Mad Hatter

‘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.’

CHAPTER 15