Death Descends On Saturn Villa (The Gower Street Detective Series)

by M. R. C. Kasasian

  Colwyn crossed himself.

  ‘You said that your master was very upset and anxious.’ I put the letter down. ‘Did he ever threaten suicide?’

  Colwyn grasped furiously at nothing. ‘Don’t you try that one on me.’ His fists tightened. ‘Murdering whore. I should have stabbed you out there in the hall.’

  I fixed his eyes with mine. There was a rolling rule on the desk and I rested my hand on it without taking my gaze off him. It was good solid mahogany and might at least help me to defend myself. My fingers closed over it and Colwyn glanced down.

  ‘Think that will save you?’ He snatched up a bronze paperweight and hurled it just past my head into a bookshelf. ‘I could tear you apart with my bare hands and not a soul would blame me.’

  ‘I might.’ A tall, heavily built young constable came into the room. ‘I may be new to this job, sir, but I’m pretty sure that shredding young ladies is contrary to Her Majesty’s penal code.’ He saw the body and winced. ‘Your maid wasn’t making it up then.’

  I remembered the last policeman I had met in that room and asked politely, ‘May I see your warrant card?’

  The policeman’s eyes twinkled. ‘Think this is a fancy-dress costume?’ But he reached into his cape pocket and held one out for my inspection.

  ‘Thank you, Constable Sedgemoor,’ I said. ‘I am Miss March Middleton and the deceased is my second cousin—’

  ‘Ptolemy Travers Smyth,’ he said. ‘We go – used to go – to the same church and I know your name from somewhere too.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘The lady who works with Sidney Grice.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Colwyn said bitterly. ‘This is getting a bit too cosy for my liking.’

  Constable Sedgemoor put his card away. ‘And you are?’ he asked coolly.

  ‘Colwyn Blanchflower, Mr Travers Smyth’s valet.’ He tidied his cravat automatically. ‘And this woman murdered him.’

  Sedgemoor leaned over. ‘Well, he is certainly dead. What makes you think Miss Middleton did it?’

  ‘It’s not complicated,’ Colwyn told him. ‘She was the only one in the room and he shouted out No, please don’t kill me. I don’t want to die. I heard it loud and clear in the hall.’

  ‘It was actually No, please don’t shoot me, please. And then No, please. I don’t want to die,’ I corrected.

  ‘It was something like that,’ Colwyn snapped.

  ‘It is important to get these things right,’ the policeman told him.

  ‘Quite so,’ I agreed. ‘I should not like to be executed because you have no ear for dialogue.’

  Colwyn banged the side of his fist on the wall. ‘The point is that there was a shot and I ran in to find Mr Travers Smyth dead on the floor and this woman standing over him, putting the gun into his hand.’

  ‘That is a lie,’ I insisted. ‘The gun was already in his hand and you took it out to rearrange his body when I told you not to. I was standing over there by the desk when he did it.’

  Colwyn quaked with indignation. ‘Then how did all that gunpowder get on your dress?’ he challenged.

  I picked a few grains off and held them out. ‘That is pounce.’

  ‘What the hell is pounce?’

  ‘It is ground cuttlefish bone,’ I told him. ‘It used to be very popular for drying the ink on—’

  ‘Blotting paper,’ Colwyn shouted. ‘There you are again, caught out by your own lies. My master used blotting paper. You saw him use it yourself when you tricked him into writing a new will in your favour.’

  ‘Excuse me, miss.’ Constable Sedgemoor leaned towards me and inhaled. ‘But that smells like gunpowder to me.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ I protested. ‘The whole room stinks of it. I imagine you do by now. Shall I sniff at your uniform like a bloodhound?’

  ‘Where is his pounce jar then?’ Colwyn spread out his hands as if to prove he did not have it.

  I marched to the fireplace. Perhaps there would be something of the box with some of its contents left but, when I thought about it, the whole thing had gone up like gunpowder. I poked about with the fire iron but there was nothing recognizable left.

  Colwyn rammed a chair aside to get closer but the policeman held out a warning arm.

  ‘She is a mad woman,’ Colwyn raged. ‘She came here the first time claiming that she had killed him when all the time he was asleep in bed. Then she brought the police and accused Mr Travers Smyth of murdering a scientific sample. Then she came here—’

  ‘Came here?’ I repeated indignantly. ‘I was kidnapped, beaten and dragged here.’

  Colwyn gripped his fists in frustration. ‘And then she tried to make out that Mr Travers Smyth had arranged it all.’ He strained over the outstretched arm without actually touching it.

  ‘One moment.’ Constable Sedgemoor licked his finger. ‘Pardon me, miss.’ He ran it lightly over my sleeve, picking up several black grains on the tip which he put on to his tongue. He mulled the grains around his mouth like a wine taster. ‘Gunpowder,’ he pronounced.

  ‘I told you,’ Colwyn insisted. ‘She shot my master in cold blood. Give me five minutes and I’ll get the truth out of the murdering bitch.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Constable Sedgemoor ordered. ‘And step away from my suspect.’

  ‘Suspect?’

  ‘Do you have anything to say, miss?’ I shook my head and the policeman inhaled heavily. ‘Then I’m afraid I must ask you to accompany me to the station.’

  ‘Are you arresting me?’

  Constable Sedgemoor’s countenance was bleak. ‘Yes, miss, I’m afraid I am.’

  49

  Resisting Arrest

  I WEIGHED UP the situation. I could hardly hope to overpower or outrun both men and what would be the point? They knew who I was and where I lived.

  ‘I should like to see Mr Grice first,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll bet you would,’ Colwyn jeered. ‘That nosy little cripple has caused enough trouble here already. Take her away, Constable.’

  Constable Sedgemoor bridled. ‘All in good time.’

  I stood as tall as I could, which is not very tall. ‘I never go anywhere without my handbag.’ I went briskly towards the map table. Uncle Tolly’s feet projected from the end.

  Too late, Colwyn realized. ‘You didn’t have one when I got you out of that sack.’

  ‘She’s after the gun!’ Sedgemoor yelled.

  The revolver lay on the top where Colwyn had placed it. He lunged at me and I dived, scattering a metal rack, books and maps before me as I scrambled desperately over the table, stretching every sinew to reach the weapon and tumbling sideways to crash on to the floor, just managing to struggle to my feet as he grabbed at the hem of my dress.

  ‘Release me.’ I kicked at Colwyn’s hand and he let go.

  I straightened myself up a bit. My hair had collapsed about me but there was nothing I could do about that.

  ‘Don’t be silly, miss.’ Constable Sedgemoor was strolling towards me, apparently as unconcerned as if he were taking the country air.

  ‘I am often silly,’ I aimed the gun at the ceiling, ‘as my guardian will vouch when he gets here.’

  There was an upright wooden chair with its back to the front window and I edged crab-like towards it.

  ‘Mr Grice can come to the station,’ the policeman reasoned. ‘I’m sure he knows the way.’

  ‘I want him to see the scene before it is disturbed any further.’ I sat in the chair to try to stop my legs shaking, but I could see them quiver below the blue fabric and I was sure he could too. He had big brown eyes that took everything in.

  Colwyn rubbed his knuckles, which I was pleased to see were raw. ‘It’s a criminal offence to threaten a police officer, isn’t it, Constable?’

  ‘It is,’ Sedgemoor concurred. ‘Be sensible, miss. You are only making things worse for yourself.’

  I lowered the gun. It was sticky with Uncle Tolly’s blood. ‘But I am not threatening you.’ I put the muzzle to my temple. ‘I am threatening myself.�
�

  ‘Let her do it,’ Colwyn urged. ‘Go ahead, Middleton, and save us all the bother of a trial.’

  I ignored him and told the policeman, ‘If you try to drag me out of here I shall pull the trigger. If you summon Mr Grice I shall go as meekly as a lamb.’ I almost added to the slaughter.

  Constable Sedgemoor put out his hand for the gun. ‘It is also an offence to resist arrest so, even if you are not guilty of killing your uncle, you could end up in prison.’

  ‘You are very logical,’ I told him, ‘and I am sure Mr Grice will appreciate your sound common sense when he gets here, but I am not resisting arrest either. You are perfectly at liberty to detain me, though you may have to scrape some of my head off the wall.’ I shuddered at my own image.

  ‘Blow your brains out, see if we care,’ Colwyn exhorted.

  ‘If I did that I should not be here to see whether you care or not.’ I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair to keep my hand steady. The revolver was very heavy. ‘I would prefer to wait for Mr Grice.’

  Constable Sedgemoor narrowed his eyes determinedly.

  ‘I’m afraid you will not be able to shoot yourself, miss.’ Sedgemoor forced a little smile. ‘You see, the safety catch is on. So why don’t you just give me the gun and we’ll forget all about it.’

  He had me rattled for a moment.

  ‘This is a Wagstaff-Turner six-shot revolver,’ I bluffed. ‘There is no safety catch. If you think there is, take it off me and let us hope the gun does not fire in the struggle.’

  Constable Sedgemoor weighed his options.

  ‘I think we shall sit this one out.’ He pulled up a chair to face me.

  ‘Send a message to Mr Grice. In fact send two,’ I suggested. ‘He may still be at the Old Bailey or he may be at home.’

  ‘Are you deaf?’ Colwyn mocked. ‘Nobody is sending any messages.’

  ‘Watch my finger,’ I told the constable and tightened it on the trigger.

  The policeman made a fist. ‘Do it, man,’ he commanded. ‘Don’t argue. Just do it.’

  ‘You’ll pay for this,’ Colwyn swore and stormed off.

  My finger relaxed and the constable pushed his chair several feet back.

  ‘Lower the gun,’ he said. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

  I did as he bade. ‘Not nearly so nervous as I made myself,’ I said.

  ‘Ever play poker?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes.’ I put the revolver on my lap but kept hold of the handle. ‘And I usually win.’

  50

  Cleopatra

  WE DID NOT speak for ten or more minutes. Constable Sedgemoor toyed with his handcuffs, shutting and locking and unlocking and opening them again so often that I was beginning to get annoyed.

  ‘Now that we’re alone,’ he broke the silence at last, ‘and you have had a chance to cool down, suppose you tell me – just between ourselves – exactly what happened.’

  I tried to summarize my first visit and why I fled. I told him about the police search and he listened without making notes.

  ‘So what is that sack for?’ It still lay on the floor but had been kicked to lie half under an oak bookcase. ‘Were you planning to dispose of the body?’

  ‘I was brought here in it and tied with that rope.’

  ‘Sounds a bit like Cleopatra,’ he remarked coolly.

  ‘Except that she did it of her own accord and was not assaulted first.’ I indicated my injuries. ‘Where do you think I got these from?’

  Sedgemoor rested his right ankle on his left knee. ‘Maybe your uncle put up a fight.’

  ‘And I have rope marks on my legs.’

  ‘Could be self-inflicted.’

  I tried again. ‘Uncle Tolly shot himself. He wrote a letter, sprinkled a lot of black powder on it and blew some on me. He went to the map table, saying he was getting me a cloth, ducked down and came up with a gun, shouted out and shot himself.’

  Constable Sedgemoor pondered my words. ‘It doesn’t sound very likely, does it?’

  ‘It sounds extremely unlikely to me,’ I agreed, ‘and most policemen would pour far more scorn on my story than you have.’

  Sedgemoor hung his handcuffs back on his belt.

  ‘I know officers who would have slapped you by now,’ he admitted, ‘especially if you were not a lady.’

  ‘You are better spoken than the average constable,’ I observed, ‘and I do not think many of your colleagues would have even heard of Cleopatra.’

  ‘I could have gone in much higher with my background,’ he admitted. ‘But I want to be a proper policeman first.’

  We fell silent again and Sedgemoor began to whistle brightly between his closed teeth, a brisk version of ‘Who Stole the Sweet From My Sweetheart?’ complete with all the trills after ‘I used to be the happle of ’er eye’.

  Eventually he tired of that and started on ‘Polly of Petticoat Lane’ which he ran through twice, though a little mournfully, before Colwyn returned.

  ‘So she did not shoot you?’

  ‘If she has, I did not notice,’ the constable replied drily. ‘Where are the other servants?’

  ‘There’s only me and Annie, the maid, who live in. Cook leaves us cold scraps on her days off and this is one of them. Annie will be in the kitchen, I should think, keeping warm by the range.’ Colwyn’s shoes were splattered with mud – three different types to judge by their hues, and I wondered what Sidney Grice would have made of that.

  ‘Go down and tell her to stay there. Then come back and sit in the hall,’ Sedgemoor instructed. ‘Any chance of a mug of tea?’

  ‘Go hang yourself.’ Colwyn left the room.

  ‘I think that means no,’ I told the constable and he shifted in his chair.

  ‘You can tell me, now that you’ve got what you asked for. Would you really have shot yourself?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘But your finger tightened on the trigger.’

  ‘I saw how much Uncle Tolly’s blanched when he pulled it.’

  Sedgemoor rested his right ankle on his left knee. ‘It was still a big risk. The trigger might have pulled more easily after it had been used.’

  I held the gun up and turned it round for him to see. ‘The safety catch was on.’

  Constable Sedgemoor chuckled. ‘You had me there,’ he conceded. ‘It’ll take a while to live that one down.’

  ‘I shall not tell anybody,’ I promised and plonked the gun on the occasional table at my side. The catch slipped. I felt it move in my palm and the hammer fell and the gun jumped, and all of hell burst out of that barrel.

  Constable Sedgemoor had sensed it coming. He uncrossed his legs and twisted away, but as the raised edge of the table erupted into smoke and splinters I saw his body jerk and he fell forwards, toppling on to the floor between us.

  51

  The Confines of a Bullet

  CONSTABLE SEDGEMOOR’S HEAD hit my leg and bounced away. I fell to my knees. His eyes were still open. A shadow became solid and I felt my arm gripped hard and wrenched back and saw Colwyn distorted by fury, his fist pulled back. I ducked and he punched the back of my head twice. Sedgemoor’s arm came up.

  ‘No,’ I heard as the reverberations died away. ‘I am all right.’

  ‘She tried to kill you too.’ Colwyn shook me as I had seen a mongoose do with a cobra.

  ‘Leave her be,’ Sedgemoor shouted fuzzily.

  Colwyn threw me aside and stepped back as I disentangled myself from the policeman.

  ‘If you had not thrown yourself down…’ I pulled my curtain of hair back.

  ‘I could not have been quick enough to beat a bullet.’ Constable Sedgemoor clambered back up into his chair. ‘Luckily for me, it was pointing over that way.’

  There was a splintered hole big enough to put my boot through in the side of Uncle Tolly’s desk.

  ‘Thank God.’ I tucked my hair as best I could behind my ears, but the clips had gone everywhere and I could not find the ribbon.

  The rev
olver had kicked back off the shattered table and lay on a rug, mercifully pointing towards the wall because I was too terrified to touch it now. I sat down gingerly.

  ‘You might have had some trouble explaining that one.’ Sedgemoor slumped into his chair.

  ‘I think I could have explained it easily enough,’ Sidney Grice declared as he came into the room. ‘You would be safer trusting a fox with chickens than a girl with a gun.’

  ‘Oh, Mr G,’ I cried and rose to greet him. ‘Thank God you are here.’

  ‘I wish I could say the same.’ He halted me. ‘Sit back down. Good afternoon, Charley.’

  ‘Mr Grice.’

  ‘You two know each other?’ I returned to my seat.

  ‘I am not in the habit of addressing strange policemen as Charley,’ my guardian said. He had removed his Ulster coat and wide-brimmed hat before he entered, but retained his satchel and cane.

  ‘I do not remember, of course, but my mother told me Mr Grice used to rock me off to sleep,’ Sedgemoor admitted.

  In spite of everything that had happened, or perhaps because of it, I laughed. The image of my guardian fondly dangling a baby on his knee was incongruous with the man I knew.

  ‘How is your mother?’ Mr G asked. ‘No, do not trouble to answer that. I am not interested and only asked in a regrettable lapse into courteousness.’ He prodded a forefinger towards me. ‘If you wish to see the year out you will say nothing unless it is in direct response to my enquiry. Is that instruction firmly embedded in your crude facsimile of a brain?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘And will you obey it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ He thrust his cane and satchel at me. ‘Then I can entrust you with these. How did you get gunpowder on your dress? And I am not talking about that resulting from the presumably accidental near-assassination of this worthy and well-connected constable. I refer to the stale gunpowder which was ignited outside the confines of a bullet at least two weeks ago.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’ Sedgemoor rubbed his grazed chin.