The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery

by Daphne Coleridge

unexpectedly, watched the comings and goings, been there herself! “How did it happen? When did it happen?” she asked.

  “I just don’t know. Elizabeth was staying with mother. The police called there. They are still questioning Philip.”

  “What happened last night; after you got back to Philip’s place?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. We thought his father was away. We just had a few more drinks and went home.”

  “Nobody stayed with Philip?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a silence.

  “I thought I ought to let you know,” said Toby. “The police might want to question you.”

  “Me! Why me?”

  “Well, you were there last night.”

  “I suppose I was. When do they think he was killed? Surely he wasn’t there – dead, I mean – all the time we were having drinks?” Anna was thinking of the events of the afternoon, of the possibility that he had been murdered whilst she watched the house.

  “God knows. What a horrible thought! You’d think we would have sensed it. But I’ve got a horrible feeling that they might suspect Philip. I mean, he was there all night. His father might have turned up at any time. He wasn’t there when we were; at least, if he was, he was already dead. Poor Philip was the only one who was alone in the house, both before we arrived and after we left.”

  “That doesn’t mean he killed him. Where was the body, anyway?”

  “They found him in his study. He’d been strangled. That’s all I know. So he could have been dead whilst we were there. No one went into the study.”

  Another silence.

  “Thank you for letting me know, Toby. It really is awful. Poor Philip!”

  “Poor Elizabeth, too. She’s still with mother. The police have been questioning her. I’m going round.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Anna vaguely. “Thanks, Toby. Goodbye.”

  She replaced the receiver. Had she seen anything important? Should she tell the police about what she had seen? Did they already know that Parry had been there? Could it have been Philip? These thoughts swam about in her aching head. She went and poured herself some more coffee. She had suspected that something odd was going to happen in that house on that day. And there had been a murder. But what had made her suspicious? What had that meaningful glance between Philip and Warren meant? They had thought that Gurney was going to be away. What was the relevance of his absence? She cursed herself for not being able to make any sense of it all. She was sure that she possessed all the information that couId explain the murder: Warren’s odd behaviour, the burglary, following his father to the house. There seemed to be too many coincidences. She felt that she held the pieces of the puzzle but could not put them into place.

  Later that day Anna did receive a visit from the police; or, at least, from one policeman.

  “Just a few routine questions. Concerning the murder of Harold Gurney. You know he has been murdered?”

  “Yes. My stepson informed me.”

  “I see. I understand you were in the house of the deceased last night.”

  “Yes. Would you sit down? Can I get you some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” He sat down, so Anna assumed that the refusal concerned the coffee.

  “Do you know what time he was killed?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind, Miss.”

  She was silenced.

  “Between what times were you present at the house in question?”

  “Oh, from about half-past six until about seven-fifteen. I’m not entirely sure. I don’t wear a watch.”

  “You did not return to the house later that evening?”

  “No. I came straight home from the wine bar.”

  “Did you go into the study at any point in the evening?”

  “No.”

  “Did you observe anyone else going into the study?”

  “No.”

  “Did you observe anyone behaving oddly?”

  Anna was observing how young her questioner was. He was very unemotional. But, then, he was just doing his job. Should she volunteer the information about Parry’s visit? No! He was asking the questions. He had made that clear enough. She would merely reply.

  “No,” she said.

  “Did you hear or see anything that might indicate that Harold Gurney was in the house at the time?”

  “No.”

  “Did you notice anything strange in the behaviour of Philip Gurney, the son of the deceased?”

  Ah! So they did suspect Philip.

  “No. He thought his father was away. He seemed relaxed and happy.”

  The young policeman asked a few more questions which Anna answered, largely in monosyllables. She was wondering about Parry’s visit. Elizabeth Gurney must have been expecting him. And if she had been waiting for the visit, but was keeping the fact a secret, there could only be one explanation for her behaviour. It would certainly make some sense of the fact that Warren had followed his father there, that he looked so sick at the thought of Gurney’s absence.

  The next day Toby phoned her again. “They have just arrested Philip! I can’t believe it. What possible reason would he have for killing his father?”

  “I just don’t know. Listen, Toby, is Elizabeth still at your mother’s?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I want to see her.”

  “Well, she’s in a hell of a state. Her husband’s dead and her son has been accused of murdering him.”

  “I know. I’d still like to see her. Are you there or at home?”

  “At mother’s.”

  “OK. I'll pop round.” Anna put down the receiver and pulled on a raincoat. Her mouth was set in a determined expression.

  Susan Furnival met her at the door. “Hallo, Anna. Toby said you wanted to see Elizabeth. Is it really necessary?”

  “I think so. Susan, have you seen Amanda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have any of the Parrys been interviewed by the police?”

  "Only Warren."

  “Ah," said Anna, thoughtfully. “Susan, just tell me one more thing. You know Elizabeth and you know the Parrys. Was there anything between Amanda’s husband and Elizabeth?”

  Susan led her into the empty study. “Why do you ask?”

  “Was there?”

  “Yes. It was a well kept secret. I thought only I knew. How did you guess?”

  “Just a couple of things I happened to notice. What did Elizabeth say when she came here yesterday?”

  “She was upset. She and Harold had argued. He hit her. I assumed that he had found out about the affair,” she paused. “Surely you don’t think Elizabeth killed him?”

  “No, but I’d like to have a word with her.”

  “She’s in the pink room. I’ll take you up.”

  “Thanks.” Anna made her way to the room. She hated to interfere, but interfere she must. Susan showed her to the door of the second floor room and then left her. Anna entered quietly. The little blonde woman lay on the bed, the curtains half drawn.

  “Elizabeth. It’s Anna Quartermain.” She sat on the bed beside the prostrate figure. After a moment she took the woman’s soft little hand and stroked it. The hand was not withdrawn. “You were expecting a visitor yesterday. Did you tell the police?” her voice was gentle but firm.

  The eyes opened. “You know! How do you know? My God! What am I to do?”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t!” Elizabeth spoke in a tense whisper.

  “But they’ve arrested Philip.”

  “Yes! Yes! But he didn’t do it. They can’t hold him.”

  “They might.”

  Elizabeth sat up and took Anna’s hand more firmly. “You know he was there?” There was something like relief in her voice. Her awful secret was shared.

  “Yes. Did you tell Susan?”

  Elizabeth shook her head vigorously. “No. I said that we had argued. That was
all. She knew all about the affair. But I didn’t tell her he was coming yesterday. I just said that Harold and I had argued. He hit me!” A single tear tumbled down her right cheek. Others followed. Anna hugged her as she had Emma when she woke up crying after a nightmare. After a while the tears subsided and the explanation came.

  “He was supposed to come at two. I was waiting. Harold was in America – or so I thought. But he hadn’t gone. He stayed in a hotel and then came back in the afternoon. He thought that he would catch us together. Heaven knows how he knew. But I was alone. He knew about the letters. He took them out of my dressing table. Then he hit me. So I ran out. I went to Angela’s and tried to phone and tell him not to come. I don’t know where he was. I thought he might have been held up for some reason. He should have been there at two. But I couldn’t get him. I knew that he would come to me as soon as he could. He was late, sometimes.”

  The account was given in breathless staccato, but Anna was able to put what was said together with what she had seen and make sense of it all. Parry had turned up late, only to find Elizabeth gone and an angry husband waiting to challenge him.

  “What will Amanda do!” was Elizabeth’s next thought.

  “You didn’t mention any of this to the police?”

  “I said that we argued. I said it was about his job; that he was away from home too much.”

  “You must tell them. You know that Philip is innocent, but all the evidence is against him. He was alone in the house in the evening and all night.”

  “Yes, yes. What will Amanda say?” Anna could not answer this question. Elizabeth clasped Anna’s hand more firmly. “Will you tell them? I couldn’t bear it! Please will you tell them?”

  “Of course I will. Don’t worry.”

  Elizabeth Gurney looked at her in relief, the weight of responsibility lifted from her shoulders. Then her face clouded