Death in the Stocks ih-1

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “Well, I wouldn't,” said Antonia, who had happened to listen to this. “They're inhuman things - though I suppose there are cats and cats.”

  “There you are, then,” Roger pointed out. “But it's no use telling me there are policemen and policemen, because it wouldn't be true. It's always puzzled me what anyone ever wanted policemen for except to stand about at cross-roads, sticking out their hands, and even that seems to me the kind of job anyone else could do as well, if not better.”

  “I wish you wouldn't talk such drivel,” said Antonia. “Anybody would think you were going to have one as a pet. And if other people directed traffic instead they'd be policemen, so I don't see that it would make much difference.”

  Roger followed this argument carefully. “There's a fallacy in that,” he said. “I'm not sure where it is, and I'm not going to work it out, but the thing doesn't sound right to me, somehow.”

  Any faint hope Hannasyde might have cherished of finding in Roger one normal member of the Vereker family vanished. He sighed, and transferred his attention to Kenneth.

  Giles interposed before Antonia could continue the argument. “Shut up, Tony. Well, Roger, how are you? When did you arrive?”

  “I'm getting tired of answering that question,” replied Roger, shaking hands. “I keep on telling everyone I landed yesterday - I'm glad you've come round, because it's a very awkward predicament, mine. I've run out of cash. They tell me you're one of Arnold's executors, so you'll be able to advance me some of the money. How much have you brought?”

  “I haven't brought any,” answered Giles. “I can't advance you money in that haphazard fashion.”

  The interest which had gleamed for a few moments in Roger's eye was effectually banished by this pronouncement. He relapsed into his usual quiescence, merely remarking in a discouraged way that if that was so, he couldn't see why Giles had troubled to come. “Not that I don't want to see you,” he added. “But there doesn't seem to me to be much point in it.”

  “If he succeeds in ridding us of you there'll be a great deal of point in it,” said Kenneth savagely. “Sit down, my friend-the-Superintendent, sit down! What can I offer you? Whisky? Lager?”

  The Superintendent declined any refreshment. “I'm sorry to interrupt a - a family party,” he said, “but -”

  “Not at all,” said Kenneth. “We're charmed to see you. At least, my half-brother isn't, but that's probably because his conscience isn't clear. But the rest of us are delighted. Aren't we, Violet? By the way I don't think you've met our friend-the-Superintendent, darling. This is he. Superintendent, my fiancée - Miss Williams.”

  Violet bowed slightly, and bestowed on Hannasyde the small mechanical smile she reserved for her social inferiors. Turning from him, she suggested to Kenneth in a low voice that she should go. He instantly quashed this, so she compromised by withdrawing tactfully to the other end of the room under the pretence of opening a window.

  Meanwhile Giles had introduced the Superintendent to Roger, and Hannasyde, in his good-humoured way, was explaining the ostensible reason for his visit. “As I expect you have been told, Mr Vereker, your brother, Mr Arnold Vereker, was stabbed at Ashleigh Green last Saturday,” he began, “so I'm sure you will -”

  “Yes, I've been told that,” replied Roger, “but it has nothing to do with me. Naturally I was shocked to hear it. In fact, I didn't at first believe it.”

  “It must have been a terrible shock,” agreed Hannasyde sympathetically.

  “Well, it was. If they'd said he'd been shot, or been found with his head stuck in a gas-oven, it would have been another matter, because there's nothing surprising about that in these days. But a knife in the back is a very unusual thing in England. Took me back to Colombia in a flash.”

  “Really,” said-Hannasyde. “Have you just come back from Colombia?”

  “Oh no,” said Roger vaguely. “But I was there for a spell once. Didn't care for it, but you'd be surprised at the amount of quiet knifing that goes on. At least, it did in my day, but of course it may have changed by now.”

  “I've always understood that those parts were somewhat uncivilised,” said Hannasyde. “Though they say South America is the country of the future.”

  “They'll say anything,” replied Roger dampingly.

  Hannasyde persevered. “Which part have you come from?” he inquired.

  “BA,” said Roger. “But it's no use making a lot of inquiries about me there, because I've been living under another name. More convenient,” he added, in explanation.

  “I see,” said Hannasyde. “And so you're just back. When did you land?”

  “Yesterday,” said Roger, eyeing him suspiciously.

  Hannasyde smiled. “That sounds to me like a remarkably good alibi,” he said lightly. “What was your ship?”

  “Well, I've forgotten,” said Roger, “if I ever knew, which I rather doubt. To tell you the truth, I don't take much interest in ships. There are some people who no sooner get on board than they start making friends with the Chief Engineer, so that they can go down and have a look at the engine-room, which, as a matter of fact, is a nasty, smelly place. I'm not like that at all.”

  Giles, who had been inquiring of Antonia half laughingly, half-anxiously, whether she was reconciled to Mesurier, turned his head, and said: “You must remember the name of the ship, surely?”

  “There's no must about it,” replied Roger. “I can forget much more important things than that. Though I don't say it won't come back to me. Very often things do, and, what's more, things that happened years and years ago.”

  “That'll be useful,” remarked Kenneth, lighting a cigarette. “What a fool you were to tell us what your assumed name was! You could have forgotten that, too.”

  “Oh no, I couldn't,” Roger contradicted with sudden bitterness. “If you'd ever been called Fisher for years on end, you wouldn't forget it either.”

  “I've just had a horrible thought,” said Antonia suddenly. “Are you married?”

  “It doesn't matter if he is,” snapped Kenneth. “The mere fact of his being alive has ditched the whole thing.”

  “Not absolutely,” Antonia answered. “After all, he's bound to die ages before you, because he's nearly forty now. Only if he's got hordes of children it all becomes a complete washout.”

  “You needn't worry about that,” said Roger, “because I'm not married. I've done a lot of silly things in my time, but I never let anyone marry me.”

  “Wonderful!” mocked Kenneth. “One can so readily picture the eager queue of maidens -”

  “Now, don't try to be witty,” besought Roger. “It's a very unrestful habit. All I want is a quiet life, but how I'm going to get it with you being clever and policemen dancing in and out like -”

  “And all I wanted,” Kenneth struck in savagely, “was for you to remain decently interred!”

  “Antipathy, Mr Vereker? Or are you making the discovery that the acquisition of a large fortune is not a matter of such indifference as you would have had us believe?”

  There was a note of irony in the Superintendent's level voice, and at the sound of it Kenneth turned, not put out of countenance, but alert, and with his sullen ill-humour gone in a flash. His eyes held a challenge, his elf-smile reappeared. “A hit, a very palpable hit!” And yet, my friend-the-Superintendent, you would suspect me more if I didn't seem to care whether I inherited Arnold's fortune or not.”

  “Perhaps,” Hannasyde acknowledged. “But you should consider whether perhaps I may not suspect you of assuming a greater degree of annoyance than you really feel, on purpose to throw dust in my eyes.” He paused, and then, as Kenneth did not immediately answer him, added gently: “Another hit. What say you?”'

  Kenneth laughed, and said with a good deal of delight: “A touch, a touch, I do confess.” You know, I'm beginning to like you quite a lot.”

  “I might return that compliment, if it occurs to you to stop trying to hoodwink me. You are fond of quoting from Hamlet (though
not always sure of your source), so I will give you one more line to digest: “Take care that you don't become as a woodcock to your own springe'.”

  “Ah, justly killed with mine own treachery!” I'll take such care - Osric - that I won't let this conversation alter my attitude by so much as a hair's-breath.”

  Roger leaned sideways in his chair to say confidentially to Giles: “It's getting a bit too high-brow for me. Is his name Osric? I thought you said it was Harrington.”

  “There is such a thing as being too clever, Mr Vereker.”

  “I'll take your word for it. But I am only being honest. Didn't you come here tonight to see how I was reacting to the prodigal's return?”

  Hannasyde smiled faintly. Antonia, watching him, said dispassionately: “They bleed on both sides.” I hoped I'd be able to get that one off sooner or later.”

  This sally seemed to complete Roger's bewilderment. He had been trying to follow the dialogue, but he gave it up at that point, and shut his eyes.

  “You're not being exactly helpful, Kenneth,” said his cousin.

  “Why should I be? I don't want the murderer to be unmasked - unless it was Roger, of course. I approve of him.”

  Roger opened his eyes again. “Now, that's a very sensible remark,” he said. “I don't mean the bit about me, but the rest of it. I don't want to know either, and if we don't, what's it got to do with anyone else? That's what I complain about in policemen. Always poking their noses into other people's business.”

  “You can't blame them for that,” said Antonia reasonably. “They pretty well have to. But it does seem to me much more important at the moment to decide what's to be done about you. It's all very well for you to say you can't advance any money, Giles, but you needn't think we're going to let Roger wear all Kenneth's clothes while you sit on the cash.”

  “No,” Roger said, his interest reviving. “Because I don't like any of his shirts, for one thing.”

  Antonia at once took up the cudgels on behalf of her brother's taste, and since the argument showed signs of developing swiftly into an abstract discussion on sartorial matters, Hannasyde apparently judged it wisest to go away. The Verekers paid very little attention to his departure, but Giles escorted him to the front door, and said that he had all his sympathy.

  “Thanks,” returned Hannasyde. “Was Roger Vereker deported, by any chance?”

  “Probably,” said Giles, with perfect equanimity. “At all events, he's been cast up penniless on our hands.”

  Hannasyde looked at him under his brows. “Are you acting for him, Mr Carrington?”

  “Not if I know it,” answered Giles.

  A few moments later, having sped the Superintendent on his way, he returned to the studio to find that the argument had been interrupted by Violet, who throughout Hannasyde's visit had sat quietly at the other end of the room, turning over the leaves of a magazine. “I held my tongue while that man was here,” she was saying. “But I really was shocked at the way you went on, Kenneth. It's so silly of you, and childish. We know you didn't kill your half-brother, but you're simply asking for trouble, talking as you did. And I must say I don't think it's particularly nice of you, or sporting, to be so unkind to Mr Vereker.”

  “Don't bother about me,” said Roger. “I don't mind him, as long as he doesn't start sticking knives into me.”

  “I think that's extremely generous of you, Mr Vereker,” said Violet. “And whatever Kenneth may say, I hope you'll believe that I at least don't share his feelings.” She picked up her hat and gloves and held out her hand. “I'm going now. Good-bye - and please don't pay any attention to Kenneth or Tony.”

  “Aren't you going to kiss him?” inquired Antonia ruthlessly.

  “Shut up!” said Kenneth, an edge to his voice. “I'll see you home, Violet.”

  They had barely left the studio when Roger remarked with sudden and unexpected shrewdness: “I'll tell you what she is: she's a gold-digger. I've met lots of them. He'd better not marry her.”

  Antonia regarded him for the first time with a friendly eye. “Yes, she is a gold-digger, and I'll bet anything she's trying to vamp you so that you'll do something handsome for Kenneth.”

  “Well, I shan't,” said Roger simply. “Not,” he added, “that I've got much chance to do anything for anybody so far, even myself. When can I have some money, Giles?”

  “I'll get on to Gordon Truelove tomorrow,” replied Giles. “He's the other executor. I don't think you ever knew him.”

  “No, and I don't want to,” said Roger. “All I want is some money, and I don't see why I can't have it.”

  “You can,” said Giles. “I'll let you know as soon as I've had a word with Truelove.”

  “Come and have tea,” invited Antonia. “Kenneth's taking Violet out to a matinee.”

  “He needn't do that,” said Roger. “Just ring me up.”

  Giles paid no heed to this somewhat tactless suggestion. He was looking at Antonia. “Do you want me to, Tony?”

  She raised her candid eyes to his face. “Yes, I do,” she answered.

  So Giles Carrington, making vague excuses to his suspicious and somewhat incensed parent, left the office shortly after half past three next day, drove himself to Chelsea, and arrived at his cousin's flat just as Superintendent Hannasyde was preparing to mount the stairs to the front door. “Hullo, what brings you here again so soon?” he inquired. “Have you discovered a startling new development?”

  “Yes,” said Hannasyde, “I have.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The smile vanished from Giles Carrington's eyes, but it was in the same lazy, rather humorous voice that he said: “That sounds exciting. What has happened?”

  They began to walk up the stairs together. The Superintendent said with a twinkle: “Don't worry, neither of your clients is implicated in the new developments.”

  “I'm glad of that,” replied Giles, pressing the front door bell. “Roger was in England at the time of the murder. Is that it?”

  “Yes,” said Hannasyde. That is it.”

  “Poor old Roger!” remarked Giles. “I rather suspected he was when he forgot the name of his ship.”

  Hannasyde bent an accusing stare on him. “You're as bad as the rest of them,” he said severely. “The instant you set eyes on Roger Vereker you not only suspected that he'd been in England some time longer than he admitted, but you were pretty sure also that he was the shabby stranger who visited Arnold Vereker that Saturday. Isn't that true?”

  “Not quite,” said Giles. “I suspected it several hours before I set eyes on him. As soon as I heard he had turned up, in fact. Good afternoon, Murgatroyd. Miss Tony in?”

  “Oh yes, she's expecting you, sir,” said Murgatroyd, holding the door wide. “But what call you've got to bring the police back again I'm sure I don't know. Seems as though we can't call the place our own these days. They're both in the studio, Mr Giles.”

  Giles Carrington nodded, and walked across the little hall, followed by the Superintendent. In the studio Roger Vereker was apparently working some problem out on scraps of paper, critically but not unamiably watched by his half-sister, who sat with her chin in her hands, looking over his calculations. She glanced up quickly as the door opened, and, when she saw Giles, smiled in her confiding way. “Hullo!” she said. “Roper's trying to work out a System. I think it's all rot myself.”

  “Long may you continue to think so,” said Giles.

  Antonia perceived Superintendent Hannasyde, and raised her brows. “I didn't know you were coming too,” she said. “I rather wish you hadn't, because, to tell you the truth, I'm getting awfully sick of the Family Crime. However, come in if you must.”

  “I'm afraid I'll have to,” answered Hannasyde, closing the door. “I want to ask your half-brother a few questions.”

  Roger, who had started violently at the sight of him, said: “It's no good anyone asking me questions, because I'm very busy at the moment. As a matter of fact, I was hoping for a quiet afternoon
, now we've got rid of Kenneth.”

  A rough sketch in pastels, propped on the mantelpiece, caught Giles's attention. “Good Lord, that's clever!” he said involuntarily. “Kenneth's?”

  “I don't see anything clever in it at all,” said Roger. “In fact, if I weren't a very easy-going man, I might be quite annoyed by it.”

  “Yes,” said Giles. “I - I should think you might.”

  “Moreover, it isn't anything like me,” pursued Roger. “Can't be, because Kenneth had to tell me who it was meant to be.”

  “He's caught the look, hasn't he?” said Antonia. “He did it this morning. After saying portrait painting's a debased art, too. It is good, isn't it?”

  “Wicked!” said Giles, under his breath. “Really, it's indecent, Tony!”

  Hannasyde, who had been also looking in considerable astonishment at the sketch, overheard this, and found himself in complete agreement, and wondered whether it was fanciful to feel convinced that the man who could perpetrate so merciless a portrait would be capable of anything, even murder. He transferred his gaze from it to the original, and said without preamble: “You informed me last night, Mr Vereker, that you landed in England two days ago.”

  “I daresay I did,” admitted Roger. “One way and another there was a lot of chatter going on last night, and I don't remember all I said. But I won't want to start an argument, so have it your own way.”

  “Do you still adhere to that statement?”

  “Why shouldn't I?” said Roger cautiously.

  “Principally because it is untrue,” replied the Superintendent, with disconcerting directness.

  “I object to that,” said Roger. “That's a very damaging thing to say, and if you think that just because you're a detective you can go round giving people the lie you'll find you're mistaken.” He paused, and reflected for a moment. “Well, as a matter of fact, you probably won't,” he said gloomily, “because it seems to me there's no limit to what the police can get away with in this country.”