They Found Him Dead

by Georgette Heyer

  They fell easily into conversation, Oscar Roberts being apparently amused by so much obvious admiration, and having the tact neither to disclaim American citizenship nor to correct Timothy’s ideas of American life. A polite reference to Silas Kane’s death opened the flood-gates of Timothy’s confidence. He reiterated his belief that Silas had been bumped off, and although Mr Roberts looked rather startled for a moment, he did not make any snubbing remarks, but on the contrary listened to Timothy’s various theories with perfect gravity, and even allowed himself to be led off to inspect the scene of the accident. Appealed to, he agreed that no doubt some evil-minded person might have pushed Silas off the cliff.

  ‘Well, don’t you think that’s probably what did happen, sir?’ said Timothy, bent on acquiring an ally.

  Oscar Roberts stroked his pointed beard, and suggested mildly that the possible murderer must have taken a big chance on Silas’s choosing to walk along the cliff that night.

  ‘No, because everyone knew that Uncle Silas took a walk along there every night!’ said Timothy, triumphantly disposing of this objection.

  ‘Is that so?’ said Roberts. ‘Kind of a habit with him, maybe?’

  ‘Yes, because of not being able to sleep.’

  ‘Well,’ replied Roberts, shaking his head, ‘I’ll say that certainly looks as though you might be right, son.’

  Timothy looked up at him with glistening eyes, and in a burst of gratitude invited him to come back to the house for tea.

  Oscar Roberts declined the invitation, but on the way to the drive across the gardens they encountered Miss Allison, who had come out in search of Timothy, and Timothy immediately begged her to add her persuasion to his. Oscar Roberts, however, intervened before she could speak, and countered with an invitation to Timothy to accompany him back to Portlaw for tea at his hotel.

  Patricia could not but feel grateful to anyone who offered to relieve her of Mr Harte’s company on this very trying day, and as Timothy seemed anxious to go with his new friend she gave permission, only qualifying it by insisting on his first washing his hands and brushing his hair.

  He went off to do this, leaving her to stroll towards the drive with Roberts. She said: ‘It’s really most awfully kind of you. Are you sure he won’t be a nuisance?’

  He replied with his slow smile: ‘Why, no, Miss Allison. I’ve got a kind of fondness for kids of his age. I’m at a loose end just now, and I’ll be mighty glad of his company.’ His smile grew. ‘Guess he hopes I’m one of those gunmen he sees on the movies.’

  She laughed, but said with some misgiving: ‘He’s a dreadfully bloodthirsty child. I do hope he hasn’t favoured you with his “theories” about Mr Kane’s death? I’ve done all I can to squash him, but without much success.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry,’ he answered. ‘Kids just naturally get those ideas.’

  She felt impelled to say: ‘Of course, there’s nothing in it. It was an accident. I don’t want you to get a false impression from Timothy.’

  He looked down at her with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Any impression I get won’t come from Timothy, Miss Allison,’ he said deliberately.

  Four

  Greatly to Timothy’s disgust, the inquest on Silas Kane’s death contained no thrills. A verdict of death by misadventure was returned, a post-mortem examination having established the fact that Silas must have had a heart attack. His own doctor gave some highly technical evidence, and annoyed Timothy by agreeing that, although an attack was unexpected, he would not go so far as to say that he was surprised that Silas should have had one. The excitement of his birthday party, coupled with over-fatigue, might well have produced it.

  Joseph Mansell and his son both corroborated the statement that Silas had been in the habit of working too hard, Joseph adding that in his opinion Silas’s powers had been declining for the past few months.

  Clement was a still more disappointing witness. Questioned, he would not say that his cousin had been in failing health. He had not been a young man; things had certainly tired him. He had not discussed Silas’s health with him; he had not noticed any particular signs of weariness or excitement in him on the night of his death.

  No persuasions had availed to keep Timothy away from the inquest, but he professed himself disgusted with the result. When it was over Oscar Roberts took him and Miss Allison, who had been present in obedience to Emily’s command, to refresh themselves with lemonade and ices before returning to Cliff House. He seemed to be considerably amused by Timothy. He allowed the boy to air his views, recommending him to get it off his chest once and for all, advice which Timothy followed, bitterly announcing his dissatisfaction with the methods of the Portlaw police.

  ‘They jolly well ought to have found out what everybody was doing when Uncle Silas was killed,’ he said.

  ‘They did,’ replied Patricia. ‘You know perfectly well they made all the proper inquiries.’

  Timothy snorted. ‘I don’t call it making proper inquiries just to ask people where they were, and not to try to prove they weren’t there at all. Why, they didn’t even ask Jim, and he was at the party.’

  ‘You unnatural viper!’ said Patricia calmly. ‘Besides, what had Jim – I mean, your half-brother – to gain by murdering his cousin?’

  ‘I know, but –’

  ‘The fact of the matter is, son, that you can’t have a murder without motive,’ said Roberts.

  ‘There were motives!’ replied Timothy instantly. ‘Look at Clement! He’s getting simply pots of money out of it.’

  Patricia removed the lemonade-straw from her mouth to expostulate. ‘You definitely must not go about saying your Cousin Clement had a motive for murdering Mr Kane!’

  ‘He isn’t my cousin. I’m a Harte,’ said Timothy loftily. ‘I’ll bet Mr Roberts thinks he had a pretty good motive.’

  ‘Sure I think it,’ agreed Roberts. ‘But I’ve a notion that if I were Mr Clement Kane, I wouldn’t run the risk of bumping off an old man who had a valvular disease of the heart. Guess I’d wait a piece for Nature to do its work.’

  Timothy shook his head. ‘Not if you wanted his money absolutely at once.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ said Patricia. ‘The Clement Kanes are quite well off.’

  Timothy was silenced for the moment, but the consumption of a large strawberry ice inspired him afresh. ‘Well, what about the Mansells?’ he demanded.

  Patricia glanced round the tea-shop apprehensively. ‘For heaven’s sake shut up!’ she begged.

  ‘Yes, but they had a motive. I know all about the Australian show. I’ll bet Mr Roberts –’

  ‘No, no, sonny, you won’t drag me into that!’ interposed Roberts. ‘Next you’ll be telling me I’ve got a motive. See here, now! This kind of talk isn’t going big with Miss Allison at all. What do you say we drop it?’

  Patricia looked at him. ‘I believe you’re as bad as he is,’ she said.

  ‘No, no,’ he assured her. ‘But when a man falls off a cliff edge, Miss Allison, folks just naturally get to wondering about it. You can’t blame Timothy. It’s kind of inevitable.’

  ‘But surely you don’t think –’

  ‘I don’t know enough about the family to think anything,’ he said with a shade of reserve in his voice.

  When Emily heard about the proceedings at the inquest she smiled grimly, and said she had expected nothing else. Something in her tone impelled Clement, who had driven Patricia and Timothy back to Cliff House, to inquire a little sharply what she meant.

  ‘If you don’t know what I mean it won’t hurt you,’ replied Emily.

  Clement reddened. ‘Well, I certainly don’t, aunt. I should have thought it was obvious that Cousin Silas’s death was due to the fog, coupled with one of his heart attacks.’

  She fixed him with one of her blank stares. ‘Pray, who said it
was not?’

  Timothy, scenting an ally, said: ‘I do.’

  Emily looked at him. ‘You do, do you? And why?’

  ‘Well, partly because he was so frightfully rich, and partly because I had an instinct there was going to be a murder.’

  The word sounded ugly. Clement’s eyes snapped behind his pince-nez; he said in an angry voice: ‘How dare you say such a thing? It seems to me you let your stupid imagination run away with you! I thought you were old enough to know better.’

  ‘Leave the boy alone,’ said Emily. ‘He’s entitled to his opinion as much as you are to yours. So my son was murdered, was he, Timothy?’

  ‘Well, I don’t absolutely know he was,’ replied Timothy with a touch of caution, ‘but I do think it looks jolly suspicious. What’s more, I’m pretty sure Mr Roberts thinks so too.’

  ‘Roberts!’ Clement exclaimed. ‘What has Roberts to do with it? You’ve no right to discuss this affair with a stranger! Really, I think it high time Jim came down and took you in hand!’

  But Mr James Kane, when he arrived, three days after Clement and Rosemary had taken up their residence at Cliff House, showed little disposition to take his half-brother in hand. His energies were concentrated upon Miss Allison, who had had by that time such a surfeit of the Clement Kanes, Paul Mansell, and Mr Trevor Dermott, that she greeted him with unfeigned pleasure. This circumstance led Mr James Kane to leap to unwarrantable conclusions. He had the audacity to catch Miss Allison up in his arms and to kiss her, not once but several times. Miss Allison apparently decided that it would be useless to struggle with anyone so large and muscular. She submitted to Mr James Kane’s rough handling, merely remarking as soon as she was able that she very much disliked people who grabbed ells when offered inches.

  Mr Kane only laughed, so Miss Allison, setting her hands against his chest and pushing hard, explained severely that her gladness at seeing him arose purely from boredom.

  ‘My poor dear,’ said Mr Kane lovingly.

  ‘For goodness’ sake let me go!’ begged Miss Allison. ‘What on earth would anyone think if they saw us?’

  ‘They’d think we were going to be married, and they’d be right,’ replied Mr Kane.

  ‘They’d be far more likely to think you were philandering with your great-aunt’s companion,’ retorted Miss Allison.

  ‘Vulgar little cat!’ said Mr Kane, tucking her hand in his arm. ‘Now that we’ve settled that, tell me what’s been going on here.’

  ‘Nothing much. You saw pretty well what it was like at the funeral, didn’t you?’

  ‘General impression of piety, that’s all. Who’s got on your nerves? Rosemary?’

  ‘No, your repulsive little brother. You’ll have to sit on him. He will go about looking for clues, and saying Mr Kane was murdered.’

  Jim looked interested. ‘Really? What put that into his head?’

  ‘The films he sees, of course. I do what I can to squash him, but Mrs Kane encourages him, and so does Mr Roberts – at least, I don’t know that he actually encourages him, but I’ve got an uncomfortable feeling that he suspects Timothy’s right.’

  ‘Half a shake!’ Jim interposed. ‘Who is Roberts? Do I know him?’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think so. He’s the agent for the Australian firm which wants to do business with Kane and Mansell. Rather nice, and awfully decent to Timothy. They struck up an acquaintance after Mr Kane’s death. Timothy invites him here, and Clement dodges him when he comes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Timothy, I need hardly say, has a theory that Mr Roberts is on to something and Clement’s afraid to meet him. Actually, I expect it’s because Clement doesn’t want to be badgered about the Australian business.’

  ‘Timothy seems to be doing what he can to liven things up,’ commented Jim. He had guided Miss Allison across the lawn towards a seat under a big elm tree, and now invited her to sit down. Taking his place beside her, he said with an appraising look cast at her profile: ‘Come on, my love, tell me what’s the matter.’

  She was silent for a moment. He possessed himself of her hand. ‘Let me remind you that the keynote to a successful marriage is Mutual Confidence.’

  She smiled at that. ‘I dare say. I think I’ve probably exaggerated things in my mind. It – it just seems to me that people are behaving rather abnormally. There’s a certain atmosphere in the house – well, you’ll see for yourself.’

  She refused to be more explicit, but there was much that she might have told her betrothed.

  There was the attitude adopted by Emily. Emily hated Clement, yet when he had proposed moving to Cliff House immediately, she had not demurred. She had acquiesced, and since his arrival she had ceased to snap at him. Patricia had no fault to find with this, but when she saw Emily looking at Clement she knew that the implacable old lady resented his presence, and would always resent it. But after her first outburst she had not spoken again of her dislike, nor had she uttered one word in criticism of Clement’s wife. Only she watched them both, her face wooden in its impassivity.

  Clement seemed to Miss Allison to be ill at ease, but she thought the new responsibilities resting on his shoulders might account for this. He was often irritable; he fidgeted, frowned, grew querulous over trifles, and looked more harassed than ever. He complained of his partners’ stupidity once or twice; it was as though he invited Emily to comment on the firm’s policy; perhaps to support him with her ruthless certainty. Miss Allison saw him as a weak man, mistrusting his own judgment, needing the approval of a stronger character before he could be brought to make a decision.

  It was plain that he could expect no help from Rosemary. Rosemary was passing through an emotional crisis. She told Patricia that she had reached a turning-point in her life, and that it was tearing her in two. Patricia was uncharitable enough to suspect that she was revelling in the drama she had created, and received this piece of information with a marked lack of sympathy. What sympathy she felt was for Clement and for Trevor Dermott, both helpless in the snare of Rosemary’s beauty, but her pity for them was charged with contempt. She thought them fools to be slaves to Rosemary.

  Yet in Trevor Dermott, whom she profoundly disliked, there was a quality which Rosemary might find disturbing if ever he awoke to a realisation of the part he was hereafter destined to play in her life. Miss Allison called him privately the Flamboyant Male, but suspected that his flaunted masculinity was an integral part of him, and no pose assumed to match his vigorous good looks and lusty body. Stupid he might be, but his hot brown eyes, lacking intelligence, held a spark of purpose. He was of the type that must snatch what it desires: it was too evident that he desired Rosemary, so delicately playing him on the end of her line.

  ‘You can’t go on living with a fellow like Kane, a fellow who’s only half alive!’ he said.

  Rosemary looked at him thoughtfully. He supposed her to be comparing his splendid physique with Clement’s thin, stooping frame. He did not preen himself, but he laughed, sure of his superiority. Actually no comparison was in her mind. He attracted her strongly; she was loath to let him go; but Clement, possessing his cousin’s fortune, was beyond comparison. She said seriously: ‘Clement needs me, Trevor.’

  It was true; she did not disguise from herself the fact that she needed Clement’s money, but she began to feel rather holy. This was reflected in her face, uplifted to Dermott’s. He said: ‘My God, and don’t I need you? Are you going to sacrifice us both to a man who doesn’t satisfy you, can’t so much as start to understand you?’

  She sighed. She saw herself immolated upon the altar of wifely duty, the victim of a tragic love-affair. That she saw herself gowned by Reville, wearing a long, mournful rope of pearls, only made the vision more picturesque: it did not lessen its pathos. ‘It was just a beautiful dream, Trevor,’ she said, not very originally, but with deep feeling.


  ‘I don’t dream,’ replied Dermott grasping her arms above the elbows. ‘Will Clement let you divorce him?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘He’ll have to divorce you, then.’

  ‘But, Trevor, you don’t understand!’ Rosemary said, genuinely distressed. ‘You must realise how important it is for me to have money! It’s no use blinking facts, and there’s no doubt – I mean, I know myself so well! – that not having any money was what ruined Clement’s and my life together. I’ve simply got to face it.’

  His grip on her arms tightened until it hurt her. He gave an uncertain laugh, his eyes searching hers for the reassurance he needed. ‘Pretty mercenary, aren’t you?’

  ‘You can call it that, if you like.’

  ‘I don’t know what else to call it!’

  ‘Of course I realise – I always have – that I’m a hateful person,’ Rosemary said. ‘I’m not trying to excuse myself; I was just made like it.’

  ‘You talk a lot of damned rubbish!’ he said roughly. ‘Have you thought of what’s going to happen if you decide to stay with that dried-up stick of a husband of yours?’

  She made a slight effort to free herself, but his grip did not slacken. She was afraid her arms would be bruised by it, but the sense it gave her of his strength pleased her. ‘We can still see each other,’ she offered.

  ‘Oh no, we can’t!’ he retorted. ‘I’m not a lap-dog to be whistled up when you please. If you choose Clement and his blasted fortune, it’s good-bye, my dear!’

  He let her go as he spoke, so certain of his appeal for her, of what her ultimate decision must be, that he dared to utter this threat. His eyes glowed as they rested on her, but he would not touch her again, though his flesh ached for her. ‘Think it over!’ he said. ‘I won’t go on like this.’