A Blunt Instrument ih-4

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Hannasyde nodded.

  "I never inquired into them, and of course he never spoke of them to me, but naturally I knew. In my young days, Superintendent, ladies did not discuss such matters. Nowadays things are different, and young people seem to talk of everything, which I can't help feeling is a pity. It is much better to shut one's eyes to some things, don't you agree? But it has occurred to me - I thought it all over during the night - that whoever killed my brother may - may have done so from jealousy."

  "Yes, that is a possibility," Hannasyde said.

  "Yes. Of course, if it was so, it will have to come out. I quite realise that. But if you find it wasn't, or - or fail to discover the man who did it - do you think my brother's - private affairs - need be known?"

  "Certainly not," Hannasyde replied. "I quite understand your feelings in the matter, Miss Fletcher, and I can assure you that I shall respect them as much as I possibly can."

  "So kind!" she sighed. "I have such a dread of the papers printing horrid things about my poor brother - perhaps getting hold of letters. You know the sort of thing I mean, I expect."

  "You need not be afraid of that," he assured her. "There are no such letters as you refer to."

  "Oh, how thankful I am!" she breathed. "You have taken a load off my mind!"

  She got up, as Sergeant Hemingway ushered her nephew into the room, and bestowed a tremulous smile upon the Superintendent. Neville came in talking in his soft, rapid way, and it was plain from Hemingway's strained, appreciative expression that his discourse was of an entertaining nature. When he saw his aunt he broke off in mid-sentence, and recommended her to make no statement to the police except in the presence of her lawyer. Miss Fletcher explained to Hannasyde that this was only his fun, and made her way to the door.

  Neville closed it behind her, saying plaintively: "Of course, I know one has to obey the summons of the Law, but you interrupted me at a most delicate moment, Superintendent."

  "I'm sorry," replied Hannasyde, adding with a gleam of humour in his eye: "International complications?"

  "Yes, I had just worked in a Montenegrin patriot with a knife. The whole story was unfolding itself beautifully, but I've lost the thread now."

  "Take my advice, and don't try to fool the Press. Suppose - though it's improbable - that your International story did get published?"

  "Oh, but I do hope it will!" Neville said. "Really, it's a lovely story, and I've taken pains with it. I don't usually, but old Lawrence seems to think I ought to try to become more earnest. Did you want me for anything in particular? Because if not I'm in the middle of telling your Sergeant about an experience which befell me in Skopje. It isn't exactly a polite story, but I find he has a lovely dirty mind. In fact, we're practically affinities."

  The reminiscent grin which still lingered on the Sergeant's face vanished. A dusky blush mounted into his cheeks, and he gave an imploring cough.

  "I daresay," replied Hannasyde. "But this is hardly the time to indulge in smutty anecdotes, do you think?"

  "Oh, I don't agree with you!" said Neville engagingly.

  "Given the right company, there's no real close season for dirty stories."

  "Tell me, Mr. Fletcher, did you know your uncle well?"

  "I expect it'll save time if I say no," answered Neville. "I can see we are on the verge of talking at cross-purposes."

  "Why?" Hannasyde asked bluntly.

  "Oh, one doesn't know people. Mothers say they know their children through and through. Fallacy. Rather disgusting, too. Indecency inherent in over-probing, and results misleading, and probably disquieting."

  "Oh!" said Hannasyde, who had followed this rapid and telegraphic speech with some difficulty. "I see what you mean, but it doesn't answer my question. As well as one person may know another, did you know your uncle?"

  "No. Interest being the natural forerunner to understanding."

  "You'd none in him?"

  "Nor anyone, "cept objectively. An' I'm not sure of that either. Do you like people?"

  "Don't you?"

  Neville spread his hands out, slightly hunching his thin shoulders. "Oh, some - a little - at a distance."

  "You seem to be an ascetic," said Hannasyde dryly.

  "Hedonist. Personal contacts pleasant at first, but leading to discomfort."

  Hannasyde regarded him frowningly. "You have peculiar ideas, Mr. Fletcher. They're not getting us anywhere."

  A smile flickered in Neville's eyes. "Eschew my company. You see, I don't want to get anywhere. Prolonged intercourse with me is bad for your temper."

  "You are probably right," returned Hannasyde with a touch of asperity: "I won't detain you any longer."

  "Oh, can I go back to my entrancing reporters?"

  "If you think it wise - or desirable."

  "Like feeding goldfish," said Neville, drifting out by way of the window.

  The Sergeant watched him go, and drew a long breath. "What I call a turn in himself," he said. "He's certainly a new one on me."

  Hannasyde grunted. The Sergeant cocked an intelligent eye at him. "You didn't take to him, did you, Chief?"

  "No. Or believe him."

  "I'm bound to say I don't entirely follow his talk - what I can hear of it, which isn't much."

  "I think he knows more than he pretends, and doesn't want to be questioned. However, he'll keep. I've nothing on him - so far." He looked at his wrist-watch, and got up. "Take charge of those papers, and the photographs, will you? I'm going now to call on Mrs. North. I'll leave Abraham Budd to you. Find out from Headquarters, while you're in town, if they've got anything out of the finger-prints."

  He had no difficulty in finding his way to the Chestnuts, and, upon sending in his card, was ushered presently into a pleasant morning-room at the back of the house. There he found not only Helen North, but Miss Drew also, who was seated at a table in the window with a portable typewriter in front of her.

  Helen came forward a few steps, saying nervously: 'Good-morning. I'm Mrs. North. I understand you want to see me?"

  "Yes," Hannasyde replied. He glanced towards the window, and added: "Perhaps if I might have a word with you alone it would be best."

  "Oh no! I mean, I would like my sister to remain. Won't you sit down? I - I've never entertained a detective before!"

  "I should explain, Mrs. North, that I am investigating the murder of Ernest Fletcher, who I believe was an acquaintance of yours."

  "Yes. Yes, I quite understand. Please go on!"

  "You knew that Mr. Fletcher had been murdered?" he asked.

  Before she could answer, Sally cut in. "In common with the butcher, the baker, the milkman, all the servants, the postman, and the paper-boy."

  He looked at her appraisingly, but did not answer, merely inclining his head slightly.

  "News gets round so frightfully quickly in the suburbs," Helen said, again with her uneasy, artificial laugh.

  "Yes," he agreed. "I expect it does. When did you last see Mr. Fletcher, Mrs. North?"

  "What's your reason for asking that question?" demanded Sally.

  "I am investigating a murder, Miss -'

  "I'm Sally Drew. You can hardly think that my sister knows anything about a murder."

  "I'm quite ready to believe that she doesn't," he replied, with a good-humoured inflexion in his voice which surprised her. "But I have a reason for asking Mrs. North certain questions, and a right to do so."

  "Oh, of course!" Helen said quickly. "Only it's rather difficult to say when I saw Ernie Fletcher last. Let me see now… it was probably in town. Oh yes, we were both at a party last week!"

  "Are you quite sure that you haven't seen him since then?"

  He kept his eyes on her face, taking note of the fluctuating colour in her cheeks, the frightened, wary look in her eyes that told plainly of indecision.

  "Why, no, I - I don't think so!"

  "You did not, by any chance, see him last night?"

  "Last night?" Helen repeated. "Of course not! Whateve
r made you think I might have?"

  "I have reason to think that some woman visited him yesterday evening."

  "Good gracious, why should it be me, I wonder!"

  He said in his quiet way: "Please don't misunderstand me, Mrs. North. I am quite prepared to find that the woman was not you. Indeed, I'm sorry to be obliged to worry you with these questions. But I'm sure you'll realise that the presence of a woman at Greystones last night must be investigated, for it is just possible that she, whoever she is, may be able to throw a little light on the murder."

  "How?" she said quickly.

  "She may, quite unwittingly, have seen the murderer."

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, shuddering. "But it's preposterous to suppose that I-'

  He interrupted, saying in a matter-of-fact way: "Well, Mrs. North, the question can be settled quite easily. What size in shoes do you wear?"

  A quiver ran over her face; she threw a glance towards her sister, who stepped promptly into the breach. "Five-and-a-half, don't you, like me?"

  "Yes," she admitted. "Yes, I do. I think most women of our height do."

  "Thank you," said Hannasyde. "I wondered if you would lend me the shoes you were wearing last night?"

  "Lend you my shoes! Really, Superintcüdrut, that is quite impossible!"

  "Why, Mrs. North?"

  "Well, you must see - Oh, this is idiotic! I had nothing to do with Ernie Fletcher's death!"

  "Then you can have no possible objection to lending me your shoes for half-an-hour," said Hannasyde.

  "Of course she hasn't," said Sally. "What's more, you shall have mine as well. I knew Ernest Fletcher too, so presumably there is just as much reason to suspect me of having been at Greystones last night as my sister."

  "Not quite," he replied.

  Helen sat down suddenly on the sofa. "I can't stand this!" she said in a choking voice. "There's no reason why you should come and badger me! Simply because I happened to know Ernie Fletcher -'

  "Not entirely," he said. "Are not these yours, Mrs. North?"

  She looked at the slips of paper which he had taken from his pocket-book. The colour rushed into her face, but some of her strained rigidity left her. "Yes. They're mine," she answered. "What of it?"

  "They call for some kind of explanation, as I think you'll agree," he said. "Did you owe these various sums of money to Mr. Fletcher?"

  "No. That is, not in the way you seem to think. He bought up those debts, to get me out of a - a hole, and I was - I was repaying him bit by bit." She glanced up fleetingly, and added, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers: "I did not wish my - my husband to know. He - I - oh, this is impossible!"

  "I quite appreciate your reluctance to discuss your affairs, Mrs. North. It may make it easier for you to be frank with me if you can bring yourself to believe that except in so far as they may relate to the case I am at work on I have no interest in them, and certainly no desire to create any unnecessary - er - scandal."

  "There's nothing to make a scandal about!" she said. "Mr. Fletcher was just a friend. The whole arrangement was perfectly amicable. I don't know what you are imagining, but -'

  "You can put an end to any imaginings of mine by being open with me, Mrs. North. I have told you that I appreciate your point of view, but you must see that the discovery of these notes of yours in Ernest Fletcher's safe is a circumstance which must be fully inquired into. If you can satisfy me that you did not visit Greystones last night I shall have no further need to worry you with interrogations which you must naturally find unpleasant. But if you can bring no proof forward in support of your denial, and persist in refusing to let me compare your shoes with the footprints we have found in the garden at Greystones, I can have no alternative to pursuing my inquiries further. In which event, I fear there will be little hope of your evading the sort of publicity you must wish to avoid."

  Sally got up from her seat by the table, and walked forward. "That," she said, "sounds remarkably like a threat, Superintendent."

  "I expect it does," he agreed equably. "It isn't, though. I am only trying to point out to your sister that her wisest course is to be entirely frank with me. If I have to question her servants as to her whereabouts last night -'

  "I get it," said Sally, grimacing. She took a cigarette from the box on the table, and fitted it into her holder. She glanced speculatively at Hannasyde, and took a lighter from her pocket. The little flame spurted up; she lit her cigarette, once more looked at Hannasyde, and then said tersely: "He's right, Helen. And what he says about having no interest in your affairs is true. He's got nothing on you, but obviously you've got to be eliminated."

  Helen looked frightened, but after a pause said: "I did call on Ernie Fletcher last night. I've explained that he was a - a great friend, though years older than me. I looked on him as a sort of uncle."

  "Quite," said Hannasyde. "Had you any particular purpose in paying this call?"

  "No, not exactly. My sister was busy, and I was bored. It was quite early, and I thought I'd just look in on Ernie."

  In spite of herself she coloured, but Hannasyde merely asked: "At what hour did you arrive at Greystones?"

  "It must have been at about five-and-twenty to ten. I know I left this house at half-past nine."

  "Just tell me everything that happened, Mrs. North."

  "Really, there's so little to tell. I went by way of the Arden Road, because for one thing it's quicker than going all the way up this road, and along Vale Avenue, andd for another - I expect this seems odd to you, but it isn't really - I didn't much want to see Miss Fletcher, so I thought I'd go in by the garden-entrance, on the chance of finding Ern - Mr. Fletcher in his study." She broke off, and exclaimed wretchedly: "Oh, this is too impossible! It sounds as though I had some horrid assignation! But I hadn't, I hadn't!"

  "Don't go over at the knees," recommended her sister. "It's obvious you hadn't, or you'd have thought up some convincing reason for calling on Ernie."

  "Oh, don't! Do you suppose I can't see what a false impression anyone must get, not - not knowing the terms I was on with Ernie?"

  "The only impression the Superintendent's got is that you're a paralytic ass," responded Sally cheerfully. "Why you chose to enter by the garden-gate has got nothing to do with him, so get on with your story!"

  "I don't know where I was. Oh yes! Well, Mr. Fletcher was in his study - oh, I forgot to tell you that I saw a man coming out of the gate, just as I turned up into Maple Grove. I - I don't know whether that's any use to you?"

  "Can you describe him, Mrs. North?"

  "No, except that he was rather stout and short. You see, it was dusk, and I didn't see his face. He walked off towards Vale Avenue. Well, I found Mr. Fletcher in his study, as I said."

  "Was he alone?"

  "Oh yes!"

  "And then?"

  "Well - well, nothing, really. We had a - a talk, and then I said I mustn't be late, and - and just left."

  "Do you know what the time was then?"

  "Yes, it was a quarter to ten."

  "A quarter to ten?" he repeated, raising his head from his notebook.

  "Yes. There was a clock on the mantelpiece, and I happened to notice the time."

  "Then you were only with Mr. Fletcher for ten minutes?"

  "I suppose so. Yes, it must have been about that."

  "A very short call, Mrs. North, was it not?"

  "I don't see why - What do you mean?"

  "Merely that it strikes me as odd that having, as you yourself state, gone to see Mr. Fletcher because you were bored, you stayed so short a time with him. Did anything happen to make you anxious to leave at once?"

  "No. No, of course not. Only I could see he was busy, and I didn't want to be a nuisance."

  He made a note in his book. "I see. So you left the study at 9.45. Did you return home by the way you had come?"

  "Yes. But not immediately. I heard the garden-gate open, and - and it occurred to me that it would look rather odd - my being there at that
hour. I didn't want anyone to see me, so I hid behind a bush."

  "Mr. Fletcher, then, did not accompany you to the gate?"

  "No," she faltered. "There was no reason why he should."

  "Oh!" said Hannasyde. "Very well, Mrs. North: you hid behind a bush. Did you see who it was that entered the garden?"

  "No, I didn't. I mean, in the dusk, and - and only being able to peer through the bush, I couldn't get a clear view. I only know it was a man. He looked quite ordinary, but he had a hat on, and I didn't see his face."

  "What sort of hat, Mrs. North?"

  "A Homburg, I think."

  "Light or dark?"

  She hesitated. "I think it was a light one."

  "Did you happen to notice whether he carried a walking-stick?"

  "No. No, I'm sure he didn't."

  "Did he go up to the house?"

  "Yes, he went into Mr. Fletcher's study."

  "Did you hear what happened then?"

  "No. As soon as it was safe to do so I went away, of course. I don't know anything more."

  Hannasyde shut his notebook, and, looking straight across at Helen, said bluntly: "Mrs. North, are you prepared to state that your visit to Mr. Fletcher was not in connection with these notes of yours?"

  "I don't understand. I've told you -'

  "I don't think you've told me the whole truth."

  "I don't know why you should say that, or what you may choose to suspect, but -'

  "I suspect that Mr. Fletcher was threatening to use these notes against you, Mrs. North."

  "That's absurd! I tell you he was a friend of mine!"

  "Yes, you have told me that, but I find it difficult to reconcile that statement with the presence of the IOUs in his safe. If his motives in obtaining possession of them were as chivalrous as you say they were, it would surely have been more natural for him either to have destroyed them, or to have given them back to you?"

  "Are you suggesting that he was trying to blackmail me? It isn't true! Good heavens, what could he possibly want to blackmail me for?"

  "Perhaps he wanted something from you which you were unwilling to give, Mrs. North."

  She flushed. "Oh - ! You've no right to say that! Besides, how could he blackmail me? It isn't a sin to get into debt!"