The Second Shot

by Anthony Berkeley

  But in truth I did not know what to do. At one moment I told myself that I could not possibly accept such a gift; at another, that if only Sheringham could clear her name as effectually as she had cleared mine, it would be possible for me to do so. But that he could do so, without involving some third person in the tangle, seemed out of the question. I was very much distressed; and to add to my uneasiness was the conviction that I had been churlish towards Armorel. I had seemed to take her wonderful sacrifice for granted; certainly I had not thanked her adequately – if indeed adequate thanks were possible, which they were not. And she was ready even to go to the length of pretending to have shot her cousin, on my behalf!

  I had thrown myself into a chair and was still debating, fully dressed, these matters, when there was the faintest tap at my door and Sheringham immediately followed it into my room, in his pyjamas and dressing gown.

  ‘Just a few last words with you, Tapers, really alone and unoverheard,’ he said in a low voice, drawing a chair up beside mine.

  ‘I’m glad you came,’ I agreed at once. ‘I am exceedingly worried, Sheringham. What am I to do? Please advise me. I cannot let that poor girl continue in this attitude, if it means that she is in danger; and yet you say no one will believe me however much I deny the truth of her story – not even if I state that I shot Scott-Davies myself. What am I to do?’

  ‘That’s just what I’ve come to tell you,’ Sheringham replied cheerfully. ‘Look here, am I to take it that you’d go to any lengths to save her?’

  ‘Good gracious, yes. Most certainly I would.’

  ‘Well, first of all, then, realize this, Tapers. The police have only got one witness against her, just one – and that’s you. According to her story, you saw her come from the direction, or the general direction, in which her cousin was already lying dead. In clearing you, she’s made you a witness against herself.’

  ‘But I shall deny it. I never saw her at all, let alone in any particular direction. How can I be a witness against her, if I give totally contradictory evidence?’

  ‘It seems to me that if you give any evidence at all, you’ll do her harm; because if, as you say, you deny her story, the court may well assume that there’s a conspiracy between you to clear each other. That you conspired, to put it bluntly, to kill Scott-Davies between you, and clear each other afterwards.’

  ‘That is precisely what I told her, though I considered it a prevarication at the time, when the dear girl offered to – ’ I broke off in some confusion.

  But Sheringham persisted; and as the incident after all only added fresh credit to Armorel, I told him how she had offered actually to marry me, if I thought it advisable.

  To my surprise Sheringham did not smile indulgently. Instead he said at once: ‘Then she showed more sense than you. Tapers, it was to suggest that very thing to you that I’ve come along now.’

  ‘Sheringham!’ I exclaimed, in astonishment.

  ‘Listen,’ he said rapidly. ‘The two of you are bound up in this. You can incriminate each other, you can clear each other, you can give evidence for or against each other. But what you both want is not to have to give evidence at all. You don’t want her to perjure herself on your behalf; she doesn’t want you to do your best to spoil the results of her perjury. And remember this: that without the inculpatory evidence of the other, the police have no real case against either of you: only suspicion. I don’t see how they can possibly arrest either of you now, after her story, unless they can call the other in support of their case. Obviously, therefore, it’s up to you two to make it impossible for the police to do anything of the sort. And there are only the two ways of achieving that: you must both be either dead, or married. And I’m not advocating a suicide pact.’

  ‘Good gracious me,’ I could only gasp. ‘But – ’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘But you must see that – ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, in acute embarrassment, ‘it would be most unfair, that she should have to suffer for – Really,

  Sheringham, I mean – ’ I had seldom found myself at such a disadvantage.

  ‘Are you sure she would suffer?’ Sheringham merely smiled.

  ‘I – don’t quite understand.’

  ‘Tapers, tell me the truth. Don’t get on your hind legs, and push your chest out and pant; just tell me the truth. Are you fond of this girl or are you not?’

  It will scarcely be believed, but I was past resenting this extraordinary interference in my private affairs. ‘I don’t know,’ I said unhappily.

  ‘Then think. I needn’t remind you that you’ve already gone to the length of confessing to murder, to rescue her from suspicion.’

  But, still more strangely, I had no need to think. As soon as I had spoken, I had known that I was lying. I did know. To my astonishment it came upon me that I was fond of Armorel – intensely fond. I wanted to be with her a great deal. Indeed, all the time. I had thought I was merely exceedingly grateful, but it was not only that. I was (I could hardly credit the notion, but I was convinced it was correct) actually in love with Armorel.

  The reader must not think that I jumped to this astonishing conclusion without at once confirming it. I hastily applied certain tests, which put the issue beyond doubt. Did I wish to kiss Armorel again? Indubitably I did. Would I enjoy exhibiting my stamp collection to her, and teaching her how to distinguish between rarer kinds of wild mosses? I should. Could I contemplate with equanimity the idea of sharing a bedroom with her? It was a disturbing thought, but I fancied I could. Could I bear with her less pleasant habits, her untidiness, her tendency towards stridency when excited, her slanginess, and the rest, until such time as I gently moulded them into ways more befitting the young chatelaine of Stukeleigh? I was sure of it; and the idea of transforming her untamed wildness thus was a singularly pleasing one.

  These thoughts passed very rapidly through my mind, so that it was still in a tone of considerable surprise that I answered Sheringham: ‘Yes, I am fond of her.’

  ‘I should think so,’ he said severely.

  Something in his voice struck me as ominous. I realized what it was. Armorel, as he himself had said, was a girl in a million; only too plainly I saw that now; but was I a man in a million? With unwonted clarity I perceived that I was not. I was not even, perhaps, a man in a thousand – perhaps not even in a hundred. There was, in fact, every reason why I should be fond of Armorel, but none at all why she should be fond of me. It was a highly distressing thought.

  My face fell. ‘What,’ I asked Sheringham humbly, ‘am I to do about it?’

  ‘Ask her to marry you, of course.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t contemplate such a thing,’ I assured him. ‘Why should she? You must see yourself that she wouldn’t. A – a high-spirited young girl, and a – well, I must confess that I have become exceedingly set in my ways. No,’ I added sadly, ‘looking at myself frankly, I can see no attraction in me at all for a high-spirited girl like Armorel.’

  ‘But I thought the high-spirited young girl had already proposed marriage to you?’

  ‘That was quite different,’ I had to point out. ‘That was merely the prompting of her generous nature.’

  Sheringham shifted in his chair and recrossed his legs.

  ‘Tapers, these evidences of humility are most welcome, because to tell you the truth I’d come to the conclusion that you’d turned into about as conceited a little prig as ever I met, and ever since I came here I’ve been simply longing to introduce my toes once more to your hinder parts. I’m glad to learn I was wrong. But I still agree with you in wondering what the devil the girl can see in you. However, that’s her affair, not mine.

  ‘In the meantime let me tell you this. If a high-spirited young woman proposes marriage to you one minute, from whatever generous motives, and gets up the next in the witness box and perjures herself black and blue on your behalf, it isn’t merely out of gratitude to you for, as she thinks, neatly removing her cousin. It’s be
cause she looks on you as her own blue-eyed boy. So I don’t think you need have much fear on that head.’

  ‘You mean – you don’t mean that Armorel is fond of me?’ I could only gasp.

  ‘God help the girl, I do. And at this very moment she’s waiting in the drawing room for you to come down and tell her what a dam’ fine girl she is, and what you’re going to do about it.’

  ‘This – this is most remarkable.’

  ‘It is. And you’re an uncommonly lucky fellow. It’s never too late to be mended, and that girl will make a man of you if anyone can. So down you go, and good luck to her.’

  ‘You advise me – Sheringham, you advise me to – to ask her to marry me?’

  ‘I do. And at once, before the police clap one of you into jail. Tomorrow. You can slip off in the car with her directly after breakfast, and get an extra-special licence. One of the same-day excursions. It’ll cost you a lot of money, but I’ll lend you that. And I’ll give you an introduction to the bishop, to make sure of it.’

  ‘You know – the bishop?’ I stammered. The whole world seemed to be becoming unreal.

  ‘Like a brother,’ Sheringham replied confidently. ‘He eats out of my hand. I’ll ask you both to dinner one day, and show you. Well, run along down.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better,’ I said. A strange diffidence was rapidly coming over me. It seemed quite impossible that Armorel could… ‘I – I think I see how to approach the point. I shall inform her that we have been discussing the matter, and have arrived at the conclusions that in our joint interests – hers and mine – the marriage she herself suggested has become – er – advisable, and if she will therefore do me such a great honour I – ouch!’

  The last word is an expression of pain. I had been walking slowly towards the door as I spoke, and Sheringham had actually taken advantage of the unwitting target I offered to kick me sharply. I hurriedly turned around, to see him contemplating me with a face of disgust. I was never so taken aback in my life.

  ‘You miserable tapeworm!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll make one stride towards that girl, grab her with both hands, and say:“Armorel, you’re the most wonderful girl in the world. For the pity of Mike, marry me. Tomorrow! I can’t live another day without you.”That’s what you’ll say.’

  ‘You really advise something like that?’ I asked anxiously, oblivious even of the kick I had just received. ‘But supposing she says no? Supposing she laughs?’

  I am sorry to say that Sheringham replied with an expression that was merely coarse.

  Somehow I found myself propelled out of the room, and down the stairs.

  On the way, my mouth became entirely denuded of saliva, my knees began to shake, and the pit of my abdomen seemed to become entirely hollow. Presumably I noted these phenomena for future consideration, for I remember them clearly, but at the moment I was quite incapable of considering anything.

  Armorel was lying on the sofa, but she was not reading; instead she was staring up at the ceiling, and she did not turn her head even as I entered. I remember shutting the door behind me with extreme care.

  In the middle of the room I halted. ‘Er – Armorel!’ I managed to say, though speech was difficult by reason of the strange state of my mouth.

  ‘Hullo, Pinkie?’ she replied, in rather a sad, tired, dispirited sort of voice.

  What was it that Sheringham had said? Don’t on my life do this, but do that. But which? Something about grabbing her. Grabbing her! Grabbing Armorel!

  I took an uncertain step towards her. She turned her head slowly, and looked at me.

  And upon my life I simply do not know what happened after that. Armorel says… But no; I shall not write down what Armorel says.

  It is enough to say here that we decided to obtain Sheringham’s introductory letter to the bishop first thing in the morning, even if it meant waking him up at seven o’clock.

  I retired to bed at three o’clock in the morning in a state of unparalleled exhilaration.

  chapter fourteen

  The reader will forgive the way in which I seem to have obtruded my private affairs on his notice, for really they became inextricably enmeshed in the story which I set out to write. I shall endeavour not to refer to them henceforth more than is quite necessary.

  In spite of the very late hour, then, at which I had gone to bed, I was up again soon after seven. Nor did I hesitate to rouse Sheringham and tell him my joyful news. And I must say that when at last I had succeeded in waking him (by the application in the end of a cold wet sponge to his face), he was profuse in his congratulations, though he did seem to allocate rather too large a share of the responsibility for the happy event to himself; to hear him preening himself, one would have thought that he had actually forced me to propose to Armorel against my own worse judgment. I informed him that he had better write his letter to the bishop before breakfast, and made my way downstairs.

  It was a lovely morning, and the sun was inviting. I went out of the house and paused in the garden, glancing up at Armorel’s window. To my delight I perceived the dear girl herself leaning out of it, and on seeing me she called down that she would be with me in two minutes for a swim in the bathing pool. I hurried back to the house and donned my bathing costume.

  We had a most pleasant bathe, and Armorel instructed me in the rudiments of the art of diving. I found it not nearly so difficult as I had supposed.

  We were laughing gaily over a mishap of mine in which I had struck the water primarily with my abdomen instead of my outstretched hands (at least, Armorel was laughing), when there was a rush of footsteps along the springboard and a body shot in a curve right over my head as I was still floundering in the water. It was Sheringham, who I was surprised to see was evidently a most accomplished diver. He proceeded to amuse Armorel by giving a life-saving exhibition in which I found myself enacting the rôle of the dummy. If Sheringham has a fault, it certainly is a tendency to play to the gallery; but in the circumstances I could not take his exuberance amiss.

  After our bathe we sat on the hillside in the sun, while Sheringham told us his plans for the day. They consisted chiefly, I think, in his proposed interview with Elsa Verity, an interview with the De Ravels, separately if possible, and a further search for traces of the unknown with whom Sheringham was now convinced Scott-Davies had had his appointment.

  ‘You see,’ he told us, ‘that appointment does clear up one of the very first questions I asked myself: why Scott-Davies went into that small clearing at all. You remember, Tapers? I mentioned that as an interesting point when we were down there yesterday morning.’

  I did remember, and said so.

  ‘And have you reached any other conclusions, Roger?’ Armorel asked, wriggling her pretty bare toes in a tuft of grass. I was surprised to hear her use of Sheringham’s Christian name, but did not comment on it. I believe it is the modern tendency.

  Sheringham pulled a piece of sorrel and began nibbling at it. ‘Yes, one. The person I’m looking for has a very limited imagination. Not that that helps us much, because most people have; but this one is quite remarkably limited. The whole idea of the crime is copied exactly, you see, from the mock murder in your play; the stage is set for the same accident, with hardly a detail different. Anyone with imagination would realize at once that of all the ways at that time to stage an apparent accident, that would be the most suspicious. But our unknown simply hadn’t the imagination either to see that or to invent a fresh method – or even a fresh detail or two.’

  ‘Yes,’ Arnorel agreed. ‘But as you say, that doesn’t help much. You can hardly go about testing people’s imaginations, and picking on the poorest as the criminal, can you?’

  ‘Hist!’ said Sheringham. ‘We’re observed.’

  One of the farmhands was walking across our front, just above the fringe of woodland that bordered the stream. He had a gun under his arm, and was looking up in the treetops.

  ‘It’s only poor old Morton,’ Armore
l said carelessly. ‘And we aren’t observed. He’s after “they rooks”. I had a long talk with him yesterday after tea, and he seemed very bitter about “they rooks”. By the way, Roger, you might like to have a word with him too. He was working in the field beyond Bluebell Wood that afternoon.’

  ‘Was he?’ Sheringham said interestedly. ‘Then I certainly shall. He’s just the sort of witness I want. Oh, I say – good shot!’ A young rook had flown suddenly out from the trees and circled sharply; before it could complete its turning movement, Morton’s gun had flashed up and fired, and it had dropped. ‘I must say I shoot my rooks sitting. But that’s with a rifle of course, not a shotgun.’

  ‘That’s a rifle too,’ said Amorel confidently.

  ‘Oh, no, surely not. It would be a simply marvellous shot with a rifle.’

  ‘And so it was, because it certainly is a rifle. Can’t you tell the difference? A shotgun goes “plop!” and a rifle goes “pip!”That went “pip!” distinctly. Go and ask him if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘I will,’ said Sheringham, and promptly bounded down the hillside.

  He exchanged a few words with the man, and then came back to us.

  ‘You’re perfectly right, Armorel; it was a rifle. Well, I wouldn’t have believed it. The fellow ought to be doing turns in a circus – you know, throwing up glass balls and shooting them in the air. By the way, why did you call him “poor” old Morton?’

  ‘Oh, there was some trouble about his daughter. She was a housemaid here, and Ethel had to get rid of her because she was going to have a baby or something; sets a bad example for the other maids, you see. I remember her quite well. Pretty girl, very shy and mousy. She went up to London and was supposed to have gone off the deep end; but I saw her in the village the other day (at least, I thought it was her, though she did look rather different; much smarter), so I suppose she only went off the shallow end after all. There’s a plot for you, Roger. I make you a present of it.’