Colonel Watson, more perceptive than the inspector, had been watching Amberley. He said: "You're on to something?"
"I thought I was," Amberley replied. "I still think it. But the only piece of evidence in the whole case hass gone astray and I tell you candidly I'm afraid it may have got into the wrong hands or been destroyed. Where it is I don't know. Until it's found neither you nor I can do anything. Once I get my hands on it you'll have your whole case cut and dried."
The inspector gave a superior smile. "Very fanciful, sir. I suppose it'll clear everything up - Dawson's murder and all? Pity you can't tell us anything now."
There was a glint in Mr. Amberley's eyes. "Since you're so keen on Dawson's murder - a somewhat unimportant link in the chain, as I believe I remarked once before - I'll tell you who did murder him."
The colonel jumped. "You know?"
"I've known since the night of the fancy-dress ball at the manor," said Mr. Amberley calmly. "Collins murdered him."
The colonel stuttered: "But - but…'
"Very nice, sir," said the inspector, still smiling. "A little thing like a good alibi doesn't count, I suppose?"
"You should always beware of alibis, Inspector. If you'd had rather more experience of crime you'd have learned that lesson."
The inspector grew purple in the face. "Perhaps you'll favour us with the proof, Mr. Amberley." "None," said Amberley. "One person might shake the alibi, but he daren't do it. You may as well make up your mind to it; you won't get a conviction."
"That's very interesting," said the inspector sarcastically. "Useful too. No charge of murder at all, in fact."
"On the contrary," said Amberley.
"I see," said the inspector. "I've heard your opinion of Brown's death. Going to charge Collins with that, I daresay?"
"Collins," said Mr. Amberley, picking up his hat, "was the last man in the world to want Brown dead." He turned to Colonel Watson. "About the missing evidence, Colonel. If you can get a tactful man onto the job - not Fraser - send someone to interview Dawson's sister. It is just possible that he had it at the time of his death. I want all his effects carefully gone through and any papers brought to me. It's a slim chance, but worth trying. Particularly a torn paper, Colonel. Remember that."
On his way back to Greythorne he stopped in Upper Nettlefold to see Sergeant Gubbins. The sergeant was busy with a motor accident, but he left it for a moment to speak to Amberley.
"Done as I asked?" Amberley said briefly.
"Yes, sir. Tucker. He won't make a second mistake."
"That's all right then," said Amberley, and departed.
It was at nine o'clock that evening that a scared housemaid presented herself in the drawing room at Greythorne and said hysterically: "Oh, sir! Oh, my lady! Burglars!"
"What?" snapped Sir Humphrey, letting the evening paper fall. "Here?"
"Oh yes, sir! At least it does seem so. It's Mr. Amberley's bedroom, sir. It give me such a turn, I feel quite bad."
Amberley regarded her with unimpaired calm. "What happened?" he inquired.
Her story was somewhat involved, and embellished with a great deal of irrelevant detail, but it seemed that she had gone upstairs at nine o'clock to turn down the beds and found that Mr. Amberley's room had been ransacked. Every drawer was pulled out and the contents strewn on the floor; the little desk in the window had been burst open and the papers all scattered about; his suitcases wrenched open; and a leather attache-case in which he might be supposed to keep private papers, with the lock torn off. Even the bed had been disarranged, while as for the suits in the wardrobe, never had she seen anything to equal it.
She paused for breath; and Sir Humphrey, fixing his nephew with a smouldering eye, said that he had had enough.
Lady Matthews murmured: "Better tidy it, Molly. Did he find anything, Frank?"
Amberley shook his head. "Quite bright of him to suspect me, but not so bright to think I should leave it lying about in my room. So he thinks I've got it. That's illuminating anyhow."
"How fortunate, dear! So glad. Why, by the way?"
"At least it means that it hasn't fallen into the wrong hands," said Amberley, smiling at her.
"Delightful, my dear. Don't fuss, Humphrey. Nothing to do with us."
This was too much for Sir Humphrey. If a couple of robberies in his own house were nothing to do with him he would like to know what was. And how did the burglar get in without anyone hearing? Really, it was too much of a good thing.
Lady Matthews glanced at the long window. "Not locked, you know. While we were at dinner. Don't you think so, Frank?"
He nodded. Sir Humphrey picked up the evening paper and said with acerbity that it was time Frank got married to some woman who would put a stop to his senseless conduct. Mr. Amberley looked at him rather sharply, a tinge of colour creeping into his lean cheeks.
Lady Matthews' calm voice changed the subject.
But all was not over for Sir Humphrey. At three in the morning he was awakened by the telephone ringing in the library, which was immediately beneath his bedroom. He got up, swearing under his breath, and stalked out onto the landing just as the door of his nephew's room opened. "Since," he said awfully, "I have little doubt that call is for you, I will leave you to answer it." With which utterance he went back into his room and shut the door with terrible quietness.
Amberley laughed and went down the stairs, tying the cord of his dressing gown.
The call was for him. Sergeant Gubbins was speaking from the police station. There were fresh developments which he thought Mr. Amberley should be told about at once. All the same, if it hadn't been for Mr. Amberley's instructions he would not have taken it upon himself to rouse him at this hour.
"Get on with it!" snarled Amberley.
The sergeant said apologetically: "When I think how you had me out that night it makes me smile, sir."
"Does it?" said Amberley grimly. "What's happened?"
"That there Albert Collins has done a bunk, sir." Amberley's irritable frown left him. "What?"
"Or so it seems," said the sergeant cautiously. "Mr. Fountain's just been on the phone, and Constable Walker put him right through to me."
"Fountain rang up the police station at three in the morning?"
"That's right, sir. Some people seem to think the police like being rung up at all hours. I've met 'em before - not to mention any names. I have known people who'd get you out of your bed to go on a wild-goose chase where nothing happened, nor was likely to."
"If I took it into my head," said Mr. Amberley distinctly, "to murder anyone —- mentioning no names - I should do it very neatly, Gubbins, and leave no clues behind me."
A fat chuckle sounded at the other end of the wire. "I believe you, sir. A master criminal, that's what you'd be."
"Don't waste time flattering me. Get on with your story."
"I told you all I know, sir. Mr. Fountain says when he went up to bed there wasn't anything got ready for him, and no sign of Collins. So he rung, and the butler came up and said he hadn't seen Collins since before dinner. Well, it isn't his evening off, so Mr. Fountain had Baker go and look in his room. He wasn't there. Mr. Fountain sat up to wait for him, and when it got near three o'clock he rung up the station, like I told you. He said he couldn't get it out of his head how we all suspected Collins of having shoved young Brown into the river, and that's why he thought he'd best let us know before the morning. That's all, sir."
Mr. Amberley was staring at the wall ahead of him, his .,yes narrowed, considering. After a moment the sergeant's voice asked if he was there.
"Yes. Be quiet. I'm thinking."
"Not a doubt about it, sir; he's properly got the wind up," said the sergeant, disregarding the behest.
There was a pause. Then Amberley transferred his attention to the telephone. "You may be right, Sergeant. Did you ask whether any clothes were missing from his rooms?"
"I did, sir. Mr. Fountain said he didn't think so, but couldn't say for certain."
"Any car or bicycle missing from the garage?"
"Yes, sir; his own push-bike. Mr. Fountain had that from the butler."
"I see. You'll have to notify Carchester, I suppose. Tell them from me to find out whether Collins took a ticket for town, or elsewhere, from any of the stations within, say, a ten-mile radius, after half-past eight this evening. If so, follow him up. Meanwhile by the time you get here I shall be ready."
"By the time I do what, sir?" asked the sergeant, startled.
"Get here," repeated Mr. Amberley maliciously. "On your bicycle. Immediately."
"Me come out to Greythorne at this hour?" gasped the sergeant. "What would I do that for?"
"To pick me up. I'll have the car waiting."
"Yes, but, Mr. Amberley, sir, I don't want to go joyriding at this hour of night!" objected the sergeant. "What's the idea?"
"Furthermore," said Amberley, "I want you to bring a couple of men with you."
"But what for?" insisted the sergeant.
"For the simple reason that I think it just possible that Collins has not bolted. We're going to try and find him. Are you coming?"
"Yes," said the sergeant gloomily. "I'm coming, but whatever I was thinking about when I begged you to take on this case fair beats me."
"You were thinking of promotion, Sergeant, and you'll probably get it," said Amberley encouragingly, and rang off.
For a moment he sat still at the desk, reaching out his hand mechanically for the cigarette box beside him. He lit a cigarette and got up and began to walk slowly up and down the room, his brain busy with this new problem. When the cigarette was finished he stubbed it out and went upstairs again. He did not go at once to his own room, but opened Sir Humphrey's door and inquired whether his uncle was awake.
A grunt came from the bed. Mr. Amberley switched on the light. "Sorry, sir, but I'm going out. So don't pay any attention to uncouth noises."
Sir Humphrey raised himself on his elbow. "God bless the boy, what next? Why are you going out? What has happened?"
"Fountain's valet is missing. The police think he has bolted."
"Well, why can't you let them look for him? It's their work, not yours."
"Quite. But on the other hand he may not have bolted. I'm going to find out."
"You may go to the devil!" said Sir Humphrey, and turned over on the other side.
Mr. Amberley thanked him and withdrew.
When the sergeant and two enthusiastic young constables arrived, they found Amberley waiting for them in his car; he made them leave their bicycles in the drive and get into the Bentley. The sergeant climbed in beside him, leaving his subordinates to sit in the back, and said without much hope that he trusted Mr. Amberley wasn't going to travel at ninety miles an hour, because he was a married man.
He need have had no qualms. Mr. Amberley was driving very slowly indeed; so slowly, in fact, that the sergeant, suspicious of a leg-pull, asked whether it was a funeral. "And if it's all the same to you, sir, where are we going?"
"On the road to Norton Manor. Somewhere round about eight o'clock, Sergeant, Collins was at Greythorne. This is not to be repeated. He ransacked my room."
"Ransacked your room?" echoed the sergeant. "You saw him?"
"No. But I know it was he."
"Good Lord!" said the sergeant. "But what was he after?"
"Something he thought I had. We're going to look for him."
"But, Mr. Amberley, sir!" protested the sergeant. "If you say he was at Greythorne at eight o'clock he's had time to get back to the manor a dozen times over!"
"Yes - if he did go back," replied Amberley. Just keep a lookout, will you? Take the spot-lamp."
The car crept on; the two constables, who had heard of Mr. Amberley's predilection for speed, were frankly disappointed.
The sergeant held the spot-lamp at the end of its cable and studied the side of the road. "Going to search the woods, sir?"
"Perhaps. But he was riding a bicycle. That looks like the road. All preserves, this?"
"Most of it," said the sergeant. "General Tomlinson's land, this is. Runs alongside Mr. Fountain's preserves. We took up a poacher today. The general's keeper got him."
The car swung round a bend. "Mr. Fountain's land starts hereabouts," said the sergeant. "Hitchcock's had bad luck with his pheasants this year, so he told me.
"Poachers?"
"Them, and the gapes - lost a lot of young birds, he has. Hullo, what's that?"
The headlights showed the road running straight ahead. Something lay at the side, half across the grass border.
One of the constables was standing up and peering ahead. "It's a bicycle!"
The car shot forward. "It's something more than a bicycle, my friend," said Amberley.
There was something dark beside the bicycle. As the car drew nearer the sergeant gave a sharp exclamation. The curious heap on the roadside was the body of a man lying in a crumpled attitude, half hidden by the uncut grass that grew beside the ditch.
Amberley pulled up. His face was very grim. "Take a look, sergeant."
The sergeant was already out of the car and bending over the still body, his torch in his hand. He recoiled suddenly and turned rather white about the gills. "My Gawd!" he said.
Amberley got down onto the road and walked towards the huddled figure.
"It's not — very nice, sir," said the sergeant gruffly, and burned his torch on again.
Amberley stood looking. down at what remained of Albert Collins. "The top of his head's been blown right ()fl;' the sergeant said in rather a hushed voice.
"Shotgun," said Amberley briefly. "Close range."
There was a slight sound behind him. One of the young constables had retired to the ditch. The other stood his ground, but he did not look very happy.
The sergeant switched off the torch. "Nasty sight," he said. "Come along now, Henson! Easy to seeyou wasn't in Flanders." He turned to Amberley. "This was what you were looking for, sir?"
Amberley nodded.
"Who did it, sir?"
"I wasn't here, Sergeant," said Amberley gently.
The sergeant looked at him. "Takes a lot to upset you, sir, don't it?"
Amberley glanced down at the dead man. "It would take more than the murder of that creature," he said. His voice grated. "I find this rather a comforting sight. I was afraid he'd escape the noose. I've no sympathy to waste on him."
The sergeant stared. "It's a nasty way to die, sir."
Amberley walked back to the car. "Very, Sergeant. And entirely appropriate," he said.
Chapter Fourteen
Leaving one of the constables to stand guard over Collins' body, the sergeant requested Mr. Amberley to drive on to the manor. Mr. Amberley nodded and set his foot on the self-starter.
The manor was in darkness, but after they had rung the bell they had not long to wait before a light appeared in the fan-shaped glass over the front door.
"H'm!" said the sergeant. "Not hard to wake, are they, sir?"
The door was opened by the butler, who had a pair of trousers and a dressing gown pulled on over his pyjamas. He did not appear to be very sleepy. On the contrary he looked rather alert and showed no surprise at perceiving a policeman. His shy brown eyes stole from the sergeant's face to Amberley's. He stood back, allowing them to enter.
"Were you expecting us?" said the sergeant sharply.
Baker shut the door. "Oh no, Sergeant! That is, I knew of course that Mr. Fountain had rung you up. Do you wish to see Mr. Fountain?"
The sergeant said he did and followed the butler into the library. When the man had withdrawn, he turned to Amberley and said: "What do you make of that chap, sir?"
"I'll tell you one day," replied Amberley.
"Well, I'd like a little talk with him," said the sergeant darkly.
"So should I," agreed Amberley.
Fountain soon came downstairs. He was surprised to see Amberley and asked quickly what had happened.
The sergeant
told him. Fountain said blankly: "Shot? Collins?" His gaze shifted from the sergeant to Amberley.
"I don't understand. Who could have shot him? Where was he?"
"It might," said the sergeant judicially, "have been poachers. Or it might not. That'll be investigated. Meanwhile, sir, if you've no objection I should like to use your telephone."
"Yes, of course. I'll show you." Fountain led him out into the hall and left him talking to the constable on duty at the police station. He went back into the library and stared in a bewildered way at Amberley. "I can't make it out!" he said. "It seems fantastic! First my butler, now my valet. Amberley, I don't like it!"
"No. I don't suppose Dawson or Collins liked it either," said Amberley.
Fountain began to walk about the room. "Who found him? Where was he?"
When he heard that Collins had been shot not a mile from the manor he gave a gasp. "Good God! Do you think it was poachers, then?"
Mr. Amberley declined to give an opinion.
A fresh aspect of the case seemed to strike Fountain.
"What made you go to look for him? Don't tell me you were expecting this to happen."
"Oh no," said Amberley. "We were on our way to speak to you, that's all."
Fountain shook his head. "I can't get over it. It's a ghastly business. My God, it makes one wonder who next?"
The sergeant came back into the room and asked Mr. Fountain to be good enough to answer a few questions. Fountain was quite ready to answer anything he could, but had little information to give. The valet had been in his room at half-past seven when he went up to dress for dinner. He had not seen him since then, nor thought about him until, on going up to bed shortly before midnight, he had found nothing prepared for him. He had rung the bell; Baker had answered it and had said that Collins had not been in the servants' hall at suppertime.. He had gone to look in his room and found it empty.
Fountain admitted that he had felt suspicious. Ordinarily he would have merely supposed that the man had taken French leave and slightly overstepped the mark, but certain circumstances made him think there was more to it than that. He thought it significant that the valet's disappearance occurred on the very day he had received a month's notice.
Why Shoot a Butler Page 17
