Death of a Serpent (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 8) Read online

  Death of a Serpent

  R. A. Bentley

  Copyright

  First published in England 2020

  Copyright © R. A. Bentley

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  ​‘Thought you’d run away from me did yer darlin’? Down yer goes now. No, down yer goes. Be nice, there’s a good girl. Be still. There! That’s not so bad is it? Course it ain’t. Nice and easy now, eh? Nice and slow.’

  Chapter One

  July 1928

  ​

  Sister Alice Stickland heard the sound of the van when it was still a hundred yards away, noting the change of gear as it slowed on the hill. Her heart in her mouth, she ran to intercept him, down the drive and out into the lane. She saw his startled face behind the windscreen, his long figure as he climbed down to greet her, and then she was in his arms. ‘Oh Joe, I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! Oh, how I love you!’

  ​‘I love you too,’ chuckled Joe Dutton. ‘Now let’s look at you. Yes, definitely more beautiful. Every time more beautiful. How can this be?’

  ​‘Nonsense, I’m not beautiful! Oh, Joe, I’ve longed for you so! I don’t know what I’m doing hardly!’

  ​‘Is that why we’re standing outside in the road?’

  ​‘What? Oh goodness, you don’t know! Joe, I’m so sorry; it’s Grandma’s birthday. I’d quite forgotten about it. I couldn’t warn you; there wasn’t time.’

  ​‘I thought I could hear something. There’s a feast, I suppose?’

  ​‘Yes, all the usual. I didn’t know what to do. What should we do?’

  ​Joe raised his eyebrows questioningly. ‘I could go away again if you like. Shall I go away again?’

  ​‘No! Don’t you dare! How about if we walk up the road a little?’

  ​‘Yes all right, I could do with stretching my legs.’

  ​‘Will the van be safe here? It’s getting dark.’

  ​‘I’ll pull it in. Hang on a minute.’

  ​Waiting impatiently, she felt an irrational fear that he really would drive away and leave her lonely again.

  ​It was a hot, airless night, and the sea could barely be heard. On the veranda, moths fluttered around the lanterns. The long table was half deserted now, with the few remaining adults quietly talking and the children scavenging for unregarded sweetmeats. From inside the house came laughter and chatter, the party having moved to the music room.

  ​‘Where’s that daughter of yours?’ said someone. ‘She’s been gone half the evening.’

  ​‘I don’t know, but we’re going indoors,’ said Sister Mary Stickland. ‘We’ll be eaten alive if we stay out here. And don’t forget what I said, you two — faint heart never won fair maid. Come along, Birthday Girl.’

  ​‘It’s been a lovely meal,’ smiled Sister Gertrude Truscott, rising with her. ‘Thank you so much everybody. And seventy candles too! They must have taken hours to make.’

  ​‘Birthday Girl!’ grumbled Sister Clarice Dutton. ‘It’s not seemly.’

  ​‘Don’t be an old misery, Clarice,’ said Rabbit George, who could get away with that sort of thing. ‘Gertie doesn’t mind, so why should you?’

  ​‘Do you know where your sister is, Sister Caroline?’ said Raymond Galbraith, careful to use the honorific in the hearing of sour Clarice. As far as he was concerned Alice was his reason for being there. It wasn’t good enough!

  ​‘I think we’re about to find out,’ said Caroline, a little nervously. She’d just glimpsed someone she’d never thought to see. Not here. Not tonight.

  ​‘Sorry I disappeared, everybody,’ said Alice brightly. She was leading by the hand a handsome, slightly reluctant young man. ‘Some of you won’t know this gentleman but he used to live here not so long ago. Meet Joe Dutton, my fiancé.’

  ​‘Hello everyone,’ said Joe. ‘Hello, Mother.’

  ​As someone was bound to remark, you could have heard a pin drop.

  ​They stood together in the shadows. The moon had now risen, bathing the house and trees in a silvery light. Inside, people were dancing to the piano.

  ​‘It really is too bad,’ said Raymond. ‘I feel a complete fool!’

  ​‘I’m sorry, but I couldn’t tell you,’ said Caroline. ‘I was forbidden to tell anyone on pain of death. I truly didn’t know he was coming tonight.’

  ​‘How long has this been going on?’

  ​‘Oh, forever. You never stood a chance I’m afraid. But never mind.’ Reaching up, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly on the lips. ‘There!’

  ​‘Caroline! What on earth was that for?’​

  ​‘I’m your consolation prize,’ she said. ‘Don’t you want me?’

  Chapter Two

  ​

  The most desirable accommodation for visitors to the Dorset fishing village of Mole was generally agreed to be the Mole Inn on the waterfront. Cosy and welcoming, its speciality was fresh seafood, most of it brought in daily by the local boats or caught with rod and line off the great, beckoning finger of stone that gave the village its name. This dominating edifice, some three hundred feet long and up to ten feet high was all that stood between the little local fishing fleet and the westerly gales sweeping in off the Atlantic, the crashing waves throwing their spray, and sometimes solid water, clean over it to rain down upon the vessels sheltering in its lee.

  ​Sitting at the bar, Detective Chief Inspector Felix gazed out of the open door at the now peaceful and sunlit harbour, imagining the scene as described to him by Enoch Squibb, their landlord. ‘What happens if the wind’s from the east?’ he asked. ‘There doesn’t seem to be as much protection in that direction.’

  ​Resting his huge and gnarled hands on the bar counter, Mr Squibb grinned amiably. He had been a fisherman himself so was well qualified to answer. ‘Well now, what you do, sir, is ter plant yer anchor out towards the east wall on a good length of chain, and between that and a stern mooring ter the Mole you’ll be snug enough. Not that we often gets a blow from that quarter, which is as well, for they d’say an east wind do always bring bad luck to some poor devil.’

  ​‘Which way was it blowing when the fellow fell off the cliff?’ asked Detective Sergeant Yardley.

  ​‘Ha! Well, as a matter of fact, sir, it was from the east that night, which I believe was remarked upon, but it weren’t a gale, barely a breeze. Makes yer wonder though, don’t it?’

  ​Felix turned to the senior half of Mole’s police force, Sergeant Diffey, the other half, Constable Crumpler, presently propping up the bar beside him. ‘Was it those cliffs behind us he tumbled down?’ he asked. ‘They look pretty high.’

  ​‘Yes it was, sir,’ said Diffey, ‘but about a quarter mile further east. I’ll take you to where they found him if you like. Not that there’s much to see.’

  ​‘No-one actually saw him fall, though,’ said Detective Sergeant Rattagan. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  ​‘Well that’s true.’ agreed Diffey, ‘but he was pre
tty smashed up, and the doctor said he was all to bits inside. Surprising, really, that he survived as long as he did.’

  ​‘He said he was pushed, did he not?’ said Felix.

  ​‘Yes, sir, and asked for his girl. Then he died. And with those lads fighting over her only hours earlier it’s pretty clear to me what happened, whatever the Colonel might say.’

  ​‘Here comes your boss,’ warned Detective Sergeant Nash. He was facing a side window and had spotted the official Daimler threading its way among the nets and lobster pots to park in the yard.

  ​With a nervous straightening of ties and dusting down of tunics the uniformed officers stood to attention to receive the Chief Constable, while the Scotland Yard men abandoned their bar-stools with wry resignation.

  ​A great, ebullient bear of a man, Sir Neville Galbraith seemed to fill the little, low-beamed bar. ‘Felix my dear fellow!’ he cried, advancing on him with outstretched hand. ‘I hear you’re a father now. Congratulations! Wait till you’ve got four, then you’ll know what’s what, eh? Yes, and five grandchildren too. Hello, you chaps. Nice to see you again. Teddy, I do believe you’ve got even fatter. You want to watch that, you know.’ He turned to the local men. ‘You fellows may not know it, but you’re in the presence of a hero. Plucked our Home Secretary’s missus, Lady Coneybrook, from her car seconds before one of those Russki beggars blew it to smithereens. Ought to have had a knighthood for that. Arise Sir Edward! Had a look at the Mole yet? Yes, of course you have. Did you know it was late medieval? Just a pile of rocks to start with, floated out lashed to barrels. Imagine! Been rebuilt a few times since then, of course. Felix, I’ll take you up to my brother’s place when you’re ready. He’s got the boy home on bail so you’ll be able to question him in comfort. Not allowed out of the village or near the victim’s family but that’s no hardship compared with the alternative.’ He gestured around him. ‘What do you think of the place? I said to Diffey here, “get me the best rooms in Mole, no expense spared, because these chaps are worth it.” What are you all having?’

  ​Watched by the wheeling gulls they left the little harbour behind them and picked their way east along the water’s edge, the Chief Constable chattering incessantly. The near-vertical cliff on their left, perhaps eighty feet high, was of bare, greyish clay, while the beach consisted largely of rocks that had tumbled from it, ranging in size from pebbles to large boulders, over which they were obliged to scramble.

  ​‘You want to keep away from the base,’ warned Sergeant Diffey. ‘Bits fall off it without warning and sometimes there are landslips.’ He pointed ahead of them. ‘Like this one.’

  ​An enormous heap of loose earth and stones almost blocked their way, obliging them to pass in single file between it and the water.

  ​‘Nasty,’ said Yardley, ‘you wouldn’t want to be under that.’

  ​‘No you would not, and we spend half our time warning the tourists off — grockles, as we call ’em. They like to search for the fossils.’

  ​‘Get many visitors here?’

  ​‘We do all right. They’re a bit of a liability sometimes but we’d miss ’em if they didn’t come. Miss their money anyway.’

  ​‘Some bits and pieces in it,’ said Rattigan, poking about. ‘Broken bottles. Rusty bucket, lots of glass. What’s this? Shaving brush, bit bald, and a razor strop! We could start a barber’s shop.’

  ​‘Stick to policing, Sergeant,’ quipped the Chief Constable. ‘We can’t spare you.’

  ​‘Probably a midden,’ said Diffey. ‘You get all sorts coming down. There was a cottage up there once apparently, or the ruins of one. Here’s the spot.’ He indicated a single red rose, its colour contrasting sharply with the drab rocks around it. ‘She brings one every day, poor kid.’

  ​‘The fiancée?’ said Felix.

  ​‘Alice Stickland, yes. Only nineteen and broken hearted.’

  ​They stood for a moment in grim contemplation. Even the Chief Constable was briefly silent. Nash, who had his camera with him, walked backwards almost into the gently lapping waters to take a picture of the fatal cliff. ‘He must have been standing pretty close to go over,’ he remarked. ‘Dangerous at the best of times, I should have thought.’

  ​‘I doubt he was standing on the edge,’ said Diffey. ‘Not voluntary anyway. He grew up local. He’d have known the risk.’

  ​‘He couldn’t have come down with this lot, could he?’ asked Yardley, peering up at the landslip.

  ​‘No, that happened last month. We’ve had a couple since the winter. There was a lot of rain, if you’ll remember.’

  ​‘He can’t have been far off the edge, if he was pushed,’ said Rattigan.

  ​‘That’s a point,’ agreed Felix. ‘Who found him, Sergeant?’

  ​‘Our village schoolteacher, Lizzie Burt, and her dad, walking the dog. Strictly, I suppose, it was the dog. They wouldn’t have gone this far normally, they said, what with the landslip and all, but the dog ran ahead and alerted them.’

  ​‘Reliable?’

  ​‘Very sensible young lady. Highly thought of. And he’s the local house agent.’

  ​‘We’ll want to speak to them.’

  ​‘I’ve told them to expect you, sir.’

  ​‘The Chief Constable glanced at his watch. ‘If you don’t mind, Felix, I’d best take you to see Charles now. Time and tide and all that.’

  *

  ​Colonel Charles Galbraith, an upright, soldierly man, did not greatly resemble his elder brother, being leaner, with a good head of hair and not, mercifully, a sufferer from verbal incontinence. Recently remarried, he lived in a handsome, new-looking property high on a ridge overlooking the village. No doubt recognising the approaching Daimler, he opened the door to them himself. ‘Come into my study,’ he said. ‘I’ll introduce you to the boy shortly but I want a word with you first.’

  ​The room faced the extensive and beautifully maintained gardens, and through a French window they could see a woman and a young man pacing the lawn. ‘You won’t want me,’ said Sir Neville, and stepped out to join them.

  ​‘He didn’t do it, of course,’ said Galbraith dispensing drinks, ‘but Sergeant Diffey has him as good as hanged. He’s not a stupid man but he tends to a rather simplistic view of things, as country folk often do, and no doubt he’s eager for his first scalp.’

  ​Felix nodded his understanding. ‘One assumes your son has no alibi,’ he said.

  ​‘Not a complete one, no. The problem is, we don’t know when the fellow went over the edge, assuming that he did. Raymond had been to a party at the house and didn’t arrive home until about one-thirty in the morning. We don’t keep late hours here, so he let himself quietly in with his latch-key and went straight to bed. Fortunately one of the maids is a light sleeper and heard him, so he’s safe from then on. We knew nothing about the tragic events until Diffey pitched up the following lunchtime and it’s pretty clear to me that Raymond didn’t either. He couldn’t seem to take it in at first, any more than we could.’

  ​‘How did he behave before Sergeant Diffey arrived?’

  ​‘Perfectly normally, if a little bemused. He’d been interested in a young lady there, Alice Stickland, but during the evening she’d suddenly produced this Dutton fellow as her fiancé. I think he took it rather well, under the circumstances.’

  ​‘That’s the murdered man?’

  ​‘Yes.’

  ​‘And did he and Raymond fight, as reported?’

  ​‘He says not. He did, however, admit to scuffling earlier with another young chap whom he says insulted Alice. She came out and found them at it and roundly scolded them for it. It was hardly a serious fight, he said. No-one was hurt, and his pal Clive Seaton had already intervened to break them up. They knew nothing of Dutton until Alice introduced him to them later in the evening. They were rather stunned by that development and eventually took themselves home.’

  ​‘Home together?’

  ​‘No. Clive li
ves down in the village.’

  ​‘Am I to take it they hadn’t met Dutton before that night? When was this, by the way?’

  ​‘Last Saturday. No, they’d never knowingly seen him before. I’m told he used to live at the same address but had been away for three or four years. Raymond wouldn’t have been interested in Alice in those days so never encountered him. You know how it is at that age: girls are stupid, then suddenly they’re everything. It’s only fairly recently they’ve got to know each other. It was young Clive who introduced him to her. His parents and the Sticklands are related apparently.’

  ​‘Has anyone actually accused Raymond of the murder?’

  ​‘I don’t know. Apparently Dutton’s mother claims to have seen her son and Raymond leaving the house together quite late, when the party was breaking up. That seems to be the whole basis of it. The next thing we knew he’d been arrested. Fortunately Neville came to the rescue.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have told you that.’

  ​Felix made a dismissive gesture. How the Chief Constable of Wessex dispensed his influence was his own affair. ‘What sort of household is it that Miss Stickland and Mr Dutton both lived there? I’m a bit confused.’

  ​The Colonel snorted cynically. ‘An eccentric one, is the answer to that. It’s one of those communes. The Children of Eden, they call themselves. Living off the land, homespun clothing, everything held in common. That sort of thing.’

  ​‘Ah! Now I understand. Under the same roof, would it be?’

  ​‘Mostly, I think. Eden House, the main dwelling, is home to several families, including the Sticklands and Duttons. It’s a big place.’

  ​‘Been there long, have they?’

  ​‘Longer than you’d imagine. The commune was founded some forty years ago, when that sort of thing was in vogue apparently. Quite a numerous community, so I’m told. There are shacks and suchlike dotted about and the rest live in the house. They seem normal enough from what I can gather, though they still eat together apparently, and share what little they earn.’