“The hatpins, of course.” Drew dropped to one knee again and peered at the body. “Both men middle-aged. Both appear to be professional men.”
“You didn’t know the man?”
“No. Should I have?”
“It’s your club, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t assume an acquaintance with each and every member, does it?”
“I suppose not.” Birdsong consulted his notes. “He was a doctor. Name of Corneau. Ever hear of him?”
Drew shook his head. “Do you know anything else about him? Where he lived? Where he had his surgery?”
“He lived in Chilcomb and practiced in Winchester.”
Drew frowned. “And no one here saw anything?”
“What they saw was Dr. Corneau playing the hole with his caddy. Next thing they knew, Corneau was on the ground and the caddy was running for the clubhouse, calling for a doctor. Claimed it was the man’s heart.”
“Have you talked to the caddy?”
“The man’s not to be found. Corneau’s regular boy was called away on some family urgency, and evidently this one took his place. No one at the clubhouse seems to know anything about him, and the manager claims all of his regulars are accounted for. None of them was out here with the doctor.”
Drew’s frown deepened. “So this unknown boy comes out to the clubhouse, waits until Corneau needs a caddy, gets himself hired on, and before the doctor can sink his first putt, stabs him through the heart and disappears. Why?”
Birdsong shook his head.
“And I suppose no one thought to detain the caddy.” Drew looked up at the clubhouse again, squinting against the afternoon sun. “The sun would have been behind anyone who was looking this way, so he’d have had a clear look. Did you get a description?”
“Not anything specific. Evidently no one really looks at a caddy. ‘Thin, tallish chap’ is all anyone’s said.”
“No one saw him when he came running into the clubhouse?”
Again the chief inspector shook his head. “Seems all the attention was on Corneau. This fellow ran in shouting and ran out again. Perfectly natural to think he was going after some help. By the time they all realized the doctor had been stabbed, the caddy was well away.”
“So no one could tell you what he looked like? What he was wearing? What he sounded like?”
“Not anything helpful,” Birdsong admitted. “He had a cap on, dressed like any of the other fellows who caddy here. Seems he had darkish hair, but no one’s overly certain about that. One of the men who saw him leave said he had a rather low voice. ‘Husky,’ he said it was, as if he’d had a sore throat or congestion.”
“Or didn’t want to be recognized.”
“There is that.”
Drew thought for a moment. “I suppose you’ve turned out his pockets. Might I see?”
“Griffiths,” the chief inspector called. “Bring me what you have.”
One of Birdsong’s men came up to them with a few small items bundled into a gentleman’s handkerchief.
“This is everything, sir.” He spread the handkerchief over the chief inspector’s outstretched hand, displaying the dead man’s possessions. “Certain he wasn’t robbed.”
Birdsong prodded a stack of three five-pound notes. “No, I’d say whoever did it wasn’t after money. Has Tompkins photographed this lot?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right then. Clear all these people away from here. I want everybody who’s not on police business back in the clubhouse.”
“Right away, sir.” The constable turned to the onlookers, shooing them away from the crime scene with both hands as if they were barnyard fowl. “That will be all, ladies and gentlemen. You’ll all have to go back inside now. Everyone, if you please.”
Birdsong turned his attention back to the items in hand. “Besides the notes, a pocket watch, a few shillings, matches, wedding ring, couple of tees, penknife, bit of pocket lint. Not much help.”
“No cigarettes?” Drew asked. “Or cigarette case?”
“Not that we found.”
Drew nodded, then turned his attention to the plain gold band. “I thought . . .” He looked down at the corpse. “I thought he had a ring on already.”
The band on the dead man’s left hand was similar to the one found in his pocket—of high quality but not ostentatious.
Birdsong narrowed his eyes. “You don’t reckon this was Montford’s, do you?”
“Might have been. Did his ever turn up?”
“No. No, it didn’t.”
Drew shrugged. “It’s obvious the two killings are connected. The messages, the hatpins.” He paused. “You don’t suppose this man, this doctor—”
“Corneau.”
“Right, Dr. Corneau. You don’t suppose he might have taken Montford’s ring for some reason.”
“You think he could be our Winchester killer?”
Drew shrugged. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility, is it? Then someone might have done for the good doctor to get vengeance.”
“A bit fanciful, don’t you think? Granted, if the doctor is a murderer, it stands to reason someone may want to kill him as a measure of payback. But why would he have killed Montford in the first place?”
“I don’t know, Inspector. But no, that doesn’t seem right at all. The notes are written in the same hand, I’d lay odds on that, and the same paper. Corneau couldn’t have written them both. More likely our killer brought Montford’s ring from Winchester and left it on Corneau.”
“But why?”
There was no humor in Drew’s low laugh. “We don’t even know for certain if it actually is Montford’s ring. Worth inquiring into, I expect.” He looked round and saw the men were there with the stretcher, waiting expectantly. “I suppose that’s all there is for now, but I’ll certainly keep my eyes and ears open, Inspector, and my mind working. Any flashes of brilliance will be immediately reported to you.”
Birdsong’s dour expression did not change. “I’ll have an extra man put on just to take your telephone calls. We really haven’t enough to keep us busy as it is.”
Drew gave him a sarcastic smile in return and then sobered as he looked down at Dr. Corneau for the final time, watching as the men carefully lifted his body onto the stretcher and covered it with a sheet. It was now just a sad, empty shell without the spirit it had housed. God have mercy.
Drew turned back to Birdsong. “What else do you know about the doctor? Did he have family?”
“According to one of club members here, he had a wife and three children, all grown, and a number of young grandchildren.” Birdsong hesitated. “Would you like to come to his surgery with me? Hear what his staff have to say?”
Drew nodded, trying not to look too surprised. “Yes, if I might.”
“Best come along, then.” Birdsong shook his head, watching the men with the body. “Always devilish sudden, aren’t they, these killings?”
“Devilish,” Drew murmured, and then Dr. Corneau was carried away as if he had never been.
There would be no more golf today.
“I say, that was quite a shocker at the golf course, wasn’t it?” Nick removed Drew’s clubs from the Rolls and slung them over his shoulder. “And we just missed it.”
Drew got out of the car, and the two of them walked up the path from the garage to the house.
“What happened to all of you anyway?” Drew asked.
“Bunny’s new motor car punked out on him, and by the time he had it going again and we got to the course, the police wouldn’t let anyone in.” Nick grinned. “Bunny was so distraught about his precious car, Roger had to take him round to Barbie Chalfont’s for drinks. I made them drop me here first so I could get the details right off.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t many details on the case so far. I even went with Birdsong to the doctor’s surgery to see if anyone working for him knew of any reason he’d be murdered. It was just the one nurse and a girl at reception, an
d they neither of them had any clue. So, such as it is, you know Madeline is going to want to know every detail so far too, and I’d as lief tell you two vampires both at the same time.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” Nick looked round and then lowered his voice. “It seems dear Auntie isn’t letting Madeline out of her sight these days, and I doubt it would increase her fondness of you if you were to bring such lurid tales to her niece’s attention.”
“I suppose you’re right, though I did want to talk to both of you about what’s happened. There’s certainly something odd going on, and I had hoped that, between the three of us, we might make some sense of it.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “They said there was a note on this one, too.”
“Yes. It said, ‘Kentish wisdom would have him paid so.’”
“That’s worse than the first one. Any ideas on what it means?”
“No.” Drew shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t suppose Auntie is feeling any more charitably toward me, is she?”
“She’s been relatively quiet as far as I can tell. She’s in the library with Madeline. Knitting or crocheting or whatever it is old ladies do.”
“Crocheting lace, I expect. Was it white?”
Nick nodded. “What I saw of it.”
“Crocheting, I should think. Madeline’s learning it. I didn’t really know what it was either, but she seems to enjoy it. Best not bring up that bit about old ladies, though.”
Nick smirked. “I see you’ve already made that mistake.”
By then they had reached the French doors that led to the library. Open doors. Drew put one finger to his lips and then, removing his hat, went inside.
“Good afternoon, ladies. Hard at work, I see.”
Madeline and Aunt Ruth both glanced up from their spools of white thread and tiny metal crochet hooks. Madeline looked particularly fetching, her dark hair a soft frame for her lovely face, her long legs tucked gracefully under her, and her slender hands nimble and skillful as they worked.
There was a sparkle in her periwinkle-blue eyes as she set down the lacy little piece of fluff in her hands. “Hello there.”
Aunt Ruth continued counting for another few seconds. Then she too stopped work and peered at Drew over her steel-rimmed glasses.
“We weren’t expecting you back until later this afternoon.”
“Didn’t end up playing actually, ma’am. The course was closed suddenly.”
“So that’s what they do when there’s a murder, eh?”
Drew glanced at Madeline. “You’ve heard about it, I see.”
“It’s all the talk evidently.” Madeline shrugged in helpless apology. “Anna heard it from the grocery boy, who had the story from one of the caddies out there who was kind of put out because he doesn’t make any money when the course is closed. Anyway, Anna was telling Beryl about it, and Aunt Ruth heard them talking.”
“Good thing I did, too.” Aunt Ruth came to what was apparently a stopping point and set down her work. “I don’t suppose you were going to bother to tell us there is a killer at large? I say it’s an insult to your guests to make them get important news from the help.”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Drew said. “Either of you. And it’s nothing to be worried about. The police are seeing to everything, and I’m sure they’ll catch whoever’s done it before long.”
Aunt Ruth snorted. “What kind of a place is this? I haven’t been here a week and already you’re involved in two murders.” She arched one eyebrow at him. “That we know of.”
“Not involved actually.”
“Not involved? Hah. They seem to follow you around. If you ask me, there’s something—”
She broke off with a muffled shriek as her crocheted lace, hook, and ball of thread careened off the coffee table and disappeared under the sofa.
“Oh, dear.” Drew tossed his hat onto the table and dropped down to his hands and knees. “Nick, cut him off before he gets out the door with it.”
Aunt Ruth drew her feet up off the floor. “What is it?”
“It’s all right, ma’am. Nick, get the thread and other things. Be careful, you idiot.”
“What is it?” Aunt Ruth demanded, and Drew finally managed to pull a struggling Mr. Chambers out from under the sofa by the scruff of his neck. The little white kitten squirmed, batting his paws in midair, claws extended, emerald eyes wild.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Jansen. He doesn’t mean any—”
“Give him to me.”
Before Drew could protest, she snatched Mr. Chambers from his hands and sat him on the sofa beside her. Then, before the rascal could leap away, she tickled the back of his head with a black tassel from her jacket. He attacked it with his entire little body, holding it in his front paws as he kicked it, rapid fire, with the back.
Still on his knees, Drew could only watch in amazement as Madeline’s formidable maiden aunt played with the kitten. He glanced at Madeline, but she was smiling on the unlikely pair too and didn’t notice. With Aunt Ruth’s face softened that way, Drew could see something of a resemblance between her and her niece. Perhaps she really had been lovely in her day.
Abruptly the woman glared at him. “Well?”
He scrambled to his feet. “I, uh—”
“I’m terribly sorry about your lace, ma’am.” Nick offered up the wadded tangle of thread he had rescued.
Aunt Ruth merely pursed her lips. “Oh, just put it down there on the table. It won’t take a minute to fix it.” She looked down at Mr. Chambers, her face softening once more. “He didn’t hurt anything, did he? No. No, he didn’t.”
She wiggled her fingers under his fuzzy chin, and he immediately abandoned the tassel and wrapped all four paws round her wrist. She made some little clicking noises with her tongue and started scratching his neck. After a few halfhearted kicks, the kitten closed his eyes and began to purr.
Drew shook his head. “I’ve never seen him take to anyone quite that way, ma’am. You’re a wonder.”
“How is it I’ve been here a week and didn’t know you had a kitten in the house?”
Drew shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t want him inconveniencing anyone.”
“Poppycock. As if the angel could be an inconvenience.” She narrowed her eyes at Drew. “I thought all you Englishmen had huge, slobbery dogs running around everywhere.”
“We have them in the stables and about the estate. The gardener has one too, but we don’t typically keep them inside. My mother didn’t care for them in the house.”
“She must have been a sensible woman.”
Drew and Nick exchanged glances. Before her death, Constance had been described in a variety of ways, but sensible was not a word that was commonly used. Still, since her policy regarding the estate’s dogs was one of the few things of which Aunt Ruth seemed to approve, Drew did not contradict the notion. Aunt Ruth seemed to have given her wholehearted approval of Mr. Chambers as well, despite his destruction of her lacework, and Drew silently blessed the fuzzy little beggar for it.
“He’s a darling.” Madeline beamed at the kitten as it basked in her aunt’s attentions. “He was born the day I came here. Isn’t that sweet?”
“I didn’t suppose he dropped out of the sky,” Aunt Ruth said. “Where’s his mother?”
“Oh, she’s about the grounds somewhere,” Drew assured her. “Now that the kittens are weaned, she stays out a bit more. She’s quite a hunter.”
“And the rest of the little ones?”
“In good homes nearby, but I just couldn’t part with old Chambers here.”
“Chambers?” The old lady scowled at him. “What kind of a name is that?”
“Mr. Chambers, actually. I named him after my old Latin professor.”
Aunt Ruth shook her head. “Not a very sensible name for a cat.”
Drew wasn’t quite sure how to make amends for his shortcomings in feline appellations, but he was rescued when Denny appeared in the doorway
with a decorous cough.
“Are you at home to a Mrs. Montford, sir?”
He presented Drew with a silver tray containing a tasteful, engraved calling card. Mrs. Q. C. Montford.
Drew glanced at Madeline and then nodded. “By all means, Denny. Show her in.”
“Oh, I say!” Nick brightened and sat up straighter in his chair. “What do you suppose she wants with you?”
“I daresay we’ll find out.”
Overlooking Aunt Ruth’s suspicious expression, Drew and Nick both stood at the appearance of a tall, bewildered-looking woman, slender and clad in solemn black.
“Mr. Farthering?”
She offered Drew her hand, and he clasped it briefly. It was a soft, womanly hand, a hand that showed little sign of hardship or toil.
“I don’t know if you’ll remember me—”
“Of course I do. You and Mr. Montford were always very kind to me when I was a boy. I’m so glad to see you again. May I introduce Miss Madeline Parker, her aunt Miss Jansen, and Mr. Nicholas Dennison?”
“Good afternoon.” Mrs. Montford barely spared them a glance before turning her expressive brown eyes back to Drew. “Thank you for seeing me. I should have telephoned ahead, I know, but I just couldn’t take the chance that you might not speak to me.”
“Nonsense.” He guided her to a chair and then sat down himself. “I would be quite pleased to know if there’s any way I can be of help to you. I’m so sorry about what happened to Mr. Montford. It must have been a terrible shock to you.”
“Oh, Mr. Farthering.” She stopped for a moment, her eyes filling with tears, but she blotted them away. “No. I haven’t time for any silliness just now, and I’m certain you haven’t.” She smiled, her mouth tight and her lips quivering, and then she leaned a bit closer to Drew. “Do you think I might speak to you in private for a few moments? I promise I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Of course.” Drew stood and held out his hand to Madeline. “Darling, do you think you and Nick might take your aunt to see to that matter we were discussing?”
Death by the Book Page 4
