‘’E were a man always chewing over ill turns done ’im long ago.’ William, once launched, proved to be a person of some intellectual power. ‘And ’e relished a conundrum. There be a cottage in park with a legend to it. ’Tis where a keeper and his family disappeared from, sudden-like, long ago. Grubb ’e would stand afore it as if ’e would thieve a secret from the place.’
‘That is very interesting. But now about his thieving. It would appear as if some time yesterday he slipped into Sir Oliver’s study and made off with a decanter of spirits. If I supposed that some time last night he made his way to the terrace with the idea of replacing the empty decanter would that be more or less in accordance with his way of going about such things?’
‘Old Grubb never went out of ’is way to meet trouble. Like enough ’e’d take the decanter back.’
‘A little later he was still very drunk, and he was very abusive–’
‘’E ’ad a dirty mind, ’ad old Grubb.’ William supplied this information again with his air of disinterested connoisseurship. ‘Fair likely to stop the devils in their ’owling, ’e is, once ’e gets started on women.’
‘No doubt. But the point is this: when Grubb was abusive was he also inclined to be violent? Would he be likely to attack anybody?’
William slowly but emphatically waved his large red face in air behind his cocoa mug – a gesture designed as a comprehensive negative. ‘Talked big, ’e did – talked big and ’orrible. But old Grubb were chicken-hearted. Wouldn’t so much as throw a pint pot at you if you was to talk filthy about his grandmother.’
‘I see.’ Grubb, Appleby supposed, had not actually evinced a special veneration for this relative, and William’s phrase was illustrative merely. ‘You don’t think he might have killed Sir Oliver?’
William’s eye rounded. He thought for some time and then spoke. ‘Old Grubb!’ he said.
This time Appleby understood that his suggestion was thrown entirely out of court. He turned to other matters. ‘If a man wanted three or four gallons of petrol what would be his quickest way here of getting hold of it?’
William looked about him. ‘From fire-engines,’ he hazarded. ‘I don’t mean that. I mean last night. Suppose you had been standing on the terrace there, close by the study windows, and you suddenly wanted petrol. What would you have done about it?’
William set down his mug and made a jerking motion with his thumb. Then he set off for the burning house with as much resolution as if proposing to immolate himself. Appleby followed. Every now and then William turned his head as if to give encouragement; the effect was rather as of a deep-red lantern intermittently flashed against a background of the brighter glow of the flames. Firemen began to shout at them, for they appeared to be making for the short flight of steps which led to the terraces, where debris was now dangerously falling. But at the last moment William turned aside and led the way to what was apparently a tool-shed, ingeniously concealed on the lower level. He thrust his hand beneath some sacking on the window-sill and drew out a key. ‘’E did always keep ’un there,’ he said, and unlocked the door. The place held a miscellaneous collection of tools at one end and at the other a motor-mower and several tins of petrol. William examined these with slow care and then turned upon Appleby reproachfully. ‘Not a drop gone,’ he said. ‘It be all here as ’twere when I put the mower away yesterday.’
‘We can’t always strike lucky first time.’ Appleby picked up a couple of tins. ‘But we can get these out of the way. A spark might get this place any moment.’
They carried the tins to safety. Appleby looked about him. ‘Well,’ he asked pertinaciously. ‘Where else?’
‘Motor houses at back.’
‘But they will be burning, will they not?’
William shook his head. ‘They be right back from house by spinney.’ William’s complexion and interest were alike fading and the long trudge round the burning house was made in silence. It was, however, rewarded. Three sides of the courtyard upon which they came were burning. But the fourth, a detached building across a broad flagged space, was intact. From a small store-room here, with the word ‘Inflammable’ painted in white letters on the door, Lady Dromio’s chauffeur and a fireman were engaged in removing a quantity of petrol in two-gallon tins. In order to do this the chauffeur had been about to run to his cottage for the key when he discovered that the place had been broken into and four tins of petrol removed.
Appleby left William to help and returned thoughtfully to the front of the house. It was sufficiently clear that the last probability of the fire’s having been an accident had vanished.
In full daylight the scene had become less spectacular. Smoke and steam were now more evident than flame and of the idle spectators a number could be observed preparing to depart. Nevertheless a crisis was yet to come, for of the main structure a greater part of the roof was still standing, and when this came down it was expected that much of the weakened walls would come down too. Appleby made no effort to join again in the fire-fighting. He saw that the ambulance was still on the drive and walked across to it. Dr Hubbard, who was pulling on his gloves, looked up as he did so. ‘Ah,’ he said dryly, ‘another professional man in search of a victim. For my own part, I am just about to hand over to Ferris.’
‘Ferris?’ asked Appleby.
‘The young police-surgeon whom you met, I think, earlier in the affair.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Appleby frowned, conscious that something stirred obscurely and vainly in his mind. ‘How is Mr Sebastian Dromio?’
‘His condition may perhaps best be expressed by saying that Ferris can do him no harm. He is conscious, however, and you may talk to him if you like.’
‘Good.’ Appleby was about to turn away to the ambulance when a thought struck him. ‘Would it be true to say that Dr Ferris could have done him little harm before his fall either? He looked a sick man to me.’
Dr Hubbard nodded. ‘You have an eye for man’s mortality, Mr Appleby. And I don’t doubt that better doctors than either Ferris or myself have given Sebastian Dromio over. He had a few months to live. Now he has a few hours. You yourself have from twenty-five to thirty years if you keep your weight down. Good morning.’
Appleby, his sympathies veering sharply to young Dr Ferris, watched him go. Then he squeezed into the ambulance. Sebastian Dromio lay under a blanket, drowsy but sufficiently aware of what was going on around him. His eye rested on Appleby and he looked faintly puzzled. ‘Ah,’ he murmured, ‘the colonel – the enquiring colonel who would have weaned me from the bottle. Good morning to you.’
‘Good morning, Mr Dromio. Are you prepared to die?’
Sebastian Dromio looked considerably surprised. ‘Damn it,’ he said, ‘the fellow’s a parson. Took him for a military man.’ He glanced at Appleby warily. ‘You an Anglican?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Pity – a great pity.’ A fleeting expression of cunning crossed Sebastian’s ashen features. ‘Happen to be a devout Catholic myself. Sorry you can’t be of use to me. Goodbye.’
‘You
are
dying, you know. And I think I can mention it without gross inhumanity because you have known for months that it is so. Now, what can you do about it? I think it likely that your life on the whole has been disagreeable and useless. Well, now, what about your death? Can we put our heads together and turn it to some reasonable account?’
‘Fellow doesn’t
sound
like a parson.’ Sebastian turned his head painfully to get a better view of Appleby. ‘By God!’ he said, ‘it’s the undertaker. Well, as I used to tell them at board meetings, business methods are deuced keen nowadays. But it’s useless, my good fellow. As it happens, I am under arrest by the local police, and I don’t doubt they will have their own man. Obliged to you, all the same.’
‘I’m not interested in your funeral. But it would worry me to see a nice girl hanged.’
Sebastian closed his eyes. When they opened again it was as if nervous intensity had flooded back to them for some crisis. ‘Talk,’ he said. ‘Be quick about it.’
‘Confess that you killed your nephew Oliver. I, for one, won’t blame you. He was always worthless. And now it has turned out that he was a bit of a rat.’
‘I knew there was something damned queer in the air. Did you say a rat? I rather like you. You seem to have good taste. Interested in wine?’
‘I was saying that it would be a pity to see a nice girl hanged. So why not confess you killed Oliver?’
‘But I
didn’t
kill Oliver.’
‘Then why did you kill Grubb?’
‘Because–’ Sebastian hesitated. ‘Grubb?’ he asked. ‘Did I kill
Grubb
?’
‘You know you did. And there’s a chance of people thinking it was because he was going to give you away. He
did
call out that he had seen you prowling round. But he was going to call out that he had seen something else. And then you shot him. You had seen the possibility of the emergency coming, and you had feigned drunk on the chance it might be useful. But let me get back to the main point. You are going to die. So why not
confess
?’
‘But surely–’
‘You are going to die, you know. Perhaps within a couple of hours.’
‘Then get a pen and paper.’ A light sweat had broken out on Sebastian Dromio’s brow. ‘And get a couple of witnesses too.’
‘Very well.’ Appleby rose. ‘But just a moment. It won’t do to get the story wrong, or to make a muck of it. We’d better run over the true facts first and then see just what we ought to say.’
‘That’s right. Got to see that we bally well fox ’em.’ Sebastian began to laugh; then he checked himself at some spasm of pain. ‘Better hurry,’ he said. ‘Quite right about that couple of hours. Deuced discerning fellow, colonel. Obliged to you.’
Appleby leant forward. ‘Then, just how much do you know for certain? What did you hear? What did you see?’
‘Not so much as Grubb did, I’m afraid. Can’t think what the fellow was doing, slinking around like that.’
‘He was doing no more than propose to return a half-empty decanter to the study. Later, and when he was scared, he drank the rest of it.’
‘Well, I was scared too. You see, I heard her say she’d do it.’
‘You heard Lucy say she would kill Oliver?’
Sebastian nodded painfully. ‘Haven’t got the exact words, but that was the sense of it. Told you there was something damned queer in the air. Something between the women. I kept away most of the evening. Couldn’t stick it. Had a shock earlier, you know, seeing Oliver like that in a restaurant. Nerved myself to join them once or twice and just didn’t make it. I was hesitating on the terrace just outside the drawing-room window when she said it.’
‘I see. But you know more than that?’
‘I took another turn on the terrace later, and strolled down into the garden. As I came up a flight of steps there was this fellow Grubb grabbing at Lucy and saying “So it was you, was it?” – or something like that. She broke away from him and ran down the terrace. There was horror on her face, poor girl. I didn’t understand it. I went on through the rest of the evening – or night, rather – in a dazed, automatic sort of way. But of course I realized in the end. At the moment I did no more than go up to Grubb with the idea of ordering him away. Fellow took one look at me and bolted into darkness.’
‘What time was this?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘It would be after eleven, I should say. It wasn’t until half past eleven that I went into the drawing-room. Can’t think what I said – except that I mentioned having seen Mrs Gollifer in the garden, which was true enough. Rather imagine I gave a fancy picture of seeing Grubb too; probably I wanted to see how Lucy would take it. I just knew there were queer things happening. It wasn’t until Swindle told us that Oliver had been killed that it all came together in my mind.’
‘Did you at any time become aware of anybody else on the terrace or in the grounds – for instance, Geoffrey Gollifer?’
‘Didn’t set eyes on a soul. But I did have an irrational feeling there were other folk about.’
‘Now, Mr Dromio, this is very important. Apart from what you have told me, have you any other reason whatever for associating your niece Lucy with Oliver’s death?’
‘That’s the whole story. And bad enough, colonel. First she threatened it and then Grubb caught her. My one idea after that was to see how I could help. And now you’ve solved the problem. So bring in those witnesses quick.’
‘I don’t think we need hurry, Mr Dromio.’
‘Haven’t you told me I am going to die? In two hours, didn’t you say?’
‘I see now that there would be no point in your confessing.’
Sebastian Dromio by some gigantic effort stirred his limbs. His features contorted in agony. ‘The confession!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I must make the confession.’
Appleby rose. ‘I will see what can be done,’ he said, and slipped from the ambulance. As he closed the door Sebastian Dromio was making rather horrible noises in his throat.
And almost immediately Appleby ran into Hyland, who stared at him in astonishment. ‘Good heavens!’ he cried. ‘Are you hurt? You’re as pale as a sheet.’
Appleby laughed rather unsteadily. ‘Did you ever read of those hard-boiled detectives in America crime stories who will do any unspeakable thing to get what they want?’
‘Well, yes.’ Hyland spoke reluctantly. ‘I suppose I have.’
‘I’ve been trying it out. And I rather think I made the grade.’ Hyland shook his head. ‘I can’t think what you’re talking about. But I’m going to have a word with Sebastian Dromio. They say he’s conscious still.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’ And Appleby laid a hand on Hyland’s arm and led him away. ‘The poor chap is very confused in his mind. And I rather think he might confuse you too.’
The Chief Constable had arrived without his breakfast – a fact showing that the destruction of Sherris Hall was a matter of importance in the county. Hyland hurried off to him with the nervous haste of one who has a good deal to explain, and Appleby was again left to his own resources. He sought out Lucy Dromio and found her in company with Mrs Gollifer. Mother and daughter, both tall figures in white, were pacing the lawn together, and it appeared to Appleby as if confidence was establishing itself between them. But now Mrs Gollifer walked away at some call from Lady Dromio and Appleby joined Lucy.