“I thought that was coming,” remarked Giles. “From seven o'clock, when I called for her at the studio, until about a quarter to twelve, when I took her back to the studio, I was with Miss Vereker. We dined at Favoli's, and went on afterwards to Wyndham's. After I left Miss Vereker I drove back to the Temple in a taxi - the same taxi that took us home from the Theatre. That ought to be easy to trace. When I reached the Temple I went to bed. I'm afraid my man was asleep by that time, so I can't offer you any proof that I stayed in bed till this morning. How long did the police-surgeon think my cousin had been dead?”
“According to Inspector Davies, at least seven or eight hours, and possibly more. He saw the body at about seven-forty-five this morning, I understand.”
“Well, I suppose I could just have done it,” reflected Giles. “Only I rather doubt, from my knowledge of him, whether I should have found Roger still up, and writing letters, at one in the morning.”
“You are not, at the moment, one of my suspects,” replied Hannasyde, with a glimmer of a smile. He turned, as Sergeant Hemingway came back into the room, escorting the hall-porter, and said in his pleasant way: “Good-morning. You are the porter here?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, looking rather fearfully round the room. “Leastways, the night-porter, more properly speaking.”
“What is your name?”
“Fletcher, sir. Henry George Fletcher.”
The Sergeant interpolated: “I've got the name and address, Superintendent.”
“All right. What time do you come on duty, Fletcher?”
“At eight p.m., sir and go off the same a.m.”
“Are you on the premises for the whole of that time?”
Fletcher gave a slight cough. “Well, sir - official - like - if you take my meaning. Sometimes I do stroll out for a breather. I wouldn't be gone more than a couple of minutes or so. Not often, that is.”
“Did you go out last night?”
“No, sir.”
“You're quite sure of that?”
“Yes, sir. It turned that chilly yesterday evening I wouldn't want to, me being what you might call susceptible to cold. I had a bit of a fire in my room downstairs, which the Sergeant here has seen.”
“Small room, I thought,” said the Sergeant. “Draughty, I daresay.”
“It is that,” agreed the porter. “Sit with the door shut?”
“There isn't anything against it, not in my orders,” said Fletcher defensively, “If I'm wanted I'm rung for, and I'd hear the lift working, door or no door. I can keep my eye on things with it shut, on account of the upper part being glass, like you saw.”
“If you weren't having forty winks, you could,” said the Sergeant shrewdly.
“I don't sleep when I'm on duty,” muttered Fletcher.
Hannasyde said: “All right, Sergeant. I shouldn't imagine that anyone would blame you if you did doze a bit, Fletcher. It must be dull work. I take it you didn't hear anything that might have been a shot last night?”
“No, sir, else I would have up and said at once. But we're close to the Exhibition Road, and there was a lot of cars went down it last night on account of a big do they had at the Albert Hall. Charity ball, I believe it was. One way and another, there was a bit more noise than usual, though not in this building, that I'll swear.”
“I see. Is your main front door open all night, or do you shut it?”
“Not till midnight, I don't.”
“But you do shut it then?”
“Yes, sir. That's my orders.”
“So that anyone entering the building after twelve would be obliged to ring for you to let them in?”
“That's right, sir.”
“Did anyone come in late last night?”
“Oh yes, sir! Mr and Mrs Cholmondley of No. 15, they did. Then there was Sir George and Lady Fairfax, and the two young ladies, what was all at this ball I was telling you about; and Mr Humphries, of No. 6, he was out late, too; and Mrs Muskett, of No. 9; and Miss -”
“These are all residents, I take it? You didn't admit any visitors after twelve?”
“No, sir. Well, I wouldn't hardly expect to, not at that hour.”
“And before twelve do you remember whether you saw any stranger enter the building?”
The porter rubbed his chin. “Well, it's a bit hard to say, if you understand me,” he confided. “Of course if I was to see anyone hanging about suspicious like I should be on to them quick enough; but there's twenty flats here, sir, and people coming in and out a good bit. If anyone passes my door, I take a look naturally, but I wouldn't always like to swear who it was, not if they go straight past to the lift or the stairs. For instance, there was a couple of ladies went up last night, and three gentlemen to my certain knowledge. I fancy the first lady was Miss Matthews, but I only saw her hat, it being all on the side of her head, like they wear them now. She must have come in about eight-thirty or thereabouts. The other one come in soon after eleven, but I didn't get more than a glimpse of her. I never saw her go out again, so I expect it was Miss Turner, Mrs Delaford's personal maid, come home a bit late. Then there was a gentleman went up in the lift to the fourth or fifth floor. He was a stranger all right, because he came down again about eleven, and had me call him a taxi. Tall, military gentleman, he was. The second gentleman wanted Admiral Craven's flat, and I took him up. I didn't see the other, not properly, but he went up on his own, not using the lift. I rather thought it was young Mr Muskett, because he was wearing one of those black felt hats, which Mr Muskett does with his evening-clothes, but now you put me in mind of it I wouldn't wonder if it wasn't him at all, on account of Mr Muskett's flat being on the third floor, and him not being one to walk up when there's a lift.”
“Did you see him leave the building?” Hannasyde asked.
“Well, I can't rightly say as how I did,” confessed the porter.
“And are you sure that these were the only people who might have been strangers who came in last night?”
“I wouldn't say that,” replied Fletcher cautiously. “Not to take my oath on it, that is.”
It was quite evident that the porter had spent some part of the evening at least nodding comfortably over his fire. Nothing would be gained by forcing him to admit it, so Hannasyde wisely abandoned the subject “Who occupies the flat beside this one?” he asked.
“Mr Humphries does, sir. Him as I told you about. He was at that ball, and came home close on half-past four in the morning, very happy.”
“And on the other side of the landing?”
“Well, Mr and Mrs Tomlinson has No. 3, but they're away, and No. 4 is empty.”
“Is there anyone in the flat above this?”
“Yes, sir, Mrs Muskett, what was out late too. Well, when I say late, half-past twelve it would have been when she come in. But if you was thinking she might have heard the shot, I wouldn't like to say she would. These flats is built sound-proof.”
“I'll go up and see her, all the same,” Hannasyde said. “You needn't wait; I expect you want to get home.”
“Well, it is past my time,” agreed the porter. “Of course, if there's anything I can do -”
“No, nothing, thanks. But if I were you I wouldn't talk about this.”
“Not me, sir. Mr Jackson - he's the manager - will be in a rare taking over it when he gets to hear of it.”
Hannasyde paused. “Yes, where is the manager?” he asked.
“Away for the night,” answered the Sergeant. “Expected back this morning.”
“I see. If Hollis turns up while I'm gone, tell him to take the pistol for fingerprints, and to go over the likely places in this room, and the hall, and the bathroom. I shan't be long, I hope.”
He went out as he spoke, and the Sergeant and Giles Carrington were left to entertain one another until he returned. Sergeant Hollis arrived five minutes later, and Giles, watching him set to work, said: “Well, this is interesting, anyway. Do you think you could do the telephone first, Sergeant? It dawns
on me that I had better ring up my office and tell them I'm frying other fish this morning.”
“Wasting your time a bit, aren't we, sir?” said Hemingway sympathetically. “It's routine work, this. I'd be willing to bet a fiver we don't get a single print, unless it might be on that cartridge-case.”
Giles had just concluded a conversation with the elder Carrington (who said explosively that if Giles meant to spend all day and every day in his cousins' pockets the sooner they were all wiped out the better it would be) when Hannasyde came back into the room. He paused for a moment, watching Hollis, and then glanced towards Giles. “Sorry to keep you hanging about like this. I'm going to Chelsea now. There's no reason for you to come if you don't want to, you know.”
“I'm coming, if only to see fair play,” said Giles. “Any luck with the Musketts?”
“Rather dubious. One thing I have ascertained: the man the porter saw was not young Muskett. He came in at six-thirty last night and didn't go out again. Somewhere around about eleven he heard a noise which he thought was a car back-firing. The trouble is it may well have been.” He turned to Hemingway. “I'm leaving you here, Sergeant; you know what to do. I'll see you at the Yard. If you're ready, Mr Carrington, let's go.”
Chapter Nineteen
The journey to Chelsea was accomplished in Giles Carrington's car. The Superintendent cast a quick look at his face as he settled down beside him, and said: “I'm afraid this is rather a nasty case for you, Mr Carrington.”
“It's a very nasty case indeed,” said Giles calmly. “Not particularly for me.” He changed into second gear, and then into top. “I see whither your thoughts are tending, of course; but you'll hardly expect me to believe that a cousin - or, to be strictly accurate, a connection of mine - would be capable of committing so cold-blooded a murder.”
The Superintendent was silent. After a moment Giles added, with a faint smile: “Moreover, I hardly think he would have overlooked the cartridge-case.”
“You think I'm prejudiced against young Vereker,” said Hannasyde. “But I can honestly say that I hope very much you may be right. But it's no use blinking facts: Roger Vereker's death - assuming it to have been murder - narrows the field down considerably. I don't think there's much doubt that the man who killed Arnold also killed Roger. You yourself said that although there might have been several motives for the first murder there can only have been one for the second. That seems to dispose of Mesurier for one, and of Arnold's chauffeur - never a probable suspect, I admit - for another. Neither stood to gain anything through Roger's death. There is just one person who stands to gain a fortune; you know it as well as I do, so we may as well be frank about it. What is more, Mr Carrington, you have never been sure that Kenneth Vereker didn't commit that first murder. You believed him to be capable of it, I've known that from the start. What sticks in your gullet is this second murder. But if you think it over you must see that it follows perfectly logically, almost inevitably, on the first. Admitted, it wasn't foreseen. It takes a pretty hardened criminal to plan to kill two people. One murder only was planned, but when Roger Vereker turned up that murder was useless unless he also could be got rid of. You know the French saying that it's only the first step that counts: well, you can apply it here. If a man can murder one half-brother for his money, and get away with it, he won't find it so hard to murder a second half-brother. And I don't in the least mind admitting that Arnold's murderer looked like getting away with it completely - which Kenneth Vereker was well aware of.”
“It would have to be an abnormal mind!” Giles said harshly.
“Yes, certainly.”
“Rubbish! That boy's not abnormal at all. Nor, had he planned to kill Roger, would he have been fool enough to show his animosity so plainly.”
“Wouldn't he?” Hannasyde's voice was very dry. “I think that is just what Kenneth Vereker would do. But don't run away with the idea that I've ruled out every other possible suspect. I haven't - but I should be a fool if I didn't go into his movements last night very carefully.”
They had come to a crossing, and the traffic lights were against them. Not until the car had moved forward again did Giles Carrington answer. Then he said, with a smile: “Yes, you'd be a fool - but I told you I was going to take a hand, didn't I?”
“Well, if anything has occurred to you, let me have it,” said Hannasyde placably.
“Two possibilities have occurred to me, but both are so wildly improbable that I think I won't bother you with them,” replied Giles. “One is obvious enough for you to have thought of for yourself -”
Hannasyde gave a chuckle. “Thank you!”
“Sorry, I didn't mean it quite like that. The other —” he paused - “the other, as far as I know, has absolutely nothing to support it. I'll see if I can find something.”
“It doesn't sound very promising,” said Hannasyde, rather amused. “But by all means go ahead with it.”
In another few minutes they had arrived at the studio. Giles ran his car a little way down the mews, and followed Hannasyde up the stairs to the door of the flat.
It was opened to them by Murgatroyd, who exclaimed: “What, again?” in tones of deep disgust. “Well, one thing's certain - you can't go worrying my young lady and gentleman now. They're having breakfast. Good-morning, Mr Giles.”
“Having breakfast, Murgatroyd?” Giles said. “Do you know it's nearly eleven?”
“Yes, and it was nearly five before Mr Kenneth and Miss Leslie came back from that dance,” said Murgatroyd grimly.
“Well, I'm sorry, but Superintendent Hannasyde is a busy man. Mr Kenneth will have to be disturbed.”
“If you say so, sir,” conceded Murgatroyd, disapprovingly, and stood back. “Not but what I doubt whether Miss Leslie's dressed to receive company, but I'll see.”
“Miss Leslie? Is she here?”
“Oh yes, she's here, and has been all night - what there was left of it by the time Mr Kenneth brought her back,” replied Murgatroyd. “What must she do but leave her latch-key behind, so sooner than knock up her landlady she wakes Miss Tony, and gets into her bed.” She opened the door into the studio as she spoke, and looked in. “Here's Mr Giles with the Superintendent, Miss Tony. Will I let them in, or not?”
“Oh, my God, at this hour!” groaned Kenneth. “Say we're out.”
“No, don't. Of course they can come in,” said Antonia. “You don't mind, do you, Leslie? Hullo, Giles! Good morning, Superintendent. Have some coffee!”
The breakfast-table had been laid in the window. Antonia, fully dressed, was seated at one end, behind the coffee-pot, with Leslie Rivers, in a kimono, on one side of her, and Kenneth, in pyjamas, a pair of flannel trousers, and an old blazer, on the other. Kenneth, who looked half asleep, blinked somewhat morosely at the visitors, and said: “Well, what's happened now? Don't spare us. For God's sake cover up those repulsive eggs, Tony! Murgatroyd must be mad. Where's the ham?”
“We finished it yesterday. Do sit down, Superintendent! This is Miss Rivers, by the way. You're looking rather grim, Giles. Is anything the matter?”
“I'm afraid something very serious, Tony. Roger is dead - shot.”
There was a moment's frozen silence. Then Antonia gasped out: “Gosh!”
Kenneth, who had stayed his coffee-cup half-way to his mouth, blinked again and drank with a good deal of deliberation. Then he set the cup down in the saucer, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said coolly: “If true, slightly redundant. Is it true, by any chance?”
“Perfectly true, Mr Vereker,” said Hannasyde, watching him.
It struck Giles, also watching, that Kenneth's control over his features was almost too perfect. There was a suggestion of rigidity about his mouth, a curiously blank look in his eyes. They travelled from Giles's face to Hannasyde's. Then Kenneth picked up his cup and saucer, and handed it to Antonia. “More coffee, please,” he said. “How my fortunes do fluctuate!”
“You don't seem to be greatly surprised, Mr Vereker.”
“I should hate you to know how very greatly surprised I am, my friend-the-Superintendent. You did say shot, didn't you? What does that mean? Suicide?”
“That or murder,” said Hannasyde. The word, uttered so baldly, had an ugly sound, and made Leslie Rivers shiver involuntarily.
“Let's stick to suicide,” suggested Kenneth. “It's more likely.”
“Do you think so? Why?”
“Obvious inference. He killed Arnold, thought you were on to him, lost his nerve, and pulled the trigger. Violet said he had the wind up.”
“Did she?” It was Giles who spoke. “What made her think that?”
“I didn't ask.”
Leslie said in rather a strained voice, “He must have had the wind up. I thought so myself.”
“Well, I never saw any signs of it,” said Antonia flatly.
Leslie looked steadily at her. “Oh yes, Tony! He often had a sort of scared expression in his eyes.”
“That was only because he thought you'd like to murder him,” replied Antonia irrepressibly. “He said you -” She broke off, flushing scarlet. “Oh, Lord, what on earth am I saying? It was only a joke, of course! He didn't really think so!”
“No, I should hardly suppose he did,” said Leslie quietly. “I can't say I liked him much, but I hadn't any desire to murder him. However, perhaps it's just as well that I've got an alibi.” She turned to Hannasyde and smiled. “I was with Mr Kenneth Vereker last night, from a quarter to eight onwards. We had dinner together at the Carlton, and went on from there to the Albert Hall, where we danced till after four o'clock. Then we came back here.”
“Were you together the entire evening, Miss Rivers?”
“Yes, of course,” she answered.
Kenneth's eyes went swiftly to her face with a look in them hard to read.
“Did you go to the ball alone, or in a party?” asked Hannasyde.
It seemed to Giles that she hesitated for a moment.
Death in the Stocks ih-1 Page 20