Death at the Chase

by Michael Innes

  Bobby Appleby, although not an emotional youth, heard himself interrupt this with a kind of strangled cry.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on the platform, and see how we can pass the time. There may be something to distract you. One of those machines that bellow your weight at you. Or that you punch out names on to tack on your tuck-box or your toy-cupboard.’

  ‘There’s no occasion to be rude,’ Giles Ashmore said.

  Part Four

  A Call at King’s Yatter

  13

  ‘I don’t know when Bobby got in last night,’ Appleby said, and poured himself a cup of coffee. ‘He does at least have the art of getting himself to bed without making a row. The same can’t be said for his friend Finn.’

  ‘It was Finn, was it? I rather thought I heard you going to investigate something or other.’ Judith Appleby flicked the toast-machine into action. ‘He didn’t come back along with Bobby?’

  ‘No – and I think it was long after. In what one might call the not so small small hours. He got lost at the back of the house, and I went down to see what was happening. We had quite a chat.’

  ‘A chat! It seems an odd time for it. Was he tight?’

  ‘He had been, and he no longer was. Or that was my impression. He had been drinking, but not after closing time. He was extremely apologetic. Not about drinking, but because he’d had some sort of row with Bobby. Frightfully bad form, he said, when staying with a chap’s parents.’

  ‘I quite agree. But perhaps Bobby was being rather tiresomely superior towards his simple friends.’

  ‘Possibly so.’ Appleby felt a little irritated by this remark. ‘But the boy can’t help having brains, you know.’

  ‘No, indeed. He never had a chance.’ Judith was amused. ‘Finn came back on his own?’

  ‘Yes. He got a couple of lifts, he says, from Ashmore Chase.’

  ‘The Chase!’ Judith’s hand was suddenly suspended over the marmalade pot. ‘What on earth was this boy Finn doing there?’

  ‘They were all three there. Don’t you remember? Taking an irresistible gift of St Emilion or Médoc to Martyn Ashmore – who happens to be sitting on what must be one of the best small private cellars left in England.’ Appleby checked himself in the midst of frankly juvenile laughter. ‘I oughtn’t to have let them do it, I suppose – since I’d happened to get a glimpse of that cellar only the other day. But it seemed rather touching and absurd, and I let them go ahead. The old man’s nephew – I don’t recall his name–’

  ‘Giles.’

  ‘Giles was proposing to ingratiate himself with his uncle in a mildly funny fashion, don’t you think? I felt they ought to play the comedy out.’

  ‘And did they?’

  ‘That’s what young Finn wanted to tell me about. But when it hadn’t come all that clear in half an hour, I told him to go to bed. I provided him, by the way, with a pint of milk from the fridge.’

  ‘Then there won’t be any for their breakfast. And none for Hoobin’s cocoa either.’

  ‘I expect Hoobin still has some of his birthday whisky to fall back on, and the young gentleman probably won’t stir until lunchtime.’

  ‘Just what did you gather happened at the Chase?’

  ‘It all seems to have been a little odd. Think of the unexpected element in the comedy: the aged Ashmore’s incredible engagement to his nephew’s beloved Roberta.’

  ‘Robina.’

  ‘Yes, Robina Fairway.’

  ‘Bunker.’

  ‘That’s right – Bunker. They hadn’t a clue about it, just as I supposed. But Finn came on it while they were waiting to have dinner in some pub. He kept mum. He didn’t want to spoil the joke.’

  ‘I call that uncharitable, John. Or childish – like your letting them go ahead with the wine.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right. And, later on, Finn was to reproach himself.’

  ‘That at least was something. You’re taking a long time to tell me how the foolish business turned out.’

  ‘Finn took a long time too. Perhaps his recollection is poor because he was a bit fuddled. He was also uneasy. There were things at the Chase he didn’t like. It seems they ran into that young Frenchman, de Voisin, who was coming away from the house. He too may be judged to have designs on Martyn Ashmore’s cheque-book, since he’s engaged to Giles’ sister. Finn believes himself to have sensed something odd about him. But that wasn’t all. Giles staggered into the Chase with his load of bourgeois wine, and emerged reporting that his uncle had received him – complete with his story about Robina – very well. Nothing was said about old Martyn’s conflicting matrimonial project. Giles took Bobby back to have a word with his uncle, and Finn felt annoyed at being left out in the cold. The Robina business was probably rankling with him too. He had been yet another suitor, remember, of the fascinating lady. So he started playing the fool. But only after something mildly alarming had occurred. It seems that Martyn Ashmore’s keeper – a fellow called Ibell – turned up, and started taking pot shots at our three young worthies in the dark.’

  ‘At Bobby?’ Lady Appleby wasn’t at all amused.

  ‘At Bobby’s behind, and Giles’ behind, and Finn’s behind – or more probably at a safe but still intimidating remove from these targets. It’s something a keeper will occasionally do, when poachers or marauders are around. Nobody was hurt.’

  ‘The young idiots!’ Judith said. She took a deep breath, and poured herself a second cup of coffee. ‘And then, I suppose, they went skylarking about the landscape in that lethal car.’

  ‘Not exactly. All this was a bit odd. But Finn, on his own showing, then behaved more oddly still. I didn’t really get the hang of it. He seems suddenly to have persuaded himself that there was something positively sinister in the background of the whole affair. So he had this row with Bobby. Not an honest row. He deliberately picked a quarrel with him, and so contrived to go off on his own.’

  ‘I’m not sure that Finn himself doesn’t sound a bit sinister.’

  ‘I agree. Or at least he was putting himself in what might be called a vulnerable position, if there was really any kind of dirty work afoot at the Chase.’

  ‘But how could there be? It’s absurd!’

  ‘Don’t forget my own adventure there.’

  There was a moment’s silence across the Applebys’ breakfast table.

  ‘That French boy was around on both occasions,’ Judith said.

  ‘Very true. And on the second occasion somebody else proved to be around as well. A new entrant among our dramatis personae. It seems–’ Appleby broke off suddenly, for the door of the breakfast-room had opened. ‘Good morning,’ he said politely. ‘I hope you slept well?’

  Only Finn’s head and shoulders were visible for a moment. They had the appearance of being poised for instant withdrawal were the marmalade pot to come flying at his head.

  ‘Good morning,’ Judith said. ‘The coffee is still quite hot, and Mrs Colpoys will have something in the oven. But I’m afraid there isn’t much milk.’

  ‘Oh, I say!’ With visible effort, Finn entered the room. ‘Lady Appleby, I am most frightfully sorry. Coming in like that and disturbing Sir John. I don’t know how to apologize.’ He glanced round apprehensively. ‘Is Bobby up yet?’

  ‘Not yet. You probably know that Bobby is quite easy to make one’s peace with. Please sit down and relax.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I mean, thanks most awfully. Has Sir John told you all about it?’

  ‘Up to a point. The pièce de résistance in your Barmecidal banquet was yet to come. I’m not sure that John had quite got hold of it when you parted for the night – or for the morning.’

  ‘Well, no – I suppose not.’ Finn looked nervously at Appleby, who had risen to ring a bell. It was an action which appeared susceptible of misinterpretation. ‘I say,’ Finn said, ‘are you going to have me ushered out? I jolly well deserve–’

  ‘Your bacon and whatever,’ Appleby murmured. ‘But Mrs Colpoys has
heard you already, and here it is.’

  Finn received his breakfast with dumb gratitude; he seemed surprised that it was set before him by the Appleby’s house-keeper without visible disapprobation. His experiences of the previous night, however trying, had not spoilt his appetite. But he possessed considerable skill – no doubt acquired through long practice – in eating and talking simultaneously and with an equal rapidity. Occasionally he waved a knife or fork vigorously in front of him. He was coming, in fact, to feel quite at home again.

  ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I was very puzzled by myself. And it’s not at all a common thing with me. I mean, you know, that I’ve never reckoned myself to be what they call an introspective type. Would I be wrong there, do you think?’

  ‘I’d hardly suppose so.’ Appleby passed the toast-rack. ‘But,’ he added gravely, ‘our acquaintance has scarcely been of long duration.’

  ‘That’s true, of course. But there I was, finding I’d got thoroughly worried about something I couldn’t pin down, and with a queer feeling that I wanted to be alone. Alone to think, you see, although as a matter of fact I don’t do a great deal of thinking in a general way. I even felt there was something I wanted to investigate, although I hadn’t a notion what it was. Have you ever felt like that, sir?’

  ‘Frequently,’ Appleby said. ‘But please go on.’

  ‘Well, that was why I had a row with Bobby and just walked off. Quite soon after that, Bobby and Giles must have driven away. And I came out of hiding, more or less, and wandered up and down that drive for quite a bit, wondering what on earth had come over me. I don’t think I was particularly tight any longer. You see I’d been putting on quite an act as a shouting hare-brained idiot, and that’s a thing that burns up the alk, if you ask me, and sobers a chap up quite quickly. Lady Appleby won’t know about that, sir, but I expect you remember it clearly enough.’

  ‘Certainly I do.’

  ‘All sorts of odd ideas were going through my head. For instance, there was this Ibell and his bloody gun. Sorry, Lady Appleby – this Ibell and his gun. He struck me as having turned up pat. Or had we turned up on him pat? I mean, was it a regular turn of his, so that he was as predictable as a copper on his beat?’

  ‘Coppers are no longer predictable on their beat. After about a century of predictability, you see, it dawned on us that unpredict-ability might be a little more effective in the war against crime. But continue.’

  ‘And then there was the odd business of Bobby being hauled in to have a word with old Mr Ashmore. And the other odd business of spying on him. I think I told you about that, sir. I started it, as a matter of fact. Bobby thought it wasn’t on, and he was quite right. Which makes it queer that I found myself wanting to do it all over again. I went back to the terrace. It was a damned silly thing to do’ – Finn paused here, as if determining whether this expression required a further apology to Lady Appleby – ‘really too damned silly, for there was quite a lot of moonlight tumbling around again, and the chap with his gun might appear and have a further go at any time. For a moment I thought it was the chap. I was scared stiff.’

  ‘You thought who was the chap?’ Not unnaturally, Judith was perplexed.

  ‘This chap at the front door. I think I got round to telling Sir John about him last night. But he didn’t have a gun, and for a moment I had a queer impression it was Giles. Then I saw he was quite old. I couldn’t make out what he was doing. At first I thought he must be trying to pick the lock. I stopped – and again it was pretty silly, since I’d be in full view the second he turned round. But at least I tumbled to what he was up to. He was polishing the door-bell. And then – just in the second that I stood there – he finished up on the bell and started in on the door-handle. Did you ever hear of anything so crazy? An elderly man putting on this housemaid’s turn by moonlight.’

  ‘Most remarkable,’ Appleby said. ‘Do you happen to be able to tell us whether he had all the usual stuff to hand? A tin of polish, for example, or the kind of soft brush sometimes used on the job?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I actually saw was a cloth. It might have been a big coloured handkerchief.’

  ‘I have little doubt that it was a big coloured handkerchief.’ For the first time in this curious conversation – it seemed to Judith – her husband had spoken with a gravity that was wholly without irony. ‘And then you had – as I rather gathered – your not altogether fortunate encounter with him?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’ Rather surprisingly, Finn had faintly flushed. ‘It’s really rather embarrassing. And it’s not as if I’d been tight. And he was quite an old man. I am certain of that.’ Finn turned to Judith. ‘About Sir John’s age, I’d say, Lady Appleby.’

  ‘Or mine?’ Lady Appleby appeared impressed. ‘I’m surprised that he retained the bodily vigour even to polish up the handle of the big front door.’

  ‘Oh, I say!’ Finn appeared to be aware of having occasioned amusement. ‘I mean, you know, that it shouldn’t have been an equal contest. I ought to have been right on top from the start. As a matter of fact, that’s why I did start.’

  ‘Do you mean, Finn’ – Judith had decided that whether Finn was Something Finn or Finn Something he could no longer with civility be denied a name – ‘do you mean that you started a fight with this person?’

  ‘Yes, Lady Appleby, just that. By the way, I’m Cedric Finn. But Cedric is so awfully silly that I like everybody to call me just Finn. I’m so glad you’re going to. Yes – I thought I ought to grab the chap. And perhaps shout for Mr Ashmore, or even for Ibell. He was plainly a lunatic, you see. Only a lunatic would go round polishing brass by moonlight. The moonlight might be significant, don’t you think? Lunatics and moonlight have something to do with each other. I can never remember just what.’

  ‘And what happened then, Finn?’ Judith tried to put this question – to which the answer was already painfully obvious – as kindly as possible.

  ‘He just knocked me out. Square on the jaw, you know. It was as simple as that. And that’s why there’s hardly a bruise to show. The jaw just goes back click, you see, and hits something, and there you are. Of course, there is the fact that he was a maniac. Maniacs are always frightfully strong. I’ve read that somewhere. Have you?’

  ‘It is at least a common persuasion,’ Appleby said. ‘And the man’s conduct certainly suggests an imperfectly balanced mind. But had you any other reason to question his sanity?’

  ‘He looked mad. Incredibly ferocious.’

  ‘Eventually you must have come to your senses – or perhaps I ought to say have recovered consciousness. For here, after all, you are. Will you have another cup of coffee?’

  ‘Oh, yes – please. Black will be splendid. I don’t terribly care for milk. Hot and in coffee, I mean. It was awfully good of you, sir, to find me that milk last night.’

  ‘Just what did happen when you recovered from this brutal assault?’

  ‘The chap had disappeared. I was rather relieved about that. He might have been standing over me, prepared to slosh me again. I got up and rubbed my jaw. And then I thought I shouldn’t be put off.’

  ‘By this vexatious interruption?’

  ‘Just that, sir. I decided to go on having that look around – even if this maniac, and Ibell as well, were still about the place.’

  ‘Don’t you think,’ Judith asked, ‘that the maniac and Ibell may have been one and the same man?’

  ‘Well, no – not really.’ Finn considered. ‘I had a strong impression that the maniac was a gent.’

  ‘One always knows,’ Appleby asked gravely, ‘when it is a gentleman who has knocked one out?’

  ‘Not exactly that.’ Finn looked at his host with a kind of reproachful suspicion. ‘It was the clothes, and all that. There was this moonlight around, remember.’

  ‘You would recognize the maniac again?’

  ‘Oh, yes – I’m sure I should. Well, I dusted myself down, and moved along the terrace. There was still that lighted window –
the one we’d been doing the spying at. But when I got to it I found it was no go, so far as seeing into the room went. There had been a small gap in the curtains before, you see. But now they were drawn close. After that, I got a funny idea in my head.’ Finn hesitated. ‘It’s really so silly that I hardly like to mention it. Particularly to you, sir, since they’re your sort of thing.’

  ‘Just what are you thinking of as being my sort of thing?’

  ‘Fingerprints.’

  ‘You got round to thinking about fingerprints?’ Appleby was looking at Finn in considerable astonishment. ‘On the door-handle and the door-bell?’

  ‘It just came into my head, as I say.’ Finn sounded extremely apologetic. ‘The maniac had rung the bell and turned the handle. And when I saw him he was removing any tell-tale marks. Awful nonsense, of course. I must have been reading too many thrillers.’

  ‘Might this man have come out of the house?’

  ‘Well, that’s the next thing I have to tell you. The last thing, really. I decided I’d try to make sure that Mr Ashmore was all right. The fact that there was a light on still in that downstairs room suggested he hadn’t started going to bed. So I decided I’d ring the bell myself, and just say hullo to him.’

  ‘As he has never set eyes on you, he might have been mildly surprised. But your plan didn’t come off?’

  ‘No, sir. I rang twice, and nothing happened. So I felt a bit of a fool. I had a notion Mr Ashmore lives all alone in the place, and it struck me there might be an hour after which he just didn’t care to open his door. So I gave up, and came away. It took me a terribly long time to get back to Dream. I did a kind of Snakes-and-Ladders hitchhiking.’

  ‘Did you, by any chance, try that door-handle?’

  ‘Well, yes – I did. It sounds awful cheek, and if the door had turned out to be unlocked I don’t think I’d have had the nerve to walk in. But I did try it.’

  ‘Could the maniac have come out of the house and locked the door behind him?’