Detection Unlimited (7 page)

He then bent over the corpse, while Miss Patterdale walked away to inspect yet another flower-bed, and the constable respectfully watched him. He glanced up after a brief examination, and said: 'Nothing for me to do here. Instantaneous, of course. Poor fellow!'

'Yes, sir. How long would you say he's been dead?'

'Impossible to say with any certainty. More than a quarter of an hour, and not more than an hour. We must bear in mind that the body has been all the time in hot sunshine.'

These remarks he repeated five minutes later, when a police-car set down at Fox House, Detective-Sergeant Carsethorn, accompanied by a uniformed constable, and two men in plain clothes. The Sergeant asked him whether there was anything else he could tell them about the murder, adding, but without malice, that Dr Rotherhope, who, besides constituting Dr Warcop's chief rival in Bellingham was also the police-surgeon, had been called out to a confinement, and was thus not immediately available.

Beyond informing the Sergeant that the bullet had entered the skull through the temporal bone, and would be found lodged in the brain, Dr Warcop had nothing more to tell him. It was the Sergeant himself who observed that the shot had not been fired at very close quarters, no powder-burns being discernible.

By this time Charles had rejoined the group on the lawn. When he saw the Sergeant he was surprised, and said: 'Hallo! You're not the chap who dealt with that pilfering we had at the office. What's become of him?'

.'Detective-Inspector Thropton, sir. He's away, sick.'

'He will be fed-up!' remarked Charles. 'Mama says I'm to bring Mavis home with me, Aunt Miriam, for the night.'

'I shall be requiring to ask Miss Warrenby a few questions, sir, before she leaves the house.'

'She isn't here: she's at my house,' said Miss Patterdale. 'She came running to me for help, and I left her there, in charge of my niece. Can you interview her there?'

'Certainly, madam, that will be quite agreeable to me,' said the Sergeant politely. 'The young lady will prefer not to return until the body of the deceased has been removed to the mortuary. Very understandable, I'm sure. The ambulance is on its way.'

He turned aside to confer with his subordinates, one of whom was preparing to photograph the corpse, issued some low-voiced directions, and then announced that he would like to see Miss Warrenby without further loss of time.

'What ought we to do about the house?' asked Miss Patterdale. 'There's no one inside, and although I don't suppose anybody would burgle it, we can't leave it like this, can we? At the same time, I don't like to shut the front-door, because I don't think Miss Warrenby had her handbag with her, in which case she won't have the key.'

'One of my men will be staying here to keep an eye on things, madam,' replied the Sergeant. 'Everything will be quite safe.'

'Then, if you have no objection, I'll go with you,' said Miss Patterdale. 'Are you coming, Charles?'

. He nodded, and accompanied her out into the lane. The Sergeant waited until he had skilfully turned his car in the narrow space afforded for this manoeuvre, and then started up the engine of the police-car. Miss Patterdale was thus able to reach Fox Cottage far enough in advance of him to give her time to prepare Mavis's mind for the coming ordeal, which, as she trenchantly observed to Charles, was an extremely desirable circumstance.

However, when they stood once more in the low-pitched parlour they found that Miss Warrenby had regained her composure, and was drinking tea, a stimulant she had preferred to gin. She received the news that she was to be questioned by the police with a wan smile, and said that she had known this must happen, and had been doing her best to collect her thoughts. When the Sergeant arrived, and offered her a formal apology for being obliged to trouble her at such a time, she said that she quite understood, and was anxious to be as helpful as possible. Since she had already discussed her part in the affair with Abby, going over her every movement and mental reaction in exhaustive detail, she was able to tell her story fluently, and even to establish the approximate time of the murder.

'You see, Mrs Cliburn and I stayed on after the others had gone to talk about the prizes for the village whist-drive,' she explained. 'And I know it was ten past seven when I left The Cedars, because I caught sight of the clock in the drawing-room, and that's what it said. I'd no idea it was as late as that. I told Mrs Haswell I must simply fly, or Poor Uncle would be wondering what had become of me, and I ran across her garden to the gate on to the footpath, and came home that way, And it only takes about five minutes to reach the stile from there, so it must have been about a quarter past seven, or perhaps twenty past when it happened.'

'Thank you, miss: that's very clear. And after you heard the shot, you didn't hear or see anything else?'

'No, only a sort of smack, and I didn't think anything of that at the time. I mean, it was so soon after the bang that it seemed part of it, in a way.'

'You didn't see anyone? No one on the common, for instance?'

'No, I'm sure I didn't. Of course, I wasn't looking particularly, but I should have been bound to have noticed if there had been anyone.'

'You didn't look particularly?' repeated the Sergeant. 'The shot was fired from close enough to give you a fright, wasn't it, miss?'

'Yes, but, you see, I didn't know that. I'm afraid I'm silly about guns. I can't bear sudden bangs. I just thought it couldn't have been as close as it seemed.'

The Sergeant made a careful note in his book, but offered no comment on this explanation. After a minute, he said: 'Do you know of any person, miss, who had a grudge against your uncle?'

'Oh, no!' she replied earnestly.

'You know of no quarrel with any person?' She shook her head. 'To your knowledge, he had no enemies?'

'Oh, I'm sure he hadn't!'

There was little more to be elicited from her; and after a few further questions the Sergeant took his leave, telling her that she would be advised of the date of the inquest.

The prospect of having to give evidence at an inquest seemed to affect Miss Warrenby almost as poignantly as its cause, and it was several minutes before she could be reconciled to it. She reiterated her conviction that her uncle would have strongly disliked it, and was only partly soothed by an assurance from Miss Patterdale that neither the post-mortem examination nor the inquest would preclude her from burying her uncle with all the ceremonial she seemed to consider was his due. When Charles conveyed his mother's message to her, her eyes filled with grateful tears, and she begged him to thank Mrs Haswell very, very much for her kindness, and to say how deeply touched she was by it. But she was quite sure Uncle Sampson would have wished her to remain at Fox House.

Nobody could imagine on what grounds she based this conviction. Abby, who was quite uninhibited, asked bluntly: 'Why on earth?'

'It has been our home for such a long time,' said Mavis, visibly investing it with ancestral qualities. 'I know he would hate to think I couldn't bear to live there any more. Of course, it will be dreadfully painful just at first, but I've got to get over that, and I believe in facing up boldly to unpleasant things.'

The slight discomfort which was too often provoked by Miss Warrenby's nobler utterances descended upon the company. After an embarrassed silence, Charles said, in a practical spirit: 'Have you got to get used to living there alone? I suppose it's been left to you, but will you be able to keep it up?'

She looked startled, and a little shocked. 'Oh, I haven't thought of such things' How could I? Please don't let's talk about them! It seems so sordid, and the very last thing one wants to think about at such a time. I just feel it's my duty to stay at home. Besides, I have to remember poor Gladys. She'll be coming out on the last 'bus, and I couldn't bear her to find the house all locked up and deserted. Whatever would she think?'

51 'Well, she couldn't think of much worse than the truth,' said Miss Patterdale. 'However, that certainly is a point: you don't want to lose a good maid on top of everything else. I was thinking you'd be alone in the house: I'd forgotten about your Gladys. If you'd really prefer to go back, you'd better stay here until later, and then I'll take you home, and stay with you till Gladys arrives. Good gracious, look at the time! You must all be famished! Charles, you'd better stay to supper: luckily it's cold, except for the potatoes, and they're ready to put in the deep-fryingpan. Abby, lay the table, there's a good child!'

'I don't think I could eat anything,' said Mavis, rather faintly. 'I wonder if I might go upstairs and lie down quietly by myself, Miss Patterdale? Somehow, one feels one would like to be alone at a moment like this.'

To the imperfectly disguised relief of Charles and Abby Miss Patterdale raised no objection to this, but took her young friend up to her own bedroom, drew the curtains across the windows, gave her an aspirin, and recommended her to have a nice nap.

'Not but that I've no patience with these airs and graces,' she said severely, when she came downstairs again. 'Anyone would think Sampson Warrenby had been kind to the girl, which we all know he wasn't. If he's left his money to her, which I should think he must have done, because I never heard that he had any nearer relations, she's got a good deal to be thankful for. I can't stand hypocrisy!'

'Yes, but I don't think it is, quite,' said Abby, wrinkling her brow. 'I mean, she's so frightfully pi that she thinks you jolly well ought to be sorry if your uncle dies, and so she actually is!'

'That's worse! Don't forget the spoon and fork for the salad!' said Miss Patterdale, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

The murder of Sampson Warrenby naturally formed the sole topic for conversation over the supper-table, Miss Patterdale making no attempt to restrain the enthusiasm of her niece and (adopted) nephew, but maintaining her own belief that it would lead to unpleasantness. Charles was able to perceive, academically speaking, that there might be a great deal of truth in this; but Abby said simply that she had never hoped to realize an ambition to be, as she phrased it, mixed up in a murder-case. Miss Patterdale, regarding her with a fondly indulgent eye, very handsomely said that she was it had happened while she was there to enjoy it.

The subject was still under discussion when, having washed up all the plates and cutlery, the party sat down to drink coffee in the parlour. Miss Patterdale had just ascertained that Mavis, under the influence of aspirin, had sunk into a deep sleep, when a knock on the door heralded the arrival of Gavin Plenmeller, who had come, as he unashamedly confessed, to Talk About the Murder.

'Good heavens, is it all over the village already?' exclaimed Miss Patterdale, ushering him into the parlour.

'But could you doubt that it would be? We had the news in the Red Lion within ten minutes of Hobkirk's setting out for the scene of the crime. Mrs Hobkirk brought it to us, and very grateful we were. News has been coming in for the past hour and more: I was quite unable to drag myself away, though there was a duck and green peas waiting for me at home. Instead, I ate a singularly nauseating meal at the Red Lion. I can't think how we ever came to be famed for our hostelries. Thank you, I should love some coffee! Where is the heroine of this affair?'

'Lying down upstairs,' answered Abby. 'How did you know she was here?'

'It is easy to see that you are a town-dweller,' said Gavin, dropping a lump of sugar into his cup. 'I used to be one myself,' and I'm so glad Walter made it possible for me to return to Thornden. Life is very dull in London. You are dependent on the Radio and the Press for all the news. Of course I know that Mavis Warrenby is here! I'm delighted to learn, however, that she's lying down upstairs: I didn't know that, though I suppose I might have guessed it. Now we can talk it all over without feeling the smallest gene.'

'How much is known in the village?' asked Charles.

'Oh, much more than the truth! That's why I came. I want to know what really happened. Now, don't tell me it was an accident! That was the first rumour that reached the Red Lion, but nothing would induce me to lend it ear. Of course Sampson Warrenby was murdered! He is recognizable as a character created only to be murdered.'

'You mean if he's been a character in one of your books,' said Abby.

'Well, he may yet be that.'

'Charles thinks he must have been shot from the bushes opposite the house, on the common,' said Miss Patterdale.

Gavin turned his eyes enquiringly to Charles, who briefly explained his reasons for holding this opinion. 'He was sitting in the garden with his profile turned to the lane, presumably reading some papers he's taken out with him. It wouldn't have been a very difficult shot.'

'But where was Mavis while all this markmanship was going on? Report places her actually on the scene of the crime.'

'No, she wasn't quite that, though darned nearly. According to her story, she was getting over the stile at the top of the lane when she heard the shot. That's where the murderer was in luck: a second or two later and she would have been on the spot -- might even have stopped the bullet.'

'No, she mightn't,' contradicted Abby. 'That's fatuous! The man wouldn't have fired if she'd been in the way!'

'Who knows?' murmured Gavin. 'I shall go and view the terrain tomorrow morning. Can't you see the stile from the common? I rather thought you could.'

'Yes, I thought of that too,' agreed Charles. 'Several explanations possible. The murderer may have been too intent on taking aim to look that way. He may have been lying with the gorse bushes shutting off the stile from his sight.'

'I find both those theories depressing. They make it seem as if the murderer is a careless, slapdash person, and that I refuse to believe.'

'But that's what they usually are, aren't they?' asked Abby. 'Real murderers, I mean, not the ones in books. I know I've read somewhere that they nearly always give themselves away by doing something silly.'

'True enough,' said Charles. 'It 'ud be nice if ours turned out to be a master of crime, but I'm bound to say I haven't much hope of it.'