The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy

by James Anderson

  'Let me get this straight.' Deveraux spoke very slowly. 'Are you telling me you know who the murderer is?'

  'I think so. Of course, I may be quite wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. But to me one person seems pretty clearly indicated.'

  'But for the love of Mike - who?'

  'If you don't mind I'd rather not say until I've got a bit more evidence. I don't want to look silly if I'm wrong.'

  'But - I thought you were baffled.' Deveraux sounded quite stunned.

  'I was. I still am about certain things. But you can help me towards getting most of it sorted out by a search of Lord Burford's study. So how about it? Will you oblige?'

  Deveraux gulped. 'I'll do it,' he said. 'What will I be looking for?'

  'You'll know—'

  'Don't say it: I'll know when I find it. OK, let's get it over with.'

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Deveraux entered the music room, Wilkins looked up. 'Well?'

  Deveraux brought a hand from behind his back. In it was a white silk handkerchief and in the handkerchief was an engraved Bergman Bayard pistol.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Inspector Wilkins Turns Poet

  Deveraux said: 'Tucked down inside the armchair.'

  An expression of pure self-satisfaction spread over Wilkins' face. 'I knew it,' he said. 'Mr. Deveraux, I deduced that that had to be there. That was pure reasoning, that was.'

  'Old man, you have my heartiest congratulations. But how many more of these bally things are there hanging around?'

  'No more. There were just the four - a pair of originals and a pair of replicas. This is the second replica. And if we find the fingerprints on this one that I expect to, I'll be a happy man. May I have it?' He took the pistol and handkerchief carefully from Deveraux. 'Thank you. I'll return your hanky later. I'm going away now. I've got to dig out a few more facts. I'll be back late this evening, and I hope then we can make an arrest. I'd like you to get everybody gathered in the drawing room at around nine-thirty. Perhaps you and I can meet here at, say, quarter-to, for a confab?'

  'Any instructions for me in the interim, chief?'

  'I don't think so. You can spend the time thinking. Keep an open mind and I'm sure you'll reach the same conclusion as me.'

  'Wilkins, you couldn't give me a teeny weeny clue, could you?'

  'You know, Mr. Deveraux, I thought you'd ask that. And I was working on a reply while I was waiting for you. All the following factors are important pointers. Ready?'

  Deveraux nodded.

  'Then listen carefully.' Wilkins cleared his throat, and to Deveraux's amazement declaimed:

  'Mr. Deveraux's hearing,

  Lady Geraldine's sight,

  Miss Clifton's keen nostril,

  Batchev's sudden flight,

  Lord Burford's collection,

  Mr. Wilkins's height,

  And last but not least,

  The weather that night.

  I've written it down for you. Here. See you later. So long.'

  * * *

  After the departure of Wilkins, the rest of the day passed slowly. The most notable event was the awakening of Algy Fotheringay. This, according to the footman who had been detailed to sit with him, took place at four o'clock. Algy opened his eyes, yawned, saw the footman, and said: 'Morning. Would you get me some tea, please?'

  But by the time the tea had arrived, he had turned over on his side and gone back to sleep. Shortly after, Dr. Ingleby had called again. This time, after some effort, he managed to keep Algy awake. When Ingleby had gone, and with Algy sitting groggily up in bed drinking cup after cup of tea, Jane and Gerry stayed with him and very carefully and gently tried to explain to him just what had been happening during his coma. Perhaps not surprisingly, he seemed to have difficulty in taking it in, and the effort needed all the girls' patience.

  At dinner which, in view of Deveraux's request for a nine-thirty gathering, was taken at eight, the atmosphere was constrained; the imminent return of Wilkins hung like a cloud over everyone and conversation was stilted. Algy, up and dressed, still seemed in a half-trance, and kept asking where the Baroness had gone.

  * * *

  Deveraux was waiting in the music room when Wilkins and Leather got back. Wilkins came in and flopped into a chair. 'My, we've had a hectic few hours, haven't we Jack?'

  'Certainly have, sir.'

  'I've been telling him he's a chump not to get a transfer back to uniformed branch, but he seems set on staying in CID.'

  'Don't keep me in suspense, old lad. Got the facts you wanted?'

  Wilkins nodded silently.

  'And?'

  'I've confirmed nearly everything I suspected.'

  'What about the guns?'

  'The Baroness was shot with Lord Burford's - the one we found in Peabody's case.'

  'And - you know who's guilty?'

  'I believe so. How about you?'

  Deveraux was silent for a moment. Then he said: 'I think I do. Thanks to your verse. Tell me one thing: in more than one line, it's in a way negative, isn't it - referring to things absent or lacking?'

  'That's it.'

  'And the fact that Batchev's body was found in water is important, too, isn't it? The killer had to dump it in the lake?'

  'Quite right.'

  'In that case,' Deveraux said, 'I fancy I know most of what happened.'

  Wilkins leaned forward. 'Then let's reconstruct it all. Give me the name of the murderer.'

  'The murderer? OK; perhaps I'll make a fool of myself, but here goes.'

  * * *

  Forty minutes later Deveraux said: 'Of course, we've got very little concrete evidence.'

  'That's why I want to do it this way. It's our best chance of forcing the truth out. We can confirm the theory a step at a time. And Mr. Deveraux, I want you to do all the talking.'

  'Oh no! This is your show, Wilkins. You got there first, right on your own; I wouldn't have tumbled to the truth without your clues. You must handle things.'

  'But you can do it much better than me. I haven't got the personality to carry it off. I'd probably get muddled and mess it all up. Please do it.'

  Deveraux gave a shrug. 'All right, if that's what you want. We'd better go in now: they'll be waiting. You know, one thing still bothers me.'

  'What's that?'

  'Even now we haven't got any explanation of that blithering egg cosy.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Pistols for Two

  Jane sat in the big drawing room and listened with half an ear to the voice of Lady Burford.

  The Countess was giving what amounted to a lecture on the history of Alderley from its erection to the present day. It was doubtful if anyone wanted to hear it. But she had been driven to it by the sheer impossibility of getting any normal conversation going. She was determined to give at least a semblance of normality to the evening, and if her family and guests would not cooperate, she'd do it alone.

  It was a fine effort, really, and without it the atmosphere in the room would have resembled that of a morgue. Jane only wished she was capable of helping, of interjecting an occasional comment or question. But she felt far too tense. She looked round the room. So obviously, did everybody else. Except Algy. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep again.

  Jane looked at the clock. It was gone nine-thirty. Would that little detective never come? Did he really know who had killed Batchev and the Baroness? Who would he point to?

  Jane let her eyes roam around. Almost impossible to believe that one of the people in this room with her was a killer. Yet there could be no doubt about it: two murders had been committed. Jane gave an involuntary shudder as she recalled again the cold dead eyes of Anilese de la Roche staring up at her from the floor of the passage. She told herself that within feet of her now was the person who had put the life out of those eyes.

  Who - in heaven's name, who?

  The door opened. Jane gave a slight start and the heads of everyone in the room swung,
like spectators at a tennis march, to rest on Deveraux. He came into the room, followed by Wilkins and Leather. Jane scanned the faces of the three men. The only impression she got was one of nervousness. Odd -one never imagined that the policemen might be just as edgy as everybody else on an occasion like this.

  Sergeant Leather sat down on an upright chair just inside the door and unobtrusively extracted a shorthand notebook and a pencil from his pocket. Wilkins edged himself sideways along the wall until he reached the corner; here his face was in shadow and he stopped and stood motionless.

  Deveraux crossed to the centre of the room, just as Lady Burford said: '. . . and after that episode, I need hardly add, Sam Johnson was never invited to Alderley again. Yes, Giles, do you have something to say?'

  'I have. Lady Burford. I'm sorry to interrupt.' He addressed the room at large. 'Inspector Wilkins wanted us all here tonight to try to clear up the very distressing events of the last few days.' He reached into an inside pocket, took out a small black notebook, glanced briefly down at it, then looked up and continued: 'During the early hours of Sunday morning two people died from gunshot wounds in this house. That is one of the few undisputed facts of the night - for exactly what else occurred during that period is extremely difficult to determine. One thing, however, is clear: many members of the household were up and about that night. In fact, outside the servants' quarters, it seems that until the time the alarm went off only three people had remained uninterruptedly in their bedrooms. Of the rest, two - Lady Geraldine and Miss Clifton - openly admitted being up. Others have, for various reasons, been less than frank about their movements. But only one of the people in this room committed murder.

  'You all know that the man who passed here as Martin Adler was really a foreign agent by the name of Stanislaus Batchev.

  'What you do not all know is that the Baroness de la Roche was brought here by him to assist in obtaining secret information from Mr. Saunders.'

  Deveraux paused to let this sink in, then went on: 'Batchev's scheme was that the Baroness should make use of certain facts in her possession to exert pressure on Mr. Saunders. Mr. Saunders has confirmed that the Baroness did in fact threaten him with these facts.'

  Every eye in the room turned towards Richard. He didn't move, but sat, his arms folded, his face impassive.

  'It seemed at one time,' Deveraux said, 'that the only person with a strong motive for killing both Batchev and the Baroness was Mr. Saunders. However, he then informed us that the Baroness had withdrawn her threat - that he had had nothing to fear from her and therefore no motive for killing her. Against that, he admits going to her bedroom during the night.'

  'And finding it empty,' Richard said, slowly and decisively.

  'That's what you said, sir. You also stated that you arrived there at almost exactly two-thirty. Is that correct?'

  'Correct.'

  'What perhaps you do not know is that Lady Geraldine, who was concealed in a recess across the corridor, has signed a statement in which she maintains that the Baroness, having earlier left her room, returned to it before two-ten, and had not left it again by the time you arrived.'

  Gerry gave a gasp. 'Oh no!' She turned a horror-stricken face to Richard. 'Richard - I'm sorry. I just didn't realise.'

  'That's all right, my dear.' Richard's voice was very quiet and controlled. 'You were mistaken, that's all.'

  'Were you, Lady Geraldine?' Deveraux asked her.

  'I - I—' Gerry looked round desperately. 'I don't know. I don't remember now just what I did say.'

  For the first time, from the dimness of his corner, Wilkins spoke. 'You said, Lady Geraldine, that the Baroness left her room at four minutes past two; that two to three minutes later a man entered her room, and that she herself arrived back about a minute after that; that the man left alone shortly before two-fifteen, and then nothing happened until another man - whom we now know to have been Mr. Saunders -arrived just after two-thirty.'

  'Well, of course, it's obvious what happened.' Gerry spoke excitedly. 'The first man must have been Batchev. He killed Anilese and hid her body in the room somewhere—'

  'I'm afraid Mr. Saunders has already stated that he searched the room immediately on entering it. The Baroness's body was not there.'

  Gerry faltered. 'Well, perhaps - perhaps he didn't look carefully enough. And what I say would explain Batchev's flight. He had to get away from the house as quickly as possible without anybody knowing. He tried to put the alarm out of action in the breakfast room. Then, when we disturbed him he panicked, broke the window and jumped out.'

  'Then,' Deveraux asked quietly, 'who shot Batchev? And who moved the Baroness's body to the secret passage?'

  Gerry sat quite still. She stared at Deveraux, then at Richard, before sinking down into her chair and turning her head away.

  'Isn't this a more likely explanation?' Deveraux spoke in a silky smooth voice. 'That the Baroness left her room and stole a gun for protection from Lord Burford's collection. She arrived back to find Batchev waiting for her, wanting to know the outcome of her attempt to blackmail Mr. Saunders. She told him then that she was not going to cooperate with him any more - and that if he didn't leave the house she would expose him as an impostor. She had the gun, so Batchev could do nothing to her. He left hurriedly to try to get out without setting off the alarm. Then Mr. Saunders arrived in the Baroness's room. She told him she had been collaborating with Batchev, but was going to no longer, that she wasn't interested in secret information - but that she was still going to blackmail him for her own benefit. Not for information, but for money. There was a quarrel. She did not fear Mr. Saunders, so was off her guard. He managed to grab the gun. It went off. The Baroness was dead. He concealed her body in the secret passage - by that time Lady Geraldine had left her vantage point. Then he went hunting for Batchev: because he knew Batchev had the same damaging information about him as the Baroness had. He was looking for him at the same time as Lady Geraldine, Miss Clifton and I were searching the ground floor. He was perhaps in the next room when Batchev broke the window. He realised at once what had happened. He probably had a torch. He shone it through the window and actually saw Batchev running away. The alarm had already gone off, so he was able to open the window and go after him without being heard. He caught up with him by the lake, shot him, returned immediately and got back to his room before Lady Geraldine arrived to tell him what had happened. After she'd left, and before coming downstairs, he put the gun in the passage near the Baroness's body.'

  Deveraux looked straight at Richard. 'What do you think of that reconstruction, Minister?'

  Jane watched Richard, her heart in her mouth, and her admiration for him had never been greater as he remained outwardly quite unmoved, an expression of untroubled detachment on his face. Slowly he turned to meet Deveraux's gaze full on. Then a slight smile touched his lips. 'Plausible,' he said, 'except that you know quite well there's not a word of truth in it.'

  Before Deveraux could reply the voice of Wilkins came again from the corner. 'No, sir. That's not quite so. There is some truth in it, though it does leave a number of questions unanswered. And although we didn't really think so, it just might have been all true. I asked Mr. Deveraux to put it to you like that to gauge your reaction. I'm satisfied now that that reconstruction is largely false.'

  Richard closed his eyes and bowed his head. There was a sudden reduction of tension in the room. Jane realised she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out slowly through clenched teeth.

  Gerry spoke with a catch in her voice. 'I think you're a couple of beasts.'

  To her own surprise, Jane found herself speaking. 'There's something you all ought to know.' She flushed, as she saw every eye turn to her, but carried on: 'Perhaps it isn't my place to say this, but I'm the only person outside the family who knows it, and if I don't nobody will. The grounds for the blackmail were very flimsy. Richard has never been dishonest, or unpatriotic, or immoral. It was just a case of misplaced loyalty - a long
time ago.'

  'Thank you, Jane.' Richard spoke very softly, without looking up.

  Deveraux continued. 'So, if my previous reconstruction is largely false, what really happened? As you all know, Batchev was killed by a bullet from a Bergman Bayard pistol, the property of Mr. Peabody, this gun later being found by the body of the Baroness. There were fingerprints on it, but they were badly smudged and couldn't be identified. The Baroness was shot with a similar gun owned by Lord Burford, which was later discovered concealed in Mr. Peabody's room. Neither Lord Burford nor Mr. Peabody was able to account for the movement of these guns, though Mrs. Peabody claimed that Lord Burford had planted his own gun in her husband's case. Lord Burford refused either to confirm or deny this. However, what his lordship has told nobody is that sometime around two-ten on Sunday morning, he left his bedroom, went silently to Mr. Peabody's dressing room, took Mr. Peabody's pistol and replaced it with a replica of his own. That is so, is it not, my lord?'

  Lord Burford did not answer. To Jane, it seemed he was incapable of speaking. He simply stared at Deveraux and slowly went red.

  'It would be advisable to tell the truth, Lord Burford.'

  At last the Earl managed to reply. 'Course I didn't. Certainly not. Ridiculous idea.'

  'I suggest you did, Lord Burford. I further suggest that you took Mr. Peabody's gun to Batchev's room and forced him to go with you. I suggest that you - as you alone could do - have had the alarm system modified, so that there is one way -known only to you of leaving the building without setting it off. You shot Batchev, returned to the house and killed the Baroness, who had left her room in the darkness unseen by your daughter. You concealed her body in the secret passage and left Peabody's gun lying near the body in order to j incriminate him - a man you hate because you know his collection is superior to your own.'