A Murder Is Announced (5 page)

L
ittle Paddocks was very much as Detective-Inspector Craddock had imagined it to be. He noted ducks and chickens and what had been until lately an attractive herbaceous border and in which a few late Michaelmas daisies showed a last dying splash of purple beauty. The lawn and the paths showed signs of neglect.

Summing up, Detective-Inspector Craddock thought: “Probably not much money to spend on gardeners—fond of flowers and a good eye for planning and massing a border. House needs painting. Most houses do, nowadays. Pleasant little property.”

As Craddock's car stopped before the front door, Sergeant Fletcher came round the side of the house. Sergeant Fletcher looked like a guardsman, with an erect military bearing, and was able to impart several different meanings to the one monosyllable: “Sir.”

“So there you are, Fletcher.”

“Sir,” said Sergeant Fletcher.

“Anything to report?”

“We've finished going over the house, sir. Scherz doesn't seem to have left any fingerprints anywhere. He wore gloves, of course. No signs of any of the doors or windows being forced to effect an entrance. He seems to have come out from Medenham on the bus, arriving here at six o'clock. Side door of the house was locked at 5:30, I understand. Looks as though he must have walked in through the front door. Miss Blacklock states that that door isn't usually locked until the house is shut up for the night. The maid, on the other hand, states that the front door was locked all the afternoon—but she'd say anything. Very temperamental you'll find her. Mittel Europa refugee of some kind.”

“Difficult, is she?”

“Sir!” said Sergeant Fletcher, with intense feeling.

Craddock smiled.

Fletcher resumed his report.

“Lighting system is quite in order everywhere. We haven't spotted yet how he operated the lights. It was just the one circuit went. Drawing room and hall. Of course, nowadays the wall brackets and lamps wouldn't all be on one fuse—but this is an old-fashioned installation and wiring. Don't see how he could have tampered with the fusebox because it's out by the scullery and he'd have had to go through the kitchen, so the maid would have seen him.”

“Unless she was in it with him?”

“That's very possible. Both foreigners—and I wouldn't trust her a yard—not a yard.”

Craddock noticed two enormous frightened black eyes peering out of a window by the front door. The face, flattened against the pane, was hardly visible.

“That her there?”

“That's right, sir.”

The face disappeared.

Craddock rang the front doorbell.

After a long wait the door was opened by a good-looking young woman with chestnut hair and a bored expression.

“Detective-Inspector Craddock,” said Craddock.

The young woman gave him a cool stare out of very attractive hazel eyes and said:

“Come in. Miss Blacklock is expecting you.”

The hall, Craddock noted, was long and narrow and seemed almost incredibly full of doors.

The young woman threw open a door on the left, and said: “Inspector Craddock, Aunt Letty. Mitzi wouldn't go to the door. She's shut herself up in the kitchen and she's making the most marvellous moaning noises. I shouldn't think we'll get
any
lunch.”

She added in an explanatory manner to Craddock: “She doesn't like the police,” and withdrew, shutting the door behind her.

Craddock advanced to meet the owner of Little Paddocks.

He saw a tall active-looking woman of about sixty. Her grey hair had a slight natural wave and made a distinguished setting for an intelligent, resolute face. She had keen grey eyes and a square determined chin. There was a surgical dressing on her left ear. She wore no makeup and was plainly dressed in a well-cut tweed coat and skirt and pullover. Round the neck of the latter she wore, rather unexpectedly, a set of old-fashioned cameos—a Victorian touch which seemed to hint at a sentimental streak not otherwise apparent.

Close beside her, with an eager round face and untidy hair escaping from a hair net, was a woman of about the same age whom Craddock had no difficulty in recognizing as the “Dora Bunner—
companion” of Constable Legg's notes—to which the latter had added an off-the-record commentary of “Scatty!”

Miss Blacklock spoke in a pleasant well-bred voice.

“Good morning, Inspector Craddock. This is my friend, Miss Bunner, who helps me run the house. Won't you sit down? You won't smoke, I suppose?”

“Not on duty, I'm afraid, Miss Blacklock.”

“What a shame!”

Craddock's eyes took in the room with a quick, practised glance. Typical Victorian double drawing room. Two long windows in this room, built-out bay window in the other … chairs … sofa … centre table with a big bowl of chrysanthemums—another bowl in window—all fresh and pleasant without much originality. The only incongruous note was a small silver vase with dead violets in it on a table near the archway into the further room. Since he could not imagine Miss Blacklock tolerating dead flowers in a room, he imagined it to be the only indication that something out of the way had occurred to distract the routine of a well-run household.

He said:

“I take it, Miss Blacklock, that this is the room in which the—incident occurred?”

“Yes.”

“And you should have seen it last night,” Miss Bunner exclaimed. “Such a
mess.
Two little tables knocked over, and the leg off one—people barging about in the dark—and someone put down a lighted cigarette and burnt one of the best bits of furniture. People—young people especially—are so careless about these things … Luckily none of the china got broken—”

Miss Blacklock interrupted gently but firmly:

“Dora, all these things, vexatious as they may be, are only trifles. It will be best, I think, if we just answer Inspector Craddock's questions.”

“Thank you, Miss Blacklock. I shall come to what happened last night, presently. First of all I want you to tell me when you first saw the dead man—Rudi Scherz.”

“Rudi Scherz?” Miss Blacklock looked slightly surprised. “Is that his name? Somehow, I thought … Oh, well, it doesn't matter. My first encounter with him was when I was in Medenham Spa for a day's shopping about—let me see, about three weeks ago. We—Miss Bunner and I—were having lunch at the Royal Spa Hotel. As we were just leaving after lunch, I heard my name spoken. It was this young man. He said: ‘It is Miss Blacklock, is it not?' And went on to say that perhaps I did not remember him, but that he was the son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux where my sister and I had stayed for nearly a year during the war.”

“The Hotel des Alpes, Montreux,” noted Craddock. “And did you remember him, Miss Blacklock?”

“No, I didn't. Actually I had no recollection of ever having seen him before. These boys at hotel reception desks all look exactly alike. We had had a very pleasant time at Montreux and the proprietor there had been extremely obliging, so I tried to be as civil as possible and said I hoped he was enjoying being in England, and he said, yes, that his father had sent him over for six months to learn the hotel business. It all seemed quite natural.”

“And your next encounter?”

“About—yes, it must have been ten days ago, he suddenly turned up here. I was very surprised to see him. He apologized for
troubling me, but said I was the only person he knew in England. He told me that he urgently needed money to return to Switzerland as his mother was dangerously ill.”

“But Letty didn't give it to him,” Miss Bunner put in breathlessly.

“It was a thoroughly fishy story,” said Miss Blacklock, with vigour. “I made up my mind that he was definitely a wrong 'un. That story about wanting the money to return to Switzerland was
nonsense.
His father could easily have wired for arrangements to have been made in this country. These hotel people are all in with each other. I suspected that he'd been embezzling money or something of that kind.” She paused and said dryly: “In case you think I'm hardhearted, I was secretary for many years to a big financier and one becomes wary about appeals for money. I know simply all the hard-luck stories there are.

“The only thing that did surprise me,” she added thoughtfully, “was that he gave in so easily. He went away at once without any more argument. It's as though he had never expected to get the money.”

“Do you think now, looking back on it, that his coming was really by way of a pretext to spy out the land?”

Miss Blacklock nodded her head vigorously.

“That's exactly what I do think—now. He made certain remarks as I let him out—about the rooms. He said, ‘You have a very nice dining room' (which of course it isn't—it's a horrid dark little room) just as an excuse to look inside. And then he sprang forward and unfastened the front door, said, ‘Let me.' I think now he wanted to have a look at the fastening. Actually, like most people round here, we never lock the front door until it gets dark.
Anyone
could walk in.”

“And the side door? There is a side door to the garden, I understand?”

“Yes. I went out through it to shut up the ducks not long before the people arrived.”

“Was it locked when you went out?”

Miss Blacklock frowned.

“I can't remember … I think so. I certainly locked it when I came in.”

“That would be about quarter past six?”

“Somewhere about then.”

“And the front door?”

“That's not usually locked until later.”

“Then Scherz could have walked in quite easily that way. Or he could have slipped in whilst you were out shutting up the ducks. He'd already spied out the lie of the land and had probably noted various places of concealment—cupboards, etc. Yes, that all seems quite clear.”

“I beg your pardon, it isn't at all clear,” said Miss Blacklock. “Why on earth should anyone take all that elaborate trouble to come and burgle this house and stage that silly sort of hold-up?”

“Do you keep much money in the house, Miss Blacklock?”

“About five pounds in that desk there, and perhaps a pound or two in my purse.”

“Jewellery?”

“A couple of rings and brooches, and the cameos I'm wearing. You must agree with me, Inspector, that the whole thing's absurd.”

“It wasn't burglary at all,” cried Miss Bunner. “I've told you so, Letty, all along. It was
revenge!
Because you wouldn't give him that money! He deliberately shot at you—twice.”

“Ah,” said Craddock. “We'll come now to last night. What happened exactly, Miss Blacklock? Tell me in your own words as nearly as you can remember.”

Miss Blacklock reflected a moment.

“The clock struck,” she said. “The one on the mantelpiece. I remember saying that if anything were going to happen it would have to happen soon. And then the clock struck. We all listened to it without saying anything. It chimes, you know. It chimed the two quarters and then, quite suddenly, the lights went out.”

“What lights were on?”

“The wall brackets in here and the further room. The standard lamp and the two small reading lamps weren't on.”

“Was there a flash first, or a noise when the lights went out?”

“I don't think so.”

“I'm sure there
was
a flash,” said Dora Bunner. “
And
a cracking noise. Dangerous!”

“And then, Miss Blacklock?”

“The door opened—”

“Which door? There are two in the room.”

“Oh, this door in here. The one in the other room doesn't open. It's a dummy. The door opened and there he was—a masked man with a revolver. It just seemed too fantastic for words, but of course at the time I just thought it was a silly joke. He said something—I forget what—”

“Hands up or I shoot!” supplied Miss Bunner, dramatically.

“Something like that,” said Miss Blacklock, rather doubtfully.

“And you all put your hands up?”

“Oh,
yes,
” said Miss Bunner. “We all did. I mean, it was
part
of it.”

“
I
didn't,” said Miss Blacklock crisply. “It seemed so utterly silly. And I was annoyed by the whole thing.”

“And then?”

“The flashlight was right in my eyes. It dazzled me. And then, quite incredibly, I heard a bullet whizz past me and hit the wall by my head. Somebody shrieked and then I felt a burning pain in my ear and heard the second report.”

“It was
terrifying,
” put in Miss Bunner.

“And what happened next, Miss Blacklock?”

“It's difficult to say—I was so staggered by the pain and the surprise. The—the figure turned away and seemed to stumble and then there was another shot and his torch went out and everybody began pushing and calling out. All banging into each other.”

“Where were you standing, Miss Blacklock?”

“She was over by the table. She'd got that vase of violets in her hand,” said Miss Bunner breathlessly.

“I was over here.” Miss Blacklock went over to the small table by the archway. “Actually it was the cigarette box I'd got in my hand.”

Inspector Craddock examined the wall behind her. The two bullet holes showed plainly. The bullets themselves had been extracted and had been sent for comparison with the revolver.

He said quietly:

“You had a very near escape, Miss Blacklock.”

“He
did
shoot at her,” said Miss Bunner. “Deliberately
at
her! I saw him. He turned the flash round on everybody until he found her and then he held it right at her and just fired at
her.
He meant to kill
you,
Letty.”