No Wind of Blame Read online

‘Yes, but the trouble is that something tells me that you can’t get a three-foot rifle into a thirty-inch case,’ replied Hemingway. ‘It does seem a shame, doesn’t it? But, there, that’s a detective’s life all over! Full of disappointments.’

  Fourteen

  Since Ermyntrude was extremely loth to abandon what by this time amounted to a conviction that her bête noire had murdered Wally, the Inspector’s last remark annoyed her considerably. She said that to carp and to criticise and to raise niggling objections was men all over; and when the Inspector patiently asked her to explain how White could have packed a rifle into a case designed to carry, separately, the barrels and stock of a shot-gun, she replied that it was not her business to solve such problems, but rather his.

  The Inspector swallowed twice before he could trust himself to answer. ‘Well, if he did it, all I can say is that he must be a highly talented conjurer, which, if true, is a piece of very important information which has been concealed from me.’

  ‘Of course he’s not a conjurer!’ said Ermyntrude crossly. ‘And don’t think you can laugh at me, because I won’t put up with it!’

  At this point, Dr Chester intervened, saying with authority that Ermyntrude had talked enough, and must on no account allow herself to become agitated. He ordered her to rest quietly until luncheon was served, and, at a sign from him, Mary coaxed her to retire to the sofa in the drawing-room.

  The Inspector threw Chester a look of gratitude, and said, when Mary had taken Ermyntrude away: ‘It beats me how you medical gentlemen get away with it, sir! If I’d so much as hinted to her that what she wanted was to cool-off, she’d have turned me out of the house, or had a fit of hysterics, which would have come to the same thing.’

  ‘You’re not her doctor, Inspector,’ answered Chester with a faint smile. ‘You mustn’t forget that I’ve attended Mrs Carter for many years.’

  ‘Know her very well, I dare say?’

  ‘A doctor always knows his patients well.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not talking about her bronchial tubes,’ said the Inspector. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not over and above fond of people’s insides. Not that I’m squeamish, mind you, but once you start thinking about how many yards of intestines, and I don’t know what besides, you’ve got, it’s enough to give you the horrors. Was Mr Carter a patient of yours too?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t often have occasion to call me in on his own account.’

  ‘Still, you probably knew him pretty well, I dare say?’

  ‘Fairly. If you want to know whether he was an intimate friend of mine, no: he wasn’t.’

  The Inspector’s penetrating gaze held a question. ‘I take it you didn’t like him any more than anyone else seems to have done?’

  ‘No, I didn’t like him much,’ Chester replied calmly. ‘He was a tiresome sort of a man – no moral sense whatsoever, and as weak as water.’

  ‘Did it surprise you, when you heard he’d been shot, sir?’

  ‘Naturally it did.’

  ‘You didn’t know of anybody who might have wanted him out of the way?’

  ‘Certainly not. I know of many people who have thought for years that it was a pity Mrs Carter ever married him, of course.’

  His tone was uncommunicative. The Inspector said: ‘It’s a funny thing, doctor, but I get the impression that you’re not being as open with me as I’d like.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you,’ Chester answered. ‘I wasn’t in Carter’s confidence.’

  He turned to pick up his attaché-case from the table, but before he could leave the house, Vicky had entered it, with Hugh Dering behind her.

  ‘Oh, hallo!’ Vicky said, mildly surprised to see the Inspector. ‘Hallo, Maurice! How’s Ermyntrude?’

  ‘Not very well. You ought to know that,’ Chester said, rather sternly.

  ‘Poor sweet, I’m afraid she won’t be until this is all over. Why didn’t you come to the Inquest? I quite thought you’d be there, though as a matter of fact it turned out to be frightfully stagnant.’

  ‘I couldn’t see that it concerned me,’ replied Chester. He nodded to the Inspector, told Vicky briefly not to agitate her mother, and left the house.

  ‘But why is Maurice so curt and unloving?’ wondered Vicky. ‘Did you annoy him, Inspector? And, I say, what are you doing here? Or can’t you tell me?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no secret about what I’m doing,’ responded Hemingway. ‘I’m trying to discover who could have taken that rifle out of the house, and not getting much help either.’

  ‘I’ll help you!’ offered Vicky. ‘Practically anyone could, I should think.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a lot of use,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Well, I could have,’ she suggested. ‘Easily! The only thing is that I’ve never shot with it, so I shouldn’t think I’d have managed to kill my stepfather.’

  ‘Tell me this, miss!’ said the Inspector suddenly. ‘When you heard that shot, just exactly where were you?’

  ‘Oh, I was round the bend in the stream! And I didn’t hear or see anyone, and my dog didn’t bark, or cock his ears, or anything, and have I got to say it all over again?’

  ‘Didn’t you think it was a bit odd, anyone shooting in the shrubbery?’

  ‘No, because actually I didn’t think about it. You often hear shots in the country, you know, and it might easily have been Mr White, or someone, shooting a rabbit.’

  ‘You weren’t within sight of the bridge?’

  ‘No, round the bend. I told you. And then I wandered up one of the paths, climbing the hill, and it wasn’t till I heard Janet crying, that it dawned on me that something had gone wrong. But why on earth you worry about me when you’ve got the Prince right under your nose, absolutely asking to be arrested, I can’t imagine. He could have taken the rifle as easily as I could.’

  ‘Not on Sunday afternoon,’ said Mary, who had just come out of the drawing-room.

  ‘Darling Mary, are you trying to send me to the gallows?’ asked Vicky reproachfully.

  ‘Of course I’m not, but one must be fair, and I saw the Prince leave the house on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘If he did it,’ said Vicky, ‘he’d laid his plans long before Sunday. Probably on Saturday.’

  ‘Did he go into the gun-room on Saturday?’ asked Hugh.

  ‘Yes, of course he did. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he took the rifle at dead of night, and hid it somewhere. In fact, it would be a good thing to assume that he did, and then work it out from that point.’

  ‘If you don’t mind my putting in a word, miss, before you take the gentleman’s character clean away,’ said the Inspector mildly, ‘I would like to point out that according to all the evidence I’ve heard so far, Mr White didn’t invite your stepfather until Sunday morning.’

  ‘Oh well, we can easily get round that!’ replied Vicky. ‘I expect Alexis just hid the rifle in case it should come in handy. After all, my stepfather was bound to go out for a stroll sometime or other, and I do definitely feel that Alexis is a very thoughtful person and would have had everything ready just on the off-chance.’

  This was too much, even for the Inspector, and he looked round for his hat. Mary said: ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk in that irresponsible way, Vicky! It’s absolutely actionable!’

  ‘Oh, is it? Could I be had up for libel, or something?’ asked Vicky, her eyes brightening.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ said Hugh, addressing Mary. ‘No, Vicky, no! Don’t start seeing yourself in the witness-box, causing strong jurymen to shed tears of pity for you!’

  ‘Yes, it strikes me that you’re just about as bad as she is, sir,’ said Hemingway severely, and left them.

  Mary found herself to be so much in agreement with this pronouncement, that instead of inviting Hug
h to stay to lunch, she asked somewhat crossly if he had come to Palings for any particular purpose.

  ‘Only to return Sarah Bernhardt to the bosom of her family,’ he replied. ‘The lady’s car died on her.’

  ‘Yes, and I quite think I went over rather well with your father,’ said Vicky, ‘which is a thing I didn’t expect, because he didn’t take to me in the least when I was being a Girl of the Century. Mary, you were too utterly right not to go to the Inquest! It was wholly spurious.’

  ‘Where’s Maurice?’ Mary demanded, unheeding.

  ‘Oh, he went away! He didn’t seem to me to have the party spirit at all. Probably Alexis has trodden him down, like Keats, or someone.’

  Mary sighed. ‘I suppose you mean by that that he saw how serious the whole situation is.’

  ‘We all see that,’ said Hugh.

  ‘Well, you seem to be getting a good deal of amusement out of it.’

  ‘Sorry! You shouldn’t have loosed Vicky on to me.’

  ‘I’m glad you find her so funny. I don’t,’ said Mary, walking to the staircase.

  Hugh watched her till she was out of sight, and then took Vicky by the elbow, and gave her an admonitory shake. ‘Look here, my little ray of sunshine, you’re getting on Mary’s nerves! I know you think Carter’s death a blessing imperfectly disguised, but it’s just conceivable that Mary doesn’t. After all, he was her cousin. You’ve got to behave yourself.’

  ‘I am behaving myself !’ said Vicky indignantly. ‘Why, I even gave up the idea of being mysterious with the Inspector, just because I thought Mary mightn’t like it! I’ve been polite to you, too, which takes a lot of doing, I can tell you!’

  ‘Vicky, you little beast, if I see much more of you I shall end by wringing your neck!’ said Hugh.

  ‘If Peake’s listening, you’ll be sorry you said that,’ remarked Vicky. ‘’Specially if my body is found lying about the place tomorrow. Are you staying to lunch?’

  ‘No, I must get back. Don’t spread that story of Alan White’s about, by the way!’

  When he had left the house, Vicky went upstairs, and presently wandered into Mary’s bedroom. ‘Are you feeling jaded, darling Mary?’

  ‘Extremely jaded.’

  ‘Poor sweet! All the same, I do truly think you make yourself worse through not looking on the bright side. Quite honestly, do you mind Wally’s being dead?’

  ‘Of course I—’ Mary stopped short, under the clear gaze bent upon her. ‘That is, I suppose I don’t. Yes, I do, a bit, though. Anyway, I can’t bear the thought of his having been murdered.’

  ‘No, I’m not frightfully partial to it myself,’ agreed Vicky. ‘That’s why I don’t dwell on it.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You keep on wondering who could have killed him, and it seems to me dreadful!’

  ‘Well, so do you,’ said Vicky. ‘Which reminds me that something rather disgruntling happened after that mouldy Inquest. Janet went and queered Robert’s pitch, by divulging that he knew all along Wally was going to tea at the Dower House, so I’m rather afraid the Inspector may try to pin the murder on to him.’

  ‘No!’ Mary exclaimed, startled. ‘Robert did know?’

  ‘So Janet said. Of course, I always did think he might have done it, only if so I’d rather he got away with it, on account of Ermyntrude. That was why I tried to put the Inspector on to Alexis.’

  ‘But you can’t! You mustn’t! If Robert – but I won’t believe it! If he did, it would be absolutely wicked to try to make the police suspect the Prince instead!’

  ‘Oh no, really it wouldn’t! Because Robert’s much nicer than Alexis, who was after poor Ermyntrude’s money, and I dare say has a perfectly revolting past, which Robert hasn’t in the least. And if Robert did murder Wally, he probably thought it was the right thing to do. Why was Maurice so peevish?’

  ‘He wasn’t. Naturally, he must be rather worried about all this, for Aunt Ermy’s sake.’

  Vicky opened her eyes at that. ‘But she isn’t ill, is she?’

  ‘No, but I’ve always fancied that he was very fond of her,’ Mary said.

  ‘Darling, you don’t suppose he’s in love with her, do you?’

  ‘No, no, of course I don’t! Only he did say that she’d been very good to him once, or something.’

  ‘Oh, that must have been on account of his sister! He used to have one, only she died, and I believe Ermyntrude did rather succour her; only it all happened in the Dark Ages, when I was small, so I don’t really know. I wouldn’t wonder if Maurice thinks Robert did it.’

  ‘Why? Surely he hasn’t said anything to you about it?’

  ‘No, but Robert’s a friend of his, and you must admit that he’s taking it all frightfully seriously, so that it looks rather as though he feared the worst.’

  ‘He can’t think that! In any case, I didn’t find him any different from his usual self. He certainly wasn’t with me.’

  ‘Oh well! then it was probably Hugh who made him so glum. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t seem to like Hugh much.’

  Mary stared at her. ‘But what could he possibly find to dislike in Hugh?’

  ‘Old school-tie. Alan does. Besides, there’s plenty to dislike in him. Mothballs, and being dictatorial, and – oh, lots of things!’

  ‘Hallo!’ said Mary, suddenly making a discovery. ‘Have you fallen for Hugh?’

  ‘No, I think he’s noisome, and I do not fall for other people’s boy-friends!’

  ‘If that means me, don’t worry! I told you he wasn’t, when you asked me.’

  ‘But isn’t he?’ asked Vicky anxiously.

  ‘Definitely not. If you want the truth, I did rather wonder if he was going to be, at one time, because I like him tremendously. Only, since all this happened – I can’t explain, but I know he isn’t. We don’t think on the same lines. You probably think I’m very dull and serious-minded, and I dare say I am, for I can’t see any humour in the present situation, and, frankly, it annoys me when I hear Hugh being thoroughly flippant about it.’

  ‘Well, it means nothing to me,’ said Vicky. ‘He’s fusty, and dusty, and he doesn’t think I’m a great actress. In fact, I practically abominate him, and I shouldn’t in the least mind if the Inspector suddenly started to suspect him of being the murderer.’

  Fortunately for Mr Hugh Dering, the Inspector had not yet started to suspect him of anything worse than a pronounced partiality for his chief tormentor. The Inspector’s suspicions were still equally divided between the only five people who appeared to have any motive for having killed Wally Carter. Of these, young Baker, whom he interviewed at Burntside after leaving Palings, seemed to be the least likely, and Robert Steel the most probable suspect.

  The Inspector, returning to Fritton a little while after five o’clock, said that he knew Baker’s type well, and that his knowledge of psychology informed him that loud-voiced young men who stood upon soap-boxes and inveighed against the existing rules of society were not potential murderers. Sergeant Wake, who had a prosaic mind, said: ‘To my way of thinking, the fact of its having been Carter’s own rifle pretty well rules him out. It doesn’t seem to me that he could have got hold of it, let alone have carried it off on his motor-bike, which is what you’d think he must have done, if he stole it on the Saturday evening.’

  But a day spent by the Sergeant and his underlings in searching for circumstances or witnesses either to disprove or to corroborate the stories told by Prince Varasashvili and Robert Steel, had been unsuccessful enough to cast him into a mood of pessimism. ‘The case looked straightforward enough when we started on it, but the conclusion I’ve come to is that the man who did this murder laid his plans a sight more carefully than we gave him credit for.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Inspector cheerfully, ‘he certainly knew his onions. It’s a pleasure to deal with him. Y
ou keep right on pursuing investigations into Steel and the Prince. You’ll maybe get something sooner or later.’ He looked at Superintendent Small, who had joined the conference. ‘Am I right in thinking Mr Silent Steel’s well-liked in these parts?’

  ‘I never heard anyone speak ill of him,’ replied Small. ‘He’s not one to throw his weight about, mind you, and he doesn’t belong to the real gentry, but they all seem to like him well enough.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Everyone likes him, and everyone knows he’s been hanging round the fair Ermyntrude these two years, and nobody means to give him away if he can help it.’

  ‘Why, what makes you say that?’

  ‘Arithmetic,’ replied the Inspector. ‘Habit of putting two and two together. I’ve been like it from a child.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Wake slowly. ‘You can get any of the folk here to talk about the Prince; and the way Percy Baker’s talked of in this town you’d think people would like to see him convicted, and his sister, too. Not at all popular, they aren’t. But the instant you start making inquiries into Steel you’re up against a lot of deaf mutes. No one knows anything about his movements, and no one’s ever had any idea of his being in love with Mrs Carter.’

  ‘Well, he may be the whitest man they know in these parts, but he’s too cool a customer for my taste,’ said Hemingway. ‘Nothing rattles him, not even having his story of not knowing Carter was going to the Whites blown up by Miss White. He has a nice quiet think, too, before he answers a question. Of course, his mother may have told him always to think before he spoke, but it isn’t a habit which makes me take to him much. Is he a friend of the doctor?’

  ‘Chester?’ said Small. ‘Yes, I’d say they were pretty friendly. Why?’

  ‘Oh, nothing!’ said Hemingway airily. ‘Only that I had a bit of a chat with the doctor up at Palings this morning, and it struck me that he wasn’t what you might call bursting with information. The way I look at it is, if anyone knows the ins and outs of that household, it’s the doctor, for if you were to tell me the fair Ermyntrude doesn’t treat him like a confession-box I wouldn’t believe you.’