his part to anticipate all that and volunteer to help us. Of course, he pretended to believe it was Zena whose body was found at first. That way he could seem to be just as surprised as anyone when it was found that Bridget was the victim. In short, Sergeant,’ Thackeray ended triumphantly, ‘I think we ought to run him in.’

‘Wait a moment!’ said Cribb. ‘What about the others-Mrs. Prothero and her servant problem, Guy in prospect of being a papa and Dr. Prothero undergoing blackmail? Do we forget about them just because Moscrop had a strong motive?’

Thackeray frowned. ‘But they couldn’t possibly have done it. They all had alibis. Mrs. Prothero was drugged with chloral and asleep, Guy was in the hotel, watching the fireworks from the balcony, and the doctor was at the ball all evening, except for half an hour in Steine Gardens which he spent with Miss Floyd-Whittingham. If you want to be quite sure, we could see if Moscrop’s got a criminal record. A man like that could very well have been in trouble before.’

Cribb opened the drawer of the desk in front of him and took out a sheet of paper. ‘All right. How’s this for a record? “August, 1881, Hove, criminal assault upon a minor, one Matthew Hawkins, not brought to court. December, 1881, Eastbourne, indecent assault upon a servant-girl of 17 years, Jane Brett, not brought to court. June, 1882, Eastbourne, attempted murder of Jane Brett by strangulation, not brought to court.”‘

‘Really, Sarge?’ said Thackeray. ‘We’ve got him this time for sure, then. “Not brought to court”, indeed! Makes you wonder what the local force was up to. We’d better get along to Montpelier Parade and clap the darbies on him quick before he adds to the list.’

‘Montpelier Parade?’

‘The address of Moscrop’s lodgings,’ pointed out Thackeray, not altogether suppressing his surprise at Cribb’s obtuseness.

‘Ah. Now that wouldn’t do.’

‘Why not, Sarge?’

‘Because it ain’t Moscrop’s record. So far as I’ve been able to check, he’s never put a foot wrong in his life. You couldn’t really call this a record at all, come to that, could you? Three cases, none of ’em brought to court. I put it together myself, from information received, as they say. It’s more of a school record than a criminal one, since all the information comes from headmasters. There’s nothing like a small private school for hushing up a scandal, paying reparation to the victim and pushing the offender on to some other place of learning. Sometimes it’s the masters that go, and sometimes the boys. Boy in this case.’

‘Do you mean Guy?’ Thackeray was open-mouthed.

Cribb nodded. ‘Well, you had him on your list, so don’t be too despondent.’

‘But he had an alibi. He was in the hotel all evening with his mother. Moscrop saw him on the balcony.’

‘His mother was asleep, if you remember. Once we established that, Guy had no alibi. The game of cribbage had to be pure invention. Oh, yes, he was seen on the balcony, but it was while Bridget was with Moscrop. After that, she went back to the hotel suite and out with Guy to see the fireworks, having borrowed Mrs. Prothero’s jacket to add a little spice to the escapade.’

‘But there’s nothing to suggest she went back to the Albemarle, Sarge. She still had the chemist’s report with her when she died.’

‘Do you think she would have left it lying about up there? Her Mistress was out to the world until next morning. There was only Prothero himself to see it if she left it in the bedroom. She didn’t want that so she took it with her. Besides, she must have gone back to put on the sealskin jacket. She wasn’t wearing it when she met Moscrop.’

‘He didn’t say so, it’s true, but-‘ ‘He wouldn’t have come to us suggesting Zena Prothero was dead if he’d seen Bridget wearing the jacket that night, now would he? He’s an observant man, Constable.’

There was an interval while Thackeray rearranged his thoughts.

‘When did you discover all this, Sarge?’

‘About Guy? On the day I went to Dorking. I missed Zena Prothero, unfortunately, but I was able to get the names of Guy’s schools from the servants. The local police extracted the information I wanted from the headmasters at Hove and Eastbourne. There’s quite a history of violence-torturing pet animals, bullying younger children and so on, leading up to a vicious attack on the boy Hawkins at Hove, but Guy is now of an age when he’s turning his attention to women. The girl Jane Brett is fortunate to be alive. If there’s such a thing as a born killer I would stake my reputation that Guy Prothero is it.’

‘A madman, Sarge?’

‘Sane in most respects, but with a lust for violence that makes him uncontrollable in certain situations.’

‘His parents must have been at their wits’ end when they got those reports from the schools,’ said Thackeray.

‘Prothero was inclined to disbelieve them, thinking the schools were exaggerating, until the attack on Jane Brett at Eastbourne. He was asked to take the boy away from school at once, and the headmaster urged his committal to an institution for the mentally deranged. As a medical man, Prothero was bound to consider the suggestion, unpalatable as it must have been. I don’t believe he told his wife about the nature of the boy’s outbursts at school-the “unspeakable thing” she mentioned to Moscrop was the disgrace of a second expulsion from school. If she’d known that Guy had attacked a servant-girl she certainly wouldn’t have countenanced his going off to swim with Bridget.’

‘Yet Prothero himself was quite agreeable to Guy swimming with the girl. You told me that yourself, Sarge. “A bit of spooning under the waves,” he called it.’

Cribb nodded. ‘That was his attitude after Bridget’s death. He knew his son to be a murderer by then. By posturing as a “forward thinker” he was trying to remove suspicion from Guy. It became clear that he’d changed his attitude when I interviewed Mrs. Prothero. She was thoroughly alarmed at the prospect of his finding out about the bathing with Bridget. “He would have stopped it at once,” she said. “I had my instructions, but I was not equal to them.” Prothero had strictly forbidden any such thing. He knew what the consequences might be. Afterwards it was smarter to suggest that he knew exactly what was going on and didn’t disapprove.’

‘He was protecting the boy all along, then?’

‘Protecting his own reputation too. Yes, he lied, of course, when he told me that his wife had returned to Dorking with Jason and Bridget. I repeated the question to be quite sure about it.’

‘Was that what first made you suspect Guy, Sarge?’

‘Well, it was obvious enough that the Protheros were lying. Their stories were full of inconsistencies. I suppose they hadn’t had time to think the thing out and rehearse what they were going to say. There was one point when Prothero was ready to say that his wife was asleep on the night of the murder and Guy was trying to convince me she was awake. There wasn’t the trust between the members of the family that a strong united alibi demands. They were all suspicious of each other in their various ways. Prothero was determined not to let Guy know what he was planning for him when the holiday was over.’

‘An asylum, Sarge?’

‘Something of the sort, I suspect. But Zena Prothero knew nothing of this. I’m convinced that the doctor regarded the boy as his responsibility-he wasn’t Zena’s child, after all-and was determined that she should not become involved. Possibly Guy confessed to him, or he caught the boy coming home in the small hours. At any rate, Prothero knew by Sunday morning that Guy had murdered Bridget. He arranged at once for Zena to return to Dorking-probably dosed Jason with something to make him feverish-telling her that Bridget was unaccountably missing. Later she must have read in the newspaper about the human remains found on the beach, and the sealskin jacket. She believed-and still believes-that Bridget went out that night wearing her jacket and was killed by some stranger. She telegraphed Prothero from Dorking saying she must meet him urgently at the Devil’s Dyke. She wanted to tell him what she feared, you see. He met her, listened to her story, and gave her the knapsack containing some of Bridget’s clothes to carry away, impressing upon her that if it were known that their servant had been murdered, the Dorking practice would be in ruins. The Worthing police picked up the knapsack this morning. It contained a pair of shoes, stays, stockings, a camisole and a bonnet-the missing clothes Bridget was wearing when she was murdered, complete with fish-scales adhering to ’em.’

‘From the arch where the body was dismembered? Did Prothero do that, do you think?’

‘Difficult to say. It didn’t look like a doctor’s handiwork, but then Prothero ain’t fool enough to give himself away like that. I’m inclined to think he must have supervised the disposing of the body. We’re examining their clothes for bloodstains, of course.’

Thackeray started in surprise. ‘Do you mean that you’ve got their clothes already, Sarge? Is the boy in custody?’

‘The answer to your first question is yes. To your second, no. Guy and his father left Brighton this morning on horseback. It’s all right, Constable! No panic! The police all the way from here to Dorking have been alerted and there’s a plain-clothes man following them. They left a trunk at the Albemarle to be called for, and Inspector Pink and his men have very obligingly picked it up. It surprises me that Prothero stayed so long in Brighton. It was two weeks yesterday that Bridget was killed. It’s a cool customer that can sit it out as long as that when an investigation’s afoot. Ah!’

The interruption was from P.C. Thomas, bearing a telegram.

‘As I expected,’ said Cribb. ‘They stopped at Horsham for lunch. The Fortune of War. I suggest that we-Good God!’ He put the telegram down and pressed his hand to his forehead.

‘What is it, Sarge? What on earth’s the matter?’

‘The matter is, Constable,’ said Cribb in a strange voice, ‘that I’ve made a fatal error of judgement. According to this telegram, our suspect died shortly after one o’clock.’

‘Died?’ repeated Thackeray. ‘It must be a mistake, Sarge. They mean “dined”.’

‘I’d believe you,’ said Cribb, ‘if it didn’t go on to ask for my instructions regarding the post mortem.’