She stopped dead in her tracks. ‘You? You followed me? But how? How did you know where I was going.’
‘Intuition,’ grinned Mr Amberley. ‘Aren’t I clever?’
‘You can’t have known. Where were you?’
‘Outside the Boar’s Head,’ he replied. ‘I came on in my car. I should have liked to offer you a lift, but I was afraid you might not take it.’
She said hotly: ‘It’s intolerable to be spied on like this!’
He laughed. ‘You didn’t think it quite so intolerable a few minutes ago, did you?’
There was a pause. Shirley began to walk on, her hands in her pockets. Mr Amberley kept pace beside her. After a moment a gruff voice said with difficulty: ‘I didn’t mean to be ungrateful.’
‘You sound just like a little girl who has been well scolded,’ said Mr Amberley. ‘All right, I forgive you.’
The ghost of a chuckle escaped her. ‘Well, I was glad to see you,’ she admitted. ‘But all the same, it isn’t fair of you to – to follow me. Was it you who whistled?’
‘A habit of mine,’ said Mr Amberley.
She looked up, trying to see his face. ‘You complain that I’m – mysterious, but are you being quite open with me?’
‘Not in the least,’ he said.
She was slightly indignant. ‘Well, then –’
‘You can’t have something for nothing, my girl,’ said Mr Amberley. ‘When you decide to trust me I’ll be as open as you please.’
She said: ‘I do trust you. I didn’t at first, but that’s all done with. It isn’t that I don’t want to confide in you, but I daren’t. Please believe me!’
‘That a sample of your trust, is it? I don’t think much of it.’
She was strangely anxious to explain herself. ‘No, it isn’t what you think. I’m not afraid that you’d give me away, or anything, but I daren’t tell a soul, because if I do – oh, I can’t make you understand!’
‘You’re mistaken; I understand perfectly. You’re afraid I might put my foot in it and queer your pitch. I said I didn’t think much of your trust.’
They had reached the gate and passed through it on to the road. A little way down it a red tail-lamp glowed; they walked towards it.
‘Mr Amberley, how much do you know already?’ Shirley asked abruptly.
She knew that he was smiling. ‘Something for nothing, Miss Brown?’
‘If I only knew – had some idea – I don’t know what to do. Why should I trust you?’
‘Feminine instinct,’ said Mr Amberley.
‘If you’d only tell me…’
‘I shan’t tell you anything. You shall come all the way. Didn’t I say so?’
‘You’re quite unreasonable,’ she said crossly, and got into the car.
Thirteen
Mr Amberley breakfasted early next morning, and had been to Upper Nettlefold and back before the rest of the family had risen from the table. He sauntered in to find Sir Humphrey fuming and Felicity just about to go out.
Sir Humphrey was declaiming against the dilatory methods of glaziers, but he stopped when he saw his nephew and requested him to listen to that fellow Fountain’s behaviour. Felicity slipped from the room, making a grimace at her cousin.
‘What’s the matter?’ inquired Amberley.
It appeared that Fountain had done something unmannerly, boorish and inexplicable. He had sent a servant over at nine in the morning to ask for the return of his book. Had Frank ever heard anything to equal it?
‘Never,’ said Amberley, not visibly impressed. ‘Which servant?’
‘I fail to see that it matters.’
‘Nevertheless, it does matter,’ said Amberley, and rang the bell. When Jenkins came in he put the question to him and learned that it was the valet who had come. ‘I thought so,’ said Amberley. ‘Getting desperate.’
Sir Humphrey jabbed his glasses onto his bony nose. ‘Why did you think so? Are you going to tell me that all this business has something to do with your – your meddlesome investigations for the police?’
‘Everything,’ said Amberley. ‘Didn’t you guess?’
‘Damn it, Frank, next time you come and stay in my house…’
‘But I’m enjoying it all so much,’ interposed his wife, emerging from her correspondence. ‘Shall we be murdered, Frank? I thought these things didn’t happen. So very enlightening.’
‘I hope not, Aunt. I might be, of course. You never know.’
She glanced up at him shrewdly. ‘Not pleased, my dear?’
‘Not so very,’ he admitted.
‘Annoying,’ she said, ‘losing things. I once lost my engagement ring. It turned up. Better not say where, perhaps.’
He took his pipe out of his mouth. ‘You’re too acute, Aunt. I shall go and play golf with Anthony.’
‘I prefer that you should not mention this disagreeable occurrence to Fountain,’ said Sir Humphrey stiffly. ‘I myself intend to ignore it.’
‘I should,’ said Amberley. ‘It would surprise me very much if he knows anything about it.’
He arrived at the manor to find Corkran practising approach-shots on the lawn. Corkran hailed him with enthusiasm. It appeared that Amberley was just the man he wanted to see. He announced that the manor had just about got his goat. Joan was right: there was something about the darned place that made everyone behave in an odd manner. He enumerated the various vagaries, starting with his prospective relative’s moodiness, and passing on by way of the murder of Dawson to the night prowlings of Collins and the extraordinary conduct of Baker. He wanted to know what Amberley made of a butler who started to dust the library at ten o’clock at night.
‘Damn it, butlers don’t dust!’ he said. ‘Have you ever seen one at it?’
‘Dusting the library?’ repeated Amberley.
‘Absolutely. Those people from the grange – woman with a face like the back of a cab, and spouse – were here to dinner and we played bridge. I went to fetch my cigarette case, which I’d left in the library, and I’m dashed if that Baker fellow wasn’t there dusting the books. Well, I mean to say! Told me he didn’t like to see them so dusty and understood Fountain didn’t allow the skivvies to touch ’em. A whole lot of eyewash about not having time – no, leisure – to do it in the daytime. Too jolly fishy by half. What do you think?’
‘I think I’d like to see Mr Baker.’
‘Well, if you stick around long enough you will. He’s gone to fetch me some more golf balls,’ said Anthony morosely.
The butler came out of the house at that moment with three golf balls on a silver tray.
‘Looks like an egg-and-spoon race,’ said Anthony. ‘Silly ass!’
Baker came sedately across the lawn; he did not look at Amberley, but went to Corkran and presented his tray. ‘Your golf balls, sir. I could only find three in your bag.’
Anthony took them with a brief word of thanks. The butler turned to go, but halted as Mr Amberley spoke.
‘Just a moment.’
Baker turned and stood waiting, his head deferentially inclined.
‘Do you know if Mr Fountain sent to Greythorne for a book that was borrowed the other day?’
Baker flashed a quick look up at him. ‘A book, sir?’ He seemed to choose his words carefully. ‘I could not say, sir, I am sure. I do not think that Mr Fountain gave any such order. Not to my knowledge.’
Mr Amberley’s pipe had gone out. He struck a match and held it between his cupped hands; over it his eyes held Baker’s. ‘It’s not important. Sir Humphrey had finished with it.’ He threw the match away. ‘Interested in books, Baker?’
The butler gave his little cough. ‘I do not get much time for reading, sir.’
‘Only dusting,’ said Anthony.
The butler bowed. ‘Exactly so, sir. I do my best with indifferent success, I fear. Mr Fountain has a large library.’
‘Quite a valuable one,’ drawled Amberley. ‘To connoisseurs.’
‘So I believe, sir.’ Baker me
t his gaze limpidly. ‘I fear I know very little about such things.’
‘A book is just a book, eh?’
‘Yes, sir. As you say.’
‘Well, what the devil should it be?’ demanded Anthony, pausing in the act of taking a chip-shot onto the terrace.
The butler permitted himself a discreet smile. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘Not at present,’ said Amberley, and transferred his attention to the golf enthusiast.
Anthony professed himself entirely at sea over the whole business. He complained that Amberley was as bad as the rest of them; prowling about and saying nothing. ‘And just what are you doing?’ he said. ‘I’m damned if I know.’
‘I’m looking for lost property,’ said Amberley.
‘Whose lost property?’
‘I’m not sure.’
Anthony blinked at him. ‘Look here, what the devil are you driving at?’
‘I’m sure, of course,’ said Amberley maddeningly, ‘but I’ve no proof. Awkward, isn’t it?’
Anthony shook his head. ‘I can’t cope with it. I thought you were looking for Dawson’s assassin, and now you say…’
‘I’ve never had much interest in Dawson’s murder,’ said Amberley.
Mr Corkran raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Of course I shall end up in a looney-bin,’ he said. ‘I can feel it coming on.’
In spite of what he had told Sir Humphrey Mr Amberley did not invite Corkran to play golf, but drove away from the manor to Carchester, where the chief constable and Inspector Fraser were awaiting him.
They found him in a discouraging mood. Colonel Watson was dismayed, the inspector triumphant. The inspector was following up a trail of his own and held forth on its possibilities until he realised that Mr Amberley was not listening to him.
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 has 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 attaché-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 eyes 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.’
Georgette Heyer Page 17
