Mark gave her the empty glass. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it comes to all of us sooner or later.’
‘Heard about Vickers, Master?’ asked Bob Bewley, edging his way through hounds to reach Mark.
‘Ware ’orse!’ yelled Mark at Winsome, who was between Bob’s horse’s feet. ‘Yes, Mrs. Gordon’s just been telling me. Seems very sudden.’
‘There’s a rumour that they suspect dirty work at the crossroads. Anyway they’re doing a P.M. He started to feel ill just after you left last night. He went out and was sick and at first we thought he’d just had one over the eight. But then he got much worse and Steve Denton didn’t like the look of him at all. So they got Skindle and an ambulance and took him to the Royal Wintshire, but apparently they weren’t able to do much for him there. I wish I could remember a bit more about that party. I got a bit high early on and the rest of the evening’s more or less hazy.’
‘Charlie coming out?’ asked Mark.
‘No, they were up half the night. Hilary rang me up this morning to say she couldn’t ride the bay. She said they’d tried to get on to you, but you’d left.’
‘Then ask Duggie to act as field master, will you? And tell him to hold those bastards up if we find at the Lindens, and give hounds a chance to get away.’
‘Right you are,’ said Bob, turning his horse.
*
Looking round, Mark saw his nephew skyed up on one of the hunt horses — he had exhausted his own pony whipping in on Tuesday.
‘Uncle Mark, is the Colonel going to act as field-master?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Hell! Need Deb and I stay with him? He never has a clue where he is.’
‘Well, can’t you tell him?’
‘No, he takes offence. Deb told him he was going in the opposite direction to the hounds once and he was livid.’
‘It wasn’t a very tactful way of putting it,’ said Mark with a grin. ‘Look, stay with him until we find and then come on with Frank or Alan. But remember, no jumping gates on that horse.’
‘O.K.,’ said Jon and rode away to find his sister. Mark waited until he saw Douglas Holmes-Waterford mount his horse and then blew a short note on his horn. ‘Hounds, please,’ he called and the milling crowds in the gravelled yard made way, and then fell in behind him, a jostling mass of excited horses that filled the road from hedge to hedge. As he drew near the Lindens he sent Frank Haines, his first whip, on to the end of the cover, signalled to Holmes-Waterford to keep the field on the road. Then he took the horn from between his coat buttons and calling to his hounds rode up over the bank into the wood.
The field were still talking about Guy Vickers.
‘Poor Mrs. Chadwick, how perfectly dreadful for her.’
‘But it couldn’t have been the eats because the rest of ’em are as fit as fiddles; that lets the Chadwicks out.’
‘It must have been something he’d eaten earlier.’
‘I’ve heard the cook at Catton Hall is filthy.’
‘Rosemary! For heaven’s sake — that’s slanderous.’
‘Poor Guy, sickening to die at thirty-four when you’ve been through the war and everything.’
‘Shows it’s no good worrying. When your ticket’s up, it’s up, as my old batman used to say.’
‘Perhaps he was allergic to something.’
‘Doctors are such fools.’
Then they heard Mark blowing hounds out of cover and knew he had drawn the Lindens blank. Now for Scrubs Wood. Hard-riding members of the field began to grumble, for they knew it would take at least an hour to get a fox away from Scrubs, a great straggling covert intersected by boggy rides. Rides where you stood all crammed together, dripped on by trees and kicked at by other people’s restive youngsters.
*
Brigadier Lampton, Chief Constable of Wintshire, was of the old type, a military man appointed before it became the habit for the police to fill their own senior posts.
‘I’ve never met Vickers myself,’ he told a hastily summoned conference of Superintendent Fox and Detective Inspector Hollis of the County Constabulary. ‘But I’ve seen him ride. Saw him win at Badminton last year — a wonderful man across country.’
Hollis wasn’t listening because the Superintendent had passed him the post mortem report, but Fox murmured, ‘Indeed, sir.’
‘Of course, I know Commander Chadwick quite well,’ Lampton went on. ‘The most silent man in the silent service was what they called him, I believe. Still, his wife talks enough for two.’
‘He’s been most helpful, sir. We’ve a complete list of the guests with their approximate times of arrival and departure. We know what they drank and, in quite a number of cases, who talked to whom.’
‘Jolly good work. But are we absolutely certain that the arsenic was administered at this party?’
‘Well, sir, we can only go on what the experts tell us. Give us that report a minute, Hollis. Here we are, half an hour to an hour is the usual time lapse before the appearance of symptoms — in the case of a full stomach the action is delayed, but in this case the stomach was virtually empty. He was staying at Catton Hall — that residential riding school place. I understand from Commander Chadwick that there is a Continental riding expert there at the moment and that Mr. Vickers had taken the opportunity to get some advice on the training of his horses. He had been there a fortnight and had intended staying for another fortnight. We sent a man out there this morning and he interviewed the proprietors, Major and Mrs. Pierce, and the staff. The main fact which emerged from this report is that Mr. Vickers definitely spent the latter part of yesterday afternoon in the indoor riding school. At approximately five-thirty he hurried to the house to change, informing several people that he was going to be late for an appointment. He reappeared at five minutes to six — Mrs. Pierce states that the weather forecast was just coming on at that moment so the timing would appear to be accurate. He told Mrs. Pierce he would be back for dinner and according to her he seemed very cheerful. He ran downstairs and she heard his car start before she went back to listen to the news. Mr. Vickers drove a powerful sports car and, on the face of it, this time of departure would fit in with Commander Chadwick’s estimated time of arrival at six-ten. All the staff at Catton Hall are most emphatic in stating that they served Mr. Vickers with no food or drink after lunch.’
‘Might he have stopped for a quick one on the way?’ asked the Chief Constable. ‘Just a suggestion.’
‘I hardly think he would have had the time, sir. But I’ll see inquiries are made along the entire route. It’s lucky for us there is only one way from Melborough to Hazebrook.’
‘What about the family? You saw them this morning, didn’t you?’
‘I had an interview with Mr. James Vickers, the deceased’s father. He was upset, naturally, but he struck me as the sort to make trouble. Questions in the House; knows somebody who knows the Home Secretary; you know the sort, sir, plenty of weight and only too willing to throw it about.’
‘Yes, I know them — all too well,’ said the Chief Constable with a sigh. ‘But could he throw any light on the matter?’
‘No, not a gleam. His son had no enemies, was in excellent health, never suffered from depression and had no monetary difficulties. The entire estate will now go to the younger brother, Paul, who is at present skiing in Switzerland. By the way, Hollis, we’d better check that. He wouldn’t be the first lad not to be where his dad thought he was.’
‘Right, sir,’ answered Hollis, a burly man with a low forehead, an aggressive nose and very little chin.
‘To return to the Chadwicks,’ went on Fox; ‘it’s unfortunate that they washed up the glasses. Natural of course, because at the time they didn’t suspect anything; but hearing that they had only a daily woman I had hopes of finding the washing-up piled or stacked or whatever the expression is. But, no luck. Mrs. Chadwick and her daughter had washed up by the time we got in touch with them.’
‘My wife won’t leave a thing, not even the saucepans,’ observed t
he Chief Constable ruefully.
‘Mrs. Fox is just the same, sir. Likes everything spick and span.’
Natter, natter, thought Hollis. Oh come on, what time do you think I’m going to get through tonight? Aloud he asked, ‘Is that the lot, sir? I’d like to get on with these interviews. And with regard to the poison,’ he looked at Fox, ‘I think it was settled to lay on an extra man to go round the chemists, ironmongers and so on?’
‘That’s right,’ answered Fox. ‘You carry on, Hollis. You’ve got all the names and addresses?’
When the door closed behind Hollis the Chief Constable got to his feet and wandered round the office in an absentminded manner, humming tunes from the musical comedies of his youth. Fox, who knew from experience that this was a prelude to serious utterance, began to classify what information he had in chronological order. When the humming ceased he looked up expectantly.
‘I don’t like it, Fox, I don’t like it at all,’ said the Chief Constable turning back from the window. ‘I don’t think Hollis is up to it. He’s never handled a murder investigation. For two pins I’d ask for help. I know he did a good job over those burglaries at Little Holt; and he got the boy who pinched the lead from the church roof at Barkly. But these Vickers’ have got influence, you said so yourself, they’re just the sort to raise a stink. And anyway, apart from all that, murder’s murder.’
‘Well, there’s got to be a first time for everything, sir,’ said Fox soothingly. ‘And then again you never know — when we come to look into the case we may find the answer’s obvious. If you want my advice I should sleep on it, sir. Sleep on it, that’s what I’d do.’
‘I dare say you’re right, Fox,’ said the Chief Constable, delighted to have his mind made up for him. ‘We’ll see what tomorrow brings and, if Hollis isn’t getting anywhere, we’ll have a little talk with New Scotland Yard.’
CHAPTER THREE
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR Brian Hollis had every intention of getting somewhere. In fact he already looked on this case as his big chance and, as he was driven towards Melborough Park, saw his name in the daily papers and heard himself commended in court. I’ve got push and drive, he thought, I get on with a case. Not like Fox and the Chief Constable; there they sit, a couple of dithering old women, chewing over every detail, seesawing over decisions …
Melborough Park, a large white Georgian house, had been partly demolished to fit it for habitation in the twentieth century. In what remained of the house lived Melborough’s only corn merchant while the park, divided by wire fences into a dozen rat-trap fields, was avariciously farmed by a smallholder. The stables had been turned into flats. In Flat 2 lived Mr. and Mrs. Denton. Hollis’s list told him that Stephen Denton was the junior partner in the veterinary practice of Marley and Skinner and that he had been at the Chadwicks’ party with his wife, Sonia.
Sonia Denton was alone when he arrived. ‘My husband’s weekend on,’ she told Hollis, her pretty, silly face drooping with discontent. ‘And animals are even less considerate than people. They all whelp, foal or calve from midnight onwards; they choose the weekends for overeating, cutting themselves on barbed wire fences and spraining their legs. And at six o’clock every Saturday night throughout the season all the hunting people phone wanting antitetanus injections given to horses they’ve staked during the day.’
‘Very trying, I’m sure,’ said Hollis in a rudely uninterested voice. ‘But since it’s just a matter of a few routine questions you can probably help me. You’ve heard about Mr. Guy Vickers’ death?’
‘Yes,’ answered Sonia in a small voice. ‘It was horrible, so sudden —’
‘We are trying to establish exactly how he spent his last evening. Now can you tell me what time you and Mr. Denton arrived at Commander Chadwick’s residence?’ ‘About half past six, I think,’ said Sonia. ‘That was the time we agreed to get there. I hate to arrive early. It’s so embarrassing to be first, but Steve —’
‘Six-thirty,’ interrupted Hollis as he entered the figure in his notebook. ‘And the time of your departure?’
‘It was after eight, I think. You see, with poor Guy being so ill everything became a bit disorganized and my husband, being a vet, was trying to help.’
‘Yes, of course. Did you speak to Mr. Vickers at all during the evening?’
‘Only just to say hello.’
‘Do you know him well?’
‘Fairly well, I suppose. I mean, we’ve met him a good many times; he comes to Catton Hall quite often, but he’s rather smart for us. He’s — he was I mean — very rich, and of course he’s a very well-known rider.’
‘Yes, I know all that. Now, did your husband speak to Mr. Vickers in the course of the party?’
‘He just said good evening. That was all until Guy was taken ill. Then he talked to him a lot, in fact he stayed with him all the time until the ambulance came. I hate that sort of thing — blood and sickrooms, so sordid — but Steve doesn’t mind.’
‘Did you notice anyone besides Commander Chadwick touching the table on which the glasses and drinks were set out?’
‘Oh no,’ said Sonia in tones of horror. ‘You can’t mean that; you don’t mean that he was deliberately poisoned? Not murdered? No one there would have done a thing like that.’
‘You mean that you can think of no reason why any of those present should want Mr. Vickers out of the way?’
‘No,’ she said, and then she hesitated for a moment, ‘No,’ she repeated, but with less certainty. ‘No, of course not. None of them would do a thing like that.’
Below a door banged. ‘Oh, there’s my husband,’ said Sonia gratefully. She opened the sitting-room door and called down the stairs, ‘Darling, there’s a detective here.’
‘Yes, I know, I saw his car,’ a voice called back. ‘I’m just washing; I won’t be a second.’
A few moments later Steve Denton came bounding up the stairs.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he told Hollis. ‘I was covered in blood — wretched cow practically cut its leg off. Darling,’ he turned to his wife. ‘Have we offered the Inspector a drink?’
‘Not just now, thank you,’ said Hollis. ‘I’ve a few routine questions to ask you in connexion with Mr. Vickers’ death.’
‘Was he poisoned then?’ asked Steve.
‘Yes, it seems probable.’
‘Arsenic?’
Hollis looked at him sharply. ‘What makes you think it was arsenic?’
Steve laughed. ‘Don’t look at me as though you were about to arrest me, Inspector. I’m a vet, you know. I didn’t like the look of Vickers at all last night and there were symptoms which seemed to point to arsenical poisoning.’
‘Have you any arsenic in your possession?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ answered Steve firmly.
‘Presumably you have access to it in your veterinary capacity?’
‘We stock various preparations containing a negligible amount, certainly, but I doubt whether we have any in a form strong enough to do much mischief. You would have to ask George Murray about that, he does our dispensing.’
Hollis, having asked Steve for how long and how well he had known Guy Vickers and received answers which wore or less coincided with Sonia’s, said sourly that he had all the information he required for the present and was shown out with alacrity.
‘Nasty sort of copper,’ said Steve, when he came upstairs again.
‘Why did you have to talk about poison? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut instead of showing off about arsenic?’ demanded Sonia, her voice rising to a wail.
Steve looked at her in amazement. ‘What on earth are you getting all worked up about?’ he asked. ‘I’m a vet, I can’t help using my eyes. Anyway, you only antagonize the police if you appear evasive; it’s best to be perfectly open and frank with them. This is England, Sonia. You don’t get clapped in jail for opening your mouth.’
‘He asked me if there was anyone at the party who disliked Guy, anyone who had a reason for murderin
g him.’
Stephen looked at her for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was hard. ‘Well, if I had a reason that’s not my fault, is it?’ he said.
*
Hollis read out the second name on his list; Miss Antonia Brockenhurst, Sleeches Farm, Langley. ‘I know her,’ Hughes, his driver, told him. ‘That’s where I come from, Langley. Well-known point-to-point rider, she is; won the Ladies’ Race at the West Wintshire three years running. She goes all right, but she’s not much to look at. Always seems as though she needs a good wash to me.’
‘Well, if you know where the place is, get on with it,’ said Hollis. ‘We don’t want to be stuck out in the wilds somewhere at midnight.’
‘Right, sir,’ said Hughes, offended, and did not speak again until he stopped the police car outside the square brick and flint farmhouse. Though it was growing dark, there was no light in any of the windows. ‘I expect she’s round in the yard,’ said Hughes, thinking with relish of Hollis’s light town shoes and the mud that abounded there.
The yapping of half a dozen dogs was all that greeted the Inspector’s knock on the front door, but he persisted until a voice from the farmyard called, ‘It’s no good knocking; there’s no one there. You’ll have to come on round.’
Swearing under his breath he squelched round to the farmyard. In the barn was a tall young woman, wearing an old dufflecoat over hunting kit, filling haynets by the light of a hurricane lantern.
‘Miss Antonia Brockenhurst?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’m a police officer making a few inquiries in connexion with the death of Mr. Guy Vickers. I believe you were at Commander Chadwick’s cocktail party last night.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Antonia Brockenhurst needed no prodding back to the point; she answered Hollis’s questions as briefly as he could wish. She hadn’t noticed the time of her arrival at the Chadwicks,’ but Mr. Vickers had been waiting on the doorstep and they had been let in together. Only Captain Bewley and the Chadwicks themselves were there before her. She hadn’t spoken to Vickers except on the doorstep. So far as she knew there was no arsenic on the farm, certainly no weedkiller; she and her partner didn’t bother with the garden, they just turned the puppies loose in it. But when Hollis asked her if she knew whether Vickers had any enemies or if there was anyone who might have a reason for wishing him out of the way, after saying she hadn’t a clue, she seemed to hesitate.
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