The Layton Court Mystery

by Anthony Berkeley

  ‘Heaven only knows,’ said Alec helplessly, puffing vigorously at his pipe. ‘What do you?’

  ‘Beyond the bare fact that somebody’s lying, nothing – yet! But that’s quite enough for the present. Then there’s another thing. You remember where those keys were? In the waistcoat pocket above the one in which he usually kept them. The inspector just remarked that he must have put them in the wrong pocket. Now, do you think that’s likely?’

  ‘Might be done. I don’t see anything wildly improbable in it.’

  ‘Oh, no; not wildly improbable. But improbable enough, for all that. Have you ever done it, for instance?’

  ‘Put a thing in the wrong pocket? Lord, yes; heaps of times.’

  ‘No, you idiot. Not just in any wrong pocket. In the upper pocket of a waistcoat instead of the lower.’

  Alec considered. ‘I don’t know. Haven’t I!’

  ‘Probably not. Once again, it’s an unnatural mistake. One doesn’t use the upper pockets of a waistcoat much. They’re not easy to get at. But consider this. When you want to slip a thing into the lower pocket of a waistcoat that’s hanging on a chair, it’s the easiest thing in the world to put it in the upper pocket by mistake. Done it myself hundreds of times.’

  Alec whistled softly. ‘I see what you’re getting at. You mean – ’

  ‘Absolutely! A waistcoat worn by somebody else is in the same category as a waistcoat hanging on a chair. If we’re to go by probabilities, then the most likely thing is that somebody else put those keys in that pocket. Not Stanworth himself at all.’

  ‘But who on earth do you imagine did it? Jefferson?’

  ‘Jefferson!’ Roger repeated scornfully. ‘Of course not Jefferson! That’s the whole point. Jefferson was looking for those keys; and it’s just because they were in the wrong pocket and he didn’t know it, that he couldn’t find them. That’s plain enough.’

  ‘Sorry!’ Alec apologised.

  ‘Well, this is all wrong, don’t you see? It complicates things still more. Here’s a fifth mysterious person to be added to our list of suspicious characters.’

  ‘Then you don’t think it was Mrs Plant?’ Alec said tentatively.

  ‘I know it wasn’t Mrs Plant. She was playing about with the knob of the safe; she hadn’t got the keys. And in any case, even if she had, there was no possibility of her getting them back again. No, we’ve got to look elsewhere. Now let’s see, when was that library left empty?’ He paused for reflection. ‘Jefferson was there alone while I was in the dining room (I should like to know why Mrs Plant fainted, by the way; but we’ve got to wait for that till the safe’s opened); but he didn’t find the keys. Then we both went into the garden. Then I met you, and we caught Mrs Plant almost immediately afterwards. How long was I with Jefferson? Not more than ten minutes or so. Then the keys must have been disturbed in that ten minutes before Mrs Plant went into the library (there was no opportunity later; you remember we kept the library under inspection after that till the police arrived). Either then, or – ’ He hesitated and was silent.

  ‘Yes?’ said Alec curiously. ‘Or when else?’

  ‘Nothing! – Well, anyhow, there’s plenty of food for thought there, isn’t there?’

  ‘It does give one something to think about,’ Alec agreed, puffing vigorously.

  ‘Oh, and one other thing; possibly of no importance whatever. There was a slight scratch on Stanworth’s right wrist.’

  ‘Rose bush!’ replied Alec promptly. ‘He was always playing about with them, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ Roger replied doubtfully. ‘That occurred to me, of course. But somehow I don’t think it was a scratch from a rose. It was fairly broad, for instance; not a thin, deep line like a rose’s scratch. However, that’s neither here nor there; probably it’s got nothing to do with anything. Well, that’s the lot. Now – what do you make of it all?’

  ‘If you want my candid opinion,’ said Alec carefully, after a little pause, ‘I think that you’re making mountains out of molehills. In other words, attaching too much importance to trifles. After all, when you come to think of it there’s nothing particularly serious in any of the things you mentioned, is there? And you can’t tell; there may be a perfectly innocent explanation even for Jefferson and Mrs Plant.’

  Roger smoked thoughtfully for a minute or two.

  ‘There may be, of course,’ he said at length; ‘in fact, I hope to goodness there is. But as for the rest, I agree with you that they’re only molehills in themselves; but don’t forget that if you pile sufficient molehills on top of each other you get a mountain. And that’s what I can’t help thinking is the case here. Separately these little facts are nothing; but collectively they make me wonder rather furiously.’

  Alec shrugged his shoulders. ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ he remarked pointedly.

  ‘Possibly,’ Roger laughed. ‘But I’m not a cat, and I thrive on it. Anyway, my mind’s made up on one point. I’m going to nose round and just see whether there isn’t any more to be found out. I liked old Stanworth, and as long as it seems to me that there’s the least possibility of his having been – ’ He checked himself abruptly. ‘Of all not being quite as it should,’ he resumed after a momentary pause. ‘Well, I’m going to make it my business to look into it. Now, what I want to ask you is – will you help me?’

  Alec regarded his friend silently for a minute or two, his hand cradling the bowl of the pipe he was smoking.

  ‘Yes,’ he announced at length; ‘on one condition. That whatever you may find out, you won’t take any important steps without telling me. You see, I don’t know that I consider this absolutely playing the game in a way; and I want – ’

  ‘You can make yourself easy on that score,’ Roger smiled. ‘If we go into it, we go in together; and I won’t do anything, not only without telling you, but even without your consent. That’s only fair.’

  ‘And you’ll let me know anything you may find out as you go along?’ asked Alec suspiciously. ‘Not keep things up your sleeve, like Holmes did to old Watson?’

  ‘Of course not, my dear chap! If it comes to that, I don’t suppose I could if I wanted to. I must have somebody to confide in.’

  ‘You’ll make a rotten detective, Roger,’ Alec grinned. ‘You gas too much. The best detectives are thin-lipped, hatchet-faced devils who creep about the place not saying a word to anybody.’

  ‘In the story-books. You bet they don’t in real life. I expect they talk their heads off to their seconds-in-command. It’s so jolly helpful. Holmes must have missed an awful lot by not letting himself go to Watson. For one thing, the very act of talking helps one to clarify one’s own ideas and suggests further ones.’

  ‘Your ideas ought to be pretty clear then,’ said Alec rudely.

  ‘And besides,’ Roger went on unperturbed, ‘I’d bet anything that Watson was jolly useful to Holmes. Those absurd theories of the poor old chap’s that Holmes always ridiculed so mercilessly (I wish Watson had been allowed to hit on the truth just once; it would have pleased him so tremendously) – why, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they didn’t suggest the right idea to Holmes time and time again; but of course, he would never have acknowledged it. Anyhow, the moral is, you talk away for all you’re worth and I’ll do the same. And if we don’t manage to find something out between us, you can write me down an ass. And yourself, too, Alexander!’

  chapter seven

  The Vase that Wasn’t

  ‘Very well, Sherlock,’ said Alec. ‘And what’s the first move?’

  ‘The library,’ Roger replied promptly, and rose to his feet.

  Alec followed suit and they turned towards the house.

  ‘What do you expect to find?’ asked the latter curiously.

  ‘I’m blessed if I know,’ Roger confessed. ‘In fact, I can’t really say that I actually expect to find anything. I’ve got hopes, of course, but in no definite direction.’

  ‘Bit vague, isn’t it?’

  ‘Thoroughly.
That’s the interesting part. All we can do is to look around and try and notice anything at all, however slight, that seems to be just out of the ordinary. Ten to one it won’t mean anything at all; and even if it does, it’s another ten to one that we shan’t be able to see it. But as I said, there’s always hope.’

  ‘But what are we going to look for? Things connected with the people you mentioned; or just – well, just things?’

  ‘Anything! Anything and everything, and trust to luck. Now step quietly over this bit of gravel. We don’t want everyone to know that we’re nosing around in here.’

  They stepped carefully over the path and entered the library. It was empty, but the door into the hall was slightly ajar. Roger crossed the room and closed it. Then he looked carefully round him.

  ‘Where do we start operations?’ Alec asked with interest.

  ‘Well,’ Roger said slowly, ‘I’m just trying to get a general sort of impression. This is really the first time we’ve been able to look round in peace, you know.’

  ‘What sort of impression?’

  Roger considered. ‘It’s rather hard to put into words exactly; but I’ve got a more or less retentive sort of mind. I mean, I can look at a thing or a place and carry the picture in my brain for quite a time. I’ve trained myself to it. It’s jolly useful for storing up ideas for descriptions of scenery and that sort of thing. Photographic, you might call it. Well, it struck me that if there had been any important alteration in this room during the last few hours – if the position of the safe had been altered, for instance, or anything like that – I should probably be able to spot it.’

  ‘And you think that’s going to help now?’

  ‘I don’t know in the least. But there’s no harm in trying, is there?’

  He walked to the middle of the room and turned slowly about, letting the picture sink into his brain. When he had made the complete circuit, he sat on the edge of the table and shut his eyes.

  Alec watched him interestedly. ‘Any luck?’ he asked, after a couple of minutes’ silence.

  Roger opened his eyes. ‘No,’ he admitted, a little ruefully. It is always disappointing after such carefully staged preparations to find that one’s pet trick has failed to work. Roger felt not unlike a conjuror who had not succeeded in producing the rabbit from the top-hat.

  ‘Ah!’ observed Alec noncommittally.

  ‘I can’t see anything different,’ said Roger, almost apologetically.

  ‘Ah!’ Alec remarked again. ‘Then I suppose that means that nothing is different?’ he suggested helpfully.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Roger admitted.

  ‘Now are you going to tell me that this is really devilish significant?’ Alec grinned. ‘Because if you do, I warn you that I shan’t believe you. It’s exactly what I expected. I told you you were making too much fuss about a lot of trifles.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Roger snapped from the edge of the table. ‘I’m thinking.’

  ‘Oh, sorry!’

  Roger took no notice of his fellow sleuth’s unprofessionally derisive grin. He was staring abstractedly at the big carved oak chimney-piece.

  ‘There’s only one thing that strikes me,’ he observed slowly after a little pause, ‘now I come to think of it. Doesn’t that chimney-piece look somehow a bit lopsided to you?’

  Alec followed the other’s gaze. The chimney-piece looked ordinary enough. There were the usual pewter plates and mugs set out upon it, and on one side stood a large blue china vase. For a moment Alec stared at it in silence. Then:

  ‘I’m blessed if I see anything lopsided about it,’ he announced. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ Roger replied, still gazing at it curiously. ‘All I can say is that in some way it doesn’t look quite right to me. Side-heavy, if I may coin a phrase.’

  ‘You may,’ said Alec kindly. ‘That is, if you’ll tell me what it means.’

  ‘Well, unsymmetrical, if you like that better.’ He slapped his knee suddenly. ‘By Jove! Idiot! I see now. Of course!’ He turned a triumphant smile upon the other. ‘Fancy not noticing that before?’

  ‘What?’ shouted Alec in exasperation.

  ‘Why, that vase. Don’t you see?’

  Alec looked at the vase. It seemed a very ordinary sort of affair.

  ‘What’s the matter with it? It looks all right to me.’

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing the matter with it,’ said Roger airily. ‘It is all right.’

  Alec approached the table and clenched a large fist, which he proceeded to hold two inches in front of Roger’s nose.

  ‘If you don’t tell me within thirty seconds what you’re talking about, I shall smite you,’ he said grimly. ‘Hard!’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ said Roger quickly. ‘I’m not allowed to be smitten before lunch. Doctor’s orders. He’s very strict about it, indeed. Oh, yes; about that vase. Well, don’t you see? There’s only one of it!’

  ‘Is that all?’ asked Alec, turning away disgustedly. ‘I thought from the fuss you were making that you’d discovered something really exciting.’

  ‘So I have,’ returned Roger, unabashed. ‘You see, the exciting part is that yesterday, I am prepared to swear, there were two of it.’

  ‘Oh? How do you know that?’

  ‘Because now I come to realise it, I remember an impression of well-balanced orderliness about that chimney-piece. It was a typical man’s room chimney-piece. Women are the unsymmetrical sex, you know. The fact of there being only one vase alters its whole appearance.’

  ‘Well?’ Alec still did not appear to be very much impressed. ‘And what’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Probably nothing. It’s just a fact that since yesterday afternoon the second vase has disappeared; that’s all. It may have been broken somehow by Stanworth himself; one of the servants may have knocked it over; Lady Stanworth may have taken it to put some flowers in – anything! But as it’s the only new fact that seems to emerge, let’s look into it.’

  Roger left the table and strolled leisurely over to the fireplace.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Alec growled, unconvinced. ‘What are you going to do? Ask the servants about it?’

  ‘Not yet, at any rate,’ Roger replied from the hearthrug. He stood on tip-toe to get a view of the surface of the chimney-piece. ‘Here you are!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘What did I tell you? Look at this! The room hasn’t been dusted this morning, of course. Here’s a ring where the vase stood.’

  He dragged a chair across and mounted it to obtain a better view. Alec’s inch or two of extra height enabled him to see well enough by standing on the shallow fender. There was very little dust on the chimney-piece, but enough to show a faint though well-defined ring upon the surface. Roger reached across for the other vase and fitted its base over the mark. It coincided exactly.

  ‘That proves it,’ Roger remarked with some satisfaction. ‘I knew I was right, of course; but it’s always pleasant to be able to prove it.’ He bent forward and examined the surface closely. ‘I wonder what on earth all these other little marks are, though,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘I don’t seem able to account for them. What do you make of them?’

  Dotted about both in the ring and outside it were a number of faint impressions in the shallow dust; some large and broad, others quite small. All were irregular in shape, and their edges merged so imperceptibly into the surrounding dust that it was impossible to say where one began or the other ended. A few inches to the left of the ring, however, the dust had been swept clean away across the whole depth of the surface for a width of nearly a foot.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alec confessed. ‘They don’t convey anything to me, I’m afraid. I should say that somebody’s simply put something down here and taken it away again later. I don’t see that it’s particularly important in any case.’

  ‘Probably it isn’t. But it’s interesting. I suppose you must be right. I can’t see any other explanation, I’m bound to say. But it must ha
ve been a very curiously shaped object, to leave those marks. Or could it have been a number of things? And why should the dust have been scraped away like that? Something must have been drawn across the surface; something flat and smooth and fairly heavy.’ He meditated for a moment. ‘It’s funny.’

  Alec stepped back from the fender. ‘Well, we don’t seem to be progressing much, do we?’ he remarked. ‘Let’s try somewhere else, Sherlock.’

  He wandered aimlessly over towards the French windows and stood looking out into the garden.

  A sharp exclamation from Roger caused him to wheel round suddenly. The latter had descended from his chair, and was now standing on the hearth-rug and looking with interest at something he held in his hand.

  ‘Here!’ he said, holding out his palm, in which a small blue object was lying. ‘Come and look at this. I stepped on it just now as I got down from the chair. It was on the rug. What do you think of it?’ Alec took the object, which proved to be a small piece of broken blue china, and turned it over carefully.

  ‘Why, this is a bit of that other vase!’ he said sagely.

  ‘Excellent, Alexander Watson. It is.’

  Alec scrutinised the fragment more closely. ‘It must have got broken,’ he announced profoundly.

  ‘Brilliant! Your deductive powers are in wonderful form this morning, Alec,’ Roger smiled. Then his face became more grave. ‘But seriously, this is really rather perplexing. You see what must have happened, of course. The vase got broken where it stood. In view of this bit, that’s the only possible explanation for those marks on the chimney-piece. They must have been caused by the broken pieces. And that broad patch was made by someone sweeping the pieces off the shelf – the same person, presumably, as picked up the larger bits round that ring.’