Under the Dragon’s Tail

“Ragamuffins, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Daly. “They weren’t Dolly’s own children, that was clear. Heathens more than likely, with no conscience. That’s what comes of being brought up with no Christian guidance.”

Mary Golding wiped away more tears that kept spilling from her eyes. Her words were slightly slurred. “The older boy, the one who is dead, he could be quite savage to the other child. Just yesterday, I saw him hit him so hard the poor little mite almost fell over.”

“Poor little mite indeed! That same mite is likely to grow up a candidate for the old nevergreen.”

Murdoch looked at the three people in front of him. John Golding was across the road with the coroner. He’d been sworn as a juror and was presently viewing the body. Clarence Daly was sitting in the corner. So far he’d said nothing and his wife acted as if he weren’t there at all.

“You are all certain that you heard nothing in the Shaw house, around eleven or twelve last night?” Murdoch asked them.

He’d already had their answers but sometimes it was worth another prod. Mrs. Daly looked as if she would have manufactured something if she could but she shook her head reluctantly.

“No, Mr. Daly and me were in our Christian beds at ten o’clock on the dot and slept as sound as planks, didn’t we, Clarence?”

Her husband hesitated. “Well, I could have heard somebody crying out.”

“What do you mean crying out? You were fast asleep like me. How could you?”

Mr. Daly shuffled his feet, torn between the fear of displeasing his wife and being important in the eyes of the police.

“I had to get up, see…” More shuffle. “Excuse me, Mary. I had to use the commode. Our bedroom window was open and I thought I heard a cry. Didn’t know if it was a cat or what. There’s one that keeps coming around and smelling up our front porch.”

He had everybody’s attention now and it gave him confidence.

“Why didn’t you say this before?” said Murdoch.

“I’ve been sitting here a thinking when it was I got up, and it probably was close to midnight. But like I says, I thought it was a tom.”

“Don’t dither, Clarence Daly, was it a cat or a human soul?” His wife spoke with asperity.

“I’d say now as I’ve considered the matter, it was a human cry.”

“Male or female?” Murdoch asked.

“Not sure, sir. But perhaps more likely the weaker vessel.”

“Can you describe the sound more exactly?” asked Murdoch.

Daly put back his head and to everybody’s astonishment let out a strange howling.

“Clarence!” exclaimed his wife, as if he’d done something as shameful as pull down his trousers in public.

“That’s the kind of cries the dummy would make,” said Mrs. Golding.

Philomena nodded. “You’re right about that, Mary. It is like.”

Pleased with himself, Clarence bayed again. It was a similar sound to the cry that had come from Lily when Murdoch and Crabtree appeared at the house last Thursday.

“Did you see Mrs. Shaw’s daughter?”

“No. Didn’t look out or anything. Could have been her. Could have been that cat that’s been prowling around, stinking up the porch.”

“Must have been Lily,” said his wife. “Another heathen.”

“Have you seen anything at all of Miss Shaw?” Murdoch asked Mrs. Golding.

“Not since her mother passed on.”

“Seems to me Lily did in her own flesh and blood and then murdered the foster child. I always knew she was a madwoman,” said Mrs. Daly.

“I didn’t,” interjected Clarence, emboldened. “Just seemed like a poor afflicted soul to me.”

Murdoch jumped in before a quarrel could start. “She’s disappeared. If it was her that you heard, we’d like to talk to her. Do you have any idea where she might be hiding? And the other boy? Any relatives or particular friends that you know of who might take him in?”

“Not a one,” answered Mrs. Daly. “They had hardly any company. She wasn’t the sort of woman we wanted to associate with. When she first came here to live we did, of course, make overtures, didn’t we, Mary?”

Mrs. Golding nodded and Mrs. Daly went on.

“We called on her.” She tightened her mouth at the memory. “First off, she seemed to be thoroughly intoxicated even though it was only two o’clock in the afternoon; secondly–”

“She took us into her parlour.” Mary Golding joined in eagerly now. “She didn’t offer us any refreshment or make any enquiries but right away she began to talk about the furniture and how grand it was.”

“That was the drink–”

“She said she used to be grand herself, a professional woman, she said, but she had fallen on hard times through no fault of her own.”

“What had happened?” asked Murdoch.

“She didn’t say.” Mrs. Daly took back the narrative, firmly. “Just made all sorts of hints that her own daughter had brought about her ruin. Mary and me didn’t know what to think–”

“Poor unfortunate girl.”

“Then she began to brag on and on about the people she knew. Society people she said. Well, I am a charitable person, Mr. Murdoch, but frankly I didn’t believe a word of it.”