They Found Him Dead

by Georgette Heyer

‘Yes, I do,’ replied Jim. ‘Lurid and absurd. But you can’t get away from the fact that, whether because they disliked the Australian scheme or for some other reason, Cousin Silas and Clement are both dead.’

  ‘Are you feeling nervous, Jim?’

  ‘No, not exactly nervous. I’m not sitting about by open windows much.’

  ‘Well, I see no harm in that, if you feel there might be danger in it,’ said Sir Adrian. ‘But I find that my mind is quite unable to accept the possibility of a third murder taking place while the police are investigating the first and the second.’

  ‘Highly improbable,’ agreed Jim. His eyes narrowed at the corners in a rueful smile. ‘If you’re apparently the third victim, it’s surprising how much improbability you can swallow.’

  ‘Yes, I have no doubt it obscures your judgment,’ said Sir Adrian.

  Jim laughed. ‘If ever I get badly rattled, I shall come and hold your hand, Adrian. You’re the most tranquillising person I know. With you about the place, even the first two murders seem a bit far-fetched. If you stay long enough, we shall begin to doubt whether they ever really happened. I’m sure you never had any murders in your family, did you?’

  ‘No, we have always contrived to keep out of the penny Press,’ replied Sir Adrian, looking through his stud-box for a pair of cuff-links.

  Jim shook his head. ‘You must loathe being mixed up with a vulgar lot like us,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘Don’t be absurd, my dear boy.’

  Jim strolled towards the door. ‘I’ll go and change. Oh, Adrian, can you bear it? I’ve gone into Trade – at least, it looks as though I probably shall.’

  ‘I can bear it; but I doubt whether your mother will like it. She will think it very unenterprising of you.’

  ‘Oh, mother will want me to finance an expedition to the North Pole, I expect!’ grinned Jim.

  ‘You are quite wrong. Unless my memory is at fault, your mother wishes to make Central China her next objective,’ said Sir Adrian, busy with his tie.

  Later that evening Miss Allison, finding herself alone with him for a few minutes, broached the same subject to him. ‘Mr Roberts told me he had warned Jim to take no risks,’ she said. ‘Do you think it possible that the Mansells could – could really contemplate murder just to get their own way over this business deal?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ replied Sir Adrian. ‘It is of course a temptation to believe an ill-conditioned young man like the younger Mansell to be capable of almost any crime, but one should guard against allowing mere prejudice to colour one’s judgment.’

  ‘I have told myself that,’ said Miss Allison. ‘I expect I’m being stupidly anxious; but, you see, it means rather a lot to me. When you care for a person your reason gets rather swamped.’

  ‘I hope you are not implying that I am the callous stepfather of legend!’ said Sir Adrian, looking quizzically down at her.

  She smiled. ‘Of course not. But he’s not like your own son, or – or your fiancé, is he?’

  ‘Certainly not in the least like my fiancé. And, I am happy to say, not much like my own son either. Though I have no doubt that Timothy will improve as he grows older.’

  ‘You are an unnatural parent, Sir Adrian.’

  ‘I am afraid I must be.’

  ‘And you don’t think that any danger threatens Jim?’

  ‘Extremely unlikely, I should imagine. From what I have heard of it – but I am lamentably ignorant on such matters – it does not seem to me that the proposed expansion of the business in Australia is of sufficient moment to provide a motive for three murders. There is, however, another possibility that occurs to me.’

  ‘Yes? Please tell me what it is!’

  ‘No, I don’t think I will do that,’ he replied. ‘It is a mere supposition which a very little investigation may easily disprove. I will have a talk with the Superintendent from Scotland Yard tomorrow. That reminds me: I must request the butler to ring up the police-station the first thing in the morning.’

  ‘If you’ll give me the message I’ll pass it on to Pritchard, Sir Adrian. That’s part of my job, you know.’

  ‘That would be very kind of you. If you would tell the butler to inform the station-sergeant that I should be obliged if Superintendent – I do not know his name, but perhaps you can supply that – would call at Cliff House some time during the course of the day, I should be most grateful.’

  She could not help laughing. ‘I will, of course; but when I think how terrified most of us are of these grim policemen, it seems positively asking for trouble calmly to summon them here!’

  ‘Oh, no, I hardly think so!’ he replied gently.

  ‘Well, anyway, it’s a superb gesture,’ she said. ‘The rest of us, if we wanted to see the Superintendent, would probably crawl humbly down to the police-station, and beg an audience.’

  He looked rather surprised. Miss Allison confided later to Jim Kane that intercourse with his stepfather made her feel that Clement’s murder and her own fears were social solecisms.

  ‘Oh, he thinks they are!’ said Jim. ‘The whole thing is in very bad taste.’

  ‘Are you fond of him, Jim?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘Does he like you?’

  ‘I think so. Why?’

  ‘I only wondered. He seems such a withdrawn person. Still, it was nice of him to come down. What do you suppose he wants to see the Superintendent for?’

  ‘I haven’t a notion. However, I’m all for it. He definitely adds tone to the proceedings. Obviously no member of his entourage would be vulgar enough to commit a murder.’

  ‘If the Superintendent has a grain of sense, it won’t be necessary for him to see your stepfather to realise that you couldn’t possibly have done it,’ said Miss Allison stoutly.

  Whatever the Superintendent felt about it, Sergeant Hemingway quite agreed with her. ‘You’ve got to take psychology into account, Chief,’ he said. ‘To my way of thinking, a nice young fellow like James Kane doesn’t waltz about murdering his relations.’

  ‘I agree; but there’s also the question of motive to be taken into account. He had more than anyone else.’

  ‘Too much,’ said the Sergeant briskly. ‘He’s what I might call dripping with motive. I’ve a strong idea, myself, that what we want to look for is something a bit more recherché. This isn’t one of your clumsy, hit-you-in-the-eye murders. It’s got class. Who’s this Sir Adrian What’s-his-name that wants to see you?’

  ‘Your young friend’s father, I imagine.’

  ‘What, Terrible Timothy? You don’t say! Well, if he’s half the turn his son is, you ought to have a lively morning of it, Super.’

  Superintendent Hannasyde, however, was unable to detect much resemblance between Timothy and his father. He went up to Cliff House shortly after eleven o’clock, and encountered Timothy in the porch. He bade him a pleasant good morning, but received a gloomy, though civil, response. ‘You don’t look very cheerful,’ he remarked. ‘I hope you haven’t mislaid a clue?’

  Timothy acknowledged this poor jest with a perfunctory smile, and replied with cold dignity that no one could be expected to look cheerful with people simply being rottenly selfish the whole time.

  ‘No, it certainly must be very difficult for you,’ agreed Hannasyde.

  ‘It isn’t that I care two hoots, because actually I don’t particularly want to go out in any rotten motor-boat,’ said Timothy bitterly. ‘Only, considering I asked first, I think it’s pretty mean of Jim to take Patricia, that’s all.’

  Superintendent Hannasyde, who had a mind trained to grapple with elusive problems, was able fairly accurately to guess the cause of Mr Harte’s discontent. He replied suitably; but said that in his opinion jaunts upon the sea for one engaged in solving a mystery would be a waste of time. ‘Is your brother out now
, then?’ he inquired.

  ‘Yes, and I should jolly well laugh if Patricia was sea-sick!’ said Mr Harte. ‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if she was, either.’

  Pritchard came to the door in answer to the Superintendent’s ring at this moment, so Hannasyde parted from Mr Harte, docketing in his brain the fact that Mr James Kane, possible murderer, was apparently feeling care-free enough to disport himself in a motor-boat with his fiancée.

  Sir Adrian Harte received the Superintendent in the library. He screwed his monocle into his eye, favoured Hannasyde with one of his calm, aloof glances, and said, ‘Ah, good morning, Superintendent! Sit down, won’t you?’

  Hannasyde took a chair. ‘Good morning, sir. You are Mr James Kane’s stepfather, I understand? You wanted to see me?’

  ‘I did, yes.’ Sir Adrian sat down, hitching his beautifully pressed trousers carefully at the knee. ‘There is an aspect to this extremely unpleasant affair which I should like to discuss with you. I do not know if you are aware of it, but a gentleman of the name of Roberts has seen fit to warn my stepson that he may shortly figure in this case as the third victim.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know that, sir,’ Hannasyde replied, not taking his eyes from Sir Adrian’s face.

  ‘So I had supposed. What Mr Roberts’s reason is for uttering this somewhat dramatic warning I am unable to tell you. But it seems to me highly undesirable that any unnecessary mystery should attach to the case.’

  ‘Highly undesirable,’ corroborated Hannasyde with emphasis. ‘Did Mr Roberts tell Mr Kane whom he suspected of wanting to murder him?’

  ‘I gather that he threw out a hint – ah, a sufficiently broad hint, Superintendent! – that the Mansells would not allow my stepson to stand in the way of their schemes.’

  Hannasyde’s brows drew together. ‘I take it you refer to the Australian scheme, sir? Did Mr Roberts utter this warning by way of threat?’

  ‘Far from it. According to my stepson, he seemed genuinely disturbed to think that he might have been the unwitting cause of the two other deaths.’

  Hannasyde said slowly: ‘Yes, he said as much to me. I think it a trifle far-fetched, sir.’

  ‘I agree with you. But a point occurred to me which might perhaps be investigated with advantage. I am not familiar with the exact terms of Matthew Kane’s will, but no doubt you have gone into it.’ He paused, took his monocle out of his eye, polished it, and replaced it. ‘In the event of my stepson’s death, Superintendent, who inherits his share of the business?’

  Hannasyde nodded, as though he had expected this question. ‘Mrs Leighton would inherit it, sir.’

  ‘You are sure of that? It would not, by any chance, failing a male heir, go to the other two partners?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’

  Sir Adrian frowned a little. ‘Ah! Yet if the Mansells wished to acquire complete control over the business, I imagine a lady would not be as hard for them to handle as my stepson might be. She might even agree to being bought out. My stepson tells me that he informed Paul Mansell that he had no desire to be bought out.’

  ‘Oh! Mansell actually suggested that, did he? That’s interesting. Does Mr Kane attach much weight to Mr Roberts’s warning?’

  ‘Oh, not undue weight, I think. He has a certain value for my opinion,’ said Sir Adrian placidly.

  ‘What is your opinion, sir, if I may ask?’

  ‘I think it most improbable that anyone should have the courage to attempt a murder under your nose, Superintendent.’

  ‘It would take some nerve,’ admitted Hannasyde. ‘Still, I’m glad you have told me all this, sir.’

  ‘It is always well to be on the safe side,’ said Sir Adrian, getting up.

  Hannasyde looked at him under his brows. ‘Do you want me to give your stepson police protection, sir?’

  ‘That I leave entirely to you, Superintendent. I hardly think it should be necessary.’

  Hannasyde rose. ‘Well, I can promise you that the matter will have my very careful consideration, sir. Is that all you wished to say to me?’

  ‘Yes, I think so, thank you,’ replied Sir Adrian, walking over to the door.

  Hannasyde went out before him into the hall, and bent to pick up his hat from the chair on which he had laid it. As he did so, he was startled by the sound of an eldritch shriek proceeding from the direction of the front drive. He jerked himself upright; but Sir Adrian, wholly unperturbed, merely raised his eyebrows, and murmured: ‘My son, I fancy.’

  Mr Harte’s voice, raised to a pitch of delirious excitement, floated clearly to Hannasyde’s ears. ‘Mum!’ screamed Mr Harte.

  Sir Adrian stood perfectly still for a moment. Hannasyde thought he seemed to stiffen. Then he said tranquilly: ‘And apparently my wife also.’

  Nine

  Sir Adrian walked forward to the door, which stood open, and stepped unhurriedly out into the porch. From a taxi piled with luggage, which seemed to consist mostly of battered tin trunks and canvas hold-alls, a weather-beaten-looking lady of medium height and stocky build had alighted, and was fervently embracing young Mr Harte. Her hat, a battered felt, was set rakishly over a crop of thick grey hair; she wore a coat and skirt of light tweed which needed pressing, heavy brogue shoes, and a handkerchief-scarf knotted round her neck.

  ‘This is most unexpected, my dear,’ remarked Sir Adrian, advancing towards her.

  Lady Harte released Timothy, and greeted her husband in a brisk, cheerful voice. ‘Hullo, Adrian! My dear man, you’re thinner than ever!’ She kissed him vigorously, and turned immediately to direct the activities of the taxi-driver and a young footman. For several minutes her attention was fully occupied, and the air seemed to resound with her incisive commands. ‘Keep the large trunk the right way up, and be careful how you handle the knapsack. I shan’t want the hold-all: you’d better store it somewhere for me. No, wait a moment! I think I packed the python’s skin in it. Leave it in the hall: I’ll unpack it there. Had the luck to stumble on a full-sized python my first day out on safari, Adrian. Beautiful skin, and not much damaged. First shot I fired with the new Grant and Lang, too. S.S.G. shot, of course. I’m thinking of having it stuffed to make a standard for a lamp. No, don’t bring that packing-case into the house: I shan’t want it. One or two rather good heads, Adrian, including a sable. I meant to send them to be mounted when I was in town, but I’ve had so much to think of I forgot. Where’s Jim?’

  ‘I think he has gone out in his speed-boat,’ replied Sir Adrian. ‘What has brought you back so unexpectedly, Norma?’

  ‘I’ll tell you all about that in a minute,’ responded his wife. ‘I must see this stuff disposed of first. I see I seem to have brought my canvas bath with me. That was a mistake, of course. I had meant to leave it in town. It had better be put in the garage, or somewhere. Yes, and the canteen: I shan’t want that. I’ve been in such a rush ever since I landed, that I’ve had no time to sort things out yet. However, it doesn’t matter: there’s plenty of room here to store everything.’

  ‘Mummy, when did you get back?’ demanded Timothy. ‘Do you know Cousin Silas and Cousin Clement have been murdered? Do you know I was actually here when it all happened, mum? Oh, mum, do listen!’

  ‘I am listening, my pet. Don’t pick that topee-case up by the handle: it’s broken. Yes, Timothy, I know: thrilling for you, darling! You shall tell me all about it presently.’

  By this time the footman had been reinforced by the arrival of Pritchard. Lady Harte, announcing that she could safely leave everything to him, thrust a hand through her husband’s arm, and marched him into the house, saying: ‘Well, it’s nice to see you again, Adrian. Of course, I haven’t looked at a paper for weeks; but I got all the news in town. They have been going it down here! Poor old Clement!’ She became aware of Hannasyde’s silent presence, and demanded an instant introduction. Upon hear
ing that he was a member of the C.I.D., she shook him vigorously by the hand, said she was glad to see him, and promised herself a chat with him as soon as she had settled down.

  Hannasyde responded to this by saying that he would very much appreciate an interview with her, whereupon she replied: ‘If you want to interview me, there’s no time like the present. I never believe in putting off until tomorrow what can be done today. In fact, you’ll find me very business-like. First, I must take my hat off, and have a wash; then –’

  Hannasyde tried to tell her that he had no wish to intrude upon her so unreasonably soon after her reunion with her family, but she interrupted him, saying with great decision: ‘Nonsense, my good man! There’s no silly sentimentality about me. Sit down and make yourself at home! I shan’t keep you waiting long. I want to get to the bottom of this business.’

  Hannasyde, who felt that an explanation of her sudden and unheralded return to England was called for, thanked her, and retired, at Sir Adrian’s suggestion, to the library.

  In about twenty minutes’ time both Lady Harte and Sir Adrian joined him, Lady Harte having discarded the battered felt and the handkerchief-scarf, and dragged a comb through her short, crisp grey locks. Sir Adrian said: ‘Is there any objection to my presence, Superintendent?’

  ‘None at all, sir. Lady Harte will, I am sure, understand that, taking into consideration her relationship with the present owner of this property, it is my duty to ask her one or two questions.’

  ‘Perfectly!’ said Norma, striding up to the table and selecting a cigarette from a box on it. ‘Don’t beat about the bush with me! I’m not afraid of plain speaking! You won’t offend me. Got a light, Adrian?’

  Sir Adrian struck a match for her. She lit her cigarette, threw up her head slightly to inhale a deep breath of smoke, and took up a stance by the table, her stoutly shod feet well apart, and her hands thrust into the pockets of her tailor-made jacket. Her grey eyes, sharp between lids slightly puckered as though from being constantly in the glare of a tropical sun, met Hannasyde’s without flinching. ‘Now, Superintendent: what is it?’