Six Against the Yard Read online

  It was this, my desire to be a good citizen, that made my one lapse for which I was being blackmailed, so cruelly bitter. So far I had paid up whatever he asked to shut his swinish mouth. I think in those days of my persecution there was heading a time when I would have thrown all caution to the winds and told him that he would not get another penny out of me; but a circumstance arose, no doubt much to his delight, which as far as I was concerned made exposure utterly impossible. I met my dear wife. We fell in love instantaneously and deeply. Except for the Major, of whom I told nothing, there was no bar to our union. My patrimony, although somewhat depleted by the blackmailer, was still a good deal more than for my own immediate needs. My wife had an ample income of her own. I own now to have been afraid of the Major at that time. His continual cry of ‘Must let me have a pony, old son. No, make it a hundred,’ would embarrass my independence which I determined to keep against my wife’s money. Nor did I want her to realise that from generosity or foolishness I was being sponged upon by a waster.

  In addition to her private means my wife was the owner of a small farm upon the border of Dorset and Devon. Here we decided to live upon our joint income, which we planned to augment with the breeding of chickens and pigs. In addition to this I was a dabbler in literature, from which some day I hoped to derive benefit. In this farm cottage we therefore looked forward to an ideal existence. Indeed so keen were we to embark upon this new life that we resolved to curtail our honeymoon, and immediately to open house. I easily persuaded her not to acquaint her friends and relatives that we were setting up house so soon.

  ‘Let us still be honeymooning, my dear,’ I said. ‘It is no lie, because what better honeymoon than that spent in getting ready our own home? We shall be gaining all the privacy that is denied to lovers in a hotel. Let our friends think that through our financial independence we are travelling abroad, and then we shall not be worried with visitors.’

  I did not tell her anything about the Major, who I confess was the real reason for my want of lying low. I had dreaded his appearance at the wedding, but he had not turned up. True he had not been sent an invitation, but what invitation was necessary to that gate-crasher. I never doubted but that he knew about the wedding in that uncanny way he had of nosing put other people’s business, and it was a wonder to me that he kept away from a house where he would be sure of good hospitality and pretty girls with a chance to lord it as only the Major could. But he did not come. How was I to know that he happened to be embarrassed for the railroad fare.

  Even when we had planned to bury ourselves in the country, I don’t think I ever flattered myself that we could escape from the Major: I did my best to cut all lines of communication by writing to mutual friends and telling them that my wife and I were planning to settle abroad and were embarked upon a world tour till we found somewhere in which to settle entirely after both our hearts.

  My wife wrote in her innocence much after the same strain to her friends, and never suspected that it had been my guilt that had made the suggestion.

  My wife’s little farm-house was most remote. Standing half-way up a hill-side it commanded an uninterrupted view of the valley at the bottom of which ran a broad trout-stream. The hamlet, which consisted of a church and inn and one little general stores, was upon the farther bank of the stream, crossed by a ford and stepping-stones. Car or cart had to ford the stream to reach our house. Working in our fields or garden it was possible to see anyone wishing to call upon us so long before they could reach us that if we wanted solitude we had only to slip behind the house and take cover in the spinneys that climbed to the summit of the hill. We did this many times successfully, returning to find a card in our letterbox with a ‘Sorry you were out’ upon it. Incidentally we had to walk two and a half miles for the nearest telephone, which was installed in the official cottage of the local police constable.

  Now there were two things that spoiled for me the serene happiness of those first weeks on our little farm. One was the certainty which I had in my mind that sooner or later the Major would appear and plant himself upon us, and the other was the knowledge, the guilty knowledge, that I had a secret from my wife of which the Major would one day take full advantage. Try as I would I could not bring myself to tell her of my one gap in an otherwise honest life. She was so honest herself, and took such a pride in what she called my goodness, that I feared to lose her respect and perhaps her love along with it. It was not long before she noticed that a melancholy often oppressed me, and put it down to the lack of company of my own sex. ‘I am selfish, my dear,’ she once said to me. ‘I have been so taken up with getting our home in order and doing the work myself so that we might not be interrupted with a servant, that I have quite forgotten how very dull it must be for you.’ I cried out against this, and vowed that I was never more happy in all my life, which was largely true, and yet that fault I had committed years before, and which had cost me so much money and patience to the blackmailing Major, ever seemed to rise like a cloud between me and my happiness. I remember one day resolving to tell her everything, and had I done so I think all would have been well. I should have blurted it out there and then, so that my awkward telling of it would have rung true, and convinced her of my sincerity. Instead, however, I thought to pick my words with care in the hope that my fault might appear to her as harmless as I could only wish it had been. To give myself the opportunity for thinking out this confession carefully, it was necessary to get alone for an hour or so, and so I told her that I was going into the market town to mix with the farmers and pick up useful information concerning the sale of our farm produce. My wife welcomed the suggestion, saying it would do me good and give her a chance of turning out the little den in which I kept my books. So I left the house, thinking of the speech I was to make on my return, and rallying my courage to make it.

  I dropped down into the valley and made my way very cautiously across the somewhat shaky stepping-stones that spanned the ford. As I was occupied in the ticklish business the local carrier drove his cart into the river from the opposite direction. I gave him a ‘Good morning’ as he passed, and he answered in a dialect so broad that I couldn’t catch its purpose. I was negotiating some very slippery stones at that moment, but as soon as I reached a flat safe one I turned round and called to him, asking what he had said. He shouted something back to me which was also beyond my knowledge of translation, and patted a trunk in the open cart behind him. I saw it clearly. A shiny black leather trunk, with a rounded top. Just such a trunk as the Major used when on the move for money. ‘Confound the fellow,’ I thought. ‘There are thousands of such luggage about. Why should my heart hammer at the sight of it?’

  It took me a good hour to walk to town, and I spent the rest of the morning in the market, and making the acquaintance of some of the local farmers, who, like myself, lunched at the Market Inn. It was mid-afternoon when I set off home, hoping to reach the cottage in time for tea.

  Now whether it had been the sight of that trunk, or my plan to confess about the Major’s hold on me to my wife, but I thought of that wretched man all day, and have never hated him so much. He seemed so vividly close to me that I felt no surprise, only a deadly sinking of spirit, when, on reaching home, I heard his loud and hearty laughter echoing through the open window of our parlour. Gripping my stout walking-stick the tighter, I went in quietly, with red murder in my heart.

  He was lounging with his back towards me in the chimney corner, a comfortable seat which he ever afterwards annexed, and my wife was sitting on a stool in front of him. She was absorbed in what he was telling her and laughing at the lie he had been spinning for her amusement and his own conceit. I could see her face reflected by the sun, and I think I have never seen her look more beautiful. Her glorious auburn hair, her delicately-shaped face, smiling lips and large brown slanting eyes, that danced with pleasure in the belief of his lies.

  ‘Oh, how funny,’ she was saying. ‘But oh, how brave of you. I am very proud of my new cousin. Really, I
am. But I can’t help laughing.’

  Then she saw me and sprang up delighted with: ‘Darling, look who’s here. Why have you never told me about your soldier cousin?’

  ‘Other things to do, and I don’t blame him,’ laughed the Major, getting up and holding out his puffy hand. ‘How goes it, old man? Very well, I see. You’ve looked after Number One and no mistake. Your memsahib’s been telling me that everything in the garden’s a wow.’

  Memsahib and wow. That such words should be used in our home.

  ‘Then it was your trunk that I saw in the carrier’s cart?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, old son,’ he answered. ‘And it’s upstairs now in the nicest spare room I’ve seen for a long time. You see, I told the carrier to bring it here as I didn’t know the name of your jolly old Local, and as there was no taxi, I walked. The last thing I thought of was parking myself on you, but my little cousin here insists that the local pub’s not comfortable enough. But an old campaigner don’t worry, and I honestly don’t want to butt into the love-nest.’

  ‘What nonsense,’ laughed my wife, blushing. ‘Why, we’re quite old married people now and very glad to welcome our first visitor.’

  In her ignorance, my poor darling thought my so-called cousin would be company for me and cheer me up.

  ‘And what brings you to these parts?’ I asked, knowing well enough.

  ‘Rest from my labours, my boy,’ he replied. ‘Been overdoing it in the work line lately. Heading for a jolly old break-down so the Doc says. Been forming a new company. I want to get you both in on the ground floor. Nice little nest-egg by the time the son and heir appears.’

  He saw my scowl, no doubt, and noted that my wife was not amused at such a jest, so he added quickly: ‘Don’t mind me, little cousin. I’m a rough diamond. A man of the world. Knocking around in mining camps, cattle-ranches and other haunts of bad men is apt to scratch the polish off a chap. I say what I think and I certainly hope that my good cousins are going to have a great family. I want to see kids all over the place here. Can’t have too much of a good thing, you know. That’s always been my motto.’

  It certainly was his motto and next instant he proved it by asking for a whisky and soda, and by the way he mixed it, whisky was obviously one of the things he classed as good.

  He mixed another with a lady’s portion of whisky and handed it to my wife, who said she never drank it, and he then had the impertinence to pass it on to me with a ‘Well, the boy will, anyway. And here’s to my new-found cousin.’

  ‘I’ll drink your health in tea,’ she said. ‘Would you rather have tea or whisky, dear?’

  Because he was drinking whisky, I said ‘Tea,’ and set down the glass in a rage which I took pains to hide.

  When she had gone to make the tea, the rascal winked at me and whispered: ‘You’ve not told her, of course.’

  ‘Not yet,’ I replied, ‘but I’m going to to-night.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ he went on, helping himself to another drink. ‘Man alive, you’re not going to throw away the daintiest bit of love I’ve seen from here to ’Frisco? Don’t fear me. I shan’t split. We’ll all get along together fine. But watch that girl of yours. I know the sex better than you, and she’s not the sort to take a marriage made under false pretences lightly.’

  ‘What do you mean, you scoundrel?’ I whispered.

  ‘What I say, and it’s the truth. Would she love you if she knew you’d been a criminal?’

  ‘I’d trust her love for me through anything,’ I boasted.

  ‘But you didn’t and you haven’t, and if you’ll take my advice you won’t. Keep mum, my boy, and see that I do too. I’ll teach you how to keep my mouth shut, and not upset the love-nest.’

  And somehow I felt that he was right. As I watched him wolfing my wife’s home-made cakes and swilling them down with whisky, I abandoned all idea of telling her about my past, and I vowed at the same time that I would take his advice and close his mouth against sneaking. But not in the way he would dictate.

  He drank steadily while my wife went to prepare the hot dinner, watching me as I laid the table and I dare say congratulating himself that I was in his power. You may be sure that I was very careful not to let him suspect that the tables were reversed.

  ‘Don’t exactly relish laying a third place, do you?’ he grinned. ‘Well, I guess you’ll get used to it, for I’m staying here just until you make it worth my while to quit. You’re both coming in on my new company, see? Your wife’s got a bit of dough, she tells me. So when you’ve bought your shares in cash, I’ll trot up to London to watch your interests.’

  After dinner he drank more whisky and smoked a number of my cigars. He excused his drinking by telling my wife that he had a touch of his old complaint, malaria, and that whisky was the only way to drive it out. He winked at me as he said it, and then pretended to be affected by my wife’s sympathy.

  It was while he was smoking my cigars that I thought of death from nicotine. I recalled the cases I had read, and one especially gave me comfort, for the murderer was never discovered, but he left a confession which was read after his death. I remembered his statement. ‘So long as the victim can be proved to have been a great user of tobacco, there is very little chance of the crime being brought home to the murderer. But he must take pains in his preparation and use all caution in destroying evidence after the deed is done.’

  No pains would be too much trouble for me, and I promised myself to take all precautions afterwards. As I thought of these things, the Major kept us up late with his infernal stories, and my wife declared that she had never been so entertained in her life. As he chatted on—all lies I knew—I thought of other murders too. I had many books on criminology, and my wife was a great reader of detective fiction. Well, I would consider all the murder cases I could find and see which fitted to my need. That night I lay awake making plans. No need for hurry, I told myself, for the victim would be with us till he got his money for quitting. Well, I would temporise about that and endure his loathsome presence for the sake of keeping him safe inside the trap.

  The next morning I got up earlier than usual and reviewed what was to be the scene of the crime. I had made up my mind that it would happen on the ground floor, and I walked from room to room wondering just where the corpse would lie.

  The ground floor consisted of a cobble-floored linney used as a scullery, a good-sized kitchen and a large parlour. A small room leading out from the parlour I had for my own den, fitted throughout with bookshelves, and that in turn led into a spacious outhouse, which I used partly as a workshop and partly as a laboratory, for I was still keen on chemical experiments. The floors of all these rooms except the scullery and my workshop, which was bricked, were flagged with great slate slabs. My wife had complained of them, for they were uneven in many places, besides being cold and tiring for the feet. We had talked about flooring them with wood, and I had bought the planks, which I had stacked upon the open rafters of my workshop. As I was a good carpenter, I planned to do the job myself as soon as the weather broke, and it happened that this flooring was to play an important part in the murder.

  Now, from the first night on which I had decided to kill the Major, I went out of my way to be charming to him in order to put him off his guard. My manner therefore had the like effect upon my wife. Though she must have resented his dictatorial manner, ordering this and that as though the house belonged to him, she went out of her way to be civil to him. She really thought that I was glad to have him with us, and for my sake played the gracious hostess. She excused his excesses in food, drink and smokes on account of his malaria. He called it Charleston fever, whatever that disease may be. At all events, I am quite sure he never suffered from it. But that again was the way of him. It was not enough to say he had malaria. No, he must give it a more high-sounding name.

  Knowing him as well as I did, I was haunted by one dread which would have upset all my plans. I feared that he might become too familiar with my
wife, so that I should be compelled to quarrel with him before the time was ripe. That would have ruined all. At first he contented himself with a cousinly attitude, going out of his way to please her with his manners. That he was impressed by her beauty I knew only too well, for once he urged me to hurry up and come down with the cash for our shares in his company. When I told him that married life had of necessity made me cautious over money, he said that it would be better for my happiness if I made it possible for him to depart, as he was in danger of falling very seriously in love with his pretty cousin. ‘And you know, old son, that I have a way with women, don’t you?’ I concealed my red rage under the cloak of not taking him seriously. I laughed and he laughed too, adding, ‘Well, don’t say when it’s too late that I didn’t give you open warning.’