'Yes,' was the inspector's terse reply.
There was a definite reaction of excitement from the assembled company. Laura and Julian Farrar looked incredulous, and Starkwedder turned in his chair to face the inspector.
Miss Bennett's voice suddenly rang out sharply. 'You've arrested him, then?'
The inspector looked at her for a moment before replying. Then, 'That, I'm afraid, would be impossible. Miss Bennett,' he informed her.
'Impossible?' Mrs Warwick interjected. 'But why?' 'Because he's dead,' the inspector replied, quietly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A shocked silence greeted Inspector Thomas's announcement. Then, hesitantly and, it seemed, fearfully, Laura whispered, 'Wh– what did you say?'
'I said that this man MacGregor is dead,' the inspector affirmed.
There were gasps from everyone in the room, and the inspector expanded upon his terse announcement. 'John MacGregor,' he told them, 'died in Alaska over two years ago – not very long after he returned to Canada from England .'
'Dead!' Laura exclaimed, incredulously.
Unnoticed by anyone in the room, young Jan passed quickly along the terrace outside the french windows, and disappeared from view.
'That makes a difference, doesn't it?' the inspector continued. 'It wasn't John MacGregor who put that revenge note on the dead body of Mr Warwick. But it's clear, isn't it, that it was put there by someone who knew all about MacGregor and the accident in Norfolk . Which ties it in, very definitely, with someone in this house.'
'No,' Miss Bennett exclaimed sharply. 'No, it could have been – surely it could have been –' She broke off.
'Yes, Miss Bennett?' the inspector prompted her. He waited for a moment, but Miss Bennett could not continue. Suddenly looking completely broken, she moved away towards the french windows.
The inspector turned his attention to Richard Warwick's mother. 'You'll understand, madam,' he said, attempting to put a note of sympathy into his voice, 'that this alters things.'
'Yes, I see that,' Mrs Warwick replied. She rose. 'Do you need me any further, Inspector?' she asked.
'Not for the moment, Mrs Warwick,' the inspector told her.
'Thank you,' Mrs Warwick murmured as she went to the door, which Angell hastened to open for her. Julian Farrar helped the old lady to the door. As she left the room, he returned and stood behind the armchair, looking pensive. Meanwhile, Inspector Thomas had been opening his briefcase, and was now taking out a gun.
Angell was about to follow Mrs Warwick from the room when the inspector called, peremptorily, 'Angell!'
The valet gave a start, and turned back into the room, closing the door. 'Yes, sir?' he responded quietly.
The inspector approached him, carrying what was clearly the murder weapon. 'About this gun,' he asked the valet. 'You were uncertain this morning. Can you, or can you not, say definitely that it belonged to Mr Warwick?'
'I wouldn't like to be definite, Inspector,' Angell replied. 'He had so many, you see.'
'This one is a continental weapon,' the inspector informed him, holding the gun out in front of him. 'It's a war souvenir of some kind, I'd say.'
As he was speaking, again apparently unnoticed by anyone in the room Jan passed along the terrace outside, going in the opposite direction, and carrying a gun which he seemed to be attempting to conceal.
Angell looked at the weapon. 'Mr Warwick did have some foreign guns, sir,' he stated. 'But he looked after all his shooting equipment himself. He wouldn't let me touch them.'
The inspector went over to Julian Farrar. 'Major Farrar,' he said, 'you probably have war souvenirs. Does this weapon mean anything to you?'
Farrar glanced at the gun casually. 'Not a thing, I'm afraid,' he answered.
Turning away from him, the inspector went to replace the gun in his briefcase. 'Sergeant Cadwallader and I,' he announced, turning to face the assembled company, 'will want to go over Mr Warwick's collection of weapons very carefully. He had permits for most of them, I understand.'
'Oh yes, sir,' Angell assured him. 'The permits are in one of the drawers in his bedroom. And all the guns and other weapons are in the gun cupboard.'
Sergeant Cadwallader went to the door, but was stopped by Miss Bennett before he could leave the room. 'Wait a minute,' she called to him. 'You'll want the key of the gun cupboard.' She took a key from her pocket.
'You locked it up?' the inspector queried, turning sharply to her. 'Why was that?'
Miss Bennett's retort was equally sharp. 'I should hardly think you'd need to ask that,' she snapped. 'All those guns, and ammunition as well. Highly dangerous. Everyone knows that.'
Concealing a grin, the sergeant took the key she offered him, and went to the door, pausing in the doorway to see whether the inspector wished to accompany him. Sounding distinctly annoyed at Miss Bennett's uncalled-for comment, Inspector Thomas remarked, 'I shall need to talk to you again, Angell,' as he picked up his briefcase and left the room. The sergeant followed him, leaving the door open for Angell.
However, the valet did not leave the room immediately. Instead, after a nervous glance at Laura who now sat staring at the floor, he went up to Julian Farrar, and murmured, 'About that little matter, sir. I am anxious to get something settled soon. If you could see your way, sir –'
Speaking with difficulty, Farrar answered, 'I think – something – could be managed.'
'Thank you, sir,' Angell responded with a faint smile on his face. 'Thank you very much, sir.' He went to the door and was about to leave the room when Farrar stopped him with a peremptory 'No! Wait a moment, Angell.'
As the valet turned to face him, Farrar called loudly, 'Inspector Thomas!'
There was a tense pause. Then, after a moment or two, the inspector appeared in the doorway, with the sergeant behind him. "Yes, Major Farrar?' the inspector asked, quietly.
Resuming a pleasant, natural manner, Julian Farrar strolled across to the armchair. 'Before you get busy with routine, Inspector,' he remarked, 'there is something I ought to have told you. Really, I suppose, I should have mentioned it this morning. But we were all so upset. Mrs Warwick has just informed me that there are some fingerprints that you are anxious to identify. On the table here, I think you said.' He paused, then added, easily, 'In all probability. Inspector, those are my fingerprints.'
There was a pause. The inspector slowly approached Farrar, and then asked quietly, but with an accusing note in his voice, 'You were over here last night, Major Farrar?'
'Yes,' Farrar replied. 'I came over, as I often do after dinner, to have a chat with Richard.'
'And you found him – ?' the inspector prompted.
'I found him very moody and depressed. So I didn't stay long.'
'At about what time was this, Major Farrar?'
Farrar thought for a moment, and then replied, 'I really can't remember. Perhaps ten o'clock, or ten-thirty. Thereabouts.'
The inspector regarded him steadily. 'Can you get a little closer than that?' he asked.
'I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't,' was Farrar's immediate answer.
After a somewhat tense pause, the inspector asked, trying to sound casual, 'I don't suppose there would have been any quarrel – or bad words of any kind?'
'No, certainly not,' Farrar retorted indignantly. He looked at his watch. 'I'm late,' he observed. 'I've got to take the chair at a meeting in the Town Hall. I can't keep them waiting.' He turned and walked towards the french windows. 'So, if you don't mind – ' He paused on the terrace.
'Mustn't keep the Town Hall waiting,' the inspector agreed, following him. 'But I'm sure you'll understand, Major Farrar, that I should like a full statement from you of your movements last night. Perhaps we could do this tomorrow morning.' He paused, and then continued, 'You realize, of course, that there is no obligation on you to make a statement, that it is purely voluntary on your part – and that you are fully entitled to have your solicitor present, should you so wish.'
Mrs Warwick had re-en
tered the room. She stood in the doorway, leaving the door open, and listening to the inspector's last few words. Julian Farrar drew in his breath as he grasped the significance of what the inspector had said. 'I understand – perfectly,' he said. 'Shall we say ten o'clock tomorrow morning? And my solicitor will be present.'
Farrar made his exit along the terrace, and the inspector turned to Laura Warwick. 'Did you see Major Farrar when he came here last night?' he asked her.
'I – I – ' Laura began uncertainly, but was interrupted by Starkwedder who suddenly jumped up from his chair and went across to them, interposing himself between the inspector and Laura. 'I don't think Mrs Warwick feels like answering any questions just now,' he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Starkwedder and Inspector Thomas faced each other in silence for a moment. Then the inspector spoke. 'What did you say, Mr Starkwedder?' he asked, quietly.
'I said,' Starkwedder replied, 'that I don't think Mrs Warwick feels like any more questions just at the moment.'
'Indeed?' growled the inspector. 'And what business is it of yours, might I ask?'
Mrs Warwick senior joined in the confrontation. 'Mr Starkwedder is quite right,' she announced.
The inspector turned to Laura questioningly. After a pause, she murmured, 'No, I don't want to answer any more questions just now.'
Looking rather smug, Starkwedder smiled at the inspector who turned away angrily and swiftly left the room with the sergeant. Angell followed them, shutting the door behind him. As he did so, Laura burst out, 'But I should speak. I must – I must tell them-'
'Mr Starkwedder is quite right, Laura,' Mrs Warwick interjected forcefully. 'The less you say now, the better.' She took a few paces about the room, leaning heavily on her stick, and then continued. 'We must get in touch with Mr Adams at once.' Turning to Starkwedder, she explained, 'Mr Adams is our solicitor.' She glanced across at Miss Bennett. 'Ring him up now, Benny.'
Miss Bennett nodded and went towards the telephone, but Mrs Warwick stopped her. 'No, use the extension upstairs,' she instructed, adding, 'Laura, go with her.'
Laura rose, and then hesitated, looking confusedly at her mother-in-law, who merely added, 'I want to talk to Mr Starkwedder.'
'But –' Laura began, only to be immediately interrupted by Mrs Warwick. 'Now don't worry, my dear,' the old lady assured her. 'Just do as I say.'
Laura hesitated for a moment, then went out into the hall, followed by Miss Bennett who closed the door. Mrs Warwick immediately went up to Starkwedder. 'I don't know how much time we have,' she said, speaking rapidly and glancing towards the door. 'I want you to help me.'
Starkwedder looked surprised. 'How?' he asked.
After a pause, Mrs Warwick spoke again. 'You're an intelligent man – and you're a stranger. You've come into our lives from outside. We know nothing about you. You've nothing to do with any of us.'
Starkwedder nodded. 'The unexpected guest, eh?' he murmured. He perched on an arm of the sofa. 'That's been said to me already,' he remarked.
'Because you're a stranger,' Mrs Warwick continued, 'there is something I'm going to ask you to do for me.' She moved across to the french windows and stepped out onto the terrace, looking along it in both directions.
After a pause, Starkwedder spoke. 'Yes, Mrs Warwick ?'
Coming back into the room, Mrs Warwick began to speak with some urgency. 'Up until this evening,' she told him, 'there was a reasonable explanation for this tragedy. A man whom my son had injured – by accidentally killing his child – came to take his revenge. I know it sounds melodramatic, but, after all, one does read of such things happening.'
'As you say,' Starkwedder remarked, wondering where this conversation was leading.
'But now, I'm afraid that explanation has gone,' Mrs Warwick continued. 'And it brings the murder of my son back into the family.' She took a few steps towards the armchair. 'Now, there are two people who definitely could not have shot my son. And they are his wife and Miss Bennett. They were actually together when the shot was fired.'
Starkwedder gave a quick look at her, but all he said was, 'Quite.'
'However,' Mrs Warwick continued, 'although Laura could not have shot her husband, she could have known who did.'
'That would make her an accessory before the fact,' Starkwedder remarked. 'She and this Julian Farrar chap in it together? Is that what you mean?'
A look of annoyance crossed Mrs Warwick's face. 'That is not what I mean,' she told him. She cast another quick glance at the door, and then continued, 'Julian Farrar did not shoot my son.'
Starkwedder rose from the arm of the sofa. 'How can you possibly know that?' he asked her.
'I do know it,' was Mrs Warwick's reply. She looked steadily at him. 'I am going to tell you, a stranger, something that none of my family know,' she stated calmly. 'It is this. I am a woman who has not very long to live.'
'I am sorry –' Starkwedder began, but Mrs Warwick raised her hand to stop him. 'I am not telling you this for sympathy,' she remarked. 'I am telling you in order to explain what otherwise might be difficult of explanation. There are times when you decide on a course of action which you would not decide upon if you had several years of life before you.'
'Such as?' asked Starkwedder quietly.
Mrs Warwick regarded him steadily. 'First, I must tell you something else, Mr Starkwedder,' she said. 'I must tell you something about my son.' She went to the sofa and sat. 'I loved my son very dearly. As a child, and in his young manhood, he had many fine qualities. He was successful, resourceful, brave, sunny-tempered, a delightful companion.' She paused, and seemed to be remembering. Then she continued. 'There were, I must admit, always the defects of those qualities in him. He was impatient of controls, of restraints. He had a cruel streak in him, and he had a kind of fatal arrogance. So long as he was successful, all was well. But he did not have the kind of nature that could deal with adversity, and for some time now I have watched him slowly go downhill.'
Starkwedder quietly seated himself on the stool, facing her.
'If I say that he had become a monster,' Richard Warwick's mother continued, 'it would sound exaggerated. And yet, in some ways he was a monster – a monster of egoism, of pride, of cruelty. Because he had been hurt himself, he had an enormous desire to hurt others.' A hard note crept into her voice. 'So others began to suffer because of him. Do you understand me?'
'I think so – yes,' Starkwedder murmured softly.
Mrs Warwick's voice became gentle again as she went on. 'Now, I am very fond of my daughter-in-law. She has spirit, she is warm-hearted, and she has a very brave power of endurance. Richard swept her off her feet, but I don't know whether she was ever really in love with him. However, I will tell you this – she did everything a wife could do to make Richard's illness and inaction bearable.'
She thought for a moment, and her voice was sad as she continued, 'But he would have none of her help. He rejected it. I think at times he hated her, and perhaps that's more natural than one might suppose. So, when I tell you that the inevitable happened, I think you will understand what I mean. Laura fell in love with another man, and he with her.'
Starkwedder regarded Mrs Warwick thoughtfully. 'Why are you telling me all this?' he asked.
'Because you are a stranger,' she replied, firmly. 'These loves and hates and tribulations mean nothing to you, so you can hear about them unmoved.'
'Possibly.'
As though she had not heard him, Mrs Warwick went on speaking. 'So there came a time,' she said, 'when it seemed that only one thing would solve all the difficulties. Richard's death.'
Starkwedder continued to study her face. 'And so,' he murmured, 'conveniently, Richard died?'
'Yes,' Mrs Warwick answered.
There was a pause. Then Starkwedder rose, moved around the stool, and went to the table to stub out his cigarette. 'Excuse me putting this bluntly, Mrs Warwick,' he said, 'but are you confessing to murder?'
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
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p; Mrs Warwick was silent for a few moments. Then she said sharply, 'I will ask you a question, Mr Starkwedder. Can you understand that someone who has given life might also feel themselves entitled to take that life?'
Starkwedder paced around the room as he thought about this. Finally, 'Mothers have been known to kill their children, yes,' he admitted. 'But it's usually been for a sordid reason – insurance – or perhaps they have two or three children already and don't want to be bothered with another one.' Turning back suddenly to face her, he asked quickly, 'Does Richard's death benefit you financially?'
'No, it does not,' Mrs Warwick replied firmly.
Starkwedder made a deprecatory gesture. 'You must forgive my frankness –' he began, only to be interrupted by Mrs Warwick, who asked with more than a touch of asperity in her voice, 'Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?'
'Yes, I think I do,' he replied. 'You're telling me that it's possible for a mother to kill her son.' He walked over to the sofa and leaned across it as he continued. 'And you're telling me – specifically – that it's possible that you killed your son.' He paused, and looked at her steadily. 'Is that a theory,' he asked, 'or am I to understand it as a fact?'
'I am not confessing to anything,' Mrs Warwick answered. 'I am merely putting before you a certain point of view. An emergency might arise at a time when I was no longer here to deal with it. And in the event of such a thing happenings I want you to have this, and to make use of it.' She took an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him.
Starkwedder took the envelope, but remarked, 'That's all very well. However, I shan't be here. I'm going back to Abadan to carry on with my job.'
Mrs Warwick made a gesture of dismissal, clearly regarding the objection as insignificant. 'You won't be out of touch with civilization,' she reminded him. 'There are newspapers, radio and so on in Abadan , presumably.'
'Oh yes,' he agreed. 'We have all the civilized blessings.'
'Then please keep that envelope. You see whom it's addressed to?'
The Unexpected Guest Page 9
