‘Yes, of course you are right; I appreciate all that. But it doesn’t make my position any easier,’ answered Holmes-Waterford.
‘I imagine,’ said Flecker, ‘that Mr. Broughton was in a bad temper on Friday evening.’
‘Well, yes.’ Holmes-Waterford’s voice was grave. ‘I’m very much afraid you’re right.’
‘Did you discuss Mr. Vickers’ behaviour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Mr. Broughton annoyed with his presence at the party?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say so?’
‘Yes.’
Flecker grinned. ‘Can you remember the actual words he used? If so, please repeat them. If not, I’d like the substance of the conversation.’
Once again the Colonel became intensely preoccupied with the fringe of the hearthrug. Flecker waited patiently. ‘To the best of my remembrance,’ said Duggie Holmes-Waterford at last, ‘Mr. Broughton said he would like to wring Vickers’ bloody neck — But,’ he added hastily, ‘knowing him as I do, I recognized it as a figure of speech. I knew he was simply letting off steam.’
‘Did he say anything else? About the hunt for instance?’
‘Oh, something rather childish about telling Vickers to take his infernal money to the Shires.’
‘That, of course, is the point,’ said Flecker. ‘There are plenty of packs of hounds which would have been delighted to have Mr. Vickers, and this “hunt quarrel”, as my colleagues christened it, was really a storm in a teacup.’
‘Exactly,’ said Duggie Holmes-Waterford heartily. ‘You’ve put it in a nutshell. There was nothing there for two sane, grown-up men to quarrel over and for Vickers, whose time must have been very largely taken up with training for the Olympics, it was absurd. But I don’t think it was the hunt itself he was so taken with. I think it was its proximity to a certain lady.’
‘You mean Miss Chadwick?’
Duggie Holmes-Waterford laughed uneasily. ‘There’s no hiding anything from you, Chief Inspector.’
‘Have you any idea how deeply they were attached?’ asked Flecker.
‘No idea at all. All I know, was that the gentleman was very obviously smitten and that the lady appeared to enjoy his company.’
‘And I imagine that Mr. Broughton bitterly resented this?’
‘Do I have to answer that?’ asked Duggie Holmes-Waterford.
‘No, sir,’ said Flecker, sorting through his envelopes. ‘Did you know Mrs. Broughton well?’
‘Yes, very well indeed. In fact I think I might describe myself as one of her old flames. We’ve all three been good friends for many years. When they married I was Mr. Broughton’s best man.’
‘Do you know why Mrs. Broughton started drinking?’
Holmes-Waterford’s eyes returned to the hearthrug. ‘Does anyone ever know why these things happen? One can’t pinpoint a single incident and say this, or that, made anyone drink. No, it’s a snowball of incidents growing larger and larger as the years roll by, and then one day — well, I suppose it just becomes too big to be borne, so you drink to forget it or at least to deaden the pain.’
‘Yes, but what sort of incidents?’ asked Flecker.
‘Well, Mr. Broughton’s a very good fellow, but he’s exceptionally keen on those hounds. And it’s all very well, you know, but women like a little attention even if they are wives. Then he never gave her a child. Well, I know that a lot of women don’t want them nowadays; they’ve too many other interests. But Mrs. Broughton wasn’t like that. She wasn’t interested in world affairs, or politics or committees for this and that.’
There was a silence, then Flecker put his envelopes in his pocket. ‘There are still a lot of questions I’d like to ask you, sir,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I simply must go now as I have an appointment with the Chief Constable. Anyway, thank you very much for your help; I’ll come and see you again, if I may.’
‘Well, yes, any time, Chief Inspector,’ said Duggie Holmes-Waterford, ringing the bell for Gold.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Browning, when they were in the car again. ‘Those poor kids.’
‘What poor kids?’ asked Flecker.
‘Young Deborah and Jonathan, of course. They’re very fond of Mr. B., you can tell it from the way they talk. It’s Uncle Mark does this and Uncle Mark says that. Poor little nippers, bad enough having your mum and dad killed by the Mau-Mau without having your uncle hanged for scuppering your aunt.’
‘Well, that hasn’t happened yet,’ Flecker told him. ‘You’d better step on it,’ he added. ‘We’re going to be late.’ And he pulled out his envelopes and began to rearrange them in a new sequence.
Browning looked disapprovingly at the confusion on Flecker’s knees. ‘If you must use those old things instead of a notebook I’d better get hold of some rubber bands to keep them tidy.’ Flecker, chewing reflectively at the stump of a pencil, said nothing until they reached the police station, when he remarked that he wouldn’t be long and bade Browning go and get himself a cup of tea.
Superintendent Fox, who was waiting with the Chief Constable in his office, looked reproachfully at his watch as the Chief Inspector came in. But the gesture was lost on Flecker, who was still deep in thought.
‘Well, Chief Inspector, got our man for us?’ asked the Chief Constable jovially. ‘We’re expecting great things of you, you know; we country chaps are all agog to see how you Londoners do it.’
Flecker pushed back his hair. ‘I’ve unearthed a few more facts, sir, mostly irrelevant, and a great deal of extremely relevant gossip. Have you heard from Anstruther?’
‘Oh yes, he’s been down, removed “certain organs” and taken them back with him — a grisly business,’ said the Chief Constable.
‘We got his O.K. to send Vickers’ body to London,’ added Fox. ‘The family were being extremely difficult over the delay; I understand the funeral takes place on Friday.’
‘And the inquest on Mrs. Broughton is tomorrow morning?’ asked Flecker.
‘Yes, but it won’t be necessary for you to attend unless you want to; we’ll send someone along — probably Hollis,’ Fox told him.
‘Good,’ said Flecker. He produced his envelopes, now in some sort of order, and went on. ‘One of the most interesting points which has emerged is that Mr. Broughton knew Vickers was to attend the party; he’d been told in case he had any violent objection to meeting him they had both been invited before the question of a joint mastership came up. So far, he and the Chadwicks are the only people who definitely knew Vickers was expected.’
‘You’ve got that in black and white, have you?’ asked Fox. Then he turned to the Chief Constable. ‘It looks as though Hollis was right.’
‘If so, I’ve got some nice lines in red herrings,’ Flecker told them. ‘Mr. Denton, the vet, has a first-class motive for the first murder as his wife was seduced — as he puts it — by Vickers last autumn. He would have had opportunity for committing the crime as well as access to and a knowledge of poisons — though nothing in the arsenic line appears to be missing from Marley and Skinner’s surgery. The only point in his favour, so far as the first murder is concerned, is that he didn’t expect to meet Vickers at the party. For the second murder his motive would have to be a cover-up, but it seems quite feasible that Mrs. Broughton saw something going on. The opportunity for Denton, or for anyone other than Mr. Broughton, to carry out the second murder, seems small. However, Denton was working on Saturday and Sunday; though he says Rollhurst was the nearest he went to Lap worth.’
‘Mrs. Broughton was an inside job,’ said Fox. ‘No doubt about that.’
‘Are you getting Broughton to talk?’ asked the Chief Constable. ‘Hollis couldn’t get a reasonable word out of him. Fox here got permission to search, but not much else, did you, Superintendent?’
“You can turn the whole bloody place upside down, for all I care,” was what I got. I took it as permission to conduct a search.’ A glint of humour enlivened Fox’s stolid face.
‘He’s taken long enough to that one up,’ remarked Fox.
‘Where do we go from here?’ the Chief Constable asked Flecker.
‘Well, sir,’ said Flecker. ‘I’m going to pay Commander Chadwick a visit and make further investigations into who might possibly have discovered that Vickers was to be at the party. As the Superintendent said, that’s rather a damning point. For the future, I’m not too sure. I’d very much like Anstruther’s report; it should give me a solid fact or two to work on. The case we’re building up at the moment is based on probability; we’ve very little hard evidence.’
‘Well, they died of arsenic poisoning, Broughton’s lost a tin of arsenic and he had the opportunity in both cases. Those look like facts to me,’ argued Fox.
‘They look like related facts and I’m hoping that Anstruther’s report will tell us whether they are.’
‘He won’t find that tin of weedkiller for you,’ said Fox.
The Chief Constable asked, ‘Is there anything we can do for you, Flecker? You don’t want any ponds dragged or door to door inquiries made?’
‘Not yet,’ Flecker answered. ‘I may start bothering you for help tomorrow, sir.’
‘Right. Well, just let us know when you want us, we’re always here,’ said the Chief Constable, reverting to his official tone.
Flecker got to his feet. ‘Thank you, sir, I will — and you’ll let me know the moment Anstruther’s report comes through,’ he added turning to Fox.
‘I will, but I don’t think it’s going to tell us much we don’t know already,’ answered the Superintendent. ‘Hmm, not getting on very fast,’ he went on, as the door closed behind Flecker. ‘I’m not sure we wouldn’t be better off with Hollis now. It strikes me, sir that there’s not such a vast difference between our provincial chaps and the Yard after all.’
‘Give him a chance,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘After all, Fox, he’s only been here twenty-four hours.’
Flecker found Browning waiting for him in the entrance hall of the police station, chatting happily to the constable behind the inquiry desk. ‘Ready, sir?’ he asked.
‘Yes, next stop Hazebrook. I hope you’re going to see the inside of your dream cottage.’
‘I suppose no one thought of offering you a cup of tea?’ said Browning as they got in the car.
‘No,’ answered Flecker, ‘but it doesn’t matter. I’m quite used to doing without.’
‘You do without too many meals,’ grumbled Browning. ‘And when you do eat, you shovel it down anyhow, thinking of something else.’
Flecker laughed. ‘Well, you can’t say I look exactly emaciated on it.’
‘No, that’s true enough, but it’s a wonder to me you keep as fit as you do. One of these days you’ll find you’ve got ulcers.’
‘Nonsense, the devil looks after his own,’ said Flecker, producing his envelopes.
‘Oh, I’ve got a nice rubber band for you.' Browning felt in his pocket. ‘Here you are, I begged it off the station sergeant.’
‘Thanks,’ said Flecker, putting it round his wrist.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AT A QUARTER TO FOUR on Wednesday afternoon Mark telephoned Elizabeth Chadwick and asked if he might bring the children over to tea.
Today? Yes, of course, Mark. We’d love to have you; but I don’t promise there’ll be much to eat.’
‘We’re all off our feed,’ Mark answered, ‘so that won’t matter. Provided the car starts, we’ll be with you in a quarter of an hour. Are you sure that’s all right?’
‘Positive,’ said Elizabeth and turned, as she put back the receiver, to call for Hilary. Together they dashed to the kitchen to see what they could find to eat.
‘Buttered toast,’ suggested Hilary. ‘There isn’t time to boil eggs for sandwiches.’
‘Here’s a whole packet of chocolate biscuits,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We’re not going to do too badly. So like Mark to ring up at the last minute.’
The Broughtons arrived as the kettle boiled.
‘The car started then,’ said Elizabeth as she opened the front door.
‘Yes,’ Mark answered. ‘I hadn’t used it since Friday, so I had me doubts. Still, we could have come in the flesh van.’
Deborah said, ‘Ugh!’ but not in her usual spirited tones and Elizabeth, looking from her to Jon, thought, Oh dear, Mark hasn’t managed to keep this away from you, you’re both frightened out of your wits. ‘Come in,’ she said aloud. ‘Isn’t it freezingly cold? We decided to have tea in the drawing-room, even though there’s so many of us; the dining-room’s icy.’
Hilary came in with the teapot in one hand and the buttered toast in the other, ‘Hullo, all,’ she said and noticed in a brief glance that Mark was wearing a black tie and looked pale and drawn.
‘Charlie thought he might be late, so we’re not going to wait for him,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Do sit down, Mark, and stop behaving like a visitor.’
‘Sorry.’ Mark sat down hastily. ‘I’m having doubts as to whether I’m persona grata or not.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Elizabeth’s voice was sharp. ‘Have some buttered toast and, if you can’t think of anything sensible to say, keep quiet.’
Mark grinned. ‘May I take those few kind words as a vote of confidence?’
‘You may,’ Elizabeth told him. And Hilary said, ‘I’ll second it.’ Deborah was looking from one to the other in an attempt to fathom the conversation, but Jon, aware of the more reassuring atmosphere, had already begun to eat.
‘Has the Scotland Yard detective been to see you yet?’ Elizabeth asked Mark.
‘Yes, we met this morning.'
‘How did you get on with him?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Well,’ Mark answered slowly, ‘much to his surprise, I didn’t throw him out. I don’t think I even swore at him. He seemed quite grateful; I think he must have had alarming reports of my behaviour from the local man.’
‘Hollis,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He’s a frightful brute; he annoyed me and I’m not easily annoyed.'
‘Hollis couldn’t bear us,’ said Hilary. ‘We drove him mad with our feminine chatter. At least Chief Inspector Flecker likes us to talk.’
‘Nan approves of him,’ announced Jon through a mouthful of buttered toast. ‘She says he’s a nice young man. She told him all about Mrs. Tucker and the soup. The Sergeant’s horsey; he spent the whole morning in the yard and he didn’t seem to be doing much detecting. He finished up in the saddle room reading the pony club book; he said that he couldn’t make “head nor tail” of dressage. But he was quite good on the points of the horse, wasn’t he, Deb?’
‘Yes. And he didn’t seem to like being a detective much; he said he’d rather hunt foxes than murderers.’
‘I haven’t met the Sergeant yet,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But, like Nan, I thought the Chief Inspector a nice young man. He seemed very earnest; I don’t think he’ll clap us into jail for nothing, like that nasty Hollis was dying to do.’
Mark cleared his throat. ‘This new chap specializes in cosy chats; they always go down well with the ladies.’
‘What I want to know,’ said Jon, ‘is what’s going to happen if our two private policemen are still following you about when we start hunting again. Do you think they’ll follow hounds in the patrol car?’
Mark grinned. ‘I’ll offer to mount them,’ he said. ‘I’ll give one of them Killarney and with any luck he’ll be put down on the way to the first draw.’
‘We could meet at Farley crossroads, bang in the middle of the vale,’ said Jon. ‘And if you gave the other one Magic he’d be bound to fall in the brook even if he survived the other fences.’
‘And we could give Killarney twenty pounds of oats for several days beforehand,’ suggested Deb. ‘Just to make sure.’
‘And I’ll rid
e Silhouette, just to make sure they can’t stay with me across the vale,’ added Mark.
‘Are you being shadowed then?’ Elizabeth tried to sound as flippant as her guests.
‘Not exactly shadowed,’ said Jon. ‘They don’t try to conceal their presence or wear disguises or anything; they just sit outside the house quite openly.’
‘Waste of the ratepayer’s money,’ said Mark, avoiding Elizabeth’s eye.
‘Nan likes it,’ Deb told them. ‘She says that at least no one can murder us.’
‘There’s something in that,’ agreed Mark.
There was a knock on the front door as he spoke and Elizabeth noticed that both the children jumped at the sound. Hilary got up.
‘It’s not Charlie, he just walks in the back way; besides I haven’t heard the car,’ said Elizabeth.
There were voices in the hall and then Hilary reappeared.
‘Scotland Yard again,’ she said. ‘They want to see Papa. They say they don’t mind waiting.’
‘Oh, curse them. Well, they’d better wait in the diningroom, hadn’t they, Mark?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘I don’t mind,’ answered Mark. ‘I ain’t afeared. If they’re going to wait for Charlie you’d better give them some tea.’
‘Oh, bring them in here then, Hilary. They’ll freeze in the dining-room and perhaps they’ll tell us if there’s any news.’
Mark got up as the two detectives came in.
‘Good evening,’ they said together, blinking a little after the dark outside. ‘We didn’t mean to interrupt a tea-party,’ Flecker added apologetically. ‘Wouldn’t you rather we went away and came back later? We could easily, we’re only staying at Lollington.’
‘Not at that dam’ awful pub?’ asked Mark.
‘The Dog and Duck, yes,’ said Flecker.
‘There’s only one good thing about that place,’ Mark told him, ‘and that’s the yard. It’s big enough for hounds and horses, which is more than you can say of most of the places where we meet. The brewery want to pull the old pub down and build something in stockbrokers’ Tudor, but the county council won’t have it. Colonel Holmes-Waterford’s on something called the planning committee and he told me. Have you been in that appalling saloon bar? They’ve made an abortive attempt to modernize it with brownish tiles.’
Gin and Murder Page 10
