Felix shook his head. ‘I’ve not a shred of evidence for that. But if I don’t get this right, an innocent person may hang. Innocent of that crime anyway.’
‘Is that a possibility?’
‘Yes it is. So it behoves me to question everything that seems wrong, however esoteric it may seem.’
◆◆◆
‘Sit down, Chief Inspector,’ said Sir Blaine, once again behind his desk. ‘What can I do for you?’ He sounded weary.
‘Sir, I understand from Lady Ickborne that you encountered one another on this floor on Saturday night, at about nine-thirty. Is that correct?’
Sir Blaine paused before answering. ‘Yes we did. I suppose I should have told you that.’
‘Did you speak?’
‘We didn’t engage in conversation, no. I invited her to precede me downstairs, which she did.’
‘From where did she come? Did you see?’
‘No. Possibly it was from my daughter’s apartment. I believe I saw her friends go down just before her. Miss Butterworth had, I believe, been offered the use of it, as a changing room.’
‘Could the Countess have come from Nigel’s apartment?’
‘No, I had his door in sight.’
‘May I ask what you were doing up here at that time?’
Again a pause. ‘I came for a cigar.’
‘Could not a servant have fetched you one?’
Sir Blaine’s normally rather impassive features registered irritation. ‘I wanted a few minutes on my own, Chief Inspector. I am not a gregarious person and do not enjoy being surrounded by crowds of people. Nor do I like what passes for music these days. It had begun to grate on me. You surely don’t believe I’d murder my own son?’
Felix knew to tread carefully. It wouldn’t be helpful to annoy the man. ‘It’s an uncommon crime, sir,’ he said, ‘but it does happen. It would be remiss of me not to include you in my enquiries. It’s unfortunate that you took your break at about the time the crime is thought to have been committed, or I should not have needed to trouble you. I apologise if I’ve annoyed you. There are, however, one or two things I should like to ask you, since I’m here.’
Sir Blaine sighed and sat back, pushing across the desk a cigarette box. ‘It is I who should apologise, Mr Felix, which I do. This has been very difficult for us, as you can imagine. Will you satisfy my curiosity? You are an educated man. What made you become a police officer? It seems a thankless occupation.’
‘I’m often asked that, sir,’ smiled Felix, accepting a light, ‘and the truth is I don’t know. Perhaps someone stole from my tuckbox at prep school and went unpunished. Not that I can remember such an occurrence.’
Sir Blaine chuckled politely. ‘And stung by the injustice of it you’ve been pursuing him ever since. Well, it’s as good an answer as any. You said you had questions for me.’
‘Yes, sir. Firstly, were you aware of Nigel’s financial doings?’
‘Yes, to some extent. I had learned, several months ago now, that he was working to undermine my authority at the bank. It was fairly easily dealt with – we are not, thank goodness, a public company – but I was curious as to his motive. I cannot believe he thought he could take over Cotton’s — a sort of palace revolution, so to say. I would have sacked every director who supported him if necessary. Him too, come to that.
‘One thing I discovered was that he was buying stocks using the bank’s own funds. Extraordinarily he made no attempt to discriminate — anything that was rising was grist to his mill. I made him sell of course but let him keep the profit and told him, in effect, to gamble with his own money, not ours. However, on examining his account with us I discovered he had considerable savings. I suppose he worked on the principle of why invest one’s own money when one can use someone else’s? He even kept my daughter-in-law short, as if a few pounds in housekeeping would have made a difference!’
‘Would it surprise you that he had an account with another bank with nine thousand pounds in it?’
‘As much as that? Yes it does.’
‘He also had shares, in a drawer in his room, with a notional value, according to my very discreet accountant, of some one hundred thousand pounds.’
Sir Blaine’s eyes grew round with amazement, and Felix felt that if he were the sort of man to whistle he would have whistled. ‘What on earth, I wonder, was he going to do with that?’ he said.
‘Would it have been enough to start a bank, or buy one?’
Sir Blaine nodded grimly. ‘One could do it for a fraction of that. Did he really hate me so much?’
◆◆◆
‘And then I got the regrets,’ said Felix. ‘Nigel’s brother Benjamin was the blue-eyed boy apparently, expected from a young age to take over eventually from his father. Nigel, never much loved or loveable, was surplus to requirements. Probably they would have put him in the army in the old days, or sent him to the colonies, where he might have done quite well, but they made him a junior director; something to which he must surely have been ill-suited — like keeping a wolf in a cage. When Benjamin was killed at Ypres, Nigel expected to take his place, but it didn’t happen. Funny how they’re never sorry until they’re dead.’
‘We only ever see them dead,’ said Rattigan.
‘That’s true.’
◆◆◆
They had been there since dawn — Nash and Yardley, a uniformed sergeant from the local force, two constables, and Dr Cope. A farm entrance served as cover, and a field gate across the narrow lane concealed a further three men.
‘Getting a bit late,’ said someone, peering at his watch. ‘Perhaps they’re not coming.’
‘It does vary,’ said the doctor, who was enjoying himself immensely. ‘I watched them go out, so they’re bound to return.’
A cow arrived, seemingly unconcerned by the influx of strange humans. She was rapidly joined by several others. They began pushing impatiently at the gate.
The farmer appeared. ‘I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to move. Milking time.’
‘These ladies’ll need to cross over,’ explained the sergeant. ‘Morning Jim. How are you keeping?’
‘No better for seeing you, Bill Shepherd,’ said Jim amiably. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Sorry about this. We’re waiting to intercept a vehicle.’
‘When’s it coming?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Well that’s a fat lot of good.’
‘Can’t they hang on a bit?’ asked Nash edgily. ‘It could be here any minute.’
Sergeant Shepherd and the farmer rolled their eyes at each other.
‘We’d best let them over, sir, or they’ll have that gate down.’ advised one of the constables.
They stood aside while a stream of cows plodded eagerly across the road, their swollen udders swinging.
‘Here it comes now,’ said Dr Cope, moving discreetly out of sight.
‘Damn!’
‘Well at least they’ll be obliged to stop.’
The lorry pulled to a halt, to be instantly surrounded by a mob of policemen.
‘I must ask you to turn off your engine if you please sir,’ Nash told the driver.
The man glanced fleetingly in his wing mirror as if contemplating backing up and turning, but the ambush site had been carefully chosen to obviate that eventuality and he was, of course, unable to go forward. ‘What’s all this about?’ he said.
‘If you and your colleague will step down for a moment, sir. We just want to check your load.’
‘Where is everyone?’ asked a constable. ‘I thought it was a gang.’
They quickly established that the two men were alone and the lorry’s cargo appeared, disappointingly, to consist of flints and dressed stone.
‘Building materials?’ asked Yardley.
‘What does it look like?�
�� grumbled the driver.
Nash and Yardley climbed into the tipper and began to move aside the blocks of stone. It appeared, alas, that there was nothing beneath them but the rusty floor. They were just about to descend when Yardley saw painted wood. With a covering of dust it almost exactly matched the stone for colour. Throwing aside more blocks they found two sturdy packing cases.
‘Have you got the keys for these?’ Nash asked the driver.
‘Nothing to do with us. Never seen ’em before.’
‘All right. Anyone got a wrecking bar or something?’
A heavy screwdriver was produced and the substantial padlocks, not without difficulty, torn off.
‘Well I’ll be blowed!’ said Nash, lifting the lid, and joined by Yardley he fell to his knees.
Everyone crowded forward to see what they’d discovered.
‘Don’t keep us in suspense, you two,’ demanded Sergeant Shepherd. ‘The Crown Jewels, would it be?’
‘Not even warm,’ chuckled Yardley.
‘What then?’
With a broad grin on his face, Nash knelt up, flourishing a thick, hardback book in a plain brown dust-jacket. ‘I Taught Them how to Love,’ he declaimed. ‘Being the Scandalous Confessions of a Housemaster’s Wife.’
‘And here we have, The Forbidden Pleasures of the Oriental bathhouse,’ said Yardley. ‘Fully illustrated! There must be scores of them, umpteen different titles.’
‘Any complimentary copies?’ enquired farmer Jim.
Felix and Rattigan arrived to find the lorry and various police vehicles parked in front of the Abbey. Standing about chatting and drinking tea were the driver, his mate and some of the policemen, including Nash and Yardley. A Black Maria, intended for the transport of the miscreants, had its doors open to reveal a heap of books in their familiar anonymous guise. Some of the constables were leafing through them.
Rattigan, picked one up. ‘I joined their Wild Orgies. A True Account by a Lady’s Maid,’ he chuckled. ‘Makes a change from gold and jewellery I suppose.’
‘Are these men under arrest, Sergeant?’ demanded Felix.
‘Not yet, sir,’ said Yardley. ‘We didn’t quite know what to charge them with.’
‘Well we’ll have this lot for a start.’
‘Oh no you won’t,’ said a voice at his elbow. ‘Is this how you repay our hospitality Mr Harrison?’
‘Why if it’s not the deceased Major Parker,’ smiled Felix, responding in kind. ‘You’re looking remarkably well for a corpse, sir. Is this your property by any chance?’
‘If you mean the books, yes. And I’ll thank you to take care of them, which you don’t seem to be doing at the moment.’
‘Do you intend to offer them for sale?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t answer that.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
‘Not prepared to. You’ll have to prove I’m doing so; and until you done that and my stock has been judged obscene and a warrant issued, it cannot legally be seized.’
‘I see. And am I right in thinking Mr Nigel Cotton had a part in this interesting business?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on that either.’
There was the familiar sound of a motorcycle and sidecar, and Sybil arrived.
‘What the devil is going on?’ demanded the Countess, leaping from the saddle. ‘We got a telephone call from Denis Cope.’ She looked dusty and cross.
‘Countess, do you know anything about these?’ said Felix, indicating the books.
‘No, what are they? Harry Saunders, what are you doing in my bedroom? Stay where you are!’
Everyone turned at the sound of her stentorian voice and glancing upwards Felix saw for a moment a white face in the narrow window. He was never quite sure afterwards why he followed her indoors but he did, across the hall and up to the familiar ancient room. A swift search revealed no Harry, though it appeared that he, or someone, had been sleeping in it. ‘Must be up there,’ growled the Countess, and opening what Felix had assumed was a closet door she led him up a seemingly interminable spiral staircase, emerging onto the battlements of the Abbey. To one side of them lay the building’s much-patched roof and to the other a considerable drop.
Felix looked cautiously over the parapet. It was a long way down, the distance accentuated by the wooded slope of the knoll upon which the Abbey was situated. Through the trees he could just descry Dr Cope’s house and back garden, maybe seventy feet below them. Cladding the mossy east wall of the Abbey was the builders’ scaffolding: an alarming hotchpotch of modern steel tubing and wooden poles, much of it roped together in the traditional manner rather than clamped. The highest level of planking was some four feet below the parapet and right at the end of it crouched Harry, visibly shaking.
‘Harry Saunders, what the blazes do you think you’re doing?’ barked the Countess. ‘Come up here this instant.’
‘I ain’t comin’ back to ’ang,’ shouted Harry. ‘I’d sooner chuck meself off of ’ere an’ ’ave done wiv it.’
‘Harry, you’re not even a suspect,’ said Felix reasonably. ‘We know you weren’t there and there are witnesses to prove it. Come away now, there’s a good fellow; it doesn’t look too safe to me.’
But pushing past him, the Countess reached down, and taking her truant employee by the collar, attempted to drag him upright. ‘Come up here this instant, you whining little toe rag,’ she snapped. ‘I haven’t time for your nonsense.’ Caught off balance, Harry lunged for the abbey wall. There was a graunching sound and the scaffolding, insufficiently attached to the crumbling stonework, began slowly, then with increasing speed to move away from it. Terrified, Harry grabbed desperately for the nearest thing, which was unfortunately the Countess’s leather motorcycling jacket, dragging her half across the parapet.
Reaching down Felix seized the little man awkwardly under the armpits just as the entire edifice toppled and fell. There was a terrible, drawn-out crash as it hit the ground, planks and poles tumbling in among the trees. For a moment the ex-thief hung there helpless until, with a mighty heave, Felix was able to haul him to safety, leaving him gasping like a landed fish. During all this Sylvia hadn’t moved, and lifting her gently away from the parapet he laid her down.
‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ cried Harry. ‘I didn’t do nuffink. She grabbed me by the scruff. You saw! Is she all right?’
‘Harry,’ said Felix. ‘Harry, listen. She’s dead, old chap.’
◆◆◆
‘I think Polly wanted a second opinion,’ said Felix, ‘since one of his officers was involved.’
‘Oh, infarct — heart attack. Classic case,’ said Benysen. ‘Nothing to do with you. The other fellow had it right; she could have gone at any time. What was she doing?’
‘She’d just motorcycled sixty miles at breakneck speed then dashed up four flights of stairs. She was puce with anger, though I don’t quite know why. She was rather a hasty sort of person; inclined to act first and think afterwards.’
‘Well there you are then. Nice part of the country that, wonderfully peaceful after Town.’
◆◆◆
The funeral was held at Ickborne parish church, it having been agreed that the villagers should be able to pay their last respects to the relict of the Marquis. Sybil and Sonia had many friends and the place was packed. Sonia wept throughout, much of the time on Connie’s bosom. ‘She wasn’t always an easy person,’ she sobbed, ‘but I loved her so.’
Kitty being still in mourning, Connie and Maud had prepared a little reception at the village hall. It was well attended, and having satisfied himself that he wouldn’t be missed for an hour or so, Felix went exploring. Seeing him leave, Denis Cope slipped away after him.
‘Going to the Abbey?’ asked the doctor.
‘Just a little sniff round.’
‘You’ve guessed then? I thought you would.
’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That the books are a front, concealing their true operation.’
‘You’d best get in the car,’ said Felix, opening the door for him. ‘Why do you say that? I’m not saying you’re wrong.’
‘It just doesn’t smell right,’ said Cope, as they made the short journey. ‘They weren’t exactly well-hidden were they? Asking to be found, in fact. And what if they were found? If Parker’s right there was little for him to worry about anyway. No wonder the chaps driving the lorry weren’t bothered. And where do they store and pack them? It needs to be somewhere damp-free, and with the dubious exception of the stables there isn’t anywhere like that. Plenty of places to hide precious metals and jewellery for a while but not books. And why sell books from here at all? Anywhere would do for that, as long as its reasonably discreet. It’s all done from mailing lists — nobody visits. It’s about as anonymous a business as you can well imagine. And the books are printed in France, so the best place would be close to Dover or one of the east coast ports, not halfway across the country.’
‘How do you know about the printing?’ asked Felix curiously.
The doctor coloured. ‘Er, I borrowed one. For research purposes only, you understand.’
‘Oh, naturally. Have you still got it?’
‘Not now. I passed it on to Jim Dix, the farmer. He’s a widower.’
Felix laughed. ‘You ought to rent it out. How do you reckon they were bringing the real stuff in?’
‘In the same lorry, I expect. There’s probably a secret compartment. It wouldn’t need to be enormous for most of their plunder, would it? And the tools of their trade could go in there too.’
‘Is there anyone there now?’
‘I haven’t been up. There are no vehicles visible, unless they’ve hidden one.’
They found the stables deserted, bare of all personal belongings. In the roofless nave of the Abbey church sat the lorry, its tyres flat. Someone had attempted and failed to set fire to it.
‘Under here,’ said Felix, crouching down. ‘Looks like a petrol tank. Probably was one once. That’s a lesson learned. I’d best get the local force to make a thorough search of the place, though I doubt they’ll find anything now. We’ve got their photos and dabs, including Parker’s, so it wasn’t entirely a waste of time. Which, incidently, gives me an idea.’
Death in Patent Leather (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 7) Page 9
