Death at Hallows End

by Leo Bruce

Overview

In this "rousing mystery" (Booklist), Gentleman Detective Carolus Deene, the schoolmaster created by Bruce and featured in so many of his other books, has his work cut out for him . A respectable solicitor has vanished into thin air in the remote village of Hallows End. Deene senses foul play, and when he goes on the hunt for the missing lawyer, the wealthy client himself suffers a heart attack in what proves to be too much of a coincidence for Deene. Deene ferrets out the culprits in his own inimitable style. Julian Symons of the Sunday Times has said of this series, "Mr. Leo Bruce is one of the few criminal practitioners who keep the tattered old flag of pure detection flying high."

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780897335164
Publisher:	Chicago Review Press, Incorporated
Publication date:	05/01/2003
Series:	Carolus Deene Series
Pages:	230
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.69(d)

About the Author

Leo Bruce is the nom de plume of Rupert Croft-Cooke, who wrote some 125 mysteries, biographies and memoirs. He died in 1980. There are twenty-two mysteries featuring Deene, of which Academy Chicago has already published eleven. Death at Hallows End starts the new hardcover series. The remaining novels will be published over the next several seasons. First published in 1964, Death at Hallows End--like all Carolus Deene novels--appears in the U.S. for the first time under an American imprint.

Read an Excerpt

Death at Hallows End

---

By Leo Bruce

Chicago Review Press Incorporated

Copyright © 1965 Leo Bruce
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-89733-516-4

---

CHAPTER 1

"Into thin air," finished Lionel Thripp, and leaned back as though he had effectively made his point.

It was not like this rather solemn solicitor to use such a melodramatic cliche, reflected Carolus Deene, but the circumstances were unusual.

"You've informed the police, of course."

"Oh, the police. Yes, I've informed them and they tell me they have the matter in hand. But that's not much comfort to Theodora, who is beginning to fear the worst."

Carolus, deep in a leather armchair in the solicitor's office, looked about him and thought it was an unlikely place in which to hear the rather startling story Thripp had just told. The firm was an old established one, so much so that the names of its two present partners, Duncan Humby and Lionel Thripp, were not among those in the firm's title, which was Merryweather, Priming and Catley. These, if they had ever been active in the firm's affairs, were lost in the Victorian past, and for thirty years no one but Humby and Thripp had sat behind the two mighty desks of the two inner offices.

Carolus had known both partners slightly for some years — they were in fact his own solicitors, though his call today, made at Thripp's request, had nothing to do with his own affairs. He had just heard that for three days Duncan Humby had been missing, and neither in his office nor in his household could anyone explain the fact. Some of the suggestions made by Thripp, in fact, came strangely from a staid solicitor and might have startled the inhabitants of the cathedral town of Newminster in which both he and Carolus lived and worked.

Carolus, however interested in facts given him, rarely made a written note but liked to get his details securely in his head.

"Just let us go over a few points again. You say Duncan Humby left here on Monday?"

"Yes. Immediately after lunch. He meant to return the same night."

"He told you the object of his journey?"

"Yes. James Grossiter had sent for him."

"He was going to Grossiter's home?"

"No. That was the first extraordinary thing. Old Grossiter was staying in this place — Hallows End."

It was extraordinary. Everyone in Newminster had heard of Grossiter, who was reputed, in mouth-watering local stories, to be a millionaire. He lived in a gloomy great house on a hill overlooking the town, and rarely left it. He was usually called Old Grossiter, though he was not in fact much older than the man referring to him, Carolus reflected. Sixty-five at the most, but something of a recluse if not a misanthrope, and certainly a valetudinarian.

"He was a client of yours?"

"Of Duncan's, more precisely. He did not recognise my existence in the firm, perhaps because I joined it three years later than Duncan."

"So he consulted Duncan?"

"I shouldn't say 'consulted'. To say he instructed Duncan might be better. As you know, he was an autocratic man and believed he knew a great deal about law. Duncan could handle him, I could not."

"Did you know he had left his home?"

"Not till Monday morning when Duncan came in and told me that Grossiter phoned on Sunday from Hallows End."

"What was he doing there?"

"That was the second extraordinary thing. He had gone to stay with his nephews who have some sort of a farm there."

"Any reason for his visit?"

"He gave none to Duncan. But some months ago his son Raymond, whom he had quarrelled with, died in Cape Town. Old Grossiter used to say he would never actually make a will to help his son, but that he didn't care if his son inherited as next of kin. One gathers that he couldn't kill all paternal feelings in himself, though he refused to have any contact or correspondence with his son. The original quarrel had been connected with a woman Old Grossiter had employed. But Raymond Grossiter had afterwards married someone else.

"When he and his wife were killed in a car crash, Old Grossiter seems to have realised that unless he did something about it, all his money would be inherited by his sister's two sons, Holroyd and Cyril Neast, who had this farm at Hallows End. He scarcely knew them and decided, so Duncan believes and I agree with him, to investigate the pair. He may also have had it in mind to see a man named Hickmansworth. This was the illegitimate son of his second sister and thus a cousin to the Neasts. They farmed neighbouring properties. Grossiter went to Hallows End, without telling anyone, some days before his death."

"How did the investigation go?

"One can only draw conclusions. On Sunday morning, at eleven-fifteen, he phoned Duncan at his home and told him immediately to draw up a will and bring it to him to sign on the following afternoon."

"Do you know what the terms were to be?"

"Yes. As far as anyone did. His whole fortune, which was considerable — though probably less than popular estimate has made it — was to go to charities, except for five thousand pounds to his charwoman, a Mrs. Cupper."

"Good gracious! What charities?"

"Any charities, he told Duncan. Cat and dog homes, orphanages, anything Duncan liked, so long as absolutely nothing could be claimed by his nephews. We had quite a morning, drawing it up and making bequests to our own favourite causes."

"I hope the animals were not forgotten?"

"They certainly were not. It was an interesting will. But there was one other point. When Grossiter gave Duncan these instructions on Sunday morning he added something which puzzled Duncan. He was to draw up an immediate Deed of Gift of ten thousand pounds to someone called Humphrey Spaull."

"Did the name mean anything to you?"

"Not to me. But Duncan has an excellent memory. Soon after he started to act for Grossiter, some twenty-two years ago, there was a similar gift of about half that sum to a woman called Edith Spaull who had been Grossiter's housekeeper. Duncan said it was to set her up in a profitable little sweet-and-tobacconist shop here in Newminster."

"I don't know it."

"No. Mrs. Spaull died some years ago and the shop was taken over with some others by the East Street Supermarket. This Humphrey Spaull, whom we knew nothing about, was apparently the woman's son."

"And did Duncan prepare this Deed of Gift?"

"He had not completed it when he set out on Monday. Grossiter emphasised that the will was the urgent thing. But Humphrey Spaull, whoever he is, would presumably have lost anyway, since it is almost too much to expect that the will was signed that afternoon before Duncan's disappearance."

"Why?" asked Carolus. "Stranger things have happened. Duncan might have left his car and walked up to the farm, seen Grossiter and been obliged to ..."

"Oh, yes," said Thripp impatiently. "Everything's possible. But where is he now?"

Carolus was thoughtful.

"Meanwhile," he said at last, "have you any reason to know whether the nephews were aware of that telephone call? That is, did they know they were being excluded from inheritance?"

"It would seem not. Old Grossiter distinctly said there was no one in the house when he phoned. The two brothers had gone to church, he said."

"So it was with this will, all ready for signature, that Duncan left here on Monday."

"Just so."

"Did he go by car?"

"Of course. He drove his Jaguar. You know what Duncan was — is about cars. Motoring is still a hobby for him, though I must say I find it hard to understand. He and I are the same age, you know, and I've given up driving. But he still likes powerful motor-cars. He drives well, but I don't think he should speed as he does. That sort of thing could lead to a terrible accident."

"But it did not in this case?"

"No. His car was found intact by the side of a quiet road which led to the Neasts' farm, the church and nothing much else."

"You think he left it there?"

"It's hard to say. The keys of the car were left in it and the engine started at once when the police found it. There was no sign of any kind of struggle or anything of the sort."

"And no sign of Duncan either?"

"None. As I told you, he seems to have vanished into thin air."

"Yes. I noted the aptness of your quotation."

"As you no doubt are aware, Old Grossiter died in the small hours of Tuesday morning. Coronary thrombosis. He is being cremated tomorrow."

"Nothing questionable about his death?"

"Oh, nothing at all. The local doctor, an excellent fellow called Jayboard, has signed the certificate."

"Then Duncan's disappearance at that point was extremely convenient for Grossiter's nephews?"

"Of course. They inherit. That is what makes Duncan's disappearance sinister as well as mysterious. If he had reached Grossiter in time they wouldn't have inherited anything at all."

"Yet there is no reason to think they knew that Duncan was coming?"

"Unless in a fit of exasperation, the old man told them what he was going to do. He was a highly eccentric individual, as you know. Or unless by some remote chance someone remained hidden in the farmhouse on the Sunday morning and heard Grossiter phone."

"So, not to mince matters, Thripp, your inference is that one or both of these brothers may have been involved in kidnapping or even killing Duncan Humby before he could reach Grossiter?"

"I wouldn't say it was my inference," said Thripp cautiously, "but it does seem a possibility, doesn't it? What else can have happened to the poor chap?"

"I see what you mean, but there are several flaws in that, as even a provisional theory. Why did he stop his car at that point? Why did he get out of it without any sort of struggle?"

"He may not have stopped his car there. It may have been driven there after he had gotten out somewhere else."

"True. But the whole idea becomes unreal when you consider that Grossiter died quite naturally that night. It introduces coincidence, in which I have no faith at all. For if as you suggest the brothers prevented Duncan from reaching their uncle, Grossiter's death at that precise moment was too convenient altogether for them."

"And if his death wasn't natural?"

"The thing becomes clumsy and almost absurd. In order to prevent the making of a will which could prevent their inheriting, these two brothers dispose of the lawyer without leaving a trace of him and proceed to murder their uncle in a way which baffles a good doctor. All in one night. Does it sound convincing?"

"No. I must say that put like that it is incredible. But where is Duncan Humby?"

"That, presumably, is what you want me to find out?"

"Yes. I talked it over with Theodora Humby this morning. You know her?"

"Very slightly."

"She is, as you can imagine, in great distress. She agrees that you should be asked to investigate."

"Very well. Then I shall start at this end."

"At this end? What can you possibly want to know from us here?"

"First, what evidence is there that Duncan ever left New-minster?" Thripp's eyes, usually rather expressionless, opened at that.

"Evidence? I don't know what you mean. Are you suggesting that he didn't drive to Hallows End?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. But do we know he did?"

"We know he had an appointment there. We know that when he left me he intended to keep it. And we know his car was found there. Isn't that enough?"

"Not really. As you yourself have said, anyone could have driven his car to that place. Anyone, that is, who knew he was going there."

"Extraordinary," said Thripp. "Such a thing had not occurred to me. I suppose, as far as we know, he may still be in Newminster."

"He may be anywhere. Istanbul or Buenos Aires. Or under the ground."

"I'm surprised to hear you talk in that sensational way. One might think poor Duncan had deliberately disappeared."

"It is a possibility, on the facts so far as I know them."

"But what motive could he have?"

"There, my dear fellow, you raise a point of interest. Who can possibly say what goes on in a man's mind? His wife? His partner?"

"Ridiculous. There was nothing mysterious or introspective about Duncan. I'd worked with him for nearly thirty years. He had a very open character."

"I should still feel happier if someone had seen him on his way to Hallows End. Perhaps someone did. But I must point out that we know absolutely nothing at present. Except that he's missing."

Thripp looked earnestly at Carolus.

"You do realise the urgency of this thing?" he asked. "You have, if I may say so, a reputation for discovering the truth about the most extraordinary circumstances, but somewhat in your own time, as it were. In this case there is poor Theodora nearly out of her mind and I am in a state of extreme anxiety. Quite apart from the personal side of it, there is the business to think of. The disappearance of a solicitor naturally attracts a great deal of attention. I have already received anxious enquiries from clients. If you are going to lose time in fruitless speculations — well, I shouldn't say that — but in remote possibilities, it will put me in an impossible situation."

"I see that," said Carolus, smiling. "But jumping to conclusions wouldn't help you, either. Do you know this place — Hallows End?"

"No. It's in a very lonely part of the country, I believe, a village with a thousand or two inhabitants. You'll go down there, of course?"

"Yes. After I've seen Theodora Humby. Now will you tell me one or two things about Duncan. He had, I assume, no money worries?"

Thripp looked impatient.

"Really, Carolus, you are only wasting time with questions like that. Duncan was — is a methodical and contented man. He had — has a substantial fortune ..."

"Invested?"

"I never discussed that with him, but I should imagine in gilt-edged securities. Now ..."

"He had no personal worries at all?"

"So far as I know — and as I've told you I am in a position to know — none at all."

"He had one son, I believe?"

"Yes. Alec. He's abroad."

"He and his wife were ..."

"Theodora is a somewhat difficult woman, I imagine, but they had lived together for thirty years and I really don't see what their relationship has to do with the matter."

"Had Mrs. Humby money of her own?"

"Really, Carolus, this is absurd. I am asking you to find Duncan Humby, not to gather material for his biography."

"It may amount to the same thing. I would be glad if you would answer my questions so that I shan't have to come to you again."

"Theodora had no money of her own," said Thripp almost sulkily.

"You yourself had no disagreement with Duncan?"

"You don't have a long-standing business partnership without some disagreement. We got on remarkably well, on the whole."

"Had there been some recent disagreement?"

Thripp stood up and looked out of the window.

"Nothing that could have the smallest connection with Duncan's disappearance," he said.

"Do you mind telling me the subject of it, though?"

"I think it quite unnecessary that you should know and if I had supposed that you would waste time on such irrelevancies I should not have called you in. But I shall tell you now, to prevent any misapprehensions. I wanted to sell the practice and retire and Duncan was unwilling to do this. In a business like this it would be difficult and unprofitable to sell a partnership — it has to be all or nothing. Though Duncan and I are the same age, had been to school together as a matter of fact, he believed himself to be a more active man than I and didn't hesitate to say so. It had caused some — I won't say ill-feeling — some slight disaccord."

"Had the point about selling the business been decided yet?"

"Not actually. I had first suggested it six months or more ago and was growing a trifle impatient. But we remained on amicable terms and as a matter of fact lunched together on Monday before Duncan set out for Hallows End."

"Oh, you did. Where?"

"At the Crown. It's been our habit for many years to lunch together at the Crown once or twice a week. On this occasion we telephoned the manager, a man named Tuckly, to arrange for lunch to be served to us half an hour early because Duncan had, in front of him, the long drive to Hallows End and back. He was in high spirits at lunch and ate a good meal — more than I should care to do. He has always been rather a big eater, but on Monday he excelled himself."

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Death at Hallows End by Leo Bruce. Copyright © 1965 Leo Bruce. Excerpted by permission of Chicago Review Press Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---

Table of Contents

Editorial Reviews

"These books a superb examples of classic British mystery." — New York Times Book Review

From the Publisher

They all had their tricks, those venerable authors of classic British detective stories, for giving their whodunits a distinctive flair. With Leo Bruce, who wrote 22 mysteries featuring a frightfully arch schoolmaster named Carolus Deene, the trick is more a matter of style. Besides devising intricate puzzles for his sharp-witted gentleman sleuth, Bruce creates characters whose mangling of the queen's English adds life and laughter to their functional roles. — Marilyn Stasio

The New York Times