The Inspector looked confused. ‘Let me get this clear,’ he said rather snappily. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown expected her husband to dine here? She didn’t expect him to go out again as soon as he came in?’
Jeremy was now quite definitely flustered. ‘I–er–well–er–really, I don’t know,’ he stammered. ‘No–Now that you mention it, I believe she did say he was going to be out this evening.’
The Inspector rose and took a few paces away from Jeremy. ‘It seems odd, then,’ he observed, ‘that Mrs Hailsham-Brown should not have come out to the club with the three of you, instead of remaining here to dine all by herself.’
Jeremy turned on his chair to face the Inspector. ‘Well–er–well–’ he began, and then, gaining confidence, continued quickly, ‘I mean, it was the kid–Pippa, you know. Clarissa wouldn’t have liked to go out and leave the kid all by herself in the house.’
‘Or perhaps,’ the Inspector suggested, speaking with heavy significance, ‘perhaps she was making plans to receive a visitor of her own?’
Jeremy rose to his feet. ‘I say, that’s a rotten thing to suggest,’ he exclaimed hotly. ‘And it isn’t true. I’m sure she never planned anything of the kind.’
‘Yet Oliver Costello came here to meet someone,’ the Inspector pointed out. ‘The two servants had the night off. Miss Peake has her own cottage. There was really no one he could have come to the house to meet except Mrs Hailsham-Brown.’
‘All I can say is–’ Jeremy began. Then, turning away, he added limply, ‘Well, you’d better ask her.’
‘I have asked her,’ the Inspector informed him.
‘What did she say?’ asked Jeremy, turning back to face the police officer.
‘Just what you say,’ the Inspector replied suavely.
Jeremy sat down again at the bridge table. ‘There you are, then,’ he observed.
The Inspector took a few steps around the room, his eyes on the floor as though deep in thought. Then he turned back to face Jeremy. ‘Now tell me,’ he queried, ‘just how you all happened to come back here from the club. Was that your original plan?’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy replied, but then quickly changed his answer. ‘I mean, no.’
‘Which do you mean, sir?’ the Inspector queried smoothly.
Jeremy took a deep breath. ‘Well,’ he began, ‘it was like this. We all went over to the club. Sir Rowland and old Hugo went straight into the dining-room and I came in a bit later. It’s all a cold buffet, you know. I’d been knocking balls about until it got dark, and then–well, somebody said “Bridge, anyone?”, and I said, “Well, why don’t we go back to the Hailsham-Browns’ where it’s more cosy, and play there?” So we did.’
‘I see,’ observed the Inspector. ‘So it was your idea?’
Jeremy shrugged his shoulders. ‘I really don’t remember who suggested it first,’ he admitted. ‘It may have been Hugo Birch, I think.’
‘And you arrived back here–when?’
Jeremy thought for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘I can’t say exactly,’ he murmured. ‘We probably left the club house just a bit before eight.’
‘And it’s–what?’ the Inspector wondered. ‘Five minutes’ walk?’
‘Yes, just about that. The golf course adjoins this garden,’ Jeremy answered, glancing out of the window.
The Inspector went across to the bridge table, and looked down at its surface. ‘And then you played bridge?’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy confirmed.
The Inspector nodded his head slowly. ‘That must have been about twenty minutes before my arrival here,’ he calculated. He began to walk slowly around the table. ‘Surely you didn’t have time to complete two rubbers and start–’ he held up Clarissa’s marker so that Jeremy could see it–‘a third?’
‘What?’ Jeremy looked confused for a moment, but then said quickly, ‘Oh, no. No. That first rubber must have been yesterday’s score.’
Indicating the other markers, the Inspector remarked thoughtfully, ‘Only one person seems to have scored.’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy agreed. ‘I’m afraid we’re all a bit lazy about scoring. We left it to Clarissa.’
The Inspector walked across to the sofa. ‘Did you know about the passage-way between this room and the library?’ he asked.
‘You mean the place where the body was found?’
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘No. No, I’d no idea,’ Jeremy asserted. ‘Wonderful bit of camouflage, isn’t it? You’d never guess it was there.’
The Inspector sat on an arm of the sofa, leaning back and dislodging a cushion. He noticed the gloves that had been lying under the cushion. His face wore a serious expression as he said quietly, ‘Consequently, Mr Warrender, you couldn’t know there was a body in that passage-way. Could you?’
Jeremy turned away. ‘You could have knocked me over with a feather, as the saying goes,’ he replied. ‘Absolute blood and thunder melodrama. Couldn’t believe my eyes.’
While Jeremy was speaking, the Inspector had been sorting out the gloves on the sofa. He now held up one pair of them, rather in the manner of a conjuror. ‘By the way, are these your gloves, Mr Warrender?’ he asked, trying to sound off-handed.
Jeremy turned back to him. ‘No. I mean, yes,’ he replied confusedly.
‘Again, which do you mean, sir?’
‘Yes, they are mine, I think.’
‘Were you wearing them when you came back here from the golf club?’
‘Yes,’ Jeremy recalled. ‘I remember now. Yes, I was wearing them. There’s a bit of a nip in the air this evening.’
The Inspector got up from the arm of the sofa, and approached Jeremy. ‘I think you’re mistaken, sir.’ Indicating the initials in the gloves, he pointed out, ‘These have Mr Hailsham-Brown’s initials inside them.’
Returning his gaze calmly, Jeremy replied, ‘Oh, that’s funny. I’ve got a pair just the same.’
The Inspector returned to the sofa, sat on the arm again and, leaning over, produced the second pair of gloves. ‘Perhaps these are yours?’ he suggested.
Jeremy laughed. ‘You don’t catch me a second time,’ he replied. ‘After all, one pair of gloves looks exactly like another.’
The Inspector produced the third pair of gloves. ‘Three pairs of gloves,’ he murmured, examining them. ‘All with Hailsham-Brown’s initials inside. Curious.’
‘Well, it is his house, after all,’ Jeremy pointed out. ‘Why shouldn’t he have three pairs of gloves lying about?’
‘The only interesting thing,’ the Inspector replied, ‘is that you thought one of them might have been yours. And I think that your gloves are just sticking out of your pocket, now.’
Jeremy put his hand in his right-hand pocket. ‘No, the other one,’ the Inspector told him.
Removing the gloves from his left-hand pocket, Jeremy exclaimed, ‘Oh yes. Yes, so they are.’
‘They’re not really very like these. Are they?’ the Inspector asked, pointedly.
‘Actually, these are my golfing gloves,’ Jeremy replied with a smile.
‘Thank you, Mr Warrender,’ the Inspector said abruptly and dismissively, patting the cushion back into place on the sofa. ‘That will be all for now.’
Jeremy rose, looking upset. ‘Look here,’ he exclaimed, ‘you don’t think–’ He paused.
‘I don’t think what, sir?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Nothing,’ Jeremy replied uncertainly. He paused, and then made for the library door, only to be intercepted by the Constable. Turning back to the Inspector, Jeremy pointed mutely and enquiringly at the hall door. The Inspector nodded, and Jeremy made his way out of the room, closing the hall door behind him.
Leaving the gloves on the sofa, the Inspector went across to the bridge table, sat, and consulted Who’s Who again. ‘Here we are,’ he murmured, and began to read aloud, ‘“Thomson, Sir Kenneth. Chairman of Saxon-Arabian Oil Company, Gulf Petroleum Company.” Hmm! Impressive. “Recreations: Philately, golf, fishing.
Address, three hundred and forty Broad Street, thirty-four Grosvenor Square”.’
While the Inspector was reading, Constable Jones went across to the table by the sofa and began to sharpen his pencil into the ashtray. Stooping to pick up some shavings from the floor, he saw a playing-card lying there and brought it to the bridge table, throwing it down in front of his superior.
‘What have you got there?’ the Inspector asked.
‘Just a card, sir. Found it over there, under the sofa.’
The Inspector picked up the card. ‘The ace of spades,’ he noted. ‘A very interesting card. Here, wait a minute.’ He turned the card over. ‘Red. It’s the same pack.’ He picked up the red pack of cards from the table, and spread them out.
The Constable helped him sort through the cards. ‘Well, well, no ace of spades,’ the Inspector exclaimed. He rose from his chair. ‘Now, that’s very remarkable, don’t you think, Jones?’ he asked, putting the card in his pocket and going across to the sofa. ‘They managed to play bridge without missing the ace of spades.’
‘Very remarkable indeed, sir,’ Constable Jones agreed, as he tidied the cards on the table.
The Inspector collected the three pairs of gloves from the sofa. ‘Now I think we’ll have Sir Rowland Delahaye,’ he instructed the Constable, as he took the gloves to the bridge table and spread them out in pairs.
Chapter 16
The Constable opened the library door, calling, ‘Sir Rowland Delahaye.’
As Sir Rowland paused in the doorway, the Inspector called, ‘Do come in, sir, and sit down here, please.’
Sir Rowland approached the bridge table, paused for a moment as he noticed the gloves spread out on it, and then sat.
‘You are Sir Rowland Delahaye?’ the Inspector asked him formally. Receiving a grave, affirmative nod, he next asked, ‘What is your address?’
‘Long Paddock, Littlewich Green, Lincolnshire,’ Sir Rowland replied. Tapping a finger on the copy of Who’s Who, he added, ‘Couldn’t you find it, Inspector?’
The Inspector chose to ignore this. ‘Now, if you please,’ he said, ‘I’d like your account of the evening, after you left here shortly before seven.’
Sir Rowland had obviously already given some thought to this. ‘It had been raining all day,’ he began smoothly, ‘and then it suddenly cleared up. We had already arranged to go to the golf club for dinner, as it is the servants’ night out. So we did that.’ He glanced across at the Constable, as though to make sure he was keeping up, then continued, ‘As we were finishing dinner, Mrs Hailsham-Brown rang up and suggested that, as her husband had unexpectedly had to go out, we three should return here and make up a four for bridge. We did so. About twenty minutes after we’d started playing, you arrived, Inspector. The rest–you know.’
The Inspector looked thoughtful. ‘That’s not quite Mr Warrender’s account of the matter,’ he observed.
‘Indeed?’ said Sir Rowland. ‘And how did he put it?’
‘He said that the suggestion to come back here and play bridge came from one of you. But he thought it was probably Mr Birch.’
‘Ah,’ replied Sir Rowland easily, ‘but you see Warrender came into the dining-room at the club rather late. He did not realize that Mrs Hailsham-Brown had rung up.’
Sir Rowland and the Inspector looked at each other, as though trying to stare each other out. Then Sir Rowland continued, ‘You must know better than I do, Inspector, how very rarely two people’s accounts of the same thing agree. In fact, if the three of us were to agree exactly, I should regard it as suspicious. Very suspicious indeed.’
The Inspector chose not to comment on this observation. Drawing a chair up close to Sir Rowland, he sat down. ‘I’d like to discuss the case with you, sir, if I may,’ he suggested.
‘How very agreeable of you, Inspector,’ Sir Rowland replied.
After looking thoughtfully at the table-top for a few seconds, the Inspector began the discussion. ‘The dead man, Mr Oliver Costello, came to this house with some particular object in view.’ He paused. ‘Do you agree that that is what must have happened, sir?’
‘My understanding is that he came to return to Henry Hailsham-Brown certain objects which Mrs Miranda Hailsham-Brown, as she then was, had taken away in error,’ Sir Rowland replied.
‘That may have been his excuse, sir,’ the Inspector pointed out, ‘though I’m not even sure of that. But I’m certain it wasn’t the real reason that brought him here.’
Sir Rowland shrugged his shoulders. ‘You may be right,’ he observed. ‘I can’t say.’
The Inspector pressed on. ‘He came, perhaps, to see a particular person. It may have been you, it may have been Mr Warrender, or it may have been Mr Birch.’
‘If he had wanted to see Mr Birch, who lives locally,’ Sir Rowland pointed out, ‘he would have gone to his house. He wouldn’t have come here.’
‘That is probably so,’ the Inspector agreed. ‘Therefore that leaves us with the choice of four people. You, Mr Warrender, Mr Hailsham-Brown and Mrs Hailsham-Brown.’ He paused and gave Sir Rowland a searching glance before asking, ‘Now, sir, how well did you know Oliver Costello?’
‘Hardly at all. I’ve met him once or twice, that’s all.’
‘Where did you meet him?’ asked the Inspector.
Sir Rowland reflected. ‘Twice at the Hailsham-Browns’ in London, over a year ago, and once in a restaurant, I believe.’
‘But you had no reason for wishing to murder him?’
‘Is that an accusation, Inspector?’ Sir Rowland asked with a smile.
The Inspector shook his head. ‘No, Sir Rowland,’ he replied. ‘I should call it more an elimination. I don’t think you have any motive for doing away with Oliver Costello. So that leaves just three people.’
‘This is beginning to sound like a variant of “Ten Little Indians”,’ Sir Rowland observed with a smile.
The Inspector smiled back. ‘We’ll take Mr Warrender next,’ he proposed. ‘Now, how well do you know him?’
‘I met him here for the first time two days ago,’ Sir Rowland replied. ‘He appears to be an agreeable young man, well bred, and well educated. He’s a friend of Clarissa’s. I know nothing about him, but I should say he’s an unlikely murderer.’
‘So much for Mr Warrender,’ the Inspector noted. ‘That brings me to my next question.’
Anticipating him, Sir Rowland nodded. ‘How well do I know Henry Hailsham-Brown, and how well do I know Mrs Hailsham-Brown? That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Actually, I know Henry Hailsham-Brown very well indeed. He is an old friend. As for Clarissa, I know all there is to know about her. She is my ward, and inexpressibly dear to me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the Inspector. ‘I think that answer makes certain things very clear.’
‘Does it, indeed?’
The Inspector rose and took a few paces about the room before turning back to face Sir Rowland. ‘Why did you three change your plans this evening?’ he asked. ‘Why did you come back here and pretend to play bridge?’
‘Pretend?’ Sir Rowland exclaimed sharply.
The Inspector took the playing card from his pocket. ‘This card,’ he said, ‘was found on the other side of the room under the sofa. I can hardly believe that you would have played two rubbers of bridge and started a third with a pack of fifty-one cards, and the ace of spades missing.’
Sir Rowland took the card from the Inspector, looked at the back of it, and then returned it. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps that is a little difficult to believe.’
The Inspector cast his eyes despairingly upwards before adding, ‘I also think that three pairs of Mr Hailsham-Brown’s gloves need a certain amount of explanation.’
After a moment’s pause, Sir Rowland replied, ‘I’m afraid, Inspector, you won’t get any explanation from me.’
‘No, sir,’ the Inspector agreed. ‘I take it that you are out to do your best for a certain lady. But it’s not a bit of good, sir. The tru
th will out.’
‘I wonder if it will,’ was Sir Rowland’s only response to this observation.
The Inspector went across to the panel. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown knew that Costello’s body was in the recess,’ he insisted. ‘Whether she dragged it there herself, or whether you helped her, I don’t know. But I’m convinced that she knew.’ He came back to face Sir Rowland. ‘I suggest,’ he continued, ‘that Oliver Costello came here to see Mrs Hailsham-Brown and to obtain money from her by threats.’
‘Threats?’ Sir Rowland asked. ‘Threats of what?’
‘That will all come out in due course, I have no doubt,’ the Inspector assured him. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown is young and attractive. This Mr Costello was a great man for the ladies, they say. Now, Mrs Hailsham-Brown is newly married and–’
‘Stop!’ Sir Rowland interrupted peremptorily. ‘I must put you right on certain matters. You can confirm what I tell you easily enough. Henry Hailsham-Brown’s first marriage was unfortunate. His wife, Miranda, was a beautiful woman, but unbalanced and neurotic. Her health and disposition had degenerated to such an alarming state that her little daughter had to be removed to a nursing home.’
He paused in reflection. Then, ‘Yes, a really shocking state of affairs,’ he continued. ‘It seemed that Miranda had become a drug addict. How she obtained these drugs was not found out, but it was a very fair guess that she had been supplied with them by this man, Oliver Costello. She was infatuated with him, and finally ran away with him.’
After another pause and a glance across at the Constable, to see if he was keeping up, Sir Rowland resumed his story. ‘Henry Hailsham-Brown, who is old-fashioned in his views, allowed Miranda to divorce him,’ he explained. ‘Henry has now found happiness and peace in his marriage with Clarissa, and I can assure you, Inspector, that there are no guilty secrets in Clarissa’s life. There is nothing, I can swear, with which Costello could possibly threaten her.’
The Inspector said nothing, but merely looked thoughtful.
Sir Rowland stood up, tucked his chair under the table, and walked over to the sofa. Then, turning to address the police officer again, he suggested, ‘Don’t you think, Inspector, that you’re on the wrong track altogether? Why should you be so certain that it was a person Costello came here to see? Why couldn’t it have been a place?’
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