Why Shoot a Butler

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Mr. Amberley, who had picked up the current number of Punch from the table and was idly perusing it, raised his eyes at that.

  "You had given him notice?"

  "Yes, I had. This morning. All things considered, I thought it best. The man's been presuming on his position. And then there was that business about young Brown. The more I thought over what you said.

  Amberley, the fishier the thing looked to me. Dawsoü, too. Once you start suspecting a man you don't know where to stop. And if you get into that frame of mind the only thing to do is to sack the servant."

  "But Collins, if I remember rightly, had a sound alibi on the night of Dawson's murder."

  "Yes, so I thought. Never bothered my head much till Brown fell in the river. Collins was pressing a suit for me at the time and I saw him. But it's extraordinary how you can pick holes in an alibi. I've been trying to calculate the lime it would have taken him to reach the Fittingly Road, supposing he took the motor bicycle. I shouldn't have said he could have done it, but I've got just a faint doubt. That's a beastly state of affairs between master and servant, you know. I gave him notice today. When he was missing tonight it flashed across my mind that he might have thought that I suspected him, got the wind up and bolted. The more I considered it the more certain I felt. When he hadn't come in by three o'clock I rang up the police station. But I never dreamed that anything like this had happened."

  "No, sir, I don't suppose you did," said the sergeant. "And you didn't hear him go out or see anyone else go out?"

  "No, but I might not have, you know. I was in this room most of the evening, writing letters. I should have heard the front door open, but Collins wouldn't have left by that door."

  "Quite, sir. If it's convenient to you I should like to have a word with that butler of yours."

  "Certainly." Fountain walked to the fireplace and pressed the bell.

  The door opened almost immediately to admit not Baker, but Corkran, looking tousled and sleepy. He blinked at the assembled company and shut his eyes tightly for a moment. Then he opened them again and shook his head. "I thought it was a mirage," he said. "But I see it really is you, Sergeant. All is discovered, what? I'll go quietly, "strewth, I will!"

  The sergeant grinned, but Fountain said sharply: "It isn't a joking matter. Collins has been shot."

  Corkran gaped at him. Then he looked at Amberley and requested him to explain.

  It was Fountain who answered him. Anthony listened in amazement and at the end said that he took a very poor view of it. "I didn't like the man," he said. "In fact, I hadn't any time for him at all. But this is a bit too thick. I don't mind a spot of crime just to liven things up, but I bar homicidal maniacs. Three deaths all on top of each other! No, really, that's coming it too strong!"

  Fountain swung round towards Amberley. "Good God, do you think that's it?" he exclaimed. "Could it really be what Tony suggests? These utterly inexplicable murders - what do you think?"

  "Some people," said Mr. Amberley carefully, "consider that all murderers are maniacs."

  "You rang for me, sir?"

  The sergeant looked round. "I want to ask you a few questions," he said. "You come inside and shut the door."

  The butler obeyed. "Yes, Sergeant?"

  Out came the notebook. "What time was it when you saw Collins last?" asked the sergeant.

  The butler answered promptly: "At twenty minutes past seven."

  "Oh! What makes you so sure?"

  "Collins himself drew attention to the time, Sergeant, and said he must go up to lay Mr. Fountain's dress clothes out."

  From the other end of the room Amberley spoke. "You didn't see him leave the house?"

  "I did not, sir. He must have gone during dinner while I was engaged in waiting."

  "Why?" said the sergeant at once.

  The butler's mouth twitched nervously. He said after an infinitesimal pause: "I think I should have seen him go had I been in the servants' quarters."

  "You would, eh? Were you friendly with him?"

  "I have not been in Mr. Fountain's employment for long, Sergeant. I have endeavoured to be on good terms with the rest of the staff."

  The sergeant surveyed him closely. "Where were you before you came down here?"

  A shade of discomfort crossed the butler's features. He replied, not quite so readily: "I was temporarily out of service, Sergeant."

  "Whys'

  "I was suffering from ill health."

  "Address?"

  "My — my home address is in Tooting," said the man reluctantly. "In Blackadder Road."

  "Previous employer?"

  "My late master has gone to America."

  "He has, has he? Name?"

  "Fanshawe," said Baker still more unwillingly.

  "Address when in England?"

  "He has no address in England, Sergeant."

  The sergeant looked up. "Look here, my man, he had an address while you were in his service, hadn't he? What was it?"

  Mr. Amberley's quiet voice interposed. "You were with Mr. Geoffrey Fanshawe, were you?"

  The butler glanced towards him. "Yes, sir."

  "Eaton Square, in fact?"

  The butler swallowed. "Yes, sir."

  "Then why make a mystery of it? No. 547, Sergeant."

  "Do you know the gentleman, sir?"

  "Slightly. He's a member of my club."

  "Is it true that he's gone abroad?"

  "I believe so. I could find out."

  The sergeant addressed Fountain. "You had a reference, sir, I take it?"

  "Yes, of course. But Baker gave it to me. I wasn't able to write to Mr. Fanshawe myself because he had gone - or was said to have gone - to New York. The chit was written on club notepaper."

  "Trace him through the club," said the sergeant, writing laboriously in his notebook. "Or you will, sir?"

  "Yes, I will," Amberley said. "I should like to know one thing, though." His hard eyes rested on Baker's face. "You say you would have heard Collins leave the house had you not been in the dining room at the time. Did you see or hear anyone else leave the house during the course of the evening?"

  The butler said slowly: "Two of the maids were out, sir. None of the rest of the staff."

  "You are sure of that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Were you in the servants' hall?"

  "No, sir. I was in my pantry most of the evening. Before that I was in the dining room clearing things away."

  "So that you would have known had anyone left the house by the front door?"

  "No one opened the front door this evening, sir," said Baker, meeting his gaze squarely.

  Mr. Amberley returned to the study of Punch. He appeared to take no further interest in the sergeant's examination of Baker, but as the butler was about to leave the room ten minutes later, he raised his eyes for a moment and said: "Did it appear to you, when you looked in Collins' room, that he had taken anything away, as though he were leaving for good?"

  "No, sir," replied Baker. "Mr. Fountain told me to look particularly. I took the liberty of glancing in the cupboard and the chest of drawers. So far as I could judge nothing had been taken away."

  "And you looked pretty thoroughly?"

  Yes, sir. There was nothing of a suspicious nature to be seen."

  "Thank you," said Amberley.

  The sergeant shut his notebook. "No more questions, sir?"

  "No, thanks, Sergeant," said Amberley tranquilly.

  "Then I'll be getting back to the station, sir. Sorry to have knocked you up, Mr. Fountain. I expect the inspector will want to see you tomorrow."

  Fountain nodded somewhat gloomily. "Yes, I expect he will," he agreed. "I shall be in all the morning."

  "Well, if that's all," said Anthony, "I'm going back to bed. And I'd like to take a gun with me. I should feel happier."

  "I'm sure I'm not surprised, sir," said the sergeant cordially.

  "You come with me, Sergeant," invited Anthony. "What we both need is a drink."
>
  Fountain was roused to his duties as host. "Of, course. What am I thinking about? You'll have a drink too, won't you, Amberley?"

  Amberley declined it. The sergeant, eyeing him somewhat aggrievedly, murmured something about regulations, but allowed Mr. Corkran to persuade him. When he came back he was wiping his moustache and seemed to be on the best of terms with Anthony. As he drove away from the manor he informed Mr. Amberley that he didn't know when he had taken such a fancy to a young gentleman. "And what's more, sir," he said confidentially, "though I don't say he's right, there might be something in that idea of his about a homicidal maniac. After all, sir three murders, without any rhyme or reason to them. What do you think?"

  "I think you and Mr. Corkran were made for one another," said Amberley. "The murders were not all committed by the same man. Dawson was killed by Collins."

  "Eh?" The sergeant was startled. "But you never seemed to make much of Collins, Mr. Amberley! I've suspected him all along, but you…'

  "The trouble is, Sergeant, that you suspected him of the wrong crime."

  "Oh!" said the sergeant, rather at sea. "I suppose you mean something, sir, but I'm blessed if I know what. Did you make anything of what we heard up there?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the manor.

  "There were one or two points," replied Ambericy.

  "That's what I thought, sir. I don't mind telling you I got my eye on that butler. I'd like to find out a bit about him. He'll bear watching. Crops up out of nowhere, so to speak, and knows more than what you'd expect. Not at all surprised to see us, he wasn't. Might have been expecting us. Well, I got a feeling about him, and when I get a feeling I'm not often wrong. That's your man, Mr. Amberley, you mark my words!"

  Amberley glanced enigmatically towards him. "You've a marvellous intuition, Gubbins."

  "Well, that's as may be, sir. But you wait and you'll see I'm right."

  "I think, Sergeant," said Mr. Amberley, swinging round a sharp bend, "that you are nearer the truth than you know."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Felicity, upon hearing the news at breakfast, at once declared her intention of going over to see Joan that morning. Sir Humphrey accused- her of a morbid love of horrors, which imputation she quite blithely admitted. Sir Humphrey himself was very much shocked by what had happened and forbore to rate Frank for disturbing him in the small hours. Although he had so frequently asseverated that he took no interest in crime when not seated in judgement upon it, crime in Upper Nettlefold was assuming so wholesale an aspect that he was induced to inquire into it. From his nephew he got no more than the bare facts, which he said (several times) were shocking.

  Mr. Amberley left the breakfast table in the middle of Sir Humphrey's dissertation on hooliganism in These Modern Times, pausing only to recommend his uncle to send his views to one of the Sunday papers. He told Lady Matthews not to expect him to lunch and went out.

  Sir Humphrey, cut short in this summary manner, spoke bitterly of the lack of manners of the younger generation. His wife heard him out patiently, merely saying when he had done: "Never mind, my dear. Poor Frank! So worried."

  "Was he, Mummy?" Felicity looked up.

  "Yes, darling. Of course. Such a lot on his hands. I shall come with you this morning."

  Sir Humphrey demanded whether she too had become obsessed with a morbid mania for horrors. She replied placidly that she had not, but she wanted to be driven into Upper Nettlefold.

  "Do you mind going to the manor on the way back, mummy?"

  "Not at all," said Lady Matthews. "Poor Ludlow. A hundred and two."

  "A hundred and two what?" snapped Sir Humphrey.

  "I forget, dear. Point three, I think. Temperature, you know."

  Felicity was surprised to find, when she and her mother set out, that Lady Matthews' main objective was the Boar's Head. She was curious to know what she wanted to do there, but all Lady Matthews would say was that she wished Shirley Brown to come back to Greythorne.

  Felicity had not imagined that her mother would feel so much interest in a stranger as reticent as Shirley. She looked rather sharply at her and accused her of having something up her sleeve.

  Lady Matthews requested her to look where she was going. Felicity obeyed, but kept up the attack. She knew her mother very well and was aware that in spite of her vagueness Lady Matthews was often disconcertingly shrewd. She began to suspect that Frank had confided in her. It seemed unlike him, but she knew that he held her in considerable respect. Lady Matthews, however, denied that Frank had told her anything. Pressed further she became so inconsequent in her answers that Felicity gave it up.

  Shirley was in the lounge when they arrived at the Boar's Head. It struck Felicity that she had a stunned look and that her smile of welcome was forced.

  Lady Matthews said simply: "My dear, very uncomfortable for you here. Come back to Greythorne."

  Shirley shook her head. "I can't. I thank you very much, but I think I'm going back to town. I - I don't really know."

  Lady Matthews turned to her daughter. "Darling, butter. Could you?"

  "I could, and I will," said Felicity, rising. "No one shall say that I don't know how take a hint."

  She went away and Lady Matthews, casting a speculative glance at a man reading the newspaper at the other side of the lounge, said gently: "My dear, better tell Frank. I expect he knows anyway."

  Shirley looked at her in a frightened way. "What do you mean?"

  "All about yourself. Silly not to, because he could help you. Much the cleverest of his family."

  Shirley said hardly above a whisper: "He can't know. It isn't possible. What - what have you guessed about me, Lady Matthews?"

  "Can't talk in a public lounge, dear child. So unwise. They always do it in bad thrillers, and it invariably leads to disaster. But of course I guessed at once. I can't imagine what you're doing, but much better tell Frank. Don't you think so?"

  Shirley looked down at her clasped hands. "I don't know. If he weren't working for the police. But he is, and I - I think I've been compounding a felony." She gave a nervous little laugh.

  "It sounds very exciting," said Lady Matthews. "I'm sure he'd like to help. How does one compound a felony?"

  "I'm in a mess," Shirley said, her fingers working in her lap. "I suppose I managed it badly. But it was all so difficult, and my - my brother - wasn't much use. And now things have gone so hopelessly wrong that there doesn't seem anything left for me to do except go back to town. I have thought about telling your - your nephew, only I'm half afraid to, because I don't really know him, and he - he's rather an uncompromising person, isn't he?"

  "But so good to animals, my dear. I should tell him. Such a pity to give up now."

  Shirley sat still for a moment, staring ahead of her. She drew a long breath. "Yes. I can't bear that, you know. Is Mr. Amberley - would he - could you ask him to come and see me, do you think?"

  "Quite easily," said Lady Matthews, smiling. "But better come back to Greythorne with me."

  "I —would rather not, please. You think I'm in danger, don't you?"

  "No danger at Greythorne," said Lady Matthews. "Lots of burglars, but we can take care of you!"

  "I'm quite safe, Lady Matthews. Did you see a flatfaced person hanging about outside this place?"

  "There was a man," admitted Lady Matthews. "He reminded me of weddings. You know. The detective who guards the presents. So pathetic. Quite obvious, and they must feel very conspicuous."

  Shirley smiled. "Yes. Well, I'm the present. He's watching me. Your nephew put him there."

  "So like him!" sighed Lady Matthews. "Very disconcerting, but perhaps just as well. I'll tell him to come and see you. Does the poor man follow you all day? I feel I should be impelled to give him a bun or a penny or something."

  "All day," said Shirley. "There's another one who relieves him. So you see I'm safe enough if- if somewhat impeded." She looked up; Felicity had come back into the lounge.

  "Secrets
all over?" inquired Felicity without rancour.

  "No secrets, darling," Lady Matthews said, rising. "Shirley won't come to Greythorne. Dreadfully obstinate. Any time, my dear?"

  Shirley managed to follow this cryptic utterance. "Yes. That is, I'm going to Ivy Cottage this afternoon, just to finish the packing and have everything ready to be fetched away. So if I'm not here I'll be there."

  "Very well. I won't forget," said Lady Matthews. "Did you get the butter, darling? Whatever shall we do with it?" She drifted out, murmuring: "Toffee, or something. Why didn't I say oranges?"

  At Norton Manor they found Joan looking white and frightened. Corkran, who was rather enjoying himself in the role of Protective Male, announced that he was taking her to stay with his people. Lady Matthews seemed to think it an excellent idea. The girl was obviously in a state of overwrought nerves, and even her step-brother, who was not usually perceptive, admitted that she looked ill, and would probably be better away from the manor for a bit. As soon as things had been cleared up he meant to take a holiday himself.

  Joan did not want to return to the manor. It was as much as she could do to spend another night there, and so uncontrollable was her aversion from the place that she had said, a little hysterically, that she would rather not be married at all than be married from it.

  Her betrothed seized the opportunity to suggest a quiet wedding in town and even advocated, though without much hope, a registrar's office.

  Joan was ready to agree to anything, but Fountain put his foot down. He was quite willing to have the wedding in town, but it must be a function. After all, a great many guests had already been invited, and there was no justification for a hole-and-corner affair. Did not Lady Matthews agree?

  Lady Matthews did. She thought Joan would feel quite different when she got away from the manor and heard no more talk of crime.

  "All the same," said Felicity irrepressibly, "we've never had so much excitement here before. It'll be frightfully dull when it's over. I mean, just think of the past fortnight! We've had three deaths and two burglaries. I call that pretty good for a place like this."

  "Burglaries? Who's been burgled?" said Fountain.