Georgette Heyer_Inspector Hemingway 02

by Envious Casca

  There was a short silence; Joseph turned his back upon the doctor’s activities, and gazed down into the dying embers in the grate.

  The doctor rose from his knees. ‘I suppose you realise that this is a case of murder?’ he said.

  Joseph bowed his head.

  ‘The police must be notified at once.’

  ‘It has already been done. They should be here any minute now.’

  ‘I will wait for them.’

  ‘It has been such a ghastly shock!’ Joseph said, after an uncomfortable pause.

  The doctor assented. He looked as though he too had suffered a shock.

  ‘I suppose you don’t know who – ?’ he asked, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Joseph shook his head. ‘I almost feel I’d rather not know. If one could be sure he didn’t suffer!’

  ‘Oh, probably hardly at all!’ Stoke said reassuringly.

  ‘Thank you. It’s a relief to know that. I suppose he must have died immediately.’

  ‘Well, within a very short time, anyway,’ conceded Stoke.

  Joseph sighed, and relapsed into silence. This lasted until the arrival of a police inspector, with various satellites. Stephen brought them upstairs, and Joseph roused himself from his abstraction, greeting the Inspector, whom he knew, with a forced smile, and saying: ‘You know Dr Stoke, don’t you?’

  The room seemed suddenly to be overfull of people. Joseph confided to Stephen that it seemed a desecration. The police-surgeon and Dr Stoke conferred together over Nathaniel’s body, and the Inspector, who looked as though he did not like being brought to a murder-case on Christmas Eve, began to ask questions.

  ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ Stephen said. ‘The last time I saw him alive was downstairs in the drawing-room, at about seven-thirty.’

  ‘I understand it was you who broke into the room, sir, and discovered the body?’

  ‘His valet and I. Our finger-prints will be found all over the place.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Joseph said unhappily. ‘One doesn’t think, when a thing like this happens.’

  The Inspector’s eyes dwelled on the brandy decanter, and the glass beside it. Stephen said: ‘No. False scent. The brandy was brought to revive my uncle before we realised he was dead. I drank it.’

  ‘Very understandable, sir, I’m sure. When you came in, was the deceased lying as at present?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Stephen said, after a moment’s reflection. ‘He was rather more on his face, I think.’

  ‘I wonder if you would be so good, sir, as to replace the body as you found it?’

  Stephen hesitated, distaste in his face. Joseph said pleadingly: ‘Inspector, this is terribly painful for my nephew! Surely –’

  ‘Shut up!’ Stephen said roughly, and went to Nathaniel’s body, and arranged it. ‘More or less like that.’

  ‘Do you agree with that, sir?’ the Inspector asked Joseph.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ Joseph said. ‘His head was on his arm. We never dreamed – we thought he had fainted!’

  The Inspector nodded, and asked who slept in the next bedroom, which lay beyond Nathaniel’s bathroom. He was told that it was a single spare-room which Roydon had been put into, and took a note of this. Having scrutinised the windows, both in the bedroom and in the bathroom, and looked meditatively at the half-open ventilator, he ascertained that these had not been tampered with since the finding of Nathaniel’s body, and at last suggested that further questions might best be answered in some other room.

  Both Joseph and Stephen were glad to get away from the scene of the crime, and they led the Inspector downstairs to the morning-room, leaving the photographer, the fingerprint experts, and the ambulance-men in possession.

  The morning-room fire had been allowed to go out, and the room felt chilly. The Inspector said that it was of no consequence, and he would be obliged to question everyone in the house. Joseph gave a groan, and ejaculated: ‘Those poor young people! If they could have been spared this horror!’

  The Inspector did not waste his breath answering this; he knew his duty, and he had no time to spare for irrelevancies. He should have been filling his children’s stockings by right, not taking depositions at Lexham Manor. It wasn’t as though the case was likely to do him much good, he reflected. He wasn’t the Detective-Inspector, but merely deputising for that gentleman, who was in bed with influenza. The Chief Constable, a nervous man, would be bound to call in Scotland Yard, he thought, and some smart London man would get all the credit for the case. He waited for Joseph to lower the hand with which he had covered his eyes before saying: ‘Now, sir, if you please! I understand you have a number of guests staying in the house? If I might have their names?’

  ‘Our Christmas party!’ Joseph said tragically.

  ‘We shall at least be spared your rollicking festivities,’ Stephen said.

  The Inspector glanced at him rather narrowly. That was a queer way to speak of his uncle’s murder, he thought. It didn’t do to set too much store by what people said in moments of shock, but if he were asked he would be bound to admit that he hadn’t taken a fancy to young Herriard, not by a long chalk.

  Joseph caught his glance, and rushed to Stephen’s support. ‘My nephew’s very much upset,’ he said. ‘It’s been a dreadful blow – and I’m afraid the modern youth makes a point of hiding its feelings under a mask of flippancy.’

  Stephen grimaced, but allowed this explanation to pass without comment. He dived a hand into his pocket for his pipe and his tobacco-pouch, and began to fill the pipe, while Joseph told the Inspector about the other guests.

  Joseph had a kind word for everybody. Roydon was a most promising playwright, a great friend of his niece. The niece? Ah yes! this young man’s sister: an actress, and quite her poor dead uncle’s favourite. Then there was Miss Dean – a smile towards Stephen – his nephew’s fiancée. He might say that this party had really been arranged on her account. She had never stayed with them before, and they had so much wanted to get to know her. Miss Clare, too! a cousin, quite a persona grata in the house. Remained only Edgar Mottisfont, Nathaniel’s partner, and close friend for many years. There were, of course, the servants, but he was quite sure none of them could have had anything to do with the murder.

  This was unpromising stuff, but the Inspector did not allow himself to be unduly cast-down. He wanted to know whether there had been any quarrel between the deceased and any of his guests.

  ‘Oh no, no! Not what I should call a quarrel!’ Joseph said quickly. ‘I’m afraid all we Herriards are inclined to be testy, but there has been nothing of a serious nature. Nothing – nothing to warrant this dreadful thing!’

  ‘But there has been quarrelling, sir?’

  ‘Just a few family tiffs! What I call the give and take of family life. My brother was a sufferer from lumbago, and you know what that does to a man’s temper, Inspector. There may have been a little crossness here and there, but we knew that Uncle Nat’s bark was worse than his bite, didn’t we, Stephen?’

  Not even his own predicament, which he must have known to be dangerous, could induce Stephen to join forces with Joseph. He said ‘Did we?’ in a non-committal tone which did much to destroy the good impression Joseph was making.

  The Inspector turned towards him. ‘Would you say that there had been a quarrel, sir?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t. I’d say my uncle had quarrelled with every one of us, with the exception of Miss Clare.’

  ‘Did you have words with him, sir?’

  ‘Many,’ said Stephen coolly.

  ‘Stephen, don’t be silly, old man!’ Joseph interposed. ‘Whatever may have passed between you and Nat earlier in the day, I for one can bear witness to the fact that you and he were on the friendliest terms by teatime! Inspector, this stupid fellow loves to make himself out to be a regular old bear, but I saw him with my own eyes link arms with my brother as they came in to tea, and no one could have been nicer to him thereafter than he was! Indeed, I noticed it particularly, and
was so happy to see it!’

  The Inspector’s appraising gaze travelled from his face to Stephen’s. ‘But there had been a quarrel between you and the deceased today, sir?’

  Stephen shrugged. ‘Well, I hadn’t been thrown out of the house.’

  ‘I should like a plain answer, if you please, sir.’

  ‘Yes, then,’ Stephen said.

  ‘But, Stephen, you’re giving a false impression!’ Joseph said. ‘We all know you and Nat rubbed one another up the wrong way, but he was very fond of you, and you of him!’

  ‘You’d better examine my uncle,’ Stephen told the Inspector roughly. ‘He apparently knows all the answers.’

  ‘Was your quarrel of a serious nature, sir?’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I wasn’t thrown out of the house.’

  ‘Am I to take it that at the time the deceased was last seen alive you were on friendly terms with him?’

  ‘Temporary truce,’ said Stephen.

  ‘When did you last set eyes on the deceased, sir?’

  Stephen took a moment to think this over. ‘Not sure of the time. I left the drawing-room when Roydon had finished reading his play. Probably about half-past seven.’

  ‘When you state that you left the drawing-room, am I to understand that you left the deceased there?’

  ‘Everyone was there.’

  ‘And between that time, and the time when you discovered his body, you did not see him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What were you doing during that period?’

  ‘Changing, in my room.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the Inspector, making a note.

  ‘Done with me?’ Stephen asked. ‘Dinner – probably spoilt by now, of course – is still before me, I would respectfully point out to you.’

  Cold-blooded devil! thought the Inspector. He said: ‘That will be all for the present.’

  Stephen walked out of the room. Joseph, who had been watching him with a good deal of anxiety, smiled at the Inspector, and said: ‘He doesn’t mean the things he says, you know. The fact of the matter is he’s very like my poor brother. Both of them hasty-tempered, and bitter-tongued. A quick flare-up, and all over. Nothing sulky!’

  The Inspector received this information politely if not very enthusiastically. He asked Joseph when he had last seen Nathaniel.

  ‘Miss Clare and I must have been the last people to have seen him alive,’ Joseph answered. ‘Everyone else had gone upstairs. I was going up with him. I wanted to have a talk with him. Alas, that I did not!’

  ‘How was that, sir?’

  Joseph looked momentarily disconcerted, but apparently decided that since his tongue had betrayed him he must make the best of it. ‘To tell you the truth, Inspector, my brother was in a very bad temper, and I wanted to smooth him down! But he said he didn’t want to talk. Well, I mustn’t conceal anything, must I? I had stupidly left a step-ladder on the stairs, and my brother knocked it over, and – yes, he was very cross with me indeed! So I thought it wisest to let him cool off. Miss Clare and I went upstairs together a few minutes later.’

  ‘What had put Mr Herriard in a bad temper, sir?’

  ‘Oh, a mere nothing! Mr Roydon had been reading his play to us, and my brother didn’t like it.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem to be much of a reason, sir.’

  Joseph gave an unhappy laugh. ‘I’m afraid it was quite

  enough reason for him, Inspector. That’s just the sort of thing that did upset him.’

  The Inspector pondered this, and at length produced: ‘If he didn’t like to have it read to him, sir, why was it read?’

  Complications were clearly arising. Joseph said: ‘Mr Roydon is a guest in the house. It would have been very difficult to have forbidden him to read his play, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Seems queer-like to me, sir,’ was all the Inspector vouchsafed. ‘I’d like to see this Mr Roydon, please.’

  ‘Certainly, but I’m sure he knows nothing about the crime. I mean, it would be too preposterous! My brother had never laid eyes on him before he came down here yesterday. Shall I send him in to you?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said the Inspector.

  He was clearly an unresponsive man. His stolid manner and frozen stare quite put poor Joseph out. He went away, looking unhappy, to find Roydon.

  The house-party was in the dining-room, where Stephen, unmoved by the late gruesome events, was eating his interrupted dinner. Everyone else had reached the coffee stage, and, with the exception of Maud, was plying him with eager questions. They all turned, as Joseph came in, and Paula asked if the police had finished.

  ‘Alas, my poor child, I’m afraid it will be a long time before they do that!’ said Joseph, with a heavy sigh. ‘They have only just begun. Willoughby, the Inspector wants to see you. He is in the morning-room.’

  Roydon at once flushed, and his voice jumped up an octave. ‘What on earth does he want to see me about? I can’t tell him anything!’

  ‘No, that’s what I assured him. I am afraid he is a stupid sort of a man. It came out that you had been reading your play to us – dear me, it seems already as though that was in another life!’

  ‘Did you tell him so?’ said Stephen, looking up under his brows.

  Joseph’s absurdly cherubic countenance set into worried lines. ‘Well, yes, but I never dreamed he’d take me up as he did!’

  Paula’s eyes stabbed him. ‘Did you tell him that Willoughby wanted Uncle Nat’s backing?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t! I didn’t say a word about that. It’s quite irrelevant, and I don’t think there’s the least need to mention it.’

  Roydon stubbed out his cigarette, and got up. ‘I suppose I’d better go along and see the man,’ he said. ‘Not that I can throw the least light on the affair, but that’s by the way!’

  He went out, and Stephen, watching him critically, said to his sister: ‘Are you vitally concerned in your boy-friend’s fate? With any luck, I should say he’ll incriminate himself good and proper.’

  ‘He had nothing to do with it!’ Paula said.

  ‘How do you know?’ jeered Stephen.

  She stared at him. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t know who did it.’

  ‘I should like to think that someone quite unconnected with any of us was the guilty man,’ said Joseph. ‘May we not assume that, children, and try not to say bitter, hurtful things to one another?’

  The only person to respond to this appeal was Mathilda, who said handsomely that he at least could not be accused of this vice. He threw her a grateful smile, but shook his head, saying that he was afraid he was a very imperfect mortal.

  ‘As though I hadn’t had enough to put me off my food already!’ growled Stephen.

  Valerie, who had been fidgeting with her coffee-spoon, let it fall into the saucer, and exclaimed: ‘I wonder it doesn’t make you sick to think of eating anything! I think you’re the most callous person I’ve ever met in all my life!’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ agreed Stephen.

  ‘And if the police want to question me, it’s no earthly use, because I don’t know a thing about it, and my nerves just won’t stand it! I feel as though I’m going mad!’

  ‘Oh, do shut up!’ said Paula.

  ‘I won’t shut up! I didn’t come here to be insulted, and I don’t see why I should be expected to put up with it!’

  ‘Leave her alone, Paula,’ ordered Stephen, getting up, and walking over to the sideboard, where some chocolate mousse had been left for him.

  ‘I’m not doing anything to her. If she doesn’t like my behaviour she can leave the room, can’t she?’ said Paula, becoming belligerent.

  ‘I wish I could leave the house!’ cried Valerie.

  ‘I believe it is still snowing,’ remarked Maud, as unperturbed by this bickering as by all the other events of the day.

  ‘I don’t care! I’d rather walk all the way to London than stay here now!’

  ‘It
’s an engaging thought,’ said Stephen. ‘Orphan of the Storm.’

  ‘Oh, you can laugh at me! but if you think I could possibly sleep a wink here you’re mistaken! I simply shan’t dare to close my eyes all night. I shall be petrified !’

  ‘Well, really, I don’t think that’s very sensible,’ objected Mathilda. ‘What do you suppose is going to happen to you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Valerie, adding in a lofty tone: ‘I expect you’re one of those lucky people who just haven’t got any nerves, and don’t feel a thing. But the thought of Mr Herriard, lying there in that room – Oh, I simply can’t bear it!’