Another Little Christmas Murder

by Lorna Nicholl Morgan

  ‘What’s going on, old man? People rushing in and out, and lights flashing about in the grounds. Have you all gone nuts, or what?’

  ‘Something of the kind,’ Inigo said, and got a firm grip on Theresa’s mink coat as she was about to dive beneath Charlie’s arm.

  ‘Well, if you prefer playing touch to driving to Cudge, don’t let me stop you,’ the journalist said. ‘But I got the car out and ran it round to the front and it’s all ready when you are. I didn’t want to freeze to death out there, so I just nipped in for a warm.’

  ‘Mr Best,’ Theresa said, through gritted teeth, ‘will you please stand out of my way? And Inigo, I must ask you not to molest me in this undignified fashion.’

  ‘Has it come to that, old boy?’ Best asked, with a grin and a reproving shake of the head. But the grin faded as Theresa reached up and smacked him smartly across the face, twisted out of Inigo’s grasp and streaked through the dining-room and out of the french windows. Inigo plunged after, calling over his shoulder:

  ‘Sorry, Charlie. We’re having a slight family argument. See you in a minute. We may need that car later.’

  Theresa must have the eyes of a cat, he thought. Outside it was pitch dark, and the snow was sloshy and slippery underfoot. But over to the left, where they had cleared a broad driveway as far as the garages, the sidelights of a car pierced the darkness. Theresa’s car, probably, or that fellow Crane’s. She would be making for that. Of all the … He thought many bitter things as, aided by his lamp, he hurtled through half melted snow up to his ankles. The sound of the engine being started reached his ears as he drew nearer, and then the headlights were switched on. He made a last jump forward, tripped over something lying in the snow, and sprawled face downwards. Picking himself up, he wheeled round, the light held high above his head, and discovered the body of a man. He brought the light lower, and saw that the upturned face was that of Ashley. He let out a shout capable of carrying far and wide, and reached the car as Theresa was pressing an experimental foot upon the accelerator. She turned to him impatiently and asked:

  ‘What is it now?’

  ‘Maybe I’m theatrical,’ he said, one foot upon the running-board, ‘but Ashley is lying unconscious a few yards away. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?’

  He could not tell from her expression whether she did or not, and at that moment the unmistakable figure of Vauxhall slouched into view from out of the surrounding darkness. He said:

  ‘The lady doesn’t know anything, and neither do I.’

  ‘How long have you been out here?’ Inigo asked.

  ‘Longer than I care to think about. I got the car out, like she asked me to, and that’s all I know.’

  ‘You didn’t see Mr Ashley there when you came out?’

  ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  Inigo’s shout had now brought to the scene Charlie Best, stumbling from the direction of the house, and Bob Snell and Ridley, who might have come from anywhere, each carrying an electric torch.

  ‘Over there,’ Inigo said, and indicated the spot where Ashley lay. ‘We’d better get him into the house, before he passes out with cold.’ He added to Theresa, ‘You’ll come along too.’

  ‘It in no way concerns me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to Cudge. So will you please take your big foot …’

  But she was to learn that being small had its disadvantages. Without any apparent effort, Inigo opened the door, leaned over and whisked her out of the car and set her on the ground beside him.

  ‘Not before I’ve talked to you,’ he said.

  She stood there, speechless and shaking, but whether from cold or fear or anger it would have been difficult to say. Bob Snell came ploughing his way across the intervening space to them.

  ‘Someone’s slugged ’im,’ he said hoarsely. ‘There’s somethin’ ruddy funny goin’ on around ’ere, and I’m goin’ to get the police.’

  Saying which he pushed past Inigo and Theresa and climbed into the car. She said coldly:

  ‘Not in my car, Mr Snell. I’m driving to Cudge, and I’ll call in at the police station on my way, but I’m going alone.’

  ‘Sorry, lady,’ he said, but there was no real apology in the phrase. ‘You can drive if you like, it don’t make no difference to me. But there’s somethin’ barmy goin’ on, and I ain’t standin’ for it.’

  ‘I think we’ll talk this over before we get in the police …’ Inigo was beginning when they heard Ridley’s voice yelling:

  ‘God Almighty, Look what I’ve found.’

  Mechanically and with some speed, Inigo moved in that direction, a few yards from where Best was trying unaided to lift Ashley’s inert body. Ridley was shining his torch upon the snow, where a patch of blood was clearly visible. Vauxhall, kneeling beside him, said:

  ‘It’s blood, all right.’

  ‘Suppose it is?’ Inigo retorted. ‘You’ve seen blood before, haven’t you? No need to yell like a maniac.’ He turned on the instant, but was too late. Theresa had already slipped beneath the driving wheel of the car, and it shot forward as if entered for a race. Frustrated and angry, he stood looking after the rear-light as the vehicle slid past the house and took the corner into the driveway. He swore. Best came up and said:

  ‘Before we all go nuts, d’you think we might get Ashley into the house? He’s had a conk on the head that isn’t doing him any good.’

  He was right, Inigo thought. It was not much good giving chase to Theresa, with a start like she had and a car such as the one she was driving. She would be coming back, anyway, and when she did … Meanwhile, Ashley might be dying, for all he knew. He turned and caught the arm of Vauxhall, who seemed about to fade into the blackness.

  ‘Here, you and Ridley get him up to the house,’ Inigo said. He would feel better with these two safely in a lighted room, instead of playing ducks and drakes with them in the darkness of the grounds. Vauxhall began, ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘Carry him in, blast you!’ Inigo roared, and without further protest they stooped and lifted Ashley between them and went towards the house, with Inigo and Best following. The latter said in an undertone, ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ Inigo said. ‘If we can bring Ashley round, perhaps he’ll be able to tell us something.’

  In the drawing-room, they laid the unconscious man upon the couch. Mr Carpenter, who had been sitting before the cosy fire, rose shakily, a glass of whisky in one hand, and peering across at Ashley out of bloodshot eyes, muttered, ‘What’s this? Another little murder?’

  ‘You shut up,’ Vauxhall said, and as Best and Inigo looked round for some means of revival, he moved adroitly to the communicating door and stood with his back to it. In his hand had appeared a useful size in revolvers. Ridley, who had observed this manoeuvre with interest, leaned upon the back of the couch and waited expectantly. Vauxhall went on, ‘That’s all for tonight, gents. You can stop worrying who did it, because I did it. He was all fixed to monkey with the car again, so I slugged him. Unsolicited confession. He’s a split. I frisked him, so I know.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Charlie Best exclaimed. His tone was inappropriately mild. ‘Is that thing you’re holding loaded?’

  ‘You’ll find out if you try anything funny. Ridley! Lock all the bloody doors and take the keys and hop out and get the bloody car started.’

  ‘Which bloody car?’ Ridley asked, moving quickly to obey the first part of his instructions.

  ‘The one in the front, you fool. The other’s not going.’

  A shout of indignation came from Inigo, who had been listening as if stunned. But this suggested act of open piracy broke the spell put upon him by the theatrical-looking weapon in Vauxhall’s hand. He really was the most versatile of butlers. Inigo could have kicked himself for overlooking Dylis’s advice to be wary. He said:

  ‘Not my car. If you want to get anywhere in a hurry, try running.’

  Vauxhall was amused, in a sour kind of way.

&nbs
p; ‘I can do that, too,’ he said. ‘But meantime I’ll take the car.’

  ‘After we worked on it like slaves all day? Not likely. I don’t want it messed up again.’ Inigo, genuinely annoyed about the car, was also wondering whether he could make a dive round the couch and tackle Vauxhall by the legs. He decided he could, if he acted quickly.

  ‘I didn’t mess it up, he did,’ Vauxhall said, with a wave of his free hand in the direction of Ashley. Then seeing the look on Inigo’s face, he added, ‘Stay where you are, or it’ll be the worse for you. Carpenter! Come on, you drunken old swine. We’ve got to get out of here.’

  He moved a little to one side to allow Ridley to pass through into the dining-room. They heard the latter lock the door in there leading on to the passage, and go out through the french windows. Mr Carpenter, who was leaning against the mantelpiece for support, finished his whisky at one swallow, blinked several times, and said:

  ‘I’m not coming.’

  ‘Don’t be a blasted fool. Going to stay here and get jugged?’

  ‘To hell with you!’ Carpenter said, reached for the whisky bottle and proceeded to pour himself another drink. The neck of the bottle rattled against the glass despite his efforts to keep it steady.

  ‘Let me give you a hand with that, old boy,’ Best said. ‘Could do with a drop myself.’

  ‘Stay where you are!’ Vauxhall warned him, his voice deadly quiet. ‘Are you coming, Carpenter? I’m not leaving you behind.’

  ‘Go and blister in hell,’ the latter said. ‘I’m sick of the lot of you. I’m going to have a drink.’

  ‘For the last time, come on, or I’ll drill you.’

  The glass in one hand and the bottle in the other, Carpenter looked at the man with the gun and there was a wealth of contempt in his bleary eyes. Then with a jerking movement of his arm, he flung the bottle across the intervening space and ducked down into his chair. His aim may not have been accurate, but it was telling, for the gun was knocked clean out of Vauxhall’s hand, and neither Inigo not Best, who had been watching the interplay with close attention, was slow to grasp the opportunity. As Vauxhall sprang after his weapon, Best kicked it to one side, and Inigo brought up his fist and delivered a blow that sent the man to the ground and into the mists of oblivion.

  ‘Vauxhall meets his Waterloo,’ Best chuckled, and Inigo, looking down at his fallen adversary, said in a bemused way:

  ‘I never thought I’d have the nerve to hit a butler.’

  Mr Carpenter, observing that the situation was well under control, sat back and contentedly sipped his whisky.

  ‘And now for Ridley,’ Best said, picking up the revolver and inspecting it with interest.

  ‘But it’s my car …’ Inigo was protesting, when his comrade-in-arms cut him short by pointing to the still inanimate Ashley.

  ‘Look, that man needs attention. You’re the expert, mountaineering, rescue parties and that sort of thing. And you don’t have to have all the fun, do you? This is going to make a lovely story. “How I captured a desperado single-handed.” I’ve no idea what this is all about, but I’m enjoying it. See you presently.’ He went out.

  Somewhat disconsolate, with two unconscious bodies on his hands and another, in the shape of Mr Carpenter, well on the way, Inigo set about restoring one of them. He found an unopened bottle of brandy in the dining-room, uncorked it, poured a generous measure into a glass and held it to Ashley’s lips. Brandy, he reflected, was in great demand in this house. No wonder Theresa kept an ample supply. He would do a little restoring on himself just as soon as Ashley came round. But the blow that unfortunate man had received had obviously been delivered by a master hand. Resentfully Inigo looked down upon the fallen Vauxhall, sprawled across the carpet, and hoped, with some vindictiveness, that he would stay like that for a long time. He continued to force the life-giving liquid down Ashley’s throat, and was gratified to observe signs of revival. But Ashley’s eyes had a curiously blank expression when they opened, and he asked in a muffled voice:

  ‘Did we get him?’

  ‘He got you,’ Inigo said. And as Ashley slowly turned his head and looked about the room, he added, indicating Vauxhall, ‘but we got him.’

  ‘Not that ugly mug,’ Ashley muttered. ‘Although we want him, too. It’s Crane I’m talking about.’

  Then his head fell back and he was again unconscious.

  Chapter XVII

  There came a frenzied banging on the drawing-room door, and Dylis’s voice called:

  ‘What’s going on in there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Inigo shouted back. ‘Except that everyone’s passing out and I’m on the way. The door’s locked, and I haven’t got the key.’

  ‘Who has got it, then?’

  ‘Ridley, but he’s not here. Can’t you please go upstairs and stay there for a bit like a good girl? Just until we’ve got this all worked out?’

  ‘No.’ She kicked at the door. ‘How can I get in? Can’t you force the lock?’

  ‘Go round by the french windows,’ Mr Carpenter bellowed suddenly from the depths of his chair. ‘And shut up, some of you. I’m getting a headache with all this noise.’

  ‘You’ll have a worse one before the night’s out,’ Inigo said exasperated. ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Dyl. Go upstairs, there’s a dear. The grounds aren’t safe, and neither is anywhere else, but upstairs is better than the grounds.’ Ashley was showing no sign of revival. Inigo poured two glasses of brandy this time, and added, ‘Charlie’s out there, chasing around with a gun. I don’t think he can shoot, but he might try. That’s why it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Is he one of them, then?’ Dylis shrieked through the keyhole.

  ‘No, he’s one of us.’

  ‘Then why has he got a gun?’

  Inigo was silent, watching Ashley in some anxiety. After a moment or two, Dylis went away. But it was not very long before she appeared through the dining-room, having, on Mr Carpenter’s advice, made her way out by the back of the house and in by the french windows. She was looking calm and self-possessed, but very weary.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone in the grounds,’ she said. ‘What’s been happening?’

  ‘Nothing to what’s going to happen when I find that fellow Crane.’ Inigo rose from the side of the couch, and she saw Ashley lying there with blood on his forehead, his eyes closed. ‘Vauxhall outed Ashley and then got belligerent with a gun, so we had to out him. Theresa has driven off in her car, or Crane’s car, whichever it is, and Ridley was proposing to go off in mine, so Charlie’s gone after him with Vauxhall’s gun. I only hope he doesn’t shoot himself in the process. Why didn’t you take my advice and stay upstairs? But I might just as well argue with myself. Trust you to be in at the death.’

  Dylis stepped over Vauxhall’s recumbent body and knelt beside Ashley. She inspected his injuries with care.

  ‘I’ll get some water and bandages,’ she said. ‘Inigo, why don’t you ask Mr Carpenter about Crane? He ought to know.’

  But Mr Carpenter had drifted into profound slumber, his heavy breathing filling the quiet room.

  ‘He’s too tight to care,’ Inigo said. ‘But according to Vauxhall, Ashley’s something to do with the police.’

  ‘That’s quite possible.’ Dylis frowned, watching his ministrations to the unconscious man. ‘It would certainly account for a lot.’

  ‘And although I reckon Vauxhall as a prize liar, he’d hardly have bashed Ashley if he’d been one of them.’

  ‘No …’ Suddenly she clutched his arm. ‘Inigo! Why didn’t we think of it before? Charlie Best … he’s Crane!’

  ‘Charlie?’ Carefully Inigo put down the brandy bottle upon the table and stared at her. ‘But it’s incredible. He’s such a decent sort of bloke …’

  ‘I know … I know. You like him, so he must be all right. But don’t you see how it fits? That friendly manner of his, it could deceive anyone. And he’s quite attractive enough for a woman like Theresa to fall for him. I’ve seen them exchange
some very soft looks from time to time. I expect old Howe and Raddle are in it, too, and have skipped off already, since it seems to be every man for himself now.’

  ‘And Best was pretty quick to rush out with that gun,’ Inigo agreed thoughtfully. ‘A neat job that, if he’s Crane. He can catch up with Ridley, and the two of them beat it together.’

  ‘Unless we stop them,’ Dylis said, buttoning her coat.

  ‘I’m going alone,’ Inigo answered with decision, and snatched up his lamp. ‘I can’t let them get away with this, but I don’t want you mixed up in any scrapping, Dyl. You stay here and do what you can for Ashley. He might pass out altogether if he’s left alone. The doors are locked, so no one can get in, and you’d better lock the french windows after me, I’ll call out when I get back.’

  Saying which he went swiftly out through the dining-room before she could make any protest. The night was still very dark and the grounds devoid of sound or movement, save for the rustling of snow-clad branches in a rising wind. Ploughing his way along to the drive, Inigo could clearly see in the light from his lamp the tyre marks of the cars that had preceded him. One of them had skidded badly. Beyond the drive, he turned right, along the road that led to the main highway, and quickened his footsteps at sight of the headlights of a car drawn up at the side of the road a few hundred yards ahead.

  There came the sound of men’s voices raised in altercation, and as he drew nearer, he saw a group of six indistinguishable figures, and another car, without lights, stationed on the other side of the road. He crossed to that side, and hiding the light of his lamp, approached cautiously. It was his car, and the other looked as if it might belong to the police. His theory was confirmed as one of the figures moved farther into the reflected light and showed himself to be in uniform.