No Wind of Blame

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘He states that both him and his young lady had heard the village church clock strike the hour about ten minutes before,’ replied Wake. ‘Very positive, he is.’

  Inspector Hemingway looked at the Prince. ‘I had a notion all along that watch of yours wasn’t to be trusted,’ he remarked. ‘What you might call a hunch. We shall have to rub it all out and start again. Suppose, sir, you were to talk to me openly, just like you said you would?’

  ‘It is not true. I dispute it! If my watch can lose so, why then is it now correct?’

  ‘Would it be because you’ve set it right?’ suggested the Inspector helpfully.

  The Prince glared at him. ‘You take the word of an ignorant country fellow before mine? You are insolent, my friend, and I resent it!’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ll get along a sight better, sir, if you don’t waste my time with that kind of talk. What I want to know is just what you were doing in between the time you left this house, which, by all accounts, can’t have been later than a quarter-to-five, and the time you arrived at the doctor’s house.’

  ‘I should be accustomed to persecution!’ the Prince said, with a dramatic gesture. ‘My God, have I not been persecuted enough already by the Bolsheviki?’

  ‘No knowing, I can’t say, sir, but you won’t get persecuted by Bolsheviks in this country, that I do know; though if you refuse to answer my questions you stand a very good chance of ending up inside a police cell.’

  ‘I did not know that my watch was slow!’ the Prince cried. ‘It was in innocence that I showed it to that woman! What would you? Do I know this place? Was I conducted to the doctor’s house? It is not easy to remember exactly what is told one! Of the murder I know nothing! But nothing!’

  ‘Oh! So you admit that your watch was slow, sir?’

  ‘It was slow, yes, but I did not then know it! Listen, for I will tell you all! It is true that I left this house at a quarter-to-five. I asked of Mr Carter the way to the doctor’s house, and he told me, but I forget. I remember that I shall come to a T-road, but there is no sign-post, and I do not recall which way I must turn. I turn to the right, but there is no village. I go slowly, but when in two – three – miles there is still no village, I am sure that I have taken the wrong turning. I come to a cross-road, and I see at last a sign-post, which tells me I have come away from Stilhurst. I turn the auto, therefore, and I go back. That is all!’

  ‘That’s all very well, sir, but when you fetched up at the doctor’s house after all this joy-riding, weren’t you a bit surprised to find it was only five-to-five by your watch?’

  ‘It didn’t signify. I did not take count of the time. Perhaps I was a little surprised, but what matter?’

  ‘When did you discover that your watch was wrong?’

  ‘Later. When I came back to this house.’

  ‘Oh you did, did you, sir? Then why did you tell Inspector Cook nothing about it? Why didn’t you tell him what you’ve just told me?’

  The Prince flung out his hand. ‘But put yourself in my place! What a situation! What horror did I find here! I have done nothing, I am innocent! Must I say then that when Mr Carter was murdered I have no alibi? It is not reasonable! It is folly! I see that it will be better not to divulge the truth.’

  ‘Well, that may be your idea of what’s best, but it’s not mine!’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Ah, you do not understand! You do not appreciate the predicament in which I find myself ! Of what use to tell the police of the truth? It is not helpful; it will only confuse them, for I know nothing of the murder. It is clear to me, moreover, that it will lead to much unpleasantness if I speak the truth. It is more comfortable, much wiser, to tell a little lie. You cannot blame me for that!’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re mistaken, sir, because if this story of yours is true, you’ve acted very wrongly.’

  ‘Ah, you are blind, stupid! You have no imagination, no understanding! What does it matter where I may be at the time of this murder? Ask, instead, where was Mr Steel? Where was Miss Cliffe? Did I not say you would become confused if it was known that I have not an alibi? Or is it because I am not English that you desire to make a case against me? Yes, I perceive what is in your mind! You say to yourself, “This man is a foreigner, therefore I do not trust him.”’

  The Inspector strove with himself. ‘Of all the—! Look here, sir, on your own showing you’ve told me a lot of lies, not to mention what you told Inspector Cook, and now you turn round and say I don’t believe you because you’re a foreigner! Whatever next!’

  ‘I have shown you that it is of no account that I have concealed from you the truth. It is, in fact, for the best. You have made a mistake to drag from me the fact that I have lied to you, and you will regret it, for you think now that it is I who have killed Carter, and that is not so. Ah, but it is folly! Why, I demand of you, should I kill him?’

  ‘By all I can hear, sir, you’re very friendly with Mrs Carter,’ said Hemingway significantly.

  ‘You think that I killed Carter that I might marry Mrs Carter?’

  ‘Well,’ said Hemingway, ‘that’s why you’d like me to think Mr Steel did it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, my friend, you are quite mistaken! No, no, it was not necessary that I should kill Carter, I assure you! You must know that he was not an estimable man, not a good husband, not any longer attractive, you understand. The affair would have arranged itself better, for Mrs Carter might so easily have divorced him. You perceive? You are a man of the world; I can speak frankly to you. I desire to marry Mrs Carter: I do not make a secret of it. But I do not like that Carter should be murdered; I prefer infinitely a divorce. It is reasonable that, is it not? Consider!’

  The unexpected candour of this speech quite took the Inspector’s breath away. The Prince’s face had cleared; in his voice was a note of unmistakable sincerity.

  ‘Am I to understand, sir, that Mrs Carter was intending to divorce her husband?’

  The Prince’s eyelids drooped; his sidelong look, and the gleam of a smile seemed to take the Inspector into his confidence. He spread out his well-manicured hands. ‘Gently, gently, if you please! You wish me to tell you that it was arranged already, but you must know that these things do not arrange themselves in the flash of an eye. I am entirely honest with you, and I say that all was in good train. I do not flatter myself when I say that I am a more desirable parti than this poor Carter. What would you? He is already growing old; he drinks; he spends the money that is his wife’s on other women; he is not even amusing! Above all, she does not love him. Consider again! I am not old; I do not become a little fuddled every night; I do not forget to accord to Mrs Carter that admiration which is her due. I am poor, yes, but I am a prince, and to be, instead of Mrs Carter, the Princess Varasashvili, would be a great thing, would it not? Ah, yes, one may say that the divorce was sure! You will see that I am perfectly frank with you, Inspector.’

  ‘You certainly are!’ said Hemingway, almost bereft of speech.

  ‘It is best. Between men of the world these little affairs are easily understood. The matter is now made plain, I think? You have no more to ask me?’

  ‘At the moment, I haven’t,’ said Hemingway. ‘But I wouldn’t like you to run away with the idea that telling me these highly remarkable plans of yours has cleared you, sir, because it hasn’t. Do you use a nail-file?’

  The suddenness of the question startled the Prince. He replied evasively: ‘I do not know why you should ask!’

  ‘No, nor I don’t know why you shouldn’t answer,’ said the Inspector.

  The Prince flushed. ‘Let me tell you, I do not like your manner!’

  ‘Well, since we’re being so nice and open,’ retorted the Inspector, ‘I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like your story, sir. You’d better consider your position.’

  The Prince said uneasily
: ‘You ask me what I do not understand. Certainly I use a nail-file! Why should I not tell you, since you are so curious?’

  ‘Don’t happen to have lost one lately, do you, sir?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Ah, well!’ said the Inspector. ‘Then I won’t detain you any longer.’

  He waited until the door had closed behind the Prince before turning an expressive gaze upon his Sergeant. That grave-eyed man shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t have believed it!’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I reckon we’re seeing life,’ agreed Hemingway. ‘Wonderful how frank and above-board he got as soon as he found he wasn’t going over big with me!’

  ‘Do you think he did it, sir?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it above him. All the same, this is a highly intricate case, and it won’t do for you and me to go jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘He’s a real nasty piece of work,’ said the Sergeant sternly. ‘He fairly made my gorge rise!’

  ‘Yes, I never have thought that new way they have at the zoo of keeping snakes was safe,’ said Hemingway. ‘If I weren’t a very conscientious man, I’d arrest his Highness right now, and go off and get a bit of supper, which is what I need.’

  The Sergeant frowned. ‘I wouldn’t say, myself, we’d got quite enough on him, sir,’ he suggested diffidently.

  ‘That’s another reason why I’m not arresting him,’ said the Inspector.

  He went out into the hall. The door into the drawing-room stood open, and he could see Vicky Fanshawe, perched on the arm of a chair. He walked across the hall, and went into the drawing-room. Only the two girls and Hugh Dering were there, for Ermyntrude had gone upstairs to dress for dinner, and the Prince seemed to have followed her example.

  ‘I do hope I’m not intruding,’ said Hemingway cheerfully. ‘Of course, if I am, you’ve only got to tell me.’

  ‘And then I suppose you’d go away?’ said Vicky.

  ‘I’d be in a very awkward position,’ confessed the Inspector. ‘Because, as it happens, I want to ask both you young ladies one or two questions.’

  ‘Right, then I’ll clear out,’ said Hugh, knocking out his pipe, and putting it in his pocket.

  Vicky flung out a hand. ‘Don’t leave us!’ she said throbbingly. ‘Can’t you see that we may need you?’

  ‘Can it, Vicky!’ said Hugh, unimpressed.

  ‘I wish you would stay,’ said Mary nervously.

  ‘I’m sure I’ve no objection,’ said the Inspector. ‘There’s no need for anyone to get the shudders yet. What I want to know first, is whether it’s true that you, miss, are Mr Carter’s heiress?’

  Mary stared at him in dawning dismay. ‘Who’s been telling you that nonsense?’

  ‘Alexis!’ said Vicky tensely.

  ‘Well, that’s what I want to know, miss. Is it nonsense, or had Mr Carter got a fortune to leave?’

  ‘No. At least, he himself was heir to a lot of money. It’s quite true that it comes to me. He always said he should leave it to me, and, as a matter of fact, I believe he made out some kind of a will, which two of the servants witnessed. I don’t know whether it was legal, of course.’

  ‘Just a moment!’ interposed Hugh. ‘What is all this about Carter’s expectations? Something was said about them the other day, but where are you supposed to come into it?’

  ‘It’s Wally’s Aunt Clara,’ explained Mary. ‘She’s been in a lunatic asylum for years, but she’s frightfully rich, and Wally was her next-of-kin. I believe she’s going on for eighty, so she must die fairly soon. Not that I ever set much store by it. I mean, Wally’s expectations were practically a family joke.’

  ‘But it’s you who’ll come into the money now that Mr Carter’s dead?’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it,’ replied Mary, looking rather scared.

  ‘Do you mind if we get this straightened out?’ said Hugh. ‘I frankly haven’t got the hang of it. What relation to you is this aunt of Carter’s?’

  ‘Oh, she isn’t my aunt!’

  ‘No, that I’d grasped. How does the relationship work?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think it does really. She’s a Carter, you see. I suppose, in a way, I’m connected with her through Wally, but she isn’t actually a relation. She wasn’t actually Wally’s aunt either, though he always called her aunt. She was a cousin.’

  Hugh said patiently: ‘What exactly was your relationship to Carter?’

  ‘I was his first cousin. My father’s elder sister married Wally’s father.’

  ‘Then you’ve no Carter blood at all?’

  ‘Oh no, none!’

  ‘In that case,’ said Hugh, ‘it’s just as well that you never set much store by Aunt Clara’s money. You won’t get it.’

  ‘Won’t I? Are you sure?’ said Mary, bewildered.

  ‘How you must be enjoying yourself!’ said Vicky, addressing herself to Hugh. ‘You practically couldn’t be more blighting! Poor Mary, do you mind frightfully?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so. It never really entered into my calculations.’

  ‘I’m bound to say this is all very surprising,’ said the Inspector. ‘I suppose you’re sure of your facts, sir?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! A man can’t bequeath property which he doesn’t possess.’

  ‘Well, but who will get it?’ asked Mary. ‘After all, I was Wally’s nearest surviving relative!’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it. When the old lady dies, the money will go to her next-of-kin. You don’t come into it at all.’

  ‘But, Hugh, she hasn’t got any next-of-kin now that Wally’s dead! I know Wally told me she was an only child, and she certainly never got married.’

  ‘My dear girl, it doesn’t make the least difference to you. You’re out of it altogether. Sorry, but there it is!’

  ‘Is that the law?’ said Vicky incredulously.

  ‘That, my fair one, is the law,’ replied Hugh.

  ‘Well, I think it’s all for the best,’ said Vicky, ‘and a complete sell for Alexis, because the Inspector now sees that Mary hadn’t got a motive. Don’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘No,’ said Mary. ‘No, it doesn’t clear me, because I didn’t know about this next-of-kin business. Oh dear, what a nightmare it’s beginning to be! But surely you can’t think I’d shoot my cousin!’

  ‘Darling Mary, no one who’d ever seen you with a gun could possibly think you’d fired a shot in your life,’ said Vicky, with lovely frankness.

  ‘It’s a funny thing, but it’s not often you’ll find a lady who won’t behave as though she thought a gun would bite her,’ remarked the Inspector. ‘But I understand you’re not like that, miss?’

  Vicky’s seraphic blue eyes surveyed him for a moment. ‘Did the Prince tell you that?’ she asked softly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who told me, miss. Do you shoot?’

  ‘No! I mean, yes, in a way I do,’ said Vicky, becoming flustered all at once. ‘But I practically never hit anything! Do I, Mary? Mary, you know it was only one of my acts, and I’m not really a good shot at all! If I hit anything, it’s quite by accident. Mary, why are you looking at me like that?’

  Mary, who had been taken by surprise by the sudden loss of poise in Vicky, stammered: ‘I wasn’t! I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about!’

  ‘You think I did it!’ Vicky cried, springing to her feet. ‘You’ve always thought so! Well, you can’t prove it, any of you! You’ll never be able to prove it!’

  ‘Vicky!’ gasped Mary, quite horrified.

  Vicky brushed her aside, and rounded tempestuously upon the Inspector. ‘The dog isn’t evidence. He often doesn’t bark at people. I don’t wear hair-slides, I’d nothing to gain, nothing! Oh, leave me alone, leave me alone!’

 
The Inspector’s bright, quick-glancing eyes, which had been fixed on her with a kind of bird-like interest, moved towards Mary, saw on her face a look of the blankest astonishment, and finally came to rest on Hugh, who seemed to be torn between anger and amusement.

  Vicky, who had cast herself down on the sofa, raised her face from her hands, and demanded: ‘Why don’t you say something?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to learn my part, miss,’ replied the Inspector promptly.

  ‘Inspector, it’s a privilege to know you!’ said Hugh.

  Vicky said fiercely, between her teeth: ‘If you ruin my act, I’ll murder you!’

  ‘Look here, miss, I haven’t come to play at amateur theatricals!’ protested the Inspector. ‘Nor this isn’t the moment to be larking about!’

  Vicky flew up off the sofa. ‘Answer me, answer me! I was on the scene of the crime, wasn’t I?’

  ‘So I’ve been told, but if you were to ask me—’

  ‘My dog didn’t bark. That’s important. That other Inspector saw that, and you do too. Don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t deny it’s a point. It’s a very interesting point, what’s more, but it doesn’t necessarily mean—’

  ‘I can shoot. Anyone will tell you that! I’m not afraid of guns.’

  ‘You don’t seem to me to be afraid of anything,’ said Hemingway with some asperity. ‘In fact, it’s a great pity you’re not, because the way you’re carrying on, trying to convict yourself of murder, is highly confusing, and will very likely land you in trouble!’

  ‘There is a case against me, isn’t there? You didn’t think so at first, but the Prince told you that I could shoot, and you began to wonder. Didn’t you?’

  ‘All right, we’ll say I did, and there is a case against you. Anything for a quiet life!’

  Vicky stamped her foot. ‘Don’t laugh! If I’m not a suspect, you must be mad! Quick, I can hear my mother coming! Am I a suspect or am I not?’

  ‘Very well, miss, since you will have it! You are a suspect!’

  ‘Angel!’ breathed Vicky, with the most melting look through her lashes, and turned towards the door.