Why Shoot a Butler

by Джорджетт Хейер

  He waited till Corkran had gone back into the cottage and then went softly towards the woodshed. There was no one there, nor did there seem to be anyone lurking in the garden. Mr. Amberley stood still listening intently. No sound betrayed the butler's presence. Mr. Amberley's brows rose a little; he turned and went back into the house.

  The sergeant and Anthony Corkran were getting on very well together. They were agreed on two points: that the man was undoubtedly Albert Collins; that Mr. Amberley ought not to have let him get away. This much Amberley heard as he re-entered the kitchen. He locked and bolted the door and said over his shoulder: "When we make an arrest, my well-meaning but misguided friends, it will be on a charge of murder - and other things. Not of housebreaking. Further, I would like to draw your attention to one small but significant point. The man who broke into this place tonight did not know of the existence of Bill."

  The sergeant cast an eloquent glance at Corkran. "And who," he inquired, "might Bill be, sir?"

  "Bill," said Mr. Amberley, "is Miss Brown's bull-terrier. Think it over."

  Chapter Eleven

  Anthony Corkran's account of his share in the night's happenings was carefully expurgated next morning when he told it over the breakfast table. He had been coached by Amberley during the drive back to the manor, and he quite realised that to disclose the other two men's presence in the cottage would be a very false step.

  His own idea was to keep the whole adventure dark, but he admitted that he might be wrong when Amberley pointed out that complete silence on his part must inevitably warn the unknown housebreaker that he was suspected. The man had come from the manor; further, he must know who had followed him, since Anthony had sworn aloud at hitting his head against the window frame. If Anthony preserved a rigid silence it would only put the man on his guard.

  Accordingly, Anthony told Fountain next morning when Joan had left the table that he had been up all night chasing masked men. Fountain looked at him as though he were a mild lunatic and went on with his breakfast. He was never in his best mood at this hour, and the only response he gave was a grunt.

  Anthony buttered another slice of toast. "To be strictly accurate," he said, "not men, but man. One. Complete with sack."

  Fountain looked up from the paper and said, with a hint of exasperation in his voice: "What the devil are you about?"

  "If you don't believe me, take a look at the bicycle," said Anthony. "It wasn't good when I first mounted it. It's definitely on the sick-list now."

  Fountain put the paper down. "What bicycle?" he said. "I do wish you wouldn't talk such rubbish!"

  Joan's. I rode it seven miles. And back."

  Fountain gave a short laugh. "Yes, I can see you riding a bicycle seven miles. Do you mind explaining the joke?"

  Anthony explained it. It was some time before he could make his host believe that he was not pulling his leg. When he had succeeded in convincing him of his seriousness Fountain at once demanded to know who the man was. Anthony said that he didn't know, though he had a strong suspicion.

  "Collins?" Fountain said, lowering his voice. "Good Lord!"

  "Mind you, I'm not sure," Corkran warned him. "I never saw his face."

  Fountain took no trouble to disguise the fact that he was thoroughly annoyed. He said that it looked as though he would have to sack the man. Anthony heartily agreed, but was himself annoyed to discover that Fountain was still somewhat dubious about his story. He remarked that it seemed fantastic; he wished Anthony had caught the man and unmasked him. As far as he could see, it would be most unwise for him to accuse Collins without any sort of proof to go on. He must think the whole thing over and keep a strict watch. It was all most unfortunate, not to say infuriating. If the police came to question the servants again the housekeeper for one would leave. She had been thoroughly affronted and upset already by the inspector's tactless method of interrogation. "In fact," said Fountain crossly, "I wish to God you hadn't looked out of your window. At least I shouldn't have known anything about it then."

  At that moment Joan came into the room, and the discussion at once ended. She and Corkran were going to play golf. A polite suggestion that Basil should come and make it a three-ball match was refused. He was not going to play gooseberry, he said; besides which that old footler, Matthews, had rung up to say that he was coming round to see him on a matter of business.

  "Of course I know what that means," Fountain said. "He dropped a hint at dinner last night, but I wasn't having any. I've got quite enough to worry me without the delinquencies of my head-keeper being added to the list."

  "Poachers?" Joan inquired. "I know; Felicity was talking about it. I suppose Hitchcock is fairly slack."

  "Well, I'm not going to get rid of him to please old Matthews," said Fountain.

  Sir Humphrey was driven over at twelve o'clock by his daughter in her runabout, Ludlow being smitten with influenza. Baker ushered them both into the library and left them there while he went to find his master.

  Sir Humphrey, after the manner of book-lovers, began to wander round studying the closely packed shelves. He said severely that he wondered Fountain had not had the library catalogued and arranged in decent order.

  From her seat in the window Felicity remarked that she didn't suppose he cared. "Not bookish, darling," she smiled.

  "That is self-evident," said her father, putting on his glasses and studying the backs of a row of calf-bound classics.

  "They all look fairly dull anyway," said Felicity airily.

  Sir Humphrey, who had discovered a treasure, did not reply. She transferred her attention to the activities of a gardener who was sweeping up the fallen leaves on the lawn and left her parent to browse in peace. When Fountain came in apologising for keeping his visitor waiting, he was turning over the pages of a dusty volume culled from the obscurity of a top shelf and said absently: "Not at all, not at all. I have been looking over your books. My dear sir, are you aware that they are all arranged according to size?"

  Fountain looked a trifle bewildered and said that he was afraid he was not much of a reader. He was told that he should employ someone to put the library in order. It appeared that many rare editions were in his possession, and that De Quincey was rubbing shoulders with somebody's Recollections of the Russian Court. He gathered from Sir Humphrey's tone that this was a crime and said that he was very ignorant in these matters.

  "I believe your grandfather was a great collector," said Sir Humphrey. He held up the book in his hand. "Here is an old friend whom I have not met, alas, for many years. I cannot think why it is missing from my own shelves. I wonder if I may borrow it? A pernicious habit, I am aware."

  "Do by all means," said Fountain, hoping to get away from the subject of books. "Very glad if you'd borrow anything you want to."

  "Thank you. I just have a fancy to dip into these pages again. I will take the first volume, if I may."

  Fountain gave his noisy laugh. "First volume, eh? I don't mind admitting I shy at anything in more than one volume."

  Sir Humphrey looked at him with much the same wonder as he would have displayed upon being confronted by a dinosaur.

  "Dear me!" he said. "Yet this work - it is Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature -you would find well worth the — ah - labour of reading. But I did not come to talk about books. I must not waste your time."

  Fountain murmured a polite disclaimer but made no attempt to dissuade Sir Humphrey from coming to his business. At the end of twenty minutes' earnest conversation he promised that he would speak to his keeper. It was pointed out to him that some suspicious-looking men had been seen on his estate; Sir Humphrey felt that it was the duty of every landowner to stamp out this poaching menace and was sure that Fountain would agree with him.

  Fountain was ready to agree with anything. Certainly poachers must be got rid of; he would have a word with Hitchcock.

  Felicity, perceiving his scarce-veiled impatience, got up and said that if they did not go they would not have time to visit
Upper Nettlefold before lunch. Sir Humphrey said, to be sure they were encroaching upon Fountain's time; he would rely on him to see that something was done.

  He shook hands and was about to go when the door opened softly and Collins came in.

  The valet stopped and said at once: "I beg pardon, sir. I thought you were alone."

  "That's all right; since you're here you can show Sir Humphrey and Miss Matthews out," said Fountain. "Goodbye, sir; I'll see about it at once. Sure you won't take the other volumes? Well, don't hesitate to borrow any book you happen to want. Only too glad!"

  The valet's eyes rested for a moment on the volume Sir Humphrey carried. Then he looked quickly towards the bookshelves. Some quiver of emotion flickered in his face. He said: "Should I wrap the book up for you, sir?"

  "No, thank you, I prefer it as it is," replied Sir Humphrey, going towards the door.

  "I fear it may be very dusty, sir. Shall I wipe it for you?"

  "Wipe it? No, no, it is perfectly all right!" said Sir Humphrey testily. "Well, goodbye, Fountain. Come along, Felicity, or we shall be late."

  As Felicity started the car she said: "Did you notice that man? The valet, I mean."

  "Notice him, my dear? I naturally saw him. Why should I notice him particularly?"

  "I thought he gave you — such an ugly look."

  You imagine things, my dear," said Sir Humphrey. "Why should he give me an ugly look?"

  "I don't know. But he did."

  She drove the car into Upper Nettlefold, being commissioned by Lady Matthews to call at the Boar's Head to find out if Shirley Brown was comfortable there and to offer to accompany her to the inquest next morning. The porter thought Miss Brown was in her room, and went up to find her while Felicity and Sir Humphrey waited in the lounge.

  Shirley came downstairs in a few minutes; she seemed pleased to see Felicity, but rather shy. She wore a black armband over her tweed coat, but no other sign of mourning, and although she looked worried she had certainly not been crying. She said that she was quite comfortable at the Boar's Head and declined Lady Matthews' offer of escort to the inquest. It was very kind of Lady Matthews but quite unnecessary; she would not like to drag her to anything so unpleasant.

  "My wife," said Sir Humphrey, eyeing her askance, "thought that perhaps you would be glad of - ah support - under such painful circumstances."

  Shirley gave him back one of her surprising clear looks. "I shan't break down," she said. "It has been a shock to me, and I'm upset. But I don't want to pose as being heartbroken. You see, I'm not. I'm sorry if this shocks you."

  It evidently did shock Sir Humphrey. He said that perhaps she had scarcely had time to realise what had happened. Her smile was a little scornful, but she did not argue the point. On the question of her return to London she was inclined to be vague; purposely, Felicity guessed. There appeared to be business connected with Ivy Cottage which she would be obliged to settle.

  She made no effort to detain her visitors when Felicity rose to go. Felicity thought, privately, that whatever she might choose to say, she was suffering from considerable strain. Her eyes betrayed her.

  Sir Humphrey, on the way home, took no pains to disguise the fact that he did not like Shirley. His sense of propriety was offended by her lack of hypocrisy; he could not forgive such plain speaking, however unsatisfactory Mark Brown might have been. Decency had to be preserved. He thought that the absence of mourning clothes showed lack of respect towards the dead. Whatever a man's character had been in life, death, in Sir Humphrey's eyes, made him instantly respectable.

  In the middle of these reflections he broke off to hunt on the seat beside him for something. Felicity slowed down. "What is it, Daddy?"

  "I seem," said Sir Humphrey with annoyance, "to have left that book I borrowed at the Boar's Head. I can't think how I could have done such a thing. We shall have to go back."

  Leaving things behind was a habit he had so often condemned in his wife and daughter that Felicity could not forbear a little crow of laughter as she turned the car.

  Ten minutes' run brought them back to the Boar's Head. Sir Humphrey went into the lounge where he found Shirley sitting alone, the book on the small table before her. She was flushed, and when she looked up at his approach, he was surprised to see so much light in her dark eyes. Upon his soul, the girl looked as though she had come into a fortune instead of having lost her only brother.

  She got up, lifting the book from the table. "You left this behind, didn't you?" she said. "I've been dipping into it. Also dusting it, which it badly needed." She put it into his hands. "Here you are."

  "And what did you think of it?" said Sir Humphrey.

  A little smile hovered on her lips. "It seems to have some very interesting things in it," she said. Amberley was not in to lunch, having gone over to Carchester to confer with the chief constable, but he put in an appearance at tea-time, not in the best of tempers. An effort on Sir Humphrey's part to read aloud to him an anecdote about the Abbe Marolles was firmly checked at the outset. "I've read it," said Mr. Amberley.

  "Indeed?" said his uncle huffily. "I shall be surprised, nevertheless, if you can tell me what book it occurs in."

  "Curiosities of Literature," said Amberley without hesitation. "I didn't know you had the book."

  Sir Humphrey, pleased to find his nephew more widely read than he had imagined, unbent and said that he had borrowed the book from Fountain that morning. He presently made another attempt to read a passage aloud was still more firmly checked. "Do you remember this bit, Frank?" he began.

  "Yes," said Mr. Amberley.

  Sir Humphrey informed him that his manners were intolerable. By way of working off his spleen he said acidly that he trusted Frank did not intend to wake the whole household up in the small hours that night as he had last night.

  Mr. Amberley, who had heard his uncle snoring as he had passed his door at four that morning, grinned and said meekly that there would be no disturbance tonight.

  He was mistaken. At twenty minutes past two the silence of the house was shattered by a crash that woke not only Sir Humphrey, but his wife and his nephew also.

  The noise had seemed to come from the drawing room, and it was followed by complete stillness.

  Amberley came softly out of his room with a gun in one hand and a torch in the other, and stood for a moment listening intently.

  A board creaked somewhere below; Amberley began to descend the stairs in the darkness, making no sound.

  At that moment the door of Sir Humphrey's room was wrenched open and Sir Humphrey hurried out. "Who's there?" he demanded and switched on the light at the top of the stairs.

  Amberley said something under his breath and reached the hall in a couple of bounds. He was too late; when he flashed his torch round the drawing room it was empty. The French window was swinging wide, and the curtain bellied into the room in the draught. Amberley tore it aside and looked out. The moonlight flooded the garden, but there were patches of shadow cast by the trees. No one was in sight, the torch-beam revealed no lurking form. Whoever had broken into the house was by now well on his way to the road, and to follow would be a futile task.

  Mr. Amberley went back into the drawing room and inspected the window. Two small panes of glass had been neatly cut out, enabling the burglar to unbolt the window, top and bottom.

  Sir Humphrey's voice was upraised. "What the devil are you up to, Frank?" it demanded wrathfully. "Are we never to have a night in peace?"

  Amberley strolled back to the hall. "Just come down here, Uncle," he said.

  "I've no wish to do anything of the kind! What are you playing at?"

  "You've had a visitor," said Amberley, and wandered back to the drawing room and stood in the doorway surveying the chaos there.

  Sir Humphrey joined him. "It wasn't you? do you mean to say… God bless my soul!"

  The ejaculation was provoked by the sight that met his eyes. To a tidy man it was certainly startling. Someone would seem to have b
een frenziedly searching for something. The room was turned upside down; cushions, books, papers were scattered higgledy-piggledy over the floor. The drawers of Lady Matthews' bureau were all open and the contents thrown out. In the tiled fireplace the broken pieces of a large vase added to the litter. Obviously the intruder had accidentally knocked it over, and it was the noise of the smash that had awakened the household.

  The window next caught Sir Humphrey's dazed eye. He repeated rather feebly: "God bless my soul!" and stared at Amberley.

  "We'd better have a look round," said Amberley, and led the way to the library.

  Here the confusion was even worse, while the condition of Sir Humphrey's study drew a faint moan from its unfortunate owner. His desk had been ransacked, and all his papers had been cast recklessly onto the floor.

  "God bless my soul!" said Sir Humphrey for the third time. "It's a burglary!"

  His nephew looked at him with scant respect. "How do you think these things out so quickly?" he inquired. "Hullo Aunt. Come to look at the wreckage?"

  Lady Matthews, with her hair in curlers and cold cream on her face, stood in the doorway looking interestedly round. She was not in the least put out. She said: "Dear me, how exciting! Such a muddle! Poor Jenkins! Why the study?"

  Amberley nodded. "You have a way of hitting the nail the head, Aunt Marion, though no one would ever think it. Do tell me why you're plastered with white stuff'

  "Face cream, my dear. At my age so necessary. Do I look odd?"

  "Quite ghastly," Amberley assured her.

  Sir Humphrey danced with impatience. "Good God, Frank, what has your aunt's face to do with it? Look at my desk! Look at my papers!"

  "Much better look for the silver, dear," said his wife. "Or does Jenkins take it upstairs? Murdered in his bed, perhaps. Someone had better go and find out."

  But Jenkins had not been murdered. He appeared at that moment with a coat and trousers put on hastily over his pyjamas. Sir Humphrey greeted him with relief and was not disappointed. Jenkins' feelings rivalled his own, and the two mourned together until Mr. Amberley intervened.