Envious Casca (20 page)

"Come to think of it," objected the Sergeant, "that doesn't point particularly to Miss Herriard. He wouldn't suspect any of the people in the house, would he?"

"He'd suspect them fast enough if they started tampering with the lock of his door," said Hemingway. "No, it looks as though the murderer came in in the natural way, all aboveboard and open, stabbed the old man, and went out again, locking the door behind him by some means which we haven't yet discovered. And somehow I don't believe it."

The Sergeant saw the frown on his superior's brow, and asked: "Why not, sir?"

"I've got a feeling it didn't happen that way. What did the murderer lock the door for at all? It's no use saying, to bamboozle the police, because it isn't good enough. If you find a corpse in a locked room, what's the inference?"

"Suicide," replied the Sergeant promptly.

"Exactly. And if you want a murder to look like suicide you don't first stab the victim in the back, and next remove the knife. There was no idea of making this look like suicide, so the locked door doesn't add up at all." He looked carefully at the plate in the jamb, which had been torn away. "In fact," he said, "I'm beginning to wonder whether the door ever was locked."

The Sergeant weighed this suggestion on its merits. "Three of them said that it was."

"Four, counting Miss Herriard," agreed Hemingway.

"Four's too many to be in a conspiracy," said the Sergeant positively.

"The valet said that he couldn't get any answer to his knock. I don't recall that he said he had tried the door."

"You mean," said the Sergeant slowly, "that you think maybe he only knocked, and when Stephen Herriard came up it was he who forced the latch, and turned the key quickly afterwards, when no one was looking?"

"I don't think anything of the kind," said Hemingway. "I have got an open mind."

"What did you make of the cigarette-case, sir?"

"It doesn't look too good for Master Stephen, on the face of it."

"No; but that's complicated too, isn't it, sir? I mean, there seems to be plenty of evidence to show that the last person known to be in possession of the case was Miss Dean."

"Look here!" said Hemingway. "I can accept the theory that Stephen walked in here to have a quiet chat with his uncle over a cigarette (though, mark you, on the evidence it doesn't seem likely), but what I can't swallow is the suggestion that Miss Dean did. Get hold of the valet for me, will you?"

Ford, when he presently appeared in the Sergeant's wake, showed a slight reluctance to enter the room, and seemed a little nervous. Detectives from Scotland Yard were outside the range of his experience, and although he could look Inspector Hemingway in the eye, he was unable to keep a tremor out of his voice.

When Hemingway asked him if he had tried to open the door into his master's room, he had to think for a moment before replying that he had just turned the handle.

"What do you mean, "just turned the handle"?" asked Hemingway.

"Sort of gently, Inspector, in case Mr. Herriard didn't want to be disturbed. The door wouldn't open."

"So then what did you do?"

"Nothing. I mean, I just waited by the backstairs, like I told the other Inspector."

"Oh, you did, did you? Well, it seems a funny thing that a man's valet, expecting to help his master to dress, and getting no answer to his knock on the door, and finding the door locked, should walk off without so much as thinking that the business was a bit odd."

Ford stammered: "I did think it was unusual. Well, not as much as that, but it hadn't ever happened quite like that before. But Mr. Herriard didn't always have me in to help him to dress. Only when his lumbago was troubling him, so to speak."

"Which I'm told it was," said Hemingway swiftly.

Ford swallowed. "Yes, sir, but -"

"So you might have thought you'd be wanted for a certainty, mightn't you? A man with lumbago, for instance, isn't going to bend down to tie up his shoelaces."

"No," admitted Ford sulkily. "But it's my belief Mr. Herriard put it on."

"Never had lumbago at all?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that. He did have it sometimes pretty bad, but it wasn't always as bad as he liked to make out. If he was put out over anything, he'd carry on as though he was a cripple."

"Did he have you in to help him to dress yesterday morning?"

"Yes, he did, but -"

"But what?"

"Nothing, sir, only I didn't think he had it badly. It was mostly temper."

"Bad-tempered man, wasn't he?"

"Well, that's it, Inspector. He was a fair Tartar when anyone had got his dander up. You never knew how to take him," Ford explained eagerly. "I know it sounds funny, me not liking to go into his room last night until he rang for me, but I give you my word this is a funny kind of a house, and you had to watch your step with Mr. Herriard. If he was in a good mood you could go in and out as anyone would expect to in my position; but if he had one of his black fits on him you couldn't do right, and that's a fact."

Hemingway said sympathetically: "I get it. Violent kind of man, was he?"

The valet grinned. "I believe you!"

The Inspector, who had once read Ford's original testimony, had a disconcertingly good memory, and, having lured the valet into making this admission, pounced on it. "Oh! Then how is it that you told Inspector Colwall that he wasn't a hard master, but that you got on well with him, and liked the place?"

Ford changed colour, but said staunchly: "Well, it was true enough. I wouldn't call him hard exactly. He was all right when no one had upset him. I've been here nine months, anyway, and not given in my notice, which is more than any of his other valets did, by all accounts. He liked me, you see. I never had any unpleasantness. Not to say real unpleasantness."

"He never threw his boots at you, I suppose?"

"I don't mind that," Ford said. "I mean, it didn't happen often. Just a bit of temper. I could generally manage him."

"You could generally manage him, but you were scared to go into his room without his sending for you?"

"Well, he wouldn't have liked that. I didn't set out to get on the wrong side of him, naturally. I knew he was in one of his bad moods. He didn't like Miss Paula bringing Mr. Roydon down here."

"Was that what had put him out?"

"That, and something Mr. Mottisfont had done. He was grumbling on about it yesterday morning, while I was helping him to get dressed."

"Grumbling to you?"

"Well, not so much to me as to himself, if you take my meaning, sir. It was quite a habit with him to let off steam to me when any of the family had annoyed him."

"Seems to me all the family had annoyed him this time."

The valet hesitated. "Well, of course, Mr. Joseph had properly got under his skin, inviting a party down here for Christmas, and he took a regular dislike to Miss Dean, and he was angry with Miss Paula for making a fool of herself over a long-haired playwright - that's the way he put it, you understand - but it would not be fair to say that he was hot-up against Mr. Stephen. He used to hit it off very well with him."

"Are you telling me he hadn't quarrelled with Mr. Stephen?"

"No, I'm not. He was the kind who'd quarrel with his own mother. All I say is that he and Mr. Stephen understood one another and there wasn't a bit of ill-will between them."

"Oh!" said Hemingway, eyeing him strangely. "So you hadn't any reason to suppose that there was any kind of break between them on account of Miss Dean?"

"It would have blown over," Ford said, giving him back stare for stare.

"All right, that's all," said Hemingway curtly.

The Sergeant, who had listened silently to the whole of this interchange, said as soon as Ford had withdrawn:

"I thought you were riding him a bit hard, Chief."

"If it wasn't for the laws of this country I'd have ridden him harder," responded Hemingway. "I don't like his story."

"Seems a funny kind of a house altogether," pondered the Sergeant. "It struck me, remembering what he said to Inspector Colwall, that he's about the only person, barring Mr. Joseph Herriard, who's anxious to give Stephen Herriard a good character."

"Well, I'm glad something strikes you," said Hemingway testily. "What's been striking me from the start is that the only finger-prints found on the windows or on the bathroom key are Ford's."

"It's reasonable, though, that his finger-prints should be found, isn't it, sir?"

"When I come up against a queer case, I don't like reasonable evidence," said Hemingway.

"If he's only been here a matter of nine months, I don't see what he's got to gain by murdering his master."

"Who said he had murdered him? He might have had plenty to gain by lending young Stephen a hand," said Hemingway. "What I want to know is who inherits the old man's money. Let's go downstairs."

Joseph met them in the hall, and was able to explain that Nathaniel's solicitor was on the way to Lexham. He said that the study had been locked up by the local police, and Hemingway replied at once that he should not have the room opened until the solicitor was present.

He had not long to wait. At about half-past twelve, the car which had taken Maud and Mathilda to church drew up outside the door, and the two ladies came in, followed by a short, stout man who looked cold, and rather disgruntled. When introduced to Hemingway, he nodded, and said good morning, but his first thought was to get as near to the fire as possible, and to warm his chilled hands.

The noise of his arrival attracted most of the houseparty to the hall, so while Mr. Blyth thawed before the fire Hemingway had an opportunity to observe Roydon, Paula, Valerie, and Mrs. Dean. Neither Stephen nor Edgar Mottisfont emerged from the billiard-room, whence the click of the ivory balls could faintly be heard, and Maud went upstairs to take off her coat and hat.

Joseph gave Blyth a glass of sherry, and fell into lowvoiced conversation with him. Paula, suddenly becoming aware of Hemingway's presence, stared at him for a moment, and then strode over to him, saying abruptly: "Are you the Inspector from Scotland Yard?"

"Yes, miss, I am."

"I thought so. I'm Paula Herriard. I wish you luck!" she said with a short laugh.

"That's very good of you, miss, I'm sure. I daresay I'll need it," said Hemingway equably.

"You will! What do you think of us?"

"Well, I haven't had much time to make up my mind."

"I may as well warn you that you are now speaking to one of the chief suspects."

"Fancy that!" he said.

"Oh yes!" she said, tapping a cigarette on her thumbnail. "My uncle accused me of being ready to murder him for two thousand pounds. Haven't you been told that?"

"And were you?" enquired Hemingway, in an interested tone.

"Of course not! Besides, how could I possibly have done it?"

"That's what I was wondering."

Joseph's attention had by this time been caught by his niece's unguarded voice, and he came over to her side, looking rather anxious, but saying with an assumption of lightness! "Now, what nonsense do I hear our naughty Paula talking? You mustn't take this young woman too seriously, Inspector. I'm afraid she's been trying to shock you."

"That's all right, sir: I'm very broadminded."

"That's just as well," said Paula, disengaging herself from the avuncular arm about her waist, and walking away.

"My niece is a good deal upset by this appalling business," Joseph confided. "She was very fond of my brother. Now, Inspector, since Mr. Blyth is here I'm sure you would like to go through all the papers and things as soon as possible. Mr. Blyth is quite ready. You won't mind if my nephew is present? I think he has a right to be there."

"No objection at all," said Hemingway. "In fact, I'd like him to be present."

Chapter Eleven

Stephen, fetched from the billiard-room, came with an ill-grace, disclaiming the slightest interest in the contents of his uncle's desk. Mottisfont, who had followed him, surprised everyone by declaring that as Nathaniel's partner he considered he had a right to be present. Joseph seemed to feel that this was mere officiousness, and said that he hardly thought Nat's private papers could be of interest to his business partner. However, the Inspector, whose obliging demeanour was making Valerie open her eyes wider and wider, said that he had no objection to Mottisfont's presence either.

"It seems to me that it is my presence which is entirely superfluous," said Stephen. "If you expect me to be able to throw any light on obscurities I can tell you now that I shan't be able to."

"No, no, Stephen; of course you must be present!" oseph said, taking his arm.

Valerie said, as soon as they were out of earshot: "Well! I never expected a Scotland Yard person to be so decent!"

"Too decent by half," said Paula scornfully.

"Yes," agreed Roydon. "You want to be very much on your guard with those smooth-spoken chaps. They're simply trying to trap you."

Mrs. Dean laughed in a very robust way, and said that there were no traps for her girlie to fall into, she thanked God. This had the effect of making everyone recall duties that would remove them to widely distant parts of the house, and the party disintegrated.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel's study, which was situated in the west wing, and approached by a wide corridor, had been unlocked, and entered. Stephen switched on the electric stove, and began to fill his pipe. Joseph permitted himself a slight shudder at the sight of Nathaniel's sanctum, and pulled himself together with an obvious effort. He turned to Blyth, and said: "I think you know why my nephew sent for you. There is one very important matter -"

"I had better tell you at once that no will was ever drawn up by my firm for your brother, Mr. Herriard," interrupted the solicitor.

"So that's that," said Stephen.

"In the absence of any will -" "But there is a will!" Joseph said.

Everyone looked at him, Hemingway not less intently than the rest.

"How do you know?" demanded Mottisfont. "I only know that Nat had a stupid dislike of making a will!"

"Yes, yes, but he did make one. I helped him to draw it up." Joseph looked towards the Inspector, adding: "I ought to mention, perhaps, that when I was a young man my father mapped out a legal career for me. I'm afraid I was always a feckless creature, however, and -"

"You can spare us the story of your life," said Stephen. "Most of us know it already. When did you help Uncle Nat to draw up a will?"

"When he had pleurisy so badly in the spring," replied Joseph. "It was on his mind, and, indeed, it had for long been on mine. You mustn't think that I coerced him in any way. I only put it to him that the thing ought to be done, and saw to it that it was all legal, as far as my little knowledge went. I quite thought he'd have deposited it with you, Blyth."

The solicitor shook his head.

"Well, that accounts for his dark threats yesterday," remarked Stephen.

"What were they, sir?" asked Hemingway.

Stephen's mocking eyes lifted momentarily to his face. "Something about making changes. I thought it was mere rhetoric."

"The question is, if Mr. Blyth hasn't got the will, where is it?" asked Mottisfont.

Stephen shrugged. "Probably in the incinerator."

"No, no; he wouldn't have done that!" Joseph said.

"Don't talk of him in that cruel way, Stephen! You know there was no one, not even me, he cared for as much as he cared for you!"

"Are you trying to say that I had reason to know there was a will in my favour?" demanded Stephen.

"You ought to have guessed as much, I should have thought," said Mottisfont spitefully. Joseph's been hinting at it ever since I came down here!"

At this attack, Joseph instantly ranged himself on the side of his nephew. "I don't wish to speak harshly at such a time, Edgar, but that is a - a monstrous suggestion! Stephen, did I ever, at any time, tell you anything about poor Nat's will?"

"No."

"Oh, I haven't known your family for all these years without learning that you always stick together!" Mottisfont said. "All I can say is that I for one got the impression that Stephen was Nat's heir, and I got it from the remarks you let fall, Joe!"

The Inspector, though not unappreciative of this interchange, intervened, saying apologetically: "I don't want to interfere with you gentlemen, but if there is a will I'd like to see it."

"There isn't one," Stephen said shortly.

The Inspector's eyes were on Joseph's troubled face.

"What do you say to that, sir?"

"My brother did make a will," Joseph answered.

"Perhaps he subsequently destroyed it. I don't know. But there's a safe in this room, and I think it might be there." "A safe in this room?" repeated Stephen.

"Yes, it's hidden behind that picture," replied Joseph. "I don't suppose you knew about it. Nat only told me when he was ill, and wanted me to get something out of it."

"Can you open it?"

"Yes, if the combination hasn't been changed."

Stephen walked over to the picture Joseph had indicated, and took it down, revealing a small wall-safe. After a good deal of fussing and fumbling, Joseph succeeded in opening it. He then invited Blyth to see what it contained, and stood back, looking anxious.

Blyth drew two bundles of documents out of the safe, and brought them to the desk, where he and Hemingway went through them. Stephen stood frowning by the fireplace, while Mottisfont, who seemed to find it difficult to sit still, polished his spectacles.

After a pause, Blyth said in his precise way: "Most of these papers are share-certificates, and can have no bearing on the case. I find that there is a will." He added in a disparaging tone: "It would appear to be in order."

"For God's sake - !"said Stephen irritably. "Since there is a will, let's know how we stand! Who's the heir?"

The solicitor looked austerely at him over the top of his pince-nez. "It is, as you no doubt perceive, a brief document," he said. "Had I been consulted - But I was not."

"I think it's all right," Joseph said guiltily. "My brother wouldn't let me send for you, but I think I remembered enough of my early training to draw it up correctly."

"It will of course have to be proved," said Blyth in a cold tone. "Where such a large sum of money is involved, I should naturally have advised the employment of a solicitor. But I am well aware of the late Mr. Herriard's peculiarities."

"Who - is - the - heir?" demanded Stephen.

Blyth looked affronted, and Mottisfont muttered something about observing a little decency. The Inspector, however, supported Stephen, and said that he too would like to know who was the heir.

"There are two bequests," said Blyth. "Miss Paula Herriard inherits fifteen thousand pounds; Mr. Joseph Herriard, ten thousand pounds. The residue, including the house and estate, is left to Mr. Stephen Herriard, unconditionally."

There was a moment's silence. Stephen jerked his head round to stare at his uncle. "What in hell's name did you do that for?" he asked angrily.

Even Blyth looked surprised. The Inspector stood watching Stephen with the interest of a connoisseur. Joseph said: "It was Nat, old man, not I. I only helped him to draw it up."

"Encouraged him to leave a fortune to me, I suppose!"

The savage, gibing note in Stephen's voice made Mottisfont's jaw drop. The Inspector looked from Stephen's harsh face to Joseph's worried one, and waited.

"Stephen, I can't bear you to speak so bitterly of Nat!" Joseph said. "You know he thought the world of you! I didn't have to encourage him to make you his heir! He always meant it to be that way. The only thing I did was to persuade him to make a proper will."

"Well, I call it very decent of you, Joe!" said Mottisfont, unable to contain himself: "It isn't everyone who'd have behaved as you've done."

"My dear Edgar, I hope you didn't think I was the Wicked Uncle of the fairy-stories!"

"No; but I should have expected - You were Nat's brother, after all! Ten thousand only! Well, I never would have believed it!"

Joseph gave one of his whimsical smiles. "I'm afraid it seems a dreadfully large sum to me. I never could cope with money. You can say I am an impractical old fool, if you like, but I should have been very uncomfortable if Nat had left me more."

This was so unusual a point of view that no one could think of anything to say. After a pause, Blyth cleared his throat, and enquired whether the Inspector wished to go through his late client's papers.

Joseph sighed. "If you must, I suppose you must," he said. "Somehow one hates the thought of poor Nat's papers being tampered with!"

"I can't see the least sense in it," said Mottisfont. "They aren't likely to throw any light on the murder."

"You never know, sir," said Hemingway, polite but discouraging.

The contents of Nathaniel's desk, however, afforded little of interest. Evidently Nathaniel had been a methodical man who kept his papers neatly docketed, and did not hoard correspondence. A letter from Paula was discovered, bearing a recent date. Paula's wild handwriting covered four pages, but apart from one petulant reference to her uncle's meanness in not instantly agreeing to support Willoughby Roydon's works there was nothing in the letter to indicate that she felt any animosity towards him. None of the other private letters seemed to have any bearing on the case, and after glancing through them the Inspector turned to the business letters, which Blyth was sorting. These too were uninteresting from Hemingway's point of view, but while he was running through them, Blyth, who had been studying some papers which were clipped together, glanced fleetingly towards Mottisfont, and then silently laid the papers before Hemingway.

"Ah!" said Mottisfont, with a slight laugh. "I fancy I see my own fist! I can guess what that is!"

Hemingway paid no heed to this remark, but picked up the sheaf, and began to read the first letter.

It had apparently been written in reply to a demand for information, and the terms in .which it was couched were too guarded to afford the Inspector any very precise idea of the business the firm of Herriard and Mottisfont had been conducting. Attached to it was the rough draft of a further letter from Nathaniel. Such intemperate expressions as crass folly, unjustifiable risks, and staggering impudence abounded, and had called forth a second letter from Mottisfont, in which he suggested rather stiffly that his partner was behind the times, and had, in fact, been out of the business for too long to realise the exigencies of modern times, or the necessity of seizing any opportunity that offered for lucrative trading.

The fourth and last letter in the clip was again a copy, and in Nathaniel's hand. It was quite short. It stated with crushing finality that "this business' would be brought to an immediate conclusion. Plainly, although Nathaniel might of late years have taken but little share in the working activities of the business which bore his name, his veto was final, admitting of no argument.