by Clara Benson
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘The only way in which you could fall perfectly flat on your back like that would be if you fell backwards as stiffly as a board and your feet slid out from under you—but this carpet isn’t slippery at all.’
‘I see what you mean now but are you sure?’ I said.
‘No, not at all,’ said Angela. ‘That’s why I asked you. I’m all for a rigorous approach to inquiry but I’m afraid I draw the line at cracking my own head on the mantelpiece just to test a theory.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t hit his head on the mantelpiece at all but on the hearth,’ said Sylvia.
‘I don’t think so. The position of the sideboard would make that difficult.’
‘Maybe somebody moved him,’ I suggested.
‘That’s always possible,’ Angela conceded. ‘But according to Mr. Pomfrey, when the butler discovered the body, he immediately informed Mr. Pomfrey himself, who had the study door locked soon afterwards. I suppose the butler might have moved him but why should he?’
‘Well, that’s another question to ask him,’ I said.
‘Perhaps Neville didn’t die immediately as Mr. Pomfrey said. Perhaps he moved himself into that position,’ said Sylvia. This was not a nice thought but I was forced to acknowledge that it was a possibility. Angela looked doubtful, however.
‘There’s another thing,’ she said. ‘Look at this.’ She indicated a vase that stood close to the edge of the mantelpiece. ‘This is still standing and yet these,’ she waved her hand at the poker and shovel, which were lying scattered, ‘have been knocked over. Surely, if he really fell against the mantelpiece in the way we thought, this vase would have toppled to the floor too.’
I lifted the vase, which had left an imprint in the dust on the mantelpiece and remembered Rosamund’s complaint about the lack of good servants.
‘You’re right. This hasn’t moved at all,’ I said.
Sylvia surveyed the room thoughtfully.
‘What do you think happened, Angela?’ she asked.
‘That’s just it. I don’t know,’ replied Mrs. Marchmont. ‘And to tell the truth, I’m not sure that I ought to have come in here at all, or mentioned anything to you. Perhaps, after all, it would be better if we just went away and pretended we hadn’t seen any of this.’
I found the implication disturbing but Sylvia nodded.
‘Yes, perhaps it would,’ she said.
‘But if we suspect any funny business, surely it is our duty to report our suspicions,’ I said.
Sylvia gave me a wry smile.
‘Dear Charles! As direct and honest as ever,’ she said.
Rosamund had said something very similar to me earlier and I frowned. I could not help feeling that I was being laughed at in some way.
‘I don’t see why we need mention this,’ said Angela. I must have looked uncomfortable, because she added quickly: ‘We haven’t actually proved anything, you know—all we have done is to make one or two observations and speculate fruitlessly about what may or may not have happened.’
This was true but still I was not satisfied.
‘All the same, I should be happier if we spoke to the solicitor or somebody about it,’ I said, ‘especially since you seem to be suggesting that something untoward may have occurred.’
‘Why don’t we speak to Rogers first?’ suggested Sylvia suddenly. ‘We can ask him if the—if Neville had been moved. After all, this may all turn out to be a mare’s nest and there’s no sense in raising unnecessary suspicions if we then find out that there is a quite innocent explanation for everything.’
‘I do hope you’re right,’ said Mrs. Marchmont. ‘I should far rather be proved an idiot than—the other.’
Fine sentiments indeed but all our arguing proved irrelevant because the next moment Mr. Pomfrey and Dr. Carter entered the room.
EIGHT
‘Ah,’ said Mr. Pomfrey, clearly taken aback to find the study already occupied. ‘We—er—have come to—er—’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the doctor briskly, ignoring the solicitor’s palpable embarrassment, ‘but I should like to examine this fireplace more closely.’ He strode forward.
‘Hm—ah—yes,’ said Mr. Pomfrey, in an agony of discretion. Evidently, finding three guests in the study had not formed part of his plans.
Dr. Carter peered at the edge of the mantelpiece and appeared to spot something. He dabbed at it with his forefinger and sniffed it delicately. ‘Yes—hair oil, I should say. That seems straightforward enough.’
I was momentarily surprised at the revelation that Sir Neville had used hair oil. I had not thought him the type.
‘Did you say that the body had not been moved?’ the doctor asked, turning to the solicitor.
‘That was certainly the impression I received from the butler,’ replied Mr. Pomfrey.
‘I see. Perhaps we should have him in here, to clear up the matter.’
Before anybody could reply, the doctor rang the bell.
‘Is something the matter?’ I asked. Mr. Pomfrey bridled a little.
‘Ah—Dr. Carter merely wished to take a closer look at the scene of the accident, as he has some questions he would like answered. I do not believe there is any real cause for concern, however,’ he said.
Rogers appeared, looking somewhat apprehensive.
‘May I be of assistance, sir?’ he asked.
‘I think you may, Rogers,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘I should like to hear your account of how Sir Neville was found this morning.’
Rogers swallowed and trembled.
‘Pardon me, sir but this has all been very upsetting,’ he said unhappily.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Mr. Pomfrey encouragingly. ‘Indeed we are all very shocked by the occurrence and are trying our best to discover the exact circumstances of Sir Neville’s unfortunate accident. That is why we require your help. We should like to know exactly what happened this morning.’
‘Well, sir,’ said the old man, ‘The first I knew of the matter was early this morning, when one of the housemaids came to me and said she had found the study door locked and so was unable to enter the room to sweep it. I went along with her to see for myself and it was just as she had said. There was no reply when I knocked, so at first I thought the study must be unoccupied. On further inquiry, however, I found from the servants that Sir Neville had not been seen that morning, nor had his bed been slept in and I became somewhat concerned.’
‘Did it strike you as strange that the door should be locked?’
‘Yes sir, it was very strange and made me very uneasy. I was anxious to get into the study as soon as possible. Eventually I remembered that there were several odd keys locked away in a drawer in my room, so I had them fetched and fortunately one of them fitted. When we entered the study we found Sir Neville lying dead by the fireplace.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Pardon me sir but I am not accustomed to this sort of thing,’ he said.
‘Quite, quite,’ said Mr. Pomfrey sympathetically.
‘If you used a spare key to enter the study, then the usual key must have been missing from the inside of the door,’ I said. ‘Otherwise the spare key would not have worked.’
‘Oh no, sir,’ replied the butler. ‘I ought to have mentioned that the key was in the lock and we had to fetch a length of strong wire to push it onto the floor from the other side before we could try any of the spare keys.’
Mr. Pomfrey nodded.
‘Yes, I have both keys here in my pocket,’ he said. Turning back to Rogers, he said: ‘When you found Sir Neville, did you approach or touch him at all?’
‘I had to approach him, sir, as he was not visible from the doorway. He was hidden by the desk and the easy-chair that is placed to one side of the fire. I approached quite near to him, as I thought it possible that he had merely hurt himself but one look was enough to tell me that there was nothing to be done.’
‘And what did you do then?’
‘Why, sir,
I locked the door and came straightaway and reported the matter to you. I did not think it my place to break the news myself to Lady Strickland.’
‘Did you move the body at all?’
‘No, sir. I never even touched him.’
‘When you returned with me to the study, he was in the same position in which you had left him?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I see. Very good, Rogers, you may go.’
‘Just one moment,’ said Mrs. Marchmont gently. ‘I have one or two questions, if I may.’
The butler paused obediently.
‘You are responsible for locking up the house at night, are you not?’
‘I am, madam,’ replied the butler.
‘At what time?’
‘The usual time is ten o’clock but I do my rounds later, at eleven o’clock, when we have guests. Some people like to take an evening stroll on the terrace, you see.’
‘Do you check all the doors every night? Even those that perhaps have not been opened for some time?’
‘Every one, madam. Sir Neville is—was most particular about it. We often have guests here and you never know when one of them might take it into his head to unlock a door without telling anybody—begging your pardon, madam.’
‘Did you check them all last night?’
‘Yes, madam. I made sure they were all locked as usual—all except the French windows in here. Sir Neville came here after dinner and locked himself in. He said he had no further need for me that evening and did not want to be disturbed.’
‘Was it normal for him to lock himself in?’ asked Mr. Pomfrey.
‘Not normal, exactly,’ said Rogers, considering. ‘But he had done it one or twice before, usually when he had something important to do and didn’t want anybody to disturb him. I recall he said once that he had done it out of absent-mindedness—he was thinking so hard about the business at hand that he did not realize he had done it.’
‘So you don’t know whether or not the French windows were locked last night?’ said Angela.
‘No, madam, but as Sir Neville had been adamant that he was to be left in peace and as he had locked the study door, I did not feel I could insist on completing my rounds. I mentioned it to Lady Strickland and she agreed that I should not disturb him. The French windows had been locked the night before and I could see no reason why Sir Neville should open them, so I let the matter lie. I hope no harm has come of it,’ he concluded anxiously.
‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Mrs. Marchmont. ‘I have just one more question.’ She indicated the whisky decanter on the sideboard. ‘When did you last re-fill this?’
‘It would have been on Wednesday, madam,’ replied Rogers.
‘Today is Saturday and there is hardly any left. Does that strike you as normal? Pardon me for asking but did Sir Neville generally drink whisky in this sort of quantity?’
Rogers looked shocked.
‘No indeed!’ he replied. ‘I have always found him to be a very temperate gentleman. He would take a small glass before dinner and occasionally another after, usually with soda. I don’t know why the whisky should have gone down so quickly. Perhaps he had company.’
‘I had a glass of it on Thursday,’ I said, ‘and the decanter was almost full then. Did anybody visit Sir Neville in his study after that?’
‘I did,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘I spent some time in here with Sir Neville yesterday afternoon but I had no whisky. I’m afraid I did not notice whether the decanter was full or not. I don’t suppose you noticed it, Rogers?’
‘I do not remember it in particular but I am sure I should have noticed if it was nearly empty,’ replied the butler.
‘Thank you Rogers,’ said Mrs. Marchmont. ‘You may go.’
‘May I ask what this is all about?’ asked the doctor, when the butler had left the room. He had been listening with interest. ‘All these questions about locked doors and whisky decanters—what are you getting at?’
‘Dear me,’ said Mrs. Marchmont wryly. ‘I appear to have been defeated by circumstances this afternoon. I had hoped to do a little quiet thinking on this whole matter rather than create a fuss that might prove both dangerous and unnecessary, but what with one thing and another I couldn’t have drawn more attention to myself had I stood on the lawn and waved a red flag.’ She sighed. ‘Very well, I suppose I must explain. But first, doctor, would you have any objection to telling us why you were so interested in the fireplace?’
‘I suppose there’s no harm in it,’ replied Dr. Carter, with a glance at Mr. Pomfrey, ‘since I have the feeling that we may be thinking on the same lines. I merely felt that the position in which Sir Neville was found did not appear to tally with the accounts of the accident that apparently befell him and I wished to take a closer look at this room. Between ourselves, it would have been almost impossible for Sir Neville to have hit his head on the mantelpiece and fallen so. Ah,’ he said, looking round at the three of us. ‘I see by your faces that this is not a surprise to you.’
‘Not entirely,’ admitted Angela. ‘I must confess that I had some doubts this morning when I accompanied you to the study and saw Neville lying there. It all seemed too neat, somehow, although of course I’m not an expert in these matters. So I came back here this afternoon and was just doing a little snooping about on my own account when I was caught in the act by Sylvia and Mr. Knox, who probably thought me quite mad.’
‘I gather from your earlier question to Rogers that you found the French windows unlocked,’ said Mr. Pomfrey.
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘The key was in the lock as you see it and the bolts were unfastened.’
‘Do you mean that somebody could have come in from outside?’ asked Sylvia.
‘Well, it did occur to me, certainly,’ replied Angela. ‘When I tried them they were a little stiff but not overly so. It was difficult to tell whether or not they had been opened recently.’
The doctor went over to the French windows to look for himself.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The key’s there all right. And you say the bolts were drawn? That means they were unlocked from inside. We shall have to find out who did it.’
‘Sir Neville would be the most natural person, surely,’ I said.
‘Probably. And what about the whisky?’
Mrs. Marchmont explained about the strong smell of whisky. Mr. Pomfrey inhaled deeply through his nose.
‘Now you come to mention it, there is something,’ he said.
‘This is all very well,’ I said, ‘but if I understand correctly, what you are implying is that somebody arranged Sir Neville’s body next to the mantelpiece, knocked the fire-irons over, sprinkled whisky all over the carpet to give the impression he had drunk too much—’
‘—smeared hair oil on the mantelpiece,’ put in the doctor helpfully.
‘—then left through the French windows,’ I finished. ‘But for what exactly?’
‘It’s a shocking waste of good whisky, certainly,’ murmured the doctor. He recollected himself and had the grace to look ashamed.
There was a pause.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Since no-one seems to want to say the word, I shall. What we are really saying is that this was not an accident at all but murder.’
NINE
I am not quite sure what reaction I expected when I said it but I was slightly disconcerted when everyone, including Sylvia, merely nodded sagely.
‘A murder that has been hurriedly and clumsily disguised to look like an accident,’ I continued.
‘It certainly looks as though that might be a possibility,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘Although of course there is no proof—just a few pieces of circumstantial evidence.’ He counted off on his fingers: ‘One, the position of the body. Two, the whisky decanter. Three, the French windows. Is there anything else?’
Angela explained about the vase on the mantelpiece.
‘Hm, that is something else to consider, certainly,’ said the doctor.
‘Then how did he di
e, if not by hitting his head?’ I asked.
‘Oh, he certainly received an injury to the back of the head that killed him instantaneously,’ the doctor assured us. ‘But that could equally have been the result of a deliberate blow.’
Mr. Pomfrey coughed.
‘Let us return to the French windows,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Marchmont, I believe you said they were rather stiff when you opened them.’
‘Yes,’ said Angela, ‘but not very difficult to open, so I’m not sure we can deduce anything from that. There were some specks of loose paint on the ground outside but I may have done that myself when I opened the doors. I am afraid I have ruined any evidence that might have been got that way.’
‘If the doors were open then anyone could have got in from outside,’ said Sylvia.
‘It seems so,’ replied Mr. Pomfrey.
‘But who unlocked them from the inside?’ I said. ‘Surely the most obvious person is Sir Neville himself. He must have been expecting someone.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Angela. ‘Anybody could have come in during the day yesterday and opened them. It’s unlikely that it would have been noticed until Rogers did his rounds.’
‘Just a moment,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘We are running ahead of ourselves. The fact that the French windows were unlocked is unimportant unless there is clear evidence that Sir Neville was killed deliberately. They are not, in themselves, evidence of foul play. If it was an accident, then we must accept that there is a perfectly innocent explanation for it. At present, therefore, the French windows are merely a distraction.’
‘That is very true,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘The question is, do we have enough evidence to indicate that foul play has occurred?’
‘No,’ admitted the doctor, ‘but the evidence we have found is very suggestive. There is one thing I should like to clear up before we proceed further, however. The butler states that the body was not moved but we have not yet spoken to the housemaid. I should like to be certain that their accounts agree. The butler is an old fellow and perhaps he moved Sir Neville and merely forgot about it, or didn’t wish to get into trouble over it.’
