Beware of Johnny Washington: Based on ‘Send for Paul Temple’. Francis Durbridge
here only one night, but I found this part of the world so extremely interesting.’
‘You don’t say?’ exclaimed the landlord with heavy sarcasm.
‘Indeed I do. This inn must be at least five hundred years old—I refer to the outside walls of course—and the beams; they are quite magnificent.’
‘You can ’ave ’em,’ sniffed the landlord. ‘I been ’ere six months too long for my likin’.’
‘I’m sure it all seems quite snug,’ said Quince politely. ‘I should have thought you would get quite a number of tourists …’
Harry Bache did not deign to reply. He looked across at the body once again and shivered.
‘Them police are a long time gettin’ ’ere,’ he muttered. ‘Wish they’d ’urry up … it fair gives me the creeps to see ’im lyin’ there starin’ at nothin’.’ He turned to Washington.
‘Couldn’t we cover ’im up, sir? Just till the police come … it wouldn’t do no harm.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed Johnny.
‘All right. I’ll get an old sheet from the linen cupboard,’ nodded Bache, as he hurried out of the room with some alacrity, obviously relieved to get away from the sight of the corpse. He went off upstairs, and they could hear him opening a cupboard.
Quince sat quite still for a minute without speaking. Then he slowly walked round the room, pausing for some seconds to peer at the body. Presently, he said:
‘Was he a very great friend of yours, Mr Washington?’
Johnny shrugged.
‘I hadn’t known him more than a year or so. But he was a good guy. We got along.’
Quince nodded.
‘I thought for a moment his face was familiar, but I see now he’s quite a stranger to me.’
‘His name was Locksley—he was a superintendent at Scotland Yard.’ Mr Quince was suitably impressed.
‘Scotland Yard?’ he repeated. ‘Dear, dear, that makes it even more serious, doesn’t it?’
‘It certainly is very serious,’ agreed Johnny.
Quince walked over to the door which led into the club-room and bent down to examine the floor.
‘Is it my imagination, Mr Washington, or is there a damp patch here by the door?’
He went over to him.
‘’M, it could be,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps somebody spilt their beer.’
‘There’s hardly been anyone in all evening,’ Quince told him. ‘This—er—moisture is quite recent—as if someone had cleaned up a mess of some sort.’
‘You mean,’ said Johnny quietly, ‘it could be blood.’
‘I’m not saying so,’ replied Quince hastily, ‘but it must be something.’
Johnny measured the distance from the body with his eye. It was quite ten feet … and if the blood came from the body why should anyone wish to clear it up before the police arrived? Johnny shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared pensively at the locked door.
When Harry Bache returned with the sheet and covered the body, Johnny said quite casually:
‘Have you got the key to that club-room handy?’
A shifty look came into the landlord’s eyes.
‘I’m not supposed to let anybody in there,’ he replied defensively.
‘Somebody goes in to clean the place?’ queried Johnny softly.
‘Of course they do—the missus does it. But it’s a private room. What d’you want to go in there for?’
‘Mr Quince and I thought we’d like to take a look round.’
Harry Bache was obviously reluctant to comply with. Johnny’s request.
‘There’s nothing to see in there I tell you—just a table and some chairs …’
‘In that case,’ said Johnny, ‘there can be no possible harm in our taking a look.’
He hesitated a moment, then said meaningly: ‘The police will almost certainly want to see in there.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘It’s fairly obvious I should have thought,’ said Johnny. ‘A murderer might have left some trace.’
‘Murderer!’ gasped Bache. ‘Mr Washington, you don’t think—’
‘I think you’d better give me that key,’ replied Johnny smoothly. Mumbling to himself, the landlord went over to the till, opened the drawer as far as it would go, and took out the key. Then he joined Johnny and Quince at the door of the club-room. The key fitted easily; he opened the door and switched on the light … As he had said, it was just a bare room as far as furniture was concerned, apart from a small table and about a dozen chairs. Opposite the door, a large cupboard occupied almost half the length of the wall. Johnny nodded in its direction.
‘What’s in there?’ he asked.
‘Oh, their robes and chains of office and all that sort of rubbish,’ sniffed Bache. ‘Like a lot of kids they are, playing dressing up.’
The room smelt strongly of disinfectant Johnny noticed as he crossed over to open the cupboard. As the landlord had said, it was full of shapeless robes and decorations. Meanwhile, Quince had crossed to the fireplace and was stooping to examine the floor again. Washington joined him at once, and turned to Harry Bache.
‘When did you say this room was last used?’ he asked.
‘Why—on club night—last Tuesday,’ said Bache.
‘Then how do you account for this damp patch on the floor?’
Bache was on the defensive again.
‘There’s always damp coming through the floors in this place,’ he almost snarled. ‘I can’t help that, can I?’
Johnny looked round for an ally in Quince, but found the old man studying an insignia mounted above the fireplace.
‘Founded in 1756,’ he was murmuring to himself, ‘how very interesting … Mr Washington, have you seen this? It’s a sort of coat of arms…’
He went across and read the inscription under his breath.
‘Loyal Antediluvian Order of Bison … Grey Moose Lodge 1478 … Grey Moose …’
JOHNNY looked round cautiously, somewhat apprehensive that his low whisper might have been overheard. But Quince gave no hint of having noticed anything unusual, and Harry Bache was moving over towards the door, as if to hurry them out.
‘I must remember to make a note to look into these ancient orders,’ Quince was saying. ‘I’m sure one could write a whole book about them. I’m quite certain it has never been done before.’ He turned to the landlord.
‘Can you tell me who runs this—er—lodge?’ he asked him. Harry Bache sniffed.
‘Yes, it’s a feller named Dimthorpe—keeps a greengrocer’s in the village. And you won’t get much out of him,’ he added in a surly tone.
While Quince gossiped to the landlord, Johnny peered at the shield above the fireplace, with its