The Five Seeds

Auckland Star, Volume LXIX, Issue 285, 2 December 1938, Page 17

The Five Seeds

Short Story

T at the window turned as the (I.».,!• opened. Her bright e v,s wat died the man w | l( > limped "towards Jier.

'"'lie man x, ith the limp nodded gravel v. '

I lie poliee station said there'd be some one along from the Y'ard. You've got to rememl«>r, Phvllis, murder is a specialist's job.''

His voice grated harshly. He glanced up as the woman made a sound" like a broken laugh, and his eves held a ion.

''Mv <;od. Arthur!" she said huskily. "Mere I should lie crying mv eves out because my husband lies "downstairs shot dead, and I'm dry eyed! I should be sad, yet I feel as though a great load has suddenly lifted from my—my spirit. I should be wanting justice. 1 suppose.' The words slurred, a mocking note crept into the voice. Perhaps at long last |'\e got it.''

I he man with the limp came cioser. took her hands, frowned at their cohlni'". I li\ His. you ve got to get a grip on yourself. 1-or Cod's sake don't go to pieces before the police arrive. You

were in your room, see? 1 was in mine. '■Ct that. Vou must. We've got to get our stories right, coinciding. Don't vou

understand? The servants, Phvllis thev II talk, and the police will 'hear about things, and later there'll be news-

paper publicity, headlines and bold black

type shrieking the whole storv for the millions to read with their coffee. You've got to

His earnest entreaty broke off. stilled

suddenly by that same broken laugh as it spilled from her lips. an expression half of relief, half of unhanished

wonder at what had happened. She shivered, for the room was cold, and she wore only a dressing-gown over her night attire. Her eyes strayed to the clock. It was a few minutest after two. "You think I did it. Arthur." She had controlled her speech. The words were uttered calmly, almost dispassionately. a simple statement. The man said nothing, and she added. ou've known for a long time that John was getting more difficult to lire with. Little things happened, became bigger things. Oh. I suppose it was the usual progress towards marital disruption. There were fjuarrels about servants. housekeeping costs, holidays. Things had gone had in the city, and I was an outlet. I stood that. I stood more than you'll ever know. But when he began insinuating about you, Arthur "

She stopped, caught her breath

The man said nothing. He stood, fists tightly clenched, not facing her. His eves were nearlv closed.

"It waj» wearing me out," she resumed, again calm. "Bit by bit—how much surprised myself. I— I think F reallv did hate him. Arthur —"

"You must not tell the police that, Phvllis. It—it would be fatal."

They faced each other, sudden tension between them. She said. "You do think I did it. don't you. Arthur? p&mlre-xounfing the little points against me. I know of the gun in the library, in the drawer of hi* desk, and it is missing. I could have crept round to the French windows. Phelps said he looked out of his window when he heard the sihot, and saw someone running in the moonlight. He couldn't tell who. but vou think you know. Arthur, and you're determined to protect me. I thank you for that, Arthur, you have always been sweet to me. and for a cousin you've stood more from John than I would have asked of a brother. And now you're thinking that—" His arms stretched out to her, and his fingers fastened on her slim shoulders. He shook her roughly. His hands were strangely steady. "Phyllis, for God's sake! We've got to face this thing. We've got to talk —sanely. Suspicion doesn't matter—to 11s. We know that John Bradford deserved" —he stumbled over the word—"murdering. But we've an issue ♦ o face up to. f!et that into your head. We're facing murder, and the police are probably already on their way to this house." ... . His words, uttered incisively, tore through her swirling thoughts. She stared at him, long, as though seeing something new to her, something she had not glimpsed before: then said meekly, "Yen, Arthur. I think I understand now, my dear.'

There was a smile on her lips

They sat down and talked. More than an hour passed before Detective-Inspector Anthony Slade, of the Criminal Investigation Department (X 2), Sew Scotland Yard, arrived with his assistant, Sergeant Clinton. It wanted a good half-hour before the earlv dawn broke. The local division man met them, a tall, dark-featured inspector from the local police station. "My men have got the measurements and have taken shots of the fingerprints." he reported, "and I've got statements from the servants, from the wife, and from the wife's cousin, who's staying here. But we haven't got the wea poll." "What did the doctor say?" asked Slade. The local man shrugged. "He dug out the bullet. Looks like a thirtv-two calibre automatic. He was killed instantly when it pierced the heart. Ended up against the spine. Oh, and I found these beside the body."

From his pocket he took a screwed-up envelope, and tipped into the palm of his hand five small dark pellets.

"What are they ?" asked Slade. "Damned if I know," the other con fesscd.

"Wait a minute." said Clinton, picking one out of the other man's hand and examining it closely. I thought so," he added. "Thwe are sunflower seeds. I know because my wife's brother has a parrot. The damned bird drops seeds all over anyone sitting by the window."

"That so?" said the local inspector, pursing his mouth. "Well, you'll be interested to know there's a parrot in this house."

"In the library, where you found the bodv?" asked Slade.

"So, that's the funny part," said the local man. "It's the wife's pet. She has it in a room upstairs, and you'll see from what I've jotted down she fed the bird before she went to bed."

He looked significantly at the two men from the Yard, whose job released him from his own responsibility, for which he was grateful. Murder wasn't his iiwiDi 1 line of investigation. "W ell, let's see the library," said Slade. The body had been removed when the olice surgeon had arrived. A chalked

| 'litlinp on the floor revealed how the dead man had been lying when the

" Yes, Inspector ?"

divisional injector had inspected flip body. Made and Clinton examined the room, then went to the bedroom, where the dewd man lay. still clothed, on «hat had been his own bed. — \o powder burns on his shirt-front, llinton, - Made pointed out. "And the gun's missing," mused the sergeant. The yun wasn't found downstair-, ''"'it seeped into the eastern skv, spread fingers of light over the world, and in the garden of the large suburban house in which John Bradford had met his death birds awoke. Slade and Uinton inspected the ground immediately outside the French windows of the library, which was on the north -ide of the house, while the local man d himself an armchair and slowlv gave way to the tiredness that assailed him.

I lie two Yard men came inside and continued their search again. Thev were thorough. It was Clinton who* found tlie pair cf shoes that had made the iin prints ill the dew-wet soil outside the library. The shoes had been fluii"- into a hall cupboard, and the fresh mould of the garden still clung to their narrow welts. I hev were a. pair of woman's shoes, of good make.

Looks like these shoes and those sunflower seeds tell the same story." < I niton said to his superior. "One doesn't have to guess to fit them together. She walked round to the French windows, went inside, and did the job. She <1 fed the parrot, and some of the seeds had caught in her clothes." wonder." said Slade thoughtfully. What?' asked the sergeant, throwing his chief a <|iiick glance. "I measured the footprints in the garden. said Slade. "Whoever made them limped—badly."

Clinton took from his pocket the pages of notes given them bv the local man.

Limped ? ell, these statements we ve got say the cousin, Arthur Hepton. walks With a limp. Has since he was a boy. lhat doesn't seem to make sense- a woman's limping step and those five seeds."

Slade smiled wrylv. Xo. it doesn t make sense, as you sa\, ( linton, and that's one reason why I 111 interested—specially interested in the shoes and the seeds. The butler— Phelps—should be able to help us. ou've got his statement there. It more than hints at trouble between husband and wife—and Hepton." 1 riangle stuff." mused Clinton. "Well, that's usual enough." "Let's have Phelps in," said Slade. Phelps, the butler, now dressed and shaved, ca-me in. He was tall, cadaverous and moved with slow precision, like an automaton.

"You say you heard the shot fired at two o'clock. Phelps," Slade began. "That's right, sir. I hadn't been able to get to sleep easily. Something on mv mind." '"Oh. What?" The butler shuffled his feet. "Well, sir, I don't like mentioning it now —now that Mr. Bradford's dead, if vou understand nie."

He appeared in some distress. Slade offered a little*~lielp.

"Something about Mrs. Bradford too. Phelps?"

"Well, sir, yes. — in a way. You see. the master and Mrs. Bradford hadn't been —well—er——"

Happy together?" Slade suggested

"Yes, sir. And Mrs. Bradford lias the idea, sir, that I—well, curried favour with the master, if I may put it like that. She accused me of running to him with stories. Which wasn't true " "Stories, Phelps?" "About—about her and Mr. Hepton. her cousin. He's been staying here some time, and quarrelled with Mr. Bradford." "I see." Slade took the local inspector's notes from Clinton, turned them over. "You saw someone run from the library French windows in the moonlight. Phelps?" "That is so, sir. The shot made me run to my window. I looked out, and saw this person running round the side of the house." "You couldn't describe this person?" "No, sir. It might have been a man or a woman." "Yet despite the moonlight you couldn't be sure ?" The butler's face went blank. "No, sir." "Very well. Phelps. Wait here." Slade and Clinton went out. "He knows which one it was and won't say," Clinton decided. "You notice he didn't tell us he'd got notice to leave on account of the quarrel between husband and wife. I got that tit-bit from the cook when you were upstairs, and you can bet that's what was on hk) mind. He seems pretty Ioval." In the drawing room Hepton was smoking a pipe and talking in low tones to hi# cousin. He rose when the two Yard men entered.

"There's a point I'd like to ask you, Mrs. Bradford." said Slade.

The woman's tone was level, empty of emotion.

"Why was your husband working so late? Can vou tell me?"

Hepton replied to the question. "We understand he was going through his business accounts. He had some special work to clear."

"Because he was leaving his wife?" asked Slade mildly. Mrs. Bradford's hand went to her mouth as Hepton limped two steps nearer to the Yard men. "Damn it! What are you trying to do. Inspector? Make up a motive?" "I've learned," said Slade, "that Mr. Bradford kept a loaded automatic in the drawer of his desk. That is missing. There was a quarrel recently, as a result of which the butler is under notice to leave—"

"So you've been making the servants talk," Hepton sneered. "If you think—"

"I don't have to think, Mr. Hepton. My job is to know," Slade said. "Will you and Mrs. Bradford pleaoe come to the library ?"

For a moment Hepton hesitated. The woman also looked about to Drotest.

"Lood here, Inspector," said Hepton. "I might as well tell you that I ain here as protection for my cousin." "Protection ?" "Yes. Bradford wa« a swine, nnd that's plain speech. He set the servants to spying on her, lie made her life a perfect hell. I'm not sure but that—" "Arthur!" Only the woman's urgent tone stop-ied a fresh spate of words. Hepton was emotionally aroused. Slade could see that he thought a great deal of the woman—perhaps too much. "All right, Phyllia. We'll go to the library."

By LEONARD R. GRIBBLE.

"Go with them, Clinton. I'll join you in a few minutes." nodded Slade.

Actually nearly twenty minutes elapsed before Slade joined the group in the library. Kacli one in the room turned to him expectantly, but his face was a mask. "How long are you going to keep us here, 1 ns|H'ctor broke out Heptoxi. "Not long now," Slade replied. The words caused Clinton to glance swiftly at his chief. He recognised the tone in which the chief of Department X 2 spoke. Slade had solved his case. Clinton sensed it, and knew he was right. Slade was ready to make an arrest. The sergeant frowned. It looked obvious to him, the five seed«» —the shoes—and yet . . . "You mean, Inspector—-" Phyllis Bradford stepped eagerly forwa id. "I know who murdered your husband, Mrs. Bradford." The simple statement produced a sudden silence. Kyes turned to the muddied shoes, the sunflower seeds, placed as exhibits on a side-table. "You have a parrot, which you feed with sunflower seeds, Mrs. Bradford?" "Yes. But —but T don't know how —" "Those are your shoes?" '"Yes. But it's all so —. 1 don't understand." Hepton was breathing hard. The hands at his side were knotted. "Thank you for telling the truth, Airs. Bradford." said Slade. *Tt makes things easier." From his pocket he took his handkerchief, opened it, displaying a small-sized automatic. "There's the murder weapon. You planned well, Phelps, but told a silly lie. Hold him Clinton!" The butler had made a dash for the windo\v, but the sergeant's ready fist caught Pheps' jaw. He went sprawling backwards. Before he could rise Clinton had snapped a parr of handcuffs over his wrists. Phyllis Bradford's eyes stared from the handcuffed butler to the Yard man as Slade gave the prisoner the customary warning.

But how?" asked Hepton

Slade glanced at his assistant. From the expression on Clinton's face it was something the sergeant also wanted to know.

"Phelps was angered because lie had been made the firing-butt in a family dispute. Moreover, he had been given notice, as a result. That would mean the coming winter without a job and no reference. The more he thought about the prospect the more desperate he became. I should imagine he pleaded with Mrs. Bradford—"

The woman shuddered. "He did, Inspector. But I—l couldn't trust him.''

"Exactly, and he had lost his real usefulness to your husband because of that. But I don't want to pry into your private affairs. Mrs. Bradford —"

"Private!" grunted Hepton. 'With about every servant in the house talking about them!"

"Phelps planned to get his own back, and I suspect whatever ready money he found iu the desk. But there," I think, he was unlucky. He took the •run. Securing a pair of your shoes was simple, Mrs. Bradford, as was getting some real tangible evidence for the scene of the crime— the five sunflower seeds."

"Phelps wore my shoes!" murmured the woman.

"He did,'' Slade nodded. "He also left those sunflower seeds by the body when he had shot your husband. That was to make it appear you had been in the library. He could not leave the •run because it did not hold Mrs. Bradford's finger prints."

"But-—but how do you know all this?" Hepton exclaimed.

"I got my first glimpse of the truth when I read that Phelps had stated lie had seen a figure run from these French windows in the moonlight. Later he confirmed this. It wa« a stupid lie. This side of the house is on the north and there would be no moonlight outside the FreneA windows. The moon shines from the south, moving east to west of course, and all this side would be in shadow."

"(rood <iod!" cried Hepton. "But the limping steps?" queried Clinton.

Slade smiled at his assistant. "Obviously Mrs Bradofrd's shoes pinched Phelps' feet. He couldn't help limping— could you, Phelps t"

"Go to hell!" was the prisoner's growled advice.

"Having decided who was responsible," Slade resumed. "getting the weapon wasn't too difficult. The shot roused the whole household, and Phelps hadn't time to get rid of the gun outside. I found it tucked away on a shelf in his wardrobe."

Mrs. Bradford shook her head. "What a silly slip to make—about the moon," she murmured. "There's another —almost as important," said Slade. "Another?" she said. "Phelps was so sure that he had planned adequately, but was disappointed at not finding the money in the desk, he left his finger prints on it. But he also left them on the gun. That will be the unluckiest slip—for him!"