'Yes, I was asleep and I woke up and went to the bathroom and that horrid boy came.'
'Was it the fighting downstairs that woke you up?'
'I don't know anything about that,' said Joan. 'I wasn't there.'
'But did you hear them fighting?'
'No.'
'Not through the window? It's just below your rooms.'
'No.'
'All right,' said Felix patiently. 'Lets go back to a bit. What did you do earlier in the evening?
Joan looked doubtfully at Nanny. 'What did I do?'
'I don't think I'm supposed to help you, miss,' said Nanny. 'It has to be in your own words.'
'Then I don't know,' said Joan flatly.
'Would it help if we start at dinnertime?' suggested Felix. 'Did you go down to dinner last night?'
'Yes,' said Joan.
'Did you talk to anyone?'
'No,' said Joan.
'Did anyone talk to you?'
Joan frowned in an effort of recollection. 'The fat girl said hello.'
'Do you mean Charlotte Beaufort-Smyth?'
'I don't know what her name is. They were talking nonsense anyway.'
'Who were talking nonsense?'
'The fat girl and Auntie Janet. They were talking about who would get the Manor, but nobody will get it because it's mine. Mummy said when Daddy died it would be mine and he's dead so it's mine.'
'Was that in your father's will, Miss FitzGreville? Perhaps an earlier one?'
Joan looked blank. 'Mummy said.'
'Were you very close to your mother?'
Joan looked again at Nanny.
'It's no good asking me!' said Nanny, with some asperity. Then she softened. 'Of course you were.'
'I dreamt of her last night,' offered Joan.
'Oh yes?' said Felix encouragingly. 'What did you dream?'
'I dreamt she was coming to see me.'
'What happened then?'
'Nothing,' said Joan. 'I woke up.'
'When was that?'
'I don't know.'
'Early in the night or later?'
'I don't know.'
'All right. What about your father? Did you get on with him?'
'He broke my doll,' said Joan, scowling.
'Miss Joan, really!' remonstrated Nanny. 'That was twenty years ago!'
'Well he did.'
'Did you shoot him?' asked Felix.
'Of course not,' said Joan disparagingly. 'But someone did and I'm frightened! Suppose they shoot me too? I'm going to make Nanny come and sleep with me.'
Felix glanced at Nanny, whose face was a picture. Clearly she hadn't been consulted on this plan.
'I really don't think that's likely, Miss FitzGreville,' said Felix kindly. 'I'm sure you'll be perfectly safe.'
'You don't know that! They shot Daddy so what's to stop them shooting me? Then they'll get the Manor and I'll be dead!'
'You don't think your father shot himself then?'
'No of course not. Someone wanted the Manor so they shot him.'
'Whom do you think would do that? Who would shoot him and then you?'
'How should I know? Any of them! They could creep in like that horrid boy did, and shoot me. He's got a gun! He poked me up the bottom!'
'Miss FitzGreville,' said Felix severely. 'I should like to move away from young Emmett for a while, if I may, and talk about your father. You want his murderer caught, don't you?'
Joan's expression abruptly changed and she flung to her feet. 'What does it matter?' she shouted. 'He was dead anyway! She pointed accusingly at Nanny Matthews. 'She made me go to that horrid funeral and I didn't want to and the car seat was dirty and they put him in that tomb thing with all those dead people, and they're never going to put me in there, not ever, because I won't go. Now get out of my house! Go on, get out! I don't want you in my house. I don't want any of you in my house. It's my house.'
'Barking!' declared Rattigan as they crossed the gallery. 'If anyone's likely to shoot her it'll be Nanny Matthews.'
Felix shook his head in disbelief. 'It's a wonder she isn't mad herself, poor woman. And she ought to be a suspect, you know. She's had to put up with Jasper all these years too. Longer, in fact, than anyone, except Fudge.'
Rattigan nodded. 'I wondered about that. She'd have access to a key and perhaps to the gun. But if not before one o'clock, when would she have done it? She had to return Emmett to his room and was downstairs soon after that, patching up Tony FitzGreville.'
Before Felix could reply, there was a crash of what sounded like breaking china, and a frenzy of hysterical vociferation. 'What the devil is it now?' he demanded.
'Kicked you out, has she?' chuckled Tony, who was climbing the stairs. 'I wondered how long it would take.'
A door slammed, and Nanny Matthews, now puce from neck to hairline, came running after them. 'Oh, Inspector, please take no notice. She's got it into her head you're going to arrest her and take her to prison. I know you wouldn't do that, but once she gets these fancies she just works herself up and up. There's no reasoning with her.'
'And then she's sick,' said Tony, with grim satisfaction. 'Thank God we didn't win the place.'
The four detectives sat around the table in the little store-room. Fudge had sent in refreshments, and Felix was summing up.
'We've got a little further than we might have,' he said, 'but it doesn't amount to much. We've familiarised ourselves with the people involved, but none of them have shown the least sign of guilt or even anxiety, except when we've caught them doing something foolish. Nor will they voice their suspicions of anyone else, unless you count Elizabeth FitzGreville, who clearly has her own axe to grind.
'As far as the shooting itself is concerned, about the only thing we can say for certain is that it took place on the first floor of the new wing, partly because of the problems posed by moving Jasper's body about the house, but mainly because the new wing is to some extent acoustically isolated from the rest of it. The gunshot would undoubtedly have been heard by someone if it had happened elsewhere.
'Our principal problem, however, is that fixing the likely time of the murder to between about one and two o'clock in the morning seems to rule almost everyone out. Their alibis surrounding the fight have seen to that. There's a slim chance that someone disappeared from the gathering long enough to run up the backstairs, shoot a perhaps drugged Jasper, and return unnoticed, but again, who? The Tony FitzGrevilles seem to have been fully occupied, as were Miss Matthews and Charlotte Beaufort-Smyth. The Colonel, his wife are too elderly to have managed it, leaving just Roger FitzGreville and Vanda as possibilities. Egbert FitzGreville might conceivably have done it before he came down. But, again, it would have been tight. I'd take some convincing it was any of them, frankly.'
'Do you suppose they were all in it, sir?' suggested Nash.
Felix smiled. 'That's by no means as frivolous as you might think, John. Stranger things have happened.'
'There's still Bernard Austen,' said Rattigan, dunking a tea biscuit.
'Yes, there is, Teddy. That was mine, by the way. And Mrs Austen and Doris Finch and Nettie Betts, and Cook, and even, I suppose, the irksome Joan. But I think, realistically, we can wash them out. If Austen did it, he's perpetrated the perfect crime, because as long as he sticks to his story we're never going to disprove it, and if there was collusion between some or all of the others, the same applies. Roger FitzGreville, damn him, was right.' He sat back and gazed at them disconsolately. 'So bearing all that in mind, and subject to Polly's approval, I think we'll leave it as suicide.'
'Sir?' said Rattigan, surprised.
'It could be, you know. There's nothing particularly against it and even one or two things in its favour.'
'You don't really believe that?'
'No, I don't. I think it was a very clever murder. But what am I to tell a coroner's court? If I lay out the evidence we've got at the moment, they'll likely find for suicide anyway, and who shall blame them? As far as I can see
, we might as well go along with that. There's just a chance it might flush someone into the open, and it can do little harm.'
'Except to Sir Jasper's reputation,' said Yardley.
'I'm afraid I can't get too exercised about that, Paul. Before this happened I was looking forward to seeing him lose it in court. His liberty too, if I'd had my way. And what of the reputations of these other poor devils, most of whom are probably innocent? It could be the ruination of some of them, with suspicion of murder hanging over them, and there's no justice in that. I'm not about to say to anyone it was suicide, mark you, that's for the court to decide, but I'm not going to argue against it either. If the coroner seems a sensible sort of chap I might have a word with him, otherwise I'll let things take their course. I shan't ask for an adjournment. In the meantime we've got some thinking to do, because at the moment I'm frankly stumped.'
He stood up and went to the door. 'Evans, we're striking camp. We'll be keeping a twenty-four hour watch on the place for a few days, so stay here for now, if you will, and I'll get someone down to relieve you shortly.'
'Shall I tell them they can go, sir?' said Nash.
'What? Yes, open their cage, John, and shoo them out. Make sure we've got all their addresses and telephone numbers. Meanwhile we must get these samples and the gun to the backroom boys. We can't be absolutely certain it's the murder weapon and they'll probably have the bullet back from Benyson by now. I don't know about you lot, but I'll be glad to get out of this madhouse and regain the world of sanity for a while, or what passes for it.'
Evens knocked again. 'Sir, there's a Mr Austen to see you.'
They all looked at each other.
'All right, push off, you two. I'll see you back at the office. Wheel him in Constable. Mr Austin, sir! What can I do for you?'
Clearly ill at ease, Bernard waited for the others to leave. 'It's more what I can do for you, Inspector,' he said. 'Or rather, perhaps, for Mr Egbert FitzGreville. The poor fellow is beside himself with worry and my conscience requires me to make a confession.'
Felix sighed. 'All right. Take a seat. For a glorious moment there I thought it was a rather more serious confession you wished to make.'
Bernard looked momentarily confused. 'Oh, I see! Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector. Murder's not in my line, I'm afraid. I simply wish to tell you that I saw Mr FitzGreville in the library this morning. I can fully corroborate his story about finding Sir Jasper dead, and at what time he did so.'
Felix glanced at Rattigan, who opened his notebook. 'You'd better tell me the whole thing.'
'There's nothing much to tell really,' said Bernard, sitting down. 'It was the eleventh hour as regards the treasure hunt and we'd got nowhere with it. My wife had continued to rush around, trying to solve the clues we'd missed, and all I'd done was smoke cigarettes and make unhelpful remarks. I felt I'd let her down. She'd said she was going to do some more research, and assuming it to be in the library I belatedly followed her, hoping to help. She wasn't there, and instead I found Sir Jasper, dead. You can imagine the things that passed through my mind at that moment, but then I saw the gun lying there and assumed, rightly or wrongly, that the man had shot himself. I was just wondering what to do when I heard someone coming, and I'm ashamed to say I hid in a corner. It was Egg. He was clearly as shocked as I was, but having examined Sir Jasper he obviously decided, as I had, there was nothing to be done for him. After a few moments he went to the grandfather clock, searched inside the case, found the token, and immediately made off. He never saw me, and shortly afterwards I left too.
'Had it clearly been murder I might, perhaps, have thought differently. As it was, I didn't want any part in the inevitable investigation – having to give evidence and so on – and decided to say nothing. It seemed that Egg had made the same decision, but then, of course, he had to admit where he'd found the token in order to claim the Manor. Quite a dilemma for him. When you called him in, I felt dreadful. I was already in his debt for something else, and keeping quiet just made it worse. Eventually I could stand it no longer, and here I am.'
'I see,' nodded Felix. 'And did you see or speak to anyone while you were up there?'
'No, there was no-one about. I then realised it was lunchtime and thought I'd best come downstairs. My wife was already there and I joined her.'
'And where had she been, in fact?'
'I assume she found other means to acquire the information she needed. She did discover a token as it turned out, but it was a false one.'
'Did you tell her about this?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because she would have made me come straight to you and I needed time to consider the matter.'
'There's no-one, then, to corroborate your story?'
'No, I'm afraid there isn't. I hoped you'd take my word for it.'
'Because you're an honest man?'
'To tell the truth, Inspector, I'm no longer sure that I am.'
Felix contemplated him silently for a while. 'A purely hypothetical question for you, sir. Suppose you knew Sir Jasper had been murdered and by whom. Would you tell me?'
'I can only say,' said Bernard, 'that it would depend on the circumstances.'
Felix shook his head and smiled. 'Mr Austen, I hope you won't be offended if I observe that in your thoughts and actions today you rather nicely exemplify the human condition. Good evening to you, and thank you for coming to see me.'
Chapter Fifteen
'Where d'you want this one, Guv'nor?' said the furniture man.
Felix stood back, allowing them to edge past with the various elements of a double bed. 'Large bedroom, first left, if you please. Mind the wallpaper; I want to keep it.'
'Phew!' said his mate, 'Keeps it toasty in 'ere don'tcha?'
'Not by choice,' said Felix grimly. He picked up the telephone, currently residing on the bare floorboards. 'Five two three, please . . . Yes, I should like to speak to Mr Robinson if I may . . . Oh I see. Well this is Miles Felix. I've just moved into Chestnut Gardens . . . Yes, this morning . . . No, everything is not all right. When I got here I found the central heating turned on and I can't turn it off. The place is like an oven, not helped by several stuck windows . . . Yes, I know it's centralised, but it must be possible to turn the individual flats off, surely? . . . I'm aware of that, but they won't turn. Hang on a minute, will you? Yes, what is it?'
'Sofa and two armchairs for a Mr Felix, sir.'
'Oh good. In the sitting room if you please, straight ahead. Don't collide with the other lot.' He stood aside again, dragging the telephone wire out of the way. 'Sorry about that. Bedlam here. As I was saying, the radiator taps appear to have seized up . . . Yes, of course I've tried them . . . Madam, I'm six feet, two and a half inches, weigh fourteen stone and have a grip of steel. I cannot turn them. They are un-turnable. Be so good as to send a plumber and a glazier. The inventory also included linoleum in the hall, presently conspicuous by its absence. You had better add a linoleum-fitter to the list, or whatever it is you call them . . . Yes, of course now! Immédiatement! And you can tell Mr Robinson I am not best pleased . . . No, it's Detective Inspector Felix. Of Scotland Yard!'
'That oughta get 'em runnin' abaht,' smiled the first furniture man, patiently waiting with his clipboard.
'Doubt it,' grumbled Felix appending his signature where indicated. 'The currency of authority is much debased, I fear.' He reached into his pocket for some change. 'Half each, mind.'
'Thank you, sir. Very kind. Morning to you, sir.'
Cool air! thought Felix desperately, and still in his shirtsleeves tumbled downstairs into the street, receiving some queer looks from the overcoated and mufflered passers-by.
Standing with his arms outstretched like a drying cormorant, his attention was caught by a small boy towing a decrepit-looking soapbox-cart. Enthroned upon it was a thing of rags and newspaper that by an effort of imagination might be interpreted as a human figure.
'Penny for the guy, sir?'
&nb
sp; 'Heavens! Is it that time already? I suppose it is.'
The boy, he thought, must be about the same age as young Emmett but his tiny face under an oversized flat cap looked wizened and old. With him was a girl of six or seven, wearing only sandals, a light summer frock and a great deal of dirt. She was distinctly shivering. It was in that unpromising company that enlightenment came to him.
'Have you got a coat?' he asked.
The boy looked at him strangely. 'No, sir.'
'What about your sister?'
'No sir.' He grinned. 'Neither 'ave you, sir.'
'Don't be cheeky.' He took out his wallet. 'Seen one of these?'
'Ten bob note, sir.'
'Well done. If I give this to you, will you promise me something? I want you to go and buy an overcoat each. Not too small, so they'll fit you for a while. Don't go home first. Go straight to a second-hand shop and buy them. Get a price before you show them the note. If there's anything left over, buy some chips, not fireworks. Do you promise?'
As he watched them hurry away he began grimly to smile. 'Gotcha!' he said.
So scruffy and dishevelled was Howard Benyson that he could probably have substituted for the guy without attracting much notice. His chaotic office, adjacent to the hospital mortuary, perfectly reflected his character.
'Miles! Lovely to see you. Take a seat if you can find one. Have you met Charlie? Come on old fella, you're going to have to move. The students pinch him from time to time but he always turns up again, like a bad penny. No good to you, I suppose? He wouldn't need much feeding.'
'How do you do, Charlie?' said Felix, shaking a boney hand. 'I'm contemplating a man, as it happens, I've just taken a lease on a flat, but I'd envisaged someone more active. What's his background?'
'I don't know, I inherited him. Given his ailments, I'd say he's getting on a bit. Note the evidence of rickets, the nasty tooth abscess and the badly healed fracture of the left tib and fib. Shouldn't think anyone set them for him, poor beggar. Hey, I've got something for you. Hang on a minute.'
'Er where . . . ?' began Felix.
'Oh, shove him on the hatstand.'
A Strange Manor of Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 3) Page 16