Gently in Trees

by Alan Hunter

  ‘Mr Stoll was very well aware of their value.’

  ‘Perhaps some of them are genuine? That Wilson picture?’

  ‘You may take it for granted they are very genuine.’

  ‘Then it is quite a valuable collection, at today’s prices.’

  ‘At today’s or yesterday’s, Superintendent.’

  ‘And the house? At today’s prices?’

  Mrs Britton opened her mouth. And closed it again.

  ‘Then, of course, there is the sum in cash,’ Gently said. ‘Possibly greater than the minimum figure quoted. And one or two subsidiary matters. No doubt a valuer can give us the true picture.’

  He reached out his hand, into which Metfield placed a briefcase he had brought in hugged under his arm. The briefcase was made of black morocco and bore the monogram ‘A.S.’ in flowing gilt capitals. Gently laid it on his knees, monogram up. Mrs Britton’s eyes stared at it fascinatedly.

  ‘Stoll had this with him when he died,’ Gently said.

  There was a little gasp from Miss Britton, who had turned from contemplating the lawn.

  ‘It rather puzzled us. It seemed an unlikely thing for a man to take with him when he was photographing wildlife. But then we had assistance from Mr Walling, who suggested a plausible explanation.’

  Mrs Britton’s hands jerked. ‘Is it . . . his will?’

  Gently paused. ‘Is it, Mrs Britton?’

  She bit her lip. ‘Isn’t that what you’re leading up to, with all this talk of values and money?’

  Gently shook his head. ‘It could be a valuation list. Mr Stoll would need one for insurance purposes. In fact, I understand one is lodged with his solicitors. Why do you ask if this is a will?’

  ‘Because . . . because—!’

  ‘You were expecting him to bring a will with him?’

  Her brown eyes flashed furiously. ‘There was a will. We knew there was. Is there anything strange about that?’

  ‘You knew there was a will?’

  ‘Yes – yes! And so would anyone who knew Adrian.’

  ‘But you knew of the existence of this will.’

  ‘Yes, all right. Yes, I knew!’

  Gently snapped open the briefcase. ‘Then, naturally, you would know of some of its provisions. The bequests to Mr Keynes and your daughter. And the forty-five thousand to yourself.’

  ‘Not forty-five thousand!’

  ‘Not?’ Gently sounded mildly surprised. ‘Perhaps I read the clause hurriedly. Don’t hesitate to correct me.’

  ‘Ohh!’

  Mrs Britton jumped to her feet and went to stand at the french windows, with her back to Gently. She stood defiantly, her feet apart, her hands clasped tautly in front of her: a little regal. A slant of sunlight set her auburn hair in a blaze.

  ‘Now ask me some questions,’ Miss Britton drawled, her eyes fixed distantly on the Wilson. ‘Ask me about gas. I know a lot about it – I read it all up in a magazine.’

  ‘Jenny, be quiet,’ her mother rapped.

  ‘But this is terribly important,’ Miss Britton said. ‘One of us should know something about gas, or we won’t fit in with the police theory.’

  ‘I won’t tell you again, Jenny!’

  ‘For example,’ Miss Britton drawled. ‘The gas we use over here is butane. But on the Continent they prefer propane, because it freezes at a lower temperature. They are equally poisonous, however.’

  ‘Jenny!’ her mother turned fiercely to confront her.

  ‘Oh, let’s have it in the open,’ Miss Britton said contemptuously. ‘He’s better at the cat-and-mouse game than we are.’

  Mrs Britton glared dangerously at her daughter for a moment, then decorously but emphatically resumed her seat. Miss Britton continued to gaze at the Wilson, though she was trembling a very little.

  ‘When did you learn about this gas?’ Gently asked her.

  Miss Britton shrugged exaggeratedly. ‘I have to admit it was only yesterday. I bought a camping magazine in Latchford, because it had an exhaustive article on bottled gas. A natural interest, wouldn’t you say? Of course, I read it through enthralled.’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘Isn’t that sad? But you’ll have only mine and Lawrence’s word for it.’ She hesitated. ‘Oh, and in passing, it wasn’t us who gassed Adrian.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Mrs Britton exclaimed, her eyes lifting to the moulded ceiling.

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ Gently said. ‘Perhaps now we can return to this matter of the will.’

  He drew the document from the briefcase and loosened the tape that secured it. Mrs Britton eyed him bitterly.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘No need to go on. I knew what I was supposed to be getting because Adrian told me at the time he made it. I knew also what Jenny would get, though I didn’t know then about Edwin. That was something Adrian mentioned when he was bawling us out, the last time he was here. Which no doubt was what Oscar told you. Oscar has no reason to love us.’

  ‘You knew that those bequests were about to be rescinded?’

  She looked at him steadily. ‘Yes.’

  Gently nodded. ‘Thank you for saving time. Perhaps you will give me your account of that last weekend.’

  Mrs Britton drew a long breath. ‘First, you’d better know how I stood with Adrian. For these last few years I’ve been just his housekeeper. There has been nothing else in it at all. I knew it wouldn’t last for ever and I didn’t much depend on what you’re holding. He was on the rebound when he made that, but it was all over in two or three years. I suppose I was a fool to carry on, but I wanted it to last till Jenny was through school. And I’d lost my contacts with the theatre. It wouldn’t have been easy for me to start again.’ She threw Gently a glance.

  ‘Were those your only reasons?’

  ‘You may add to them my natural inertia. This is a pleasant place to live. I don’t look forward to returning to town.’

  ‘Or, perhaps, leaving friends?’

  The glance was longer. ‘Naturally, I have acquaintances here.’

  ‘Just acquaintances?’

  Her mouth tightened. Her hands crept together again on her lap.

  ‘Oh, he knows,’ Miss Britton said softly. ‘You may as well come clean, Mother. Dear Edwin has always been an uncle to me. It won’t be traumatic if he becomes my father.’

  ‘Be quiet!’ her mother snapped.

  ‘Just helping out,’ Miss Britton said. ‘I think he’s dreamy.’ She leaned back on the sofa, clasping one of her graceful knees.

  Mrs Britton’s eyes were smouldering. ‘Very well,’ she jerked to Gently. ‘So you know. Edwin has always been a good friend. It was he who put Adrian on to this place.’

  Gently hunched. ‘How long had he been more than a good friend?’

  ‘I don’t think I need to answer that question.’

  ‘Then I’ll put it another way, Mrs Britton. How long since Stoll began to take notice?’

  ‘He never did.’ Her stare was tight. ‘By then, Adrian couldn’t have cared less. He’d have been a fool not to suspect about Edwin, but if he did he never showed it. He simply didn’t care. When he’d finished with me, there were plenty of other women for him to turn to. From his point of view, it was probably convenient that I had taken up with his cousin.’

  ‘And this was the situation on the last weekend.’

  She checked. ‘Substantially, yes.’

  ‘He showed no disapproval?’

  She pulled on her hands. ‘No. Or none that counted for anything.’

  ‘So then what was the row about?’

  ‘I thought Oscar had told you that,’ she said bitterly. ‘It was about Adrian wanting to clear me out to make room for his new love, Nina Walling. Of course, it started about me and Edwin. Adrian had to have something to cue him in. But if you have talked to Oscar you’ll know well enough that it was really about his precious daughter.’ She paused, her eyes sparkling. ‘Who is a promiscuous bitch, to my certain knowledge. She was using Adrian to sl
eep her way to the big time. But he either couldn’t or wouldn’t see it.’

  ‘Though of course, she can act,’ Miss Britton murmured. ‘And may have other skills. Like ways with gas.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ her mother said automatically.

  Miss Britton was quiet; she watched the Wilson.

  ‘So the row was about Nina Walling,’ Gently said. ‘I understand it became heated.’

  Mrs Britton took a fresh grip on her hands. ‘You’ll have heard all that from Oscar.’

  ‘Still, I would like to hear it from you.’

  ‘Then it’s true. It was a vile row. It had been brewing up for years. Adrian despised me. I’d simply put up with it. But last Sunday week it all came out.’

  ‘It was the final break.’

  ‘Yes, it was. We could never have gone on after that. Things were said that couldn’t be forgiven, even if either of us had wanted to try.’

  ‘And you were given marching orders.’

  Her mouth twisted. ‘It wasn’t quite as abrupt as that. He had an audience, remember, he had to temper his callousness a bit. Also, being Adrian, he wanted us to sweat on it, to anticipate the chop. So our doom was postponed while he went to sharpen the axe.’

  ‘But he left you in no doubt of his intentions.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t deny it. Edwin thought there was a chance of him cooling off, but I can’t pretend to have had any hopes.’

  ‘You would have had to quit this house.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You would have lost any allowance he was making you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this document, which is worth a fortune to you, was going to be destroyed before your eyes.’

  Mrs Britton’s face was grim. ‘I see you are beginning to know Adrian,’ she said.

  ‘But none of this happened,’ Gently said. ‘You are still mistress of Brayling Lodge. And now it may belong to you, along with the contents, and a substantial sum in investments. Because Adrian Stoll died, quietly and without violence, not more than three miles from this place. A few hours before this will was destroyed, and before his intentions could take effect. When you, I understand, had no other alibi than what can be given you by two interested parties. Isn’t that so?’

  Her colour had drained suddenly, as though controlled by a switch. Her eyes were very large: her fingers white at the knuckle.

  ‘Are you – charging me with killing him?’

  ‘We know a car used this back road at the critical time.’

  ‘Oh God! It wasn’t mine.’

  ‘When was the last time you drove your car past Mogi’s Belt?’

  ‘I? Never! I’d never heard of the place.’

  ‘The track leads out of Warren Ride.’

  ‘No – I don’t know it.’

  ‘There is a Forestry Trail along it.’

  She shook her head, trembling, stupid.

  ‘Your car has never been there?’

  ‘No – no.’

  ‘Think carefully, Mrs Britton.’

  ‘Oh no, never!’

  ‘I would like the key of your garage, please.’

  The effort of rising seemed almost too much for her and she hung on shakily, clutching the sofa; but then the buzz of a car engine sounded in the drive, proceeding past the house towards the yard. Mrs Britton sank back in the sofa.

  ‘Oh, thank heavens! It’s Edwin and Lawrence.’

  ‘I would still like the key, please,’ Gently said.

  Silently, Miss Britton got up and fetched some keys.

  In the yard a red Hillman Super Imp stood parked alongside the Police Wolseley. A man was leaning against it, leisurely filling his pipe from a deerskin pouch. He was aged near fifty, about five feet eleven, and dressed in an open-necked brown shirt and blue jeans; he had broad cheekboned features with a handsome profile, and a mane of untidy, greying, brown hair. He looked up smilingly as Gently approached, but went on carefully packing his pipe. Gently ran his finger along the roof of the Imp. His finger came away red. He showed it to the man.

  The man chuckled. ‘Dust from Warren Ride,’ he said. ‘That’s the only place where the chalk surfaces – chalk of that colour, anyway.’

  ‘You were there this morning?’

  ‘Not I. I was seated at my typewriter, ill at ease.’ He struck a light. ‘I’m Edwin Keynes,’ he said. ‘And you’ll be talent sent down from town.’

  Gently grunted. ‘So who was driving the car?’

  ‘Probably Lawrence,’ Keynes said, puffing. ‘He borrowed it to do some shopping in Latchford. Though of course, the dust may not be today’s.’

  ‘And the stain on the tyres?’ Gently said.

  ‘Has to be older,’ Keynes smiled. ‘We’ve had no rain here for above a week, and Warren Ride dries out quite quickly.’

  ‘But not the track that goes by Mogi’s Belt.’

  ‘A touch,’ Keynes smiled. ‘I know it well. But there are ruts enough in Warren Ride. No need to look further for the source of the stains.’

  Gently stared at him. Keynes had a soft, cultivated, accent-less voice. His brown eyes were flecked with gold: they returned Gently’s stare amusedly. He nodded to the keys in Gently’s hand.

  ‘You’ll have no luck there, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I happen to know Jenny washed the car yesterday. Shampoo and set. Very thorough.’

  ‘You seem to know so many things,’ Gently said.

  Keynes nostrilled smoke. ‘That’s my profession.’

  ‘Perhaps they include who killed your cousin?’

  Keynes laughed aloud and reached his hand for the keys.

  Gently gave them to him. Keynes unlocked the padlock that secured the coach-house doors. He set them wide. Sun stabbed into the gloom and reflected from the panels and bumpers of a maroon Sunbeam Rapier. It had been not only washed but polished and leathered: the gear was standing on a bench by the wall; and a dribble of water lay beneath a coiled hose which was neither green nor ribbed, but clear plastic.

  ‘Done yesterday evening,’ Keynes grinned. ‘Lawrence gave her a hand. Shall I run it out for you?’

  Gently shrugged. If the tyres had been stained, they certainly were not so now. Possibly there was deposit left in the tread, but it would need expert examination to discover it; and deposit in the tread was no indication that the car had been driven beyond Warren Ride. He opened a door. The carpets were immaculate. No helpful smears on door panels or seat backs. In the boot, the same: a virgin carpet, free of all marks from heavy objects.

  ‘Here – what about this?’ Keynes asked cheerfully, picking up a car vacuum-cleaner from the bench. He snapped it open, withdrew the bag, and held out the bag to Gently.

  Gently eyed him, then took the bag. It contained fluff, dust, sand and a glass bead. Gently wet his finger and dipped it in the dust: black mud, with no hint of red.

  Keynes was watching him, his eyes for once serious.

  ‘You see, I know what you don’t yet know,’ he said. ‘This car wasn’t used for the purpose you’re thinking of, and neither was mine. What a shame we can’t prove it.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  GENTLY USHERED KEYNES into the house, where Metfield had continued to maintain the presence. Maryon Britton jumped up nervily and hastened to grab Keynes by the arm.

  ‘Oh Edwin! I’m so glad you’ve got here.’

  Keynes glimmered a smile at her. ‘Steady on, Maryon.’

  ‘You don’t know. This man is terrible. He has just about accused me of murdering Adrian.’

  ‘That’s his job, my dear. He probably doesn’t believe it.’

  ‘But he does, Edwin. He really believes it. And there’s nothing I can say to defend myself – he won’t have it that I simply spent the night here with you!’

  ‘Then we’ll have to prove it to him,’ Keynes said.

  ‘But we can’t, Edwin! How can we?’

  ‘Oh, there’ll be a way,’ Keynes smiled confidently. ‘It’s what really happened, so it shouldn’t
be impossible.’

  He sat himself easily on the long sofa, and Maryon Britton dumped herself beside him. Jennifer Britton had been wandering restlessly about the far end of the room. Now she came back to stand by the sofa. She stared at Keynes.

  ‘Where’s Lawrence?’ she said.

  Keynes ducked his head. ‘Fiddling with a painting. The water-meadows one, you remember? He’ll be along later on.’

  Jennifer Britton sniffed and took her place on the sofa. ‘Lawrence is never around when he’s wanted,’ she said. ‘And soon the Superintendent is going to ask me about my movements. Because if Mother didn’t do it, it was probably me.’ She flashed a defiant look at Gently.

  ‘You didn’t, did you?’ Keynes said.

  ‘Well, I might have done,’ Jennifer Britton said. ‘I was out in that direction that evening, and I can’t even claim I was sleeping with someone. So I’m a dead duck, when he gets round to me. I can’t think why Mother is going off the deep end.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, be quiet!’ Maryon Britton snapped irritably. ‘You’re just a silly little goose, and that’s plain to everyone.’

  ‘I think the Superintendent likes me, rather,’ Keynes said smoothly. ‘So let’s give him a chance, now, to put me through the mill.’ He hooked the coffee-table towards him with his feet, re-lit his pipe, and dropped the match into a Venetian glass ashtray. ‘Shoot,’ he said to Gently. ‘I’m longing to know how an expert goes about it.’

  Gently folded his arms on the back of his chair, which he had reversed for greater comfort. He returned Keynes’s gaze mildly. ‘First, you can tell me about Mogi’s Belt.’

  Keynes’s eyes twinkled through an issue of smoke. ‘I rather set that up for you, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘Well, it wasn’t worth my while to conceal it. After all, I have lived in this area for ten years.’

  ‘And you are familiar with that place?’

  Keynes nodded. ‘With all the district round about. I know the Battle Area as well as the military, and I never did step on a bomb yet. I discovered Mogi’s Belt years ago, before the lock on the gate got conveniently broken. And I can guess well enough what Adrian was doing there. Though I’m hanged if I can guess how he knew about it.’

  ‘He could, of course, have been told,’ Gently said.