People had begun arriving in the great hall for luncheon. Egg looked for Charlotte but she wasn't there. He was distinctly trembling and hoped no-one would notice. 'Does anybody know if Killigrew is back?' he said, trying to sound casual about it.
'Why do you ask?' said Elizabeth. Normally hatless in the house, she was wearing a rather unflattering cloche. The expression under it was hostile.
'Just wondered,' shrugged Egg.
'Mr Killigrew hasn't arrived yet, sir,' said Doris, pouring him some tea. 'Or he hadn't five minutes ago.'
'Thank you, Doris.'
'As long as he's back by three, eh?' said the Colonel affably. 'I hear you've put up the banns, young man.'
'Yes, we have.'
'Jolly good show. You won't regret it. I never have.'
Janet, who was serving herself potato salad, looked up quizzically. 'I'm very glad to hear it!' she said. 'Shall I get yours?'
'Yes please, dear. No lettuce.'
'I never give you lettuce.'
'Tea, sir?'
'Thank you, Doris,' said George.
Bernard came downstairs, looking a little pink.
'Hello, darling,' said Emily, reaching out a hand to him. They began talking together in low tones.
Handing George his plate, Janet abruptly turned and looked up. 'Listen!' she said.
They stopped what they were doing and listened.
'Why, it's Nettie,' frowned Doris. 'Whatever can be the matter?'
'Mouse?' suggested George.
'She wouldn't scream like that for a mouse, surely?' said Emily. 'She'll make herself hoarse.'
For some reason, Egg found himself exchanging glances with Bernard, who smiled awkwardly at him. Where was Charlotte when he needed her? His nerves were in shreds.
'Well isn't anyone going up?' demanded Janet. 'Because if not, I shall.'
'Oh Lord — Emmett!' cried Elizabeth.
They found Nettie on the gallery. Deprived of speech by some unimaginable horror and with her small hands clutching her ears she continued lustily to voice her distress.
'For goodness' sake, child, pull yourself together,' snapped Janet, and gave her a sharp slap.
Roger appeared, his face the colour of putty. 'It's in the library,' he said.
'What is?' demanded Elizabeth.
'Best see for yourself.'
'At the door of the library they found Vanda and Tony, standing as if turned to stone. The source of their discomfiture was not hard to find, for slumped in an armchair and staring sightlessly up at them, was the unmistakable figure of Sir Jasper FitzGreville, Baronet.
Chapter Seven
'All the trimmings, too,' said the Super. 'Horse-drawn hearse, fancy coffin, half-page in The Times — which he no doubt wrote himself. You can imagine the shock when they found him.'
Drawing on his pipe, Detective Inspector Felix chuckled appreciatively. Unlike some of his colleagues he got on well with his senior officer, probably because they shared a sense of humour. 'Quite an artist in his way, wasn't he? I'll almost miss him. When did it happen?'
'Probably in the small hours of this morning. No doubt about it this time, though you might want to drive a stake through his heart, just to be sure.'
'Any idea who?'
'None at all. There's no shortage of suspects of course, but chances are it was someone in the house. You'd best get over there before they clear off home. Benyson is on his way now. And kindly take that gang of ruffians with you. I'm fed up with them lounging about the place, distracting my girls.'
'They'll probably welcome some action, sir,' smiled Felix, rising. 'It's been a bit quiet lately.'
Detective Superintendent Polly (a name that needed no embellishment by the lower ranks) escorted him to the door. 'Talking of girls, Felix. Who, if you don't mind me asking, was that gorgeous blonde I saw you with last night? Model, is she? The whole room turned to look at her.
'At the Kit Kat? Just a friend, sir. No-one you'll have heard of.'
'More than a friend, I'd say. Regular patron are you? I nearly had a seizure when I got the bill.'
'I was a guest. Official business was it?'
The Super laughed. 'Touché! Can't comment, I'm afraid. However, it might be wise to take your posh pals somewhere else, just for now.
Passing through the empty typing pool, Felix turned into the tiny office he shared with the aforementioned "ruffians." Detective Sergeants Nash and Yardley were there waiting.
'Sorry to drag you in on a Sunday, gents; we're off to Knapperton Manor.'
'What's happened?'
'Someone's put a hole in old Jasper.'
'Get away! I thought it was a motor accident.'
'There never was one; he faked it. Now, however, he's properly dead. Shot in the head.'
'Blimey, that's a turn up! Cherchez la femme, would it be?'
'Shouldn't be surprised. Who's been bothering the harem, by the way? Or is it a figment of the Polly's lascivious imagination?'
Nash shook his head. 'Not me. Nice girls, but not my type.'
'He means nice girls aren't his type,' explained Yardley.
'More or less,' agreed Nash. 'It's probably Rattigan again, the Sheik of Scotland Yard.'
The doorway filled with the mountainous form of Detective Sergeant 'Teddy' Rattigan, one-time police boxing champion, now dedicated trencherman. 'What's probably me?'
'Getting fresh with the harem.'
'Oh, them. Tried 'em all and found 'em wanting.'
'I actually meant the present lot, Teddy,' said Nash. 'Not their mothers.'
'Cheeky young whelp. I'll have you know I had 'em falling at my feet when I was your age.'
'Oh yes? Tripped over them did they? They're large enough.'
'It's easy to see why you two are single,' said Yardley. 'Excessively high standards.'
'That's not much of a compliment to Mrs Yardley, Paul!' chided Nash. 'I've a good mind tell her so.'
'Er, well I didn't mean that, obviously,' said Yardley, colouring.
'Come on, you lot,' chuckled Felix. 'I want to be there before they mess up the evidence. How's your chess-playing, Paul? Not your strong suit, I shouldn't think.'
'What's that got to do with it?' said Yardley, looking aggrieved. 'I was in the school team.'
Conducted by Fudge to the library they found the mortal remains of Sir Jasper, still in the brown leather armchair where he'd been discovered. Squatting contemplatively beside him was Dr Howard Benyson, the Yard's senior pathologist. Seen like that, thought Felix, he looked even more toadlike than usual, not excluding the warts. A uniformed police constable stood guard at the door.
'Fairly straightforward on the face of it,' said Benyson, rising to greet them. 'A single shot to the right temple from a miniature-calibre pistol. Such, indeed, as the one on the floor. A Mauser 1910, is it not? Light tattooing, so most likely shot from less than a foot away. The bullet's still in there.'
'Suicide?'
'That's the obvious inference.'
'Time of death?'
'Call it between midnight and two. Twist my arm and I'll make it one o'clock or thereabouts.'
'Anything odd about it?'
Benyson wagged his head equivocally. 'Probably not at this stage.'
'Probably?' said Felix encouragingly.
'Just a feeling.'
'What sort of feeling?'
Benyson picked up his battered Gladstone bag. 'A feeling, Miles — a thought in embryo, inchoate and unnameable. Leave it with me.'
'See you later then,' smiled Felix. 'What's your name, Constable? you've had a look round, presumably?'
'Davies, sir. Yes, I've had a bit of a look; not to touch anything of course. Nothing lying about except the gun. Oh, and the cartridge. It's under those shelves, sir. Just spotted it.'
'Oh yes, good. No note?'
'Not that we can find, sir.'
'No shortage of footprints by the look of it.'
'I reckon the whole family was up here to look at him, s
ir, which I suppose you'd expect, but they don't really show up well on this carpet. We couldn't find any blood, except on him.'
'Has anyone told you anything?'
'No, sir. Nothing useful anyway. They seem stunned, as you might say. You knew he'd been playing dead, sir? The funeral was last Thursday.'
'Yes I did. Where is Inspector Meadows?'
'Over to the churchyard, sir — the exhumation.'
'That was quick,' said Yardley.
'Needs to be,' said Felix. 'We may have two deaths on our hands; though I don't think it very likely.'
'Do you want me to stay, sir?' asked Davis.
'If you'd be so kind. I'll fetch someone over to relieve you, but in the meantime we need to keep people out of here. Are the gardens open to the public, do you know?'
'Only on special days, sir, not generally. The house is private.'
'Photos now, sir?' asked Nash.
'Yes, you might as well.'
Nash swiftly photographed the body and the nearby gun from all angles, the air filling with the reek of burnt magnesium.
'The Inspector searched his pockets, sir,' offered Davis. 'Nothing but a hankie and a room key. He left them in there for you.' He abruptly came to attention as a large, broad-shouldered man in his forties appeared. His hands were thrust in his trouser pockets causing his coat to spread out behind him.
'Hello, Felix. Thought it might be you, seein' it's a nob.'
'I'm becoming a specialist,' said Felix wryly. 'Detective to the carriage trade. Meet my "ruffians," as Polly called them this morning. This is Inspector Meadows.'
'Morning gents,' said Meadows. You look perfectly respectable to me, except the ugly one with the cauliflower ears. Hello, Teddy. Wasn't it in the ring last time?'
'Yes it was. Nice to see you again, sir,' chuckled Rattigan. 'You're not much battered, that I can see.'
'That's because I'm light on me feet,' said Meadows. 'It ought to be you that's the "sir," anyway. Where have you been?'
'That's what I tell him,' said Felix. 'How goes the grave-robbing?'
'It's the family tomb, fortunately — no digging. Guess what was in the coffin.'
'I'll hazard a pig,' said Felix.
Meadows looked disappointed. 'Yes, it was! Looked just like a bloke, though. Whoever done it put a sort of human mask over the face and wrapped it up in a sheet. A shroud, I suppose it'd be. How did you know?'
'Well, he'd be unlikely to have had a human corpse to hand and a pig could be made about the right size. As for the shroud, who knows what burial customs they have in Romania?'
'Yes, I can see that. But why not sandbags or something? It stinks to high heaven.'
'You've answered your own question. He was supposed to have come slowly across Europe, in summer. The undertakers probably just checked there was a body in there and nailed him down quick. A nice piece of psychology when you think about it.'
'Hmm, yes, very clever. That'll be the Wakes, I expect. They wouldn't have been in on it – very respectable firm – but they ought to have been more careful. You could have a bit of sport with them over that. I'm going to leave you now, if you don't mind. Since I'm only fit to investigate the proletariat, I might as well get back to 'em.'
'Nothing to tell us?'
'Not really. I'd barely made myself known to the family when I was called to the churchyard. Oh, and a treat for you: Vanda Beaufort-Smyth, no less. She's his niece by marriage apparently.' He raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Not pleased?'
'Could be awkward,' frowned Felix. 'She's a friend.'
'Humph! Might have guessed.'
The family had gathered in the drawing room. Even Charlotte had reluctantly joined them, a piratical-looking patch over one eye. Only Joan was absent.
'I thought for a moment he'd broken out of his coffin,' said George, lighting his pipe. 'Vampires and all that. Then I realised they'd never have buried him in that dreadful waistcoat.'
'He was a bit too fresh anyway,' said Roger, 'There was a distinct redolence of dead Jasper at the funeral.'
'Redolence! You should have tried carrying him,' said Tony.
'But you weren't carrying him,' said Janet. 'We don't know who it was.'
'Lord no, that's true! There'll have to be an exhumation.'
'They're doing one at this moment,' said George. 'The constable told me. Also a chap's coming down from Scotland Yard.'
'I suppose there would be, Uncle being a baronet and all.'
'It's probably that poor mechanic,' said Emily. 'In the coffin.'
'It can't be, dear,' said Janet, 'because he didn't die in Romania. He probably never went to Romania. Do keep up.'
Emily blushed. 'No, of course he didn't. Silly me. All this puzzling has addled my brains.'
'I suppose there'll have to be another funeral now,' said Bernard. 'Or will the first one do?'
'Well I'm not going to it.' said Roger. 'He can darned well bury himself this time.'
'I expect he was here all along, listening to what we said about him,' said Charlotte. 'There are probably places where he could have hidden.'
'Much good it did him,' growled George. 'Maybe that's why he shot himself; couldn't bear the truth.'
'George, really!' chided Janet. 'The poor man's scarcely cold.'
'Humph! He'll get no sympathy from me.'
'Do you think . . .' began Egg diffidently. 'I mean, I just wondered whether the will might stand. It shouldn't make any difference that it was read out prematurely, should it? Anyone can tell anyone what's in their will; it doesn't invalidate it.'
'I'd assumed it was a sort of valedictory joke.' said Tony. 'He makes us all thoroughly miserable, then goes out with a bang, so to say. It'd be just like him.'
'It would indeed,' growled George. 'I did warn you.'
'I don't see how it can be a joke,' persisted Egg. 'Killigrew would hardly execute a false will, and if the will is valid the contest must be too.'
'But if so,' said Roger, 'why didn't he wait for the result? He'd surely have wanted to know who won.'
'Did anyone actually find this confounded token?' said Tony. 'Time's nearly up, so you might as well say so.'
They all looked at each other.
'As a matter of fact . . .' said Egg, and reaching into his pocket held up the little wooden plaque, bright with its red and gold coat of arms.
'Won fair and square,' grinned Charlotte.
'You jammy beggars!' said Bernard. 'You kept that pretty quiet.'
'I shouldn't be too quick to celebrate, if I were you,' said George, and threw on the table an identical one.
'They all stared at it incredulously.
'But that's impossible!' cried Egg. 'It must be a fake.'
'I beg your pardon, young man! How do we know yours isn't the fake?'
Roger sighed and produced another. 'They are, of course, both fakes. This, however, is the genuine article.'
Elizabeth disgustedly threw a fourth onto the pile. 'I hope he rots in hell!'
'You thieving bitch!' cried Charlotte. 'How did you get that?'
'Oh very ladylike! You should have looked after it better.'
'It's not very ladylike to punch one in the eye!'
'Or to pull half one's hair out!'
'Ladies, please!' said Janet.
Elizabeth glared balefully at Charlotte. 'If it doesn't regrow, I'll sue you! Sorry, Auntie.'
'I'm rather glad we didn't find one,' chuckled Bernard.
'Actually, we did,' said Emily, taking a fifth token from her bag. 'I wanted to surprise you.'
'Words fail me,' said Bernard, shaking his head. 'Where was it?'
'In the boot room. I was so pleased and excited and now it's all spoiled.'
'Well there you are,' said George. 'Roll up, roll up, for Jasper's jolly treasure hunt. Everyone a winner.'
'I don't understand it,' said Egg. 'How can this be?'
'It's clear enough to me,' said Charlotte bitterly. 'There must be umpteen ways to interpret those answer
s. He probably just planted a token for all of them.'
'Well it's a rotten swiz.'
'Sorry, kitten,' said Roger, putting an arm around Vanda. 'Can't make you Lady of the Manor today. Do you still love me?'
'Of course I do, darling,' said Vanda, shamelessly kissing him. 'Not as much, obviously.'
'Well, really . . .' began Elizabeth, then glancing at Tony fell silent.
'I don't want to spread alarm and despondency,' said Janet. 'But has it occurred to anyone that he might have been murdered? One can't rule it out.'
'Murdered!' cried Emily. 'Surely not?'
'Well, he wasn't much loved, was he?'
'I half wondered that myself,' admitted Roger. 'There are plenty who would have liked a pop at him.'
'The gun was still there,' Tony pointed out. 'Where he dropped it, presumably.'
'The murderer might have dropped it,' said Janet. 'Or it could have been made to look like suicide. That happens, doesn't it? It does in crime novels anyway. You put the dead man's finger round the trigger and it leaves a print.'
'You're not suggesting it was one of us, surely?' said Bernard. 'And if it wasn't, who was it?'
'That's what I'd like to know,' said Felix, who had quietly entered the room.
Vanda gasped and turned to him delightedly. 'Miles! Oh, I'm so glad it's you!'
'This is embarrassing, Vanda,' said Felix, lighting her cigarette. 'It never occurred to me you'd be here.'
'I don't see why it should matter, darling,' said Vanda. 'You can hardly suspect me!'
'That's exactly what I ought to do; I have to suspect everyone in a case like this. You'd better tell me what you know.'
'I don't know anything!' She looked around the cluttered little room with distaste. 'What is this place?'
Felix shrugged. 'Some sort of storeroom, I suppose. There's a table and somewhere to hang the thumbscrews, so it'll do. This is entirely off the record; I'm not going to throw it back at you. Just give me your general impressions. Teddy's with the servants, so we'll take your formal statement later. Are you rehearsing today?'
'Yes! This evening. What do you want to know?'
'Well first of all, what were you doing last night, say from bedtime? You personally, I mean.'
A Strange Manor of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 3) Page 8