Mr. Zero

by Patricia Wentworth

  “You had never met Lady Colesborough in these grounds?”

  Algy smiled.

  “I had met Lady Colesborough exactly three times before last night-twice at a night-club, the Ducks and Drakes, where she was with a party and I was with Miss Hardwicke, and once at the flat of some cousins of mine, the Westgates, where we dined at the same table and I afterwards talked to her for about ten minutes in the midst of a crowd of people. She told me that she adored London and hated the country. I can’t remember anything else about the conversation.”

  “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Somers.”

  “I thought I had. I had certainly never met Lady Colesborough either here or anywhere else, if by that you mean a clandestine meeting.”

  “And you have never been to Cole Lester before?”

  “I have said so quite a number of times.”

  “But if you had been here before-if you were familiar with these grounds-you will agree that you could have reached the strip of grass beyond the yew hedge before the shot was fired?”

  Algy smiled.

  “I am not inclined to agree to a purely hypothetical case.”

  “Will you agree that a man who took the left fork would naturally outstrip anyone who, taking the right-hand turn, would have to find their way across the lawn to the entrance of the yew walk?”

  “No, I don’t agree at all. I should think that the distance would be about equal.”

  “But if the man who took the left-hand fork had a torch and used it, and if he ran, I think you will have to admit that he could have reached the place where the shot was fired in plenty of time to meet Sir Francis, snatch his pistol, and fire that shot.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I’m admitting that either,” said Algy. “Lady Colesborough says the man she went to meet was at the window in the yew hedge when she got there. She doesn’t say anything about his coming up at a run and snatching the pistol. From what she told me, she and Mr. Zero were talking through the window and she was handing over a packet of letters, when she heard someone running and Sir Francis arrived on the scene. Isn’t that what she says in her statement?”

  Mr. Brook nodded.

  “Sir Francis came from the right. He must have turned right at the path and skirted the rose garden in that direction. Anyone who followed the path which you and Miss Hardwicke took would have skirted the rose garden on the left and come out on to the grass on that side. Mr. Zero would almost certainly have come that way, because it was the shortest and most direct route between the meeting-place and the road, where he would naturally have left a car. You did not observe any other car?”

  Algy shook his head.

  “There was no other car within range of my headlights. There may have been half a dozen farther up the road. I wasn’t out looking for cars.”

  “Mr. Somers, did you hear a car at any time either before the shot was fired or afterwards-especially afterwards? If Mr. Zero did not remain at Cole Lester he must have got away-probably by car. Did you hear any car?”

  Algy said, “Yes, I did,” and thought how convenient a lie it must sound-‘If Mr. Zero left Cole Lester, he must have left by car. Did you hear a car?-Yes, I did…’ It happened to be the truth, but there were times when you couldn’t expect the truth to impose upon a child of five. He gave a short laugh and added, “You won’t believe it, but it’s perfectly true-I did hear a car, thought I didn’t take any notice at the time. It was just before we met Sturrock and the servants. Miss Hardwicke may have heard it too.”

  Inspector Boyce turned in his chair. He addressed the Chief Constable.

  “I put the question to her myself, sir, and she said she hadn’t noticed anything. And the servants, they didn’t notice anything either.”

  “They had plenty to think about,” said Algy. “I didn’t remember it myself until you asked me, but I’m quite prepared to swear to it now. I did hear a car, and it was going back the way we came.”

  “Suggesting that Mr. Zero had run his car on a bit and left it turned all ready to go back to town again?” said Mr. Brook.

  Algy admitted a faint tone of sarcasm to his voice.

  “I won’t go so far as that-but then I haven’t your imagination.”

  Mr. Brook smiled faintly.

  “Imagination may be very useful,” he said. “Now I want to ask whether you noticed what time it was when Miss Hardwicke left you to find her way up the drive last night.”

  Algy had a sudden conviction that the answer to this question was going to matter a great deal. If he hadn’t known the answer, it wouldn’t have mattered. But he did know it, and it came home to him that if he gave it he might be landing himself in trouble, and if he hesitated it was bound to make a very bad impression. He said without any perceptible pause,

  “I looked at the clock when Miss Hardwicke got out of the car, and it was just on twelve.”

  Colonel Anstruther said explosively, “What do you mean just on twelve, sir? Can’t you be accurate?”

  Algy looked in his direction. The old boy was hostile, definitely hostile. He made his voice as deferential as he could and apologized.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It was between one and two minutes to twelve.”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Brook-“that is Miss Hardwicke’s recollection also. How long did you wait before you followed her?”

  “I gave her a couple of minutes.”

  “So you left the car at twelve o’clock. How long do you suppose it would take you to reach the strip of grass beyond the yew hedge?”

  “I haven’t timed it,” said Algy. “I suppose you have.”

  Mr. Brook nodded.

  “It took me four and a half minutes this morning. I might take anything from five to seven or eight minutes in the dark. It might take no more than four for a man who had a torch-and knew his way-and was in a hurry to get there.”

  Algy laughed.

  “In other words, you mean Mr. Zero might have done it in four minutes. But then why should Mr. Zero have been in a hurry?”

  “We should be interested to know that,” said Mr. Brook. “Perhaps you will answer your own question.”

  Algy smiled.

  “I’m afraid only Mr. Zero could do that.”

  There was a momentary silence-rather a concentrated sort of silence. It said, with no need of words, “Well, here you are-the game’s up. Why not make a clean breast of it?”

  It would have given Algy the most extraordinary pleasure to take the Inspector by the scruff of his neck and bang his face on the table, chuck little Brook through the window, and let fly with the inkpot at old Anstruther. Instead he maintained an admirable self-control and waited for somebody else to speak.

  The silence was broken by Mr. Brook.

  “Lady Colesborough says she heard the clock strike twelve just before she left her room. I have ascertained that this clock is five minutes fast. It was therefore six or seven minutes past twelve before she left the house. That would allow Mr. Zero six or seven minutes to arrive at the rendezvous before she got there.”

  “But you don’t know when Mr. Zero started, or where he was coming from-do you?” said Algy.

  “Don’t we?” said Mr. Brook. “I wonder. But we know when you started, Mr. Somers. You could easily have reached the rendezvous before Lady Colesborough got there.”

  Algy contemplated him with amusement.

  “I’m afraid that doesn’t help you very much.”

  “No? Well, we shall see. Meanwhile here is a provisional timetable. 11.58, Miss Hardwicke enters the drive. 12 o’clock, Mr. Somers enters the drive; Lady Colesborough prepares to leave her room. 12 to 12.05, Lady Colesborough leaves the house by the parlour door; Sir Francis follows her. 12.05, Mr. Zero arrives at the rendezvous. 12.07, Lady Colesborough arrives at the rendezvous. 12.08 to 12.09, Sir Francis gets there after skirting the rose garden. 12.10, Sir Francis is shot. 12.11, Miss Hardwicke arrives and finds Lady Colesborough holding the pistol. The butler Sturrock says it was just after a quar
ter past twelve when the alarm-bell rang and aroused the servants’ wing.”

  “Quite so,” said Algy. “May I point out, however, that your timetable rests chiefly on guesswork? Miss Hardwicke and I can corroborate each other as to the time she left the car, and Sturrock’s evidence as to the time the alarm-bell rang probably has the support of the rest of the staff, but between 12 and 12.15 you’re just guessing, and you know it. It’s no use asking anyone who has ever met Lady Colesborough to expect her to be accurate about time. If she said she heard a clock strike just before she left her room, it might have been one minute before or it might have been ten-I don’t suppose she’d notice the difference.” He turned to Colonel Anstruther. “You’ve been talking to her, sir. Would you expect her to be accurate-well, about anything?”

  “Woman’s a half-wit,” said Colonel Anstruther. “Waste of time talking to her-waste of time asking her anything. Hasn’t got a mind, and doesn’t try to use whatever it is she’s got instead. I’ll give you that if it’s any use to you, Mr. Somers-you’ll want all you can get. Any more questions, Mr. Brook?”

  Mr. Brook shook his head.

  XXV

  When are we going to get away from this horrible place?” said Gay.

  She and Algy Somers were standing side by side, looking out from the drawing-room across the terrace and the lawn to the rose, garden divided and enclosed by the dark T shape of the yew walk. There were five windows, straight and rather narrow, all hung with curtains of pale, cold brocade which repeated the faded green of the winter grass and the grey and blue of the winter sky. Gay and Algy were at the middle window, standing close but not looking at one another. They looked instead at the lawn where they had groped in the dark, and the black mouth of the tunnel down which they had run to find a murdered man.

  “When are we going to get away from this horrible place, Algy?”

  Algy smiled.

  “I don’t know, my child-when they’ve made up their minds whether to arrest me at once or to wait for the inquest. You’ll have to stay for the inquest anyhow, I’m afraid, but you’ll be able to go as soon as it’s over. If I’m not figuring as the accused by then, I shall be able to go too-we might even go together.”

  Gay swung round with a bright colour in her cheeks.

  “They don’t-they can’t!”

  Algy saw the colour out of the tail of his eye, and avoided looking at it.

  “Oh, they’re quite sure that I am Mr. Zero, and that I shot Sir Francis. The only thing they’re not sure about is whether they’ve got enough evidence to put before a jury. I don’t think they have myself, but if they do, they’ll be three to one, and I shall be for it.”

  Gay’s hand kept slipping inside his arm, tugging at his sleeve.

  “Don’t! Don’t say it! Algy, please don’t say it.”

  He was aware of her looking over her shoulder as if she expected the immediate entry of the Inspector. He turned to her then with half a laugh.

  “They’ll wait till the safe has been opened anyhow. Mr. Patterson, the Colesborough family solicitor, is coming down to be present. Stuffy old boy. Furious at being called out on a Sunday, and ready to have apoplexy at the idea of their proceeding without him. I could hear old Anstruther fairly booming at him on the telephone-and getting as good as he gave, I should say. I was the other side of the hall or I might have heard Patterson too. The study door was ajar and they were at it hammer and tongs. In the upshot, I gathered that Patterson would be here in time for tea-another jolly, companionable meal.”

  Gay’s hand was warm against his arm, against his side. It shook a little as she said,

  “What’s in the safe?”

  “Something that’ll show them I’m not Mr. Zero, I hope, but you never can tell.”

  “If there’s anything, it’ll be here,” said Gay. “Sylvia swears there weren’t any papers in the town safe, only the packet of letters she took. I told them that, and they asked her and she stuck to it. So if there’s anything to find, it’ll be here.”

  “Monty will probably blow in some time,” said Algy. “He’s staying with the other Wessex-Gardner, the one they call Binks, only about five miles from here. Maud Lushington and Constance Wessex-Gardner are sisters.” He laughed a little. “He takes the wretched Brewster down and makes him work like a galley slave. The funny thing is that Brewster likes it. He told me once in a hushed voice that it was a privilege which he appreciated very highly, and he rather gave me up as a lost soul when I said he could keep it as far as I was concerned. Of course he’s the perfect secretary and I’m not. I’d much rather be doing something on my own.”

  Gay’s hand pulled at his arm.

  “Algy-will Mr. Lushington stand up for you?”

  “He’s been a brick so far, but-well, he’s got to be careful. If I wasn’t his cousin, it would make it a lot easier for him to take my part.”

  Gay pressed closer.

  “It’s going to be all right. Algy, say it’s going to be all right!”

  Algy looked out at the yew walk.

  “It’s going to be as right as rain, my dear.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  “Because I think I’d better not, Gay.”

  She said, “Why?” and only just managed to get the word to make any sound at all. The sound was so small that Algy did not feel obligated to take any notice of it. He made instead a movement to release himself, but in doing so he found Gay’s upturned face much, much nearer than he expected. It was on a level with his shoulder, the eyes very bright and intent, cheeks glowing and lips just parted on that trembling word. They looked at one another, and he said,

  “My dear-I mustn’t-now-”

  Gay said “Why?” again. This time it was only a breath like a sigh, but it came from her very heart. She had both hands clasped about his arm, and he was trying to unclasp them. He said,

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t care,” said Gay. “I don’t care a bit what anyone thinks, and I don’t care if they arrest you.” Her hands clung to each other and to him. “I don’t care about anything unless-unless you don’t care for me.”

  There was a dreadful little pause. Her clasp relaxed. She stepped back, her eyes suddenly blurred so much that she couldn’t see, and in a forlorn and faltering tone she said, “You don’t. It-it doesn’t matter if you don’t, Algy.” She felt her left hand caught, and blinked away two blinding tears. Having got her hand, Algy was holding it so tight that it felt as if all the bones were breaking. This was naturally very encouraging, but just as she managed to swallow a sob that was threatening to choke her the comforting pressure ceased. She had her hand again, rather the worse for wear, and Algy Somers had reached the door and banged it behind him. Gay dried her eyes, and presently went upstairs to Sylvia.

  XXVI

  Sylvia was lying on the old-fashioned couch in her room. She looked pale and depressed, but she brightened up when Gay came in.

  “Are they still asking everybody questions?” she said in a plaintive voice. “They do ask a lot, don’t they? I’m sure they went on and on at me until I felt quite giddy. Will they go away soon, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gay. Her heart felt like a heavy stone inside her and her throat was dry. She would have liked to put her head down in Sylvia’s lap and weep, but you couldn’t do that sort of thing.

  Sylvia sighed.

  “It would be nice if they would go away, wouldn’t it? I don’t mind Algy-he’s nice, but I wish the Inspector would go away, and that Mr. Brook, and Colonel Anstruther. Why did they want to ask me all those questions? It isn’t as if they could possibly think that I shot Francis.” She shivered, and her voice had a frightened sound. “They couldn’t think that-Gay, they couldn’t!” They kept wanting to know why I picked up the pistol. And I don’t know. It was all so quick and so dreadful. But they can’t think I did it. Why, you were there, and Algy. Why couldn’t it have been Algy?”

  “Sylvia!”

&nb
sp; “I mean, why don’t they think it was Algy?”

  “They do,” said Gay, and felt a cold breath of terror touch her and go past.

  Sylvia said, “Oh,” and then, “What a good thing.”

  “Sylvia!”

  A little colour had come into Sylvia’s cheeks.

  “You needn’t say ‘Sylvia!’ like that. I mean, if they think it was Algy they won’t go on thinking it was me, will they, darling? And then they won’t go on asking me all those silly questions.”

  Bright anger looked out of Gay’s eyes, but it faded again. What was the good of being angry? It never had been any use with Sylvia. She said,

  “Sylly, don’t you truly remember how you came to have the pistol? Let’s go over it together and see if it doesn’t come back to you. What was the first thing that happened when you got to the window in the hedge?”

  “I had my torch,” said Sylvia, “and the light went through the window, and Mr. Zero said, ‘Is that you?’ and I said, ‘Yes.’ And he said, ‘Have you got those letters?’ and I said I had, and he asked if I’d looked at them and I said of course I hadn’t. I mean, why should I-horrid things. But he went on about was I sure I hadn’t, and I said, ‘Don’t be silly.’ And then he said, ‘Hand them over quick and put out that torch!’ I think he said ‘that damned torch.’ And I wanted to know why, and he got angry and said, ‘Put it out at once, I tell you!’ And then Francis came running, and there was a fight, and the pistol went off and I picked it up.”

  “Sylly, how could you pick it up when they were on one side of the hedge and you were on the other?”

  Sylvia stared with those blue eyes of hers.

  “He shot Francis, and he threw it down and I picked it up.”

  “You mean he threw it in at the window? Is that what you mean?”

  “I suppose so,” said Sylvia in a helpless voice. “Yes, that’s what he must have done, because something hit my shoulder and made a bruise there. I expect it was the pistol.”

  “Did you tell Colonel Anstruther that?”

  “Oh, no darling,” said Sylvia. “I’ve only just thought about it myself.”