‘Perfectly true,’ said Amberley. ‘If I found you forcing your way into a strange house I should think the worst. But you are not an unbalanced person. This youth is.’
‘What-ho!’ said Anthony, gratified. ‘The old brainbox full of grey matter, eh?’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Amberley answered. ‘There’s a difference between the unbalanced and the merely feeble-minded.’
Anthony cast a speculative look round him, in search of a likely missile. Joan interposed hastily. ‘Oh, don’t scrap!’ she begged. ‘Is that really what you think, Mr Amberley?’
There was a twinkle at the back of Amberley’s eyes. ‘You see, I was at school with him,’ he said gravely.
‘A little more of this, dear old boyhood’s friend, and I don’t help you to solve the great Nettlefold mystery.’
‘That’d be a blow for the unknown assassin,’ remarked Amberley. ‘Seriously, Miss Fountain, my own impression is that young Brown has – or thinks he has – a grudge against someone. Once he’s a bit drunk he hasn’t a particularly clear idea what it is or whom it’s against. For all I know he may have a general hate against capitalism, which is why he raided this place. In any case, I don’t honestly think you need be frightened of him.’ He glanced at his wrist watch. ‘I must be going. I hope you don’t have any more unhinged visitors tonight.’
Mr Corkran saw his chance and pounced on it. ‘No, two in one evening is a bit steep,’ he said with immense relish.
Mr Amberley did not choose the Greythorne Road when he left the manor, but instead turned right, towards Upper Nettlefold. He had not gone very far when his headlights threw into bold relief the figure of a pedestrian wandering somewhat dejectedly along the side of the road. Amberley drew abreast of the figure and pulled up. He leaned across and opened the door of the car and issued a brief command to Mark Brown to get in.
Mark refused petulantly and began to walk on, but when the command was repeated in a distinctly savage tone he gave in weakly and obeyed.
Mr Amberley seemed disinclined for conversation. Beyond remarking that Mark had made a complete ass of himself he said nothing during the journey to Ivy Cottage. Mark kept up a kind of explanatory mumble, but what little of it reached Amberley’s ears above the noise of the engine was neither interesting nor sensible. After a while Mark seemed to realise that no attention was being paid to his involved explanation and relapsed into a sulky silence.
When the car drew up outside Ivy Cottage Mark got out and stalked ahead of Amberley up the garden path. His air of defiant nonchalance was rather spoiled by the uncertainty of his gait.
As he reached it the door of the cottage was flung open and a beam of warm lamplight shone forth. Shirley’s voice sounded, sharp with anxiety: ‘Is that you, Mark?’ Then she saw the second, larger figure. ‘Who’s that?’ she said quickly.
Amberley strolled into the light. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said.
She stared at him, but he thought he saw a certain amount of relief on her face. ‘I suppose I might have guessed,’ she said. ‘What has happened?’
Mark, who had been fidgeting restlessly, answered belligerently: ‘He’ll tell you fast enough. And you needn’t think I want to hear your remarks about it, because I don’t. I’m going to bed.’
He tried to thrust his way past her into the house, but she caught his arm. ‘Where have you been? I went down to the Blue Dragon. They said you’d gone.’
He shook off her hand. ‘Well, perhaps that’ll teach you not to follow me about,’ he said, and flung into the house.
Shirley turned to Amberley. ‘Will you come in?’ she said listlessly.
He followed her into the living room. Seen in the pale lamplight her face looked tired and wan. She made a little gesture towards a chair. ‘I suppose you brought him home,’ she said. ‘It seems to be your mission in life. What has he been doing?’
‘Merely trying to get himself arrested.’ He drew the automatic out of his pocket and laid it down on the table. ‘May I suggest that you keep this where he won’t in future find it?’
Her pallor grew. ‘I know. I missed it. I didn’t know he’d discovered where I keep it. Where did he go?’
‘You know, don’t you?’ said Amberley softly.
Her eyes lifted to his face; she did not answer.
‘He went to Norton Manor.’
She said steadily: ‘When he’s drunk he behaves like a madman. What did he do?’
‘Nothing much beyond attempting to shoot Fountain’s valet.’
‘Oh, my God,’ she said bitterly.
‘It is sickening, isn’t it?’ agreed Amberley. ‘After all the trouble you’ve taken, too.’
‘What did they do? What was said?’
‘They decided that he was too drunk to know what he was doing and kicked him out.’
‘Did the valet get hurt?’
‘Oh no; no one was hurt.’
She was silent, frowning. After a pause she spoke again. ‘They let him go. Then…’ She broke off and began to drum on the table with her fingers.
‘Exactly,’ said Amberley. ‘It looks as though he’s given the show away, doesn’t it?’
She looked searchingly at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
His voice took on a kinder inflection. ‘Why don’t you make up your mind to trust me?’ he said.
She shrugged. ‘I know of no reason why I should, Mr Amberley. I know nothing about you except that you are mixed up with the police. And since the police can’t help me…’
‘I know. But I can.’
Her eyes were full of distrust. She pushed the heavy hair back from her forehead. ‘Please don’t bother me any more about it,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t wish to argue and I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.’
His face hardened. ‘In fact, you prefer to play a lone hand?’
‘Infinitely.’
He picked up his hat. ‘You’re being unwise. Things are likely to become very dangerous for you, Miss Shirley Brown.’
‘Dear me, is that a threat?’ she asked jibingly.
‘Why should I threaten? I’m warning you. Good night.’
He was frowning as he drove back to Greythorne, and he was short with Felicity, who wanted to know why he had been such a time. On the following morning he went off immediately after breakfast and drove to Carchester, to the police station. He was conducted at once to Inspector Fraser’s sanctum. The inspector greeted him with veiled hostility and said that he had expected to get a visit from him before this.
Mr Amberley was in an uncompromising mood, and returned an answer so brusque that the inspector reddened with anger. Without giving Fraser time to recover he demanded an account of the police investigations up to date.
The inspector, knowing on whose side the chief constable was likely to be, thought it politic to obey. He took Mr Amberley through a long list of perfect alibis first. Everyone at the manor had one, even the female staff. By the time that Amberley had heard that the head-keeper had been in Upper Nettleford, that the head-gardener had visited the chauffeur, that the valet had been pressing a suit for Mr Fountain, that the under-gardener had been with his young lady, he was frankly yawning. When the inspector proposed to continue through a list of cottagers living near the scene of the murder, he cut the recital short and said that he had not come to Carchester to be told who had not committed the murder.
The inspector made an enigmatic reference to amateur detectives and passed on to the search for the cartridge-case. This had not been discovered, nor had any trace of bicycle wheels in the fields behind the hedge been found. The source of Dawson’s income was equally wrapped in mystery. In fact, as Mr Amberley had no hesitation in pointing out, the police had discovered nothing at all.
While the inspector digested this Amberley briefly recounted the story Fountain had told him the night before.
The inspector was interested. When Amberley had finished he rubbed his hands together and said: ‘Now we are getti
ng to something. A pity Mr Fountain didn’t remember it sooner. To the trained mind, Mr Amberley, what you’ve just told me is highly significant.’
‘Highly,’ agreed Amberley. ‘I wish you joy of it. In the meantime I want a man put on to watch Mark Brown.’
The inspector stared at him for a moment. Then his features relaxed into an expression of tolerant amusement. ‘Mark Brown, eh, sir? Now, now, Mr Amberley, I’m afraid you’ve been reading these popular thrillers. I know the style of thing. The mysterious young man who comes down to stay for no reason. But it won’t do, you know. The police aren’t quite asleep.’
‘Not all of them,’ said Mr Amberley sweetly. ‘By the way, have you grasped it yet? I want a man put on to watch Mark Brown.’
‘That’s all very well, Mr Amberley, but we’ve been into his record. There’s nothing to it. You’re on to a false trail. He lives in Earl’s Court in a small flat with his sister which they’ve let for a month. She works as secretary to Anne March.’
‘I want Mark Brown watched.’
‘I take my orders from the chief constable, Mr Amberley.’
‘Very proper. Do you mind if I use your telephone?’
‘Of course, if you’ve got any real reason for having him watched, that makes a difference,’ said the inspector, beginning to hedge. ‘What have you found out about him?’
‘So far, nothing. I shall be able to answer that question more fully in – say, a couple of days’ time.’
‘Suspicions, eh, sir? The police want more than that to go on, I’m afraid.’
‘Which is why I don’t propose to burden you with them.’
The inspector fingered his chin, glancing sideways at Amberley. ‘Perhaps you’d better tell me what you have in your mind, Mr Amberley,’ he said at last. ‘I may as well hear it. Do you suspect him of having committed the murder?’
‘I should think it extremely improbable that he had anything to do with it.’
The inspector flushed. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, sir, but if Brown isn’t implicated in the murder he doesn’t interest me.’
‘That I can readily believe. You never could see farther than the end of your own nose, could you? The murder, as I have said before, is likely to prove the least interesting feature of the whole case.’
‘Indeed, sir? Funny, isn’t it? I was under the impression that the murder is the whole case.’
‘Try and disabuse your mind of that erroneous idea. Unless I am very much mistaken I am on to something far bigger and more fantastic than you’ve any of you imagined.’
The inspector sat up at that. ‘Are you trying to hoax me, Mr Amberley?’ he demanded. ‘What is all this about?’
Amberley got up. ‘There is no point in my telling you, Inspector,’ he said. ‘It is a case where the police can’t possibly act.’
‘H’m! Maybe the police could have a shot at it for all that.’
‘That is precisely what I am afraid of,’ returned Amberley. ‘I don’t want the only piece of evidence that exists destroyed, you see.’
‘Look here, sir, you must have something to go on, or I suppose you’d hardly talk like this!’
Amberley smiled. ‘I have, Inspector. I’ve got one vital clue.’ He paused and his smile grew more sardonic. ‘Which,’ he added, ‘in its present condition is entirely valueless.’
‘I don’t pretend to understand you, Mr Amberley. What you say sounds to me like gibberish.’
‘I expect it does,’ agreed Amberley. ‘You’ll have to trust me all the same. Now, are you going to detail a man to keep an eye on Brown, or do you wish me to get on to the chief constable first?’
‘I suppose we can have him watched if you make a point of it,’ the inspector said ungraciously.
Amberley nodded. ‘Any one of your promising young men will do. The more obvious the better. But watch him damned closely, Inspector. I’ll see you again in a day or two. My respects to Colonel Watson. Good morning.’
He drove back to Upper Nettlefold and stopped at the station to buy a paper. The ten-thirty from London came in while he was standing by the bookstall, and he turned, idly surveying the passengers who alighted.
From the rear portion of the train a thin, middle-aged man got out with two suitcases. He was quietly and respectably dressed and looked like a superior servant. He saw Mr Amberley at once, and while he sought in his waistcoat pocket for his ticket, covertly regarded him.
Amberley’s eyes, wandering along the platform, came to rest on him and grew intent. The man picked up his suitcases again and walked down the platform towards the barrier. As he came abreast of Amberley, he shot a quick, furtive look up at him. But Mr Amberley had spread open the paper, and his face could not be seen.
Eight
Fountain’s new butler seemed, when Amberley saw him, to be settling down quite well at the manor. He was a rather deprecating man with shy, brown eyes and a bald top to his head. Anthony Corkran said that he was all right in his way, but a bit too assiduous. You were always tripping over the man. He supposed one couldn’t blame him for making himself pleasant to the other servants, but he showed rather too many signs of growing thick with Collins for Anthony’s taste.
It may have been this piece of information, so carelessly dropped, that made Amberley favour the newcomer with a long, hard stare when he first saw him. Baker gave a polite smile and turned away towards the drawing-room door to announce Amberley.
He was checked. ‘The name is Amberley,’ Frank said gently.
Baker shot him a quick look and said apologetically: ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’
‘Which I do not think you could have known,’ said Amberley, still more gently.
‘No, sir. I was forgetting.’
Mr Amberley followed him in a leisurely fashion to the drawing room.
Fountain, unlike Corkran, was quite enthusiastic over his new butler. The man knew his work, seemed very willing and, what was more, hit it off with the others. He was perhaps a little stupid, but one could not have everything. Even Collins seemed to be getting on quite well with him, and it was not everyone with whom Collins got on, he could assure Amberley.
He left the subject of the butler to inquire whether Amberley had come for any particular purpose. It did not seem as though he had. He put one or two not very important questions to Fountain and prepared to depart. Fountain asked him whether he was any nearer to solving the problem, and was answered by a noncommittal shrug.
‘I’ve got Fraser to put a man on to watch Mark Brown,’ Amberley said.
Fountain’s expression of interest and respect changed ludicrously. It was plain that he did not think much of this new departure.
Mr Amberley gave a crooked smile. ‘Shattering your faith in me, Fountain?’
Fountain disclaimed hurriedly. He supposed Amberley had his reasons, but – well, wasn’t it a slight waste of time? He could not seriously suppose that Brown had had anything to do with Dawson’s murder. He must say it did seem to him a bit of a forlorn hope.
Mr Amberley smiled again and remarked that he was not the first person who had been disappointed by this, his own first move in the game.
He left Fountain looking after him rather dubiously and motored in to Upper Nettlefold to see his friend Sergeant Gubbins.
Fraser and Fountain might be disappointed, but the sergeant welcomed him with open arms and said that he had known all along that he could trust him.
‘Why,’ he said, becoming reminiscent, ‘I’ve known you now, sir, a matter of three years and more. Twice I’ve cautioned you for dangerous driving, and three times I’ve had you up for parking your car where you hadn’t ought to, and once I’ve worked on a case with you. So if I don’t know you, I’d like to know who does. No, all along – and in spite of appearances – I’ve said: “You can always trust Mr Amberley.”’
‘Sergeant, you almost unman me,’ said Amberley. ‘And what is it all about?’
The sergeant looked very knowing. ‘Mark Brown, eh, s
ir? Now that’s where you and I know a thing or two. The inspector’s not at all pleased about it; not at all, he isn’t. He had a lot to say about amateurs meddling in police matters which I wouldn’t care to repeat. But he didn’t see Albert Collins come out of Ivy Cottage.’ He paused and scratched his head. ‘Now I come to think of it, no more did I,’ he said. ‘However, you did, and that’s good enough for me.’
Mr Amberley asked whether he had told the inspector that and the sergeant deliberately winked. ‘No, sir, I did not. Didn’t happen to think of it,’ he said offhandedly.
Amberley smiled. ‘Convenient memory. Don’t tell him.’
‘Not me, sir. Of course,’ he added, fixing Amberley with a stern blue eye, ‘if I’d actually seen it that would be a very different affair. But there’s no reason why I should report a lot of hearsay to the inspector.’
‘None at all,’ Amberley agreed. ‘Meanwhile, is the boy being watched?’
‘He’s being watched all right, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘But if you were to ask me, I should have to say that you might as well put on an elephant to watch him as young Tucker; it wouldn’t be any more noticeable.’
‘I don’t mind that,’ Amberley said. ‘As long as someone’s trailing him, that’s all I wanted to know.’
The sergeant coughed. ‘Of course you have your reasons, sir?’ he said tentatively.
‘No,’ said Amberley frankly. ‘I’ve only my suspicions – which may yet prove to be far-fetched. Watching Brown is a precaution and possibly an over-precaution.’
Georgette Heyer Page 10
