by Richard Hull
‘And you found?’ Fenby prompted as Malcolm seemed disposed to stop.
‘I found the door locked. But I thought that I heard movement inside. So, being curious to know who was there, I stood in a patch of deep shadow below Gregory’s window — where is that supercilious young man, by the way? — and from there I saw my cousin Christopher come out of the tower and run round the corner. I suppose you knew he was there? Very well, then, but I didn’t, and I was rather intrigued, so I found an old twig and snapped it loudly. Instantly Christopher shot back again and into the tower. Then I walked round the other side of the house and came in. Quite simple, you see.’
‘Why the other side?’ Fenby and Perceval asked almost in chorus.
‘Because you would be coming to the tower the other way and I wanted to avoid you. Before you ask me why — which I see you are both about to do simultaneously — I will tell you. Because your questions fatigue me.’
There was a short silence. ‘On the whole,’ Fenby summed up, ‘I do not think that I have ever met a man with such a knack of doing thoroughly suspicious things. I wonder whether it is just stupidity, combined with tactlessness, or whether it is infernally clever. You see no guilty man could possibly have done some of the things in which you have indulged, because no guilty man would want to draw attention to himself on every possible and impossible occasion. But a very clever man might do it as a double bluff.’ It was about the only piece of rudeness in which Fenby had ever indulged, but after all he had had a long day’s work and a long night’s work on top of that and there was no denying that Malcolm was an annoying man.
But Malcolm was much too red-headed a man ever to keep his temper in check, and he promptly got up on to his high horse. ‘I am not used to being called stupid and tactless by any policeman and I’ll trouble you to keep a civil tongue in your head. I don’t much mind childish insinuations that I am a murderer — even twice in one day — but I will not be told that I am stupid, still less that I am tactless. It’s a virtue that I particularly pride myself upon.’
Perceval looked incredulously straight down his nose, but Fenby regained his customary geniality. ‘Perhaps you’re right, though if you are not a trifle — injudicious, shall we say? — you must be guilty. However, have it your own way. But now, might I suggest that you go to bed, or at any rate stay in your bedroom? I am afraid it means adding another one to my collection of the keys of this house.’
‘I really do not see why I should be insulted in that way.’
‘No? Perhaps it’s for your own safety. You know, if you will excuse my saying so, you are rather the enfant terrible of this case.’
With a very bad grace Malcolm decided to make the best of it. Just after the key turned in the lock, Fenby heard his voice once more. ‘Really, Inspector, I don’t think you need have removed exhibits A and B.’
‘So, he did look for them at once,’ Fenby said to Perceval as they went down the passage. ‘Interesting — oh, you don’t know what they are, by the way. I wish you had been there from the start.’
Before, however, Fenby could make any further explanation as to the two straps, he was interrupted by the figure of Hamar, incongruously attired in a vest, his livery coat and grey flannel trousers. It was not Hamar’s way to waste words, since, although he was carefully acquiring a BBC accent, he was painfully aware that it was not yet fully under control.
‘So, at last we’ve disturbed somebody. Where have you been all this time?’
Hamar looked slightly aggrieved. If any questions were to be asked, it really seemed as if it ought to be his business to ask them, but this little man, whom he knew had been turned out of the house earlier in the day, seemed to think that his presence there between one and two in the morning required no explanation at all. But then he recognised Perceval and, being a level-headed man, he decided that it must be all right. Nevertheless, it was a bit hard to be asked to account for his own presence! All the same, he sensibly did so.
He had hardly been allowed into the dining room during dinner, he explained. Not that there was anything very unusual in that, since Rushton frequently had days when he would allow no one else to do anything and then blamed them for not having done it. Hamar found him at all times a tiresome petty tyrant.
Immediately after dinner Rushton had come out to the servants’ hall and said there were pretty goings on occurring in the dining room which it was not good that any of them should hear. The cook had tossed her head at that and said that she was not going to have any butler deciding for her what she ought to hear and what she ought not. Hamar had sat back and hoped that a good row would develop. He liked watching rows.
But there was no real stuffing in the cook and the rest of the maids were a feeble lot, and all of them were almost openly afraid of Rushton. Accordingly, they accepted his ruling that they were all to go to bed and stay there, leaving any work there was for the morning. Even the clearing of the dining room table was not to be finished. So far as Hamar was concerned, the plan suited him admirably. He had been used, when he was at home, to very early hours and he was always ready for bed. He had gone at once and, so far as he was concerned, had gone straight to sleep, and he admitted that it took a great deal to wake him.
In that, however, the cook had succeeded. She had said that she heard noises, and she insisted on his investigating. ‘Because if it isn’t ghosts, it’s burglars — and I don’t like either of them,’ had been her phrase. So, he had come to find out.
When he had once started, Hamar had warmed to the task of telling the story, so that when he reached his description of how the cook had woken him up, it had almost developed into narrative form. ‘So, I says to her, “Cook, I says”,’ he went on.
But this was getting too far from the point and Fenby stopped him. Assuming that the servants’ quarters were some way from the living rooms of the house — which actually they were — there was no reason why Hamar should have heard anything, and so Fenby prepared to get rid of him.
‘You’ll find Mr Vaughan downstairs. He’ll tell you something of what has happened. Stay with him. You may be able to make yourself useful.’
Hamar expressed himself perfectly willing to do what he was told by Mr Christopher, as he called him. In fact, he showed quite a readiness to work for him, and he started to go downstairs at once. Apart from anything else, although he showed no curiosity, he was human.
But before he had gone down more than two or three steps, Fenby called him back. ‘Before you do that, you had better go and reassure that cook. Tell her there’s nothing to worry about and she’s to go to sleep, but there may be a few extra for breakfast.’ The last remark almost took Perceval’s breath away, but Fenby went on quite calmly: ‘Oh, and one thing more. Do you know anything about the room next to the library?’
‘Where parson said he heard rapping?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I know who did it.’
‘Who?’
‘Mr Rushton. Leastways I saw him take the hammer from my toolbox. I’m supposed to do the odd jobs round the house — but he put it back, so I’ve said nothing, and I’ve heard him tapping one afternoon when everyone was out except Mr Gregory, and they be as thick as thieves.’
‘I see. Why didn’t you say this at the inquest?’
‘No one asked me.’ The reason was given quite simply and as if it were entirely conclusive.
‘Another enfant terrible, in a way — though less so,’ Fenby muttered to himself. Then he went on out loud: ‘By the way, has cook missed anything today?’
‘Nothing that I know of. Except some lard that she seems to think that I took. Silly idea! I will say one thing for this house. There isn’t any need to steal dripping; there’s plenty of good food.’
‘All right. Go and comfort cook; you can tell her that I’ll see to her lard for her. And then join Mr Vaughan.’ Then an idea apparently occurring to him, he looked at his watch. ‘I don’t think it’s too late.’ He slipped quickly downstairs and
addressed a few sentences to Christopher. Then he rejoined Perceval. ‘A little telephoning,’ he said with a grin on his face. ‘Probably of no importance, so I shan’t worry to tell you. Besides, if I’m wrong, you won’t be able to laugh at me. Now I think the admirable Rushton next. I’m told this is his room.’
23
A Matter of Sleep
The light was on in Rushton’s room, and, when they went in, the butler was fully dressed.
‘Good evening, sir. I have been expecting someone for a considerable while now, though I must confess that I hardly thought that it would be you two gentlemen.’ There was almost the suspicion of a bow and the ghost of an apologetic smile.
‘What do you imagine has happened?’ Fenby asked.
‘I have no idea, sir.’
‘But you think something has?’
‘Undoubtedly, sir. I am rather sensitive to sound and the drive from the lodge gates passes not far from my window. That would not be so of the bedrooms occupied by the family,’ he put in almost in parenthesis. ‘Consequently, I have been disturbed by cars arriving some three times and once by one leaving if I heard aright. When I retired for the night, I left a somewhat disturbed situation in the house, and so I suppose curiosity made me a little restless. Besides, I was compelled to come here at an hour rather earlier than I prefer and to remain here. Otherwise I should have offered my services a little earlier. I gather from the presence of Mr Perceval that the police have found it necessary to take some action, but I hardly know how to account for Mr Fenby being here, unless there has been another outbreak of — Departed Spiritualism.’
It might have been measles from the way he spoke of it, and Perceval found himself almost irritated, but he supposed that Fenby was wise to let him talk on. To his surprise, he saw that his superior was rather amused. ‘You had better introduce us formally,’ he heard him say.
The meaning was obvious enough. ‘This is Inspector Fenby of Scotland Yard,’ he said.
‘Indeed, sir, very interesting, and if I may say so, very unexpected.’
‘Not at all.’
Fenby’s remark seemed almost meaningless to Perceval and he went on: ‘Inspector Fenby is investigating—’
‘Now what do you think that I am investigating?’
Rushton appeared to consider the matter. ‘I suppose you were investigating the circumstances of Mr Arthur’s death. But that matter being now closed and the hour being an unusual one, I presume that some further development has occurred. I would hazard the speculation—’
‘Why can’t he say “guess”?’ Perceval muttered to himself.
‘—that the mental condition of Mr Warrenton this evening is in some way connected with it. I hope, sir, that he has not done himself or anyone else a mischief?’
It did not escape Fenby’s notice that this was the second person who had voluntarily referred to the possibility of James Warrenton having killed himself. ‘If you call the placing of a few inches of steel in his heart or thereabouts a mischief, then one has happened to him.’
‘Dear me, how very unfortunate. All these occurrences here will make it very hard for me to get another place. And where did the deceased gentleman obtain the — the weapon?’
‘Why do you assume that he obtained it?’
‘Well, sir, most of the members of the household, I understood from the remarks which I heard Mr Warrenton expressing in an extremely loud voice, have been under some form of restraint since soon after dinner — a restraint, which, however, I must admit a determined person could have overcome by means of a window. You, yourself, sir, unlocked my door from the outside. Mr Spring-Benson was, I understand, similarly situated, and I personally assisted Mr Warrenton to place a heavy piece of furniture outside Mr Malcolm’s bedroom door, the key of which was in Mr Malcolm’s own possession — the door opens outwards as no doubt by now you know. I rather fancy though, from what I heard, that he has been successful in removing it. Precautions were, I believe, observed even in the case of Miss Warrenton. As to the rest of the staff, I have no information, except that I myself instructed them to go to their rooms early on. There is only one male amongst them, a young man called Hamar, who, though undoubtedly capable of developing criminal tendencies, is undoubtedly too stupid to have arranged anything which would have deceived such gentlemen as yourself for more than a minute or two.’
‘We know all this already.’ Fenby seemed to come to the conclusion that Rushton had had rope enough. ‘Now, Rushton, answer a few questions shortly and preferably in one word. Who had the opportunity of being by himself in the dining room shortly before or after dinner?’
‘Everybody.’
‘Surely not!’ Fenby hoped that somebody could be eliminated.
‘I am afraid so, sir. Hamar and I laid the table, one or other of us being out of the room alternately. Mr Malcolm looked in on his return from the inquest and, I think, took a whisky and soda. In fact, I know he did. Mr Warrenton found him there and told him to clear out — which he did, leaving Mr Warrenton there. Mr Spring-Benson was the last to leave after dinner, and Miss Warrenton went in before dinner, as was her custom, to see that everything was in order. An unnecessary precaution, but one she invariably took.’
‘You know the armour in the dining room and the daggers on the wall?’
‘Naturally, sir.’
‘Do you remember if everything was in position during dinner?’
‘So far as my recollection serves, nothing had been moved. But the room is very ill-lighted.’
‘I see. Do you think that if one dagger had been moved, you would not have noticed it?’
‘By daylight, yes. But it being a stormy night, although it was not absolutely dark when dinner was started, the curtains were drawn, and I could not be sure.’
‘Quite sure that you cannot help us any further?’
‘I am afraid not, sir.’ Rushton thought for a moment, but his answer was quite definite.
‘Very well then. Let’s turn to a different subject. Why were you looking for a hollow place or some such thing by the fireplace of the room next to the library?’
Rushton shifted uneasily from one foot to another, and at first it looked as if he was going to deny that he had been doing such a thing. ‘Look here,’ Fenby said. ‘I want to be fair. This may be evidence against yourself and you are entitled not to answer anything. All the same, you heard the evidence given at the inquest, and just now I have learned that you took a hammer from Hamar’s toolbox. You can say nothing, or if there is an innocent reason, you can give it. Only then, we are entitled to use it against you if it does not seem to us to be so innocent.’
‘It’s innocent enough,’ Rushton answered, ‘only it sounds so stupid, and I dislike appearing publicly as a fool.’
‘We all do, but perhaps publicity won’t be necessary.’
‘All right, I’ll tell you. But if you can keep me out of it, you ought to.’
‘That’s fair enough, too, and I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.’
On that Rushton made up his mind that his best plan was to trust Fenby. Rather shamefacedly he told of the story which he had heard which had brought him to Amberhurst Place, and of the conversation which he had overheard between its late owner and his previous employer, Mrs Marsh.
As he did so, his whole manner changed; he became more natural and he used ordinary Anglo-Saxon words instead of the inaccurate affectations which normally characterised his speech. Perhaps the fact that when he had previously told the story to Gregory Spring-Benson he had been talking at his ease helped him to do so. In fact, he repeated in almost identical words what he had previously said to Gregory, but he carried his information a little further.
He had been, he said, convinced that if there was anything in the story it was in some way connected with the tower, and the curious chimney on its roof had attracted his attention. He had tried at first in the room occupied by Gregory, but he had found nothing there. Then he had started to experimen
t in Malcolm’s room next to it, but when he had stayed there for a long time one day on the excuse of doing his ordinary duties, he had thought that Malcolm had given him rather a sour look, and as by that time he and Henry were not on the best of terms, he had been able to make only a very superficial examination.
Then Gregory had arrived, and he had found it possible to scrape some sort of friendship with him, and, at first, he had hoped to go on looking in Gregory’s room. Latterly, however, things had not been going too well, and Gregory had warned him, even before Arthur Vaughan died, that he must not call attention to himself by being too often in that part of the house. Then he had tried the room downstairs, and he had actually been there when Vaughan fell off the tower and he supposed that he had got some dust on his coat and trousers from there.
In none of the places where he had searched had he found anything. Spring-Benson had now definitely warned him off — in fact all his visits since Vaughan died had been surreptitious — and Malcolm remained hostile but unaware of what he was doing. His final conclusion was that the whole story was a mare’s nest, and that if there were any jewels, which he doubted, there was no hiding place in or near the tower nor the rooms adjoining it.
‘I see.’ Fenby seemed to be turning the matter over in his mind. ‘All right. I should go to bed now. Someone in this house ought to get some sleep.’
Rushton’s professional manner returned to him. ‘There will be nothing further that you require tonight, sir?’
‘Nothing, thank you.’
As the two detectives went out, Perceval looked first at Fenby and then at the key in the door of Rushton’s room. ‘No, I think not. He will probably stay quiet, and, if he does try to move, it may help us. But I do wish that he would say “want” instead of “require” and “begin” instead of “commence”.’
Fenby’s wish that someone in the house should get some sleep was apparently shared, and, to the best of his ability, carried out by Gregory. As they opened his door, a sleepy and rather cross voice was heard to say, ‘Do go away and let me sleep and, if possible, persuade Henry to stop throwing the furniture about. You know I did ask you to tell him.’