Mary wrinkled her brow. "I shouldn't think so. According to Miss Fanshawe, he didn't even know that my cousin was married, so it doesn't look as though he could have had any knowledge of the house, does it?" She looked the Inspector in the eyes, "I could have taken the gun at any time; so could Miss Fanshawe. I shan't say we didn't, because you wouldn't believe me. But I can tell you one thing: Mr. Steel didn't take the gun when he was here on Sunday, because I saw him when he came out of the drawing-room, where he'd been talking to Mrs. Carter, and I was with him until he left the house, and drove off."
"For the sake of argument, miss, he could have come back while you were all at lunch, couldn't he?"
"I don't think so. Mrs. Carter had her lunch in the drawing-room, so that the butler was continually passing through the hall, to wait on her."
"No other way he could have got into the house than by the front-door?"
"Well, yes, he could have entered through the gardenhall, or the morning-room, or the library. They both have French windows. But he'd still have run the risk of walking into one of the servants."
"Then it boils down to this, miss: you can't think of anyone other than yourself or Miss Fanshawe who could have taken the rifle."
"Not on Sunday," Mary said. "And there's no point in going back farther than that, is there?"
"Have you got something in your mind, miss?" said Hemingway, watching her.
"No, not really. Only that I do know of one person who was in the gun-room on Saturday morning. But it isn't helpful, I'm afraid."
"You never know. Who was it, miss?"
"Mr. White. My cousin had lent him a shot-gun, and he brought it back on his way to work on Saturday. I didn't see him myself, but Mrs. Carter told me about it."
"Did Mr. White go into the gun-room, then?"
"Yes, he did."
"Alone, miss?"
"Yes. Mrs. Carter said she didn't see why she should bother to put the gun back in its place for him."
"And you don't know of anyone else who went to the gun-room?"
"No, but I quite see that almost anyone could have. The front-door is always open during the summer, and any number of people must know that Mrs. Carter kept all her first husband's rifles." She turned, for the morning-room door had opened, and Dr Chester had come out into the hall.
Chester glanced from her to Hemingway. "Good morning, Inspector," he said. "I hope you haven't come to upset my patient again?"
"Oh no, I don't think so, sir!" replied Hemingway. "Very sorry Mrs. Carter was upset yesterday, but if you don't mind my saying so, you'd better speak to Miss Fanshawe about that. That was her little show, not mine. Any objection to my seeing Mrs. Carter?"
"No," Chester said, re-opening the morning-room door. "None at all."
The Inspector passed into the room. Chester shut the door behind him, and looked across at Mary with the enigmatical expression in his eyes which always made her feel that he saw a great deal more than one wanted him to. "Tired, Mary?"
She smiled, but with an effort. "A little. Rather bothered. How do you find Aunt Ermy?"
"She'll be all right. Nothing for you to worry about."
"I thought last night she was going to have a thorough breakdown. It's absurd, Maurice, but she's worrying herself sick over Vicky."
"Yes. I've assured her that there's no need. I'd like to have a word with that young lady."
"You can't; she's gone to the Inquest, with Hugh." Again he looked at her in that considering way of his.
"Has she, indeed? Why?"
"Oh, heaven knows! In search of a thrill, I dare say. She will have it that she's closely concerned. She'll probably treat us all to another act - Innocent girl suspected of Murder, or Mystery Woman, or something of that nature. I'm sorry to say Hugh rather encourages her. I suppose I must be lacking in a sense of humour, for I don't find it amusing."
"No, nor I. Especially when she saddles me with Ermyntrude's exalted foreign guests," said Chester dryly.
"I feel terribly remorseful about that," confessed Mary. "Only you were so like the god in the car, that I jumped at your offer."
He smiled. "It's all right, my dear."
"Is he a frightful scourge to you?"
"Oh no! I don't see much of him. He had some idea of coming round to explain himself to Ermyntrude, but I headed him off. I trust that the police will soon arrive at some conclusion about him."
She could not help laughing. "Maurice, you've no idea how cold-blooded that sounds! Between ourselves, do you think he did it?"
"I've no idea," he replied shortly.
"I can't make up my mind about it. Somehow, it doesn't seem possible that any one of the people suspected can have done such a thing."
"Nevertheless, it's obvious that one of them must have."
"Couldn't it have been someone quite different? Perhaps someone we don't even know about?"
"My dear, I'm not a detective. It doesn't seem very likely to me."
,It sounds ridiculous, but I do rather wish you hadn't been out on a case at the time. I feel you might have been more use than Dr Hinchcliffe."
"Rubbish! Your cousin was dead before Hinchcliffe got there."
"I didn't mean that. Something might have struck you. You're much cleverer than Dr Hinchcliffe. Everyone says so."
"Very gratifying, but if you're imagining that I could have done anything more than he did, you're quite wrong, Mary."
They were interrupted at this moment by Ermyntrude, who bounced out of the morning-room, with Inspector Hemingway on her heels. "Oh, there you are, love!" she exclaimed. "Look, Mary, isn't it a fact that Harold White was in the gun-room on Saturday, all by himself?"
"Yes, I've already told the Inspector so."
"And what's more hadn't Wally lent him a hundred pounds, which he hadn't paid back?"
"I don't know how much it was, but certainly Wally did '
"Well, I do know, because I've been through the counterfoils of Wally's old cheque-books," said Ermyntrude. "It's as plain as a pikestaff he walked off with that rifle. I always said he was at the bottom of it!"
"Yes, I know," said Mary patiently, "but you're forgetting that Mr. White can't possibly have had anything to do with it, Aunt Ermy."
"Oh, don't talk to me!" said Ermyntrude, brushing this trifling objection aside. "If he didn't actually do it himself, I dare say he got Alan to. Yes, and now I come to think of it, what was Alan doing when Wally was shot? All we've been told is that he was out. Out where, that's what I should like to know?"
"But, Aunt, why on earth should Alan shoot Wally? It isn't even as though he's on good terms with his father!"
"I'm sure I don't know, but I've always hated those Whites, and don't anyone tell me that my instinct's wrong, because a woman's instinct never lies!"
She threw a challenging glance at the Inspector, who replied promptly that he wouldn't dream of telling her anything of the sort. "At the same time," he added, "if the story your daughter's got hold of is true, madam, I'm bound to say Mr. White should be the last person in the world to want Mr. Carter dead."
"What's this about my daughter?" demanded Ermyntrude. "Have you been persecuting her again with your wicked, false suspicions?"
"Aunt Ermy!" began Mary in an imploring tone.
"Don't Aunt Ermy me!" snapped Ermyntrude. "No one's going to badger my girl, so understand that, once and for all. Over my dead body you may, but not while I'm alive to protect her!"
The Inspector was not in the least ruffled by this unjust attack. He said cordially: "And I'm sure I don't blame you! But as for my badgering her, she's more likely to get me running round in circles, from all I've seen of her. Of course, it's easy to see where she gets her spirit from. Same place as where she got her looks if you'll pardon my saying so, madam."
Ermyntrude was naturally a little mollified by this speech, but she said sternly: "Well, what business had you with her today?"
"I hadn't," replied the Inspector. "It was she who had business with m
e, and since you're bound to hear about it from her, I don't mind telling you that she thinks she's discovered the reason why your husband went to see Mr. White on Sunday."
"She has?" Mary exclaimed. "Are you sure she wasn't well, pulling your leg?"
"I wouldn't be sure, only that Mr. Dering was there, fairly egging her on to tell me all," replied Hemingway candidly.
"Oh! Was I right, then? Had my cousin got some deal on with White and Jones?"
"According to Miss Fanshawe, he had. Which, if true, doesn't make it look as though he'd have shot your husband, now does it, madam?"
Mary pushed back a lock of hair from her brow. "But surely there isn't any question of that?" she said. "I understood that he wasn't even in sight of the bridge when my cousin was shot! He couldn't have had anything to do with it!"
"As a matter of fact, he couldn't," admitted the Inspector. "However, I'm not one to set myself up against a woman's instinct. Broad-minded, that's what I am."
Ermyntrude looked suspiciously at him, but he met her gaze so unblushingly that she decided that he was not being sarcastic at her expense. "I don't know anything about where he was standing when Wally was shot," she said. "Ten to one, it's a pack of lies, for though I've nothing against the girl I wouldn't trust Janet White further than I could see her, while as for Sam Jones, if ever there was a wrong'un, he's one! All I do know is that White brought my poor first husband's shot-gun back on Saturday morning, and what's more no one went with him into the gun-room! I'm sure I don't know who else had as good an opportunity to make off with that rifle, unless it was that young man that came blackmailing Wally. I suppose you aren't going to accuse the Bawtrys or the Derings of having stolen it!"
"But, Aunt Ermy, they aren't the only people who could have taken it! There's all Sunday to be reckoned with, remember."
"The only people we had here on Sunday were Bob Steel and you, Maurice. And if you're going to tell me Bob took the gun you can spare your breath, for it's a lie." She broke off, frowning, and then said triumphantly: "Now I come to think of it, didn't Alan White come over on Sunday morning to play tennis? There you are, then! Not but what I still say it was White himself took the rifle, and nothing will ever make me alter my opinion."
The Inspector regarded her with visible awe. At that moment Peake came into the hall from the servants' wing. Hemingway lifted an imperative finger. "Just you come here a minute, will you?" he said. "Did you happen to see Mr. White on Saturday morning, when he brought back the shot-gun he'd borrowed off Mr. Carter?"
"I did not see Mr. White arrive, Inspector."
"Did you see him at all, that's what I want to know?"
"I encountered Mr. White coming out of the gun-room. I was momentarily taken aback, but Mr. White explained that he had madam's leave to replace the gun."
"Did you notice whether he was carrying anything?"
"Yes, Inspector, Mr. White had his case in his hand."
"What case?" demanded the Inspector.
"That's right," corroborated Ermyntrude. "He brought the gun back in a case of his own, and I said at the time it was just like my husband to lend the gun out of its case."
"An ordinary shot-gun case?" said the Inspector.
"No, a nasty, cheap-looking thing," replied Ermyntrude.
Peake coughed behind his hand. "If I might be allowed to explain to the Inspector, madam? Mr. White was carrying what is known as a hambone-case."
"He was, was he? Was he carrying anything else?"
"No, Inspector, nothing else."
"Did you see him out of the house?"
"Certainly I did," answered Peake, slighty affronted.
"All right, that's all." He waited until the butler had departed, and then said with all the air of one whose most cherished illusion has been shattered: "There, now, we shall have to give up thinking about White after all. Seems a pity, but there it is."
"I don't see why," said Ermyntrude. "Something tells me he did it!"
"Yes, but the trouble is that something tells m° that you can't get a three-foot rifle into a thirty-inch case," replied Hemingway. "It does seem a shame, doesn't it? But, there, that's a detective's life all over! Full of disappointments."
Chapter Fourteen
Since Ermyntrude was extremely loth to abandon what by this time amounted to a conviction that her bete noire had murdered Wally, the Inspector's last remark annoyed her considerably. She said that to carp and to criticise and to raise niggling objections was men all over; and when the Inspector patiently asked her to explain how White could have packed a rifle into a case designed to carry, separately, the barrels and stock of a shot-gun, she replied that it was not her business to solve such problems, but rather his.
The Inspector swallowed twice before he could trust himself to answer. "Well, if he did it, all I can say is that he must be a highly talented conjurer, which, if true, is a piece of very important information which has been concealed from me."
"Of course he's not a conjurer!" said Ermyntrude crossly. "And don't think you can laugh at me, because I won't put up with it!"
At this point, Dr Chester intervened, saying with authority that Ermyntrude had talked enough, and must on no account allow herself to become agitated. He ordered her to rest quietly until luncheon was served, and, at a sign from him, Mary coaxed her to retire to the sofa in the drawing-room.
The Inspector threw Chester a look of gratitude, and said, when Mary had taken Ermyntrude away: "It beats me how you medical gentlemen get away with it, sir! If I'd so much as hinted to her that what she wanted was to cool-off, she'd have turned me out of the house, or had a fit of hysterics, which would have come to the same thing."
"You're not her doctor, Inspector," answered Chester with a faint smile. "You mustn't forget that I've attended Mrs. Carter for many years."
"Know her very well, I dare say?"
"A doctor always knows his patients well."
"Yes, but I'm not talking about her bronchial tubes," said the Inspector. "To tell you the truth, I'm not over and above fond of people's insides. Not that I'm squeamish, mind you, but once you start thinking about how many yards of intestines, and I don't know what besides, you've got, it's enough to give you the horrors. Was Mr. Carter a patient of yours too?"
"Yes, but he didn't often have occasion to call me in on his own account."
"Still, you probably knew him pretty well, I dare say?"
"Fairly. If you want to know whether he was an intimate friend of mine, no: he wasn't."
The Inspector's penetrating gaze held a question. "I take it you didn't like him any more than anyone else seems to have done?"
"No, I didn't like him much," Chester replied calmly. "He was a tiresome sort of a man - no moral sense whatsoever, and as weak as water."
"Did it surprise you, when you heard he'd been shot, sir?"
"Naturally it did."
"You didn't know of anybody who might have wanted him out of the way?"
"Certainly not. I know of' many people who have thought for years that it was a pity Mrs. Carter ever married him, of course."
His tone was uncommunicative. The Inspector said: "It's a funny thing, doctor, but I get the impression that you're not being as open with me as I'd like."
"Sorry, I'm afraid there's nothing I can tell you," Chester answered. "I wasn't in Carter's confidence."
He turned to pick up his attache-case from the table, but before he could leave the house, Vicky had entered it, with Hugh Dering behind her.
"Oh, hallo!" Vicky said, mildly surprised to see the Inspector. "Hallo, Maurice! How's Ermyntrude?"
"Not very well. You ought to know that," Chester said, rather sternly.
"Poor sweet, I'm afraid she won't be until this is all over. Why didn't you come to the Inquest? I quite thought you'd be there, though as a matter of fact it turned out to be frightfully stagnant."
"I couldn't see that it concerned me," replied Chester. He nodded to the Inspector, told Vicky briefly not to agitat
e her mother, and left the house.
"But why is Maurice so curt and unloving?" wondered Vicky. "Did you annoy him, Inspector? And, I say, what are you doing here? Or can't you tell me?"
"Oh, there's no secret about what I'm doing," responded Hemingway. "I'm trying to discover who could have taken that rifle out of the house, and not getting much help either."
"I'll help you!" offered Vicky. "Practically anyone could, I should think."
"Yes, that's a lot of use," said the Inspector.
"Well, I could have," she suggested. "Easily! The only thing is that I've never shot with it, so I shouldn't think I'd have managed to kill my stepfather."
"Tell me this, miss!" said the Inspector suddenly. "When you heard that shot, just exactly where were you?"
"Oh, I was round the bend in the stream! And I didn't hear or see anyone, and my dog didn't bark, or cock his ears, or anything, and have I got to say it all over again?"
"Didn't you think it was a bit odd, anyone shooting in the shrubbery?"
"No, because actually I didn't think about it. You often hear shots in the country, you know, and it might easily have been Mr. White, or someone, shooting a rabbit."
"You weren't within sight of the bridge?"
"No, round the bend. I told you. And then I wandered up one of the paths, climbing the hill, and it wasn't till I heard Janet crying, that it dawned on me that something had gone wrong. But why on earth you worry about me when you've got the Prince right under your nose, absolutely asking to be arrested, I can't imagine. He could have taken the rifle as easily as I could."
"Not on Sunday afternoon," said Mary, who had just come out of the drawing-room.
"Darling Mary, are you trying to send me to the gallows?" asked Vicky reproachfully.
"Of course I'm not, but one must be fair, and I saw the Prince leave the house on Sunday afternoon."
"If he did it," said Vicky, "he'd laid his plans long before Sunday. Probably on Saturday."
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