Envious Casca (25 page)

Joseph smote his brow with one clenched fist. "Fool that I was! But I never thought - never dreamed - Oh, if one could but look into the future!"

Maud, who came into the room at that moment, overheard this wish, and said: "I am sure it would be very uncomfortable. I once had my fortune told, and I remember that it quite upset me, for I was told that I should travel far across the seas, and I am not at all fond of foreign travel, besides suffering from sea-sickness."

"Well, that is a very valuable contribution to our discussion," said Stephen, with suspicious amiability. "On the whole I prefer the Empress."

At the sound of this word Maud's placid countenance clouded over a little. "It is a most extraordinary thing where that book can have got to," she said. "I am sure I have looked everywhere. However, the Inspector, who is a very civil and obliging man, has promised to keep his eyes open, so I daresay it will turn up."

Mathilda's ever-lively sense of humour overcame the gloom induced by Stephen's morbid prognostications, and she burst out laughing. "You haven't really told the Inspector to look for your book, have you?" she asked.

"After all, dear," said Maud mildly, "it is a detective's business to look for things."

"My dear, you shouldn't have taken up the Inspector's time with such a trivial matter!" said Joseph, a little shocked. "You must remember that he is engaged on far, far more important work."

Maud was unimpressed. Seating herself in her accustomed chair by the fire, she said: "I do not think that it will do anyone any good to know who killed Nat, Joe, for as he is dead there is nothing to be done about it, and it will only create a great deal of unpleasantness to pry into the affair. Like Hamlet," she added. "Simply upsetting things. But the Life of the Empress of Austria belongs to the lending library, and if it is lost I shall be obliged to pay for it. Besides, I hadn't finished it."

This was so unanswerable that beyond begging her, rather feebly, not to waste the Inspector's time in such an absurd fashion, Joseph allowed the matter to drop. The rest of the party began to assemble in the room for tea, and everyone's attention was diverted from the major anxiety of the moment by Valerie's simple but effective way of carrying off what could only be regarded as a difficult situation. Surveying the company with cornflower blue eyes of limpid innocence, she said: "Oh, I say, has Stephen told you that we're unengaged? I expect you probably think it's fairly lousy of me to call it off just because the police think he murdered Mr. Herriard, but actually it wasn't me at all, but Mummy. And anyway, we'd completely gone off each other, so it doesn't matter." She smiled in a dazzling way, and added: "The funny thing is that I like him much more now that we're not engaged. As a matter of fact, I was loathing him before."

"Both sentiments, let me tell you, are entirely reciprocated," said Stephen, grinning.

"I'm afraid," said Joseph sadly, "that you haven't learnt yet, my dear, what it is to care for someone."

"Oh gosh, yes, I have. I've been simply madly in love often and often. I mean, utterly over at the knees!" Valerie told him.

"Young people nowadays," pronounced Maud, "do not attach so much importance to engagements as they did when I was a girl. It was considered to be very fast to be engaged more than once."

"How quaint!" said Valerie. "I expect I shall be engaged dozens of times."

"Well, when you get married, I will give you a handsome wedding present," said Stephen.

"Oh, Stephen, you are a lamb! I do hope they don't go and convict you!" said Valerie, with a naive sincerity that robbed her words of offence.

She then settled down to flirt with Roydon, in which agreeable occupation she was uninterrupted until her mother came into the room, radiating brassy goodhumour and a somewhat overpowering scent.

It took a strong-minded hostess to prevent Mrs. Dean usurping the centre of the stage, and as Maud was not strong-minded, and refused to look upon herself as a hostess, that forceful lady at once assumed the functions of a doyenne. Seating herself in a commanding position, she encouraged conversation, directed people to suitable chairs, and suggested that in spite of the tragic circumstances under which they had all met they ought to try to get up a few quiet games to play after dinner. "After all, we must not forget that it is Christmas Day, must we?" she asked, with a toothy smile. "It does no good to sit and brood. Of course, there must not be anything rowdy, but I know some very good paper-games which I know you young people will enjoy."

This suggestion smote everyone dumb with dismay. Paula was the first to recover the power of speech, and said, with her customary forthrightness: "I abominate paper-games!"

"Lots of people say that to begin with," said Mrs. Dean, "but they always join in in the end."

"Mummy's absolutely marvellous at organising things," explained Valerie, quite unnecessarily.

"No one," said Paula, tossing back her hair, "has ever yet succeeded in organising me!"

"If you were one of my girlies," said Mrs. Dean archly, "I should tell you not to be a silly child."

The expression on Paula's face was so murderous that Mathilda, feeling that she had borne enough emotional stress during the past twenty-four hours, got up, on a murmured excuse, and left the room. She had barely crossed the hall when she was joined by Stephen.

"Did your nerve fail you?" he asked.

"Badly. She behaves like a professional hostess at a hydro."

"Paula will settle her hash," he said indifferently.

"I've no doubt she will, but I'm not feeling strong enough to watch the encounter. Let it be understood, Stephen, that if there are to be Quiet Games I shall go to bed with a headache!"

"There won't be. I may not be master in this house for very long, but I am tonight."

"I make all allowances for your perverted sense of humour, but I wish you wouldn't talk like that!"

He laughed, and pushed open the library door. "Go in. I'll send for tea here."

"Do you think we ought to? It'll look rather rude."

"Who cares?"

"Not you, I know. I'm past caring."

He rang the bell, regarding her with an expression in his eyes hard to read. "Can't you take it, Mathilda?"

"Not much more of it, at all events. There's a good deal to be said for Maud's point of view. This kind of thing is sheer hell. What did that policeman say to you?"

He shrugged. Just what you'd expect. I rather fancy that he came to me fresh from an illuminating chat with Sturry."

"I detest Sturry!" Mathilda said.

"Yes, so do L If I get out of this imbroglio, I shall sack him. I caught him with his ear to the keyhole yesterday, when Uncle was favouring us with his opinion of Roydon's play. He won't forgive that in a hurry."

"I've always thought he was the sort who'd stab you in -" She broke off short, colour flooding her face.

"Go on!" he encouraged her. "Why not say it? My withers will be wholly unwrung."

She shook her head. "Can't. It's too grim. I suppose Sturry gave the Inspector a garbled account of what Nat said to you."

"Not much need to garble it. Uncle said he wouldn't have me in the house again."

"We all know he didn't mean it!"

"You try telling that to Inspector Hemingway. I think I'm for it, Mathilda."

She said, with sudden, irrational fury: "It's a judgment on you for being such a silly, damned fool! Why the hell do you have to quarrel with everyone?"

He did not reply, for the footman came in just then, in answer to the bell. He gave a brief order for tea to be brought to them, and for a moment or two after the man had gone away stood staring down into the fire.

"Sorry!" Mathilda said, surprised to find herself oddly shaken. "I didn't mean it."

He gave a short laugh, as though he thought what she had said to be of no account. "Do you think I did it, Mathilda?"

She took a cigarette from her case, and lit it. "In spite of all the evidence piling up against you, no."

"Thanks. I imagine you're practically alone in your opinion."

"There is one person besides myself who knows you didn't do it."

"Very neat," he approved. "Ever been watched by the police? Most unnerving performance."

"I suppose we're all under supervision."

"Not you, my girl: you're not a suspect."

She decided that her cigarette tasted of garbage, and pitched it into the fire. "It's you who can't take it, Stephen. You talk as though Black Maria was at the door, but I maintain that the police haven't got enough evidence even to detain you."

"I hope you're right. I may add in passing that if I'd wanted to murder anyone I'd have started on Joe."

"I admit that he's a bit trying. It's a depressing reflection that overflowing affection should arouse the worst in normal breasts. If you come to think of it, it's all his fault. The ghastly result of good intentions! If it hadn't been for Joseph, I don't suppose Nat would have made his will, and I'm sure he wouldn't have thrown this party. But for him, Valerie wouldn't have known that you were the heir, and Roydon wouldn't have maddened Nat by reading his play to him. Trivial circumstances, whose appalling consequences no one could have foreseen, and all, by a fiendish turn of fate, combining to put you on the spot! It's enough to make one turn cynic! But they haven't anything like enough on you yet, Stephen!"

Oddly enough, Inspector Hemingway had reached much the same conclusion, although he did not share Mathilda's unreasoning faith in Stephen. He had found him very much on his guard during his brief interview with him, and although he realised that this was understandable, it did not prejudice him in Stephen's favour. Stephen was reticent, and he weighed every question before answering it. The Inspector, not a bad judge of men, thought him remarkably cold-blooded, and was inclined to the opinion that of all the ill-assorted persons gathered together at Lexham, he was the one most capable of committing murder. But in spite of what certain of his superiors thought an unholy predilection for all the more turgid aspects of psychology, the Inspector was far too good a detective to allow his theories to run away with him. He might (and very often did) talk in the airiest fashion, advancing opinions wholly unsubstantiated by fact, and indulging flights of the purest fantasy, but anyone rash enough to assume from this that he had attained his present position more by luck than solid worth would very soon have discovered that appearances, in Inspector Hemingway's case, were more than ordinarily deceptive.

He was profoundly dissatisfied with Stephen Herriard's evidence; he mistrusted the valet; and, in spite of being so far unable to prove it, still suspected that there might have been collusion between the two. With this in his mind, he had already dispatched Ford's finger-prints to London, and had obtained from him the names and addresses of his last two employers. These had been given so readily that it did not seem probable that this line of investigation would prove fruitful, but the Inspector was not the man to leave any stone unturned.

Questioned, Ford had stated that he had firmly shut all the windows in Nathaniel's bedroom on the previous afternoon, adding that he did so every day, the late Mr. Herriard having had no opinion of the beneficial effects of night-air. This was borne out by Sturry, who said that while he was quite unable to account for the activities of the valet or any of the housemaids, it was his rule to close all the sitting-room windows at five o'clock precisely throughout the winter. "Such," he said, "being the late Mr. Herriard's orders."

Hemingway accepted this statement, but bore in mind two distinct possibilities. If the valet had been Stephen's partner in crime, no reliance could be placed on the truth of his statements; if he had not, Stephen, who had left the drawing-room some time before Nathaniel, might have been able to have gone up to his uncle's room unobserved, and to have opened one of the windows there.

That it would have been impossible for anyone to havec climbed up to the windows without a ladder, the Inspector had already ascertained; it now remained to discover whether there was a ladder upon the premises.

He had told his Sergeant to find this out for him, and by the time he had brought his interview with Stephen to an end, Ware was waiting to report the result of his investigations to him.

"There's nothing of that sort in the house, sir: only a pair of housemaid's steps, and they wouldn't have reached, not anywhere near. But I snooped around the outhouses, like you told me, and I found one all right."

"Good!" said Hemingway. "Where is it?"

"Well, that's it, sir: I can't get at it. There's a disused stable near the garage, and the chauffeur tells me that the head-gardener keeps his tools in it, and such-like. Only he went off home yesterday at noon, and he won't be back till the day after tomorrow, and no one seems to know where he keeps the key. There's a small window, but that's bolted. I saw the ladder when I peered through it."

"He's probably got a special place for the key: most of them have."

"Yes, but I've hunted high and low, and I can't find it. The chauffeur thinks he keeps it on him, because he won't have people borrowing his tools, nor getting at the apples he's got stored in the loft."

"Where does he live?" Hemingway asked.

"Village about two miles to the north of this place."

"Seems to me I'd better have another little chat with the Lord High Everything Else."

Correctly deducing that his superior was referring to the butler. Sergeant Ware at once went off to find this personage. But Sturry, when informed that Inspector Hemingway had need, for unspecified reasons, of a ladder, was not helpful. He said that he regretted there was nothing of that nature in the house. His tone did not imply regret, but rather an unexplained contempt of ladders.

The Inspector knew well that Sturry was trying to put him in his place, but beyond thinking that he would have made a perfect stage-butler, and had clearly missed his vocation, he paid little heed to his forbidding manner. "I didn't suppose you had one in the house," he said, "but I've seen an orchard, and my reasoning powers, which are a lot keener than you might think, tell me that there must be a ladder somewhere on the estate."