by Jack Treby
Miss Bunting was thinking hard. ‘Could it have been Mrs Montana?’ she wondered, reflecting on the events of the last hour. ‘If she was searching the Talbots’ bedroom?’
‘The husband’s a better bet,’ Freddie thought. ‘He might have had business dealings with Mr Talbot. Hey, didn’t you say they’d had an argument yesterday afternoon?’
‘That’s right. Montana claimed they were arguing about an increase in transport costs.’
‘That was a white lie,’ Gunther Weiman admitted now. ‘There was a discussion, a few weeks ago, but the argument yesterday was about the transfer of land. George had some concerns about the provenance of the money that Steven had provided. He was a very meticulous man.’
‘Yes, so I’ve heard. But what had aroused his suspicions? He must have arranged the banker's draft months ago.’
‘I would imagine so,’ Weiman agreed. ‘However, I think it may have been the conversation he had with you yesterday morning which gave him pause for thought. I believe you mentioned to him that Giles had embezzled a sum of money from your office. That was why he had committed suicide, you said.’
‘Lord.’ I did remember saying that, over breakfast.
‘George would not allow the money to be paid to Arthur for the land if there was any possibility that it had been acquired illegally.’
‘No. I’m surprised he didn’t ask me anything more about it.’
‘I gather he was intending to talk to you when you returned from the village. I doubt he would have had the opportunity earlier in the day.’
‘No, I suppose not. I do remember Mrs Talbot saying he wanted a word with me, when I arrived back at the house. That was just before...well, before the accident.’
Weiman peered at me intently. ‘But you now believe it was not an accident?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I wish you had told me the truth about that argument earlier on,’ I remarked testily.
The German was apologetic. ‘Arthur is very protective of his business dealings,’ he explained, with some embarrassment. ‘And at that time there was no reason to believe George’s death was anything other than an accident.’
‘You still should have told me the truth.’
Miss Bunting had finished her coffee. ‘So do you think it might have been Mr Montana who pushed Mr Talbot down the stairs?’ she asked.
‘I have no idea. I didn’t see him anywhere near the scene of the crime. And you thought Mr Catesby was to blame.’
The girl flushed. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘We...suspected something untoward might have happened there, right from the word go,’ I explained to the Weimans.
Freddie smiled. ‘Henry has some experience, investigating this kind of thing.’ I shot him a warning look but the man was not to be deterred. ‘We couldn’t be in safer hands.’
‘Freddie’s exaggerating.’ I growled. ‘As always.’
‘But if Joseph was not involved in either of these deaths,’ Weiman said, ‘then who was responsible?’
‘Well, that’s the question,’ I agreed. ‘It must have been somebody closer to home. And you’re not the only who’s told a few white lies over the course of the last few hours.’ I stared pointedly at Miss Bunting. The girl was looking just as perplexed as the rest of us, and now that the possibilities seemed to be exploding in every direction, it struck me that it was high time she came clean on a few matters as well. ‘Miss Bunting. Is there anything you would like to tell us?’ I asked. She blinked uncertainly. ‘About last night?’
Frederick Reeves was horrified. ‘You can’t seriously think...?’
I gritted my teeth. I had a feeling I would regret bringing this up, but if we were ever to get to the bottom of this affair then the matter of Miss Bunting’s nocturnal expedition needed to be cleared up; and after the revelations of the last few minutes I was beginning to think that perhaps my secretary was not quite as involved in events as I had first supposed. ‘I saw you creeping about the house last night,’ I informed her calmly. ‘I was up answering a call of nature and I saw you heading across the landing in the direction of Mr Catesby’s bedroom.’
Miss Bunting brought a hand to her mouth. ‘I...’
‘But when I asked you this morning if you had got up during the night you denied it. You lied to my face.’
‘Look here, Henry,’ Freddie protested.
Miss Bunting raised a hand. ‘It’s all right, Freddie. Yes, I was up and about. And I’m afraid I did lie to you.’ Her voice was a girlish whisper. ‘But you don’t really believe I could have killed Mr Catesby?’
‘I don’t know what to believe. That earring of yours.’ I pointed a finger. ‘The one you lost yesterday. The little flower. I didn’t find it out on the landing. It was over by the window in Mr Catesby’s bedroom. I found it there when I discovered his body this morning.’
There was a shocked silence. Everyone was now staring at the young Englishwoman. The earring was back in place, the clasp having been fixed. ‘I didn’t kill him,’ Miss Bunting mumbled softly, her hand rising reflexively to that ear. ‘Crumbs, I wouldn’t kill anyone.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t!’ Freddie agreed at once. ‘Henry, what on earth are you thinking?’
‘She was in his room,’ I stated firmly. ‘And she is definitely concealing something. You knew about that draft, didn’t you?’ There was no answer. ‘Well, didn’t you?’
The girl sighed and gave a quiet nod. ‘Yes, I knew.’
Freddie stared at her in bewilderment. ‘You knew?’ he breathed. ‘But how on earth...?’
‘I wanted to tell you, Freddie,’ she insisted. ‘I really did. But every time I came close...’ Her voice faltered.
‘Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning,’ I said.
Miss Bunting closed her eyes and took a moment to gather her thoughts. For all her shock at the sudden accusation, she was not acting with the air of a cornered fugitive; more like a schoolgirl confessing to a prank that had gone awry. ‘It was just an accident,’ she explained to us mournfully. ‘I moved into that flat, shortly after Mr Markham killed himself. There was a bureau in there. A big mahogany thing.’ Everything in this part of the world was made of mahogany. It was one of the regions big exports. ‘My mother had one just like it back in England. I didn’t pay any attention to it for the first few days. I was too busy getting everything else sorted out and settling into my new job. But then one day I glanced at it and I remembered, my mother’s bureau had a secret compartment. She had showed it to me once. You’d never find it if you didn’t know where to look. Even daddy didn’t know about it. And the bureau in the apartment was exactly the same. So I opened the flap one evening and I gave it a try.’
‘And you found the banker's draft?’
Miss Bunting looked down at her lap. ‘Yes. A draft for nine thousand dollars. I couldn’t believe it. Just stumbling across it like that.’
Gunther Weiman was intrigued. ‘And this was the money Giles intended to invest in Steven’s farm?’
The girl nodded. ‘Yes. He must have hidden it there. Although I had no idea about that at the time. I didn’t know what it was for.’
‘But, hang on a mo,’ Freddie said. ‘You must have known that was the money Giles had stolen from the office.’
Miss Bunting dipped her head. ‘I knew. Well, not at first. It was a week or two before we worked out exactly how much had gone missing. Mr Markham had only just killed himself and it was William who handled the accountancy side after his death.’
That was true. William Battersby had given the books a thorough going over in the wake of Mr Markham’s suicide and it was only then that the scale of the theft had been identified. That was why everyone had assumed Markham had had serious gambling debts. Bits of money had been diverted from the office over an extended period. Markham must have deposited the money in his account little by little to avoid suspicion, and then finally got the draft written out, when he had enough to pay out for the land. How he planned to cover t
he loss and leave work without being caught I had no idea.
‘I didn’t know what to do with the thing,’ Miss Bunting continued. ‘There was nobody in charge at the office. William was snowed under with work, all on his own. I was just learning the ropes and I didn’t really know anybody, apart from William and a couple of the girls. I didn’t know who to tell. So I just, well...I left it there. I put it back where I found it.’
‘That was a daft thing to do,’ Freddie admonished.
I had a less charitable interpretation. ‘You thought you’d just leave it where it was for a few months, until everyone had forgotten about Giles Markham and then collect it and cash it in.’
‘No!’ Miss Bunting’s eyes bulged in horror.
‘That was why you held onto the key,’ I suggested.
‘No! At least...not really. Perhaps the thought did cross my mind,’ she confessed, her eyes downcast. ‘But I didn’t...I would never have acted on the impulse. I’m not a thief, Mr Buxton. Honestly. We all have silly thoughts at one time or another.’
‘Don’t we just,’ I agreed, pursing my lips. Mind you, if she had really been intent on cashing in the cheque herself, she could simply have taken it with her when she had vacated the flat.
‘I decided to hang on until you arrived,’ she said. ‘I wanted to wait until there was a proper authority figure in the office. But then, when you did come, so much happened so quickly. I had to move out of the flat and you moved in. And I forgot to give back the key. That was an honest mistake,’ she added, taking note of my sceptical expression. ‘But once that had happened, it was difficult to know how I could broach the subject. The longer I left it, the more difficult it became. Then, when the flat was burgled last week, I knew I had to come clean. I didn’t want William to know about it, though. He would have been so disappointed in me.’ She did have a soft spot for that boy, after all, even if she preferred Freddie. ‘So I came to visit you that evening, to tell you everything. But then, well...’ She looked up at last and smiled at me. ‘Events rather ran away with themselves, and it slipped my mind completely.’
Freddie was incredulous. ‘How on earth could something like that slip your mind?’
‘Ah.’ I cut in rapidly. ‘Best not go into that.’ We had so far managed to avoid any reference to more personal matters. I had been taking a serious risk, confronting Miss Bunting in this manner, but seeing her reactions so far I was prepared to push it a little further. ‘You still haven’t explained what you were doing up and about last night. And don’t pretend it was a call of nature. You were nowhere near the hall stairs.’
She flinched at my unkind tone. ‘No, you’re right. I didn’t need the bathroom. I did...I did visit Mr Catesby’s bedroom.’
‘Emily!’ Freddie cried.
‘Not last night,’ she added hastily. ‘Yesterday afternoon, when you were both down in the village; and when Mr Catesby was out on the estate. You see, I had convinced myself that he was the one who had broken into your flat.’
‘Why would you think that?’ I asked.
‘Well, Freddie had said he and Mr Markham had been good friends. It occurred to me that he might know about the draft, if anyone did. And then at lunch, we found out he had been in Guatemala City last week, on the Wednesday and Thursday, when your flat was burgled. So I thought he might have been the one who broke into the bureau and took the draft.’
‘And you decided to play detective, to see if he had it stashed away somewhere in his bedroom?’
‘I thought it was worth having a look, after all that Freddie had told me. I slipped into his room and had a quick ruffle around, but there was nothing of any interest in there that I could see. Nothing relating to Mr Markham, anyway. I suppose my earring must have dropped off then, brushing up against one of those shutters. I didn’t realise it was gone until the evening, when I was dressing for dinner. But by then Mr Talbot had had his accident and the house was too crowded to risk going back and having a look. Crumbs, I was so relieved when you found it and said it had been out on the landing.’
Freddie threw me a questioning look.
‘I didn't want to accuse her outright,’ I explained. ‘Not without further evidence. But what were you doing, later on, creeping about? You weren’t answering a call of nature,’ I repeated.
‘No. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about poor Mr Talbot, about the way he died. I didn’t believe it could possibly have been an accident. Not after what I’d seen on the terrace; or thought I saw.’
‘A figure moving about?’
‘That’s right. So I...well, I thought I might as well get up and have another look around.’
‘In the middle of the night?’
‘Yes. Don’t ask me to explain it. My mind was in a bit of a whirl. But it was too dark to see anything properly. I walked down the stairs – the terrace stairs, where he fell – and then...then I had a look at Mr Talbot’s body.’
‘You wanted to go through his pockets, before the police gave him the once over this morning.’ That did make sense. ‘You were searching for the draft!’
‘I just thought, if Mr Catesby didn’t have it and Mr Talbot was his banker...’
‘You might find it on him and relieve him of it.’
‘Not for myself!’ she protested. ‘But to see if that might have been a motive for...for killing him.’
I scoffed. ‘If he’d been killed for the money then the killer wouldn’t have left it on him, even if he did have it.’
‘No, I suppose not. I wasn’t really thinking.’ She stared down at her lap, shame-faced.
‘You should have told me all this in the first place,’ I barked.
‘I know. I wanted to. But the longer I left it, the more difficult it became.’ She looked up then, an impish gleam in her eye. ‘And we all have our secrets, don’t we, Hilary?’
Freddie was perplexed by the name. ‘Hilary?’
‘It’s a...private joke,’ I covered hastily. ‘Yes, we all have secrets. It’s the nature of our job. But this has nothing to do with work, Miss Bunting. I’m sorry to have to say this, but you have behaved abominably.’
‘Steady on!’ Freddie protested.
‘I’m sorry. It has to be said.’
‘He’s right. I have behaved very badly,’ the girl agreed. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Buxton. But I’ve told you the truth now.’
Gunther Weiman was more interested in the references to his banking friend. ‘So you believe it was Steven who killed George?’ The German did not sound quite as surprised as I would have expected.
Miss Bunting shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What reason would he have had?’
Weiman glanced at his wife and then back across the table. ‘Steven was due to pay the balance on the purchase of the land this weekend. George was overseeing the details. But when he learnt from Mr Buxton here that the money had been stolen, he requisitioned the banker's draft and refused to allow the transaction to go through.’
I lifted an eyebrow. So Talbot must have nipped into Catesby’s room first and confiscated the draft, while the rest of the household were out on the guided tour. That would not have gone down well with the farm manager, I realised. Or Mr Montana. ‘And so Catesby lost his temper and pushed him down the stairs?’ I considered that briefly. ‘I suppose that’s plausible.’
‘I can’t believe Steven would kill anyone,’ Mrs Weiman said. ‘He had a temper, but he never lashed out. Not physically.’
‘It might just have been an accident,’ Miss Bunting suggested.
‘But whoever was responsible,’ Weiman concluded, ‘it could not have been Joseph Green.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I should inform the general. We cannot allow him to shoot an innocent man.’
Mrs Weiman grabbed her husband’s arm. ‘Gunther, you can’t go out there!’
‘It’s not a good idea, Mr Weiman,’ I agreed.
‘We have to do something!’ the German exclaimed.
Chapter Fifteen
Maurice had been hov
ering for some moments at the far door of the dining room, waiting for the right moment to interrupt. The door to the hallway had been left open by the housekeeper Greta who, having passed on her concerns about Moses, had then taken away the metal coffee pot to organise a refill. I was not sure how much of the conversation my man had overheard. At least the general had not been standing out there or one of his many underlings. The valet brought a hand to his mouth and made a discreet coughing noise. Gunther Weiman had already resumed his seat, at our insistence. I caught Maurice’s eye and made my apologies to the table, rising up and hurrying across to speak to him. ‘What is it, Morris?’ I asked, pulling the dining room door shut behind me and drawing him across to the stairwell.
‘I have packed your suitcase, Monsieur, as requested.’ Freddie had passed on the message, as I had asked. ‘You are intending for us to leave this evening?’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think it’s going to be possible. Not now our lord and master has declared Martial Law. Just a contingency plan. Thought we might need to break out the alternative passports.’
‘Because of what happened to Madame Montana?’
‘Exactly.’ I jerked a thumb in the direction of the dining room. ‘How much did you hear?’
‘A little, Monsieur.’ Maurice hesitated. As a matter of professional pride, he did not wish to admit to eavesdropping.
‘It’s all getting damned complicated,’ I muttered. ‘But I was right about Miss Bunting. She was holding something back.’ I filled him in briefly on what my young secretary had told me. ‘It’s a bit of a lame story, all things considered.’
The valet’s expression had not altered. ‘You still believe Mademoiselle Bunting may have been responsible for Monsieur Catesby’s death?’
I threw up my hands. ‘That’s the thing of it, Morris. I have no idea. It could be any one of them in there. Miss Bunting’s not the only one holding things back. Mr Weiman’s told me a fair few lies as well, and we know he had no particular love for Mr Catesby.’
‘There was that argument in the generator room last night, before Monsieur Catesby went to bed.’
