the far end of the bar. “Exactly what time did you arrive?”
“It must have been a few minutes before six,” Tom replied.
“It were a quarter to,” Mrs. Dapeers put in. “I remember because I looked at the time right before we left here.”
“And did you speak to Mr. Dapeers once you got to the Gilded Lily?” Witherspoon asked.
“Of course,” Tom said. “We were guests. You can’t go to a man’s place of business and not talk to him.”
“Did Mr. Dapeers seem to be in his usual frame of mind?”
Mrs. Dapeers’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, did he appear to be upset about anything?” Witherspoon thought it a perfectly reasonable question.
“He was happier than a pig in swill,” Mrs. Dapeers shot back. “Nothing Haydon liked more than showing off. And that new pub of his was his pride and joy.” She laughed harshly. “He’d invited the whole neighborhood to come see it. Mind you, I don’t care how fancy the place is, it don’t hold a candle to ours.”
Witherspoon thought that remark strange. The Black Horse Pub, while clean and decent enough, was as plain as a pikestaff compared with the Gilded Lily. But he certainly wouldn’t be rude enough to contradict a lady. “While you were there, did you see or hear Mr. Dapeers do anything unusual?”
Tom frowned slightly. “Well, not that I can remember.”
“Haydon was talking to that dirty little man in the porkpie hat,” Joanne interrupted. “Funny-looking fellow, don’t your remember him, Tom? He was standing at the far end of the bar. When Haydon first went over to talk to him, Ithought he was going to throw him out. But he didn’t, he stood there and had quite a chat with the bloke.” She grinned maliciously. “And I don’t think he liked what the man had to say, either. By the time the fellow left, Haydon’s mouth was open so far, I thought he’d trip over his chin.”
“You think that this man said something that upset Mr. Dapeers?” Witherspoon pressed.
“I know he did.”
“Now, Joanne,” her husband protested, “you’re just guessing. It could be that Haydon was still upset by that set-to he had with young Taggert.”
Witherspoon made a mental note to remind himself to ask a few more questions about the dirty man in the porkpie hat. But that could come later. “Did you see this, er, set-to between Mr. Taggert and the victim?” he asked.
“Only a little of it,” Tom began. “Mr. Jenkins, the owner of the butcher shop down the street, waved me over to the bar about the time they was really getting heated with one another, so I only heard the beginning of the row.”
“I saw and heard the whole thing, Inspector,” his wife said firmly. “Mind you, Haydon and Taggert weren’t troublin’ to keep their voices down; you could hear them quite clearly, even over all the noise in the pub.”
“Taggert’s an artist,” Tom added. “Haydon hired him to etch all that fancy stuff on the windows in the pub. Nice young fellow, I don’t know why he took that job with Haydon in the first place. He studied in Italy, you know. Comes from a good family too. There’s money there somewhere, you can always tell, you know.”
Barnes cast a quick look at the inspector. “What was the argument about?”
“Haydon hadn’t paid the man,” Tom explained. “Atleast the bit I heard was about money. Mind you, I’m not surprised. Haydon had a bit of reputation for not paying people when he owed them.”
Joanne snorted. “Don’t be daft,” she told her husband. “It was more than that. I was standing right behind them and I heard everything. Michael Taggert wasn’t just lookin’ for his money, he was warning Haydon to leave Sarah alone.”
“Joanne!” Tom glared at his wife. “It’s not decent to say such things.”
“It’s the truth.” She shrugged, totally unconcerned by her husband’s disapproval. “The old goat never could keep his hands to himself.”
Witherspoon
“It must have been a few minutes before six,” Tom replied.
“It were a quarter to,” Mrs. Dapeers put in. “I remember because I looked at the time right before we left here.”
“And did you speak to Mr. Dapeers once you got to the Gilded Lily?” Witherspoon asked.
“Of course,” Tom said. “We were guests. You can’t go to a man’s place of business and not talk to him.”
“Did Mr. Dapeers seem to be in his usual frame of mind?”
Mrs. Dapeers’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, did he appear to be upset about anything?” Witherspoon thought it a perfectly reasonable question.
“He was happier than a pig in swill,” Mrs. Dapeers shot back. “Nothing Haydon liked more than showing off. And that new pub of his was his pride and joy.” She laughed harshly. “He’d invited the whole neighborhood to come see it. Mind you, I don’t care how fancy the place is, it don’t hold a candle to ours.”
Witherspoon thought that remark strange. The Black Horse Pub, while clean and decent enough, was as plain as a pikestaff compared with the Gilded Lily. But he certainly wouldn’t be rude enough to contradict a lady. “While you were there, did you see or hear Mr. Dapeers do anything unusual?”
Tom frowned slightly. “Well, not that I can remember.”
“Haydon was talking to that dirty little man in the porkpie hat,” Joanne interrupted. “Funny-looking fellow, don’t your remember him, Tom? He was standing at the far end of the bar. When Haydon first went over to talk to him, Ithought he was going to throw him out. But he didn’t, he stood there and had quite a chat with the bloke.” She grinned maliciously. “And I don’t think he liked what the man had to say, either. By the time the fellow left, Haydon’s mouth was open so far, I thought he’d trip over his chin.”
“You think that this man said something that upset Mr. Dapeers?” Witherspoon pressed.
“I know he did.”
“Now, Joanne,” her husband protested, “you’re just guessing. It could be that Haydon was still upset by that set-to he had with young Taggert.”
Witherspoon made a mental note to remind himself to ask a few more questions about the dirty man in the porkpie hat. But that could come later. “Did you see this, er, set-to between Mr. Taggert and the victim?” he asked.
“Only a little of it,” Tom began. “Mr. Jenkins, the owner of the butcher shop down the street, waved me over to the bar about the time they was really getting heated with one another, so I only heard the beginning of the row.”
“I saw and heard the whole thing, Inspector,” his wife said firmly. “Mind you, Haydon and Taggert weren’t troublin’ to keep their voices down; you could hear them quite clearly, even over all the noise in the pub.”
“Taggert’s an artist,” Tom added. “Haydon hired him to etch all that fancy stuff on the windows in the pub. Nice young fellow, I don’t know why he took that job with Haydon in the first place. He studied in Italy, you know. Comes from a good family too. There’s money there somewhere, you can always tell, you know.”
Barnes cast a quick look at the inspector. “What was the argument about?”
“Haydon hadn’t paid the man,” Tom explained. “Atleast the bit I heard was about money. Mind you, I’m not surprised. Haydon had a bit of reputation for not paying people when he owed them.”
Joanne snorted. “Don’t be daft,” she told her husband. “It was more than that. I was standing right behind them and I heard everything. Michael Taggert wasn’t just lookin’ for his money, he was warning Haydon to leave Sarah alone.”
“Joanne!” Tom glared at his wife. “It’s not decent to say such things.”
“It’s the truth.” She shrugged, totally unconcerned by her husband’s disapproval. “The old goat never could keep his hands to himself.”
Witherspoon
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