The Silver Ghost

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “Rufus isn’t supposed to flail anybody, then.”

  “Oh, no, the Weapon’s just there to provide positive reinforcement in case guests insist too much on being admitted to the car shed. Bill doesn’t want anybody in there because they all know his collection and would notice the New Phantom was missing.”

  “Couldn’t he say the Phantom was off at a rally or something?”

  “Bill tell a lie? You’ve got to be kidding.” Max took hold of the padlock and rattled it against the gate. Nothing happened.

  “Sarah, I don’t like this a bit. Would you mind going back to the pavilion by yourself and finding Bill? You’d better stick to the drive, it’s shorter. Don’t push the panic button, just get Bill aside. Tell him we found the gate unguarded and thought he’d better know.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Sarah gathered up her train and started toward the house, sticking to the grassy verge and studying the gravel as she went along. Inside the fence, the gravel had been raked smooth as an ironing board. If Rufus had gone inside to the car shed, he must have walked on the narrow strip of grass that edged the turnaround. Outside the gate, there had been some scuffing of the gravel where the sentry might have paced or guests ambled over to chuckle at Rufus with his Totschläger.

  Aunt Bodie must have been among the most recent visitors, assuming she had in fact come here with the expectation of sitting in one of the cars. Sarah would be surprised if it turned out she hadn’t. Boadicea Kelling wasn’t one to indulge in idle chat. Had she bulldozed Rufus into letting her enter the car shed in defiance of Mr. Billingsgate’s orders, then dragged him off to confess his dereliction? Sarah wouldn’t put it past her.

  Or had she irritated Rufus into chasing after her with his Totschläger? Sarah found something oddly agreeable in the thought of Aunt Bodie’s being put to rout by a mediaeval peasant, even a make-believe one.

  But it wouldn’t do. Aunt Bodie wouldn’t flee to the bee fields, she’d do a brisk about-face and march back to the pavilion. She’d deliver a concise report of the regrettable incident to whichever Billingsgate she happened to meet first; then she’d append a polite but firm request that this nonsense be stopped and she be admitted forthwith to the car shed.

  She must have gone for her four-mile walk, after all. It was to be hoped she’d continue walking until whatever was wrong at the car shed could be ironed out. Sarah walked faster, found the door to the long hallway, and had the luck to encounter Mrs. Billingsgate coming back into the house for more shawls.

  “Oh Abigail, I’m so glad it’s you. Could you possibly do Max and me a big favor?”

  “Of course, Sarah, what is it? Not the baby, I hope?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just that we need Bill up at the car shed. You can drop the message more easily than I without making people wonder, so would you?”

  “Certainly, but what’s the rush? Is something wrong there?”

  “We don’t know. We just went to check. The gate’s still padlocked and the car shed shut up, but your guard’s nowhere to be seen.”

  “That’s odd. Bill gave Rufus strict orders to stay put till he’s relieved.”

  “Yes, he told Max. That’s why we’re concerned. Max is standing sentry duty for the moment.”

  “You slip back and tell Max I’ll scoot Bill along as soon as I can wiggle him loose. Oh dear, and I promised Ethelyn Frome I’d bring her something to put on. What a nuisance.”

  “Here, take this.” Sarah realized somewhat to her surprise that she was still carrying the shawl Apollonia Kelling had given her to deliver. “I was supposed to take it to Aunt Bodie, but I didn’t find her. I’d expected she’d be up by the car shed, berating the guard for not letting her in.”

  “I’m surprised she wasn’t,” said Abigail. “Bodie was always like that. We were in boarding school together, you know, along with Drusilla. But this is hardly the time for schoolgirl reminiscences. I’ll get Bill.”

  She took the shawl and sped off, a buxom little figure looking much like the Wife of Bath. Her bright blue, full-skirted gown was short enough to show close-gartered scarlet hose and handmade shoes of soft brown leather. Her kerchief was of heavy white linen, probably one of those vast old-fashioned dinner napkins sized to encompass nine-course Edwardian paunches, Sarah thought. Abigail had drawn a wimple of white lawn around her face and topped it with a black felt hat hardly as wide as a buckler or targe but big enough to keep the sun off her nose. That was most likely why she wore it; she was already rosy-hued enough.

  Sarah felt a moment’s anxiety about her hostess’s blood pressure but didn’t stop to worry. It was hardly three minutes since she’d left Max, but she didn’t like the thought of his being all by himself in that strangely silent place. It was not easy to hurry uphill with those many yards of brocade swirling around her, but she was almost running by the time she got back to the gate.

  Above the sentry box stood an enormous horse chestnut tree, just now a solid mass of bright green leaves and tall candles of white bloom. Max was under it, staring into the greenery. On his face was an expression of total disbelief.

  “Max, what’s the matter?” Sarah panted. “What’s up there?”

  “Don’t look.”

  “Why not?” Sarah was already looking, of course. “I can’t see anything, the foliage is so dense. Wait, what’s—darling, are those feet?”

  All he said was, “Did you get hold of Bill?”

  “I met Abigail. She’s sending him along. Max, answer me.”

  “All right, they’re feet,” he admitted. “Rufus’s feet.”

  “What’s he doing up there?”

  “Hanging. You can’t see it because you’re not tall enough, but there’s a rope tied around that branch over your head, running up the trunk.”

  “And he’s on the other end of it,” Sarah finished.

  Max shrugged. “Where else?”

  “Then shouldn’t we cut him down?”

  “Not on your life. There’s nothing we can do for him, I’ve already climbed up to see. And messed things around in the process, no doubt, though I tried to be careful. My guess is that he was dead, or at least unconscious, before he was hauled up.”

  “Max, how awful!” Sarah moaned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the foliage around him isn’t disturbed. A person being hanged doesn’t usually die right away. That’s why hanging as a form of execution used to be such a popular form of public entertainment back in the so-called good old days. Sometimes the poor bastard would put up a lively struggle for several minutes.”

  “Yes, I’ve read about such things.” She wished she hadn’t. “The hangman would have to tug at their feet to quiet them down. Those are heavy boots, aren’t they?”

  “That’s right, and Rufus was no ninety-seven-pound weakling, either. He’d have kicked and squirmed and clutched at the branches trying to save himself. His hands show no stains or abrasions, his clothes aren’t torn or dirty, and those boots look to have been freshly cleaned and oiled.”

  “But why kill him first if you’re going to hang him anyway?”

  “Mainly because dragging him that high into the tree would have been a hell of a job if he struggled. The ground would have been littered with debris off the tree and there’d be breakage all the way up,” Max explained.

  “Yes, of course. I should have thought. Then the object of the hanging was simply to get the body up where it wouldn’t be seen. Don’t you think that shows some degree of premeditation? How did you happen to look in the tree, anyway?”

  Max shrugged. “It’s an old dodge. The theory is that people searching for something seldom think to look over their heads.”

  “So naturally you did. Boost me, will you, dear? I’d like to see how that rope is tied.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Max took Sarah by the waist and swung her up to his shoulder. She slid an arm around his neck to steady herself and examined the lethal strand.

  The
rope appeared to be quite new and couldn’t have been better chosen for its purpose. Its dead brown color blended so well with the tree bark that only an observer as keen as Max would have noticed it from the ground. It was thin but strong-looking and made Sarah think of Cousin Lionel.

  “Max, I’ll bet this is a mountain climber’s rope. Cousin Lionel has one he takes on those survival hikes. And the knot’s a clove hitch.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That’s a kind of sailor’s knot used to tie up a boat. The harder the boat pulls at the mooring, the more secure the knot becomes,” Sarah informed him.

  “From which we deduce that whoever hanged the guard climbs mountains and ties boats,” he replied.

  “In short, Cousin Lionel. Darling, I can’t say I find that particularly amusing. Put me down now, I think I hear Bill coming.”

  “Sorehead.”

  Max gave her a quick kiss just below the hennin and set her down in time to be looking professional when his current employer came hurrying up from the house.

  “What’s the matter, Max? Abigail says you’ve lost Rufus.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve found him, Bill. You’re not going to like this.”

  “Good Lord, you don’t mean he’s badly hurt?”

  “I wish I did,” Max answered.

  Nehemiah Billingsgate stared, then shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Where is he?”

  “Up there.”

  “In the tree? Max, this is absurd. I see nothing but leaves.”

  “Try for boot soles.”

  Either because Nehemiah Billingsgate was a religious man or because the garb was loose and comfortable for an elderly, somewhat overweight man who’d known he was going to be on his feet most of the day, he’d got himself up as the friar of orders gray. When he spotted the hanging boots, Bill’s face turned grayer than his habit.

  “Dear merciful God,” he whispered, “whatever possessed Rufe to do a thing like this?”

  “I think we’re going to find he didn’t,” said Max. “I climbed up and took a look. There’s a noose around his neck, but I don’t believe he put it there.”

  “How could that be? What would be the sense?”

  “Of killing him? I don’t know yet. As for hanging him up the tree I assume it was to conceal the fact that he was dead and give the killer a chance to get away. Rufe was part of the show. That means your guests have been strolling up here to take a look at him off and on ever since the revel started, right?”

  “Yes. A number of people have commented on how amusing he looked.” Bill almost didn’t manage the “amusing.”

  “So during the banquet would be the least risky time to kill him because everybody was in the pavilion then together. But there was still the off chance that somebody would come along, so the killer had to work fast. Leaving the body by the sentry box would attract attention too soon, but dragging it away to hide would take too much time. Hitching his body to a rope and hauling him up into the tree wouldn’t take more than a few seconds.”

  “Assuming one had the rope ready in advance.” Bill wasn’t so thunderstruck as to overlook the obvious.

  “Yes,” Max agreed. “I’m afraid that’s a foregone conclusion.”

  Bill shook his head, with the fake tonsure that everyone had been finding as amusing as they had Rufus and his Totschläger. “Whoever would have thought to look for him there? We might have left him hanging until—the crows found him, I suppose. Max, this is appalling! Will you help me get the poor fellow down?”

  “We mustn’t, Bill. The police will have to see him as he is.”

  “The police?” Nehemiah Billingsgate bowed his head and swallowed hard. “Oh yes. Stupid of me. And we were all having such a marvelous time. Except Rufe. You don’t think he suffered, Max?”

  “There’s no sign that he did. I’d say he never knew what hit him.”

  “Poor old Rufe! Well, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Rufe always said he wanted to die before he got old and useless. Then you want me to telephone the police?”

  “First, if you don’t mind, we ought to check out the cars,” said Sarah. “Can you open the gate, Bill?”

  “No problem. I have my keys right here. I’ve gone a bit paranoid about security since the New Phantom disappeared. Which I expect is why Rufe got killed. If only I hadn’t been so mean-spirited about setting a guard!”

  “Bill, you did what anybody with a grain of sense would have done,” said Max. “Rufus had keys, too, I suppose?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, he didn’t. His are back at the house, locked up in the library safe. There was no reason for Rufe to be carrying them, you see. He wasn’t required to go inside the gate, merely to let visitors know the car shed was out of bounds. He thought if anybody got too insistent, he could merely explain that he had no keys with him, then nobody could accuse him of being uncivil. Furthermore, my wife forgot to put any pockets in his costume, so he’d have had no place to keep them anyway,” Bill added with a rueful smile. “Dear God, if Rufe was killed for the keys he didn’t have—well, let’s use mine.”

  Bill’s keys were part of his costume, a great ring of them hanging from a cord around his waist. “Abigail insists that if I’d ever gone into holy orders, I’d have wound up as a sacristan, so we decided I might as well play the role,” he explained as he fitted a black iron key about six inches long into the massive padlock. “I expect most of our guests thought these were plastic, if they noticed them at all. Sarah?” He opened the gate and motioned her through.

  “I’ve been noticing how beautifully the gravel’s raked,” Sarah remarked as they walked across to the car shed.

  The unsteadiness was back in Billingsgate’s voice. “Rufe spent hours out here yesterday helping Bob tidy the place up for the revel. We do have a special tractor with a wide rake on it for the gravel, but with our cars going in and out so often, the drive’s generally a good deal less orderly than you see it today. We’ll go in this little side door, if you don’t mind. Ah, I believe this is the key.”

  “I’ll go first this time.” Max stepped inside and took a careful look around. The car shed was the size of a skating rink, with concrete walls and floor and a steel-girdered ceiling. There was nothing in it but Rolls Royces. “Quite a place you’ve got here, Bill.”

  Sarah’s reaction was more personal. “What marvelous old cars!”

  “We think so,” Bill confessed. “Some mean more to us than others, of course, because of the family connections. The New Phantom belonged to my brother Ralph, who died thirty-five years ago. That’s why I was so particularly upset to lose—dear God in heaven, the Silver Ghost!”

  4

  “WHERE?” DEMANDED SARAH. BILL was so pale, she thought he must have seen an apparition.

  “I don’t know where,” he babbled. “It’s gone. It was parked right here between the Barker Saloon Cabriolet and the Drop Head foursome Coupe. It’s not the famous Silver Ghost AX201 of 1907, needless to say, but one of the subsequent models and the gem of our collection. Except for the dear old Roi des Belges, I have to admit. Great-grandfather bought her in 1906. But the Roi’s a bit cranky to drive if you’re not used to her. The Ghost’s a dream. Max, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “You’re saying another of your Rolls Royces has been stolen, Bill,” Max Bittersohn pointed out reasonably enough. “When did you last see your Silver Ghost?”

  “Half-past twelve or thereabouts. Rufe had just finished his lunch and I was getting him settled in his sentry box because people would be starting to arrive. I’d brought his costume with me and we’d come in here so he could change.”

  Bill led them into a small room at the back where several chauffeurs’ uniforms of different vintages hung, along with some motoring dusters and veils, a brown tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows, and a pair of wrinkled chino pants washed almost white. Bill nodded at these last with a twisted smile.

  “Rufe’s Old Retainer suit. That’s what Melly c
alls it. She and Rufe always had great fun teasing each other. He’d known her since she was knee-high to a hubcap, of course.”

  “He was with you a long time, then.” Sarah could sense what Bill must be feeling. She’d had losses, too.

  “All his life,” sighed Bill, “and his father before him. Rufe was terribly feudal in his ideas. He wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the castle, as he always called it, and we’d certainly never have wanted him to. We’ll hold the funeral service right here in our own private chapel, and lay him to rest in the family plot. Rufe would like that, dear soul. Anyway, it may help to make the rest of us feel less miserable at losing him. Sarah, Max, I do beg your pardon. When I mentioned my wretched little problem, I had no intention of dragging you into something like this.”

  “Don’t apologize, Bill,” Sarah told him. “At least we know now why Rufus was killed. Once we get a line on how the Silver Ghost was taken, I expect we’ll be able to wind things up quickly.”

  “But the Ghost can’t have been stolen, don’t you see? The only way it could have been taken out was through the gate and down the drive. But the gate was locked and the drive was undisturbed. You said so yourself. It makes no sense.”

  “It will,” said Max. “Rufe’s death didn’t make sense a couple of minutes ago.”

  “That’s true. I’m sorry. I’m overwrought, I suppose.” The older man made a brave effort to pull himself together. “You say Rufe was killed to keep him from stopping the theft of the Ghost, and hung in the tree to gain time for the thief to get away. That much I’m willing to grant. I myself would never have thought of looking in the tree. I’d have wasted time searching the grounds, the castle, his own rooms.”