Merlin's Furlong

by Gladys Mitchell

  “You might be, if Professor Havers had not also been murdered. As it is, you have as good a chance of going free as anyone else. It is not you I am worried about; it is those three ridiculous, house-breaking undergraduates.”

  “Oh, they’re all right. I know the type. They couldn’t possibly have done in Uncle Aumbry.”

  “Did you, at any time, see the diptych, Mr. Aumbry?”

  “What diptych?” He looked interested.

  “The Isaurian diptych. The thing all the fuss was about in the first place.”

  Richmond smiled. “You may be surprised,” he said cheerfully, “but really…do believe me! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did the diptych belong to Uncle Aumbry? And has it been stolen? If so, you had better ask Godfrey about it. He was the only one in whom Uncle confided at all.”

  “That can wait, then. And you really know of no enemy who might have hated your uncle sufficiently to kill him?”

  “No one. Well, of course, there was this old Professor Havers. They were always at daggers drawn according to Godfrey. But as Havers himself has been murdered that certainly washes that out. They can hardly have killed each other like the Kilkenny cats, particularly as the bodies were some miles apart.”

  “Not so many miles. And according to Godfrey? Was he, then, in the habit of confiding your uncle’s remarks to the rest of you?”

  “No, only to Lewis. He and Godfrey are the respectable members of the family. Frederick lives on his wits and I live on my wife, but Lewis is an architect and Godfrey a solicitor.”

  “But Lewis, your brother, sometimes retailed what Godfrey had told him?”

  “Oh, yes. Lewis and I are very thick, and we know we can trust each other. He’s only five years older than I am, and we’ve always had lots in common.”

  “Gratifying. Now, Mr. Aumbry, I wonder whether I might see your wife for a few minutes…preferably not in your presence?”

  “I’ll see whether she’s come in. She should be in about now.” He went to the door and yelled downstairs. A girl’s fresh, pleasant voice made immediate answer.

  “Coming, darling!”

  Phyllis Aumbry was about twenty-six, Mrs. Bradley guessed; a grey-eyed, graceful creature with a golden skin and a wide and friendly smile.

  “My wife,” said Richmond. “Mrs. Bradley, darling. She’s going to keep my neck from the noose, we hope.”

  “Of course she is,” said the girl. “I hope you haven’t been giving too much away.”

  “It’s your turn, anyway. She wants to ask you something about Bluna.” He nodded to Mrs. Bradley and walked out, saying casually over his shoulder, “Fish and chips, or shall I open a tin?”

  “Tin, I think, darling. The weather doesn’t seem in tune with fish and chips.”

  “Right. Tea, coffee or beer?”

  “Can we…?”

  “Yes. I got an advance on the estate from old Villiers. I pointed out that I haven’t been hanged yet, and he coughed up fifty pounds.”

  “Fifty pounds? We could have a bottle of sherry!”

  “Good idea. In fact, such a good idea that I got one. Also a bottle of port.”

  The girl’s smile faded as soon as he had gone.

  “Will it really be all right?” she asked hopelessly. “It seems watertight to us. Of course, he didn’t do it, but innocent people have been convicted before this and…well, I expect he’s told you!…we were really in a terrible spot for money. The poor boy published a book of poems at his own expense without telling me, and, of course, we haven’t sold enough even to pay for the printing. The people were getting really nasty…not that I blame them…but I’ve persuaded Villiers, who isn’t at all a bad sort, although he was Uncle Aumbry’s lawyer…to pay them off out of the estate. But it all looks so frightfully bad.”

  “It might do but for two factors,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and to them we must pin our faith. First, Professor Havers has also been murdered, and, secondly, the Isaurian diptych seems to have disappeared.”

  “The Isaurian diptych? What on earth is that?”

  Mrs. Bradley explained.

  “And those boys tried to steal it back from Uncle Aumbry? What a joke, if it hadn’t been for the murders!”

  “Possibly. It has made things rather awkward for the boys.”

  “You mean…Oh, but they wouldn’t have killed Uncle Aumbry! And they certainly wouldn’t have murdered Professor Havers!”

  “Nevertheless, they broke into the two houses, an unfortunate coincidence for them.”

  “Yes. Queer, too. It’s almost like Greek tragedy…inevitable, and nobody’s fault, and all that. Don’t you think so?”

  Mrs. Bradley cautiously assented. Then she said, “What I really wanted to know was how the Negro girl Bluna comes to be in this house.”

  “Bluna? What has she to do with it?”

  “I will tell you later, if you really don’t know.”

  “Oh? Well, she came here to ask for a job, and I was so sick of our awful old Mrs. Pile that I took her on.”

  “References?”

  “She didn’t bring any, but there’s nothing to steal here!”

  “When did she come?”

  “Only last week.”

  “What reason did she give for wanting work?”

  “She didn’t give any. She just asked me whether I wanted a maid, and said she could cook.”

  “And can she?”

  “I don’t know. I always get my lunch out. It’s cheaper. We’ve got an office canteen. Richmond fends for himself and the children have school dinners, so we don’t bother much with cooking, and, anyway, we can’t afford much to cook with.”

  “You didn’t know, then, that Bluna, up to the time of his death, was maid to Professor Havers?”

  “Good heavens, no! How could I? I’ve never been to Professor Havers’ house in my life. I say! That means the police sent her to spy upon Richmond! What a filthy idea!”

  “So filthy that I don’t think we need to connect it with the police. It raises some interesting points, though. May I speak to Bluna?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She called over the banisters, and, when the black girl appeared, was going out of the room when Mrs. Bradley called her back.

  “I would like you to stay,” she said. “You had better hear what I say to Bluna, and I would like you to take down her replies. You can write shorthand, I presume?”

  “Yes. It’s nice of you. Everything seems such a muddle, I’d be terribly keen to get even a bit of a line on something or other.”

  “I doubt whether Bluna will give us much help at present, but the coincidences in this case are quite alarming. Something is bound to come of them.”

  Bluna came in, wiping her hands very nervously down her apron, and stood just inside the doorway, obviously terrified but with a wide smile upon her handsome, innocent face.

  “Ah, Bluna,” said Mrs. Bradley kindly. “I am glad to find that you have got another good post since you left Professor Havers.”

  “Yes, madam,” said the young maid, uncertainly.

  “How did you come to hear of it?”

  The girl’s face brightened. She fumbled in the bosom of the cotton frock she wore under the apron and produced a letter.

  “This was my recommendation.” Except for an unmistakable intonation her English was perfectly correct.

  Mrs. Bradley took the letter and opened it. A five-pound note crackled sharply. The letter itself was typewritten and the signature, P. S. Havers, was typewritten also.

  To Bluna: This is from my brother Professor Havers to give notice he will not be coming back to Wallchester. Call at (here followed Richmond Aumbry’s address) any time after six to get a new job.

  Mrs. Bradley handed the letter back, without the five-pound note. She took out her notecase, put five one-pound Treasury notes into Bluna’s hand and said kindly:

  “There you are. You can manage much better with those.”

  Bluna looked at her reverently.
/>   “Say thank you to Mrs. Bradley,” prompted Phyllis Aumbry. Bluna dropped a curtsey and fled, clutching the handful of notes in one muscular fist and the typewritten letter in the other. Mrs. Bradley, who still held the envelope, took out a pocket magnifying glass, and scrutinised it carefully.

  “Delivered by hand. Not been through the post,” she remarked. “I see the hand of the imperturbable manservant in all this.”

  “What manservant? Do you mean Bluna’s sweetheart? He calls on her every evening. I think they’re engaged. He helps wash up the tea-things and did the drains on Saturday afternoon before they went out together. He seems a very nice youth.”

  Mrs. Bradley did not mean Bluna’s sweetheart but did not trouble to say so, and the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Richmond Aumbry with a bottle of sherry and rather a job lot of glasses.

  “Sorry this is all we can muster,” he said. “Get anything out of Bluna?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Bradley replied. “Far, far more than I expected. Will one of you please relieve her of that letter? I think it must be placed with the police. And now, I am wondering what would have happened if you had not engaged her when she called.”

  “There wasn’t much chance we wouldn’t,” said Richmond at once. “Our Mrs. Pile was the world’s worst. Everybody knew we’d give a lot to have a resident maid who could give an eye to the kids as well as keep the place going. I can’t be disturbed when I’m working, and Phyllis”—he gave his wife an affectionate glance—“has bought it, anyway, in marrying me. The only trouble about a resident maid was the money, but Bluna comes for the same as we gave Mrs. Pile and says she doesn’t want much to eat because her boyfriend lushes her up, so everything’s very okey-doke.”

  Mrs. Bradley did not agree, but did not say so.

  “Where was your cousin’s briefcase found?—or did it vanish?” she enquired. Richmond looked puzzled, but Phyllis replied for him:

  “It turned up in Godfrey’s own bedroom, didn’t you say, Rickie?”

  “Oh, the briefcase! Yes, of course. Sorry. I didn’t quite follow. It turned up in Godfrey’s bedroom with the rough draft of the earlier will and all his notes and things. Nothing at all was missing. If it hadn’t been for the bash on the head we might have wondered—but the knock he got was no joke, so we had to believe him about the briefcase.”

  “It seems logical,” said Mrs. Bradley next day to the Chief Constable, “now that I have interviewed the nephew who, on the face of it, seems the most obvious suspect, to question Mr. Richmond’s brother and cousins. There must be something they can tell me.”

  “You go ahead,” said the Chief Constable. “Anything to be able to clear those three young idiots before the Long Vacation comes to a close! Why on earth couldn’t they have old us sooner about that manservant? Because they left it so late, the inspector and his chaps have drawn a blank, so far as running him down is concerned. He doesn’t seem to have been noticed at the station of Merlin’s Ell, and nobody saw him take a train. Of course, it’s such a tiny station that there are only a man and a boy, and they can’t be everywhere at once, and as, at that time of day, no train was due on either platform, the chances are that the manservant’s suitcase merely contained a change of clothes. If so, the probabilities are that all he did was to walk into the general waiting room, change, and walk out of the station again without anybody being the wiser. It’s been done often enough in the past, and it will be done again. All we’ve got from these boys is a general picture of a neatly dressed, quiet-mannered fellow wearing morning clothes and a bowler. Stick the same bloke into tweeds, we’ll say, or a waterproof and a snap-brim hat, and where are you? It’s hopeless!”

  “I agree with you that this manservant may know something about the death of Professor Havers,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and that somehow or other he must be found. I also agree that finding him is likely to be difficult. What about the women servants he mentioned to our three adventurers…the cook and the two maids?”

  “There never were any such persons. We’ve been able to establish that much. Oh, there’s not much doubt that he’s the murderer. Must be a pretty cool customer, too, as he doesn’t seem to have turned a hair when he ran into those three boys. After all, they can witness to the time at which he left the house and can describe his appearance. If my men ran him to earth he can be identified all right, I should think. The trouble is, of course, that the boys, finding themselves in a nasty mess, may have agreed to tell this yarn about the manservant, and we may simply be pursuing a shadow.”

  “You wonder whether they invented the man?” Mrs. Bradley enquired. The Chief Constable looked worried.

  “Personally, I don’t. I believe them. But the inspector is hard to convince, and, of course, the case is his pigeon. He argues, quite justly, that if the man really exists the boys would have mentioned him at once, if only to try to show the time at which they first arrived at Merlin’s Castle. It’s a pretty good point, too, because Professor Havers was undoubtedly killed before (according to what they’ve now decided to tell us), this manservant left the house.”

  “You think that the search for the man may be half-hearted, do you?”

  “Oh, no, not a bit of it! Ekkers is a most conscientious officer and is no more prepared to suspect the boys unjustly than you and I are. All the same, that Waite chap is older than the others, and has got his head screwed on tight.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Will you drive me to Merlin’s Furlong, or shall I go by myself?”

  “As you like. But, if it makes no difference to you, perhaps I had better come along.”

  “Good. You will then be answerable for my bona-fides, and that will save explanations. My position at present is strictly unofficial and meddlesome and my presence on the scene is, I fear some interested persons would say, completely unnecessary.”

  “I wouldn’t say that the last two remarks were necessary. You didn’t decide to meddle; the boys called upon you for help. You are certainly not unnecessary, considering the amount of trouble you’ve already saved us by tactful handling of those three solicitors. The boys’ families were all up in arms.”

  “Ah, yes. I understand that the disappointed nephew, Mr. Godfrey Aumbry, is also a solicitor. I should like to see him first. He may be able to throw more light on his uncle’s death than did the fortunate and highly suspect Mr. Richmond, although there were one or two points…”

  “Yes, that’s one thing; Godfrey is the last person to be suspected of having murdered Aumbry. He has lost a large fortune through his uncle’s death. He and Lewis, Richmond’s brother, are at work on Aumbry’s papers and so forth, supervised, of course, by our men. Godfrey applied for permission, and there seemed no reason why we should not grant it, particularly as he and his other cousins have returned to the house, Merlin’s Furlong, and are staying there for the present, so that we’ve got them under observation. It’s really rather convenient. I wish Richmond would go and stay there too. You’d think he’d want to help Godfrey out.”

  “Was it their own suggestion that they should return and stay there?”

  “It was Godfrey’s suggestion, and the others, whose addresses he gave us, were perfectly willing to cooperate, except for Richmond, whom you’ve already seen. Richmond refused to leave his wife and children by themselves, or to bring them to a house in which murder had been committed. But we’ve got a man tailing him all the time, so, from our point of view, it doesn’t matter much where he goes, so long as he doesn’t attempt to leave the country.”

  “You’ve made up your mind, then, I take it, that he murdered his uncle?”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t say that. But he’s a very poor man, and the motive sticks out a mile, so, naturally, our people are interested in him. Even so, he can’t be held accountable for the death of Havers…not, at any rate, from the point of view of motive. There’s no doubt, either, that all the cousins had left Merlin’s Furlong by the time Havers was killed, and although we shall test their alibis I c
an’t believe that there was no connection between the deaths. It seems incredible that two murders can have taken place within a few miles of one another—four miles, in point of fact, if one cares to walk over the hill—if there is no connection between them. Besides, they were of similar type. Yet I’m bound to admit that, as far as we’ve gone, it doesn’t seem at all likely that any one person of those we have under review would have killed both Aumbry and Havers.”

  “Well, that saves time and trouble, in a way,” Mrs. Bradley pointed out. “We look for two murderers, the second of whom may have discovered and copied the method of the first.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “It’s so much easier,” she insisted. “Approach the murders as two separate problems. Ignore the fact that they happened within a few miles of one another. After all, if a man was knocked on the head in Maida Vale and another in Shepherds Bush, the Metropolitan police would not necessarily suppose that they were connected.”

  “That’s not an argument,” protested the Chief Constable. Mrs. Bradley wagged her head in solemn agreement.

  “Nevertheless, you will find it much simpler to tackle the deaths of Mr. Aumbry and Professor Havers separately,” she insisted. “All roads may lead to Rome, but there’s not much sense in confusing the Appian Way with Stane Street! Besides, you ignore the salient fact of Bluna’s new post.”

  “Oh, the Negro girl! What’s she to do with it?”

  “I should like to have confirmation of a theory.”

  “What theory, though?”

  “That one of the late Mr. Aumbry’s nephews wrote to advise her that Richmond might employ her. After all, which of them knew of her existence? It is an interesting point.”

  “Yes, and which nephew had five pounds to spare! I quite see that. It certainly doesn’t sound like Richmond, does it?”