The Murder at Sissingham Hall (14 page)

‘Well, we shall see,’ said the inspector non-committally. ‘We must, of course, investigate all avenues. Let us go back to Sir Neville. Did he seem his usual self on the night of the murder?’

We all looked at each other, then Gwen MacMurray spoke up for the first time.

‘No, he didn’t,’ she said. ‘He was rather down. He had been depressed for a couple of days, in fact.’

‘Do you have any idea of the reason?’

I remembered again Sir Neville’s mysterious words to me on my first evening at Sissingham, when he had talked of liars and schemers, but held my tongue.

‘I think we all assumed it was something to do with business,’ said Bobs, ‘but perhaps Gale or Pomfrey can tell you more about that than I can.’

‘I do not believe this is the place to reveal details of Sir Neville’s business affairs,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘Nonetheless, I see no harm in stating that there was no particular cause for concern as far as I am aware.’

‘No, there was not,’ agreed Gale. ‘It is no secret that Sir Neville was considering entering into a gold-mining venture in South Africa with Mr. Knox and Lord Haverford and that the preliminary business was taking up much of his time. However, there was no reason for him to be despondent about his affairs.’

‘Of course not!’ exclaimed Gwen. ‘If there had been, I’m sure he would have confided in Hugh. Hugh and he were terribly close, you know.’

I saw Inspector Jameson turn his attention to Gwen as though he had not noticed her before and study her carefully.

‘Have you any idea what might have been troubling Sir Neville?’ he asked her gently.

Gwen tossed her head.

‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ she said, in a tone of voice that plainly meant, ‘I have a jolly good idea but I shan’t tell.’

‘Very well,’ said the inspector. ‘That is all for the present, although I may wish to speak to some or all of you alone later on.’

Gwen shivered pleasurably.

The inspector bade us all a good afternoon and left the room. Under normal circumstances, we should all have talked about the murder at length but as Rosamund was present this would, of course, have been highly insensitive. Gradually, therefore, we all drifted out of the room, leaving Rosamund in conversation with Mr. Pomfrey.

I was writing a letter in my room some time later, when I was drawn to the window by the sound of running footsteps, which seemed to come from the terrace below. I peered out but could see nothing. However, further out on the lawn I saw Bobs, Sylvia and Angela Marchmont all staring in the same direction, towards the house. I ran downstairs and joined them.

‘Hallo,’ I said. ‘From the window you looked as though you had all stared at a Gorgon and been turned to stone. What is it?’

‘The most extraordinary thing,’ said Bobs. ‘I—’

He stopped, as the police constable I had seen that morning suddenly erupted from the French windows leading into the study, bolted round the corner and entered the house through the side door.

‘What on earth is he doing?’ I asked in astonishment.

‘You find us as perplexed as you are, old thing. We were just taking a gentle stroll around the grounds to clear away the cobwebs, when all of a sudden that fellow came haring out of the house and in through the French windows. A few minutes later, he came out again, as you saw.’

‘It seems an awfully odd way of investigating a murder,’ said Sylvia.

‘Oh, of course!’ murmured Angela Marchmont, half under her breath.

We turned to her inquiringly.

‘Yes,’ she went on. ‘It all makes sense now. I didn’t understand the potatoes at all.’

She saw our surprised faces and laughed.

‘No, I haven’t gone mad—not quite yet, anyhow. It’s just that earlier on, I saw one of the policemen hauling what looked like a large sack of potatoes towards the study and wondered why. But of course it’s obvious now.’

‘Not to me,’ said Sylvia.

‘Don’t you see? The sack of potatoes represents Neville. They are trying to re-enact the crime, in order to get an idea of how quickly it could have been done.’

‘But why are they running in and out of the side door, when we know that the murderer came from outside and in through the French windows?’ I asked.

‘There’s only one reason that I can think of,’ replied Angela.

At that moment, realization dawned upon the rest of us and we stared at each other in consternation.

‘They must suspect that someone in the house did it!’ said Sylvia.

Angela nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

Bobs gave a great guffaw.

‘But that’s absurd!’ he said.

‘Is it?’ said Angela.

‘Of course it is! Quite apart from the fact that none of us had any motive to kill him, there simply wouldn’t have been time. Remember what Jameson said: the murder must have taken place between a quarter to eleven and half-past one. But the outside doors were all locked at eleven o’clock. That leaves only fifteen minutes in which to do it. And if you remember, during that time we were all together in the drawing-room.’

‘Not all the time,’ observed Angela. ‘I think several people went out—including you, Bobs.’

‘Did I?’ asked Bobs in surprise. ‘I say, now you mention it, I believe I did. I’d completely forgotten about it. Still,’ he went on, ‘I don’t see how there would be time to run halfway round the house, do the deed, arrange the body and return to the drawing-room without being suspected.’

‘Well, let us hope that the police agree with you,’ said Angela. ‘Otherwise we may be in for rather a sticky time of it.’

‘But why should any of us want to kill poor Neville?’ said Sylvia. ‘No, I won’t believe it.’

‘Look,’ I said. ‘Here comes Jameson now.’

It was indeed the inspector, striding purposefully towards us.

‘Hallo, Jameson,’ said Bobs, as he approached. ‘We’ve been watching your little show here. You can’t fool us. We know what you’re up to. Tell me, which of us do you think did it? For my part, I don’t like the look of that old butler at all. He has an evil glint in his eye and I shouldn’t trust him an inch if I were you.’

‘Bobs!’ exclaimed Sylvia.

‘Or what about Gale?’ continued Bobs, unabashed. ‘The ones who wouldn’t say “boo” to a goose are always the ones you have to watch out for. They plod along meekly year after year, then one day the worm turns and woe betide anyone who gets in his way.’

‘I’m obliged to you for your deductions, Mr. Buckley,’ said the inspector politely. ‘We will, of course, be considering all possibilities.’

‘Bravo!’ said the irrepressible Bobs. ‘And now, perhaps, you will tell us what conclusions you have reached. Judging by your little show just now, you are presumably including the members of the household in your list of suspicious characters.’

The inspector smiled non-committally.

‘I should not be doing my duty if I neglected any avenue of inquiry,’ he said but did not elaborate further.

‘Is there anything we can do to convince you that none of us had anything to do with it?’ asked Sylvia.

‘Why, yes, Miss Buckley, there is. That is why I am here. I am trying to get an idea of the movements of everybody in the house between the times of a quarter to eleven and eleven o’clock on Friday night.’

‘Aha! I knew it!’ said Bobs. ‘We can tell you our own movements but not those of the servants, of course.’

‘One of my men is speaking to them this afternoon,’ said Inspector Jameson. ‘But as for the guests—let me see, I understand that you were dancing and playing games together until a quarter to eleven. What about after that?’

I cast my mind back and tried to think. I couldn’t remember much, apart from the quarrel between Joan and Gwen MacMurray.

Sylvia was the first to speak.

‘It was rather an odd evening,’ she said, considering. ‘We were all very flat to start with, I don’t quite know why. Then Rosamund came in and livened things up. She’s always been very good at that. But after we had finished playing Consequences, things sort of deflated again. Then Joan and Gwen had a row about something or other and after that nobody felt much like staying up late. Most people went to bed soon afterwards.’

‘At what time did the quarrel occur?’ asked the inspector.

‘It was just after eleven o’clock,’ I said. ‘I remember looking at my watch afterwards and thinking how tired I was even though it was quite early.’

‘Very good,’ said Jameson, consulting his notebook. ‘Let me see. At a quarter to eleven you, Mr. Knox, and Lady Strickland spoke to Sir Neville through the study door. You then returned to the drawing-room.’

I assented.

‘Between that time and the quarrel between Miss Havelock and Mrs. MacMurray, did any guests leave the drawing-room?’

‘Oh yes, several,’ said Sylvia.

‘Myself included,’ said Bobs. ‘In fact, I missed the quarrel to which you refer altogether. I’m rather sorry about that—it sounds as though it was jolly good fun.’

‘May I ask where you went?’

‘I certainly didn’t go and bash poor old Neville on the head, if that’s what you’re driving at,’ replied Bobs. ‘No, as a matter of fact, I went into the billiard room and practised one or two shots.’

‘Who else left the drawing-room?’

‘Let me think,’ said Sylvia. ‘Joan went out to get a book and came back. Mr. Gale went out too but didn’t come back. He said he had to finish some work or something.’

‘How long was Miss Havelock absent?’

‘Not long. Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes.’

‘Did anyone else leave?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Jameson made a note.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve all been very helpful.’

Before we could ask him any questions he excused himself and went off.

‘Damn,’ said Bobs, as we watched him depart. ‘I wanted to ask him whether they have timed the deed at less than quarter of an hour. If it took them longer then that lets us all out, of course.’

‘Surely it must have taken longer than that,’ said Sylvia. ‘By the way, did you notice that he didn’t once ask what the row between Joan and Gwen was about?’

‘Perhaps he didn’t think it was important,’ said Angela.

‘He strikes me as rather an intelligent fellow,’ I said. ‘Not at all like the policemen one reads about in books.’

‘Then we shall all have to watch our step,’ said Bobs lightly.

ELEVEN

In the hall I met Rosamund. She brightened when she saw me and took my hand.

‘I’m so glad it’s you,’ she said. ‘Come with me to the morning-room. The handsome inspector wants to speak to Mr. Pomfrey and me about Neville’s will and I’m frightened he will clap me in irons immediately and carry me off.’

‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ I said, ‘but of course I’ll come with you if you like. Won’t old Pomfrey kick up a fuss, though?’

‘He can fuss all he likes but I simply must have a friend with me and I know I can depend on you, Charles,’ she replied.

I felt more pleased than I could say that Rosamund still considered me such a close friend. With my heart beating hard in my chest, I smiled warmly down at her. She smiled back and led me into the morning-room, where the inspector and Mr. Pomfrey were waiting.

Mr. Pomfrey was indeed unwilling to talk about Sir Neville’s will in my presence but Rosamund bore down every opposition and the little solicitor was reluctantly forced to accept her wishes.

‘Very well, what is it you wish to know, inspector?’ he asked.

‘I should like you to tell me how Sir Neville has disposed of his estate,’ replied Inspector Jameson.

‘Is it necessary for you to know that? I thought I understood that the murderer or murderers had entered the house from outside.’

‘We have not yet established for certain how the crime was committed,’ said the inspector cautiously. ‘The only thing we do know at present is that a crime
was
committed, so I am required to conduct as thorough an inquiry as possible. Motive is an important factor, although it can never be conclusive, of course. That is why I ask you about the will.’

The solicitor raised his eyebrows in surprise, then leaned back in his chair and placed the tips of his fingers together.

‘I see.’ He considered for a moment. ‘The situation is a little complicated but I shall do my best to explain. Sir Neville Strickland’s will, as it stands, is fairly straightforward. There are a few minor bequests and charities, of course but there are only two main beneficiaries: Hugh MacMurray, who inherits ten thousand pounds, and Lady Strickland, who inherits the rest of Sir Neville’s money—something in the region of thirty-five thousand. She also inherits the Sissingham estate but has only a life interest in it, the marriage having been without issue.’

‘And who will get Sissingham when she dies?’ asked the inspector.

‘It reverts to Mr. MacMurray,’ replied Mr. Pomfrey.

‘What about Miss Havelock? Does she inherit anything?’

‘No. She has an inheritance of her own, which is currently held in trust for her. She will receive that when she reaches the age of twenty-five.’