A Blunt Instrument ih-4

by Джорджетт Хейер

  "Once a novelist always a novelist!" said Helen, with a little laugh.

  "Too true! And that being so, I think I'll wander round to take a look at the scene of the crime after lunch."

  "You can't possibly do that!"

  "What's to stop me?"

  "It isn't decent!"

  "Decent be blowed! I shall go and rout that poor worm Neville out. He's another person who conceivably knows more than he chooses to admit. I hope the police aren't underrating him; immense potentialities in Neville."

  "Potentialities for what?"

  "You have me there, sister," replied Sally. "I'm damned if I know, but I'm going to have a shot at finding out."

  Luncheon was announced a moment later, and the subject of Ernest Fletcher's death was abandoned. Throughout the meal, Helen said little, and ate less. Miss Drew maintained a cheerful flow of small talk, and North, having eaten a hurried meal, left the table early, informing his wife that he would be back to dinner.

  After the ladies had finished their coffee, Sally gave it as her considered opinion that Helen would be the better for a rest. Somewhat to her surprise Helen fell in with this suggestion, and allowed herself to be escorted upstairs. When Sally lowered the window-blinds she said: "You aren't really going round to Greystones, are you?"

  "Yes, I am. Taking a message of condolence from you to poor old Miss Fletcher. I shall say you are writing to her, of course."

  A faint voice from amongst the banked-up pillows said: "Oh! I ought to have done that!"

  Time enough when you've had a nap," said Sally, and withdrew.

  Half-an-hour later, when she presented herself at the front door at Greystones, it was to be met by the intelligence that Miss Fletcher, like Helen, was resting. She was spared the necessity of inquiring for Neville by that willowy young gentleman's strolling out of the drawing-room into the hall, and inviting her to enter and solace his boredom.

  Simmons made it plain by his cough and general air of pious gloom that he considered the invitation unseasonable, but as neither Sally nor Neville paid the slightest heed to him, there was nothing for him to do but to retire to his own domain, on the far side of a baize door leading out of the hall, and draw, for his wife's edification, an unpleasing picture of the fate awaiting the hard-hearted and the irreligious.

  Meanwhile, Neville had escorted his visitor into the drawing-room. "Come to see the sights, darling?" he inquired. "You're too late to see the dragging of the lilypool."

  "Ah!" she said. "So they're after the weapon, are they?"

  "Yes, but there's no pleasing them. I offered them Aunt Lucy's Indian clubs, a mallet, and the bronze paper-weight on Ernie's desk, but they didn't seem to like any of them."

  "So there was a bronze paper-weight on his desk, was there? H'm!"

  "Well, no," said Neville softly, "there wasn't. I put it there."

  "What on earth for?"

  "Oh, just to occupy their minds!" said Neville, seraphically smiling.

  "It'll serve you right if you get pinched for the murder," Sally told him.

  "Yes, but I shan't. I was right about Honest John, wasn't I?"

  "Yes. How did you know he was back?"

  "News does get about so, doesn't it?"

  "Rot!"

  "All right, precious. I saw him drive past the house on the way to the station. Flying the country?"

  "Not he. John's not that sort. Besides, why should he?"

  Neville regarded her with sleepy shrewdness. "Do not bother to put on the frills with me, sweet maid. It is worrying for you, isn't it?"

  "Not in the least. My interest in the murder is purely academic. Why do they think the instrument is still on the premises? Because of what Helen said?"

  "They don't confide in me as much as you'd think they would," replied Neville. "What did Helen say?"

  "Oh, that she was sure the man she saw wasn't carrying anything!"

  "Bless her little heart, did she? Isn't she fertile? First, she didn't see the man at all; now she knows he wasn't carrying anything. Give her time and she'll remember that he had bandy legs and a squint."

  "You poisonous reptile, just because it wasn't light enough for her to recognise the man -'

  "Oh, do you think it wasn't?" asked Neville. "You've a kind heart, and no Norman blood."

  "Oh! So you think she did recognise the man, and that it was John, do you?"

  "Yes, but I have a low mind," he explained.

  "You've taken the words out of my mouth."

  "I know."

  "Well, I've got the same kind of low mind, and the thought that crosses it is that you're probably the heir to Ernie's money. Correct?"

  "Yes, rather," said Neville cordially. "I'm practically a plutocrat."

  "Yes?" said Sally. "Then it'll be a nice change for you, Mr. Neville Fletcher, after having been up to your eyes in debt!"

  Chapter Five

  This suggestion, hurled at his head like a challenge, was received by Neville with unruffled placidity. He appeared to consider the matter dispassionately, remarking at length: "Well, I don't know that I altogether agree with you."

  "What?" said Sally scornfully. "You don't agree that a fortune is better than debt?"

  "Depends what you're accustomed to," said Neville.

  "Don't be a fool! You don't imagine I'm going to swallow that, do you?"

  "No."

  "Then what on earth's the use of saying it?"

  "I mean I haven't speculated on the processes of your mind," explained Neville. "Unprofitable occupation, quite without point."

  "Look here, Neville, are you sticking to it that you've no objection to being snowed under by debts?" demanded Sally.

  "Yes, why not?"

  "It doesn't add up, that's why not. There's nothing more uncomfortable than not having any money, and being dunned by tradesmen. Receiving To Account Rendered by every post, with a veiled threat attached, and totting up the ghastly totals -'

  "Oh, but I don't do anything like that!" Neville assured her. "I never open bills."

  "Then you get County Courted."

  "You soon get used to that. Besides, Ernie hated it, so he got into the way of paying my outstanding debts. Really, the whole thing worked out very well. Now I've got his money I shall never have a moment's peace. People will badger me."

  "Well, you can employ a secretary."

  "I shouldn't like that at all. I should have to have a house to put him in, and servants to run it, and before I knew what had happened I should find myself shackled by respectability."

  This point of view struck Sally quite forcibly. "I must say, I hadn't looked at it like that," she admitted. "It does sound rather lousy. What do you want to do?"

  "Nothing, at the moment. But I may easily want to wander off to Bulgaria next week. It's a place I hardly know."

  "You'll still be able to, won't you?"

  "First class ticket to Sofia, and a suite at the best hotel? Not if I know it!"

  Sally was so much interested that she was beguiled into pursuing the subject of foreign travel. Neville's disjointed yet picturesque account of incredible adventures encountered during the course of aimless and impecunious wanderings held her entranced, and drew from her at length a rather wistful exclamation of: "Golly, what fun you must have had! I wish I were a man. Why haven't you written a book about all this?"

  "That," said Neville incorrigibly, "would have invested my travels with a purpose, and spoilt them for me."

  "You're definitely sub-human," said Sally. She eyed him curiously. "Does anything ever worry you?"

  "Yes. Problem of how to escape worry."

  She grinned, but said: "I hate paradox. Does this little situation worry you?"

  "What, Ernie's murder? No, why should it?"

  "Does it strike you that you've got a pretty good motive for having killed Ernie?"

  "Naturally not."

  "The police will think so."

  "Too busy chasing after the unknown man seen by Helen and Malachi.
"

  "Who?"

  "Haven't you met Malachi?" said Neville, roused to sudden interest. "Oh, I must introduce you at once! Come on!"

  "Yes, but who is he?" demanded Sally.

  He took her wrist and led her out into the garden through the long window. "He's the bobby who discovered the crime."

  "Good Lord, did he see Helen's man too? That wasn't in the paper John brought home!"

  "Oh, here we live at the hub of the crime!" said Neville. Just a moment," interposed Sally, pulling her hand away. "I want to take a look at the general lay-out. Anyone mounting guard over the study?"

  "Not now. Nothing to be seen."

  "I might get an idea," Sally said darkly.

  "Morbid mind, professional interest, or family feeling?" She ignored the implication of this last alternative.

  "Professional interest."

  They had rounded the corner of the house, and come in sight of the path leading to a gate set in the fence separating the garden from Maple Grove. A thick bed of shrubs concealed the fence from view, and was being subjected to a rigorous search by two hot and rather dishevelled policemen. Sally cast them a cursory glance, and transferred her attention to the house. "Which is Helen's bush?"

  He pointed it out to her, and she went to it, inspected the footprints, and would have concealed herself behind it had it not been for the prompt action of PC Glass, who, having observed her arrival with some disapproval, now abandoned his search in the shrubbery to admonish her.

  "It's all right," said Sally. "I'm not going to obliterate the prints, or anything like that. I only want to get an idea of what anyone hidden here, in the dark, could actually see. I'm interested in crime."

  "Remove thy foot from evil," recommended Glass severely. "These things are in the hands of the police."

  "Don't you bother your head about me: I've made a study of murder. I may be able to help," said Sally.

  "Like me," murmured Neville. "I tried to help, but no one was grateful."

  A cold eye was bent upon him. "Bread of deceit is sweet to a man," said Glass. "But afterwards," he added forebodingly, "his mouth shall be filled with gravel."

  Sally, having by this time satisfied herself that very little could be seen from behind the currant bush, emerged. "Is that out of the Bible?" she inquired. "Nearly all the best things are, except those that come out of Shakespeare. Can I go into the study, Neville?"

  "Do!" he said cordially.

  "What is your business here?" demanded Glass. "Why do you desire to enter that room?"

  "I'm a novelist," explained Sally. "Crime stories."

  "You were better at home," he said sombrely, but made no further attempt to stop her.

  Followed by Neville, who had produced a Bible from his pocket, and was swiftly flicking the pages over, Sally entered the study, and stood just inside the window, looking round. Neville sat down on the edge of the desk, absorbed in his search through the Proverbs.

  "Where was he found?" Sally said abruptly.

  Neville jerked his head in the direction of the chair behind the desk.

  "Facing the window?"

  "Yes. Don't bother me!"

  "Actually seated in his chair?"

  "Mm. I've got a goodish bit here about the lips of the strange woman, but that's not the one I want."

  "And the murderer is supposed to have entered by way of the window, which Ernie was directly facing?"

  "Flattery is the tongue of the strange woman… no, that's not it."

  "Oh, do take your head out of that! Don't you see that if the murderer entered by way of the window Ernie must have been entirely unsuspicious? He apparently didn't even get up from his chair!"

  "Got it!" said Neville triumphantly. "She is loud and stubborn; her feet abide not in her house. That's you. I'm going to tell Glass." He slid off the edge of the table, and departed in search of the policeman.

  Left alone, Sally sat down in an armchair, dropped her chin in her cupped hands, and frowned upon her surroundings. Neville soon reappeared, saying: "He reproved me. Seemed to know the context."

  "What was that?" asked Sally absently.

  "Not polite. Only two kinds of women in the OT. This was the other kind. Solved the whole mystery?"

  "No, but as I see it one fact stands out a mile. It wasn't John."

  "All right; have it your own way."

  "Yes, but don't you see?" she insisted. "Ernie wasn't expecting to be murdered. If John had walked in, wouldn't he - No, I suppose it doesn't absolutely follow. One doesn't expect even jealous husbands to murder one."

  "Oh, is John jealous?" said Neville. "I thought he was quite complaisant."

  "That's what a great many people think, but -' She stopped. "Forget it!"

  "Crediting me with an earnest desire to incriminate Honest John?" inquired Neville. "Non-existent, believe me."

  "Nevertheless I should probably be wise not to say too much to you," said Sally bluntly.

  "That's all right with me too," he assured her. "As a subject for conversation, I find that Ernie's murder palls on one."

  She looked at him. "You're a cold-blooded fish, Neville. I didn't like Ernie, but gosh, I'm sorry for him!"

  "What a waste of emotion!" he remarked. "What's the use of being sorry for a dead man?"

  "There's something in that," she admitted. "But it's hardly decent to say so. Oh, damn it all, this is a rotten mess! Why the dickens couldn't you have got hold of those IOUs before it all happened?"

  "Oh, have they been found?" said Neville.

  "Of course they have!"

  John pleased?"

  "He doesn't know anything about them. Helen won't tell him."

  He blinked. "Let me get this straight, just in case of accidents. What is Helen's story?"

  "That she went round to see Ernie on some trivial matter. Yes, I know it's insane, but she probably knows her own business best. John wasn't particularly encouraging, and as he's apparently rabid on the subject of gambling and debts, I daresay she's right not to tell him. If you run into John, you'd better know nothing about it."

  "You go home and tell Helen about the bread of deceit," said Neville. "I don't think she's being very clever."

  "No, poor darling, but she's all in. I've left her on her bed, and I hope she'll be feeling a bit better by the time I get back - more able to cope. I don't think she slept much last night."

  "Well, let's hope she doesn't do anything silly," said Neville. "She probably will, but with any luck she'll merely confuse the issue."

  "She happens to be my sister," said Sally frigidly.

  "Yes, it's the best thing I know of her," agreed Neville. Sally, taken by surprise, showed signs of being over come.

  "And the worst thing I know of you," added Neville dulcetly.

  Sally cast him a withering look, and left the study to exercise her charm on the younger of the two policemen still searching the shrubbery.

  Helen, meanwhile, was not, as her sister had supposed, upon her bed, but closeted with Superintendent Hannasyde at the police station.

  Upon Sally's leaving the house, she had lain for some few minutes, thinking. After glancing once or twice at the telephone she had at last sat up in bed, with the sudden energy of one who has come to a difficult decision, and lifted the receiver off its rest. "I want to be put through to the police station," she told the operator calmly.

  She was connected almost immediately, and asked for Superintendent Hannasyde. The voice at the other end of the wire desired her, somewhat suspiciously, to divulge her identity. She hesitated, and then said: "I am Mrs. John North. If Superintendent Hannasyde -'

  "Old on a minute!" said the voice.

  She waited. Presently a fresh voice addressed her, and she recognised the Superintendent's even tones.

  She hurried into speech. "Superintendent, this is Mrs. North speaking. I wonder if I could see you? There's something I wish to tell you."

  "Certainly," he replied. "I'll come up to your house."

  S
he glanced at her watch. "No, don't do that. I have to go into town and I can quite easily call in at the police station, if that would be convenient to you?"

  "Quite convenient," he said.

  "Thank you. I'll be there in about twenty minutes, then. Goodbye!"

  She laid the receiver down and, flinging back the eiderdown, slid off the bed on to the floor. She pulled up the blinds which Sally had so thoughtfully lowered, and in the relentless glare of sunlight sat down at her dressing-table, and studied her face in the mirror. It was pale, with shadowed eyes. "Heavens! What a guilty looking sight!" she said under her breath, and with quick, nervous hands, pulled open a drawer and exposed an array of face-creams, lotions, and cosmetics.

  Ten minutes later she was pulling on her gloves, her eyes resting critically on her own reflection. Her makeup had been delicately achieved; the face that confronted her from under the brim of a shady hat was faintly tinged with colour, the corn-coloured curls neatly arranged in a cluster in her neck, the eyebrows lightly pencilled, the lovely mouth a glow of red.

  On her way down the stairs she encountered her maid, who exclaimed at her, bemoaning the fact that Madam was not resting after all.

  "No, I've got to go out," Helen answered. "If Miss Drew should get back before me, tell her I've gone into the town, will you, but shall be back for tea."

  She drove herself to the police station, and was taken at once to the somewhat comfortless office where Hannasyde was going through a pile of documents.

  He got up as she came in, and favoured her with a rather keen look. "Good-afternoon, Mrs. North. Will you sit down?"

  She took a chair on the side of the desk opposite to him. "Thank you. Do you know, the only time I've ever been to a police station before was about a dog I once lost?"

  "Indeed?" he said. "What is it you wish to say to me, Mrs. North?"

  She raised her eyes to his face. "I want to tell you something which I ought to have told you this morning," she said frankly.

  "Yes?"

  His voice betrayed nothing but a kind of polite interest. She found it a little disconcerting, and stumbled over her next words. "It was silly of me, but you know how it is when one is suddenly confronted - or no, perhaps you don't. It's always you who - who asks the questions, isn't it?"