"Did he go into the gun-room on Saturday?" asked Hugh.
"Yes, of course he did. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he took the rifle at dead of night, and hid it somewhere. In fact, it would be a good thing to assume that he did, and then work it out from that point'
"If you don't mind my putting in a word, miss, before you take the gentleman's character clean away," said the Inspector mildly, "I would like to point out that according to all the evidence I've heard so far, Mr. White didn't invite your stepfather until Sunday morning."
"Oh well, we can easily get round that!" replied Vicky. "I expect Alexis just hid the rifle in case it should come in handy. After all, my stepfather was bound to go out for a stroll sometime or other, and I do definitely feel that Alexis is a very thoughtful person and would have had everything ready just on the off-chance."
This was too much, even for the Inspector, and he looked round for his hat. Mary said: "I wish you wouldn't talk in that irresponsible way, Vicky! It's absolutely actionable!"
"Oh, is it? Could I be had up for libel, or something?" asked Vicky, her eyes brightening.
"Now look what you've done!" said Hugh, addressing Mary. "No, Vicky, no! Don't start seeing yourself in the witness-box, causing strong jurymen to shed tears of pity for you!"
"Yes, it strikes me that you're just about as bad as she is, sir," said Hemingway severely, and left them. Mary found herself to be so much in agreement with this pronouncement, that instead of inviting Hugh to stay to lunch, she asked somewhat crossly if he had come to Palings for any particular purpose.
"Only to return Sarah Bernhardt to the bosom of her family," he replied. "The lady's car died on her."
"Yes, and I quite think I went over rather well with your father," said Vicky, "which is a thing I didn't expect, because he didn't take to me in the least when I was being a Girl of the Century. Mary, you were too utterly right not to go to the Inquest! It was wholly spurious."
"Where's Maurice?" Mary demanded, unheeding.
"Oh, he went away! He didn't seem to me to have the party spirit at all. Probably Alexis has trodden him down, like Keats, or someone."
Mary sighed. "I suppose you mean by that that he saw how serious the whole situation is."
"We all see that," said Hugh.
"Well, you seem to be getting a good deal of amusement out of it."
"Sorry! You shouldn't have loosed Vicky on to me."
"I'm glad you find her so funny. I don't," said Mary, walking to the staircase.
Hugh watched her till she was out of sight, and then took Vicky by the elbow, and gave her an admonitory shake. "Look here, my little ray of sunshine, you're getting on Mary's nerves! I know you think Carter's death a blessing imperfectly disguised, but it's just conceivable that Mary doesn't. After all, he was her cousin. You've got to behave yourself."
"I am behaving myself!" said Vicky indignantly. "Why, I even gave up the idea of being mysterious with the Inspector, just because I thought Mary mightn't like it! I've been polite to you, too, which takes a lot of doing, I can tell you!"
"Vicky, you little beast, if I see much more of you I shall end by wringing your neck!" said Hugh.
"If Peake's listening, you'll be sorry you said that," remarked Vicky. "Specially if my body is found lying about the place tomorrow. Are you staying to lunch?"
"No, I must get back. Don't spread that story of Alan White's about, by the way!"
When he had left the house, Vicky went upstairs, and presently wandered into Mary's bedroom. "Are you feeling jaded, darling Mary?"
"Extremely jaded."
"Poor sweet! All the same, I do truly think you make yourself worse through not looking on the bright side. Quite honestly, do you mind Wally's being dead?"
"Of course I," Mary stopped short, under the clear gaze bent upon her. "'That is, I suppose I don't. Yes, I do, a bit, though. Anyway, I can't bear the thought of his having been murdered."
"No, I'm not frightfully partial to it myself," agreed Vicky. "That's why I don't dwell on it."
"Yes, you do. You keep on wondering who could have killed him, and it seems to me dreadful!"
"Well, so do you," said Vicky. "Which reminds me that something rather disgruntling happened after that mouldy Inquest. Janet went and queered Robert's pitch, by divulging that he knew all along Wally was going to tea at the Dower House, so I'm rather afraid the Inspector may try to pin the murder on to him."
"No!" Mary exclaimed, startled. "Robert did know?"
"So Janet said. Of course, I always did think he might have done it, only if so I'd rather he got away with it, on account of Ermyntrude. That was why I tried to put the Inspector on to Alexis."
"But you can't! You mustn't! If Robert - but I won't believe it! If he did, it would be absolutely wicked to try to make the police suspect the Prince instead!"
"Oh no, really it wouldn't! Because Robert's much nicer than Alexis, who was after poor Ermyntrude's money, and I dare say has a perfectly revolting past, which Robert hasn't in the least. And if Robert did murder Wally, he probably thought it was the right thing to do. Why was Maurice so peevish?"
"He wasn't. Naturally, he must be rather worried about all this, for Aunt Ermy's sake."
Vicky opened her eyes at that. "But she isn't ill, is she?"
"No, but I've always fancied that he wass very fond of her," Mary said.
"Darling, you don't suppose he's in love with her, do you?"
"No, no, of course I don't! Only he did say that she'd been very good to him once, or something."
"Oh, that must have been on account of his sister! He used to have one, only she died, and I believe Ermyntrude did rather succour her; only it all happened in the Dark Ages, when I was small, so I don't really know. I wouldn't wonder if Maurice thinks Robert did it.
"Why? Surely he hasn't said anything to you about it?"
"No, but Robert's a friend of his, and you must admit that he's taking it all frightfully seriously, so that it looks rather as though he feared the worst."
"He can't think that! In any case, I didn't find him any different from his usual self. He certainly wasn't with me."
"Oh well! then it was probably Hugh who made him so glum. I've noticed that he doesn't seem to like Hugh much."
Mary stared at her. "But what could he possibly find to dislike in Hugh?"
"Old school-tie. Alan does. Besides, there's plenty to dislike in him. Mothballs, and being dictatorial, and - oh, lots of things!"
"Hallo!" said Mary, suddenly making a discovery. "Have you fallen for Hugh?"
"No, I think he's noisome, and I do not fall for other people's boy-friends!"
"If that means me, don't worry! I told you he wasn't, when you asked me."
"But isn't he?" asked Vicky anxiously.
"Definitely not. If you want the truth, I did rather wonder if he was going to be, at one time, because I like him tremendously. Only, since all this happened - I can't explain, but I know he isn't. We don't think on the same lines. You probably think I'm very dull and serious minded, and I dare say I am, for I can't see any humour in the present situation, and, frankly, it annoys me when I hear Hugh being thoroughly flippant about it."
"Well, it means nothing to me," said Vicky. "He's fusty, and dusty, and he doesn't think I'm a great actress. In fact, I practically abominate him, and I shouldn't in the least mind if the Inspector suddenly started to suspect him of being the murderer."
Fortunately for Mr. Hugh Dering, the Inspector had not yet started to suspect him of anything worse than a pronounced partiality for his chief tormentor. The Inspector's suspicions were still equally divided between the only five people who appeared to have any motive for having killed Wally Carter. Of these, young Baker, whom he interviewed at Burntside after leaving Palings, seemed to be the least likely, and Robert Steel the most probable suspect.
The Inspector, returning to Fritton a little while after five o'clock, said that he knew Baker's type well, and that his knowledge of psychology informed hi
m that loudvoiced young men who stood upon soap-boxes and inveighed against the existing rules of society were not potential murderers. Sergeant Wake, who had a prosaic mind, said: "To my way of thinking, the fact of its having been Carter's own rifle pretty well rules him out. It doesn't seem to me that he could have got hold of it, let alone have carried it off on his motor-bike, which is what you'd think he must have done, if he stole it on the Saturday evening."
But a day spent by the Sergeant and his underlings in searching for circumstances or witnesses either to disprove or to corroborate the stories told by Prince Varasashvili and Robert Steel, had been unsuccessful enough to cast him into a mood of pessimism. "The case looked straightforward enough when we started on it, but the conclusion I've come to is that the man who did this murder laid his plans a sight more carefully than we gave him credit for."
"Yes," said the Inspector cheerfully, "he certainly knew his onions. It's a pleasure to deal with him. You keep right on pursuing investigations into Steel and the Prince. You'll maybe get something sooner or later." He looked at Superintendent Small, who had joined the conference. "Am I right in thinking Mr. Silent Steel's wellliked in these parts?"
"I never heard anyone speak ill of him," replied Small. "He's not one to throw his weight about, mind you, and he doesn't belong to the real gentry, but they all seem to like him well enough."
"That's what I thought. Everyone likes him, and everyone knows he's been hanging round the fair Ermyntrude these two years, and nobody means to give him away if he can help it."
"Why, what makes you say that?"
"Arithmetic," replied the Inspector. "Habit of putting two and two together. I've been like it from a child."
"That's right," said Wake slowly. "You can get any of the folk here to talk about the Prince; and the way Percy Baker's talked of in this town you'd think people would like to see him convicted, and his sister, too. Not at all popular, they aren't. But the instant you start making inquiries into Steel you're up against a lot of deaf mutes. No one knowss anything about his movements, and no one's ever had any idea of his being in love with Mrs. Carter."
"Well, he may be the whitest man they know in these parts, but he's too cool a customer for my taste," said Hemingway. "Nothing rattles him, not even having his story of not knowing Carter was going to the Whites blown up by Miss White. He has a nice quiet think, too, before he answers a question. Of course, his mother may have told him always to think before he spoke, but it isn't a habit which makes me take to him much. Is he a friend of the doctor?"
"Chester?" said Small. "Yes, I'd say they were pretty friendly. Why?"
"Oh, nothing!" said Hemingway airily. "Only that I had a bit of a chat with the doctor up at Palings this morning, and it struck me that he wasn't what you might call bursting with information. The way I look at it is, if anyone knows the ins and outs of that household, it's the doctor, for if you were to tell me the fair Ermyntrude doesn't treat him like a confession-box I wouldn't believe you."
"Well, I don't know," said Small. "You wouldn't hardly expect him to give away anything she may have said to him, would you?"
"No, nor I wouldn't expect him to be so much on his guard that he leaves the house sooner than let me ask him a few questions," retorted Hemingway.
"You think he knows something against Steel?"
"I wouldn't go as far as to say that, but I've a strong notion that he's got his suspicions. Of course, he may know something highly incriminating about one of those two girls. On the face of it, though, I'd say it's Steel he's shielding."
"Or the Prince," interpolated Wake.
"No," replied the Inspector positively. "Not since he's had him staying in his house. It wouldn't be human nature for him to want to protect that chap."
"Do you think he saw something?" asked the Superintendent. "According to what he told Cook, he was called out to a case on Sunday afternoon, and must have driven past the Dower House. Did you happen to ask him?"
"No," replied Hemingway. "I didn't, because I knew what answer I'd get." He looked at his watch. "Well, I'm off to have a heart-to-heart with Mr. Harold White. He ought to be back from his work by now."
"You're going to question him about that tale you had from Mr. Dering and Miss Fanshawe?" said Wake. "Myself, I can't see that it's got anything to do with the murder."
"I've been told it's probably the clue to the whole mystery," responded Hemingway.
Wake blinked. "You have, sir? Who told you that?"
"Miss Fanshawe did," said Hemingway.
The Superintendent was so astonished by this answer that for some time after Hemingway had left the room he sat turning it over in his mind. Finally he said in somewhat severe accents: "What does Miss Fanshawe know about it? Seems a funny thing to me to act on what a kid like that says!"
"That's all right, sir: it's only his way of talking," said Wake indulgently. "Sharp as a needle, he is, I give you my word."
The Inspector, meanwhile, made his way out of Fritton to the Dower House, where he found Harold White, who had just returned from the collieries.
White received him in his study, an uninteresting apartment with an outlook on to a clump of tall evergreens. He seemed rather surprised to see the Inspector, but asked at once what he might have the pleasure of doing for him. "I suppose you've got a lot more tucked up your sleeve than we heard at the Inquest this morning," he remarked. "Queer business, isn't it? I'd have said Carter was the last man in the world anyone would want to put out of the way, but don't anyone tell me he was shot by accident! There was no accident about that." He picked up a box of cigarettes from his desk, and offered it to Hemingway. "Have you come about what my daughter seems to have told you after I'd gone this morning? She's a bit worried about that. Poured it all out to me as soon as I got home. Well," He hesitated, and struck a match, and held it for the Inspector. "It isn't for me to give you advice, but the fact of the matter is my daughter's a bit of a talker. I wouldn't set too much store by what she told you."
"How's that?" inquired Hemingway. "Didn't she invite Mr. Steel here on Sunday?"
"Oh yes, I didn't mean that! She's always trying to get him to come over. Thinks he must be lonely, living by himself. You know what women are. What I meant was, that it didn't strike me that Steel was listening to her with more than half an ear."
"I see," said Hemingway. "Was he listening when you warned him that you'd got Carter coming?"
"Warned him I'd got Carter coming!" repeated White derisively. "Trust my daughter to make a mountain out of a molehill! What I actually did was to say to her, not to him, that as I'd asked Carter over I didn't think Steel would want to come."
"Like that, was it?" said Hemingway. "Would he have been listening to that, by any chance?"
"Lord, I don't know! He might have been."
"Well, that's very interesting," said Hemingway. "What's more, it brings me to what I came to talk to you about."
"Shoot!" invited White, waving him to an armchair, and himself sitting down by his desk.
"The first thing I should like to know," said Hemingway, "is whether you'd got any particular reason for asking Mr. Carter here on Sunday."
"Oh!" said White, the smile leaving his face. "You needn't tell me who put you up to asking me that question. And while I'm about it, I may as well tell you that there's no love lost between me and Ermyntrude Carter, and never has been. Give her time, and she'll go around saying I killed Carter, though what on earth I should want to do such a dam'-fool thing for it would puzzle even her to say!"
"Now what makes you call it a "dam'-fool thing", sir?" inquired the Inspector.
"Seems obvious to me. Wouldn't you say it was a dam'fool thing to murder a man for no shadow of reason?"
"I'd be more likely to say it if there was a reason why it mightn't suit your book for Mr. Carter to be murdered," responded Hemingway.
"Oh, come off it!" said White. "I know just what you're at, and a pack of rubbish it is!"
The Inspector r
ose, and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray. "I wouldn't like you to get me wrong," he said. "When I get on to a delicate matter, you'd be surprised how discreet I can be. You're quite sure that you and Mr. Jones and Mr. Carter weren't out to make a bit of money over this new building scheme they've got in Fritton?"
White looked a little discomfited by this direct method of attack, and shifted the blotter on his desk. "There's no reason why I should answer that sort of question."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, sir! You're bound to assist me all you can, you know."
"You can't expect me to admit anything like that. Besides-'
"There, now, if you haven't got me wrong after all! Properly speaking, I'm not interested in building schemes."
"Well, supposing I say I had got a little scheme on? Nothing illegal in that, is there?"
"I don't know, and what's more I shan't inquire," said Hemingway encouragingly.
"All right, then, I had."
"Just as a matter of interest, was Mr. Carter to put up the cash?"
"Considering we - I - never had the chance to tell him about it, I can't say. I thought he might be glad of the chance to make a bit of money."
"And you and Mr. Jones were going to get a rake-off, I take it?"
"I'm not going to answer for Jones. Naturally, there would have been some sort of a commission."
"My mistake!" apologised the Inspector. "Seems to have been a fair pleasure to handle, Mr. Carter."
White gave a short laugh. "Poor devil, he was anxious to make some money of his own, which he hadn't got to account for to that wife of his!"
"How did he account to her for the hundred pounds he lent you a couple of months ago?" asked the Inspector.
"I don't suppose he did. She made him an allowance. No reason for her ever to have found out about it if he hadn't been shot. I only wanted a loan to tide me over to the quarter. Don't get any wrong idea into your head about that! I could sit down and write a cheque for the amount right now. I don't say it's convenient, but my bank will meet it all right." He glanced up rather shamefacedly, and added: "If you want the truth, it's damned inconvenient that Carter's dead! Of course, we weren't going to make a fortune out of that little deal, but anything's welcome in these hard times."
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