Why Shoot a Butler

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Amberley struck a match and watched the flame creep up the stick. At the last moment he lit the cigarette and flicked the match into the empty fireplace. "I'm taking a lot of interest in it," he said. "And I don't want to waste my time pointing out obvious facts to Inspector Fraser."

  "My dear sir, I can assure you…'

  "On the other hand," continued Amberley thoughtfully, "if I don't do something about it he's almost certain to queer the whole pitch."

  The colonel pricked up his ears. "That sounds as though you're on the track of something," he said. "Does it?"

  "Come, come, Amberley, you must be open with me!"

  "When I've got something definite to tell you, you shall have it," said Amberley. "At the moment I haven't. Meanwhile I suppose I'd better know what line the police are taking."

  "It's hard to know which line to take," said the colonel, frowning worriedly. "There is no data, you see. Nothing to go on."

  Up went Mr. Amberley's black brows, but he said nothing.

  "We have a man shot on a deserted road. No sign of struggle. No apparent motive, unless it be robbery. The locality seems to rule out the bandit theory, though one can't, of course, entirely set that aside."

  "Do you think you could try?" asked Amberley wearily. "I've no objection to Fraser looking about for a likely bandit; it ought to occupy his time very nicely. But I'm getting a little tired of hearing that singularly foolish theory. Dawson was not murdered by road-bandits."

  "That is my own belief," said the colonel, keeping his end up. "The locality alone…'

  "Yes, I've grasped that, Colonel. What you don't appear to have grasped is the considerable amount of data at your disposal."

  "I think I have all the facts," said the colonel stiffly.

  "I know you have," said Mr. Amberley. "I gave 'em to you in my original statement. They were refreshingly significant."

  "As for instance - ?"

  Mr. Amberley sat down on the edge of the table in the window. "I'll recapitulate, Colonel. By the way, it was a premeditated murder, you know."

  The colonel jumped.

  "I know nothing of the sort, I can assure you. I admit the possibility, but I should require very conclusive proof before I made such a positive statement."

  Just so," said Mr. Amberley. "You would be very wise. And now I'll give you the proof. You have the corpse of a murdered man discovered in a car on a lonely road. First significant fact."

  "The lonely road? I understand that you did not think that significant."

  "On the contrary, highly significant. You, Colonel, treat it as a merely negative link in the chain. The second significant fact is the position of the car."

  The colonel repeated rather blankly: "Of the car?… Well?"

  "Certainly of the car. It was drawn up at the side of the road, with the engine switched off and only the side lamps burning. Why?"

  The colonel made an airy gesture. "There might be several reasons. If the man was held up…'

  "He would not have drawn right into the side. The car was definitely parked."

  "Well, then, say he had engine trouble."

  "Which he thought to overcome by an act of faith, presumably."

  "I don't follow you."

  "He made no attempt to get out of the car. It was a damp night, the road was muddy. The man's shoes were perfectly dry."

  "True." The colonel nodded and fingered his moustache. "Then we're left - in default of other evidence - with the theory that he went to meet someone. But surely an odd place and an odd hour to choose?"

  "It depends which way you look at it," said Amberley. "If he had any reason to wish to keep that meeting secret, not such an odd place or hour."

  "Yes. Yes, there is something in that," admitted the colonel. "But we must not lose sight of the fact that the man was in no sense a suspicious character. He had been at the manor for many years, he was well known in the district; a decent, quiet servant, with no entanglements, not even a flirtation to his record. And this furtive assignation, you know, undoubtedly points to a woman in the case."

  "I should not say "undoubtedly"," Mr. Amberley said. "Perhaps not. No, perhaps not. But go on, my dear fellow. Your third fact?"

  "My third fact — also significant - is that Dawson was taken quite unawares and was shot before he knew that he was in any danger."

  "Yes, I can see your reasoning. You are going on his position at the time of the murder. You assume that the person or persons whom he had gone to meet were lying in wait for him?"

  "As a matter of fact, I don't. If the person he was going to meet had any reason for wishing him dead it is unlikely that Dawson would not have known it. In which case he would have been on his guard. Which he was not. Taking into consideration the hour, the place and the manner of the murder, I suggest that someone who had a very good reason for not wishing the assignation to take place discovered that it had been made and followed Dawson to the spot, and there shot him."

  "How?" demanded the colonel. "You forget the man was in a car. He must have heard another car had there been one."

  "I should imagine that he not only heard it, but also saw it," said Amberley. "Though I incline to the belief that the murderer was on a motor bicycle."

  "Oh, you do, do you? And why?"

  "Merely because if you are right in assuming that he lay in wait for Dawson a motor bicycle could have been hidden in the hedge, or possibly run into the field behind. There was a gate. But you may have your car if you like. The main point is that the murderer shot Dawson either from a place of concealment (which probably means that the actual place of meeting was known to him), or from some vehicle driven towards Dawson's car."

  The colonel thought it over. "Yes. Quite possible, but not conclusive, Amberley. Not conclusive, you know. Say that I concede it for the purposes of discussion. With whom was the assignation made?"

  "I suggest, Colonel, that you depute my friend Fraser to find that out. He won't succeed, of course, but it will keep him occupied for a bit."

  "Really, really, Amberley!" expostulated the colonel half-heartedly. "If you haven't any theories to fit that, then tell me what you suppose the motive to be that prompted the murderer to stop the meeting at all costs? Or can't you advance an opinion on that either?"

  "Oh, I can tell you that," replied Amberley. The motive was robbery, of course."

  "Robbery? My dear fellow, what are you talking about? A moment ago you refused to listen to that theory!"

  "Oh, no, I didn't," said Amberley calmly. "I only begged you to rid your mind of the bandit notion. I see you haven't succeeded. I wish you'd try. It's beginning to bore me."

  The colonel bit back something he wanted very much to say. "Perhaps you will consider this little point: If, as you assert, the murder was deliberately planned, I take it we may assume that the assassin knew Dawson and was aware, in point of fact, of his station in life and of his probable resources? Very well. Will you have the goodness to inform me what the unknown assassin can have supposed Dawson to be carrying that was of sufficient value to induce him to commit a murder?"

  Amberley regarded him in some amusement. "What a lot you think I know!" he remarked. "When you have discovered the answer to that riddle you will in all probability have discovered your murderer. I advise you to consider carefully two points. One, the fact that the dead man's pockets had been rifled, that there was neither notecase nor pocketbook found on him, but that in one trouser pocket was loose silver amounting to fifteen shillings, and a gold watch and chain in his waistcoat. Two, that during the past couple of years Dawson had been receiving money over and above the salary Fountain paid him. Which reminds me that I should like to know a little more about those various accounts of his."

  "The inspector is making inquiries. It goes without saying that we fastened on to that at once. I'm to understand that in your opinion it was not money that the murderer wanted?"

  "No, it was not money, Colonel."

  The colonel rose reluctantly. "Well,
it's all very interesting, but there isn't much to go on," he complained. "I seem to be just where I was. Haven't you any practical suggestion to make?"

  "Not at present," said Mr. Amberley. "There is one thing I want investigated - but I think I'll do it myself. I'll let you know the result."

  "Well, I shall rely on hearing from you as soon as possible," said the colonel. "In the meantime you must understand that we shall pursue investigations as we think best."

  "Do," said Mr. Amberley cordially. "Carry on as you're doing now; you won't do any harm."

  The colonel shook hands with Sir Humphrey and said over his shoulder with some hauteur: "We hope to do considerable good."

  "Well, that's possible too," said Mr. Amberley. He held out his hand. "Goodbye. And I shouldn't worry, Colonel. Quite simple really, you know."

  Sir Humphrey saw his guest off the premises and returned to the drawing room. "Frank, it is apparent to anyone who knows you that you are in possession of facts which you did not see fit to divulge to our friend Watson," he said severely.

  "Lots of'em," agreed Frank.

  "Do you know," said Sir Humphrey, "that it is the duty of every honest citizen…'

  Amberley held up his hand. "I do, sir. But I've been asked to solve this little problem."

  "I should not have thought," said his uncle, "that putting the police in full possession of all the facts - and, I may add, of whatever suspicions you may be nourishing - was incompatible with solving the mystery."

  "No?" said Frank. "Well, perhaps you haven't worked with Messrs Watson, Fraser and Company. I think you'd better leave it to me, Uncle."

  "I have every intention of so doing," replied Sir Humphrey with dignity. "I have not the slightest desire to meddle in these very distasteful affairs."

  Chapter Six

  Felicity was left in undisputed possession of the hammock all the afternoon. Amberley had succeeded so well in shaking off the sloth she had condemned that he left for London in his Bentley immediately the chief constable had gone. Lady Matthews was distressed and murmured: "Beignets de sole," but not even this gastronomic bait could induce her nephew to postpone his trip until after lunch. Lunch at Greythorne was apt to be a prolonged affair, and even in a fast car the journey to town took over an hour.

  He reached London before two o'clock and drove at once to his flat in the Temple. His man, Peterson, was in charge there and displayed no surprise at seeing him. He remained for half an hour and among other things found time to eat a hastily prepared lunch. He then drove to the Times office, where he spent a tedious but ultimately satisfactory hour with a stack of back numbers. His researches carried him several years into the past, and he somewhat savagely cursed the inaccuracy of females on the all-important subject of dates. But he ultimately discovered the information he sought and left the Times office for a general post office. There he wrote out a long cable in code and dispatched it. His last objective was a firm of private inquiry agents. His business there did not take him long, and by half-past four the Bentley was heading south, down the Kingston By-Pass.

  Amberley followed Felicity's short cut to Greythorne, this time successfully, and reached the house just after half-past five.

  He found his cousin and Anthony Corkran having a late tea in the library and learned that Corkran had driven over in the early afternoon to get him to play golf. Not finding him he had persuaded Felicity to play instead. They had just returned from the links.

  Felicity rang for a third cup and saucer, and poured out tea for Amberley. It appeared that Joan was suffering from a severe headache and had gone to bed immediately after lunch, leaving her swain disconsolate.

  Amberley was politely sympathetic. Corkran said gloomily: "Mind you, I don't blame her. Brother Basil has to be seen to be believed today. He's spent a jolly morning finding fault with everything that's been done for the past six months. Oh, he's in a sweet mood, I can assure you."

  "Why?" said Amberley.

  Corkran held his cup out for some more tea. "Somebody's handed him a dollop of bad news. Up till then, everything was going fine. All full of bonhomie and good cheer. He even ate a couple of fried eggs for breakfast, which personally I found a pretty grim sight after champagne at four in the morning."

  "Who brought this bad news?"

  "A man with one eye and a wooden leg," said Corkran promptly. "He bore the appearance ofa seafaring man and - hold on a minute - yes, there was something vaguely sinister about him. We - we heard the thud of his wooden stump as it drew nearer across the hall."

  A book hurtled towards him and was neatly fielded. "Rank bad shot," he commented, and put it down.

  "Shut up, don't rag!" said Felicity. "That's one of the library books. Go on, Tony, who did bring the news?"

  "I see that you've guessed it," Corkran said. "What I said about the sailor - no, sorry! seafaring man was untrue. It was really brought by a man who gave two resounding knocks upon the door and delivered it up in absolute silence. He did not wait, but went off as silently as he had come…'

  "You get a very late first post," remarked Amberley. "I hate to interrupt this enthralling recital, but do you happen to know what the news was?"

  "Oh, listen to this, everybody!" said Corkran. "The great detective scents a clue! Do not miss tomorrow's fine instalment. No, Mr. Holmes, I do not. But upon my return to the ancestral home I will lure Brother Basil away by a cunning ruse and burst open the safe. If he's got one. If not I'll just go through all the correspondence in his desk and trust to luck. Among the most soughtafter guests for this season's house parties is Mr. Anthony Corkran, whose ready tact and savoir-faire make him so universally popular."

  "You are an ass," said Felicity. "I'm sorry it's upset Joan, though. Perhaps Basil's lost a lot of money on the stock exchange."

  "No. Wrong. That I do know."

  Amberley was looking at him. "What else do you know, Corks? Mind divulging it?"

  Anthony looked doubtful. "Well — not strictly the clean potato, is it? What I mean is - guest in the man's house, you know. The Public-School Spirit, and Playing for the Side, and all that wash. That's how Brother Basil talks, by the way. He does really."

  "How do you know it was bad news at all?" asked Felicity.

  "Well, when a chap opens a letter, reads it and turns a sort of pea-green, and sits staring at the fatal document like one struck with the palsy, the astute spectator at once divines the cause. Besides, I asked him."

  "Did he say it was?"

  Anthony thought for a moment. "Yes, and no. When he got green about the gills, I said I hoped he hadn't had bad news. I don't mind telling you that he looked pretty tucked up. Well, he gave a sort of start and folded up the letter, and said in a forced kind of way that it wasn't exactly bad, but rather disturbing. It certainly disturbed him all right. And the funny thing, is…' He stopped, and a frown descended upon his cherubic countenance. He looked at Amberley, evidently considering something, and said abruptly: "Look here, I will tell you. I really don't much mind about the esprit de corps muck. He may be my blinking host, but the way he treats Joan gets me bang in the gizzard. The letter that shocked him so came from a private detective agency. I happen to know, because he sat with it in his hand, staring at it, and when I looked up, the heading across the top of the sheet caught my eye."

  "I see," said Amberley slowly. "And it upset him. H'm!" "Don't tell us what you've thought of, will you?" said Felicity scathingly.

  "No, my sweet, I won't."

  "Well, you may think it helps towards solving the mystery," said Anthony, "but as far as I can see it merely adds to it. The thing is getting like pea-soup. If you're trying to implicate Brother Basil I admit it's a kindly thought, but it won't work. I should simply have to come forward and say he was in my company at the time the murder was committed."

  "As a matter of fact," said Amberley, "I wasn't thinking of the murder."

  Next morning he learned that Basil Fountain seemed to have more or less recovered from the shock of t
he news he had received, but that there had been some sort of row with Collins. For this piece of information Amberley was indebted to Joan Fountain, who walked over to Greythorne with Corkran partly to exercise a couple of terriers and partly to bring Felicity a book she had promised to lend her. Joan looked pale after the previous day's indisposition, and it seemed to Amberley that her smile was a little mechanical. Usually reserved, she had lowered her barriers slightly and made only a small attempt to check Felicity's freely expressed opinion of her stepbrother.

  It was plain that she clung rather pathetically to Corkran's reassuring presence. For her, the root of all evil lay in the manor, nor did she disguise the fact that from the first she had had an uncontrollable aversion from it. It spelled discomfort, prying eyes, mystery, and her brother's worst moods. She did not try to explain what she felt, or to apologise for her unreason. She thought every house had an atmosphere peculiar, each one, to itself. At Greythorne, for instance, was only happiness and warm kindliness. But the manor brooded over past sins and past tragedies. It was secret, and so still that depression met one at its very door.

  Into these psychic realms neither Corkran nor Amberley could follow her, yet each of them had felt the tension that preyed so much on her spirits. In Corkran's opinion it was not the house which was at fault, but its inmates, by which he meant the master and the valet. Joan shook her head; perhaps she and Basil had never had much in common, but until they came to the manor there had never been such friction as now existed. The manor had had its effect on him as well as on her. As for the valet… She gave a shiver and was silent.

  Upon hearing the row in full swing in Fountain's study that morning Anthony had cherished hopes of the valet's departure. What had passed between them was not known, but Joan thought Collins was objecting to his extra duties. They had heard Fountain's voice raised angrily, and later they had seen Collins come out of the study with his mouth shut in a hard, thin line, but although Fountain had said that the valet was becoming insufferable, and by God, he had a good mind to sack him, nothing had been done. Instead, Fountain had gone up to town to interview a prospective butler.