Appleby's Other Story (19 page)

Miss Kentwell considered.

‘I can imagine,' she said, ‘circumstances in which I should entertain high expectations of him.'

‘Quite so.' And Appleby and Miss Kentwell exchanged what might fairly have been described as a meaningful glance. Only Appleby, as he walked away, found himself wondering whether this notable lady would find the slightest difficulty in rising to the boldest double bluff.

 

 

But the quest for Archie was again abortive for a time. Outside the library, Appleby ran into Raffaello.

‘I have,' Raffaello said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Thought it over.' Raffaello glanced around him uneasily. ‘Sir John, you are a man of discretion. We might perhaps have a quiet conversation, away from your Inspector Henderson, don't you think? Come outside. It is pleasantly warm on the terrace still. And here is a French window we can slip through.'

‘Very well. But you mustn't think I am going to enter into a conspiracy with you.'

‘Certainly not. Nothing of the kind.' Raffaello followed Appleby into the open air. ‘But I know you take a broad view of this matter. Your only concern is with the shocking murder of Tytherton.'

‘Understand clearly that my concern is with the law. But it remains true that you will be wise to explain yourself, Raffaello. And I think you want to begin with what was supposed to be a robbery a couple of years ago.'

‘It can be put that way – but only very unfairly, Sir John. I had been out of the country, you see, and had heard nothing about any disappearance of pictures from Elvedon. It all seemed quite legitimate. Otherwise, I would in no circumstances–'

‘Tell your story, and don't waste time talking nonsense.'

‘Very well.' Raffaello sighed like a man much ill-used. ‘The late Mr Tytherton called on me, and we had a confidential discussion. He had a number of pictures of which he wished to dispose – quite unobtrusively, you understand. I agreed to put inquiries in hand.'

‘Did he say anything about the background of this proposed quiet transaction?'

‘I did form an opinion, Sir John.' Raffaello had now drawn his companion into a dignified perambulation of the splendid terrace of Elvedon. An uninstructed observer – Appleby thought – might have taken them for two Ministers of the Crown, gravely deliberating affairs of state. ‘It was my business to satisfy myself of the propriety of what was being proposed. From, that is to say, an ethical point of view. So I did think about the matter. My conclusion was that Mr Tytherton felt rather in need of ready cash.'

‘That sounds plausible. In the last year or so, at least, he is known to have been rather hard up.'

‘Just so, Sir John.' Raffaello paused. He might have been calculating how much he was going to get away with, and soberly concluding it was likely to be very little. ‘But another matter came up. I must be frank with you.'

‘I'm afraid you must. And I suggest this to you, Raffaello. Whether you had been abroad or not, you knew perfectly well that the pictures Tytherton was proposing to part with were those that had already disappeared from Elvedon as the result of a faked robbery shortly before. Tytherton had already collected money on them from an insurance company, and now he was going to collect it all over again from your clients. Perhaps he really was desperately in need of money, or perhaps he just enjoyed dishonesty for its own sake. I rather suspect a mixture of the two. Well, however that may be, you tumbled to the situation. He couldn't really have had much expectation that you would not. You then told him that, if you were to play ball with him, there would have to be rather more in it for you. Whereupon he let you into some further plan or plot that was in his head. Am I right?'

‘You put these things very unfairly – as I've already said.' Raffaello was once more a man aggrieved. ‘I did gather that Tytherton intended to apply any money I could get him – or a good part of it – to another deal in the same field.'

‘To
buying
pictures, you mean?'

‘Something of the kind. He was in a position to make a very advantageous purchase. But of a highly confidential kind. It needed money. But nothing like the money it would finally bring in.' Raffaello paused. ‘So we came to a gentleman's agreement in the matter. I was to act as his agent when the moment came to market this asset he was acquiring.'

‘I see – and a precious pair of scoundrels you were. But go on.'

‘There is really nothing more to tell you, Sir John.'

‘Nonsense! Why are you here now?'

‘Well, that moment had come – or was coming.
That
is why I am here. But Tytherton was evasive with me – very evasive indeed. He simply would not tell me what was in question. Imagine that, Sir John! I am very sorry to say anything harsh about a dead man. But I really don't think that Maurice Tytherton meant to be quite honest with me in the affair.'

‘You shock and surprise me. And that was the position up to the moment of Tytherton's being killed?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then let us go back a little. How did the pictures you were quietly to dispose of two years ago come to you?'

‘Come to me?' As he echoed the question, Raffaello glanced furtively round the long, deserted terrace. ‘His nephew delivered them to me. Archie Tytherton.'

‘The devil he did!' Appleby had paused beside that statue of the god Hermes upon which one of Elvedon's peacocks was accustomed to perch – a habit, he observed, of which there was humble evidence in the bespattered condition both of the divinity and his pedestal. And now Appleby leant against the adjacent balustrade and thoughtfully surveyed the splendours of the mansion itself. ‘Did the young man know what he was about?'

‘Ah! That is a question.'

‘How can it be a question?'

‘The pictures had been crated, Sir John. Each was in an individual light crate. Tytherton – this nephew, I mean – simply brought them up to town in an estate-car, and handed them over to my people at the gallery.'

‘So he may have known much or little?'

‘Or nothing at all. He was simply delivering to a highly reputable firm–'

‘Quite so. And, now, one final question for the moment. You had better answer it honestly. Have you, up to this present minute and as a result of all the prowling round the house that you are known to have been doing, arrived at any notion at all as to what Maurice Tytherton had in some clandestine manner acquired and was presently proposing to profit from?'

‘I have not!' Articulating this with some vehemence, Raffaello further pointed his feelings by a gesture like a savage brandishing of the fist before the impassive face of Elvedon Court. ‘Do you know what, Sir John? I am coming to believe that I have been the victim of an unscrupulous imposture. I am deeply sorry to say it. But Maurice Tytherton was little better than a blackguard.'

At this edifying moment there was an interruption. Mark Tytherton had stepped abruptly from the house, with the result that Raffaello's threatening gesticulation took on the appearance of having been directed at him. And Mark's reaction was not of the most temperate sort.

‘It's you again, is it?' he demanded, and took three long steps forward. ‘And did I hear you say something about my father?'

‘Nothing of the kind!' Raffaello – not unreasonably, considering the physical indignity to which he had already been subjected by this violent young man earlier in the day – was terrified. ‘I assure you–'

‘You assure me you are a beastly toad.' Despite Appleby's restraining presence, Mark took a further menacing step forward. ‘Isn't that right?'

‘Yes, certainly. I agree. Anything!' All dignity had forsaken the unfortunate art dealer. He began cautiously to back away down the terrace.

‘Sir John,' Mark Tytherton demanded, ‘are the police finished with this man?'

‘I judge it improbable. Although not in the sense that they will insist on his staying here.'

‘Then you can clear out.' Mark had turned to Raffaello. ‘First thing after breakfast.'

‘I'll go now.'

‘You'll go when I say – at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. You were my father's guest, and you'll end your connection with the place at decent notice. But get off this terrace. I don't like you.' For some moments Mark's eye brooded over Raffaello's precipitate retreat, and then he turned to Appleby. ‘Well,' he asked, ‘did Henderson tell you?'

‘About your interview with your father last night? Certainly.'

‘Do you think they'll lock me up?'

‘Let us not pursue that for the moment. And, even if they do, you'll have a bit of a run for your money, Mark.'

‘What do you mean by that, sir?' The young man looked sharply at Appleby, very aware of this use of his Christian name.

‘As master of Elvedon. Who else are you going to order off the premises – Ronnie Ramsden?'

‘Yes, of course – all in due time. You don't imagine, do you, I need a chap to manage a home farm and some tenants for me?'

‘I don't think I do. By the way, I gather Ramsden and you were at school together. What was he like?'

‘Brutal.'

‘Was he brutal to you?'

‘He didn't have the chance. We became prefects together. But then he was given the top job, and ran the place. I'll give it to him that he did it damned well. The school was a slack dump when he became head boy, and he sorted it out extremely efficiently.'

‘But not gently?'

‘Not gently at all.'

‘And you sound as if you disapproved, Mark. Didn't you throw your weight about a bit yourself? You seem to me a little given to–'

‘Not like that.' Mark Tytherton produced what was suddenly a disarming grin. ‘I never thought much of morale building with a stick. Still, the stick-merchants have something. It can be done.'

‘Yes, it can be done.' Appleby accepted this mature view of things soberly. ‘Incidentally, do you think there would be any gentler way of building a little morale into that cousin of yours?'

‘Archie? I'm sure there wouldn't. He's in a disgusting funk – isn't he? I've no use for Master Archie Tytherton. Out he goes, double quick.'

‘You don't feel that might be a little – well, brutal?'

‘Lord, no! My father will have left him something. Archie has a kind of legitimate vested interest as a parasite. But he can go off and enjoy the status elsewhere. I don't want to see him again.'

‘As it happens, I do. Do you by any chance know where I can find him now?'

‘I haven't a clue. But here's the omniscient Ronnie Ramsden, who always has tabs on everything. Ask him.'

 

Ramsden had indeed appeared on the terrace, and was now pausing before them. It wasn't, clearly, a chance encounter. Ramsden had something to say to one or other of them. It turned out to be Appleby.

‘I have a message from Colonel Pride,' he said. ‘He has been called away for some urgent reason or other. But one of his men will keep a car at your disposal until he returns.'

‘Thank you. I'll have it take me home in an hour's time, or thereabouts. My wife won't be pleased if I'm late for dinner.'

‘I'll give her a message to that effect.' Ramsden looked at Appleby curiously. ‘Shall you be coming back tomorrow?'

‘Oh, later tonight, quite possibly. I'm sure everybody wants this affair cleared up as soon as may be.'

‘And that's what you're going to do?'

‘I judge it probable.'

‘Well, I shall be much relieved, for one.' Ramsden had glanced quickly at Mark Tytherton, as if wondering how he had been struck by the attitude of this cocksure retired policeman. But he spoke unaffectedly enough. ‘We're not a comfortable or agreeable household. The sooner we're sorted out, the better pleased Mark is likely to be. Isn't that so, Mark? And, of course, your stepmother.'

‘I'll thank you, Ronnie, not to go on calling Alice that.'

‘My dear man, I'll call her whatever you please. You're the boss.' Ramsden said this without irony or resentment; it was as if he acknowledged it as being in the nature of the situation that his own status had changed, and was perfectly willing amicably to pack his bag when asked. And this good humour had an effect on Mark.

‘Ronnie, I was saying you're the chap who has tabs on everything. I expect you've been doing quite a job. Just at this moment, do you happen to know where Archie is? Sir John wants to have a go at him.'

‘A go at him?' Ramsden smiled grimly. ‘Why, the poor devil's dead scared already. I don't know what he'll be like when the big guns are brought to bear. Still, it's his own messy fault.'

‘I wonder,' Appleby asked, ‘if you would elaborate on that judgement?'

‘I suppose I could, sir.' Ramsden again glanced at Mark, but this time uncomfortably. ‘Only, Mr Tytherton's just dead, and Mark's just home–'

‘Ronnie, stop parading nice feelings. They're not your line.' Mark spoke roughly. ‘And everybody knows Elvedon has been a pigsty for quite some time. So get on with it.'

‘Very well.' Ramsden had flushed faintly. ‘Your father found Archie in bed with somebody, and very much disapproved. There was–'

‘With Alice, you mean?'

‘Of course not. With that awful woman Cynthia Graves. There was a revolting row–'

‘When was this?'

‘Don't be so thick, Mark.' Ramsden was suddenly impatient. ‘You know perfectly well. It happened only yesterday. And your father rang up his solicitor, intending to bash Archie out of his will. And then it was your father who got bashed – fatally. So Archie's panic at least has a rational basis. Like almost everybody else in Elvedon, he's in an awkward spot.' Ramsden had directed one of his swift glances at Appleby. ‘Only other people keep a slightly stiffer upper lip.'