Darkness at Pemberley

by T. H. White

  "But surely he'll be missed?"

  "He'll be missed all right, but then he's been at great pains to manufacture his alibi at Dreavour, and that's where he'll be looked for. It's very bad for your engine not to change down when it's knocking."

  Elizabeth changed down obediently.

  "I've wanted to know one thing very much," she said. "How on earth did you get yourself undone in that chimney?"

  Buller laughed.

  "It was rather a swindle, I'm afraid," he said. "I don't claim to be a Houdini, though there is a way of holding your hands when they're going to be tied which forces the tier to use a certain knot which makes the ones on top of it useless. Any way I was stunned when he triced me up, so I didn't have a chance of that."

  Elizabeth prompted him.

  "Well?"

  "The explanation is, I'm afraid, that I've always been incurably romantic. I used to read detective stories far too much, and the hero always gets tied up in them at one time or another. It occurred to me that all heroes ought to have a little pocket in the jacket of all their suits, in the lining at the back, in which they could conceal penknives."

  "And do you mean to say you had that?"

  "Yes," said Buller defensively. "It wasn't ridiculous. I've always liked to work alone and one gets into queer positions doing that sometimes. I liked to think that I was prepared for emergencies. Why shouldn't a detective think out a useful easy equipment just as much as somebody going on a walking tour? As a matter of fact I once amused myself by inventing all sorts of little improvements on my suits. I always wear my cigarette case in a waistcoat pocket over my heart, even now—silly, I admit, but look at that governor or somebody that they tried to assassinate in India—and I have had occasion, once, to strap an automatic under my armpit like they do in America. When one worked on one's own, one liked to have little dodges of one's own. It made one feel more equipped to meet the unexpected. In my sleeve, for instance, here, there used to be a key which fitted the usual brand of handcuffs—sewn in at the cuff."

  Elizabeth said: "I didn't know that detectives behaved like that."

  "They don't. I'm afraid I've never been able to use any of my little dodges before. They were a sort of talisman, really, to keep my spirits up. And, as you see, there was no harm in my romances. The long shot came off for once. The lucky thing was that I slipped on my coat instead of my dressing-gown. The dressing-gown was at the other side of the room and I was too tired to fetch it."

  Elizabeth said: "Well, I think it all sounds very improbable."

  "As regards the ordinary murder, yes. No ordinary murderer or thief would think of tying you up. But I used to have to deal as well, sometimes, with gangs of racing toughs—vicious young limbs from Glasgow, who carry razors and stab you with broken bottles and call themselves "The Bloody Hand" or something of that sort. They are the people who are likely to tie you up. They're nourished on penny dreadfuls and behave as such. I served my apprenticeship in Glasgow before I went to Cambridge. That's where I had the old coat made which I was wearing."

  Buller added apologetically: "I haven't got a back pocket in this one. It was made in Cambridge."

  Elizabeth seemed mollified and started on a new tack.

  "There's one more thing," she said, "which I want an explanation of."

  Buller wilted in the pause.

  "What," she demanded, "were you doing to my ear?"

  "When?" asked Buller weakly.

  "You know perfectly well."

  Buller said: "Oh, I was—I was whispering."

  "What about?"

  "About? How do you mean what about?"

  "About what?"

  "Oh. Yes. About Mauleverer."

  "What did you whisper about Mauleverer?"

  "Well, I didn't whisper. I—I hadn't a chance."

  "Why?"

  Buller said: "Well—I——"

  "If you wanted to whisper anything else," said Elizabeth, "my ear's still there."

  For a detective Buller was obtuse, but he rose to the occasion.

  *****

  After a bit he said: "Couldn't we stop for a minute and have a talk?"

  *****

  After the talk the base voice in Buller said: "Wouldn't it be marvellous if we could be married?" The weak voice of timid morality added hastily: "Or something?"

  Elizabeth said: "Well, I'd rather be married."

  *****

  On the way home Elizabeth said, "Do you know, I don't even know your Christian name?"

  "I know, Liz, but you see——"

  "What is it?"

  "Leonidas Jeremiah Buller."

  "I shall call you Buller," Elizabeth said emphatically.

  THE END

  [End of Darkness at Pemberley, by T. H. White]