‘May I meet your question with another one?’ They had reached the library door, and Appleby stood aside to let Plumridge enter first. It was as if he were coming to feel himself in at least the temporary position of a host at Ledward. ‘You say you have a memory for faces, and you’ve certainly remembered mine from a magazine or newspaper. What about Adrian Snodgrass? I take it you knew him a long time ago?’
‘Dear me, yes. I’ve been in practice in this corner of England for more than forty years. I knew Adrian as a boy.’
‘Very good. And this is Adrian?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ There was astonishment in Plumridge’s voice.
‘We’re talking about faces. There’s the remains of a face in this house now.’ Appleby said this grimly and without pleasantry. ‘Are you quite sure it belongs to somebody whom I gather you’re unlikely to have seen over the past ten years or so?’
‘Good Lord!’ For a moment Plumridge was silent. ‘Yes, I think I am.’
‘That sounds like only a qualified certainty.’
‘I suppose it is, Sir John. But consider how instantly your question has me asking whether I have taken something for granted. Here is this daft annual occasion at Ledward… By the way, I suppose you know about it?’
‘Indeed I do. And it’s my growing impression that a great many other people do as well.’
‘I’d imagine you to be quite right in that. But here’s my point. At dinner tonight, as it happens, I said to my wife, “I wonder whether Adrian Snodgrass will turn up this time?” And he does turn up. This fellow Leonidas, that’s to say, tells me so on the telephone, and that the returned wanderer has been shot while trying to catch some thieves. I arrive and find what we know about. No doubt as to the dead man’s identity ever occurs to me. And then you fire that question at me! Naturally, I ask myself whether I can conceivably have been taking something for granted. But I don’t think it can be so. Indeed, I wonder how such a conjecture can have come into your head.’
‘It was into the vicar’s head that it came, as a matter of fact. I think it has gone out of it again now. But he started the hare that this whole business of a long-lost heir being expected home afforded an ideal spring-board, so to speak, for successful imposture. Some pretender has only to persuade the old Professor that he is Adrian, and he’s likely to be able to get away with a great deal.’
‘It’s an ingenious idea. But I doubt, Sir John, whether you are any more disposed to believe in it than I am. Still, we’ll both have to believe it if one very simple condition holds.’
‘What’s that?’
‘If that dead body proves not to have parted with its appendix. I remember sending Adrian into a nursing-home for an appendicectomy quite thirty years ago. It was uncommonly fashionable at that time. Shall we go back and have a look? I didn’t strip the poor chap down to his tummy.’
‘Not while that bobby’s on the beat, thank you. But if the body has had its appendix out…’
‘That doesn’t advance the matter? I quite agree. And I don’t suppose Adrian’s fingerprints have ever been collected by the police. Or not in this country.’
‘Ah?’
‘So it may be the dentist or nothing, if a coroner at his inquest gets sceptical. But I increasingly feel, Sir John, that we’re on a wild-goose chase. Dash it all, the features aren’t all that mutilated. No, it’s Adrian. I’m sure of it.’
‘What about it being some other Snodgrass, with a close resemblance to the young man you remember?’
‘Is there such a person?’ Plumridge looked puzzled. ‘I can’t think of one.’
‘Of course I haven’t a notion, Doctor. It’s simply that one has to think of all those possibilities. It’s a kind of routine.’ Appleby paused. ‘But you said something interesting a moment ago. About fingerprints. “Or not in this country”. What do you know about Adrian Snodgrass in other countries? And about the Snodgrasses in general, for that matter? This business of a South American connection, for example. I’m quite curious about that.’
‘My dear sir, it would take a little leisure to put you at all fully in the picture there.’
‘Then why not sit down?’ As he spoke Appleby moved towards the fire, which was still by no means extinguished. ‘They’ll rout us out when they want to.’ He paused. ‘But what about that Mrs Anglebury? Perhaps you feel you ought to have an eye on her? Particularly if the police…’
‘Not necessary.’ Dr Plumridge had sat down, and was stretching his limbs in frank fatigue. ‘I’ve given her what will by now have knocked her out for some hours. Remarkable privileges, we medical characters have. The police mayn’t be pleased, but I simply say my patient’s interest comes first. And now, let me tell you anything I usefully can about the person we’ll agree to identify with the dead man.’
‘Thank you,’ Appleby said. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘I don’t know the details,’ Plumridge began, ‘of what may be called the South American background of these people. But the outline is clear enough. The Snodgrasses have been a good deal intermarried with the Beddoeses, who are another family of the same sort.’
‘There was a Beddoes Beddoes who was called the Liberator,’ Appleby said.
‘Ah, I see you know something about them. I don’t think the two families were of the same sort back in the Liberator’s time. The Liberator was an adventurer – although he might just as well be called a thug – with nothing much behind him, whereas there had been prosperous Snodgrasses in the Argentine and elsewhere for quite some time before he bobbed up. The man who built this distinctly ambitious house, Augustus Snodgrass, did so largely on the strength of properties in the West Indies; and from there other Snodgrasses had already been taking up land, and so on, on the South American continent for some time. Particularly in Azuera. They seem to have been clever enough, and wealthy enough, to hold their own through a great deal of political turmoil of one sort and another – partly, I believe, on the strength of further judicious marriages which gained them the support of banking interests in the United States.
‘The Snodgrasses out there had no doubt become as Spanish as they were English in a good many ways, and I think they prized being accepted by the Blancos, or aristocrats of pure Spanish descent. No doubt they exploited the natives, and the lower classes generally, in a manner merciless enough. But they had their virtues, and I think it would be fair to call them an honourable and high-minded crowd. Certainly they got deeper into politics, and with the best of intentions. The result of that was that their prosperity tended to decline, and their security was threatened in various ways. Roughly speaking, therefore, they came to rely a good deal on their English and American connections. I think their position is something like that today.’
‘Great houses like this are contriving to get along in private hands still without a great deal behind them.’ Appleby paused. There had been the sound of a car on the drive which probably betokened the arrival of more police. ‘Would that be the position of Ledward still?’
‘I think not. There’s real wealth behind it. And there are other Snodgrasses in England who are people of fortune.’
‘It seems to me extraordinary that this unfortunate fellow, Adrian Snodgrass, being actually the proprietor of the place, should have had nothing to do with it for years, nor apparently have benefited from it in any way.’
‘Oh, I rather doubt that last proposition. I expect there were bankers upon whom he could draw if he wanted to. Basically it has been a matter of pride, I imagine. Adrian stood by the role his family had allotted him when he was still a younger son.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Appleby recalled Who’s Who. ‘ “Eldest surviving son”. As a young man, they shipped him off to South America?’
‘Just that. He was too wild for the home paddocks. And, in point of family tradition, there was nothing out of the way in it. The branch of the family out there was by way of getting, as I’ve said, financial backing from Snodgrasses in England. And black sheep would arrive al
ong with the money, as a kind of package deal.’
‘A humiliating arrangement, from the young man’s point of view.’
‘Yes, indeed. But I think the old gentleman here, Beddoes Snodgrass, was the only one to bother his head about that. Adrian must always have been a favourite of his.’
‘Is it really a full ten years since he last troubled to turn up and see his uncle?’
‘I think of it loosely as that, but if I worked it out I think it might come to only eight. Which was long enough. And it wasn’t, incidentally, pure family piety that brought him back to Ledward then. Or I don’t think it was. I had a strong impression at the time that he had come here in order to lie low. This will sound melodramatic, I suppose. But I believe there were people who were out for his blood.’
‘My dear Doctor!’ Under cover of this exclamation of astonishment, Appleby took a sharp look at Plumridge, as if almost suspecting him of some deliberate obfuscation. ‘Do you mean political enemies from across the South Atlantic?’
‘It sounds absurd, but I’m afraid I do.’
‘You saw him at this time you’re speaking of? You had some talk with him?’
‘Certainly. A good deal of what he said was obscure to me. Adrian might be described as submerged in a world of revolution and counter-revolution of an almost phantasmagoric sort, and he took it for granted that I was as interested and well-informed as he was.’
‘It amounted to obsession? He was far from being mentally well-balanced?’
‘I think that would have to be called a fair assessment. Adrian had started in the army, you know, and left it pretty promptly under some sort of cloud. And that made him seek, if not exactly martial glory, at least military eminence. So now it was a matter of his wanting to be Commander-in-Chief in Azuera, and probably Minister of War as well. But some rival clique of officers had got their man the job. He was very savage about it; indeed, not altogether sane. He told me several times over that he had in his possession what would cook their bloody goose at any time in their succeeding lives; and that he was capable of playing cat and mouse with them; and biding his time with them, and not striking until he could strike to kill. I’m bound to say I didn’t find it all much worth listening to. And it’s probably not worthwhile your hearing about it now. It’s past history, after all.’
‘I’m grateful to you, all the same.’ Appleby found himself taking another sharp look at Plumridge. ‘I think this conversation is likely to be interrupted at any moment now. But may I ask you about one other thing? Here is a man of property, shot dead in the very act, so to speak, of turning up to claim it – or, at least, possibly to claim it. So one has to consider…’
‘But what can this line of thought have to do with more or less petty robbery of pictures, and bits of silver, and high-class knick-knackery of one sort and another?’
‘I see that you at least understand what I’m talking about. But the robbery, you know, might be a mere blind. Or what we are confronting may be sheer coincidence. Or not – come to think of it – exactly that, since this particular night may be regarded as offering special scope for more kinds of crime than one. In any case, it’s plainly essential to know about who benefits from the death of Adrian Snodgrass – benefits, that is, in the most obvious financial way. Do you know anything about that?’
‘Of course not.’ Plumridge had admitted a note of impatience into his voice. ‘I’m the family doctor, you know, and not the family lawyer. I’ve no idea what entail – if that’s the term – still exists, or what trusts or settlements; or what Adrian’s will may prove to say – supposing he has made one, and has in fact owned a substantial power of bequest. Professor Snodgrass might give you a notion – presuming he’s willing to be communicative about the matter.’
‘Thank you. No doubt he’s the proper person to answer the question – and the police who have just arrived are the proper people to ask it. But as for being communicative, Doctor, I judge it improbable that anybody is going to have much choice. Except, conceivably, yourself.’
‘My dear Sir John, may I ask what you mean by that?’
‘I refer to what’s called professional confidence. It’s just possible, isn’t it, that you may have relevant information – relevant, I mean, strictly to the clearing up of this crime – which you might have to ask yourself questions about in that regard? I believe I could ask you such a question now.’ Appleby had risen to his feet, for there were voices at the far end of the quadrant corridor. ‘Shall I?’
‘Yes, of course. I take your point. But it stands to reason that I shall want to help in every possible way.’ Plumridge got up and stood with his back to that now fast-dying fire which had been kindled for Adrian Snodgrass’ return to the home of his fathers. ‘So go ahead.’
‘That young man who came to fetch his mother, and who tells me his name is David Anglebury. Is there any chance that he is Adrian Snodgrass’ illegitimate son?’
‘I see.’ Plumridge’s expression had become grave. ‘Well, it is obvious that there is always a chance of such a thing. To put it crudely, any man may be the father of any child with whose mother he could conceivably have had sexual relations within a given stretch of time. And you would quickly find, I think, that the possibility applies to Adrian Snodgrass and this particular young man’s mother. But that just doesn’t begin to be evidence.’
‘Of course not.’ Appleby was moving towards the door. ‘And there’s nothing more you can say about it?’
‘Not without a little thought.’ Plumridge paused on this expression, as if weighing it carefully. And it appeared to satisfy him, because he repeated it at the open door.
‘Not without a little thought,’ Plumridge said.
10
Detective Inspector Stride seemed a highly conscientious officer; he clearly made it a standing instruction that whenever a murder call came through in the small hours he was to be summoned from his bed. And about Appleby’s identity he was as assured as Dr Plumridge had been; some years ago, he explained, he had attended a Crime Squad course at which Sir John gave a much-appreciated lecture. This being so, Stride had decided (perhaps rashly, from the point of view of pure theory) that Appleby was not profitably to be suspected of being either a murderer of wandering heirs or a purloiner of French paintings. And since Appleby did happen to have dropped in on Ledward on this rather unusual occasion, Stride opined, he might very well feel like continuing to move around a little. But not – it seemed to be suggested – as an awkwardly high-ranking attaché to Stride’s own team. Appleby, finding, at least for the time being, much sense in this, took himself off to another room.
He looked at his watch, and found to his surprise that it was barely past three o’clock. In subjective terms, this impromptu mystery appeared to have been going on for a good deal longer than that. Perhaps the impression was occasioned by his having so far made no real progress in clarifying the affair. There was as much nonsense and inconsequence to it now (he told himself impatiently) as there had ever been. However, at three o’clock, the night, or at least the morning, was still young. There was plenty of time (thus a small seductive voice from the past seemed to murmur in his ear) to tie the whole thing up before breakfast. Or before, at least, the customary hour for that meal. For it seemed improbable, in the present confusion at Ledward, that Leonidas or another would get around to serving coffee and bacon-and-eggs at eight-thirty.
These reflections on the clock led him to recall that there were certain small chronological sequences that needed fixing and clarifying. For instance, there had been the events, or better perhaps the phenomena, that had preluded the actual catastrophe. And these had been introduced by a kind of double prelude. The suggestion of prowlers on the terrace outside the library had been the first of these; and the second had been the lurking presence of Mrs Anglebury (as she had proved to be) at the library door. Between these there had been time for Appleby’s first quite substantial colloquy with Professor Snodgrass. After the alarm of the woman in
white that colloquy had continued. Then there had been the sounds of Adrian Snodgrass’ arrival, and these had prompted Appleby to that abortive withdrawal from Ledward which had led to his unfortunate grapple with Dr Absolon. There had followed a certain amount of palaver before Leonidas had entered with his formal announcement that Mr Snodgrass was in residence. Leonidas had then given his brief account of what might be called Adrian’s comportment – and it was hard upon this that the real crush of impressions came. What it wouldn’t at all do to muddle was the actual order and succession of these. But Appleby was fairly confident that he hadn’t got them wrong.
The darkness had evoked an angry shout, or had at least been instantly followed by one. Then had come running footsteps – the footsteps, surely, of several people pounding along together. And loud footsteps. Could they have come from the quadrant corridor immediately beyond the library: the corridor along which he had previously seen Mrs Anglebury disappear? It was difficult to suppose so… Appleby frowned. Well, hard upon that had come the sound of the smashed drawing-room window, and then the report of the revolver, or whatever the weapon had been. But in between these sounds – splintering glass and loud report – there had been the woman’s scream. Mrs Anglebury’s scream, one had to suppose.
Or had there been a second female prowling Ledward? At present, it was impossible to say. But there was something else that did, surely, emerge from this brief analysis. The sequence of sounds he had been recalling lacked – he searched for a word – lucidity. There was something odd about them.
These, whether in an intelligible series or not, had been the acoustic effects (or known facts, for that matter) immediately clustered round the main event of the night: namely, Adrian Snodgrass’ death. But there was one other, if minor, cluster of events the sequence of which required thinking about. They were the events which had enacted themselves in what might be called the bedroom and dining-room area. As Appleby’s mind turned in this direction he found his steps doing so too.
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