Georgette Heyer_Inspector Hannasyde 04 Read online

  'Yes, never mind about that!' said the Sergeant hastily. 'What did you do then?'

  'I called out to him to stop, but he paid no heed, and the next instant had rounded the corner into the Arden Road. That circumstance led me to inspect these premises. I found the garden-gate standing open, and, seeing the light from this window, I came up the path with the intention of discovering whether anything was wrong. I saw the deceased, like you found him, Sergeant. The time, as verified by my watch and the clock there, was 10.05 p.m. My first action was to ascertain that Mr Fletcher was dead. Having assured myself that he was past mortal help, I effected a search of the room, and made sure no one was hiding in the bushes in the garden. I then called up the station on the telephone, the time being 10.10 p.m. While I was waiting to be connected, the butler, Joseph Simmons, entered the room, bearing the tray you see upon that table. I detained him, for interrogation. He states that at about 9 p.m. a person of the name of Abraham Budd came to see the deceased. He ushered same into this room. He states that he does not know when Abraham Budd left the house.'

  'Description?'

  'I hadn't got to that, sir. Mr Neville Fletcher came in at that moment. He states that he saw the deceased last at about 8.50 p.m., when they left the dining-room together.'

  'All right; we'll see him in a minute. Anything else?'

  'Nothing that I saw,' replied Glass, after a moment's scrupulous thought.

  'We'll look around. Looks like an open-and-shut case against this man you saw making off. Friend Abraham Budd, eh?'

  'Not to my way of thinking, Sergeant,' said Glass.

  The Sergeant stared. 'Oh, it isn't, isn't it? Why not? The Lord been guiding you again?'

  A flash of anger brought Glass's cold eyes to life. ' The scorner is an abomination to men!' he said.

  ' That's enough!' said the Sergeant. 'You remember you're speaking to your superior officer, if you please, my lad!'

  'A scorner,' pursued Glass inexorably, 'loveth not one that reproveth him: neither will he go unto the wise. The man Budd came openly to the front door, making no secret of his name.'

  The Sergeant grunted. 'It's a point, I grant you. May not have been a premeditated murder, though. Fetch the butler in.'

  'Joseph Simmons is well known to me for a godly member,' said Glass, on his way to the door.

  'All right, all right! Fetch him!'

  The butler was discovered in the hall, still looking rather pale. When he entered the study he cast a nervous look towards the desk, and drew an audible sigh of relief when he saw the chair behind it unoccupied.

  'Your name?' asked the Sergeant briskly.

  'Joseph Simmons, Sergeant.'

  'Occupation?'

  'I am – I was employed as Mr Fletcher's butler.'

  'How long have you been with him?'

  'Six-and-a-half years, Sergeant.'

  'And you state,' pursued the Sergeant, consulting Glass's notes, ' That you last saw your master alive at about 9 p.m., when you showed a Mr Abraham Budd into this room. Is that correct?'

  'Yes, Sergeant. I have the person's card here,' said Simmons, holding out a piece of pasteboard.

  The Sergeant took it, and read aloud: 'Mr Abraham Budd, 333c Bishopsgate, EC. Well, we know where he's to be found, that's one thing. You state that he wasn't known to you, I see.'

  'I never laid eyes on the individual before in my life, Sergeant. He was not the type of person I have been in the habit of admitting to the house,' said Simmons haughtily.

  Glass dispelled this pharisaical attitude with one devas tating pronouncement. ' Though the Lord be high, yet hath he respect unto the lowly,' he said in minatory accents, 'but the proud he knoweth afar off.'

  'My soul is humbled in me,' apologised Simmons.

  'Never mind about your soul!' said the Sergeant impa tiently. 'And don't take any notice of Glass! You listen to me! Can you describe this Budd's appearance?'

  'Oh yes, Sergeant! A short, stout person in a suit which I should designate as on the loud side, and a bowler hat. I fancy he is of the Jewish persuasion.'

  'Short and stout!' said the Sergeant, disappointed. 'Sounds to me like a tout. Did the deceased expect a visit from him?'

  'I hardly think so. Mr Budd stated that his business was urgent, and I was constrained to take his card to Mr Fletcher. My impression was that Mr Fletcher was consid erably annoyed.'

  'Do you mean scared?'

  'Oh no, Sergeant! Mr Fletcher spoke of "damned imper tinence", but after a moment he told me to show Mr Budd in, which I did.'

  'And that was at 9 p.m., or thereabouts? Did you hear any sounds of altercation?'

  The butler hesitated. 'I wouldn't say altercation, Sergeant. The master's voice was upraised once or twice, but I didn't hear what he said, me being in the dining-room, across the hall, until I withdrew to my pantry.'

  'You wouldn't say that a quarrel took place between them?'

  'No, Sergeant. Mr Budd did not strike me as a quarrel some person. In fact, the reverse. I got the impression he was afraid of the master.'

  'Afraid of him, eh? Was Mr Fletcher a bad-tempered man?'

  'Dear me, no, Sergeant! A very pleasant-spoken gentleman, usually. It was very seldom I saw him put-out.'

  'But was he put-out tonight? By Mr Budd's call?'

  The butler hesitated. 'Before that, I fancy, Sergeant. I believe Mr Fletcher had a – a slight difference with Mr Neville, just before dinner.'

  'Mr Neville? That's the nephew? Does he live here?'

  'No. Mr Neville arrived this afternoon to stay with his uncle for a few days, I understand.'

  'Was he expected?'

  'If he was, I was not apprised of it. I should mention, in fairness to Mr Neville, that he is – if I may say so – a somewhat eccentric young gentleman. It is by no means an unusual occurrence for him to arrive here without warning.'

  'And this difference with his uncle: was that usual?'

  'I should not like to give a false impression, Sergeant: there wasn't any quarrel, if you understand me. All I know is that when I took sherry and cocktails to the drawing-room before dinner it seemed to me that I had interrupted an altercation. The master looked to be distinctly annoyed, which was a rare thing, in my experience, and I did hear him say, just as I came in, that he wanted to hear no more about it, and Mr Neville could go to hell.'

  'Oh! And what about Mr Neville? Was he annoyed?'

  'I shouldn't like to say, Sergeant. Mr Neville is a peculiar young gentleman, not given to showing what he feels, if he feels anything, which I sometimes doubt.'

  'Well I do, frequently,' said Neville, who had come into the room in time to hear this remark.

  The Sergeant, unaccustomed to young Mr Fletcher's noiseless way of entering rooms, was momentarily startled. Neville smiled in his deprecating fashion, and said softly: 'Good-evening. Isn't it shocking? I do hope you've arrived at something? My aunt would like to see you before you go. Do you know who killed my uncle?'

  'It's early days to ask me that, sir,' replied the Sergeant guardedly.

  'Your words hint at a prolonged period of suspense, which I find peculiarly depressing.'

  'Very unpleasant for all concerned, sir,' agreed the Sergeant. He turned to Simmons. ' That'll be all for the present,' he said.

  Simmons withdrew, and the Sergeant, who had been eyeing Neville with a good deal of curiosity, invited him to sit down. Neville obligingly complied with this request, choosing a deep armchair by the fireplace. The Sergeant said politely: 'I'm hoping you may be able to help me, sir. I take it you were pretty intimate with the deceased?'

  'Oh no!' said Neville, shocked. 'I shouldn't have liked that at all.'

  'No, sir? Am I to understand you were not on good terms with Mr Fletcher?'

  'But I was. I'm on good terms with everyone. Only I'm not intimate.'

  'Well, but, what I mean, sir, is –'

  'Yes, yes, I know what you mean. Did I know the secrets of my uncle's life? No, Sergeant: I hate secrets,
and other people's troubles.'

  He said this with an air of sweet affability. The Sergeant was a little taken aback, but rallied, and said: 'At all events, you knew him fairly well, sir?'

  'We won't argue the point,' murmured Neville.

  'Do you know if he had any enemies?'

  'Well, obviously he had, hadn't he?'

  'Yes, sir, but what I'm trying to establish –'

  'I know, but you see I'm just as much at a loss as you are. You weren't acquainted with my uncle?'

  'I can't say as I was, sir.'

  Neville blew one smoke ring through another, and watched it dreamily. 'Everybody called him Ernie,' he sighed. 'Or Ernie dear, according to sex. You see?'

  The Sergeant stared for a moment, and then said slowly: 'I think I get you, sir. I've always heard him well spoken of, I'm bound to say. I take it you don't know of any person with a grudge against him?'

  Neville shook his head. The Sergeant looked at him rather discontentedly, and consulted Glass's notebook. 'I see you state that after you left the dining-room you went into the billiard-room, where you remained until Miss Fletcher came to find you. At what hour would that have been?'

  Neville smiled apologetically.

  'You don't know, sir? No idea at all? Try and think!'

  'Alas, time has hitherto meant practically nothing to me. Does it help if I say that my aunt mentioned that a most peculiar visitor was with my uncle? A fat little man, who carried his hat in his hand. She had seen him in the hall.'

  'Did you see this man?' asked the Sergeant quickly.

  'No.'

  'You don't know whether he was still with your uncle when you went up to your room?'

  ***

  'Sergeant, Sergeant, do you think I listen at keyholes?'

  'Of course not, sir, but –'

  'At least, not when I'm wholly incurious,' explained Neville, temporising.

  'Well, sir, we'll say that some time between 9.00 and 10.00 you went up to your room.'

  'At half-past nine,' said Neville.

  'At – A moment ago, sir, you said you had no idea what time it was!'

  'Oh, I hadn't, but I remember now one solitary cuckoo.'

  The Sergeant shot a startled look towards Glass, standing motionless and disapproving by the door. A suspicion that the eccentric Neville Fletcher was of unsound mind had darted into his brain. 'What might you mean by that, sir?'

  'Only the clock on the landing,' said Neville.

  'A cuckoo-clock! Well, really, sir, for a moment I thought – And it struck the half-hour?'

  'Yes, but it's quite often wrong.'

  'We'll go into that presently. Which way does your room face, sir?'

  'North.'

  'It's at the back of the house, then? Would it be possible for you to hear anyone coming up the side path?'

  'I don't know. I didn't hear anyone, but I wasn't trying to.'

  'Quite,' said the Sergeant. 'Well, I think that'll be all for the present, thank you, sir. Of course, you understand that you will not be able to leave this house for a day or two? Just a matter of routine, you know. We'll hope it won't be long before we get the whole thing cleared up.'

  'Yes, let's,' agreed Neville. His gaze dwelt specu latively on a picture on the wall opposite the fireplace. 'It wouldn't be robbery, would it?'

  'Hardly, sir, but of course we can't say definitely yet. It isn't likely a burglar would come when Mr Fletcher was still up, not to mention the rest of the household.'

  'No. Only the safe is behind that picture – just in case you didn't know.'

  'Yes, sir, so the butler informed me. We've been over it for finger-prints, and as soon as we can get Mr Fletcher's lawyer down we'll have it opened. Yes, Hepworth? Found anything?'

  The last words were addressed to a constable who had stepped into the room through the window.

  'Not much, Sergeant, but I'd like you to have a look at one thing.'

  The Sergeant went at once; Neville uncoiled himself, got up, and wandered out of the room in his wake. 'Don't mind me coming, do you?' he murmured, as the Sergeant turned his head.

  'I don't see as there's any objection, sir. The fact is, a man was seen sneaking out by the side gate just after 10 p.m., and unless I'm mistaken he's the chap we're after.'

  'A – a fat man?' suggested Neville, blinking.

  'Ah, that would be too easy, wouldn't it, sir?' said the Sergeant indulgently. 'No, just an ordinary looking chap in a soft hat. Well, Hepworth, what is it?'

  The constable had led the way to the back of a flow ering currant bush, which was planted in a bed close to the house. He directed the beam of his torch on to the

  ***

  ground. In the soft earth were the deep imprints of a pair of high-heeled shoes.

  ' They're freshly made, Sergeant,' said Hepworth. 'Someone's been hiding behind this bush.'

  ' The Women in the Case!' said Neville. 'Aren't we having fun?'

  Two

  ***

  BY HALF-PAST ELEVEN THE POLICE, WITH THE EXCEPTION of

  one constable, left behind to keep a watch over the house, had departed from Greystones. Miss Fletcher, gently interro gated by the Sergeant, had been unable to assist the course of justice. The news of the finding of the imprints of a woman's shoes did not seem either to shock or to surprise her. 'He was such an attractive man,' she confided to the Sergeant. 'Of course, I don't mean – but one has to remember that Men are not like Us, doesn't one?'

  The Sergeant had found himself listening to a panegyric on the late Ernest Fletcher: how charming he was; how popular; what perfect manners he had; how kind he had always been to his sister; how gay; how dashing; how generous! Out of this turmoil of words certain facts had emerged. Neville was the son of Ernie's brother Ted, many years deceased, and certainly his heir. Neville was a dear boy, but you never knew what he would be up to next, and – yes, it did annoy poor Ernie when he got himself imprisoned in some horrid Balkan state – oh, nothing serious, but Neville was so hope lessly vague, and simply lost his passport. As for the Russian woman who had appeared at Neville's hotel with all her luggage before breakfast one morning in Budapest, saying he had invited her at some party the night before – well, one couldn't exactly approve, of course, but young men did get drunk sometimes, and anyway the woman was obviously no better than she should be, and really Neville was not like that at all. At the same time, one did rather feel for Ernie, having to buy the creature off. But it was quite, quite untrue to say that Ernie didn't like Neville: they hadn't much in common, but blood was thicker than water, and Ernie was always so under standing.

  Questioned more closely, no, she knew of no one who nourished the least grudge against her brother. She thought the murderer must have been one of these dreadful maniacs one read about in the papers.

  The Sergeant got away from her, not without difficulty, and very soon left the house. Aunt and nephew confronted one another in the drawing-room.

  'I feel as though this were all a horrible nightmare!' said Miss Fletcher, putting a hand to her head. ' There's a policeman in the hall, and they've locked dear Ernie's study!'

  'Does it worry you?' asked Neville. 'Was there anything there you wished to destroy?'

  ' That,' said Miss Fletcher, 'would be most dishonest. Not but what I feel sure Ernie would have preferred it to having strangers poking their noses into his affairs. Of course I wouldn't destroy anything important, but I'm sure there isn't anything. Only you know what men are, dear, even the best of them.'

  'No, do tell me!'

  'Well,' said Miss Fletcher, 'one shuts one's eyes to That Side of a Man's life, but I'm afraid, Neville, that there have been Women. And some of them, I think – though of course I don't know – not what I call Nice Women.'

  'Men are funny like that,' said Neville dulcetly.

  'Yes, dear, and naturally I was very thankful, because at one time I made sure Ernie would get caught.'

  'Caught?'

  'Marriage,' explained Miss Fle
tcher. ' That would have been a great blow to me. Only, luckily, he wasn't a very constant man.'

  Neville looked at her in surprise. She smiled unhappily at him, apparently unaware of having said anything remark able. She looked the acme of respectability; a plump, faded lady, with wispy grey hair and mild eyes, red-rimmed from crying, and a prim little mouth, innocent of lip-stick.