Death in the House

by Anthony Berkeley

  The Assistant Commissioner was frowning in a concentration of thought. ‘It might be a try-on, you know,’ he said slowly. ‘A guess in the dark. After all, it’s not so unlikely.’

  ‘Almost obvious, in fact,’ the Commissioner agreed, not without relief. ‘Yes, I shouldn’t be surprised if you’re right.’

  Lord Arthur, having cause to remember a similar guess the accuracy of which had startled him more than it need have done, nodded his assent too.

  ‘But if they don’t know for certain…?’ he said tentatively. ‘I mean, if there’s anything in the theory that it’s done during the passage through the lobby, how could they make sure of getting the right man?’

  ‘Humph!’ The Commissioner seated himself on the edge of a table and stared at his toes. ‘I’m not satisfied with that theory. I still believe it’s done somehow on the floor of the House. But how? That’s the devil. I don’t believe this chap Ghaijana did it himself – fact is, I don’t see how he could. He must have had someone working under him.’

  ‘And that someone’s still at large,’ muttered the Assistant Commissioner.

  The Superintendent, who had been to interrogate the men outside, edged gently into the room. The Commissioner looked up.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘They’re all agreed, sir. Except Lord Arthur, no one’s been near the front door since Mr Comstock left, about three-quarters of an hour ago.’

  ‘Mr Comstock, eh? Did he come to see the Prime Minister?’

  ‘No, sir. I believe he came to see Miss Franklin.’

  ‘Call that butler in, Keat, there’s a good fellow. We must get these times as pat as we can.’

  Dean, summoned from his interview with the second Superintendent and attended by both those great men, was as helpful as he could be. The times of Lacy’s arrival, at 4.09 p.m., and Comstock’s departure, at 4.13, were fixed by the plain-clothes men, as was Lord Arthur’s own arrival at 4.34. Dean was almost sure that there had been no letter in the box at 4.34, but was not prepared to swear that he had looked after opening the door to Lord Arthur. He could and did swear, however, that he had cleared the box when he let Mr Comstock out, at 4.13. He remembered quite well, because Mr Comstock, having been helped on with his coat and handed his hat, had delayed two or three minutes to adjust his tie in the looking-glass, and Dean, not wishing to hold the door open on a cold day, had occupied the time in clearing the box and laying the letters on the hall table.

  Mr Comstock, moreover, Dean explained, had not seen the Prime Minister. He had arrived at a few minutes after three o’clock, and had spent all the time with Miss Isabel, in the drawing-room. Lord Arthur, who had more than an idea as to the purport of the interview, wondered intensely whether Isabel had carried out her intention of breaking the engagement or whether she had allowed herself to be persuaded to continue it. He felt more than ever annoyed with Lacy, still sprawling tactlessly on the sofa upstairs.

  ‘Well, perhaps I’d better see the Prime Minister,’ observed Sir Hubert, not altogether happily. ‘Dean, will you find out if he’s available? You can say it’s important.’

  The butler withdrew, and Sir Hubert gave orders for further inquiries to be made during his absence concerning the delivery of the letter, suggesting that one of the Private Secretaries might have information.

  Through the half-open door of the morning-room Lord Arthur saw Lacy descending the stairs alone. He waited a few moments for the coast to clear, and then hurried upstairs.

  As he entered the drawing-room, Isabel jumped up.

  ‘Arthur, what’s happened?’ she demanded in an anxious voice.

  ‘How do you know anything’s happened?’ Lord Arthur countered.

  ‘I feel it. Besides: I’ve rung twice for Dean and he hasn’t come. Arthur… what is it?’

  Lord Arthur scarcely hesitated. ‘Another anonymous letter.’ He briefly explained the facts, without however mentioning the naming of the Prime Minister in the note. Isabel was still in ignorance of her father’s intentions in that respect.

  To Lord Arthur’s pleasure Isabel seized on the vital point at once.

  ‘But who delivered the note?’ she demanded.

  ‘That,’ said Lord Arthur, ‘is precisely the question.’ He hesitated. ‘I suppose Dean’s above suspicion?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Isabel answered with conviction.

  Lord Arthur sighed. ‘I’m glad to hear you say so. And yet it’s a pity, you know. We’ve only his word for the times of the clearing of the box. If only he’d been bribed to produce the letter at a certain moment…’

  ‘Yes, I see that,’ Isabel said sensibly. ‘And I suppose really everyone in the house must be more or less under suspicion.’ She laughed, without mirth. ‘It’s really rather an amusing situation, isn’t it? Everyone at No. 10, Downing Street, under suspicion. Of all houses in England, that ought to be above suspicion!’

  ‘Sir Hubert suggested one of your father’s secretaries might know something.’ Lord Arthur stiffened as a sudden rather vague memory came to him. ‘Isabel, what do you know about young Verreker?’

  ‘Tommy? Not very much. He’s a bit too good-looking to be good for him. That’s all. Why?’

  Lord Arthur frowned. ‘I seem to have heard something about him. Goes to nightclubs rather a bit, doesn’t he? Or used to?’

  ‘I don’t know. I dare say. I should imagine he’s the type that’s always careful to be seen at the right places. He goes to Ascot and all that, of course. But father says he’s not by any means such a fool as you might think. He works hard, and he’s determined to get on. Of course he’s hard up at present, and will be till his father dies, but…’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Lord Arthur.

  ‘What do you wonder?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. In any case, the police will see to it. But, Isabel!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is one allowed to ask? About Comstock…?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve broken the engagement,’ Isabel replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘It would never have done, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’ Lord Arthur answered sincerely. ‘And I’m only too glad you realised in time. Comstock’s a good fellow, no doubt, but he’s not your sort. You ought to marry…’

  ‘Whom?’ Isabel asked with amusement.

  Lord Arthur looked at her. In her dark frock, with her brown hair parted in the middle and the slightly quizzical expression on her face, she was (he thought) deucedly attractive. Yes, Isabel would make some man a very charming as well as a very capable wife. No, on second thoughts ‘charm’ was not quite the word for Isabel. But she had a quality just as valuable, perhaps even more so: companionability. Isabel would make a real friend to her husband, as well as a wife; and that, Lord Arthur surmised, was rare. But what sort of man ought she to marry?

  ‘I’m blessed if I know, my dear,’ he said with a little laugh.

  ‘Well,’ said Isabel, ‘if you ever find out, you’ll tell me, won’t you?’

  ‘As your oldest male friend,’ promised Lord Arthur, ‘and almost brother, I’ll do just that.’

  Isabel looked as if she were about to add something. Instead, she changed her mind with disconcerting swiftness.

  ‘Anyhow, this is no time for fooling,’ she said, almost tartly. ‘Tell me, Arthur. Father won’t give me an answer. Has he decided to speak himself on Monday?’

  ‘I… what makes you think that?’ Lord Arthur stammered, for the moment taken aback.

  ‘He said something about it the other day. It would be just like him, too.’ Isabel searched his face. ‘Arthur, he does mean to! I can see you know. Oh, Arthur, what are we going to do? I can’t try to stop him. It’s his plain duty. But… do you think they’ll kill him too?’

  ‘No, no, of course not,’ Lord Arthur tried to comfort her. ‘We’ve got the head of the bunch under lock and key, you know. They may go on threatening, but they’ll be helpless without him. No one else in the House, you see. There’ll be no more deaths, I’m sure.�
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  ‘You think he ought to speak, then?’ Isabel asked piteously.

  ‘My dear,’ returned Lord Arthur gently, ‘if even you think so, how could I think otherwise?’

  Isabel brushed away her gathering tears with an impatient gesture.

  ‘Yes, of course he must. And I mustn’t hinder him in any way. This is no time for personal feelings. But, Arthur, are you quite sure Mr Lacy wasn’t right? It must obviously be a big conspiracy. Don’t you think someone will take Dr Ghaijana’s place? And even now we don’t know how Dr Ghaijana managed to kill those two in the House itself. Do you think it was really done in the lobby, as Mr Lacy says it must have been?’

  ‘Frankly,’ Lord Arthur confessed, ‘I don’t know how far to trust Lacy’s conclusions. He argues very plausibly, but he’s very much prejudiced. What on earth did the fellow want to come and bother you for, Isabel? Has he ever been here before?’

  ‘Never. I don’t even know him well. Of course I’ve met him often enough, at receptions and so on. But I don’t think I like him very much, Arthur. He has such a queer manner. You never know what he’s going to do or say next.’

  ‘He uses scent and paints his fingernails,’ said Lord Arthur with disgust. ‘Can’t understand it at all. Very decent family, too. Oh, well, modern generation, I suppose.’

  ‘You talk as if you were at least sixty, Arthur,’ Isabel smiled. ‘After all, I’m of the modern generation, too, you know. At least, I think I can still count myself in it – just.’

  ‘But you don’t behave like ‘em,’ Lord Arthur told her earnestly. ‘You’re just right. You don’t go about with a bare, shiny face, but on the other hand you don’t plaster it an inch deep in make-up. And thank heaven you don’t paint your nails.’

  Isabel contemplated her delicately coral-pink nails with a smile.

  ‘I hate to shatter an illusion, Arthur, but I do. The colour comes out of a bottle.’

  ‘I mean, blood-red. Any woman who paints her nails blood-red,’ pronounced Lord Arthur, with complete conviction, ‘is not only bad form, but a fool.’

  Isabel laughed. ‘I think that’s perhaps a little sweeping, though I certainly don’t care for blood-red nails myself. But you were asking about Mr Lacy. I think he came to suggest that I ought to try to persuade father to drop the Bill. I can’t imagine why everyone should think that I have the slightest influence in a matter of real importance. They simply can’t understand father if they do. Under that benevolent, elder-statesman appearance of his he’s got a will like a steel bar.’

  Lord Arthur was meditating. ‘Lacy seemed in earnest?’

  ‘Very much so. I got the impression that he knows something, or at any rate can make a very shrewd guess. He-he frightened me in a way. He seemed so absolutely sure that the Terrorists weren’t finished yet. In fact I don’t think he attached really very much importance to the arrest of Dr Ghaijana.’

  ‘You know how he helped us in that? He pretended to me that it was just a logical deduction, but I think you’re right, Isabel. If he doesn’t actually know something, he has a very shrewd inkling. He told me that he made contact with the Separatists when he was in India. You say he frightened you. Was it a case of fright communicating itself? I mean, did he seem alarmed himself?’

  ‘It’s difficult to say. You know what an odd manner he has; one can never tell quite what he’s thinking. But he certainly got very much worked up, and.. .yes, I shouldn’t be surprised if he was a bit frightened himself. At any rate he was a good deal more vehement than I should expect anyone on the Opposition front bench to be. I’m explaining very badly. What I mean is, it was almost as if he had something personal at stake.’

  Lord Arthur nodded. ‘He does know something. I’m sure of it. He won’t tell us, probably out of some misplaced loyalty or other; but he’ll co-operate when he sees the chance, as over Ghaijana. I wonder… couldn’t we possibly get some kind of a pointer to his knowledge? What about a cable, asking for full information on his trip to India? They’re sure to have kept some sort of tabs on him over there. In fact there may even be a report in the files at the India Office.’

  ‘It’s worth trying,’ Isabel agreed. ‘Anything’s worth trying.’

  ‘I’ll rout out some of the staff and get them on the job at once,’ Lord Arthur promised, and made for the door.

  ‘And… and come back here some time,’ Isabel asked him. ‘You’re about the only person I can talk freely to, and I am really terribly worried about father. You’re not going away this weekend, I suppose? Could you come to dinner?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lord Arthur said warmly. ‘There’s nothing I’d like better.’

  He hurried downstairs.

  Dean was hovering in the hall, and Lord Arthur noticed that the old man was looking distressed.

  As the butler held his coat with hands that were palpably shaking, Lord Arthur paused to rally him, but the other cut short his words.

  ‘Oh, my lord, haven’t you heard? I don’t know what things are coming to, I don’t indeed. They’ve arrested Mr Verreker.’

  chapter fifteen

  Bombshell in Whitehall

  ‘That will do, Dean.’ The voice of the Assistant Commissioner behind him made the old man start. ‘You’re in a position of great confidence here, and you must learn to keep a shut mouth. In any case, Mr Verreker has not been arrested. He has merely consented to go back to the Superintendent’s office to answer a few questions. You may go.’

  Dean withdrew, looking much abashed, and Lord Arthur followed the other back into the morning-room. Sir Hubert had not yet returned from his interview with the Prime Minister.

  ‘Do you really think Verreker’s implicated?’ Lord Arthur asked as soon as the door was shut behind himself and the Assistant Commissioner.

  The latter shrugged his shoulders. He was a lawyer, with a distinguished career at the bar behind him, but he retained little of the legal manner.

  ‘Heaven knows,’ he said. ‘Someone in this house is implicated, that seems clear enough; and at present young Verreker looks the most likely candidate. I hope it’s not so, for the sake of his people.’ Tommy Verreker’s father came of a family of soldiers; his grandfather had commanded an army in the last European War, and still survived to enjoy the peerage and grant which his services had won him; his father would probably command an army in the next European war. His elder brother might even command an army in the European war after that.

  ‘How do you mean, he’s the most likely candidate?’

  ‘He’s broke.’ The Assistant Commissioner took a cigarette from the case Lord Arthur offered him and struck a match. ‘We’ve had the tabs on him, of course, since this business began, and everyone else too. He went to the Jews about a year ago and borrowed pretty heavily on his expectations. He’s been having difficulty in making the payments. He’s a spender. That’s all.’

  Lord Arthur was shocked. ‘But you can’t think that one of the Prime Minister’s own Private Secretaries would…’

  ‘I’m prepared to think anything, my dear fellow. Aren’t you? Someone’s implicated all right. Let’s hope it’s no one worse than a Private Secretary. Good heavens, man, don’t you realise that when the full story of this comes out it’s going to make the biggest scandal in the history of this country? The Dreyfus affair will be nothing to it. There’s treason in high places all right. I’ve got to such a state now that I’m ready to suspect the Prime Minister himself if anyone gave me a ha’porth of evidence.’

  ‘It’s a pretty bad show,’ Lord Arthur muttered. The other’s words had upset him more than he cared to show. Treason is an ugly word.

  ‘Pretty bad show, chaps; pretty bad show,’ quoted the Assistant Commissioner with savage mockery. His nerves were obviously on edge.

  Lord Arthur looked up. ‘Have you had tabs on me too?’

  ‘Of course we have. What do you think? You were the first.’

  The entry of Sir Hubert cut short any reply Lord Arthur might have made. He nodde
d to Lord Arthur and spoke curtly to his assistant.

  ‘Come on, let’s get back. There’s nothing more we can do here. Keat’s staying here.’

  Lord Arthur ventured a question. ‘The Prime Minister, Lesley…?’

  ‘He took it very well. But he’s a bit rattled, naturally. You might go up. He’s alone.’

  Lord Arthur nodded, and rang for Dean.

  He had a plan, which he wished to lay before the Prime Minister.

  When Dean took him upstairs a few minutes later he found the Prime Minister, fully dressed now, but still by the doctor’s orders confined to the house, apparently quite composed. His greeting was as friendly as ever, but Lord Arthur’s delicate conscience suspected a question behind it. He answered it at once.

  ‘I can’t imagine how they knew, sir. Lesley, of course, won’t have mentioned it; not even his staff knew. You must be thinking that I let it out somehow.’

  ‘Of course I don’t think anything of the sort, Arthur,’ the Prime Minister assured him smoothly. ‘Lesley suggested that it was just a guess in the dark, and I quite agree.’ He waved the younger man into a chair.

  ‘Well, I did let it out in a way,’ Lord Arthur confessed, from the depths of a big leather armchair. He explained how Mansel had twitted him on the way in which his face had given him away.

  ‘And I’m afraid I haven’t learnt my lesson,’ he admitted, ruefully. ‘I gave it away to Isabel in just the same way. She guessed, and my denials weren’t convincing.’

  ‘Well, there you are, you see,’ said the Prime Minister. ‘Where two people can guess, two thousand can.’ He paused. ‘So Isabel knows, does she?’

  ‘I’m afraid she does, sir.’

  ‘And what did she say about it?’

  ‘She… was upset, naturally.’

  The Prime Minister laughed. ‘Mansel was right, Arthur. You’ve still to learn how to dissemble successfully. Isabel was upset, but she approved. Isn’t that so?’