by Clara Benson
As soon as I said it, however, my mind jumped back to the row between Gwen and Joan on the night Sir Neville died. What was it that Gwen had said? Something about Joan mooning about after Gale. I had dismissed the accusation as mere spite but what if it were true? And what if Joan’s feelings were returned? Perhaps there was an actual understanding between them. I wondered how Sir Neville would react to the news.
‘Do you think there was anything in what Gwen said the other night about Joan and Gale?’ I asked tentatively.
The other two looked surprised.
‘You mean about Joan being in love with Simon?’ said Sylvia. ‘I don’t know. I thought it was just Gwen being spiteful. Joan always was a bit of a dark horse, though, and I suppose Simon Gale does rather seem like the kind of lost cause that would attract someone like her. Is it important?’
‘That depends,’ I replied. ‘I was just wondering whether Sir Neville would have approved of an engagement between them.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Sylvia. ‘You’re picturing Neville as the stern guardian, throwing Simon out of the house and locking Joan up so she can never see him again. But really, you’ve got it all wrong. Neville simply wasn’t that sort. I don’t suppose he would have been too pleased if in fact they are engaged, but I can’t see him being all Victorian about it either. No, that won’t do as a motive for murder, Charles.’
‘Well, you knew Sir Neville better than I,’ I said, reluctantly abandoning my theory. ‘I suppose it does seem rather far-fetched.’
‘Look at us,’ said Angela ruefully. ‘Here we are, wondering whether someone we know has committed murder simply because he seems the least unlikely suspect out of a group of three unlikely suspects. It’s rather unfair on poor Mr. Gale. I think we ought to stop inventing theories.’
‘But—’ I began and stopped as Joan herself entered the conservatory. Luckily, she did not notice our sheepish expressions but burst out:
‘Can’t someone stop that dreadful inspector? He is turning the house completely upside-down and now he’s upset Simon and I can’t find him anywhere!’
TWELVE
‘What do you mean, he’s upset Simon?’ asked Angela.
‘Oh, he just kept on asking him questions about where he was and what he was doing during those fifteen minutes,’ said Joan, throwing her hands up in despair. ‘Just because he is conscientious about doing his work properly, the police seem to think he must be a murderer! It’s not his fault if he was out of the room when Neville was k—killed. And now I don’t know where he’s gone and I’m so afraid he might have done something silly. He’s not strong. He can’t cope with this sort of thing.’
She burst into tears as she spoke. Angela went to comfort her.
‘Don’t cry, darling,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t do anything silly, I’m sure.’
‘But I’ve looked all over the house!’ wailed Joan.
‘He’s probably gone out for a walk in the grounds,’ said Sylvia reasonably. ‘That’s what I should do if someone had upset me and I wanted to cool down.’
‘Do you really think so?’ said Joan. ‘I couldn’t see him from any of the upstairs windows. But perhaps you’re right.’
‘What exactly did he say?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know, he just muttered something about getting away and hurried off. I should have followed him. I shall never forgive myself if anything happens to him.’
‘I’m sure there’s no need to worry,’ said Angela soothingly. ‘Of course it is difficult for all of us at the moment but the police have to do their job. Simon probably just wanted to get away from the pressure for a while. I’m sure he will turn up for tea.’
‘I dare say you’re right,’ said Joan, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘But I can’t help worrying.’
But Simon Gale did not turn up to tea, or to dinner either. It was soon discovered that he had taken Sir Neville’s car and had last been seen heading for the nearest town.
‘Well, that’s that, then,’ said Bobs, when he heard that Gale had gone missing. ‘Nice of him to save us the bother of a police investigation but he could have had the decency to stay here and face up to it.’
Indeed, most of the party seemed to take it for granted that Gale’s disappearance was tantamount to a confession of murder, even though he had no apparent motive. I supposed that as a nervous type, he had experienced some kind of temporary disorder of the brain that had caused him to lash out and kill his employer. Remembering Gale’s pale face as we debated the Mason case at dinner, I wondered whether the subject had struck too close to home: whether, in fact, he had known of his weakness and his own liability to resort to violence. The police immediately instituted a search for the missing man, scouring the countryside for any trace of him and in the meantime, I think the rest of us, with the possible exception of Joan, felt something of a sense of relief that the matter had been resolved so rapidly.
I mentioned this to Angela Marchmont.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It does look rather damning for Mr. Gale—the fact that he has run off, I mean.’
‘But you are not convinced by the other evidence?’
‘That’s just it,’ she replied. ‘There is no other evidence—no positive evidence, anyway. Just the fact that we don’t know where he was or what he was doing in those fifteen minutes.’
‘Surely that’s enough, if everybody else has been eliminated from the inquiry.’
‘Perhaps. It may be absurd of me, Mr. Knox but I can’t seem to shake off the feeling that we have been—oh, what is the word I’m looking for?’
‘But what other solution could there be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’s no reason for me to doubt anything I’ve heard up to now and yet—’
‘And yet what?’
She shook herself.
‘Misdirected,’ she said firmly. ‘That’s the word I was thinking of. We have been misdirected. Now, I must think.’
Just then, we were interrupted by Rosamund, who drew me away from Angela as she had a request to make.
‘I simply can’t bear the idea of being all alone in this house at the moment,’ she said. ‘I am going to ask all my guests to stay with me for another few days, to keep me company. You will stay, won’t you Charles?’ She looked at me beseechingly.
I had in fact been considering how best to withdraw discreetly, on the assumption that I could not possibly be wanted at such a time and should only be in the way, so the question came as something of a surprise.
‘Of course I will stay, if that is what you want,’ I said. ‘But are you sure that I won’t be more of a hindrance than a help? I should have thought that you would prefer not to have the distraction of a party of guests just now.’
‘Oh but a party of guests is just what I need, to keep my mind off things,’ she said eagerly. ‘Please, Charles, do say you’ll stay.’
Naturally I could not refuse such a request, especially when Rosamund made such a particular point of it. I acceded and she took my hand and thanked me warmly.
‘Now, you must take a walk with me,’ she said. ‘I badly need some fresh air and I’ve had no opportunity to speak to you in the last day or two, although I suppose that’s hardly surprising, given the circumstances.’
I looked up sharply at her last words, which sounded suddenly forlorn. Dear Rosamund, I thought. She had borne up bravely so far like a true Englishwoman, but how long would it last?
Everyone agreed to remain at Sissingham for the present—indeed, I was glad to do so, for I had no other engagements and it was a pleasure to feel that I could be of service to Rosamund in any way. But it was impossible to pretend that the events of the previous days had not occurred and we all struggled to find things to do that would not be thought unseemly.
Inspector Jameson, meanwhile, had been drawn into the hunt and had departed from the house, leaving behind him a constable, who was laboriously establishing the movements of the servants. We had been told that the in
quest into Sir Neville’s death would almost certainly be adjourned while the search for Simon Gale continued.
‘That will no doubt be a great disappointment to the local populace,’ observed Bobs, who was reading a newspaper as we all sat at the breakfast table.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘Look,’ he said and passed me the paper. I looked and my heart leapt into my mouth.
‘“Suspicious Death at Country Estate”,’ I read. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means, old chap, that the press have got hold of the story. I suppose we can expect every penny rag in the land to send its finest sleuth-hounds down here shortly.’
‘Oh, I do hope not,’ said Rosamund.
I read on. It was the usual type of sensational news story, a mixture of truths, half-truths and inventions, written by somebody who had evidently never been to Sissingham or met any of the parties concerned. It dwelt heavily on the disappearance of Simon Gale.
‘The whole country will be looking out for Gale now,’ said Bobs. ‘I don’t think much of his chances.’
‘“Inspector Jameson of Scotland Yard and his men have collected several clues,”’ I read, ‘“and it is to be hoped that the culprit will be apprehended very soon.”’
‘Look, Rosamund, they have dug up a photograph of you,’ said Joan, who had been reading over my shoulder. ‘Wherever did they get it? And isn’t that you, Bobs?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Bobs carelessly. ‘I don’t remember where it was taken. Somewhere abroad, by the looks of it.’
I looked at the photograph, which showed a group of fashionable people standing in the sunshine outside what looked like a large and elegant hotel. Rosamund was one of them and there too, grinning foolishly, was Bobs.
‘“Lady Strickland and friends in Mentone last year,”’ I read.
‘You didn’t tell me you went to Mentone last year, Bobs,’ said Sylvia.
‘Surely you can’t expect me to inform you of everything I do,’ replied her brother. ‘I flit hither and thither like a butterfly, bestowing the bounty of my great beauty and wisdom upon all whom I meet. I have no time for the niceties by which lesser beings must abide. Don’t I look dashing in tennis whites?’ He stretched his arms out painfully. ‘I say, I shall have to get back into condition before I play again. My arms are aching badly today and all I did was move those two heavy plants of Joan’s yesterday. All this wallowing in the lap of luxury has turned me into a shadow, a mere shadow.’
I saw Mrs. Marchmont look sharply at him and then frown, as though trying to remember something.
‘Neville isn’t in the picture. Where was he that day, I wonder,’ said Joan.
‘Somewhere about, I expect,’ said Bobs. ‘I remember it was fearfully hot.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Rosamund. ‘A more important question is what on earth possessed me to wear that awful hat?’
As they laughed over the photograph, Rogers appeared and announced the return of Inspector Jameson, who wished to speak to Lady Strickland privately.
‘Oh,’ said Rosamund, ‘perhaps he has some news about Simon.’
She went out but returned a few minutes later.
‘What did he want? Has Simon been found?’ asked Joan immediately.
‘No, he hasn’t been found,’ said Rosamund. I noticed she looked rather pale. ‘But they’re very anxious to find him as soon as possible. You see, it turns out that he has an alibi. Two servants saw him at different times during that fifteen-minute period, so it would have been impossible for him to have committed the murder in the time.’
We all looked at each other.
‘Are you saying that Simon is innocent?’ said Gwen. ‘I don’t believe it! Why, if he is innocent, then that means someone else must have done it.’
‘Bravo,’ said Bobs.
‘But none of us did it, did we?’ insisted Gwen. ‘So it must have been Simon.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Joan. It looked as though another row was about to start but Rosamund forestalled it.
‘Hugh,’ she said. ‘Inspector Jameson would like to speak to you in the morning-room.’
MacMurray’s shocked expression was almost comical.
‘Me? What does he want to see me for?’
‘He didn’t say,’ said Rosamund.
As he went out, I glanced over at Sylvia and saw her looking at me. She raised her eyebrows. Now that Gale had been cleared, it looked as though Hugh MacMurray was the next in line to be suspected and there was no need to look very far for a motive. Ten thousand pounds would have been a big enough temptation at any time but presumably the MacMurrays could have afforded to wait, being regular beneficiaries of Sir Neville’s generous hospitality. However, Sir Neville’s threat to change his will would have been a powerful spur to action, especially once Mr. Pomfrey had arrived and the MacMurrays could see that Sir Neville really did mean what he said. Perhaps uncharitably, I did not imagine for a second that Hugh MacMurray would have murdered Sir Neville without encouragement, even goading, from his wife. He didn’t seem to me to have the guts, but I had no doubt that Gwen was quite capable of murdering anybody who stood in her way. The main stumbling-block, of course, was the fact that they had both been in the drawing-room during the time in question.
I got up and left the room. At the bottom of the stairs I paused and glanced down the passage to my left. A servant was entering the study. I went into the library, where I found a policeman examining the window. He nodded at me affably and went out. A few minutes later, I found him in my room, looking at the window there too. He excused himself and said something about routine inquiries.
‘Now why is he looking at all the windows, I wonder?’ I said to myself, staring down the passage at him as he left.
‘Hallo,’ said Angela Marchmont, who was just coming out of her own room. ‘Has the policeman been examining your window too? I wondered when it would occur to them.’
‘I don’t see why,’ I said.
‘Don’t you see? It’s because of that famous quarter of an hour. The police have finally come to the conclusion that it is just a red herring and that the crime could equally have happened later on, after eleven o’clock.’
‘But how? I don’t understand.’
Angela explained.
‘Well, the only people who were out of the drawing-room during the fatal fifteen minutes were Mr. Gale, Bobs and Joan. Mr. Gale has an alibi, Joan was absent for only a few minutes and it has now emerged that Bobs was playing billiards with one of the servants but kept quiet about it because he didn’t want to get the man into trouble. There wasn’t time for any of them to kill Neville and arrange the scene.’
‘Then it must have been done by an outsider, as we originally thought!’ I said.
‘I don’t think the police are looking at it like that. They have made very thorough inquiries. This is a very quiet place and no stranger has been seen in the area for weeks. I suppose until they find clear evidence that it was an outside job—evidence that has been lacking up to now—they will continue to work on the theory that the crime was committed by somebody in the house, some time between a quarter to eleven and half-past one. But since the outside doors were locked at eleven o’clock, anyone who wanted to get into Neville’s study through the French windows after that time would presumably have to leave the house through a window.’
‘Not an upstairs window, surely,’ I said.
‘No,’ agreed Angela. ‘I had a look myself yesterday and there are no handy creepers to shin down, or anything like that. Whoever it was would have had to sneak downstairs after everybody was asleep and get out through a downstairs window—although I think it’s more likely that he was simply let in through the study door by Neville himself and just returned that way.
‘But which window was it?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps the police will find that none of them are passable, in which case we are back where we started.’
‘I must say, it’s l
ooking rather bad for MacMurray,’ I said. ‘If all this is true, then he had not only an opportunity but also a thumping great motive.’
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘But it also means that we are all back in the picture, including Mr. Gale.’
‘Is this what you meant when you said we had been misdirected?’
‘Partly. Yes, I did think that the famous quarter of an hour might after all come to mean nothing. It seemed such a short time in which to commit a murder and make it look like an accident, especially if the whole affair was unpremeditated.’
‘Do you think it was unpremeditated, then?’
‘I don’t see how it could have been anything else. The staging of the scene was so clumsily and amateurishly done that it gives every indication of having been carried out in a tearing hurry and without any forethought. Even we spotted almost immediately that there was something odd about the position of Neville’s body.’
‘But if, as you say, it was done in a tearing hurry, why couldn’t it have been done in the time? Surely to enter the study, bang Sir Neville on the head and move his body and a few other things around couldn’t have taken long.’
‘First of all, we now know that if it was done during that period, then it must have taken fifteen minutes or less, given that nobody was out of sight for more than that time. But even more importantly, if we are assuming that the crime was unpremeditated, then it would be highly unlikely for the killer to have entered the room and knocked Neville out immediately, without preliminaries. Try and think about it from the murderer’s point of view. He enters the room with a view to talking to Neville about something, not hitting him on the head. There must be some conversation at least, some altercation, before he is driven to murder and that would take several minutes at least.’
‘Not necessarily. If MacMurray is indeed the killer, then he had a motive before he even entered the room. He may well have gone in there with murder in mind and dispatched the business immediately.’ Another idea suddenly came to me. ‘And why, if the thing was not planned in advance, were the French windows left open to allow the killer to enter?’
