6 Grounds for Murder (12 page)

Cecily felt a desperate urge to grin as Baxter thrust out a hand and made an imaginary grab. “Ah, got the little … bird.”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful.” Lady Belleville clapped her hands. “How perfectly marvelous of you, dear Mr. Baxter. How can I ever repay you?”

Baxter answered her with an explosive sneeze.

“God bless you,” Cecily said.

Baxter gave her a frigid look. “Thank you, madam. It’s the dust.” As if to accentuate his point, he sneezed again.

Lady Belleville screeched once more. “Oh, do be careful! Don’t squeeze the poor little thing or you’ll break his little bones. They are so fragile, you know.”

“It’s quite all right,” Baxter mumbled as he climbed down from the chair, brushing cobwebs from his sleeve. “The little chap is perfectly fine. Now if I just … er … sit him on your shoulder here …”

Cecily hid a smile behind her hand. In spite of her best efforts, a soft chuckle escaped, and Baxter sent her a glare that promised a lecture later on.

Lady Belleville clasped her hands together, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude. She stood quite still while Baxter touched her shoulder with his finger and stood back.

“There,” he said, doing his best to look sincere. “Home again, safe and sound.”

Lady Belleville turned her head, her smile vanishing as she stared at her shoulder. “Where?” she demanded, her voice querulous.

Baxter froze, staring at the dowager as if completely bereft of words.

With a sinking feeling, Cecily pointed to the trembling shoulder. “Right there, Lady Belleville. Look, there it is, preening its feathers. Can’t you see it?”

“Of course I can’t see it. Do you take me for a fool? What
is this nincompoop trying to do? Make a mockery of me?”

Turning on Baxter, the angry woman shook a finger in his heavily flushed face. “I may be an old woman, my good man, but I can assure you I have all my wits about me. Now I’d appreciate it if you would search this hotel and find that bird for me, instead of wasting my time playing your silly childish tricks.”

Turning back to Cecily, she added for good measure, “Really, Mrs. Sinclair, you should have more sense than to associate yourself with someone who has such appalling manners. Most unbecoming for a lady of your station. Now, if you will excuse me, I would very much like to retire for the night.”

Mumbling apologies, Baxter rushed for the door and held it open for Cecily to pass through. Barely waiting until he’d closed the door again, he said through gritted teeth, “I cannot for the life of me imagine why I continue to listen to you. Never again will I allow myself to be misled by your idiotic ideas.”

Cecily raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Baxter took a deep breath. “Madam,” he added as an afterthought.

Cecily could hold back the laugh no longer. “Oh, piffle, Baxter, it was worth a try. I was only attempting to save you the arduous task of searching this hotel.”

“And just what leads you to believe I shall be searching the hotel?” Baxter asked, just a little too quietly.

“Well, I did promise …”

“So you did.” Baxter started down the hallway with his long stride, leaving Cecily struggling to keep up with him. “Since Lady Belleville is no doubt retiring for the night, however, she will be in no position to know whether or not the hotel was searched. I shall merely inform her that I spent the better part of the night looking for her bird, to no avail.
She will just have to accept the disappointment, that’s all.”

Finally catching up with him at the top of the stairs, Cecily caught his sleeve. “Baxter, has it occurred to you that Lady Belleville might ask the other guests if they saw you search? After all, you are supposed to include their rooms.”

“Would madam want me to disturb the other guests at this time of night?”

“Of course not. But it wouldn’t hurt to make at least a cursory search. Just in case she takes it into her head to check up on you.”

The sound of a rusty voice droning out the words to some unrecognizable tune caught Cecily’s attention. Leaning over the balustrade, she saw Colonel Fortescue making his unsteady way up the stairs.

“I have an idea,” she said quickly. “Take the colonel with you and search just the landings and the hallway downstairs. Then, if Lady Belleville challenges you in the morning, you will have the colonel’s word that you searched the hotel and found nothing.”

Baxter looked astounded. “That fool? He’s worse than Lady Belleville. He’s likely to forget everything by tomorrow and will simply make me out to be a liar.”

“He’ll remember enough to believe everything you say. He couldn’t be a better witness for you.”

“I really don’t care to have a witness—” Baxter started to say.

Without giving him a chance to finish, Cecily leaned over the balustrade. “Colonel?” she called. “Could we have a word with you?”

“Certainly, my dear. Be with you in a jiff.”

She could almost feel the heat of Baxter’s temper as the colonel grunted and puffed his way to the top of the stairs. She could only hope that by tomorrow her manager would forgive her for forcing the issue.

After listening to her request, Colonel Fortescue proved to be only too happy to assist in the search, and Cecily left him earnestly discussing the strategy with Baxter, who wore a face of granite.

Feeling a little guilty, she let herself into her room, only to bring herself up short when she saw yet another note lying on the carpet. She snatched it up, scanning it with anxious eyes.

The hastily scrawled lines covered the page.
You are asking too many questions. You must take more care. George is extremely dangerous when angered. Be warned!

CHAPTER
12

“I say, old chap, this is jolly good fun, what? What?” The colonel strode along the narrow hallway in front of Baxter, his calves encased in bright yellow and green argyle socks below his tweed knickers. “By George, I do relish a hunt. Though I do prefer larger game, of course. Not much to brag about when bagging a bird, is there, what?”

Baxter mumbled an answer and promised himself he would have it out with Cecily in the morning, without fail. Not only did she force him into a most embarrassing display of idiocy in front of a guest, but he was now conducting an imaginary search for an imaginary bird with a deranged nitwit for an assistant.

The nitwit in question came to an abrupt halt in front of
him, and Baxter narrowly avoided charging straight into the bulky figure.

“Shh!” the colonel hissed. “There it is, by thunder. Lurking in the corner over there. Looks much bigger than I expected.”

Baxter frowned, doing his best to peer around the colonel’s plump shoulders. “Where is it?” he whispered, peering into the dim shadows beyond the flickering gas lamps. “I can’t see anything.”

The colonel turned his head, tickling Baxter’s jaw with his whiskers. “Over there. In the corner. Perched on that little table. Looks more like a vulture to me. Have to watch their claws, you know. It will take two of us to—”

Baxter straightened. “Colonel—”

“Shh! Don’t want to frighten the pesky thing away, now that we’ve got him. Could do with a net. Oh, well, hands will have to do. I’ll grab the wings, you hold onto the—”

“Colonel!” Baxter closed his eyes briefly. “That is not Lady Belleville’s canary.”

“Canary?” The colonel’s eyelids flapped furiously. “Of course it’s not a canary, old chap. I can see that. Much too big—”

“It’s a pedestal.”

“As I said, it’s probably a vulture—”

“With a bust of Shakespeare standing on it.”

The colonel paused, staring at Baxter with bloodshot eyes. “Shakespeare?”

“Shakespeare. I suggest you take another look.”

The colonel turned slowly around as if he expected the thing to jump out at him. “Great Scott! Shakespeare it is. Could have sworn it moved just now. Fancy that! Looked just like a dashed vulture skulking in the corner.”

“I think we have indulged in this farce long enough,” Baxter said, doing his best to hold back his irritation. “I do
thank you for your assistance, sir, but I am afraid the canary appears to have escaped the confines of this hotel. It must have flown out of a window or perhaps the front door when it was ajar.”

“Poppycock!” The colonel twirled his mustache with his stubby fingers. “The hunt has only just begun. Can’t give up yet. Stiff upper lip and all that, you know. No, by George, we keep on until we find the little blighter. Must be somewhere. We still have all the rooms to search yet.”

Baxter sighed. Much as he hated to admit it, Cecily was right. The colonel would lend credence to his story of a thorough search, but only if he could convince the man that they had done so. Though personally, he thought darkly, he seriously doubted that Lady Belleville was worth all the trouble.

“Very well,” he said, leading the way once more, “we have three empty suites on this floor. We shall search them one by one, and that will leave only the foyer and the downstairs hallway to be searched.”

The colonel blinked at him in confusion. “It will? By Jove, that was quick. Don’t remember searching the top floor at all.”

“Time passes quickly when one is pleasantly occupied,” Baxter said firmly. “Come, let us take a look in here.”

“Saw quite a scrimmage with one once, you know,” the colonel said as he followed Baxter into the darkened suite.

Leaving the door open, Baxter reached up to light the gas lamps. The flame popped a couple of times, then settled down with a soft fizz.

“Yes,” the colonel went on, blithely unaffected by Baxter’s pointed silence, “nasty bit of work they are, you know. Claws as sharp as needles. Remember when one swooped down on the major’s wife during a parade. She was wearing one of those wig thingammies on her head.”

“Really,” Baxter murmured, pretending to look carefully around the room.

“By George, that was a sight. That enormous bird rising in the air with a clump of hair dangling from its claws—the major’s wife with her hair literally standing on end, shrieking that her diamond pin was stuck in the wig—and the major standing there screaming orders to shoot the thing down.”

Baxter nodded and peered behind a blue velvet chaise lounge.

“Young lieutenant got it in one shot. Dropped like a stone. Let go of the wig, of course. The dashed thing dropped onto the head of the color guard. Hair all over his face. Couldn’t see a damn thing after that.”

“Tricky,” Baxter murmured. He pulled the drapes back and peered behind them.

“I’ll say it was. He was carrying the Union Jack at the time. Blundered right into the parade stand. Top of the staff almost skewered the major’s wife. Missed her by that much.”

“Well, the bird doesn’t appear to be in here,” Baxter announced.

“Bird? What bird? There’s no bird in here. I was talking about India, old chap. And that one’s dead. Young lieutenant got it in one shot. Dropped like a stone …”

Leading the way from the room, Baxter nursed the fond hope that the colonel would drop like a stone and leave him in peace. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would give Madam Cecily Sinclair a lecture she would not forget.

Pausing at the door of the next suite, he said, “I believe we have already searched this one, Colonel.”

“We have?” The colonel peered shortsightedly at the door. “Dashed if I remember now. Don’t suppose we’ll find
the little perisher anyway. Probably flown up on the Downs by now. That’s where birds belong, anyway, that’s what I always say. Should be flying about in trees, not cooped up in damn cages. Damn cruel, that’s what I call it.”

For once the old fool had said something Baxter could agree with. With hope rising in his breast, he said cautiously, “What say we give up this hunt for tonight, Colonel? I’m quite sure Lady Belleville will be most appreciative of your efforts to find her canary. I shall certainly tell her that you did your utmost to help.”

“Really?” The colonel patted his chest. “Not a bad-looking woman that, you know. Bit batty, of course. Keeps talking to some damn birds that aren’t there. She should go up on the Downs if she wants to see birds. Plenty of them up there, what?”

“There certainly are,” Baxter said, beginning to move purposefully down the corridor. He was tired, irritable, and hungry. He needed a roast beef sandwich with a dash of horseradish and a hot cup of tea, then blessed peace in the privacy of his room until the morning.

“Saw someone up there yesterday afternoon,” the colonel said behind him. “Just remembered that. Don’t think the blighter was bird-watching though.”

Baxter paused and looked back at him. “What was he doing?”

The colonel thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “Dashed if I can remember. I’d had a tipple or two at the George, you know. Got lost on the way home.” He shook his head. “Seem to do that a lot lately. Must be the old peepers. Have to get some spectacles, I suppose. Hate the damn things. Keep sliding down my nose.”

“Who was this person?” Baxter said, trying to sound unconcerned. “Did you know him?”

Colonel Fortescue gave him a vague look. “Not sure that
it was a him, old chap. Could have been a woman, I suppose. ’Fraid I don’t remember. Dashed awkward that, what?”

“Did you recognize this person, do you remember?”

The colonel frowned, apparently struggling with his feeble memory. “I think I did. I was going to call out, but the blighter disappeared.” He made an attempt to snap his fingers, failed, tried again, then gave up. “Just like that.”

“But you would know the person again?” Baxter persisted, his patience beginning to evaporate.

“Don’t know, old chap. Had to be someone from this hotel, I should think. Don’t know any of the local chappies. If I could just remember who it was … Dashed memory never has been the same since those bullets sliced my head during the war.” His fingers busily parted his hair. “Still have the scars, you know. Wonder I wasn’t killed.”

“Quite.” Baxter patted the colonel’s arm. “Must have been terribly painful. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help.”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose it would.”

“Good. Then, if you can remember later who you saw on the Downs yesterday, perhaps you will inform me?”

Colonel Fortescue lifted a hand and brought it down heavily on Baxter’s shoulder. “Of course, old chap. Bit curious myself, actually. Whoever it was didn’t want to be seen, I can tell you that. I remember that much.”

Wincing, Baxter rubbed his shoulder. “Perhaps it might be better if you don’t tell anyone else, Colonel. We wouldn’t want to unsettle any of our guests, you know.”

“No, no, wouldn’t do at all. Don’t worry, old chap. Mum’s the word, what?”

“Precisely.” Bidding the colonel good night, Baxter headed back down the corridor. He didn’t hold out much hope that the colonel would remember anything useful.

It would appear, however, that someone from the hotel could have been in the vicinity of the second murder about the time it had happened. The author of the note, perhaps? Or the murderer himself?

Whoever it was, Baxter thought bleakly, he would give a great deal to know his identity. Then he could go directly to the police, instead of waiting for madam to hurl them both into the path of danger yet again.

Again Cecily was pleasantly surprised the next morning after breakfast when the expected dispute with Baxter failed to materialize. True, he was a little short when she inquired about the search the night before.

“I do wish, madam,” he said, facing her across the library table, “that you would refrain from involving me in your harebrained schemes. I do not appreciate looking foolish in front of guests, nor do I particularly enjoy the company of Colonel Fortescue.”

“I’m sorry, Baxter. Was it so terrible?”

Baxter rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Atrocious. The man is a raving lunatic.”

Cecily grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. I find him rather disarming at times.” She laughed out loud at his incredulous expression, vastly relieved that all apparently was well between them once more.

“I think alarming is a more appropriate word,” Baxter said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I hope you will inform Lady Belleville that he and I made a thorough search of the hotel and that we regret finding no sign of her canary.”

“Don’t worry, Baxter, I’ll take care of it. I’m sure she will be satisfied, or maybe she’s forgotten all about it by now.”

“I certainly hope so. I can’t rely on Fortescue to vouch for me. He can’t remember his name at times. I find it difficult
to believe he could see someone on the Downs behaving suspiciously, and yet fail to remember the very next day who it was he saw.”

Cecily had been only half listening, her mind on the note she had received the night before. She had been trying to decide whether or not she should show Baxter the letter, since he made so much fuss about the last one.

His words, however, gradually registered, and she looked up, saying sharply, “Colonel Fortescue saw someone?”

Baxter looked a trifle sheepish. “Yes, he did. But he can’t remember who it was. Or what he was doing. If it was a man, that is. He’s not even sure about that.”

Cecily covered her eyes with her hand.

“I was going to tell you if he remembered who it was,” Baxter said, sounding defensive.

“No doubt insisting that we go straight to the police with the information.”

“Once we knew the identity of the murderer, yes.”

Cecily looked up at him again. “We can’t be sure it was the murderer. It could have been the person who is writing the notes, trying to spy on the murderer. And what if our friend with the notes doesn’t really know the identity of the murderer, but is merely guessing? Or worse, fabricating the entire thing? We should have a full-scale investigation of this hotel by the police, and once more our guests will be subjected to questioning.”

“Yes, madam.”

She leaned forward to make her point. “I don’t like the guests being questioned, Baxter.”

“No, madam.”

“So will you please tell me exactly what it was the colonel said? Maybe we can pick up a clue from his ramblings.”

She listened carefully while Baxter recounted his somewhat
bizarre conversation with Colonel Fortescue the night before. “He simply does not remember who it was he saw,” Baxter said finally. “Though he did promise to tell me if he did remember. I also took care to warn him not to mention to anyone else that he’d seen this person.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Cecily tapped her fingernails on the polished surface of the table. “We don’t want the murderer, if he is indeed someone at this hotel, learning that he was recognized by the colonel, whether or not he was under the influence of alcohol. It could put his life in danger.”

“Mine, too, madam, if the murderer knows the colonel told me about it.”

“I had already thought of that,” Cecily said soberly. “And as long as we are on this subject, I had better show you something I received last night.”

She pulled the folded sheet of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. “I found this on my floor last night.”

She watched him read the letter, his face inscrutable as always. Then he slowly folded it and handed it back to her. “You will not reconsider your decision to keep these notes from the police?”

She gave a decisive shake of her head. “I will not reconsider. Not until we have positive proof that the murderer is indeed one of our guests. So far, all we have is conjecture, and most of it a little wild at that.”

“In that case, I beg you to be careful, madam. By all accounts this murderer is not one to be reckoned with. He is evil and very dangerous.”

She met his gaze, saying quietly, “I’ll be careful, Baxter. As you must be, too.”

“Yes, madam.”

She held his gaze a little longer, then rose, saying briskly, “Well, I must be on my way to inform Lady Belleville of
your fruitless search. I hope I can pacify her enough that she will forget the entire episode.”