The Unfinished Clue

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Then Harding started the car again, and the Sergeant heard no more. He was able, however, to study Miss Fawcett's charming profile, every time she turned her head to speak to Harding, and from time to time he had a fleeting glimpse of Harding's face as well, as the Inspector glanced down at his lively companion. It seemed to the Sergeant that they were hitting it off a fair treat.

  He was quite right. Miss Fawcett, never one to be afflicted by shyness, was talking to the Inspector about himself.

  "If it weren't for the general grisliness of the whole business," she remarked confidentially, "I think I should rather enjoy seeing a real sleuth at work. It's quite an eye-opener, because till yesterday I'd only met one detective in all my life. He was a man they sent up from the police station when a burglar broke into our flat in town, and pinched a brooch of my mother's, and a couple of plated entree-dishes. He was definitely sub-human. The detective, I mean. I don't mind telling you that I was rather hostile about you before arrived."

  "You didn't show it," said Harding. "I thought were very charming, and most efficient."

  "Well, of course I saw you weren't in the least noisome as soon as I set eyes on you," replied Dinah candidly. "As a matter of fact, I never should have guessed you were a detective if I hadn't been told."

  "I wasn't always," explained Harding.

  "I thought perhaps you weren't. If it isn't a rude question — snub me, if it is — why are you now?"

  "Partly because of the war, and partly because I've always had rather a liking for criminology."

  "How ghoulish!" remarked Miss Fawcett. "What were you going to be?"

  "A barrister. I was reading for the Bar up at Oxford when the war broke out."

  "Couldn't you have gone on with it afterwards?"

  "Not very well. My father died the year the war ended, and there wasn't any too much money. So I thought I'd better be self-supporting as soon as I could."

  "Mouldy for you," said Miss Fawcett with real sympathy.

  "Oh no!" said Harding cheerfully. "I didn't mind."

  "Well, I suppose it's fairly interesting work in a way, and you'll end up by being the head of Scotland Yard or something."

  "I can't imagine anything more improbable. In any case I'm thinking of retiring and rearing chickens or pigs instead."

  "There's absolutely no money in chicken-farming unless you do it on a colossal scale," said the wordly-wise Miss Fawcett. "I know several people who tried it, and they all went bust."

  "Then it'll have to be pigs," said Harding philosophically.

  "Awfully mucky," objected Dinah.

  "Chickens on a colossal scale then."

  She shook her head. "You'd have to sink a frightful lot of capital in it," she said seriously.

  "Never mind, I've come into quite a pleasant legacy, most unexpectedly."

  "Well, I shouldn't blue it on fowls," said Dinah.

  They were still discussing the disposal of Inspector Harding's legacy when the car swept up the Grange drive, and might, Dinah reflected, as she alighted at the front door, have known one another for years. "Now I suppose you want to get on with this impressive ceremony of opening the safe," she remarked. "I don't know if Mr. Tremlowe knows the combination, but if he doesn't he's about the only person in the house doesn't."

  Harding looked quickly down at her. "Is that really so?"

  "Yes, of course. It's only a potty affair," Dinah answered. "I've seen Arthur work it myself."

  "Have you indeed?" murmured Harding, and followed her into the house.

  Mr. Tremlowe had already arrived, and was standing in the hall, talking in shocked and lowered tones to Fay who had evidently come out of the drawing-room to meet him. Dinah at once introduced Harding to him.

  "I have just been telling Lady Billington-Smith how more than distressed I am that I should have been out of town on Monday, "said the lawyer in a precise voice. "I trust my unavoidable delay in coming down has not in any way hindered you, Inspector?"

  "Not at all," replied Harding. He bowed slightly to Geoffrey, who just then came out of the billiard-room.

  "Oh — er — good morning!" said Geoffrey. "Hullo, Mr. Tremlowe! The Inspector wants you to open Father's safe. I suppose Fay and I ought to be there, oughtn't we."

  "Undoubtedly," said Tremlowe. "I have also your father's Will with me, which presently I will read to you. I should tell you, Lady Billington-Smith, that I thought it proper to advise Captain Billington-Smith of what has occurred, in case you had omitted, in the very natural flurry of the moment, to do so. As no doubt you are aware, Captain Billington-Smith is one of the principal legatees. I am expecting him to join me here for the reading of the Will."

  "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Geoffrey. "You don't mean to say Francis is coming back?"

  "Certainly," said Mr. Tremlowe coldly. "It is very right that he should be here. Now, Lady Billington-Srnith, if you are ready I am sure the Inspector would like to see the safe opened without further delay."

  "Yes, of course," Fay answered, looking nervously towards Harding, and slipping her hand in Dinah's arm. "Come along, Geoffrey."

  There was a constable on duty in the study. Harding dismissed him, and shut the door. Fay clung tightly to Dinah's arm, shivering a little, her eyes on the empty chair by the desk. Dinah pressed her hand reassuringly, and adjured her in a whisper to buck up.

  "Do you know the combination, Mr. Tremlowe?" asked Geoffrey. "Because if not I can open it for you."

  "Thank you, the General deposited the key with me some time ago," replied Mr. Tremlowe, putting on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. He produced a piece of paper from his pocket-book, and advanced towards the safe.

  He was checked by Harding's voice. Just one moment, please. Lady Billington-Smith, before Mr. Tremlowe opens the safe, can you tell us what we may expect to find in it?"

  Fay withdrew her gaze from the swivel-chair with an effort. "I'm sorry," she said shakily. "What did you say?"

  Harding repeated his question. She put up her hand to push the hair off her brow. "I — I don't think I know," she said. "My — my husband never actually showed me. I have an idea he kept certain documents in it, but I'm not really sure."

  "Is it likely that there is any money in it, do you think?"

  "Yes, quite a wog," replied Miss Fawcett, seeing his sister quite vague on the subject. "Arthur told us he was going to the bank at breakfast on Monday."

  "Yes, yes, of course!" Fay said. "It was the first of July wasn't it? I'm sorry to be so stupid, I don't seem to be able to think. My husband invariably paid all the staff and the household books, and any other bills there might be on the first of each month. And there would be money for current expenses too."

  "About how much, Lady Billington-Smith? Can you give me any idea?"

  She frowned over it, trying to collect her thoughts. "I don't know exactly. About two hundred and fifty pounds. It was usually something like that. Sometimes rather more, sometimes less."

  "Thank you. Yes, please open it, Mr. Tremlowe."

  The lawyer bent over the lock of the safe; after a few moments the heavy door swung open, revealing a quantity of legal-looking documents, tied up with pink tape, some other papers, and, just inside the safe, abundle of new bank-notes, and some bags of silver. Mr. Tremlowe lifted these up, glancing at the Inspector. "I take it that you would like me to count these before I inspect the rest of the contents of the safe?" he asked.

  "I should, please," Harding answered.

  "Then I will do so," said Mr. Tremlowe, and walked over to the desk, and sat down in the swivel-chair.

  Fay gave a tiny shudder. Geoffrey said in an undertone to Dinah: "This room feels absolutely ghastly . I wish he wouldn't be so beastly slow; I shall be damned glad to get out of here."

  It seemed a long while before Mr. Tremlowe looked up from his task. "There are one hundred and ten pounds here, in notes of varying denominations, and ten pounds' worth of silver," he announced, and methodically slipped the rubber band round the bun
dle again.

  Harding looked at Fay, who was frowning. "One hundred and twenty pounds?" she said. "Are you sure, Mr. Tremlowe?"

  "Perfectly," said the lawyer placidly.

  "There must be more than that," she said. "I mean, there ought to be more. One hundred and twenty pounds couldn't possibly cover all the expenses."

  "Your husband paid no bills by cheque?" suggested Harding.

  "No, not local ones. He always used to say it was wasting twopence to do that. I can't understand it."

  Geoffrey said, stammering slightly: "D-do you mean someone's robbed the safe, Inspector?"

  "I have no idea," replied Harding. "But a visit to your lather's bank will tell us what was the exact sum he drew on Monday morning."

  "If anyone robbed the safe, why not have taken the lot?" said Dinah practically. "He must have paid bills in Ralton before he came home."

  "That we can easily find out," said Harding, and glanced at his wrist-watch. "I'll go along to the bank now, if you will tell me which one it is, Lady Billington-Smith, and if you, Mr. Tremlowe, will let me have the numbers of those notes."

  Five minutes later his car swept past the window. Fay, who had been staring unseeingly at the safe, raised her eyes and said breathlessly: "If someone did steal the money it means — don't you see, Dinah — it means I was right, and it must have been someone from outside who killed Arthur!"

  "Well, we shall see," said Dinah. "Meanwhile, let's go and sit somewhere else."

  Mr. Tremlowe rose from his chair. "With permission, Lady Billington-Smith, I will take charge of these notes. And' — he looked over the top of his spectacles at the Sergeant —- "if you care to remain with me, Sergeant, I will go through the papers in the safe while we are waiting for the Inspector to return."

  The other three went out into the hall again, and after a moment's indecision Fay said that she supposed they had better join the rest of the party.

  Miss de Silva had not, of course, come downstairs , yet, but Guest and the Hallidays were on the terrace. Camilla, who was one of those people who never seened to get any time for reading, had now ample leisure to indulge her declared passion for literature and, in proof of her sincerity, was flicking over the pages of a novel selected at random from Fay's book-shelves. Stephen Guest, whom she had attempted, quite unavailingly, to engage in conversation, was hidden behind The Times and Halliday was sitting in a deep chair with a pipe clenched between his teeth, and his moody gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

  When the others came out on to the terrace, Camilla closed her book immediately, and sat up. "Well, have you opened the safe, and was everything all right?" she inquired.

  "We don't know until we find out just how much money my husband drew on Monday," answered Fay, apparently feeling that there was no need to admit Camilla further into her confidence. "Geoffrey, did Mr. Tremlowe mention what time we were to expect Francis? I wonder if I had better warn Finch that he may be here for lunch?"

  "Oh, is Captain Billington-Smith coming back?" said Camilla, brightening visibly. "He'll cheer us up!"

  "Cheer who up?" snapped Geoffrey disagreeably.

  "Well, all of us! I mean, somebody from outside will make a sort of break, in a way, don't you think?"

  "No, I don't," said Geoffrey.

  Camilla bridled, and gave vent to a somewhat metallic laugh. "Well, all I can say is that some of us seem to be in need of cheering up — not to mention any names!"

  "Oh, do be quiet, Camilla!" said Basil wearily.

  Guest, who had risen when Fay came on to the terrace, drew her a little apart, and was talking to her in a low voice. Camilla said meaningly: "Or perhaps some of us don't happen to need any cheering up. One never knows!"

  "Well, I don't," said Dinah. "I think the whole situation's rather funny."

  "Well!" gasped Camilla, quite diverted by this skillful red herring. "What a thing to say! Funny, when Sir Arthur's been murdered, and one of us is the person who did it!"

  Halliday got up, rasping his chair across the paved floor of the terrace. "For God's sake shut up!" he said roughly. "Do you think we want that thrown at us? Aren't things bad enough as it is? Oh, lord, can't we do something instead of sitting about and looking at each other?"

  "That's just it," said Geoffrey gloomily. "What can we do? Personally, I'm ready to do what anyone wants but we can't play tennis, which is the obvious thing least, Fay thinks it would look rather bad, and I suppose she's right, really. I don't know about billiards: it's rather different — I mean, it's a quiet game, and indoors. I don't think we ought to play snooker, but a hundred up billiards surely can't offend anybody."

  "Thanks very much," said Camilla. "And I suppose I can mark for you? That will be nice!"

  "Why don't you play Bridge?" suggested Dinah. "You can play on the terrace, and Stephen can make a fourth."

  "Oh, do you think we ought?" said Camilla. "Would'nt it be rather heartless? I'd give anything for something to do, but I couldn't bear to show disrespect to poor Sir Arthur's memory."

  "Well, I don't know about cards," said Geoffrey doubtfully. "Of course, we wouldn't play for money , at any rate, only for something very small. What do you think, Halliday?"

  "I don't see why we shouldn't. It's not as though we were proposing to play poker. Lady Billington-Smith, have you any objection to us having a rubber of Bridge"

  "Bridge?" said Fay vaguely. "Do you think you ought to? It isn't that I mind, only Geoffrey, what do you feel about it?"

  "Well, I can't see why we shouldn't, if we only play for three pence a hundred," declared Geoffrey. "Stephen will you come and make a fourth?"

  "Yes, sure," said Guest amiably.

  "That's settled them anyway," remarked Dinah, leadng her sister into the house. "Come on, ducky, you've got to try on the raiment I've brought home on approval."

  Twenty minutes later, Francis Billington-Smith walked through the drawing-room and stood for a moment framed by the window, somewhat cynically observing the card-players. "What a touching sight!" he drawled. "The bereaved household! Little Geoffrey, too just bearing up, I see."

  Camilla jumped, and looked over her shoulder. "Oh, Captain Billington-Smith, how you startled me!"

  "Oh, so you've arrived, have you?" said Geoffrey. "I suppose I can play Bridge if I want to without asking your permission? Two down, vulnerable. That's two hundred and fifty to them above. What on earth you put me up for, Stephen, I can't imagine. Cut, please, Camilla."

  Camilla's attention, however, was all for Francis, to whom she was already pouring out a garbled version of Sir Arthur's murder and a description of her own psychological reactions to it.

  Francis broke in on this. "So interesting!" he said politely. "But as I don't know yet when my uncle was murdered or where, or by whom, these observations are somewhat lost on me. Would somebody not Geoffrey, I think — be kind enough to enlighten me?"

  "Your uncle was stabbed in his study between twelve and one o'clock on Monday morning," stated Guest. "We don't know by whom."

  "Stabbed?" Francis repeated.

  "Yes, with the Chinese dagger he used as a paper knife," said Guest unemotionally.

  Francis looked rather white. "My God!" he said. He put his hand into his pocket and mechanically drew out his thin gold cigarette-case and opened it. The fingers that groped for a cigarette were just a trifle unsteady "What an appalling thing!" he said.

  Geoffrey eyed him with resentment. "Yes, and it's damned sight more appalling for us than for you, let mo tell you. You weren't here. We were."

  Francis shut his case and tapped his cigarette on it.

  "Rather appalling for Uncle too — if you should happen to be looking at it in that light," he remarked. "Poor old chap!"

  "Naturally we all feel that," said Halliday, shuffling and reshuffling the cards. "It's a terrible tragedy. We're all most upset, and shocked."

  Francis's faintly mocking glance lingered for moment on the Bridge-table. "I'm sure you must be," he said. "Quite shatte
red!"

  "Hang it all, you needn't be so pious!" said Geoffrey firing up. "You weren't so damned fond of Father yourself."

  Francis raised his brows. "On the contrary," he said." I was probably fonder of him than any of you. You would hardly believe it, but I'm almost distressed to think he's dead."

  "Let's hope you won't be more distressed when the Will's read," replied Geoffrey.

  "Oh, I hardly think so," said Francis. He struck a match, and lit his cigarette. "Does anybody know who murdered him, by the way?"

  "No!" said Halliday, pushing the pack of cards away "It might," said Guest, "have been any one of us."

  "You, for instance?"

  "Me, for instance."

  "But how extremely piquant!" remarked Francis. "Let its all put the name of the person each of us thinks did it into a hat, and see who gets the most votes."

  "How can you be so awful?" shuddered Camilla. "How you can joke about it -! When one thinks of poor Sir Arthur, and all these ghastly policemen spying on us, and everything, it's enough to make one go quite mad!"

  "You should think of others, Mrs. Halliday. It is very nice for the local police to have something else to do besides having me up for what they call dangerous driving."

  "The locals!" ejaculated Geoffrey. "I could put up with them, but when it comes to having a damned nosey inspector down from Scotland Yard, behaving as though the place belonged to him, it's a bit thick!"

  Francis regarded the tip of his cigarette. "Dear me!" he said. "So Scotland Yard has been called in has it? How unnerving for you! And where, by the way, is Fay? Prostrate, I suppose. It is too much to hope that Dinah is still here? Perhaps Dinah committed the murder, she is so strong-minded."

  "Dinah is in the fortunate position of being perhaps the one person who couldn't possibly have done it," said Guest.

  "Oh no, she is not!" said Camilla hotly. "I daresay you'd all of you like to put it on to me or Basil, and you needn't think I haven't eyes, because I have! Your precious Dinah hasn't got any better alibi than I have. And why anyone should want her to be here still is more than I can imagine. Bossing everybody, and trying to monopolise the Inspector, and going on as though she was the person capable of doing anything!"