Georgette Heyer_Inspector Hemingway 02

by Envious Casca

  ‘You’re a great help,’ said Hemingway. ‘Ever asked yourself why the murderer took such precious care to lock the door after him?’

  The Sergeant considered this. ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ he admitted. ‘Now you put it to me, sir, it does seem queer. Doesn’t seem to be any point to it at all, unless it was just done to bamboozle us.’

  ‘Which it probably was,’ said Hemingway. ‘And I’m bound to say it’s succeeding up to the present.’

  ‘Bit of a risk to take, wasn’t it? Fiddling about with a doorlock when anyone might have seen him?’

  ‘Whoever committed this murder took the hell of a lot of risks, if you ask me. If I remember rightly, Miss Herriard was seen outside the door in her dressing-gown.’

  ‘You don’t think this was a woman’s job, sir, do you?’ asked the Sergeant incredulously.

  ‘Might have been. Don’t you go getting a lot of silly ideas into your head about women! I’ve known some who’d have put a cageful of tigers to shame. One thing seems pretty certain: Nathaniel wasn’t expecting to be stabbed. There are no signs of any struggle, not even a chair pushed out of place. He was taken unawares, and he didn’t suspect the murderer of meaning to injure him.’

  ‘Come to think of it,’ objected the Sergeant, ‘that doesn’t point particularly to Miss Herriard. He wouldn’t suspect any of the people in the house, would he?’

  ‘He’d suspect them fast enough if they started tampering with the lock of his door,’ said Hemingway. ‘No, it looks as though the murderer came in in the natural way, all aboveboard and open, stabbed the old man, and went out again, locking the door behind him by some means which we haven’t yet discovered. And somehow I don’t believe it.’

  The Sergeant saw the frown on his superior’s brow, and asked: ‘Why not, sir?’

  ‘I’ve got a feeling it didn’t happen that way. What did the murderer lock the door for at all? It’s no use saying, to bamboozle the police, because it isn’t good enough. If you find a corpse in a locked room, what’s the inference?’

  ‘Suicide,’ replied the Sergeant promptly.

  ‘Exactly. And if you want a murder to look like suicide you don’t first stab the victim in the back, and next remove the knife. There was no idea of making this look like suicide, so the locked door doesn’t add up at all.’ He looked carefully at the plate in the jamb, which had been torn away. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘I’m beginning to wonder whether the door ever was locked.’

  The Sergeant weighed this suggestion on its merits. ‘Three of them said that it was.’

  ‘Four, counting Miss Herriard,’ agreed Hemingway.

  ‘Four’s too many to be in a conspiracy,’ said the Sergeant positively.

  ‘The valet said that he couldn’t get any answer to his knock. I don’t recall that he said he had tried the door.’

  ‘You mean,’ said the Sergeant slowly, ‘that you think maybe he only knocked, and when Stephen Herriard came up it was he who forced the latch, and turned the key quickly afterwards, when no one was looking?’

  ‘I don’t think anything of the kind,’ said Hemingway. ‘I have got an open mind.’

  ‘What did you make of the cigarette-case, sir?’

  ‘It doesn’t look too good for Master Stephen, on the face of it.’

  ‘No; but that’s complicated too, isn’t it, sir? I mean, there seems to be plenty of evidence to show that the last person known to be in possession of the case was Miss Dean.’

  ‘Look here!’ said Hemingway. ‘I can accept the theory that Stephen walked in here to have a quiet chat with his uncle over a cigarette (though, mark you, on the evidence it doesn’t seem likely), but what I can’t swallow is the suggestion that Miss Dean did. Get hold of the valet for me, will you?’

  Ford, when he presently appeared in the Sergeant’s wake, showed a slight reluctance to enter the room, and seemed a little nervous. Detectives from Scotland Yard were outside the range of his experience, and although he could look Inspector Hemingway in the eye, he was unable to keep a tremor out of his voice.

  When Hemingway asked him if he had tried to open the door into his master’s room, he had to think for a moment before replying that he had just turned the handle.

  ‘What do you mean, “just turned the handle”?’ asked Hemingway.

  ‘Sort of gently, Inspector, in case Mr Herriard didn’t want to be disturbed. The door wouldn’t open.’

  ‘So then what did you do?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean, I just waited by the backstairs, like I told the other Inspector.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you? Well, it seems a funny thing that a man’s valet, expecting to help his master to dress, and getting no answer to his knock on the door, and finding the door locked, should walk off without so much as thinking that the business was a bit odd.’

  Ford stammered: ‘I did think it was unusual. Well, not as much as that, but it hadn’t ever happened quite like that before. But Mr Herriard didn’t always have me in to help him to dress. Only when his lumbago was troubling him, so to speak.’

  ‘Which I’m told it was,’ said Hemingway swiftly.

  Ford swallowed. ‘Yes, sir, but –’

  ‘So you might have thought you’d be wanted for a certainty, mightn’t you? A man with lumbago, for instance, isn’t going to bend down to tie up his shoe-laces.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Ford sulkily. ‘But it’s my belief Mr Herriard put it on.’

  ‘Never had lumbago at all?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. He did have it sometimes pretty bad, but it wasn’t always as bad as he liked to make out. If he was put out over anything, he’d carry on as though he was a cripple.’

  ‘Did he have you in to help him to dress yesterday morning?’

  ‘Yes, he did, but –’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘Nothing, sir, only I didn’t think he had it badly. It was mostly temper.’

  ‘Bad-tempered man, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Well, that’s it, Inspector. He was a fair Tartar when anyone had got his dander up. You never knew how to take him,’ Ford explained eagerly. ‘I know it sounds funny, me not liking to go into his room last night until he rang for me, but I give you my word this is a funny kind of a house, and you had to watch your step with Mr Herriard. If he was in a good mood you could go in and out as anyone would expect to in my position; but if he had one of his black fits on him you couldn’t do right, and that’s a fact.’

  Hemingway said sympathetically: ‘I get it. Violent kind of man, was he?’

  The valet grinned. ‘I believe you!’

  The Inspector, who had once read Ford’s original testimony, had a disconcertingly good memory, and, having lured the valet into making this admission, pounced on it. ‘Oh! Then how is it that you told Inspector Colwall that he wasn’t a hard master, but that you got on well with him, and liked the place?’

  Ford changed colour, but said staunchly: ‘Well, it was true enough. I wouldn’t call him hard exactly. He was all right when no one had upset him. I’ve been here nine months, anyway, and not given in my notice, which is more than any of his other valets did, by all accounts. He liked me, you see. I never had any unpleasantness. Not to say real unpleasantness.’

  ‘He never threw his boots at you, I suppose?’

  ‘I don’t mind that,’ Ford said. ‘I mean, it didn’t happen often. Just a bit of temper. I could generally manage him.’

  ‘You could generally manage him, but you were scared to go into his room without his sending for you?’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t have liked that. I didn’t set out to get on the wrong side of him, naturally. I knew he was in one of his bad moods. He didn’t like Miss Paula bringing Mr Roydon down here.’

  ‘Was that what had put him out?’

  ‘That, and something Mr Mottisfont had done. He was grumbling on about it yesterday morning, while I was helping him to get dressed.’

  ‘Grumbling to you?’

  ‘Well, not s
o much to me as to himself, if you take my

  meaning, sir. It was quite a habit with him to let off steam to me when any of the family had annoyed him.’

  ‘Seems to me all the family had annoyed him this time.’

  The valet hesitated. ‘Well, of course, Mr Joseph had properly got under his skin, inviting a party down here for Christmas, and he took a regular dislike to Miss Dean, and he was angry with Miss Paula for making a fool of herself over a long-haired playwright – that’s the way he put it, you understand – but it would not be fair to say that he was hot-up against Mr Stephen. He used to hit it off very well with him.’

  ‘Are you telling me he hadn’t quarrelled with Mr Stephen?’

  ‘No, I’m not. He was the kind who’d quarrel with his own mother. All I say is that he and Mr Stephen understood one another and there wasn’t a bit of ill-will between them.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Hemingway, eyeing him strangely. ‘So you hadn’t any reason to suppose that there was any kind of break between them on account of Miss Dean?’

  ‘It would have blown over,’ Ford said, giving him back stare for stare.

  ‘All right, that’s all,’ said Hemingway curtly.

  The Sergeant, who had listened silently to the whole of this interchange, said as soon as Ford had withdrawn: ‘I thought you were riding him a bit hard, Chief.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for the laws of this country I’d have ridden him harder,’ responded Hemingway. ‘I don’t like his story.’

  ‘Seems a funny kind of a house altogether,’ pondered the Sergeant. ‘It struck me, remembering what he said to Inspector Colwall, that he’s about the only person, barring Mr Joseph Herriard, who’s anxious to give Stephen Herriard a good character.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad something strikes you,’ said Hemingway testily. ‘What’s been striking me from the start is that the only finger-prints found on the windows or on the bathroom key are Ford’s.’

  ‘It’s reasonable, though, that his finger-prints should be found, isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘When I come up against a queer case, I don’t like reasonable evidence,’ said Hemingway.

  ‘If he’s only been here a matter of nine months, I don’t see what he’s got to gain by murdering his master.’

  ‘Who said he had murdered him? He might have had plenty to gain by lending young Stephen a hand,’ said Hemingway. ‘What I want to know is who inherits the old man’s money. Let’s go downstairs.’

  Joseph met them in the hall, and was able to explain that Nathaniel’s solicitor was on the way to Lexham. He said that the study had been locked up by the local police, and Hemingway replied at once that he should not have the room opened until the solicitor was present.

  He had not long to wait. At about half-past twelve, the car which had taken Maud and Mathilda to church drew up outside the door, and the two ladies came in, followed by a short, stout man who looked cold, and rather disgruntled. When introduced to Hemingway, he nodded, and said good morning, but his first thought was to get as near to the fire as possible, and to warm his chilled hands.

  The noise of his arrival attracted most of the house-party to the hall, so while Mr Blyth thawed before the fire Hemingway had an opportunity to observe Roydon, Paula, Valerie, and Mrs Dean. Neither Stephen nor Edgar Mottisfont emerged from the billiard-room, whence the click of the ivory balls could faintly be heard, and Maud went upstairs to take off her coat and hat.

  Joseph gave Blyth a glass of sherry, and fell into lowvoiced conversation with him. Paula, suddenly becoming aware of Hemingway’s presence, stared at him for a moment, and then strode over to him, saying abruptly: ‘Are you the Inspector from Scotland Yard?’

  ‘Yes, miss, I am.’

  ‘I thought so. I’m Paula Herriard. I wish you luck!’ she said with a short laugh.

  ‘That’s very good of you, miss, I’m sure. I daresay I’ll need it,’ said Hemingway equably.

  ‘You will! What do you think of us?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t had much time to make up my mind.’

  ‘I may as well warn you that you are now speaking to one of the chief suspects.’

  ‘Fancy that!’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes!’ she said, tapping a cigarette on her thumbnail. ‘My uncle accused me of being ready to murder him for two thousand pounds. Haven’t you been told that?’

  ‘And were you?’ enquired Hemingway, in an interested tone.

  ‘Of course not! Besides, how could I possibly have done it?’

  ‘That’s what I was wondering.’

  Joseph’s attention had by this time been caught by his

  niece’s unguarded voice, and he came over to her side, looking rather anxious, but saying with an assumption of lightness! ‘Now, what nonsense do I hear our naughty Paula talking? You mustn’t take this young woman too seriously, Inspector. I’m afraid she’s been trying to shock you.’

  ‘That’s all right, sir: I’m very broadminded.’

  ‘That’s just as well,’ said Paula, disengaging herself from the avuncular arm about her waist, and walking away.

  ‘My niece is a good deal upset by this appalling business,’ Joseph confided. ‘She was very fond of my brother. Now, Inspector, since Mr Blyth is here I’m sure you would like to go through all the papers and things as soon as possible. Mr Blyth is quite ready. You won’t mind if my nephew is present? I think he has a right to be there.’

  ‘No objection at all,’ said Hemingway. ‘In fact, I’d like him to be present.’

  Eleven

  STEPHEN, FETCHED FROM THE BILLIARD-ROOM, CAME WITH

  an ill-grace, disclaiming the slightest interest in the contents of his uncle’s desk. Mottisfont, who had followed him, surprised everyone by declaring that as Nathaniel’s partner he considered he had a right to be present. Joseph seemed to feel that this was mere officiousness, and said that he hardly thought Nat’s private papers could be of interest to his business partner. However, the Inspector, whose obliging demeanour was making Valerie open her eyes wider and wider, said that he had no objection to Mottisfont’s presence either.

  ‘It seems to me that it is my presence which is entirely superfluous,’ said Stephen. ‘If you expect me to be able to throw any light on obscurities I can tell you now that I shan’t be able to.’

  ‘No, no, Stephen; of course you must be present!’ Joseph said, taking his arm.

  Valerie said, as soon as they were out of earshot: ‘Well! I never expected a Scotland Yard person to be so decent!’

  ‘Too decent by half,’ said Paula scornfully.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Roydon. ‘You want to be very much on your guard with those smooth-spoken chaps. They’re simply trying to trap you.’

  Mrs Dean laughed in a very robust way, and said that there were no traps for her girlie to fall into, she thanked God. This had the effect of making everyone recall duties that would remove them to widely distant parts of the house, and the party disintegrated.

  Meanwhile, Nathaniel’s study, which was situated in the west wing, and approached by a wide corridor, had been unlocked, and entered. Stephen switched on the electric stove, and began to fill his pipe. Joseph permitted himself a slight shudder at the sight of Nathaniel’s sanctum, and pulled himself together with an obvious effort. He turned to Blyth, and said: ‘I think you know why my nephew sent for you. There is one very important matter –’

  ‘I had better tell you at once that no will was ever drawn up by my firm for your brother, Mr Herriard,’ interrupted the solicitor.

  ‘So that’s that,’ said Stephen.

  ‘In the absence of any will –’

  ‘But there is a will!’ Joseph said.

  Everyone looked at him, Hemingway not less intently than the rest.

  ‘How do you know?’ demanded Mottisfont. ‘I only know that Nat had a stupid dislike of making a will!’

  ‘Yes, yes, but he did make one. I helped him to draw it up.’ Joseph looked towards the Inspector, adding: ‘I ought to mention, perhaps
, that when I was a young man my father mapped out a legal career for me. I’m afraid I was always a feckless creature, however, and –’

  ‘You can spare us the story of your life,’ said Stephen. ‘Most of us know it already. When did you help Uncle Nat to draw up a will?’

  ‘When he had pleurisy so badly in the spring,’ replied Joseph. ‘It was on his mind, and, indeed, it had for long been on mine. You mustn’t think that I coerced him in any way. I only put it to him that the thing ought to be done, and saw to it that it was all legal, as far as my little knowledge went. I quite thought he’d have deposited it with you, Blyth.’