Murder Somewhere in This City Read online

  “No, I’m not going,” he said flatly. “I’ve got a bit o’ business on. You go, an’ I’ll call for yer tonight. My word, it’s time I were off. I’ll be late.”

  So he went to Fly Hollow, which was a place named by gamblers, being about a mile away from the moorland hamlet of Fly End. He alighted from a cross-country bus at the little cluster of gray stone houses, and soon he was out of the place, walking along a narrow lane between banks of dark moor grass topped by low drystone walls. On both sides of the road were dark sloping fields, so poor that they made only the roughest of grazing for sheep.

  He had walked about a quarter of a mile when he heard a motor vehicle coming along behind him. He looked round and saw that it was a taxi, with only one passenger. He was enjoying his walk and the air was bracing, but he was never a man who would walk when he could ride. He guessed that the taxi would be going to the gaming school, so he gave the hitch-hiker’s sign.

  The taxi stopped, and Bill observed that it was a Silverline, and that the passenger was Lolly Jakes. He was mildly surprised, because Lolly was a poor man like himself, and he usually went to the gaming rendezvous in a bus.

  Lolly’s smile of greeting was rather sour as he made room for Bill in the taxi. Just now, he wanted to have nothing to do with anybody who was connected with Gus Hawkins. But neither did he want to incur the dislike of any such person. He had decided, reluctantly, that it was better to bear Bill’s company and have him be grateful for a free ride than to have him annoyed by being left to walk.

  Bill thought nothing of Lolly’s lack of cordiality. He knew that he took up a lot of room in a taxi, and people usually winced when he sat down beside them. “How are yer, Lolly?” he asked. “You at Doncaster yesterday?”

  “Yer. I went,” said Lolly.

  “Who’d yer go with?”

  “The Duke of Edinburgh and his party.”

  Bill grinned, not at all offended. “How’d you go on?” he asked. He did not really want to know. He was just making conversation.

  At Doncaster Lolly had worked out an imaginary list of winning bets in case the police caught him in possession of his share of the stolen money. He had memorized the list until he had almost come to believe it himself. Now he nearly said: “Five winners,” but stopped himself in time. He did not want Bill Bragg to be gossiping enviously about him, or even thinking about him at all.

  “I didn’t do so bad,” he said.

  To Bill, the brief half-surly answer was natural enough. Sometimes fellows bragged about their winnings, sometimes they had reasons for not letting anybody know they’d had a win. It occurred to him that a shiftless character like Lolly might owe money to several men who would be at the gaming school. If they heard that he had been lucky at the races they would demand repayment.

  “We didn’t get any racing yesterday,” said Bill heavily. “The murder, yer know.”

  “Aye, I heard,” said Lolly, trying to be casual.

  “We was on our way,” Bill continued, “but the coppers looked out for us and turned us back when we was halfway there. They didn’t make no mistake. Picked us out of a proper procession of motors. The cops can gen’rally find yer when they want yer.”

  “Yers,” Lolly agreed, though he did not like the last remark at all. This talk of murder and the police was depressing him. If it went on, it would ruin his day.

  Bill thought that he was receiving willing attention. He warmed to his subject. Opening his huge hands he said: “See these? If I could get hold o’ one a-them murderers he wouldn’t live ter stand trial. I’d throttle the sod.”

  In spite of his size and his immense strength, his expression—if it could be called an expression—was like that of a small boy trying to be fierce. But Lolly was not studying his face: be was listening to the very real anger in the rough growling voice.

  “I’d like ter take all the four of ’em an’ pull the’r necks out like cock chickens at Chris’mus,” said Bill. “Cicely were one o’ the nicest, straightest lasses in Granchester. An’ young Colin is a real good lad.”

  Lolly swallowed rather noisily. “It makes yer feel that way,” he admitted, and inwardly he also fumed with anger against the man who had actually killed Cicely Wainwright. But for that, he thought, everything would have been lovely: nothing at all to worry about. But murder… The police never gave up on a murder.

  “Pickin’ on a young filly like that!” Bill went on. “Gus should a-sent me wi’ the money. I’d a-showed ’em. I’d a paralyzed ’em.”

  Lolly looked sidelong at those hands with fingers like bananas and shuddered slightly. Surreptitiously he felt in his pocket to make sure that his razor was readily accessible. It was a purely nervous move, because he knew that Bill could never be subtle enough to make an indirect accusation. Bill did not suspect him.

  The taxi stopped at a place where there were no banks on each side of the road. The rough grass verge gave the driver room enough to reverse his vehicle and turn back to Fly End. The passengers alighted, and Lolly paid the fare. He graciously waved an acknowledgment of the driver’s thanks for the tip, and followed Bill over the drywall onto the open moorland.

  The two men climbed gradually as they walked over the rough ground, making their way around a hill which was shaped like a flattish cone. As they went they were observed by a man who sat in the heather at the apex of the cone. He might have been there to enjoy the fresh air and the view. He had a pair of binoculars.

  On the other side of the hill, Bill and Lolly came to an outcrop of huge black rocks, a common enough feature in that district. Near the rocks there was another “crow,” who knew them and spoke to them. They went among the rocks and entered a little grassy hollow. In the center of the hollow there was a large patch of black peat hag, trodden hard and flat.

  There were about sixty men in the hollow, and they were standing two or three deep in an irregular ring around the patch of trodden ground. There was as wide an assortment of types as might be seen at any other sporting event. There were pale mill workers and muscular miners. There was a farmer or two, and some ruddy, horny-handed men who looked like outdoors laborers. There were butchers, bakers and bookmakers. There were dressy men and men in cloth caps with colored kerchiefs tied round their necks.

  Doug Savage, pot-landlord of the Prodigal Son Inn, was there. Laurie Lovett was there, and so was Clogger Roach. Three inveterate gamblers.

  In the middle of the ring a fresh-faced young fellow was saying: “I’ll head ’em for four,” and there were four one-pound notes in the hands of the sturdy, red-faced man who stood beside him.

  “Has he done it twice?” Bill Bragg inquired, and the reply was an envious “That’s right, chum,” from a shabby, gaunt, colorless man who looked as if he ought to be spending his cash-in-hand on a good meal. Evidently the challenger had started with a one-pound bet. He had won twice, leaving stakes and winnings in the ring.

  “I’ll have a nicker on,” said Bill, making up his mind quickly, and feeling proudly resolute because he had done so. He handed a note to the red-faced man, who took it and nodded in acknowledgment. The colorless man, after a moment of obviously painful indecision, risked a pound himself. Then Lolly Jakes and Doug Savage stepped forward together, each offering two pounds to the stakeholder.

  The stakeholder, whose remuneration largely depended upon tips from the day’s winners, wanted to make no enemies. “Now then,” he said with a dry grin. “Whose money shall I take?”

  “I was first,” said Doug.

  “Nay, I’m damned if you were,” Lolly retorted.

  The two men eyed each other; measured each other. They were both burly men; the innkeeper clean and almost dapper in appearance, the other carelessly dressed. The onlookers watched them with interest.

  Nearly all gamblers have ideas about the fickleness of luck. Any small incident might affect luck or point the way to the avoidance of misfortune. And one lucky bet might change the whole day’s fortunes. Therefore it became important to bot
h Doug and Lolly that they should make that particular bet. It seemed to each of them that the other was blocking his way to an important initial success.

  “Split it. Have a quid apiece on,” the stakeholder suggested.

  “Fair enough,” Lolly agreed.

  “I was first,” said Doug stubbornly.

  “Spin a coin for it,” somebody advised.

  The disputants shook their heads. Such a course might put a hoodoo on the bet.

  “Well, do summat!” the challenger snapped, because he was afraid that the delay might be allowing his luck to change.

  “A quid apiece,” said Lolly, and there was a general murmur of approval for this compromise.

  Doug shook his head obstinately. He thought that he should make the bet. To split with Lolly Jakes, whom he disliked, seemed as if it would be an unlucky thing to do.

  But he could see that Lolly’s reasonable offer had popular support, and the deadlock had to be broken. “I was first,” he said sulkily. “But go on. Put your brass on seeing as you’re so keen. We’ll see what happens.”

  Grinning, Lolly handed his two pounds to the stakeholder. Then the challenger stepped out into the middle of the ring and held out his right hand palm upward. The forefinger and the long finger were straight, held close together. The other two fingers were bent, and held by the thumb. The “putter-on” carefully placed two halfpennies, “heads” upward, on the outstretched fingers. The challenger threw, and the two coins went almost exactly straight up into the air, spinning side by side, and to the naked eye spinning in perfect unison.

  It was a bad throw. The coins showed one “head” and one “tail” when they landed on the ground. It was a void toss. The challenger threw again, and the coins showed two tails. He had lost his four pounds. With evident satisfaction Bill Bragg, Lolly, and the colorless man stepped forward to collect their winnings.

  As Lolly held out his hand for his money, Bill noticed that his fingers were stained green. Because they were dirty they did not seem to be quite the same color as Gus Hawkins’, but green they undoubtedly were. Bill wondered foggily about that, but in spite of his visit to Hallam and the green-handed thief he had seen there, his childlike mind did not perceive any suspicious connection.

  Doug Savage was furious. According to his way of thinking, he had been robbed of two pounds. He took a folded five-pound note from the fob pocket of his trousers, and handed it to the stakeholder, who uncreased it reverently.

  “I’ll head ’em for a fiver,” Doug rasped, and glared at Lolly. The challenge was obvious and, to those men standing around, it was rightfully given. Lolly had to accept it, or be considered a timorous man. He simply nodded, and gave five pounds to the stakeholder.

  Doug was a skillful tosser. He threw, and “headed ’em” at the first attempt.

  “Leave it in the ring,” he said to the stakeholder, and he looked at Jakes.

  Lolly nodded again, and fumbled in his trousers pocket. He brought out a small handful of pound notes, and counted off ten for the stakeholder.

  Doug threw again, and won. “Leave it,” he said, grinning widely now. Everyone waited to see what Lolly would do. They did not have to wait long. He was counting off twenty pounds for the stakeholder.

  Doug won again, and laughed in exultation. He was a good gambler who would ride with his luck, and he had a great contempt for men who grew cautious or timid when they were winning, only to plunge wildly to regain losses when the luck was against them.

  “Leave it,” he said confidently. There were forty pounds in the ring, only five of which had belonged to him. He looked around at the spectators, because he did not think that Lolly would have a further forty pounds with which to gamble. But the men waited. They also thought that Lolly would be unable to “cover” the bet, but they expected that he would partly cover it with what money he had.

  Lolly did indeed give the impression that he was nearly at the end of his financial resources. He was fishing in his match pocket and bringing out folded fivers one at a time, and handing them, one at a time, to the stakeholder. The stakeholder unfolded each one, and solemnly counted.

  “Seven… Eight,” he said. “Eight fives is forty. Your bet’s covered, Doug.”

  In the face of such determination Doug began to look serious. But neither his luck nor his skill was affected, because he tossed and won again.

  “Eighty quid!” he cried exuberantly. “Oh boy, rags to riches!”

  It was obvious that he intended to leave the money in the ring, but the spectators again waited to see what Lolly would do. Bill Bragg stared at him blankly, with his mouth open. That was a fairly normal expression for all occasions. He was greatly excited by the betting, but he was incapable of showing his excitement.

  “Come on, come arn!” Doug urged the “school.”

  “Put your money on the drum. You come in rags and go away in Rolls-Royces.”

  Lolly Jakes showed no disappointment. His face was stolid, though his little eyes glinted. He began to fumble in his trousers pocket again, but someone who had appeared at his side put a hand on his arm to arrest the action of bringing out money. The newcomer was Laurie Lovett, who had been standing quietly in the crowd. Also from the crowd Clogger Roach appeared, and he looked at Jakes with hostility.

  It occurred to Bragg, and to other men standing near, that Jakes had been gambling with money which did not belong to him. It was a reasonable conclusion. Jakes had been at various times a runner for any small-time bookmaker who would employ him. It looked as if he had found another employer, and that he was now wagering money which had been entrusted to him to pay out some people who had betted successfully on yesterday’s racing. If it were his own money, there seemed to be no reason for Laurie Lovett to interfere.

  Aware of listeners, Lovett said in a low, hard voice: “Don’t be a fool, Lolly. You’ve lost enough. You’re backing your bad luck. Play small till it changes.”

  “I’m not going to let this big swaggering sod get away with my money,” was the dogged reply.

  “You can’t afford to cover him again,” said Lovett. “I tell you, you can’t afford it!”

  “I can afford it one more time.”

  “All right,” said Lovett. “But remember, it’s your own neck.” To those who listened that sounded like an entirely natural remark. If Jakes were gambling away the money of other gamblers, it was his own neck which he was putting in peril. He ran the risk of getting it cut with a razor as sharp as his own. Therefore they were not surprised when he in his turn began to look worried.

  “You’re right, Laurie,” he replied with sudden meekness, because he also was aware of listeners. “I can’t cover it again. I were only goin’ ter try an’ frighten him. I’ll just put a fiver on till my luck changes.”

  Lolly placed his bet, and the stakeholder said: “All right then. Who’s bettin’ agen’ this eighty nicker? Make yer bets up inter fivers an’ tenners, then I can remember who’s who.”

  One man, a bookmaker, gave the stakeholder twenty pounds as an individual bet. The one-pound gamblers made themselves into small temporary syndicates and handed in £5 and £10 bets. Each man knew the members of his own syndicate, and there could be no cheating or confusion at the pay-off. The sum of £80 was quickly made up.

  “Right,” said the stakeholder, and the putter-on stepped forward with the two halfpennies. Doug threw, and once more he headed the coins at the first attempt. There was now £160 in the ring.

  “Leave it,” said Doug. “I’ll skin the lot of you.”

  The bookmaker immediately increased his bet to £40, but money from the small gamblers came in more slowly this time. In the opinion of many, Doug was “set” to head the coins eight or nine times. They noted his confidence. He was in luck. They preferred not to bet against him until he was nearing the end of his run.

  The stakeholder raised only £95 to meet Doug’s £160. “Only ninety-five,” he said. “Yer all windy. One man is flayin’ the lot on yer.”

>   Bill Bragg, who had lost his original stake and another pound as well, withheld his bet this time. He was one of those who believed that Doug would make one or two more successful throws. He stood aside to make room for those who wanted to bet, and he heard Lolly Jakes mutter, as if to himself, that Doug would never succeed in heading the coins another time. He was also surprised to see that Lolly was pulling a really big wad of money from his pocket.

  Other bystanders were no longer interested in Lolly. He had had his moment. Only Bragg saw the fistful of money. Bragg, and the two men who were watching Lolly—Laurie Lovett and Clogger. They closed in on him.

  “Put it away, man!” Laurie whispered fiercely. “Have you gone wrong in your head?”

  Lolly scowled at him, and in doing so he met the fanatical glare of Clogger: Clogger, the frenzied adherent of a cause, the cause being Clogger’s welfare. That wild angry look daunted Lolly, not because he was afraid of the man but because he knew that the anger was justified.

  “So help me,” Clogger whispered. “I’ll stop yer if I have to knife yer.”

  Lolly made no reply, but he thrust the half-extracted money back into his pocket and turned to watch the gambling with little hooded eyes.

  Doug Savage threw, and lost. The stakeholder paid out the winners, and gave the innkeeper the £65 which remained.

  Doug gave him a five-pound note. “Sixty quid isn’t so bad,” he said. “I think I’ll call it a day. My luck turned on that last throw.”

  His obvious self-satisfaction enraged Jakes. He turned in fury upon Roach and Lovett.

  “But for your interference I’d a-won me money back, an’ that sod would a-won nowt,” he snarled in a whisper. “God rot yer!”

  The other two did not reply. But they were united in disapproval of his conduct and they met his scowl coldly.

  “Ah, go to hell!” said Lolly, and he turned his back on the ring and went off the way he had come. His accomplices watched him until he disappeared among the rocks.

  With his open-mouthed, vacant stare Bill Bragg also watched Lolly. He had seen the whole incident and heard some of the conversation, and he thought that it would make a nice item of gossip.