No Wind of Blame

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Oh no, Inspector!’ said Peake calmly.

  The Inspector looked narrowly at him. ‘Come on, then: out with it! What other enemies had he got?’

  ‘There is Mr Steel, for one,’ answered Peake.

  ‘Do you mean Mr Steel of Oaklands Farm?’

  ‘That’s right, Inspector.’

  ‘What had he got against Mr Carter?’

  ‘It is common knowledge that Mr Steel is greatly attached to Mrs Carter.’

  ‘Do you mean he’s in love with her?’

  ‘That is the general opinion, Inspector. Mr Steel is not one to hide his feelings, and I have more than once seen him look at Mr Carter in a way which gave me quite a turn.’ He coughed behind his hand. ‘I wouldn’t want to conceal anything from you, Inspector, and I am bound to say that Mr Carter did not behave to Mrs Carter as he should. There have been some very regrettable incidents. One could not altogether blame Mr Steel for feeling as he did. We have thought lately in the servants’ hall, that matters were approaching what one might call a crisis. Mr Steel called to see Mrs Carter this morning, at a time when she was greatly upset by a quarrel with Mr Carter. When Mr Steel left, I chanced to be within earshot, and I could not but hear what he said to Miss Cliffe in the hall.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t wish to say anything that might give you a wrong impression, Inspector. Mr Steel was in a black rage, and he told Miss Cliffe he would like to break Mr Carter’s neck.’

  ‘Did he see Mr Carter this morning?’

  ‘No, Inspector. He left the house saying he could not bring himself to sit at table with Mr Carter. He told Miss Cliffe he had been in love with Mrs Carter ever since he had first known her.’

  ‘Nice goings on in this house!’ muttered the Inspector. ‘What about this Prince? What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Prince Varasashvili,’ replied Peake, ‘is a friend of Mrs Carter. She met him at Antibes.’

  ‘Oh, one of those, is he?’ said the Inspector knowingly.

  ‘An impoverished foreign nobleman, I understand, Inspector. Very much the ladies’ man. We have noticed that Mrs Carter seems to be greatly taken with him.’

  ‘What about Mr Carter?’

  ‘Mr Carter was not in favour of the Prince’s visit. Mr Carter went so far as to say to me, when he was slightly intoxicated, that it was his belief the Prince was after his wife’s money.’

  ‘He did, did he? What about Mrs Carter’s daughter? It wouldn’t by any chance be her he’s after?’

  ‘I fancy not, Inspector.’

  ‘What kind of a girl is this Miss Fanshawe?’

  ‘Miss Vicky, Inspector, is a very unexpected young lady. One never knows what she will be at next, in a manner of speaking. She is devoted to Mrs Carter.’

  ‘And the other one?’

  ‘Miss Cliffe is a nice young lady. She was Mr Carter’s ward, and Mr Carter did tell me that he should leave all his money to her.’

  ‘Well, that wasn’t much, by all accounts.’

  ‘Mr Carter, Inspector, was expecting to come into a great deal of money. He never made any secret of that. He has a rich aunt, a very old lady, I understand, who has been confined in a private lunatic asylum for many years.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen of this house, that’s one thing that doesn’t surprise me!’ said the Inspector.

  He put one or two more questions to the butler, but soon found that Peake had told him all he knew. He requested him to summon Miss Cliffe to the morning-room, and sat digesting the information he had acquired until Mary came in.

  ‘You want to speak to me, Inspector?’

  ‘If you please, miss,’ said the Inspector, indicating a chair.

  She sat down on it. She was looking a little pale, and there was an anxious expression in her eyes which did not escape the Inspector.

  ‘Now, miss! I understand that Mr Robert Steel called here this morning to see Mrs Carter. Is that a fact?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t mention it to me before. How was that?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important. Mr Steel is a close friend, and often drops in to see us.’

  ‘Was Mr Steel a close friend of Mr Carter’s, miss?’

  She hesitated. ‘I should call him a friend of the house.’

  ‘Is it not a fact that he is Mrs Carter’s friend?’

  ‘He is more her friend than Mr Carter’s. But he is also a friend of mine.’

  ‘We’ll let that pass, miss. Had you no reason to suppose that Mr Steel might feel more than friendly towards Mrs Carter?’

  ‘You had better ask him,’ said Mary stiffly.

  ‘I shall do so, miss, make no mistake about that! But I’m asking you now: when he was here this morning did Mr Steel give you any reason to suppose that he was feeling very un-friendly towards Mr Carter?’

  ‘Mr Steel and Mr Carter never hit it off very well,’ she replied evasively.

  ‘No, miss? Why was that?’

  ‘I don’t know. They are very different types.’

  ‘I put it to you, miss, that you know very well that Mr Steel is in love with Mrs Carter.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Mary said. ‘It wouldn’t be surprising if he were.’

  ‘My information is that Mr Steel told you this morning that he had been in love with Mrs Carter ever since he first knew her. Is that correct?’

  Though she had mistrusted Peake, she had not suspected that he had overheard her conversation with Steel. Colour rushed into her cheeks; she felt the ground sliding from under her feet; and could only answer: ‘Yes. He did say so.’

  ‘Did he also tell you that he would like to break Mr Carter’s neck?’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Come, come, miss! Don’t you think you would remember if anyone had made a threat like that?’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t a threat!’ Mary said unguardedly. ‘Mr Steel was very angry with Mr Carter for upsetting his wife, and people do say stupid things when they’re angry.’

  ‘And it didn’t seem important to you, in view of what has happened?’

  ‘No, not in the least.’

  ‘You weren’t surprised that Mr Steel should say such a thing?’

  ‘No. He has rather a quick temper—’ She broke off, aghast at her own disclosures.

  ‘He has a quick temper, has he? Perhaps he has said very much the same sort of thing before about what he’d like to do to Mr Carter?’

  ‘No, indeed he hasn’t!’

  ‘Oh? And yet you weren’t surprised when he said it today?’

  ‘No. I can’t explain, but surely you know how one says extravagant things one doesn’t really mean when one is angry?’

  The Inspector ignored this, and as he seemed to have no more questions to ask, Mary rose to her feet. ‘If that’s all—? You wanted to see Prince Varasashvili. He came back about ten minutes ago. Shall I ask him to come in here?’

  ‘Thank you, miss, if you’ll be so good.’

  The Inspector’s first view of the Prince did not predispose him in his favour. The Prince’s sleek black hair, with its ordered waves, his brilliant smile, and his accentuated waist-line, filled the Inspector, a plain man, with vague repulsion. He thought that the Prince looked just the type of good-for-nothing lizard whom you would expect to find hanging round a rich woman like Ermyntrude Carter.

  The Prince came in without hesitation, and made a gesture with his expressive hands. ‘You are the Inspector of Police? You desire to interrogate me? I understand perfectly. This terrible affair! You will forgive me that I find myself so startled, so very-much shocked, I can find no words! Ah, my poor hostess!’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ said the Inspector woodenly. ‘Very bad business. May
I have your full name and address, please?’

  ‘My address!’ said the Prince, with one of his mournful smiles. ‘Alas, I have no longer an address to call my own since my country has been in the hands of my enemies. My name is Alexis Feodor Gregorovitch Varasashvili. I am absolutely at your service.’

  The Inspector drew a breath, and requested him to spell it. When he had succeeded in transcribing the name correctly in his notebook, he said that he understood that the Prince was a friend of Mrs Carter.

  ‘She does me the honour of saying so,’ bowed the Prince.

  ‘Have you been acquainted with her for long?’

  ‘No, for I met her a few months ago only, at Antibes.’

  ‘And Mr Carter, too?’

  ‘Ah no, Mr Carter did not accompany his wife! I met Mr Carter for the first time on Friday, when I arrived to spend the week-end here. Little did I think then it would end in such tragedy!’

  ‘No, sir. I understand that you were one of the last people to see Mr Carter before he set out for the Dower House this afternoon?’

  ‘Is it so indeed? That I did not know, for I myself was gone from the house before he left it. I asked of him the way to Dr Chester’s house. Miss Cliffe, I think, was present. Yes, I am sure. I left her with him.’

  ‘At what time would that have been, sir?’

  The Prince shook his head. ‘I am sorry. I cannot tell you. It was certainly more than half past four, but I cannot be precise, for I had not the occasion to look at my watch.’

  ‘What did you do when you left the house, sir?’

  ‘But naturally I walked to the garage. I should explain, perhaps, that Miss Fanshawe was so very kind as to lend me her car. I drove myself, therefore, to the doctor’s house.’

  ‘Did you happen to notice what the time was when you arrived there?’

  The smile flashed out again. ‘It is, I see, very fortunate for me that I can say yes, Inspector. Mr Carter told me it was impossible that I should mistake the house, and this I found was entirely true. I did, in fact, arrive at five minutes to five. The doctor was not in: he had been called out, his housekeeper told me. But in perhaps ten minutes he came back, and we had tea together, and he showed me his relics, until it was time for him to go to his surgery. Then I motored back here, to find – what horror!’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir, I’m sure. I take it you can prove what you’ve just told me? That you reached the doctor’s house at five minutes to five?’

  The Prince wrinkled his brow. ‘Of course it is most necessary. Surely the good woman, Dr Chester’s housekeeper, would know? Yes, for we spoke of the time, since I had arrived a little before I was expected.’

  The Inspector nodded. ‘Very good, sir. Were you a member of the shooting-party Mr Carter went on yesterday?’

  ‘Certainly, yes.’

  ‘I understand there was some sort of an accident, sir?’

  The Prince flung up his hands. ‘Oh no, no, no! That is to exaggerate, I assure you! There was no accident, but only a great piece of folly, I am persuaded.’

  ‘On whose part, sir?’

  ‘I must not conceal from you that it was the carelessness of Mr Carter that so nearly made an accident. You have heard, perhaps, that Mr Carter spoke of being fired at, in particular pointing to Mr Steel in a manner not at all polite, and quite absurd also! I do not know whether there was some misunderstanding about Mr Carter’s post: it is certain that I, and Mr Steel, and Dr Chester, thought he was to have stood in a certain place. It is possible that Mr Carter mistook, though Mr Steel, and indeed the good doctor too, declared it was not so, but merely that he had moved from his original stand. I do not know, but that Mr Steel should shoot with deliberation at his host I find not at all probable.’

  ‘So Mr Carter thought it was Mr Steel who shot at him, sir? What made him pick on him rather than you, or the doctor, who, I understand, might as easily have done it?’

  ‘Ah no, not as easily!’ protested the Prince. ‘For both of us, it would have been a more difficult shot. But it is a piece of nonsense! It is not worth discussing.’

  ‘That’s as may be, sir, and for me to judge. What exactly did Mr Carter say about this incident?’

  ‘You ask me to recall absurdities, Inspector. Mr Carter was one who talked a great deal, without much sense. I did not concern myself, for when a man talks in the style of the theatre about those who desire his death, it is not important, but on the contrary, quite tiresome. For me, I did not find that Mr Carter’s dislike of Mr Steel was at all sensible.’

  ‘Did you form any opinion why Mr Carter should have thought Mr Steel wanted him put away?’

  The Prince studied his polished finger-nails for a moment in silence. Then he looked up rather deprecatingly. ‘Inspector, you ask of me a very delicate question. I must tell you that I am not familiar with these people. I speak as an onlooker: I am nothing but a week-end guest here. But it is plain to me that Mr Steel admires excessively Mrs Carter. One understands in part the jealousy of Mr Carter. I have perhaps said too much. You will not regard it. Is there more that you would ask of me?’

  ‘That’ll be all for the present, sir. Were you meaning to go back to London tomorrow? Because if so, I must trouble you—’

  ‘Ah, not now!’ the Prince said. ‘If I can be of use to Mrs Carter, who is left without a protector, be assured that I shall remain! She asks me, in fact.’

  ‘No doubt that would be best, sir,’ agreed the Inspector.

  He left the house, shortly after his interview with the Prince, feeling that he had amassed sufficient evidence to keep him busy for some time. Returning to the Dower House, he was met in the drive by the Sergeant he had left in charge of investigations there. The Sergeant greeted him with an air of considerable satisfaction. ‘We’ve got the gun, sir!’ he said.

  ‘Got the gun, have you? Where did you find it?’

  ‘Down there in the shrubbery,’ replied the Sergeant, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Wright’s been over it for fingerprints, but there aren’t any. That makes it murder all right, I reckon. Not a doubt but that the bloke who did this took his shot, dropped the gun, and slipped off through them bushes to the road. Nice, neat job, if you ask me.’

  ‘Find any footprints?’

  ‘No, sir. Ground’s baked hard, you know. I’ll show you.’

  He led the Inspector to the lawn that ran down to the stream, but instead of going to the bridge, he plunged into the thicket at a point where a clump of azaleas jutted out beyond the dark mass of rhododendrons. Worming his way between the bushes, and holding back stray branches so that his superior’s face should not be scratched by them, he conducted him to a place in the centre of the shrubbery where the bushes grew less thickly. ‘This is where I found the rifle,’ he said. ‘Now, you take a look, sir! Beautiful, easy shot, wouldn’t it be?’

  The Inspector dropped on to his knee, and found that he was looking down at the bridge some twenty yards away, and clearly visible between an azalea and a towering rhododendron. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Easy enough. He must have stayed quiet, though, till Mr White, and the other two, had run down to the bridge, or they’d have heard him.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ replied the Sergeant. ‘Plenty of time for him to make his getaway while they was on the bridge. I reckon this is the way he went.’ He pushed on through the thicket, demonstrating to his chief, as he went, why the unknown murderer must, in his opinion, have struck up towards the carriage-drive, which was at the side of the house. ‘The stream bends right round, as you know, sir. There’s a bit of a pool on the other side of that bank, so it stands to reason he didn’t go that way. No, the way I look at it is, he fired his shot, waited till the people by the house had run down to the bridge, dropped the rifle, and slunk off the way he came, either taking a chance of being seen from the house, and coming out on the d
rive just by the gate, or, more likely, climbing over the wall and walking off down the road. Anyone could get over that wall, as you’ll see for yourself in a minute, sir.’

  ‘Hold on a moment! I’ll take a look at the lie of the land,’ said the Inspector, surmounting the slight, sandy bank which the Sergeant had pointed out to him.

  The stream, taking a bend to the south, widened, below the bank, into a pool, narrowed again, and meandered on until it ran under a bridge in the highway not far from one of the drive-gates. The Inspector gazed at the pool in ruminative silence until the Sergeant, unable to discover what was holding his interest, ventured to ask him.

  ‘I was thinking,’ said the Inspector, ‘that no one could jump over that pool.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t want to, would they?’ said the Sergeant, a little impatiently. ‘The getaway must have been the way I told you, sir. Stands to reason!’

  ‘Nor,’ said the Inspector, ‘could they jump the stream above it without being seen by anyone standing on the bridge between the two houses.’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘Just a moment, if you please!’ said the Inspector, moving along the bank. ‘Didn’t happen to notice that below the pool the stream’s a sight narrower, did you?’

  ‘Well, I’m bound to say I don’t get what you’re after, sir!’ protested the Sergeant. ‘Are you telling me the murderer got away through the Palings’ grounds?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything as yet,’ replied the Inspector. ‘I’m not leaving a possibility out of my calculations, either.’

  The Sergeant looked at the stream running below him, and then glanced across at the opposite bank. ‘I suppose it would be easy enough to jump,’ he said. ‘I’d expect to find a footmark or so, though. Ground’s bound to be soft, not to say boggy, down by the water.’

  ‘Take a look,’ said the Inspector briefly, and went off to explore the other way of escape.

  The Sergeant rejoined him later by the police-car in the drive. There was mud on his boots, and he was looking rather sulky. ‘I didn’t find any trace of footmarks,’ he said.

  ‘Ah well!’ replied the Inspector. ‘Maybe I’m wrong. Nothing more to be done here: we’ll get back to the station.’