The Detective Wore Silk Drawers

CHAPTER 16

Cribb’s first order on arrival at Tunbridge Wells police station was for the Ebony and Jago, still linked by handcuffs, to be separated and helped away to be cleaned up and examined by a doctor. The others who had been detained, D’Estin and Vibart (the Ebony’s attendants having vanished into the crowd), were taken to the inspector’s office for questioning. Cribb took the chair. Its owner had dismissed himself for a rest after the earlier excitement.

“Now, Mr. D’Estin. You say you want to tell me something important. Damned if I could hear anything in that confounded van with the two fist fighters groaning every time we went over a bump.”

“It’s of the greatest importance, Sergeant. I want to report a murder.”

“Murder? What do you mean?”

Thackeray, seated between D’Estin and Vibart, remembered the strategy and tried to look as shocked as Cribb.

“It happened in Essex-at Radstock Hall, Rainham-late last night. Mrs. Vibart, this man’s sister-in-law, was stabbed in her bed. Morgan, the black, is responsible. I was his trainer at Radstock Hall.”

“Really? My information was that he spent the last week in London, taking his breathings with a man named Beckett.”

“Quite true,” confirmed D’Estin. “He deserted us a week ago.”

“How could he have killed Mrs. Vibart last night, then?”

“Ah, he came to Rainham with Beckett and another man to settle the arrangements for the fight. Mrs. Vibart left the party early to conclude the business with Beckett-he had brought the battle money, you see. The course of the fight was prearranged and had to be paid for. Beckett soon returned, but Morgan had also quit the room and he was absent for half an hour or more. He said he was intending to collect some personal articles, and when he returned, he was carrying a bundle, it was true, but it now occurs to me- and to others, I think-that the bundle could have contained the dagger that killed Mrs. Vibart, and some bloodstained clothing as well.”

Thackeray listened with increasing interest. This was new information; he had dismissed the Ebony from all his speculations because he believed he was in London the previous evening.

“Why should he have wanted to kill her?” asked Cribb.

“Theft. Beckett had just paid her five hundred pounds.

Morgan openly despised her anyway. He simply went to her room, stabbed her, and took the money. We found her this morning. The safe in the room was open, and empty. It was obvious who had done it.”

“If it was obvious,” said Cribb, “how did Morgan expect to get away with it?”

D’Estin slowly shook his head. “He’s not as simpleminded as you might think, Sergeant. He reasoned that we were all too implicated in this illegal fist fighting to inform the police. But he reckoned without the Englishman’s inborn sense of integrity. I’m sure that I speak for Vibart here when I say that whatever inconveniences we face over this fist-fighting nonsense, we know where our duty lies.”

“If that were true, sir,” commented Cribb, “you’d have reported all this to the Rainham police first thing this morning. Now, Mr. Vibart. You’ve heard what’s been said. Are you prepared to confirm that to the best of your knowledge it is true?”

Vibart, still spotted with Jago’s blood, nodded his head.

“It appears to be the only reasonable explanation.”

“Very well,” said Cribb. “Then, seeing that we’re all upright Englishmen, we’d better call Morgan in and put this to him. Will you fetch him, Thackeray?”

The Ebony was brought in, nursing his left wrist in his cupped right hand. His eyes, usually eloquent, were hardly visible for swollen flesh. Cribb explained in detail the turn that the inquiry had taken.

“In short, Mr. Morgan, you come under pretty strong suspicion.”

“I? Suspicion? You think I killed her? I didn’t know she was dead until this moment! Why should I kill her?”

“For the five hundred pounds Beckett handed her,” said Cribb, unaffected.

“You think I would kill for that? Listen to me, mister. I didn’t need money like that. I was getting paid nearly as much by Beckett, and I stood to pick up another three hundred in side bets. What did I need to kill her for? I was free of her, and all this lot. This man”-he pointed at Vibart-“helped me to make an arrangement with the London mob. I was finished with Mrs. Vibart.”

“Good God!” said D’Estin, open-mouthed.

“What was in the bundle you carried away from Radstock Hall last night?”

“Why, this dressing gown I’m wearing right now. If you think this is her blood on it, you’re wrong. It’s mine and Jago’s.” His protesting voice was at crescendo pitch.

“So you left the room to collect your dressing gown,” said Cribb calmly. “Why were you out so long if that was all you were doing?”

“You weren’t there,” blazed the Ebony. “You couldn’t possibly know how they were treating me. I stayed out because I wasn’t going back to be insulted by men like these two. They weren’t my masters, and I could do what I liked.

So I stayed in the changing room until it was time to leave.

You couldn’t know the atmosphere at Radstock Hall. It was evil. I was glad to get away, I can tell you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Things I heard from time to time. It made me feel my own life was in danger there. I wasn’t the first pug at Radstock Hall, you know. There were others before me. But they died or vanished. No one would say where they’d gone, but they hadn’t succeeded as fist fighters. I don’t know who they were, novices like Jago or experienced fighters like me.

Mrs. Vibart didn’t like to be reminded of them, I can tell you. You know what I think? I think they were put in the ring with hard fighting men and beaten senseless. Mrs.

Vibart made her money out of failures. She backed other fighters to destroy her own men. That’s what she was doing with this man Jago. I tried to warn him to get away-you can ask him if I didn’t. I was gentle with him today, though.

He’ll be quite well in a fortnight. You see if he isn’t.”

“Thank you,” said Cribb. “I shall have some more business with you later, Mr. Morgan, but that’s enough about this matter. I’ll be obliged if you’ll leave us now.”

The Ebony was quick to co-operate. When he was gone, Cribb regarded the others with eyebrows quizzically raised.

“Convinced me,” he said. “How about you, Thackeray?”

“I’m inclined to believe him myself, Sergeant.”

“The timing makes nonsense of it, anyway,” said Cribb.

“Morgan had half an hour-let’s give him three-quarters- in which to kill her. But in that time Mrs. Vibart is supposed to have concluded her business with Beckett-fifteen minutes would you say? — gone to her room, undressed, washed, folded all her clothes, brushed out her hair, got into bed and been murdered. Anyone who believes that knows nothing about women.”

D’Estin was about to speak, but Cribb checked him with a raised hand.

“Before you say another word, sir, I think I’d better give you all some information. Wouldn’t want you to commit yourself to anything before you know why we’re here, so to speak. These other men Morgan spoke of-pugilists who trained at Radstock Hall and later disappeared. I’m in charge of an inquiry into the manner of their disappearance.

We fished one of ’em out of the Thames, you see. Man named Quinton. No head. You remember him, don’t you?”

Vibart spoke: “Yes, he was with us. I didn’t know he had an accident, though, poor bastard.”

“Didn’t you now? He left you voluntarily?”

“Oh, he may have had a few wry words with my sister-in- law. He wasn’t much bloody use as a fighter, you see. My recollection is that he left after some kind of misunderstanding.”

“He didn’t get along with Mrs. Vibart?”

“Few of ’em did. It doesn’t come easily to a man to be ordered about by a woman who knows a devil of a lot more about the prize ring than he does.”

“You weren’t the expert on knuckle fighting at Radstock Hall, then?” queried Cribb.

“Me? I’m a blasted church organist. I did what I could for her after my brother died. She couldn’t negotiate direct with flash characters like Beckett. But she was the authority, not me. You can ask D’Estin here, or Jago.”

“Jago!” repeated D’Estin, suddenly inspired. “Henry Jago! He’s the man you want, Sergeant! He’s the only person who could have killed Isabel.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s abundantly obvious when you think about it! He was the only one with a room near hers. Just along the corridor, it was.

I caught him prowling near her door only the other night, when he knocked against a suit of armour. He was quite spoony about her. You could see it, couldn’t you, Vibart? She didn’t care a fig for him, of course, or she wouldn’t have matched him with Morgan. When he finally got into her room, she rejected him outright, so he killed her.”

“That’s all very plausible,” admitted Cribb, “except for the money. Whoever killed her emptied the safe as well.”

“Then he took the money to make it look like theft,” said D’Estin. “If you search him, he’s probably got it now.”

“I went through his clothes myself on the way back in the police van,” said Cribb. “Unless he had the notes tucked away in the boxing drawers he was wearing, he hadn’t got the money. Where is it, then?”

“Must be still in the bloody house somewhere,” suggested Vibart.

Thackeray had listened in wrapt attention. Nothing had been said against Jago that would not be accounted for- well, nothing of substance. The rest was based on supposition. Didn’t Henry look a bit dewy-eyed in repose anyway?

Yet these men seemed so sure. . And there was still that worrying discovery in his room at Radstock Hall.

“We’d better give him the same chance Morgan had to explain himself,” said Cribb. “See if he’s able to come in, will you, Thackeray?”

There was not much of Jago’s face visible when he entered. Someone had been busy with lint and bandages.

“Are you able to answer a few questions?” Cribb asked with a touch of compassion.

The reply was muffled. “I’ll try, Sergeant.”

“I just want you to tell us your reason for prowling about Radstock Hall at night. You can speak freely.”

Jago paused, adjusting his thoughts. Anything that happened before the fight must have seemed like pre-history. “I was looking for evidence, Sergeant. I did not find it, or I should have reported back to Scotland Yard at once.”

“Scotland Yard?” echoed D’Estin, unable to comprehend.

“Jago is a police constable,” said Cribb. “One of your good old-fashioned crushers. No use accusing him of murder. He was working for me when he walked the corridors at night, not making overtures to Mrs. Vibart. So you see, gentlemen, we’re down to two suspects.”

Vibart responded at once. “Not so, Sergeant. You came late to the fight this afternoon, didn’t you? It sounds to me as though you didn’t see what thousands of others saw.

Give us a view of your back, Jago, and then tell Sergeant Cribb about your feelings towards Isabel!”

“What’s this?” snapped Cribb, robbed of the initiative.

Jago stood compliantly and slipped off the dressing gown he was wearing. His body was hideously blotched with bruises, but the mark that riveted Cribb’s attention was the scratch in four narrow lines the length of the back.

Thackeray paled.

“How did you come by this, Constable?”

“It was not done last night, Sergeant,” answered Jago.

“Did she do it?”

“Yes.”

“In what circumstances?”

Silence.

“Ain’t it perfectly obvious to all of us?” said Vibart. “It won’t be the first time a bobby’s put himself on the wrong side of the bloody law. It was a neat deception sending him to Radstock Hall, Cribb, but you should have chosen someone less susceptible to a woman’s charms. Poor bloody Jago.

You might get him off with manslaughter if you handle it carefully, Sergeant. We’re all discreet men.”

“If Jago is accused,” said Cribb with deliberation, “the charge is murder. I was at Radstock Hall myself this morning. I found this”-he produced the wad of banknotes from his pocket-“in Jago’s room under his pillow.”

D’Estin gasped audibly.

“As I said all along-” began Vibart unctuously.

“Permit me to finish. If I’d ever harboured doubts about Jago-and I don’t say I had-the finding of this dissolved ’em. If a trained constable decides to place himself on the wrong side of the law, to use your expression, do you really suppose he hides the main evidence under his own pillow?

And after the crime is discovered, does he still go through with a fist fight and get battered black and blue for no reason at all? No, Mr. Vibart, Jago or anyone else cuts away with the money as soon as those dogs are shot and the way out is clear. It’s plain enough to me someone put the five hundred in Jago’s room as a safeguard.”

“What do you mean?” asked D’Estin.

“Sharp thinking on the part of the murderer. He expected the Ebony to take the blame-you all agreed he was the man.

You had your own plans to even the score, I should guess. But suppose something went awry. Putting the worst possible construction on events, suppose someone else got to know about the murder-a servant perhaps-and brought the police to Radstock Hall while you were at the fight. Wasn’t it a smart precaution to have a suspect in reserve? Uncommon smart, I say. If nothing happened, our murderer could have gone back to Rainham after the fight, picked up the money and none of us would have been any wiser. Confidentially, though, the money wasn’t the only evidence I was looking for. There was the knife, you follow, and there had to be bloodstained clothing. To put you fully in the picture, gentlemen, I found ’em in the cavity under the window seat-dagger, coat, a case of documents and a saw as well-now, why would anyone want to hide a common saw? So you see, I can’t possibly oblige you by arresting either Morgan or Jago. Your theory rested on Morgan carrying the things away with him. And as for Jago, well, he’d have hidden the five hundred with the other things, wouldn’t he?” Cribb sighed with a forced air of reluctance. “Which means there’s only two suspects left for me.

You, Mr. D’Estin, representing unrequited passion, if I may be so bold, and you, Mr. Vibart, on the side of personal gain- inheritance, in fact. There’s good arguments in favour of either of you, until we look closely at the crime itself. Remind us of the injuries to Mrs. Vibart, will you, Thackeray?”

“Five stab wounds in the chest, left side,” recited Thackeray. “Distinct bruising on the left shoulder and the left side of the neck towards the front.”

“Thank you. It’s obvious enough, ain’t it, gentlemen, that the murderer held Mrs. Vibart down with his hand on her neck while he stabbed her with the knife in his other hand?

We don’t need demonstrations, do we? Now I’ve always admired the way the handicapped overcome their injuries, and you’ll all agree that Mr. D’Estin here is a notable example. He can put that one finger and thumb of his to a thousand uses, I dare say. But one thing I don’t think he could manage is to hold a dagger firm enough to stab a fellow being five times.” Cribb’s eyes darted from face to face like a schoolmaster’s checking for a flash of comprehension.

“Now before you tell me he could have held the knife in his left hand, just think about it. The right hand-his injured one-is at her throat, the left hand stabbing her. In practical terms, it can’t be done, gentlemen. Mr. D’Estin ain’t my man. What do you say, Mr. Vibart?”

He had no chance to say anything. D’Estin sprang from his chair, upending it behind him, and plunged his hand into his jacket pocket. “You killed her! I’ll settle with you, you bloody murderer!”

“You won’t, sir,” said Cribb. “Not without this.” He was holding the revolver D’Estin had expected to produce.

“Took it off you in the struggle when we arrested you, sir.

Just as well, too. Now sit down, will you, while we settle this in a civilized way?”

“Civilized?” repeated D’Estin, as though the word were totally foreign.

“Will you sit down, sir?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. Then D’Estin obeyed.

“Now, Mr. Vibart. I suggest that you are the only man who could have killed your late sister-in-law.”

D’Estin’s display of violence had shaken Vibart, but he was not ready to capitulate. “You can suggest what you bloody well like, Sergeant. It’s proof you’ll need in a court of law.”

“There’s cast-iron circumstantial evidence,” said Cribb.

“Motive. Opportunity. Once I’d eliminated the others, it had to be you. Your dealings with Beckett showed you had no loyalty towards Mrs. Vibart. But you deliberately arranged things so that suspicion fell on Morgan.”

Vibart shrugged. “That’s not evidence enough to hang a man.”

“There’s the contents of the valise,” Cribb pointed out. “I haven’t examined the papers in detail, but there’s a case to answer for the deaths of Quinton and several others-”

D’Estin intervened. “No, Sergeant. He’s right. A smart lawyer could raise enough doubts to confuse a jury. Without stronger evidence you’ll have to release him.” He turned to look at Vibart. “We’ll settle things ourselves-we agreed on that, didn’t we, Edmund?”

The false air of familiarity carried more menace than the open threat of a moment before. Jago had a sudden recollection of D’Estin’s sinister reference to the man once responsible for the accident to his hand.

Vibart paled. “You don’t believe this nonsense, D’Estin?

We’ve always been friends. Things weren’t easy. I can make everything up to you-”

D’Estin smiled grimly. “Indeed you will. Payment in full, I think.” He turned to Cribb. “Well, we mustn’t detain you, Sergeant. You’ll want to question Morgan about the prize fight. Good thing you can bring a charge for that, anyway.”

Saying nothing, Cribb got to his feet.

In desperation, Vibart looked from face to face for a spark of compassion. Cribb’s face was impassive, Thackeray’s vacant, Jago’s hidden by bandages. He panicked.

“Don’t leave me, Sergeant. Not with him-”

“I’m rather short of evidence, sir.”

“God in heaven, man! He means to kill me!”

“Do you reckon so, sir? We’ll certainly arrest him if he does,” Cribb assured him breezily. “Got your hat, Thackeray?”

“No! Wait, Sergeant!” Vibart appealed. “I can’t face him.

I’ll say whatever you want.”

Cribb turned. “Full statement, sir? Freely given, of course? We’ll start with the first prize fighter who came to Radstock Hall, then. .”

Cribb sat in his best suit at his usual place in the Ratcatcher, a tankard of Bass East India in front of him. It had been an illuminating day. “Report to Inspector Jowett, Great Scotland Yard, 11:30 A.M.,” the message left on his desk had said. There wasn’t much doubt in his mind about the outcome of this interview. He felt sorry there was no message for Thackeray, though, getting on in years, of course, and not particularly inspired, but surely worth a lift in rank towards the close of a dutiful career.

The wait outside Jowett’s office had been unusually prolonged. It was nearly twelve when the Inspector came out with three other people. “Ah, Sergeant Cribb! Good gracious, I’ve kept you waiting. Don’t look so concerned, though. Merely wanted to thank you for your stout efforts on the Vibart inquiry. You’ll be pleased to hear, I know, that I’ve managed to convince my superiors that a case like that merits promotion for someone. That’s why Jago came in this morning. It’s Sergeant Jago from now on, and well deserved. First-class investigation. Damned good family too.” He turned to the other beaming visitors. “Miss Boltover, I don’t need to introduce Sergeant Cribb, I believe. Miss Boltover told me quite a lot about her part in the inquiry, Sergeant. And this is Colonel Boltover, school associate of mine. We’re just off to enjoy a good meal together, and inflict old memories on these young people.

Must be away, then. Have a word with my sergeant before you go, will you? I want you to confirm that our count of crimes in your area is accurate.”

. . Count of crimes! Cribb looked up from his drink and regarded the engraving on the wall above him: “. . 302 rats in one hour at the Hare and Billet, Wimbledon, 7th May, 1863.” For some seconds he eyed the bull terrier, Leamington. Then he emptied his glass and went home.