This is the finished version of the crime spoof. Did you guess who did and how?
Athica Crispy - Death by Cradle-light!
“Inspector Pilchard sir, we have just received a telephone call from Lyle ‘all of a suspicious deaf.”
“A suspicious death, Constable, at Lyle Hall? That’s the estate of Sir Crispin Blaze-Lyle, isn’t it? Out at Little Breythorpe?”
“Yes sir, apparently Sir Crispin was holding a literary soiree for writer types over the weekend. It’s A famously haunted house, is the ‘all. People comes from miles around just to spend a night there, sir; but they never stay!
I’m told that Lady Athica Crispy is there giving a talk on…”
“Do stick to the point, Perkins, just who has died and why it is suspicious?
“Shall I fetch the car, sir?”
“Yes, yes, and bring the new Woolsey 14, a senior police inspector, such as I, cannot be seen arriving in a shabby old Standard 9.”
When the sleek black Woolsey arrived at the front of the police station, Perkins held the driver’s door open for the inspector.
“No, no, you drive, Perkins. Oh, must we bring WPC err, thingermy? She hardly makes the right impression of modern policing. He then mumbled something about suffragettes and the King’s horse. “I, will sit in the back, thank you; as is proper to my rank. And, on the way, you had better fill in the details, Perkins.”
“Details, sir?” He was thinking about the pretty young WPC Clare Bright in the seat next to him.
“Of the case, man, do try to keep up!” The police constable craned his neck to speak to the inspector who had spread himself luxuriantly across the back seat. The smell of new leather and the walnut panelling made him feel right at home among people of quality, so different from the average ‘back street’ murderer one normally has to deal with. He lit his pipe, closed his eyes with his head against the upholstery.
“Proceed, constable,” he said.
“Well, it’s like this, sir. It's the son and heir, just a nipper by all accounts, under six months old. The old boy didn’t ‘av any children on account of ‘is misses lacking in that department.
“But ‘aving a bas... I mean, having a baby out of wedlock must’hav came as a nasty shock to the family what was about to inherit when Sir Crispin, pops ‘is cloggs. They say he’s about 85. But he must ‘av some ‘go’ still in ‘im, to get the maid in the family way and all. Big scandal it was; family couldn’t ‘ush it up neeva. But the old boy didn’t blush one bit, delighted ‘e was, changed ‘is will immediately leaving the nipper the ‘ol blinking lot, if you will ‘xuse my French miss.”
“Get to the point will you man!”
“Fand blue, the nipper was, as a ripe blueberry ‘dis morning, if ya takes my meaning sir.”
-o0o-
The tyres of the Woolsey crunched along a long gravel drive lined with old lime trees. The honey coloured sandstone of Lyle Hall glowed in the autumn morning sun. Windows sparkled as the car approached the front entrance. A sleek maroon Lagonda Rapier, along with an assortment of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, were parked nearby. A groundsman tending the shrubbery doffed his cap as the car approached. The inspector drank it all in.
Oh yes, this is more like it, he thought, a nicer class of murderer.
“You remain silent whilst I interview Sir Crispin and his guests. You can gather statements from staff, below stairs, and take young miss err, thingamy with you.” A butler came down the front steps to greet them as the car pulled up.
“Perhaps you will be more comfortable coming in through the trade entrance, sir. It is around the back, through that archway there, if you please, sir.” But as he was speaking, an old man bustled past him, trotting as best he could on thin, bandy legs. He was dressed in pyjamas, a burgundy dressing gown, and had obviously only just risen.
“Thank goodness, inspector at last, this way, come quickly.” The wheezing old man took the officer by the arm and pulled him into the large entrance hall. Between gasps of breath he said, “My son - my son is dead - this morning – when, when - nurse went to wake him - come quickly, please officer.”
The inspector rather enjoyed striding through the large entrance hall, his black raincoat, bat-like flapping behind him, as distinguished guests looked on. He might have said, “Step aside, professional Police inspector coming through,” but this, he thought, might sound a little pompous.
“Take me to the child’s nursery”, he said, in a commanding voice, which echoed through that voluminous space. As he began to climb the steps of the grand staircase, he turned to address the onlookers, “No one may leave these premises until I give the say-so!” Several voices protested,
“Now look here, my man…” and “Do you know who I am, sir!” But the inspector turned his back on them all, and strode on, thoroughly enjoying the drama of it all.
He followed the nurse to a small room which was decorated with colourful wallpaper depicting birds and flowers. The inspector scanned the room with practised eyes. Sir Crispin, followed by all his guests, who also all traipsed into the room. They seemed intent on seeing how a professional would solve the crime, quite indifferent to Sir Crispin’s feelings. The empty child’s cradle sat at one end of the room and the guests crowded by the door, waiting to hear the inspector, like an eager audience attending a West End play.
“Cot death is so cruel,” Lady Athica announced dramatically,
“Particularly in one so young!” replied an elderly spinster, and several of the others nodded sagely. Thick heavy drapes were partly closed, creating a gloomy atmosphere in the room, but the windows had been flung wide open.
“Is this room exactly as you found it, nurse?” the inspector asked.
“Oh yes, sir,” she replied, I nevr tuched nufin, sir.”
“The Intruder must have come in through the window and, and done the deed.” Lady Athica announced dramatically.
“Oh no, your Ladyship, the windows was locked tight shut.”
“But, but you said the room was exactly... Oh really..!” the inspector said irritably,
“I opened the window on account of how stuffy it was in here.”
“You foolish gell,” cried Lady Athica, “One must never disturb the evidence at the scene of a crime, is that not so, Inspector?” Several other people agreed vigorously, but Inspector Pilchard just looked exasperated.
“Would someone please turn the electric light on? It is so gloomy in here I can hardly see.”
“I do not permit that foul invention to pollute this house, Inspector,” said Sir Crispin. “It interferes with the spiritual energies and saps one’s vigour.” Several people nodded at this pronouncement. A pompous old man said gravely,
“We, of the Society of Spiritual Learning, believe…”
“Can we please stick to the point!” The inspector interrupted.
“Well! I must say…” the man burst out.
The baby’s cradle was surrounded by small tables bearing the stubs of six candles in silver candlesticks. An empty baby’s bottle was on the bedside table.
“I’m so sorry sir, that should have been sterilised last night,” The nurse said, then reached for the bottle, but the inspector took her arm, saying,
“Don’t touch it; that bottle may well be the instrument used to kill the child.” Several people gasped.
“Perkins - Constable Perkins! Where is that man when I need him!” However, it was WPC Clare Bright who entered the room. Her eyes scanned the room too, taking in the open window, the partly closed drapes and the poorly maintained state of the gas lamp mantles, the tap of which appeared to be broken. She also noticed the strange aroma around the baby’s bed linen.
“Inspector sir, may I suggest that I gather the evidence in this room whilst you interview the guests in the drawing room.” She held the door ajar, inviting them to leave, before they trampled on any more evidence.
“Yes, I think we all need a stiff drink,” said Sir Crispin. “Won’t you please all follow me.” Bright could just hear Lady Athica explaining, in confident tones, how she had all the facts clear in her mind, and would be happy to share her insights over a small sherry.
The whole party followed, eager to hear the great crime writer expound her theory over a glass, or two. The inspector trotted on behind the group, now rather forgotten. This was not going as he had planned.
-o0o-
Bright stood in the centre of the room with only the frightened nurse standing by the door.
“Please miss, I never dun nufin to harm…”
“Ruby, isn’t it? Please allow me to think for a moment. Bright searched the room carefully looking for any scrap of evidence; The freshly chipped stone sill outside the window, as if a ladder had recently been placed there. Dry mud on the windowsill, but not on the rug. The window latch had been forced at some point. She walked over to the two gas lamps on the wall. A faint smell of gas was leaking from one.
“Why so many candles, Ruby?”
“Well, miss, Sir Crispin is afraid of the dark; he finks scented church candles will keep err, ‘them’ away, miss.
“By ‘them,’ you mean ghosts or some such,” The girl nodded, still sobbing slightly. There was a knock at the door and PC Perkins entered,
“Oh, I’m looking for Fish Guts”
“Who? The WPC said.”
“The inspector, that’s what we calls him, see, down the nick. I’ve got the post mortem report on the nipper for ‘im.” Before he could stop her, she snatched it from him, turned her back and began to scan the report rapidly.
“Oy, give it back, you’ll be for it if Fish Guts knows you’v ‘ad a butchers before ‘im!” She read quickly. “’No puncture wounds or bruising on the skin, did not die from asphyxiation by gas’, Ha! Here it is, ‘Traces of Cyanide found...!’” She pondered this for a moment. “But how was it administered, no one entered that room all night?” Perkins grabbed the report from her and said,
“You're for the high jump, you are, missy. Just wait till Pilchard ‘ears!” He then left, slamming the door behind him and went in search of his boss.
But WPC Bright was not listening; her mind was sifting through the possibilities. She sniffed the baby’s pillow, then the baby’s bottle and dummy, but nothing. A faint smell of almonds was strongest around the silver candlesticks.
“Nurse, what time did you light the candles?”
“When I put the young master to bed, miss, at sunset, about five I think it was. I sleep in the adjoining room. I am a very light sleeper, and no one came into the room all night, I swear, miss. When he didn’t wake for his four o’clock feed, that’s when I, I… Oh, miss. That’s when I found ‘im, stiff as a board and blue as, as…” But she could not go on, and sobbed uncontrollably. Bright pondered out loud, “So, between five pm and four am, that’s a window of eleven hours”
“Oh no miss, ‘cos I checked on ‘im at about eleven last night, he was all right then miss.”
“I see. Bring me an unused candle, please Ruby and a pillowcase if you please”
“A pillacase, whatever for, miss?” Bright bagged up the curtains, the candlesticks, the baby’s bed linen and the empty milk bottle together with the baby’s dummy.
“Oh miss, you can't just take ‘em fings, their real solid silver, them candlesticks is!”
On approaching the drawing room, Bright could hear several raised voices arguing. Through a gap in the door, she could see Pilchard, waiving the report, trying to regain command of the situation and mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Lady Athica Crispy was still speaking in her booming, authoritative voice as she reached for the doorknob,
“It is axiomatic, inspector, the evidence is irrefutable, all the facts point to that nurse! She had both motive and opportunity! I knew from the first time I clapped eyes on that gell! I could see…” WPC Bright abruptly entered the room; all eyes turned to look at her, as if a ghost or an apparition appeared to reveal the name of the killer. A relieved look came across the inspector’s face, like a beaten boxer at the sound of the bell.
“I have gathered the evidence as you asked, Inspector,” the WPC said.
“I, I asked for… Oh yes, yes, so I did, err, ask you to err, gather the evidence, as you say.”
“You also asked me to remind you that you are expected at the station to give a full report to the Chief Constable – today sir – at this very moment in fact.”
“Me I, I, the Chief Constable… Oh yes, so I did. Err, lead the way, err, miss, err WPC,” and with a look of great relief, the inspector strode towards the door. Regaining his composure, he then turned and said,
“I will be back within the week, by which time justice will take its true course. Rest assured, the villein will soon be in my custody. Inspector Pilchard always gets his man, err, or err woman.
-o0o-
But it was a defeated Pilchard who sat in the back seat of the Woolsey on the drive back to the station. One week later, he was no nearer the truth. The case utterly baffled him.
“Who is the murderer, if not the nurse? She alone had the opportunity.
“Sir,” said WPC Bright, may I suggest…” Looking at his watch, he said,
“Yes, three o’clock, tea time. I take two saugers and chocolate digestives, thank you, err, miss, err, thank you.
“No one else had opportunity!” He kept repeating, as if trying to convince himself.
“We have examined the original will; there are plenty of relations named who would be ‘cut out’ by the new one. All in favour of his illegitimate son.
“Perkins, are you sure there is nothing suspicious in the background checks of his nephews, no one in debt up to his eyes, no one on the run from mobsters, or a gambling habit?”
“No sir, nothing like that. There is a distant aunt who had to move to Peckham when her husband died, leaving her a week behind on the rent, but that is hardly a motive for murder, and she is 97 years old. Inspector Pilchard slumped into a chair, looking dejected.
“Sorry to interrupt your train of thought sir, but we are due back at Lyle Hall at four o’clock this afternoon; only, it’s now half past three, sir.”
It had been raining all week, the gloomy, miserable sort of rain you get in late autumn in England. Like a condemned man on his way to the gallows, he said,
“Fetch the car then, Perkins” Inspector Pilchard did not notice that it was the old, shabby Standard 12 that pulled around to the front of the station. Pilchard dejectedly climbed in, next to the driver’s seat. WPC Bright sat in the back with the pillowcase full of the evidence. When they arrived, he said,
“No, Perkins, not the front entrance; you had better drive around to the trade entrance.”
“Sir Crispin is expecting you, Inspector; it's gratifying to see you again, Miss Bright,” said the butler as he opened the door. “If you would kindly follow me, sir.” He showed them into the Drawing Room and announced their arrival. All of Sir Crispin’s guests turned to look at them. As the butler went to shut the door, WPC Bright whispered to him.
“Please draw the curtains and place these candles around the room, please. Oh, and fetch the nurse.” He nodded and discreetly went about his assigned task. The evening was already getting dark, and the candles created a warm, if slightly eerie atmosphere. Their flames flickered, making ghostly shadows dance around the walls. It was obvious how the house had acquired a reputation for being haunted.
“Inspector Pilchard, you lead us to believe that by this time you would have solved the case and have the guilty party in custody – Well! Said Lady Athica. The inspector looked stunned as if she had accused him of the crime. He stuttered and hesitated, but it was WPC Bright who spoke up,
“In about five minutes, I will have poisoned everyone in this room.” The whole room erupted in outrage.
“Inspector, what is the meaning of this? Who is this gell?” But as she was speaking, several of the candles began to spark and sputter. A bright green flame and sparks shot from each, and the room was filled with the scent of almonds.
“Please do not be alarmed everyone. I am simply demonstrating how the murder took place when no one entered the room apart from the child’s nurse. She held up a candle for everyone to see. Our police laboratory made this to demonstrate how the murder was committed. As you can see, there are markings roughly one inch apart; each one represents an hour of burn time. So, it acts as a kind of clock. One band is a different colour from the others. This part was made with cyanide mixed with the paraffin wax. When warmed by the flame, cyanide was released as a vapour, diffusing into the air, causing the death of the child. That was the ‘fusty smell’ that nurse noticed, causing her to open the window.
“The candles I have used in this room were mixed with copper and saltpetre, giving the flame a bright green glow, and we added almond essence for the aroma you can smell. I’m sure Lady Athica will confirm Cyanide has a similar aroma to almonds.
“Oh well, yes indeed it...”
“But I neva done nufing, Miss, I swear I never.” Screamed the nurse.
“No, in fact you, of all people, wished to see the boy live. The truth is, you are the child’s aunt, are you not, Ruby?” The whole room turned to the nurse in shock.
“Beryl was my older sister, Miss,” she said through sobs of tears.
“My Beryl was your sister”, said Sir Crispin in shock.
Lady Athica said, “Oh, it’s too scandalous, it's too…”
“But who was the murderer then, miss?” Several voices cried.
“The murderer will be calling at the door very shortly. From somewhere below stairs a bell rang, and the butler glided off to answer it. Muttering voices could be heard from somewhere deep in the building, and a scruffy young man of about twenty-five was shown into the room. He was carrying a crate of candles and looking confused.
“I was told to deliver these here,” he said.
“Why, you're the spitting image of a younger Sir Crispin,” several people cried out. When the man saw the inspector, he dropped the crate, turned on his heels and ran. But the butler put out a foot, and he went sprawling across the hall floor. At last, Inspector Pilchard had caught up with events and cried,
“Well, after him, Constable Perkins!”
“But who is he, I mean, how did you…” Several people asked the WPC.
“I have spent this last week getting to know all the gossip below stairs, and I live in the village. It seems young Frank here was adopted by the candle-maker and his wife twenty-five years ago, unofficially of course. When you, Sir Crispin, acknowledged the new baby as his son, Frank was filled with anger and jealousy, so he acted. First he tried to enter the baby’s room at night, but the window was locked. Then he tried to tamper with the gas lamps. But when this too failed, he struck upon the idea of making candles laced with cyanide.
"He knew he must not be seen anywhere near the crime scene, so he devised the ingenious invention of poisoned candles. So that at about two in the morning the child would be dead, he would have a watertight alibi, and there would be no evidence. He foolishly assumed we would not examine the candle stubs. But Inspector Pilchard was too smart for him," said WPC Bright.
Sir Crispin sank into a nearby chair, and after a long pause said,
“All those years ago, I was told the boy died in childbirth, along with his mother. Oh, my dear Beryl. It was from that time on, I formed the Society of Spiritual Learning and...” Whatever else he was about to say was lost, because Frank was now wrestling with Constable Perkins and shouting from the hall.
“I am your firstborn son, father; I am your true heir, don’t disown me now for a…”
“You will hang for this young man!” the inspector cried out. "Take him away." Sir Crispin held his head in his hands, torn between conflicting emotions.
Lady Athica said, “Well, Inspector, I am impressed, very impressed indeed, and you very graciously allowed your young WPC here to explain your deductions instead of taking the credit yourself."
“Well, I, I…”
“But we all know that you are the brains, the mastermind, the one who can penetrate the criminal mind and dissect truth from lies. A masterful demonstration of deductive reasoning, and perhaps it will even appear in the next best-selling crime novel by Lady Athica Crispy."
“Yes indeed, I shall call it, ‘Death by Cradlelight’”
Copyright, Christopher Mathews, Aug 2026
