The Murder at Sissingham Hall

by Clara Benson

  I smiled and thought what a kind-hearted soul Joan was, despite her cross demeanour. She would make Gale a good wife, once this terrible business was all over and done with.

  ‘Is he coming back here?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes. Rosamund insisted on it. Simon was dreadfully embarrassed about the whole thing and wanted to slink off and hide somewhere but Rosamund wouldn’t hear of it. She said that Sissingham was his home and that he needed looking after. It was really very kind of her.’

  I forbore to point out that Inspector Jameson was probably very keen himself for Gale to return to the house: after all, although he had an alibi for the fifteen minutes between a quarter to eleven and eleven o’clock, he was still as much under suspicion as the rest of us for the period until half-past one. Here at Sissingham, it would be much easier for the police to keep an eye on us and wait for someone to make a wrong move.

  The search of our belongings had taken place and, it seemed, had drawn a blank. Certainly, nothing was removed and no-one was questioned further. Furthermore, we received hints that the police were perplexed as to how the killer had got back into the house after the murder. According to Joan, one of the servants had overheard a constable reporting that the downstairs windows were either impossible to open or too high off the ground to allow anyone to pass through them easily. I began to wonder if the crime would ever be solved, given that each time an avenue of inquiry opened up, it seemed to be closed off again immediately.

  Simon Gale returned after tea, accompanied by the inspector. Rosamund had warned us all not to make a fuss or mention his escapade and we mostly succeeded, except for Hugh MacMurray who, as was only to be expected, clapped him on the back and made one or two loud remarks in dubious taste, which caused Gale to wince. He hurried off as soon as was decently possible and was reported as having gone to the study in order to arrange Sir Neville’s papers and bury himself in his work.

  The inspector had come for only a brief visit, he told us, to report on the progress of the case to Lady Strickland. He was preparing to depart when he suddenly paused.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I almost forgot these.’

  He reached into his jacket, drew out of his note-case several scraps of folded paper and placed them on a nearby table. Gwen MacMurray took one of them up.

  ‘Why, it’s our Consequences game,’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever did you take these for?’

  ‘Just part of our routine investigation,’ replied Jameson. ‘We’ve finished examining them now.’

  I failed to see what clue could be gleaned from a childish game but supposed the inspector had had his reasons. Hugh MacMurray had taken a paper too and let out a loud guffaw as he read it.

  ‘Oh I say! That’s very good,’ he said and reached for another one.

  ‘Boopsie, you’ve already read them,’ said his wife impatiently.

  ‘No I haven’t,’ he replied. ‘I missed the game, don’t you remember? I was taking a turn on the terrace at the time. Shame, though—it sounds like it was rather a laugh, what?’

  At that moment, I saw both Inspector Jameson and Angela Marchmont turn their heads towards MacMurray and regard him thoughtfully.

  ‘Mr. MacMurray, how long were you out walking on the terrace?’ asked Jameson.

  ‘Eh, what’s that?’ replied MacMurray, tearing his eyes away from the paper he held in his hand. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Half an hour, perhaps more.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Rosamund. ‘Charles and I met you on our way back to the drawing-room from the study, didn’t we?’

  I heard Angela let out a soft ‘Oh!’

  The inspector said nothing and went out.

  Half an hour or so later he returned and asked Rosamund if she would kindly join him in the morning-room, as he had just remembered something he had meant to ask her earlier.

  ‘Yes, certainly,’ said Rosamund, surprised. She rose and they went out. A few minutes later, Rogers came in and murmured discreetly in my ear that Inspector Jameson would be pleased if I would join them. Puzzled, I went along to the morning-room at once, to find Rosamund and the inspector sitting in close conference.

  ‘Oh, Charles,’ said Rosamund, when she saw me. ‘Inspector Jameson has asked me the most extraordinary question which concerns us both, so I insisted that you be present. Now, inspector,’ she continued, turning to him, ‘do repeat what you said. It’s simply too odd for words!’

  I had the feeling that this was not how the inspector would have preferred to conduct the interview but he went on politely.

  ‘Mr. Knox,’ he said. ‘I have been asking Lady Strickland about the events that occurred shortly before a quarter to eleven, when she and you went to the study and attempted to persuade Sir Neville to join his guests.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  ‘Before then, I understand you were all playing at Consequences. Do you remember at what time the game began?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ I replied. ‘I suggest you ask Mr. Gale that, as he seems to have a perfect memory for that kind of thing.’

  ‘Shall we fetch him in?’ said Rosamund brightly. Before the inspector could object, she rang the bell and had him summoned.

  ‘Oh, Simon,’ she said, when Gale arrived. ‘The inspector is asking us questions about the night of Neville’s death and I’ve such a frightfully bad memory that I need your help. He wants to know at what time we started playing Consequences. Do you remember?’

  Gale thought for a moment.

  ‘I think it must have been a few minutes before ten o’clock, Lady Strickland. I remember looking at my watch and thinking that I had some work to finish and that I had better start soon.’

  Rosamund sat back, pleased.

  ‘There, you see?’ she said. ‘I told you Simon would remember.’

  ‘Do you remember who was in the room at the time?’ asked Jameson of Gale. ‘That is, who was playing?’

  ‘Oh, we all played,’ said Gale. ‘Except for Mr. MacMurray, that is. He had left the room a few minutes earlier.’

  ‘I see,’ said Inspector Jameson. ‘Thank you, Mr. Gale.’

  ‘But what does it all mean?’ asked Rosamund, when Gale had gone. ‘Why do you want to know about what happened then? We know Neville was alive at that time, because Charles and I spoke to him, didn’t we, Charles?’ She turned to me, appealing for confirmation.

  A dim light was beginning to dawn in my head.

  ‘We did call to him through the door, yes,’ I said carefully, with a glance at the inspector. He nodded in approval and consulted his notebook.

  ‘On the day after Sir Neville’s death,’ he said, ‘you, Lady Strickland, told me that you and Mr. Knox had gone to the study and spoken to Sir Neville through the closed door, in an attempt to persuade him to come and join the game. He refused, saying that he had some work to finish.’ The inspector leaned forward. ‘Now, I would like you to think back very carefully, both of you. Can you be absolutely certain that it was Sir Neville who spoke to you?’

  ‘But of course!’ said Rosamund. ‘Who else could it have been? Charles, you heard him too.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Truth to tell I don’t think I heard anything at all. You arrived a little before me and I couldn’t hear what was being said. The door is very thick, which would muffle the sound.’

  Rosamund reflected.

  ‘Yes, the sound was very muffled, but I was sure it was Neville.’

  ‘Could it have been Mr. MacMurray, for example?’

  ‘Hugh? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think I do,’ I said. ‘I think what the inspector is suggesting is that it was MacMurray in the study, imitating Sir Neville’s voice.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Rosamund. ‘How odd! But then surely that would mean—’

  She paused.

  ‘I’m not very quick at understanding things,’ she said slowly, ‘but I think what you are saying is that you believe Hugh killed Neville while we were all playing Consequences and then pretended
to be him when we spoke to him through the door. Is that correct?’

  ‘I think that is what may have happened, yes,’ replied the inspector gently.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Rosamund said. She turned to me and grasped my hand and in her expression there was distress, with a hint of something else—relief, perhaps, that the solution had finally been discovered.

  ‘Yes,’ went on Jameson. ‘I have been examining the scene again following Mr. MacMurray’s admission that he was walking on the terrace during the game of Consequences and it is starting to look as though he may have played a clever trick on you.’

  ‘But how did he do it?’

  ‘I think what happened is that Mr. MacMurray went to the study shortly before ten o’clock and was admitted by Sir Neville, either through the door or through the French windows. I don’t know what happened after that—whether there was an argument, or whether Mr. MacMurray had gone along there with the express intention of killing your husband. For myself, I think it was probably the former. Whatever the case, at some point in the succeeding few minutes he found himself with a dead body on his hands. He had to think fast. His only hope was to make it look like an accident. His first act was to ensure that the study door was locked, then he arranged the body as we found it, knocked over the fire-irons and, as a final touch, sprinkled whisky all over the place. Unfortunately for him, that whisky was a flourish too far, especially when he realized that his finger-prints would be all over the decanter and hastened to wipe it clean. That made us very suspicious, of course, since if it had been an accident, then the decanter ought to have had Sir Neville’s finger-marks on it at the very least. Mr. MacMurray must have had a shock, Lady Strickland, when you came and knocked on the door but he quickly saw it as an opportunity. If he could convince you that Sir Neville was alive and well at a quarter to eleven and speaking to you through the door, then that would give him the perfect alibi. He imitated Sir Neville’s voice as best he could, then left hurriedly through the French windows, wiping the door handle clean as he did so. He then entered the house through the side door, where he met you returning to the drawing-room.’

  I caught my breath, astounded at the audacity of the whole plot, yet impressed at its simplicity. Of course that was how it had happened! How could we have been so blind? Angela had been right when she said that we had been misled into thinking that the murder had taken place at a certain time, but we had mistakenly thought that it must therefore have occurred after eleven o’clock, when in fact it had happened before half-past ten!

  ‘I can hardly believe it,’ said Rosamund, pale-faced, ‘but if you say that’s what happened then I suppose I shall have to believe it. Are you going to arrest Hugh?’

  ‘We shall question him first,’ replied Jameson, ‘but yes, Lady Strickland, I believe we now have enough evidence to—’

  He was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door, followed by the abrupt entrance of Hugh MacMurray himself.

  ‘Er—Mr. MacMurray,’ began the inspector, taken aback.

  MacMurray jabbed his finger at Jameson.

  ‘Look here, what’s all this damned nonsense I’ve just been hearing about my shouting at people through doors and killing Neville?’ he demanded.

  FIFTEEN

  We stared at him in astonishment. How on earth could he have known what we had been talking about?

  MacMurray glared round at us.

  ‘It’s not true, I tell you!’ he said. ‘Why, the very idea is absurd!’

  The inspector was the first to recover himself.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you,’ he said politely.

  ‘Oho, don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve just been speaking to Angela, who warned me that I was probably about to be arrested and that I should find myself a lawyer pronto.’

  So that was how he had known. I had seen the realization dawn in Angela Marchmont’s face when Hugh MacMurray had made the admission that he had missed the game of Consequences. She and Jameson must both have made the deduction about the study door at the same moment.

  ‘Very well,’ said Jameson. ‘Yes, Mr. MacMurray, I will admit that there are some questions that I should like to ask you, although, as Mrs. Marchmont has already suggested, perhaps you would prefer to answer them in the presence of a solicitor.’

  ‘I don’t need a damned solicitor,’ he replied. ‘I’m innocent, I tell you. You slippery chaps shan’t pin anything on me.’

  He sat down grimly. Rosamund and I rose to leave.

  ‘Hold on a moment,’ said MacMurray. ‘I want you both to stay as witnesses. I won’t be trapped into saying something that’s not true and I need you here to back me up. Please,’ he added as an afterthought.

  We glanced at each other uncomfortably and sat down again.

  ‘Fire away,’ MacMurray said to the inspector.

  ‘Mr. MacMurray, in the drawing-room just now you said that you were not present during the game of Consequences which, according to the accounts of various people, began at shortly before ten o’clock and ended at about a quarter to eleven. According to Mr. Gale, you left the room a few minutes before the game began and we now know that you did not return until after it had finished. Will you tell me what you were doing during that period?’

  ‘I don’t know what time I left the room but I suppose if Gale says it was just before ten then it must have been. As I said before, I went for a walk on the terrace.’

  ‘On such a cold, damp night? Rather an odd thing to do, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not especially. The drawing-room was too hot and bright and I wanted to clear my head—to get away and think about things.’

  ‘Things? Do you mean the matter of Sir Neville’s will?’

  MacMurray reddened.

  ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact. But you’ve already asked me about that and I told you it was all rot about Myerson and me. I wanted to think of the best way to approach old Neville, to convince him that he’d got it wrong and get back into his good books. I don’t mean in a mercenary kind of way—although I don’t mind admitting that being written out of his will was a blow. I was very fond of the old man too, you know.’

  ‘So you went out on the terrace to think about things. You did not go to Sir Neville’s study first?’

  ‘No, I went straight outside.’

  Did you pass the outside of the study at all while you were walking on the terrace?’

  ‘Yes—several times, in fact. I was walking up and down for some time.’

  ‘Did you see Sir Neville through the window?’

  ‘I didn’t look through the window. It was in darkness anyway—I couldn’t have seen anything if I’d tried.’

  ‘Did you enter the study through the French windows?’

  ‘No! I’ve told you, I went outside and walked to and fro on the terrace for a while. I didn’t see Neville at all.’

  ‘Mr. MacMurray, you must understand that you are in a very dangerous position at present. You had a very strong motive for murder, in that you knew you were about to be disinherited. Furthermore, you yourself have admitted that you were in the vicinity of the study at about the time we believe the crime must have been committed. The circumstantial evidence against you is very strong. In addition, although there were no conclusive finger-marks on the handle of the French windows, we have found a hand-print belonging to you on the glass, in just such a position as suggests that you rested your hand on one door while attempting to pull the other one open.’

  This was a surprise; Jameson had never mentioned the fact before. MacMurray, who had been staring at his feet, looked up and gazed hollowly at the inspector.

  ‘Now,’ Jameson continued. ‘You could have placed your hand on the French window at any time but the fact that we now know you were near the study at the fatal time is very suggestive. Shall I tell you what I think happened?’

  MacMurray said nothing but continued to gaze at Jameson.

  ‘I think that you w
alked out on the terrace for a while, wondering desperately how to persuade Sir Neville not to write you out of his will. You came to the French windows and paused for a moment, peering into the study. Then an idea came to you: why not strike whilst the iron was hot, so to speak? Mr. Pomfrey had already arrived with the new will papers and you had only a few hours to win round Sir Neville. It was now or never. You tried the door but it was fastened tight, so you knocked. Sir Neville came, saw who it was and admitted you. I don’t know what happened after that—I suppose you argued, but found Sir Neville intractable and decided that the only way out of your difficulty was murder. Sir Neville was sitting at his desk. You picked up the African statue and hit Sir Neville over the head with it. He slumped forward. You then went to work: you wiped the statue and returned it to its place, then dragged the body across the room to the fireplace and staged the scene as we found it.’

  ‘It’s not true!’ said MacMurray in a hoarse whisper. ‘It’s all a lie! Look, I’ll admit I tried the French windows but they were locked and I couldn’t get in. I looked in but the room was dark and I couldn’t see anything, so I gave it up and went back into the house. I would never have killed old Neville—never, I tell you!’

  His face had gone a ghastly shade of green and his hands were trembling.

  Inspector Jameson stood up.

  ‘Mr. MacMurray,’ he said. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Sir Neville Strickland. It is my duty to inform you that anything you say may be taken down and used as evidence.’

  MacMurray took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He rose to his feet.

  ‘All right then, I suppose you must do your duty. Must I be handcuffed?’

  ‘Not if you are prepared to come along quietly,’ replied the inspector. Far from being the stern representative of the law, he appeared not unsympathetic to his quarry’s plight.