Rules of Murder

by Julianna Deering

  He couldn’t wait to get back home to her.

  When he looked up at the window again, it was dark. Several minutes passed, but Rushford did not come out.

  Drew glanced at his watch. A quarter of an hour now. Perhaps the old boy had stumbled in the dark.

  Drew shut off the engine and went up to the door. Rushford hadn’t locked it behind him.

  “Mr. Rushford? Sir?”

  There was no reply, so Drew went around to the stairwell and opened the door. At least Rushford hadn’t fallen down the stairs.

  “Mr. Rushford?”

  Drew hurried up the three flights to the top floor, where everything was dark.

  “Hullo?”

  He switched on the lights and went across to tap on Rushford’s closed door, and then he pushed it open.

  “Mr. Rushford?”

  Rushford lay on the floor, bleeding from his temple onto his white tie and boiled shirt. His hands were tied behind him with an electrical cord, pulled from the desk lamp that lay smashed on the floor at his feet. He groaned when Drew felt for a pulse at his throat.

  “Steady on, sir,” Drew said as he cut the binding from his wrists with his pocketknife. “We’ll have you up in a jiffy.”

  Rushford was puffing and wheezing by the time Drew got him into a chair.

  “Dear, oh dear, I shall never be the same again.” His eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears, and he patted his coat with both hands, searching blindly for his handkerchief.

  Drew gave him his own and then poured him a shot of brandy from the credenza behind the desk.

  “Drink that down. There’s a good fellow.” He pressed the old man’s hands around the glass and helped him raise it to his lips. “Go on.”

  Rushford took a sip, coughed, and then emptied the glass. Then he just sat, his breathing so jerky and labored, Drew thought he might be sick, but he soon quieted.

  “That’s better,” Drew soothed. “Now, can you tell me what happened?”

  Rushford slumped forward, his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you remember?”

  Rushford shook his head, muttering something unintelligible.

  “That’s a nasty knock,” Drew observed, and he dampened a serviette from the credenza with some brandy and dabbed the wound on Rushford’s head. The old man made a startled, hissing sort of sound.

  “Sorry, sir. I know that must sting.”

  “It’s all right. Oh dear, I can’t believe it. It just can’t be.”

  “Can you tell me what you remember?” Drew urged.

  Rushford tipped the glass again, draining out the last amber drop, and then he sat turning it in his hands. “I came in, sat at the desk, and opened the bottom drawer. That’s the one where I keep my little lockbox. I leaned over to put the key in the lock, and something struck me across the side of the head.”

  “I should say it rather did.” Drew dabbed once more at the cut on the man’s temple.

  “I didn’t remember anything else until I came to on the floor there.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone?”

  Rushford shook his head. “But I heard . . .” He paused and shook his head more violently. “It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.”

  Drew got down on one knee so he could look into the old man’s face. “What did you hear?”

  “Someone talking. On the telephone. A man.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I couldn’t tell much. He said he’d got it and they’d share out after he’d taken care of things at the bank.”

  “It? What did he mean by ‘it’? What had he got?”

  The old man sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Anything else?”

  Rushford’s only answer was a shake of his head.

  “He didn’t say what bank?” Drew pressed.

  “No, nothing like that.” Rushford blotted his face with Drew’s wadded-up handkerchief.

  Drew checked the bottom drawer. “Well, there’s no lockbox here now.”

  “Oh dear. Oh dear . . .”

  “What was in it?”

  “Some bonds. Bearer bonds. Worth quite a lot. I only opened it because Parker said he wanted the total values and the companies they were with. He said Latendresse had asked if we had the capital for the joint venture they’re considering and wanted detailed proofs.” The old man’s eyes darted from the empty drawer to the broken lamp to the papers strewn all over the room. “Heaven knows what else they’ve taken.”

  “Don’t you worry yourself, sir. It’ll all be put right in time. Just relax now.”

  Drew telephoned the police, and soon two constables were there to take down Rushford’s story and examine the crime scene. That done, they assured Drew they would investigate thoroughly and, without further ado, dismissed him and the victim to their homes.

  “We’d best go on now,” Drew told Rushford. “I expect Latendresse has long since left for London. We ought to ring up and let Mason know what’s happened.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “Then I’ll take you back to your place. We can telephone the chief inspector from there and let him know what’s happened.”

  Rushford gnawed his lip and didn’t say anything.

  “Is that all right?” Drew asked.

  The old man swallowed with difficulty. “I suppose that’s best.”

  He got to his feet and then sank back into the chair with a groan.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  “I can’t . . .” Rushford’s bloodless lower lip quivered, and his eyes filled again with tears. Then he smiled. “I suppose I’m a bit more shaken up than I realize.”

  “Come out to Farthering for a few days, sir. We’ll ring up your man, have him pack some things for you, and meet us there once he has your car put right.”

  “Farthering? No. Oh, my word, no. It’s terribly kind of you, but I couldn’t possibly think of putting you all out like this. Min can look after me.”

  “Min can look after you just as well at Farthering Place.”

  Over Rushford’s faint protests, Drew telephoned Min and made the arrangements. He then called Mason and told him what had happened. After he hung up, he rescued Rushford’s hat from behind his desk and handed it back to him.

  “Now we’ll get you home and have Dr. Wallace see to you.”

  “I hardly think a doctor will be necessary,” Rushford said, touching his fingertips to the darkening lump on the side of his head.

  Drew steadied him as he stood and then helped him into his hat and coat.

  “We’ll let old Wallace decide that, shall we?”

  Drew led him like a child down to the car and bundled him inside.

  “Oh, I didn’t lock the door,” Rushford said, struggling to get out of the car again, but Drew pushed him back into the seat.

  “It’s a bit late to worry over that now.”

  “Oh dear,” Rushford moaned.

  “Don’t you mind, sir,” Drew soothed. “The inspector will see that this all gets put right before long. And I have an idea or two of my own.”

  Rushford didn’t say anything more, but he did not look at all convinced.

  Drew made the trip back to Farthering Place as quick and easy as possible. Rushford wasn’t disposed to saying much and understandably so. Drew didn’t press him. He had enough to think over as it was.

  Denny must have been watching for them. He came out to the car the moment they pulled into the drive.

  “Good evening, Mr. Rushford. Good evening, sir.”

  “Hullo, Denny.” Drew hopped out of the car and went around to open Rushford’s door. “Listen, Mr. Rushford here has been knocked about rather badly at the office tonight.”

  “Yes, sir. So Mr. Parker informed me.”

  “He’s going to stay on at Farthering a few days. Where shall I put him?”

  “It’s being seen to, sir. Perhaps Mr. Rushford would care to have coffee in the parlor until his room can be arranged?”<
br />
  “Capital.” Drew helped the old man to his feet. “Come through here, sir. We’ll soon have you settled in. I suppose Mr. Latendresse has gone?”

  “I regret so, sir. The gentleman was evidently on quite a rigorous schedule.”

  In another minute, Rushford was sitting before the parlor fire with his hands around a cup of Mrs. Devon’s stalwart coffee. He had refused food or anything stronger to drink.

  “This is too good of you,” Rushford said. “I hate to put you all out this way, especially since I never got to meet with our client.”

  “Nonsense, sir. It’s no trouble in the slightest. I’m sure my stepfather’s seen to everything as far as the company business goes.”

  “Oh, and I never did get the things Parker wanted.” Rushford sighed.

  “You rest easy now and don’t worry yourself.”

  “So kind of you,” Rushford murmured. “I think I could have a bit of something to eat, after all.”

  “What’s this? What’s this?” Mason came into the room, his voice hearty despite the concern in his eyes. “Whatever has happened to you, old man? Did you see who it was?”

  Rushford shook his head. “No, they were on me before I knew it.”

  “They?”

  “They or he, I don’t know. Whoever it was took the bonds and, either way, my office and yours have been torn up, and I didn’t get those papers you wanted.”

  “Papers I wanted? I thought you went there for something you wanted to show Latendresse.”

  Drew looked from Rushford to Mason and back again. They both looked equally puzzled.

  “No,” Rushford said. “I was going to come straight here until you called.”

  “I didn’t call. You called here, said your car had refused to go, and I said I’d send someone up for you. I didn’t ask you to bring any papers from the office.”

  “No, it was after that. I was in the bath, and you told my man to give me the message.”

  “Min said I called?”

  “Yes, I’m certain he did.”

  “I tell you I never made any calls after I first spoke to you.”

  “Hold on,” Drew said. “This can all be cleared up in a moment. What’s the number to your house, Mr. Rushford?”

  Rushford told him, and Drew dialed. A moment later, he heard Min’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Rushford’s residence.”

  “Hullo, Min. Drew Farthering here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Farthering? I was about to leave here with Mr. Rushford’s things.”

  “Yes, very good, Min, but I’d like to ask you something. Did anyone ring you up there before I came to get Mr. Rushford tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. Someone called from Mr. Parker, wanting to leave a message for Mr. Rushford. I assure you, I gave him the message.”

  “Oh yes, I know, Min. That’s all right. But who was it that left the message?”

  “I’m sorry, but I do not know. He said only that he was calling for Mr. Parker.”

  “Thank you, Min.”

  Drew hung up the phone. Mason and Rushford both were looking at him expectantly.

  “He said it was someone claiming to be calling on your behalf, sir.”

  Mason knit his brow. “But who? I didn’t ask anyone to call.”

  “Someone obviously wanted Mr. Rushford to open the office and to open his safe,” Drew said. “Someone who knew what was there to be had or who was hoping to find something in the offices.”

  “Lincoln,” Rushford breathed, breaking into a fresh sweat.

  “Lincoln?” Mason repeated, his eyes wide.

  “I mean this must be tied to Lincoln’s murder somehow.” The old man cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, it must be. Don’t you think, Parker?”

  “I suppose it would be too much of a coincidence to think it wasn’t,” Mason said. “But what in the world were they after at the office? The bonds, certainly, but why tear through the files, especially mine? I suppose I’ll have to go up there first thing tomorrow and see what else is missing.”

  “No doubt the chief inspector will be back down here too, once he gets a report on tonight’s goings-on,” Drew said, studying Rushford’s face. “Pity you didn’t see who hit you or recognize his voice.”

  The old man merely looked into his tea and sighed.

  Thirteen

  Chief Inspector Birdsong returned to Farthering Place the next morning and requested an interview with Rushford. It was singularly unproductive, and Drew could add little that was of any use. Of course, he did have a bit of an idea about what may have happened, at least some of it, but he wasn’t quite ready to have it sniggered at by the police. Nor was he desirous of being told yet again that he ought to leave the investigation to the professionals. If he could unearth enough support for his theory, there would be plenty of time to bring it to the attention of the worthy chief inspector.

  He was about to go see if Rushford had remembered anything more about the incident at Farlinford when Denny came into the parlor.

  “Peterson would like a word with you, sir.”

  The gardener peered into the room. “Good morning, sir.”

  At a stern look from the butler, he belatedly removed his hat. Then, with a bow, Denny left the room.

  “What is it, Mr. Peterson?” Drew asked.

  “I can’t say for certain, sir, but it seems there might be poachers about.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m certain I saw someone last night, sir. At the back edge of the rose garden. I don’t know what he might have been after there. He didn’t take none of the roses as I can see.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “He must have done, sir. He was at the garden and made for the greenhouse and then, of a sudden-like, he bolts into the woods. If the p’lice hadn’t taken my gun, I’d’ve warned him off with it. As it were, I couldn’t do more than holler after him that if he didn’t stop, well, I’d know the reason why.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Well, I couldn’t rightly say, sir. It were a dark night and all, and he seemed all over in black, as well.”

  “You couldn’t tell anything about his face? The color of his hair?”

  “No, sir. Nothing like that. He was there and gone in a twinklin’. I’m sorry I can’t be no better help, but I thought you’d best know about it. Mr. Parker and Mr. Padgett have gone into the village to talk to the council about using the meadow for the fair next month, so I thought I’d best tell you about it.”

  “Quite so. Quite so. Anything else you noticed?”

  “No, sir, other than the moles have been at the garden again. Do you think the p’lice will be giving me back my gun before they’ve uprooted the whole lot?”

  Drew smiled. “I’ll see what I can do about it. Don’t you worry. Have they done much damage?”

  “Not as I can see, sir. Just digging about in the dirt and all. More a nuisance as yet.”

  “Well, thank you, Mr. Peterson. You and your men keep a watch out, and let me know if you see anything else.”

  “Right you are, sir.”

  Peterson replaced his hat, gave the brim a tug, and strode out of the room.

  Drew took a sip of his tea, looking out over the grounds from the rose garden to the greenhouse and then to the wood. It made little sense for a poacher to be this near the house. There certainly wouldn’t be any game as nearby as this. But if it wasn’t a poacher, who would it be? And for what would he be looking?

  “Beg pardon, Mr. Drew.”

  Drew turned to see Anna at the terrace door, her eyes round and her hands clasped together as if she had to hold them still.

  “What is it, Anna?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I couldn’t help hearing what Mr. Peterson said. About somebody being in the garden and at the . . . the greenhouse, sir.”

  “Did you see something last night?”

  “Oh, no, sir. I was in my bed with the door locked and my chair propped against i
t and the covers over my head, like I been ever since that Mr. Lincoln and the missus was taken.”

  “I see,” Drew said, keeping his expression solemn and concerned. “Well, there’s no need for you to worry about it. Mr. Peterson and his men will see that there’s no one about who shouldn’t be.”

  “But what if it wasn’t a poacher, sir?”

  “What?”

  “Well, I mean, sir, what if it was someone come to do some mischief in the house, robbers or . . . or worse.”

  “Whyever would you think that?”

  “It does happen. Sometimes an innocent is carried off in the night.”

  Drew chose a discreet cough rather than what might have appeared to be insensitive laughter. “Now, who do you know that was ever carried off in the night?”

  “Well, it does happen, sir. Look at that cinema actress, that Lucy Lucette.”

  “Oh dear. Must I?”

  “But, Mr. Drew, the poor thing. The papers say she was at home having her beauty sleep, and when her maid came to wake her the next morning, she just wasn’t there.”

  “Wasn’t she? Perhaps the maid was looking in the wrong bed. Who’s her leading man these days, anyway?”

  “It’s not funny, Mr. Drew.” Anna’s chin quivered, but she stuck it out all the same. “It’s not a fit world we live in.”

  “Well, not to worry. I imagine poor Lucy will be found. Besides, the kidnappers of American cinema stars are quite unlikely to turn up in Hampshire.”

  “But Mr. Peterson saw—”

  “Now, don’t you mind about that, Anna. Whoever Mr. Peterson doesn’t catch outside, Mr. Dennison and I will see to inside. Fair enough?”

  “Just as you say, sir.”

  “There’s a good girl. Now, kindly run and ask Nick if he won’t meet me down at the rose garden, if you would. We’ll see if there’s anything you ought to be worried over.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, clearly unconvinced and uncomforted. “Thank you, sir.”

  Drew took one last sip of his tea, ate two very fine ginger macaroons, and then headed down to the garden. Nick was already there, peering at the ground.

  “Hullo there. Anna tells me there were some unauthorized shenanigans about the grounds last night.”