The Layton Court Mystery

by Anthony Berkeley

  ‘Shot himself?’ she repeated calmly. ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘I’m afraid there can be no doubt at all,’ Major Jefferson said gravely. ‘He must have been dead for some hours.’

  ‘And you think I had better not go in?’

  ‘It’s not a pretty sight,’ said the Major shortly.

  ‘Very well. But we had better telephone for a doctor in any case, I suppose. I will do that. Victor called in Doctor Matthewson when he had hay fever a few weeks ago, didn’t he? I’ll send for him.’

  ‘And the police,’ said Jefferson. ‘They’ll have to be notified. I’ll do that.’

  ‘I can let them know at the same time,’ Lady Stanworth returned, moving across the hall in the direction of the telephone.

  Roger and Alec exchanged glances.

  ‘I always said that was a wonderful woman,’ whispered the former behind his hand, as they prepared to follow the Major into the library.

  ‘Is there anything I can do, sir?’ asked the butler from the doorway.

  Major Jefferson glanced at him sharply. ‘Yes; you come in, too, Graves. It makes another witness.’

  The four men filed in silence into the room. The curtains were still drawn, and the light was dim. With an abrupt movement Jefferson strode across and pulled back the curtains from the French windows. Then he turned and nodded silently towards the big writing table.

  In the chair behind this, which was turned a little away from the table, sat, or rather reclined, the body of Mr Stanworth. His right hand, which was dangling by his side almost to the floor, was tightly clenched about a small revolver, the finger still convulsively clasping the trigger. In the centre of his forehead, just at the base of his hair, was a little circular hole, the edges of which looked strangely blackened. His head lolled indolently over the top of the chair-back, and his wide-open eyes were staring glassily at the ceiling.

  It was, as Jefferson had said, not a pretty sight.

  Roger was the first to break the silence. ‘Well, I’m damned!’ he said softly. ‘What on earth did he want to go and do that for?’

  ‘Why does anyone do it?’ asked Jefferson, staring at the still figure as if trying to read its secret. ‘Because he has some damned good reason of his own, I suppose.’

  Roger shrugged his shoulders a little impatiently. ‘No doubt. But old Stanworth of all people! I shouldn’t have thought that he’d got a care in the world. Not that I knew him particularly well, of course; but I was only saying to you yesterday, Alec – ’ He broke off suddenly. Alec’s face had gone a ghastly white, and he was gazing with horrified eyes at the figure in the chair.

  ‘I was forgetting,’ Roger muttered in a low voice to Jefferson. ‘The boy was too young to be in the war; he’s only twenty-four. It’s a bit of a shock, one’s first corpse. Especially this sort of thing. Phew! There’s a smell of death in here. Let’s get some of these windows open.’

  He turned and threw open the French windows, letting a draught of warm air into the room. ‘Locked on the inside all right,’ he commented as he did so. ‘So are the other two. Here, Alec, come outside for a minute. It’s no wonder you’re feeling a bit turned up.’

  Alec smiled faintly; he had managed to pull himself together and the colour was returning to his cheeks. ‘Oh, I’m all right,’ he said, a little shakily. ‘It was just a bit of a shock at first.’

  The breeze had fluttered the papers on the writing table and one fell to the ground. Graves, the butler, stepped forward to pick it up. Before replacing it he glanced idly at something that was written on it.

  ‘Sir!’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘Look at this!’

  He handed the paper to Major Jefferson, who read it eagerly.

  ‘Anything of interest?’ Roger asked curiously.

  ‘Very much so,’ Jefferson replied dryly. ‘It’s a statement. I’ll read it to you “To whom it May concern. For reasons that concern only myself, I have decided to kill myself.” And his signature at the bottom.’ He twisted the piece of paper thoughtfully in his hand. ‘But I wish he’d said what his reasons were,’ he added in puzzled tones.

  ‘Yes, it’s a remarkably reticent document,’ Roger agreed. ‘But it’s plain enough, isn’t it? May I have a look at it?’

  He took it from the other’s outstretched hand and examined it with interest. The paper was slightly creased, and the message itself was typewritten. The signature, Victor Stanworth, was bold and firm; but just above it was another attempt, which had only got as far as V-i-c and looked as if it had been written with a pen insufficiently supplied with ink.

  ‘He must have gone about the business with extraordinary deliberation,’ Roger commented. ‘He goes to the trouble of typing this instead of writing it; and when he finds he hadn’t dipped his pen deep enough in the ink-pot, calmly signs it again. And just look at that signature! Not a trace of nerves in it, is there?’

  He handed the paper back, and the Major looked at it again.

  ‘Stanworth was never much troubled with nerves,’ he remarked shortly. ‘And the signature’s genuine enough. I’d take my oath on that.’

  Alec could not help feeling that Jefferson’s words had supplied an answer to a question which Roger had purposely refrained from asking.

  ‘Well, I don’t know much about this sort of thing,’ Roger observed, ‘but I suppose one thing’s certain. The body mustn’t be touched before the police come.’

  ‘Even in the case of a suicide?’ Jefferson asked doubtfully.

  ‘In any case, surely.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have thought it would have mattered in this case,’ said Jefferson, a little reluctantly. ‘Still, perhaps you’re right. Not that it matters either way,’ he added quickly.

  There was a tap on the half-open door.

  ‘I’ve telephoned to Doctor Matthewson and the police,’ came Lady Stanworth’s even tones. ‘They’re sending an inspector over from Elchester at once. And now don’t you think we ought to tell the others in the dining room?’

  ‘I think so certainly,’ said Roger, who happened to be nearest to the door. ‘There’s no sense in delaying it. Besides, if we tell them now it will give them time to get over it a little before the police come.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Jefferson. ‘And the servants as well. Graves, you’d better go and break the news in the kitchen. Be as tactful as you can.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  With a last, but quite expressionless glance at his late master, the burly figure turned and walked slowly out of the room.

  ‘I’ve seen people more cut up at the death of a man they’ve lived with for twenty years than that gentleman,’ Roger murmured in Alec’s ear, raising his eyebrows significantly.

  ‘And I wish you would be good enough to break the news in the dining room, Major Jefferson,’ Lady Stanworth remarked. ‘I really hardly feel up to it myself.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jefferson quickly. ‘In fact, I think it would be much better if you went up to your room and rested a little before the police get here, Lady Stanworth. This is bound to be a very great strain. I will tell one of the maids to take you up a cup of tea.’

  Lady Stanworth looked a trifle surprised, and for a moment it seemed that she was going to object to this course. Evidently, however, she changed her mind if that was the case; for she only said quietly, ‘Thank you. Yes, I think that would be best. Please let me know directly the police arrive.’

  She made her way, a little wearily, up the broad staircase and disappeared from view.

  Jefferson turned to Roger. ‘I think as a matter of fact that I should prefer you to tell the ladies, if you would, Sheringham. You’d do it much better than I. I’m not much use at putting unpleasant things in a pleasant way.’

  ‘Certainly I will, if you’d rather. Alec, you’d better stay here with the Major.’

  Jefferson hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, Grierson, I was wondering if you would be good enough to run across to the stables and tell Chapman to have the car
ready all day today, as it might be wanted any time at a moment’s notice. Will you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Alec promptly and hurried off, only too glad of the opportunity for a little action. He had not yet quite got over that first sight of the dead man in the streaming sunshine.

  Roger walked slowly across to the dining-room door; but he was not pondering over what he was going to say. He was repeating to himself over and over again, ‘Why was Jefferson so infernally anxious to get rid of the four of us in such a hurry? Why? Why? Why?’

  With his hand on the very knob of the door a possible answer came to him, in the form of another question.

  ‘Why was Jefferson so reluctant to admit that the body must not be touched before the arrival of the police?’

  It was a somewhat distrait Roger who opened the dining-room door, and proceeded to acquaint three astounded ladies with the somewhat surprising fact that their host had just shot himself through the head.

  Their reception of his news did not speak very well for Roger’s tactfulness. It may have been that his preoccupation with what was in his mind prevented him from doing justice to himself; but the fact remains that even he was considerably startled by the way in which his hearers behaved, and it took a good deal to startle Roger.

  Mrs Shannon, it is true, merely remarked with a not unjustified annoyance that it was really exceedingly awkward as she had made all her arrangements for being here another ten days and now she supposed they would have to leave at once, and where on earth did anyone think they could go to with the house in town shut up and all the servants away? Barbara rose slowly to her feet, with every trace of colour drained out of her face, swayed a little and, sitting down abruptly, stared with unseeing eyes out into the sunlit garden. Mrs Plant incontinently and silently fainted.

  But Roger had other things to do than dancing attendance upon fainting and hysterical ladies. Leaving Mrs Plant somewhat unceremoniously to the ministrations of Barbara and her mother, he hurried back to the library, taking care to step lightly. The sight that met his eyes was exactly what he had expected.

  Major Jefferson was bending over the dead man, rapidly and methodically searching his pockets.

  ‘Hullo,’ Roger remarked easily from the doorway. ‘Putting him straight a bit?’

  The Major started violently. Then he bit his lip and slowly straightened his back.

  ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, after the least possible pause. ‘Yes. I can’t bear to see this constrained attitude he’s in.’

  ‘It’s beastly,’ Roger said sympathetically, advancing unconcernedly into the room and shutting the door behind him. ‘I know. But I shouldn’t move him if I were you. Not till the police have seen him, at any rate. They’re rather particular about that sort of thing, I believe.’

  Jefferson shrugged his shoulders, frowning. ‘It seems damned nonsense to me,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘Look here,’ Roger remarked suddenly, ‘you mustn’t let this thing get on your nerves, you know. Come and take a turn in the garden with me.’

  He linked his arm through the other’s and, observing his obvious hesitation, drew him towards the open windows. ‘Do you all the good in the world,’ he persisted.

  Jefferson allowed himself to be persuaded.

  For some minutes the two strolled up and down the lawn, and Roger took some care to keep the conversation on indifferent topics. But in spite of all his efforts, Jefferson kept looking at his watch, and it was clear that he was counting the minutes before the police might be expected. What Roger, watch how he might, was unable to discover was whether his companion was eager for their arrival or the reverse. The only thing he knew for certain was that this imperturbable man was, for some reason or other, very badly rattled. It might be the simple fact of his employer’s unseemly end which had caused this unwonted state of affairs, Roger thought; for certainly Jefferson and old Stanworth had been a very long time together. On the other hand, it might not. And if this was not the reason, what was?

  When they had made the circuit of the rose garden three times, Jefferson halted suddenly.

  ‘The police should be here at any minute now,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m going to walk down towards the lodge to meet them. I’ll call you when we want you.’

  Anything more obvious in the way of a congé could hardly be imagined. Roger accepted it with the best grace he could.

  ‘Very well,’ he nodded. ‘I’ll be somewhere out here.’

  Jefferson disappeared rapidly down the drive and Roger was left to continue his walk alone. But he had no intention of being bored. There was, he felt, quite a lot of thinking that he would rather like to do; and the chance of a few minutes’ solitude was not unwelcome. He paced slowly back to the lawn again, his pipe in full blast, and reeking clouds trailing lazily behind him.

  But Roger was not to do his thinking just yet. Scarcely had he reached the lawn when Alec appeared from the direction of the stables, somewhat hot and flushed. He fell into step with Roger and began to explain why he had been so long.

  ‘Couldn’t get away from the wretched fellow!’ he exclaimed. ‘Had to tell him the whole thing from beginning to - Hullo! What’s up?’

  Roger had halted and was staring in through the library windows. ‘I’ll swear I left that door shut,’ he said in puzzled tones. ‘Somebody’s opened it. Come on!’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Alec asked in surprise.

  ‘To see who’s in the library,’ returned Roger, already halfway across the lawn. He quickened his pace to a run and hurried in through the French windows, Alec close on his heels.

  A woman who was bending over something on the farther side of the room straightened hastily at their approach. It was Mrs Plant, and the object over which she had been bending was a large safe that stood by the wall close to the little typewriting table. Roger had just had time to see that she was feverishly twisting the knob before she had sprung up on hearing their footsteps.

  She faced them with heaving bosom and horrified eyes, one hand clutching the folds of her frock, the other clenched at her side. It was obvious that she was frightened almost out of her wits.

  ‘Were you looking for anything?’ Roger asked politely, and cursed himself for the banality of the words even as he spoke them.

  With a tremendous effort Mrs Plant appeared to pull herself together.

  ‘My jewels,’ she muttered jerkily. ‘I asked – Mr Stanworth to – to lock them in his safe the other day. I – I was wondering – would the police take them? I thought it might be better if I – ’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Plant,’ said Roger soothingly, breaking in upon her painful utterances. ‘The police wouldn’t take them in any case, I expect; and you can easily identify what is yours. They’ll be safe enough, I assure you.’

  A little colour was coming slowly back into her cheeks and her breathing was becoming less rapid.

  ‘Thank you so much, Mr Sheringham,’ she said more easily. ‘It was absurd of me, no doubt, but they’re rather valuable, and I had a sudden panic about them. Of course I ought not to have tried to take them myself. I can’t think what I can have been doing!’ She laughed nervously. ‘Really, I’m positively ashamed of myself. You won’t give me away for being so foolish, will you?’

  There was a note of urgent appeal in the last sentence that belied the lightness of the words.

  Roger smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course not,’ he said promptly. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much. I know I can rely on you. And on Mr Grierson, too. Well, I suppose I’d better run away before anyone else catches me here.’

  She made her way out of the room, carefully averting her eyes from the chair by the writing table.

  Roger turned to Alec and whistled softly. ‘Now what did she want to lie like that for?’ he asked with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Do you think she was lying?’ Alec asked in puzzled tones. ‘I should have said that Mrs Plant was as straight as they make ‘em.’

&nb
sp; Roger shrugged his shoulders in mock despair. ‘And so should I! That’s what makes it all the more extraordinary. Yet of course she was lying. Like a trooper! And so ridiculously! Her story’s bound to be disproved as soon as the safe is opened. She must have said the first thing that came into her head. Alec, my son, there’s something damned queer going on here! Mrs Plant isn’t the only one who’s lying. Come out into the garden and listen to the duplicity of Jefferson.’

  chapter four

  Major Jefferson Is Reluctant

  Inspector Mansfield, of the Elchester police, was a methodical person. He knew exactly what he had to do, and just how to do it. And he had precisely as much imagination as was required for his job, and not a fraction more. Too much imagination can be a very severe handicap to a conscientious policeman, in spite of what the detective stories may say.

  As the inspector entered the library with Jefferson from the hall, Roger, who had heard his arrival and was determined to miss no more of this interesting situation than he could possibly help, contrived to present himself at the French windows, the faithful Alec still in tow.

  ‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he said cheerfully.

  Jefferson frowned slightly; perhaps he was remembering his last words to Roger. ‘These are Mr Sheringham and Mr Grierson, Inspector,’ he said a little brusquely. ‘They were present when we broke the door in.’

  The inspector nodded. ‘Good morning, gentlemen. Sad business, this. Very.’ He glanced rapidly round the room. ‘Ah, there’s the body. Excuse me, Major.’

  He stepped quickly across and bent over the figure in the chair, examining it attentively. Then he dropped on his knees and scrutinised the hand that held the revolver.

  ‘Mustn’t touch anything till the doctor’s seen him,’ he explained briefly, rising to his feet again and dusting the knees of his trousers. ‘May I have a look at that document you spoke of, sir?’

  ‘Certainly, Inspector. It’s on the table.’

  Jefferson showed where the paper was lying, and the inspector picked it up. Roger edged farther into the room. The presence of himself and Alec had not been challenged, and he wished to establish his right to be there. Furthermore, he was uncommonly curious to hear the inspector’s views on the somewhat remarkable document he was now studying.