Bump in the Night (A Flaxborough Mystery) by Colin Watson

Author:Colin Watson [Watson, Colin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788420143
Publisher: Faber and Faber
Published: 2018-03-08T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“WILL YOU BE TAKING OVER THE ARRANGEMENTS for the inquest, sir?”

Sergeant Worple looked hopefully at Purbright, who had won his considerable respect by showing an interest in his envelope collection.

Purbright shook his head. “Oh, no, sergeant. That’s decidedly Mr Larch’s province. I’m not sure that I can claim to have anything more to do with the case now.” He did not mention the telephone conversation with Hessledine half an hour previously when he had been strictly enjoined to ‘get to the bottom of how that lunatic got the stuff to blow himself up with’.

“You will wait for the inquest, though, won’t you, sir?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Our inquests are absolute nightmares under old Amblesby; I want to know what a decently conducted one is like.”

“Mr Chalice is an able gentleman and very sensible.”

“There’s no question as to what the verdict will be, I suppose?”

Worple pursed his lips. “No, not really, sir. It’s just what everyone seemed to be expecting. He was a bit of a card, you know, this Mr Biggadyke. Had a name for getting up to queer tricks. Mind you: I must say I’m a tiny bit surprised, myself.”

Purbright looked at him searchingly.

“Yes, sir. It’s only a few days ago that I was sitting in with the chief inspector when he was questioning Biggadyke. Very much to the point, the chief was. As good as asked him straight out for an alibi. And Biggadyke told him about being over in Flax every Tuesday night.”

“But you had only his word for that.”

“Oh, I don’t mean I believed in the alibi, sir. That sounded more like a tale for the wife than for the police. It’s just that Biggadyke didn’t strike me as the type. Bombs are tricky. They take intelligence.”

“And this man wasn’t especially intelligent?”

“Well … clever, yes” – Worple frowned and tugged his ear lobe – “but not up to anything really high-class. If you’re with me, sir,” he added doubtfully.

“I see what you mean,” Purbright assured him. “But that isn’t inconsistent with what happened. After three hits his cleverness ran out. He boobed. In any case it would be pushing coincidence rather far to suggest that in a town this size there are two characters mucking about with explosives.”

“I expect you’re right, sir. The chief has the same idea. Maybe that’s why I was a bit doubtful.”

Purbright made no comment. He was looking again at Worple’s little stack of envelopes. “Didn’t you pick anything up at the caravan?” he asked.

“Bits like those you mean, sir?”

“Yes. It must have been in the caravan that he made the things. Mr Larch said there was no trace of anything of the kind at his home or his office.”

“That’s right: it was me who went round to look. But I couldn’t find anything where the caravan had been either. Of course, it was burned right out by the time the chaps in the lorry depot saw the fire and came round by the road and the path. Only Biggadyke had a key to that back gate.

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