Georgette Heyer_Inspector Hannasyde 04 Page 5

  ' Then, if that is all, Superintendent,' the solicitor was saying, 'I will take my leave. Should you require my further services, there is my card.'

  ' Thank you,' said Hannasyde.

  The solicitor picked up Ernest Fletcher's Will, and replaced it in his brief-case. He glanced rather severely over the top of his pince-nez at Neville, and said: 'You are a very fortunate young man, Neville. I hope you will prove yourself worthy of the benefits your poor uncle has conferred on you.'

  Neville looked up with his fleeting smile. 'Oh, so do I! I shall try hard not to let all this vulgar wealth corrupt my soul.'

  'It's a great responsibility,' said the lawyer gravely.

  'I know, that's what depresses me. People will expect me to wear a hat, and look at tape-machines.'

  'I hope you will do more than that,' replied the lawyer. 'Now, if you please, I should like to have a word with your aunt. Perhaps you could take me to her.'

  Neville obligingly rose, and opened the door for him. They passed out of the room together, and Sergeant Hemingway, who had been standing silent in the window, said: 'Who's the bit of chewed string, Chief ?'

  ' The heir,' answered Hannasyde. 'Neville Fletcher.'

  'Oh! well, I don't grudge it him. He looks as though he hasn't got tuppence to rub together, let alone hardly having the strength to stand up without holding on to something.'

  'You shouldn't go by appearances, Sergeant,' said Hannasyde, a twinkle in his eye. ' That weary young man holds the record for the high jump. Got a half-blue at Oxford, so the solicitor informed me.'

  'You don't say! Well, I wouldn't have thought it, that's all. And he's the heir? What did I tell you? Motive Number One.'

  'I'll remember it if I draw a blank on that unknown visitor,' promised Hannasyde. 'Meanwhile, we've found this little lot.'

  The Sergeant came to the desk, and looked over Hannasyde's shoulder at three slips of paper, all signed by Helen North. 'IOUs,' he said. 'Well, well, well, she did splash money about, didn't she? Know what I think, Super? There's a nasty smell of blackmail hanging round these bits

  ***

  of paper. I believe friend Ichabod wasn't so far off the mark after all, with his pursuit-of-evil stuff.'

  'My name is not Ichabod, Sergeant, but Malachi,' said Glass stiffly, from the window.

  'It had to be,' said the Sergeant. 'What price those foot prints, Chief ?'

  ' The medical evidence goes to show that it is in the highest degree improbable that a woman could have struck the blow which killed Ernest Fletcher. Still, I agree that these notes will bear looking into.'

  'Young Neville know anything about this Helen North?'

  'I haven't asked him. In the event of those IOUs having no bearing on the case, I'm not anxious to stir up any mud.' He glanced up to see Glass staring at him with knit brows. 'Well? Does the name convey anything to you?'

  ' There's a man of that name living with his wife not five minutes' walk from this house,' replied Glass slowly.

  The Sergeant pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Hannasyde said: 'Know anything about them?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Address?'

  'You will find the house in the road which runs parallel to Maple Grove. It is called the Chestnuts.'

  Hannasyde jotted it down. The Sergeant, meanwhile, was turning over a collection of photographs and snap shots laid on the desk. 'Looks like you weren't so far out, Glass,' he remarked. 'I have to hand it to the late Ernest. He certainly knew how to pick 'em. Regular harem!' He picked up a large portrait of a dazzling blonde, dressed, apparently, in an ostrich-feather fan, and regarded it admiringly. 'That's Lily Logan, the dancer. What a figure!'

  Glass averted his eyes with a shudder. 'Can a man take fire in his bosom, and his clothes not be burned? As a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is without discretion!'

  ' That's what you think,' said Hemingway, laying Lily Logan down, and looking critically at another smiling beauty. 'Went the pace a bit, didn't he? Hullo!' His eyes had alighted on the portrait of a curly-headed brunette. He picked it up. 'Seems to me I've seen this dame before.'

  'As his female acquaintance seems to have consisted largely of chorus girls, that's not surprising,' said Hannasyde dryly.

  'Yours lovingly, Angela,' read out the Sergeant. 'Angela…' He scratched his chin meditatively. 'Got something at the back of my mind. Do you seem to know that face, Chief ?'

  Hannasyde studied the photograph for a moment. 'It does look a little familiar,' he admitted. 'Some actress, I daresay. We'll check up on them presently.'

  Hemingway held the photograph at arm's length. 'No, I'm pretty sure I don't connect her with the stage. No use asking you, Glass, I suppose?'

  'I do not wish to look upon the face of a lewd woman,' Glass said harshly. 'Her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword.'

  'Look here, what's the matter with you?' demanded the Sergeant. 'Some actress given you the air, or what?'

  'I have no dealings with actresses.'

  'Well, then, stop panning them. How do you know anything about this poor girl's end, anyway?' He laid the portrait down.

  'Anything else, Chief ?'

  'Nothing so far.'

  At this moment the door opened and Miss Fletcher came in. She was dressed in deep mourning, and her plump cheeks were rather pale, but she smiled sweetly at Hannasyde. 'Oh, Superintendent – you are a Super intendent, aren't you?'

  He had risen to his feet, and unobtrusively slid the big blotter over the heap of photographs. 'Yes, that's right, madam.'

  She looked at the mass of papers on the desk. 'Oh dear, what a lot you must have to do! Now, tell me, would you like a little refreshment?'

  He declined it, which seemed to disappoint her, and asked her civilly if she wished to speak to him.

  'Well, yes,' she admitted. 'Only any time will do. You're busy now, and I mustn't disturb you.'

  'I'm quite at your disposal, Miss Fletcher. Won't you sit down? All right, Glass: you can wait outside.'

  'You have such a kind face,' Miss Fletcher told him. 'Quite unlike what one expected. I feel I can talk to you. Are you sure you won't have something? A little coffee and a sandwich?'

  'No, really, thank you. What was it you wanted to say to me, Miss Fletcher?'

  'I'm afraid you'll say I'm wasting your time. So silly of me not to have asked dear Mr Lawrence while he was here! We have known him for so many years that I always say he is more like a friend than a solicitor, though of course there is no reason why he shouldn't be both, as indeed I hope he feels he is. It was particularly foolish of me, because it is just the sort of thing he would know.'

  'What is it, Miss Fletcher?' asked Hannasyde, breaking into the gentle flow of words.

  'Well, it's the reporters,' she confided. 'Poor things, one knows they have their living to earn, and it must be very disagreeable work, when one comes to think of it, and one doesn't want to be unkind –'

  'Are they worrying you?' interrupted Hannasyde. 'All you have to do is to tell your butler to say that you have no statement to make.'

  'It seems so very disobliging,' she said doubtfully. 'And one of them looks dreadfully under-nourished. At the same time, I should very much dislike to see my photo graph in the papers.'

  'Of course. The less you say to them the better, Miss Fletcher.'

  'Well, that's what I thought,' she said. 'Only my nephew is so naughty about it. It's only his fun, but you never know how much people will believe, do you? I suppose you wouldn't just hint to him that he oughtn't to do it? I feel that what you said would carry more weight than what I say.'

  'What's he been up to?' asked Hannasyde.

  'Well, he's told one of the reporters that he's employed here as the Boots, and when the man asked him his name he said it was Crippen, only he didn't want it to be known.'

  Hannasyde chuckled. 'I don't think I should worry very much about that, Miss Fletcher.'

  'Yes, but he told another of t
hem that he came from Yugoslavia, and was here on very secret business. In fact, he's in the front garden now, telling three of them a ridiculous story about international intrigue, and my brother at the back of it. And they're taking it down in their notebooks. Neville's such a marvellous actor, and of course he speaks Serbian, from having travelled in the Balkans. But I don't think he ought to deceive those poor men, do you?'

  'No, I don't,' said Hannasyde. 'It's most unwise to play jokes on the gentlemen of the Press. Hemingway, go and ask Mr Fletcher if I can have a word with him, will you?'

  ' Thank you so much!' said Miss Fletcher gratefully. 'Poor Neville, one always has to remember that he hasn't known a mother's love. I feel that accounts for so much, don't you? Not that he isn't a dear boy, of course, and I'm very fond of him, but he is like so many of the young people nowadays, so strangely heartless ! Nothing seems to matter to him, not even a thing like this.' Her lips trembled; she groped for her handkerchief, and dabbed her eyes with it. 'You must forgive me: I was very much attached to my dear brother. It doesn't seem to me as though any of this can really have happened.'

  'It must have been a terrible shock to you,' said Hannasyde sympathetically.

  'Yes. You see, my brother was such a charming man. Everyone liked him!'

  'So I understand, Miss Fletcher. Yet it seems that he had one enemy at least. Have you no idea who that might be?'

  'Oh, no, no! I can't think of anyone. But – I didn't know all his – friends, Superintendent.' She looked up anxiously, but Hannasyde said nothing. ' That was one of the things I came to talk to you about,' she ventured. 'I'm afraid you will think it rather odd of me to mention such things, but I have made up my mind that I ought to.'

  'You may be perfectly frank with me, Miss Fletcher,' he said encouragingly.

  She fixed her eyes upon a point beyond his shoulder. 'My brother,' she said in a faint voice, 'had affairs with – with women.'

  Hannasyde nodded.

  'I never inquired into them, and of course he never spoke of them to me, but naturally I knew. In my young days, Superintendent, ladies did not discuss such matters. Nowadays things are different, and young people seem to talk of everything, which I can't help feeling is a pity. It is much better to shut one's eyes to some things, don't you agree? But it has occurred to me – I thought it all over during the night – that whoever killed my brother may – may have done so from jealousy.'

  'Yes, that is a possibility,' Hannasyde said.

  'Yes. Of course, if it was so, it will have to come out. I quite realise that. But if you find it wasn't, or – or fail to discover the man who did it – do you think my brother's – private affairs – need be known?'

  'Certainly not,' Hannasyde replied. 'I quite under stand your feelings in the matter, Miss Fletcher, and I can assure you that I shall respect them as much as I possibly can.'

  'So kind!' she sighed. 'I have such a dread of the papers printing horrid things about my poor brother – perhaps getting hold of letters. You know the sort of thing I mean, I expect.'

  'You need not be afraid of that,' he assured her. ' There are no such letters as you refer to.'

  'Oh, how thankful I am!' she breathed. 'You have taken a load off my mind!'

  She got up, as Sergeant Hemingway ushered her nephew into the room, and bestowed a tremulous smile upon the Superintendent. Neville came in talking in his soft, rapid way, and it was plain from Hemingway's strained, appre ciative expression that his discourse was of an entertaining nature. When he saw his aunt he broke off in mid-sentence, and recommended her to make no statement to the police except in the presence of her lawyer. Miss Fletcher explained to Hannasyde that this was only his fun, and made her way to the door.

  Neville closed it behind her, saying plaintively: 'Of course, I know one has to obey the summons of the Law, but you interrupted me at a most delicate moment, Superintendent.'

  'I'm sorry,' replied Hannasyde, adding with a gleam of humour in his eye: 'International complications?'

  'Yes, I had just worked in a Montenegrin patriot with a knife. The whole story was unfolding itself beautifully, but I've lost the thread now.'

  ' Take my advice, and don't try to fool the Press. Suppose – though it's improbable – that your International story did get published?'

  'Oh, but I do hope it will!' Neville said. 'Really, it's a lovely story, and I've taken pains with it. I don't usually, but old Lawrence seems to think I ought to try to become more earnest. Did you want me for anything in particular? Because if not I'm in the middle of telling your Sergeant about an experience which befell me in Skopje. It isn't exactly a polite story, but I find he has a lovely dirty mind. In fact, we're practically affinities.'

  The reminiscent grin which still lingered on the Sergeant's face vanished. A dusky blush mounted into his cheeks, and he gave an imploring cough.

  'I daresay,' replied Hannasyde. 'But this is hardly the time to indulge in smutty anecdotes, do you think?'

  'Oh, I don't agree with you!' said Neville engagingly. 'Given the right company, there's no real close season for dirty stories.'

  ' Tell me, Mr Fletcher, did you know your uncle well?'

  'I expect it'll save time if I say no,' answered Neville. 'I can see we are on the verge of talking at cross-purposes.'

  'Why?' Hannasyde asked bluntly.

  'Oh, one doesn't know people. Mothers say they know their children through and through. Fallacy. Rather dis gusting, too. Indecency inherent in over-probing, and results misleading, and probably disquieting.'

  'Oh!' said Hannasyde, who had followed this rapid and telegraphic speech with some difficulty. 'I see what you mean, but it doesn't answer my question. As well as one person may know another, did you know your uncle?'

  'No. Interest being the natural forerunner to under standing.'

  'You'd none in him?'

  ***

  'Nor anyone, 'cept objectively. An' I'm not sure of that either. Do you like people?'

  'Don't you?'

  Neville spread his hands out, slightly hunching his thin shoulders. 'Oh, some – a little – at a distance.'

  'You seem to be an ascetic,' said Hannasyde dryly.

  'Hedonist. Personal contacts pleasant at first, but lead ing to discomfort.'

  Hannasyde regarded him frowningly. 'You have pecu liar ideas, Mr Fletcher. They're not getting us anywhere.'

  A smile flickered in Neville's eyes. 'Eschew my com pany. You see, I don't want to get anywhere. Prolonged intercourse with me bad for your temper.'

  'You are probably right,' returned Hannasyde with a touch of asperity: 'I won't detain you any longer.'

  'Oh, can I go back to my entrancing reporters?'

  'If you think it wise – or desirable.'

  'Like feeding goldfish,' said Neville, drifting out by way of the window.

  The Sergeant watched him go, and drew a long breath. 'What I call a turn in himself,' he said. 'He's certainly a new one on me.'

  Hannasyde grunted. The Sergeant cocked an intelligent eye at him. 'You didn't take to him, did you, Chief ?'

  'No. Or believe him.'

  'I'm bound to say I don't entirely follow his talk – what I can hear of it, which isn't much.'

  'I think he knows more than he pretends, and doesn't want to be questioned. However, he'll keep. I've nothing on him – so far.' He looked at his wrist-watch, and got up. ' Take charge of those papers, and the photographs, will you? I'm going now to call on Mrs North. I'll leave Abraham Budd to you. Find out from Headquarters, while you're in town, if they've got anything out of the finger-prints.'

  He had no difficulty in finding his way to the Chestnuts, and, upon sending in his card, was ushered presently into a pleasant morning-room at the back of the house. There he found not only Helen North, but Miss Drew also, who was seated at a table in the window with a portable typewriter in front of her.

  Helen came forward a few steps, saying nervously: 'Good morning. I'm Mrs North. I understand you want to see me?'


  'Yes,' Hannasyde replied. He glanced towards the window, and added: 'Perhaps if I might have a word with you alone it would be best.'

  'Oh no! I mean, I would like my sister to remain. Won't you sit down? I – I've never entertained a detective before!'

  'I should explain, Mrs North, that I am investigating the murder of Ernest Fletcher, who I believe was an acquain tance of yours.'

  'Yes. Yes, I quite understand. Please go on!'