Treasure by Degrees Read online

  ‘Amelia confided in me that she had an inoperable form of cancer – perhaps the post-mortem revealed as much?’ Treasure nodded gravely. Miss Stopps continued. ‘She feared a protracted illness. Suicide is not uncommon in such cases – the drug might have been taken to make her resolve easier to . . . to execute.’

  ‘That would have been an entirely likely conclusion if she hadn’t taken so much. Indeed, if her throat hadn’t been cut, I understand the dose might have proved lethal by itself.’

  ‘It would?’ It was difficult to tell whether there was more of disappointment than curious dismay in the expression.

  ‘Mm, and if she’d died in that way suicide would have been the likeliest verdict.’ Miss Stopps accepted this information with an audible sigh. ‘If, though, as you suggest, the drug was to make things easier for an elderly lady to complete her purpose – ‘ Treasure’s eyes met those of Miss Stopps – ‘then I’m afraid the thing badly misfired.’

  ‘Because it made suicide impossible.’ Miss Stopps stroked Tottle’s head: she examined features of the landscape surrounding the pair as though viewing them for the first time; then, without looking at Treasure, she continued. ‘The police do not assume that there was more than one person involved?’

  ‘That depends on whether they catch their murderer, whether he . . . whether he or she makes a full confession, and whether it’s apparent that any accomplice or accomplices served that role wittingly or unwittingly.’

  ‘And do you believe they will catch their murderer?’

  ‘I think they’re very close.’

  Miss Stopps assumed a determined expression. ‘Then we must do what we can to ease the course of justice, Mr Treasure. Yes, we must all do what we can.’ The banker recalled hearing those same words from those same lips just twenty-four hours before. ‘Well, Marcus will be waiting for us.’ She glanced at the cat. ‘Time’s up, Tottle.’

  Treasure recrossed the side road to his car. It was the throb of a powerful engine that caused him to glance back – half protectively, half expecting to see Miss Stopps safely beginning her free-wheel descent towards the Vicarage. He was thus in time to watch a sequence of events he was never to forget.

  The main road had been empty – and was so still – excepting only for a heavy articulated lorry which had suddenly appeared moving at speed in the direction of Winchester. Without warning, Miss Stopps launched her cycle not down the hill but straight under the nearside front wheel of the giant vehicle’s second container section. There was no time for the driver to swerve – no opportunity for him to endanger himself; no other road users at risk. All this Miss Stopps had had time to gauge, and it was characteristic that no doubt she had done so. The driver felt the impact, then saw it through his wing mirror. He braked hard, but to no purpose. Bicycle and rider had been tossed aside and into the air with tremendous force. Treasure raced towards the recumbent body at the roadside; it was predictably lifeless.

  ‘You saw what ’appened, mate?’ The lorry driver was at Treasure’s side as he stood up from examining Miss Stopps’s body. The banker nodded. ‘Thank Gawd for that. Is she mad or somethin’ ?’

  ‘In some respects, yes.’ Treasure spoke almost to himself, then, glancing at the driver he added in a firmer tone, ‘I think the cat must have upset her intentions.’

  Tottle, ruffled but unharmed, treated Treasure to a malevolent glare.

  CHAPTER XX

  IT WAS TWO hours later: Bantree looked up from reading the letter in his hand. ‘It’s a plain enough confession, and it certainly clears the boy – but why in the world did she do it?’ He glanced from Treasure to Hassock in search of enlightenment. The three were seated in the Vicarage study.

  ‘An intense love, a burgeoning hatred — and a one in a million coincidence that made the mix combustible.’

  ‘I think Treasure’s got it right,’ Hassock volunteered. ‘I just wish I’d seen it coming.’

  ‘You couldn’t have — oh, you knew about Going to Market being similar to Funny Farms and you knew about Miss Stopps’s illegitimate child. You didn’t know that Cyrus Hatch had been the father.’

  ‘I knew whoever it was had jilted Margaret in 1919. Being an unmarried mother wasn’t funny in those days, either.’

  ‘All of us had some of the facts,’ Treasure continued, ‘but I was the only one who saw the look on Witaker’s face when he caught sight of Andy.’

  Bantree nodded. ‘Judging from the photo, at first glance Andy really does seem to be a reincarnation of Hatch.’

  ‘More so than Andy’s father, as a matter of fact,’ put in Hassock. ‘We grew up together of course. He emigrated after the war. Likenesses sometimes do skip a generation and, there again, Andy’s father didn’t last long enough to go bald. Ha, more’s the pity.’

  ‘So putting the pieces together?’ Bantree had the solution to the crime; he was still not sure about the motive.

  ‘Putting the pieces together,’ said Treasure, ‘Hatch was billeted on Miss Stopps’s family at Bishop’s Oak. Not only does he seduce and jilt the daughter, but later he makes a fortune from a commercial version of the Stopps family’s board game.’

  ‘Ha! Meantime Margaret’s ostracized by her own people and she and her son are taken in by my dear old mother, bless her compassionate heart. The family upset didn’t last long because old Stopps died in ’twenty-two, and Margaret inherited the business.’ The Vicar glanced up at Treasure. ‘It was the Stopps who put the S in HTS Ltd when we amalgamated. The Stopps slaughterhouses were a key part of what my brother would call an interdependent conglomerate – we converted meat from off the hoof to processed foods.’

  ‘Cyrus Hatch seems to have caused Margaret Stopps a good deal of insult and injury – but she bore it all without complaint, or, it would appear, thought of revenge or recrimination.’ Treasure looked to Hassock for confirmation.

  ‘Ha, absolutely. She immersed herself in the business – built it up, as a matter of fact . . .’

  ‘So she was no stranger to slaughter,’ put in Bantree.

  ‘Not of animals, certainly. It was a messier business in those days, too – and, I suppose, a good deal less humane than it is now.’ Hassock paused to reflect. ‘Margaret was completely bound up in her work and in her son. Then, suddenly she had neither – the business was sold, her son had been killed.’

  ‘But her grandson, Andy, and UCI replaced them?’ It was Treasure who put the question.

  ‘Ha, absolutely. She had enormous energy and the strongest sense of service I’ve ever come across. I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say the College would have gone under without her involvement.’

  ‘And then, along comes this woman who pinched her lover threatening to take the place over,’ Bantree added quickly.

  ‘That’s how it could have looked to Margaret, certainly,’ the Vicar agreed.

  But murder?’

  ‘Was a last, not a first resort.’ Treasure pressed his assertion. ‘The gory warnings might have done the trick. Incidentally, I think you’ll find they came from the local abattoir. I gather Miss Stopps had the run of the place . . .’

  Hassock nodded vigorously. ‘The manager’s an old friend and Margaret used to work wonders with offal – marvellous cook. She was always there helping herself to bits and pieces.’ Bantree made a note, though more out of habit than necessity.

  ‘Andy delivered the boxes when Miss Stopps gave him an outing in London on Thursday.’ Treasure glanced at the Superintendent. ‘Of course, he didn’t know what was in them, and probably Miss Stopps left the car and hovered in the background to make sure he didn’t get into any trouble with porters or doormen. She got a parking ticket a street away from my office. I didn’t twig its significance when I first saw it. The chicken heads may have been a last-minute touch, but they’d have been easy enough to secrete in that bag of hers. She must have strung them to the taps in the washroom before she joined the crowd in the SCR.’

  ‘But it’s a big jump from issuing w
arnings to committing murder.’ Bantree sounded official.

  ‘Perhaps in contemplation but not when it comes to the point.’ Treasure hesitated. ‘Before she’d met Mrs Hatch I believe Miss Stopps might have been committed to nothing more than the warnings and the student demonstration – but I believe she’d decided on sterner measures before the end of the afternoon. If Hassock here is right about the degree of her devotion to the College it must have been unendurable to sit at that meeting listening to the woman who had in effect stolen the man in her life making arrangements to steal the institution that . . .’

  ‘Had filled the emotional vacuum.’ Bantree was beginning to understand.

  ‘Amelia Hatch had a certain comic quality for me. To Margaret Stopps . . .’

  ‘She’d have been a slap in the face with a wet fish.’ It was Hassock who offered the apposite analogy.

  Treasure gave the slightest smile. ‘A terrible shock and, if you like, the final insult. And after Miss Stopps had done everything in her power to dissuade Mrs Hatch from endowing the College, I believe she went home to improve on the vague murder plan that had been forming in her mind.’

  ‘Improve on it?’ Both men looked surprised; it was Bantree who put the question.

  ‘Yes. She’d seen Mrs Hatch drinking rum before lunch. But for that I believe Miss Stopps would simply have dropped the chloral hydrate into the victim’s tea in the hope that the taste wouldn’t be detected and that the dose would have been lethal. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure whether the stuff would kill or not.’

  ‘It would have in a big enough quantity, taking her age and condition into account,’ said Bantree. ‘Mark you, it would have made murder more obvious – and the murderer.’

  ‘Not at all, Colin.’ Treasure lit the pipe he had been filling. ‘Miss Stopps could have told us afterwards that Mrs Hatch had mentioned taking a soporific – according to Witaker, they both had a short nap after tea. My guess is that if that plan had been followed we’d all have assumed Mrs Hatch took an overdose by mistake.’

  ‘Assuming she’d drunk the tea; it would have tasted foul,’ said Bantree.

  ‘That was the obvious weakness,’ Treasure agreed. ‘Otherwise I’m sure you’d have taken Miss Stopps’s word, and I’ve no doubt she might have planned to drop a few chloral hydrate capsules into the victim’s handbag to make it all seem authentic. But the rum changed the plan – that and the cat.’

  ‘Tottle?’ Hassock looked up in surprise.

  Treasure nodded. ‘Miss Stopps arrived by bike yesterday morning with her cat. I’m sure this indicated she didn’t expect to be staying all day – and she was certainly hoping that Mrs Hatch wouldn’t show up at all after the warnings. She couldn’t have known that if Mrs Hatch came after all then the decision about the endowment would have been made so quickly – hence the arrangement of the student protest. Miss Stopps had no intention of being a witness to that protest. You don’t take a cat to a firework display.’

  ‘Nor chloral hydrate to a tea-party.’ The cynical aside was Bantree’s.

  ‘She may or may not have had that with her in the morning. What she certainly didn’t have was a conveyance in which to hide and spirit away Amelia’s coat and hat – if that became necessary.’

  T don’t understand,’ said Hassock. Bantree was in the same condition but he had no intention of admitting it.

  Treasure’s brow furrowed as he concentrated. ‘The scenario, as I see it, went like this. Miss Stopps poured the chloral hydrate into the rum soon after the bottle was brought in after tea. Witaker was on the other side of the room; so was Mrs Hatch, taking her nap. Miss Stopps was prepared to offer Mrs Hatch a snifter to keep her warm before they went out, but she didn’t have to. The sight of the bottle was enough for Amelia. Miss Stopps had no idea how long the drug would take to knock out and — with luck – do for Amelia, but she figured on a quarter of an hour or so . . .’

  ‘You believe she intended the stuff should kill Mrs Hatch?’ the Vicar enquired dolefully.

  Treasure nodded. ‘I think so – but she had a secondary plan.’

  ‘Incredible; a sweet old lady like that.’ Bantree was shocked.

  ‘I’m afraid if Margaret made up her mind to something, she’d be nothing if not thorough.’ Hassock shook his head to emphasize his conviction.

  ‘When Mrs Hatch began to show signs of discomfort, I believe Miss Stopps meant to lead her quickly to the temporary Ladies by the north door . . .’

  ‘Which she did, but she couldn’t get in because Witaker had locked himself up there to hide from a ghost.’ Bantree was all attention.

  ‘That’s where the plan began to go wrong. Miss Stopps needed that room and the SCR to be at her disposal. Hence the call on the house phone earlier – it was intended for Witaker, probably to tell him that Mrs Hatch had been taken ill in some other part of the College.’

  ‘But he’d already left – and Gregory took the call.’ Bantree looked quizzical. ‘Who was it spoke to Gregory?’

  ‘Miss Stopps herself – the College is littered with telephones. All she had to do was leave Amelia for a few moments when they were near a phone she knew wouldn’t be in use. When Gregory answered instead of Witaker she tried to disguise her voice – probably by simply altering the pitch.’

  ‘Hardly ever works,’ said Bantree knowingly. ‘If you’re right, we’ll find Gregory will confirm it with the minimum of prompting.’ He made another note.

  ‘I believe Muss Stopps intended to leave Amelia to expire, literally locked in a lavatory. But she was first going to bundle the hat, scarf and coat out through the window. After that she needed only to slip outside again and nip into the SCR from the terrace . . .’

  ‘Through the door she’d latched back earlier?’ This was Bantree.

  Treasure nodded. ‘She intended to pick up the bottle and Amelia’s glass, and then to join a substitute Mrs Hatch for the fireworks.’ Bantree made to interrupt. ‘Hang on, Colin – I’ll come back to that. The ladies’ room is locked, so Miss Stopps takes the only other course open and hurries Amelia into the SCR which she knows is empty. By this time – about ten to six – the victim’s down but not out. If she’d been locked in the ladies’ room Miss Stopps could have afforded to leave her and still had time to give the drug a chance to take its course. The SCR was another matter. Although the doors could be locked, there were plenty of people with keys.’

  ‘You mean, if she’d been able to use the Ladies, Margaret would have gone in there again after the fireworks to find out if Mrs Hatch was still alive – and if she hadn’t been dead then she’d have cut her throat. Oh my God.’ Hassock was appalled.

  ‘Something like that, yes – but, as I say, the SCR wasn’t nearly so convenient a location for a slow death. Probably Miss Stopps waited a bit, taking Amelia’s pulse – that kind of thing. Who knows, it may have appeared she was recovering – and if that was the case, then suicide is just as credible with a knife as it is with drugs.’

  ‘You mean with the Arabian dagger that was conveniently to hand?’ There was no emotion in Bantree’s tone.

  ‘Almost certainly Miss Stopps took the dagger from Faisal’s room when she left the note for Gregory in the room opposite, and after Ribble had treated us to the tour of the royal apartments. She knew we’d been there and she knew the rooms were empty – she probably passed the whole Arab contingent out for their walk as she drove in. Incidentally, Witaker possibly told you he’s convinced Amelia pinched the dagger – he swears she was a kleptomaniac.’

  Bantree nodded. ‘He did imply something of the sort – I thought to get himself off the hook. He’s quite keen on the suicide theory still – again for obvious reasons.’ The Superintendent paused, and then continued in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Anyway, as you were saying, Miss Stopps got tired of waiting, and cut Mrs Hatch’s throat from behind – clean job; no blood on the murderer,’

  Hassock sighed: Margaret Stopps had spent half a lifetime keeping blood off her sleeves. ‘And the
substitute Mrs Hatch?’

  ‘Was Andy, of course – the quite unwitting accomplice.’ Treasure watched Bantree’s reaction to these words. The policeman nodded slowly. ‘Miss Stopps left the SCR with the rum bottle and dirty glass, plus Amelia’s outer clothes – they would have been easy enough to remove before Amelia collapsed into the armchair. Andy bears no resemblance to the victim except he’s about the right height – but in that long coat, the muffler round his face, and that distinctive hat, he passed muster in the half-light – I’d have sworn he was Amelia.’

  ‘You did,’ Bantree observed.

  ‘Andy loves dressing up – Hassock mentioned that to me earlier. The whole charade was a bit of innocent fun for him. As soon as the demonstration began, his instructions were to go into the Hall by the south door and straight out again by the north – he was well ahead of the field. I believe the original plan was for him then to chuck Amelia’s things into the ladies’ room through the window . . .’

  ‘Which Witaker had thoughtlessly closed to keep out the ghosties.’

  ‘Quite right, Colin. But Miss Stopps was forewarned about that, so Andy’s final instructions were to put the hat, coat and scarf into the trunk of the Triumph – possibly the bottle as well. Meantime she got rid of the glass by smashing it during the confusion, and just before she feigned a twisted ankle . . .’

  ‘Ha, which stemmed the flow of people into the Hall.’

  ‘It held some of us up certainly – but Andy had a good start on everybody, and he probably had instructions to go like hell as soon as he was inside.’

  ‘He did, Superintendent.’ Hassock spoke quietly. ‘I got the whole story out of him before you arrived, from the point where he was to wait for Margaret outside the SCR window – but no one else is going to be told, not by Andy.’ He glanced from Bantree to Treasure, and back again. ‘It was all a secret game – between Margaret and Andy. Of course he doesn’t understand its significance – but so far as he’s concerned it’s still a secret. I had a devil of a job getting it out of him – and, I repeat, he’s not going to spill the beans to anyone else. You see, he’d given his word to Margaret. You’d have to understand their relationship before you could credit what that means to him.’