Appleby at Allington (22 page)

‘Knockdown? What an abrupt transition! Knockdown comes into this fantasy?’

‘You were acquainted with Knockdown. And poor Scrape – unfortunately for him – knew you were. But, for the moment, that is by the way. You enrolled Knockdown as an accomplice, and the rest was perfectly easy. Even sending him to his own death was perfectly easy. When he had, in fact, served your turn, he had your instructions – he was a biddable man, remember, and of low intelligence – to make his way to the gazebo and operate some switch concealed under a bench. It killed him. And you, who were the first to climb up to the place, had only to give him a small shove in order to render him unnoticeable. It was only when you had put me through the business of accidentally killing your nephew – who was, of course, dead already – that you drew attention to him. He had died instantly, and could never give evidence against you.’

There was a long silence. Here and there, the dark surface of the lake threw up the reflection of a star. Beyond, there was a flickering of torchlight as the party which had been searching the castle began to return to the house. Wilfred Osborne must have reached them with the news that all was well.

‘Rasselas,’ Appleby said, ‘is a very well-trained dog.’

Again there was silence. It was followed by a gulping sound, which for a moment Appleby supposed to come from the man standing motionless before him. Then he realized that it came from the lake. Disturbed by Eugene and Digby Lethbridge, the muddy depth was sending up an occasional gassy bubble to explode in air.

‘Timing was the key to the matter,’ Appleby said. ‘I was conscious, in a vague way, of time as behaving queerly. I was being manipulated through it with some very nice calculation. I wasn’t alone in that.’

‘Did you say something about Rasselas?’ Allington asked.

‘Yes.’ Appleby bent down to Eugene and Digby’s small hoard. ‘Here’s the key. Only it isn’t a key. It’s a whistle.’

‘I see the whistle.’ Allington appeared to examine the small object closely. ‘Just a whistle.’

‘The obedient Knockdown, following instructions, threw it into the lake as soon as he’d used it. And then – it was a chance in a thousand – the boys brought it out.’

‘Just why did Knockdown use a whistle?’

‘It was his signal to you that Martin’s car was approaching.’

‘My dear man, you’re crazy. According to your account, we were together in the library as Martin was approaching the drive. We certainly heard no whistle – and nothing else either.’

‘I agree. But Rasselas did. It’s that sort of whistle. You saw Digby blow it a few minutes ago, and we hardly heard a sound. But Rasselas heard it – from as far away as the castle. And he was here in no time.’

‘It was Rasselas who killed my nephew?’

‘That sort of whistle is a man-made equivalent of the squeak of a bat. The pitch is too high to be audible at least to adult human ears, but a dog will hear it, and can be trained to respond to it at once. Nowadays, one sees people using such things regularly in public parks. By the way, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking expectantly at Rasselas from time to time. And then the moment came. Knockdown gave the signal. Rasselas rose and went straight to the door. You pressed a bell – for Enzo, who was no longer in the house. Only it was no longer a bell. It switched off the lights on the terrace, and switched on the lights at the castle. Then, in perhaps five or six minutes, it reversed the process. Easy for you to rig. Easy for you to destroy all traces of – perhaps next morning, perhaps that night. Knockdown was dead – but no policeman was going to cast a vigilant eye on you because of that. By the time Martin’s death was discovered, even the last traces of the
son et lumière
had vanished. Scrape was the only unexpected complication. And simply because he knew you had lied about Knockdown. He thought things out. But you weren’t going to be blackmailed a second time – not even in the interest of a Cistercian abbey. So you suggested a quiet talk while walking round the lake. Incidentally, you have suggested
this
quiet talk with me. But, as I’ve said, it won’t do. You can’t drown me. You can only shoot. Well, shoot away – and face Pride’s men afterwards.’

‘Might we perhaps move back to the house?’ Owain Allington had turned away. ‘The others may be wondering what has happened to us.’

‘Yes, we’ll go back.’

‘Perhaps, my dear Appleby, I might stroll ahead. You may want to take a final look round so interesting a spot.’

It was a strange moment – and then Appleby told himself that he was no longer a policeman.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said.

He sat down again on Gate One, and gazed fixedly at the lake. It was a full two minutes before he heard the shot. He rose and walked slowly towards it. The mysterious affair was over.

John Appleby first appears in
Death at the President’s Lodging
, by which time he has risen to the rank of Inspector in the police force. A cerebral detective, with ready wit, charm and good manners, he rose from humble origins to being educated at ‘St Anthony’s College’, Oxford, prior to joining the police as an ordinary constable.

Having decided to take early retirement just after World War II, he nonetheless continued his police career at a later stage and is subsequently appointed an Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police at Scotland Yard, where his crime solving talents are put to good use, despite the lofty administrative position. Final retirement from the police force (as Commissioner and Sir John Appleby) does not, however, diminish Appleby’s taste for solving crime and he continues to be active,
Appleby and the Ospreys
marking his final appearance in the late 1980’s.

In
Appleby’s End
he meets Judith Raven, whom he marries and who has an involvement in many subsequent cases, as does their son Bobby and other members of his family.

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

Published by House of Stratus

The Ampersand Papers While Appleby is strolling along a Cornish beach, he narrowly escapes being struck by a body falling down a cliff. The body is that of Dr Sutch, an archivist, and he has fallen from the North Tower of Treskinnick Castle, home of Lord Ampersand. Two possible motivations present themselves to Appleby – the Ampersand gold, treasure from an Armada galleon; and the Ampersand papers, valuable family documents that have associations with Wordsworth and Shelley.

Appleby and Honeybath Every English mansion has a locked room, and Grinton Hall is no exception – the library has hidden doors and passages…and a corpse. But when the corpse goes missing, Sir John Appleby and Charles Honeybath have an even more perplexing case on their hands – just how did it disappear when the doors and windows were securely locked? A bevy of helpful houseguests offer endless assistance, but the two detectives suspect that they are concealing vital information. Could the treasures on the library shelves be so valuable that someone would murder for them?