‘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 turned his torch on again.
Amberley stood looking down at what remained of Albert Collins. ‘The top of his head’s been blown right off,’ 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 see you 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.
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.
Mr Amberley, who had picked up the current number of Punch from the table and was idly perusing it, raised his eyes at that.
‘You had given him notice?’
‘Yes, I had. This morning. All things considered, I thought it best. The man’s been presuming on his position. And then there was that business about young Brown. The more I thought over what you said, Amberley, the fishier the thing looked to me. Dawson, too. Once you start suspecting a man you don’t know where to stop. And if you get into that frame of mind the only thing to do is to sack the servant.’
‘But Collins, if I remember rightly, had a sound alibi on the night of Dawson’s murder.’
‘Yes, so I thought. Never bothered my head much till Brown fell in the river. Collins was pressing a suit for me at the time and I saw him. But it’s extraordinary how you can pick holes in an alibi. I’ve been trying to calculate the time it would have taken him to reach the Pittingly Road, supposing he took the motor bicycle. I shouldn’t have said he could have done it, but I’ve got just a faint doubt. That’s a beastly state of affairs between master and servant, you know. I gave him notice today. When he was missing tonight it flashed across my mind that he might have thought that I suspected him, got the wind up and bolted. The more I considered it the more certain I felt. When he hadn’t come in by three o’clock I rang up the police station. But I never dreamed that anything like this had happened.’
‘No, sir, I don’t suppose you did,’ said the sergeant. ‘And you didn’t hear him go out or see anyone else go out?’
‘No, but I might not have, you know. I was in this room most of the evening, writing letters. I should have heard the front door open, but Collins wouldn’t have left by that door.’
‘Quite, sir. If it’s convenient to you I should like to have a word with that butler of yours.’
‘Certainly.’ Fountain walked to the fireplace and pressed the bell.
The door opened almost immediately to admit not Baker, but Corkran, looking tousled and sleepy. He blinked at the assembled company and shut his eyes tightly for a moment. Then he opened them again and shook his head. ‘I thought it was a mirage,’ he said. ‘But I see it really is you, Sergeant. All is discovered, what? I’ll go quietly, ’strewth, I will!’
The sergeant grinned, but Fountain said sharply: ‘It isn’t a joking matter. Collins has been shot.’
Corkran gaped at him. Then he looked at Amberley and requested him to explain.
It was Fountain who answered him. Anthony listened in amazement and at the end said that he took a very poor view of it. ‘I didn’t like the man,’ he said. ‘In fact, I hadn’t any time for him at all. But this is a bit too thick. I don’t mind a spot of crime just to liven things up, but I bar homicidal maniacs. Three deaths all on top of each other! No, really, that’s coming it too strong!’
Fountain swung round towards Amberley. ‘Good God, do you think that’s it?’ he exclaimed. ‘Could it really be what Tony suggests? These utterly inexplicable murders – what do you think?’
‘Some people,’ said Mr Amberley carefully, ‘consider that all murderers are maniacs.’
‘You rang for me, sir?’
The sergeant looked round. ‘I want to ask you a few questions,’ he said. ‘You come inside and shut the door.’
The butler obeyed. ‘Yes, Sergeant?’
Out came the notebook. ‘What time was it when you saw Collins last?’ asked the sergeant.
The butler answered promptly: ‘At twenty minutes past seven.’
‘Oh! What makes you so sure?’
‘Collins himself drew attention to the time, Sergeant, and said he must go up to lay Mr Fountain’s dress clothes out.’
From the other end of the room Amberley spoke. ‘You didn’t see him leave the house?’
‘I did not, sir. He must have gone during dinner while I was engaged in waiting.’
‘Why?’ said the sergeant at once.
The butler’s mouth twitched nervously. He said after an infinitesimal pause: ‘I think I should have seen him go had I been in the servants’ quarters.’
‘You would, eh? Were you friendly with him?’
‘I have not been in Mr Fountain’s employment for long, Sergeant. I have endeavoured to be on good terms with the rest of the staff.’
The sergeant surveyed him closely. ‘Where were you before you came down here?’
A shade of discomfort crossed the butler’s features. He replied, not quite so readily: ‘I was temporarily out of service, Sergeant.’
‘Why?’
‘I was suffering from ill health.’
‘Address?’
‘My – my home address is in Tooting,’ said the man reluctantly. ‘In Blackadder Road.’
‘Previous employer?’
‘My late master has gone to America.’
‘He has, has he? Name?’
‘Fanshawe,’ said Baker still more unwillingly.
‘Address when in England?’
‘He has no address in England, Sergeant.’
The sergeant looked up. ‘Look here, my man, he had an address while you were in his service, hadn’t he? What was it?’
Mr Amberley’s quiet voice interposed. ‘You were with Mr Geoffrey Fanshawe, were you?’
The butler glanced towards him. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Eaton Square, in fact?’
The butler swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then why make a mystery of it? No. 547, Sergeant.’
‘Do you know the gentleman, sir?’
>
‘Slightly. He’s a member of my club.’
‘Is it true that he’s gone abroad?’
‘I believe so. I could find out.’
The sergeant addressed Fountain. ‘You had a reference, sir, I take it?’
‘Yes, of course. But Baker gave it to me. I wasn’t able to write to Mr Fanshawe myself because he had gone – or was said to have gone – to New York. The chit was written on club notepaper.’
‘Trace him through the club,’ said the sergeant, writing laboriously in his notebook. ‘Or you will, sir?’
‘Yes, I will,’ Amberley said. ‘I should like to know one thing, though.’ His hard eyes rested on Baker’s face. ‘You say you would have heard Collins leave the house had you not been in the dining room at the time. Did you see or hear anyone else leave the house during the course of the evening?’
The butler said slowly: ‘Two of the maids were out, sir. None of the rest of the staff.’
‘You are sure of that?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Were you in the servants’ hall?’
‘No, sir. I was in my pantry most of the evening. Before that I was in the dining room clearing things away.’
‘So that you would have known had anyone left the house by the front door?’
‘No one opened the front door this evening, sir,’ said Baker, meeting his gaze squarely.
Mr Amberley returned to the study of Punch. He appeared to take no further interest in the sergeant’s examination of Baker, but as the butler was about to leave the room ten minutes later, he raised his eyes for a moment and said: ‘Did it appear to you, when you looked in Collins’ room, that he had taken anything away, as though he were leaving for good?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Baker. ‘Mr Fountain told me to look particularly. I took the liberty of glancing in the cupboard and the chest of drawers. So far as I could judge nothing had been taken away.’
‘And you looked pretty thoroughly?’
‘Yes, sir. There was nothing of a suspicious nature to be seen.’
‘Thank you,’ said Amberley.
The sergeant shut his notebook. ‘No more questions, sir?’
‘No, thanks, Sergeant,’ said Amberley tranquilly.
Georgette Heyer Page 18
