The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (15 page)

As she warmed to her subject, waxing ecstatic about her
small actors and actresses, Faro listened bleakly. How he
dreaded and assiduously avoided amateur theatricals, the worst
of all being school plays. His role of fond and indulgent parent had its limitations and he was thankful that his daughters Rose
and Emily had never exhibited even hints of latent acting
abilities.

Thanking Miss Halliday graciously but remaining vague
about his immediate future in Elrigg, he made his escape.

Relying on his forged credentials and the fact that the further
inquiries of an insurance investigator might be accepted as
natural, Faro walked briskly towards the Castle.

At the lodge Imogen Crowe was at home, busily hanging
curtains in the kitchen window. Pretending not to notice, and staring hard in the opposite direction, he hurried past, head down, eager to avoid any further communication with her.

An impossible woman.

The day was warm and sunny and Faro concentrated on what he was going to say to Lady Elrigg and her stepson. The aged
butler opened the door and looked down his sharp nose at
Faro. As usual he was left waiting on the doorstep for some
time while the old man enquired as to who might be at home.

It was all very tiresome, thought Faro, his good nature
evaporating rapidly as he wondered if his presence had been
forgotten.

At last the door was reopened. 'Her Ladyship is not at home
but Mr Mark is willing to see you.'

Faro was relieved to see Mark appear behind the butler at
that moment.

'Good day to you, Mr Faro. Shall we stroll in the gardens?'

Faro smiled. Perhaps it was crediting the young man with
too much subtlety to have realised that emotions are easier
concealed strolling in a garden than sitting face to face across a
table. And a much less unnerving experience.

'The paintings haven't turned up, I'm afraid,' Mark
volunteered.

Faro would have been surprised if they had, having long
since determined their fate.

'I suppose you have documents for us to sign?' Mark
continued.

Faro hadn't thought of that.

'Sir Archie didn't tell me - as you know. All a bit of a shock,
what happened.'

‘I’m sorry. You were close to him?' Faro said boldly.

Mark shrugged. 'As close as anyone. He was good to me and
I enjoyed better relations with him than most,' he added frankly.
'He could be a devil sometimes, you know, he believed in the
old traditions of the gentry, tried to run Elrigg like a medieval warlord. He refused to believe that times were changing. He
yearned for the old-style barony courts, with absolute power of
life and death, the
droit de seigneur
- all that sort of thing. He
liked the idea of summoning his tenants once a quarter - to
dispense justice and administer punishment.'

They had reached the edge of the walled garden. Ahead of
them stretched a large expanse of boggy, heavily weeded
marshland, quite out of the keeping with the neat paths and
well-trimmed garden.

That was once an ornamental lake. We used to sail boats on
it, have picnics. Then there was an accident, a girl drowned. Sir
Archie wouldn't tolerate that sort of thing on his land. Had it
drained. He was like that.'

'It must have been very distressing for you finding him that
day -' Faro decided to pretend ignorance and the mild curiosity
that might be expected of him regarding Sir Archie's death.

Mark shook his head. 'I didn't know what had happened
until later. I was busy in the estate office. Something my
stepfather wanted checked,' he continued swiftly. Then, looking
at Faro, he said, 'We were used to him being unseated by his horse. He would arrive back on foot in a towering rage, out for
blood.'

'That happened often?'

'Often enough. He had a passion for highly bred Arab
horses, very expensive. He had to show them - like everyone
else - that he was master. Used the whip cruelly at the breaking-
in process -'

'He was riding alone, I take it?'

'No. As a matter of fact he had one of our guests with him.'

'And didn't this guest give the alarm?'

'Of course,' said Mark uncomfortably. 'Oh, there you are,'
he called as Lady Elrigg and her companion Miss Kent emerged
from the walled garden, the relief in his voice suggesting rescue
from a particularly nasty situation. Faro bowed politely, greeted
them cordially. While he listened to Mark explaining too
brightly that Mr Faro was still busy with his inquiries about the
paintings, he felt Lady Elrigg's smile was fixed and held no
warmth.

But it was the companion who most interested him. This was
their first meeting and he regarded her with considerable
interest in the light of Constable Dewar's scathing remarks
regarding her matrimonial chances.

Beatrice Kent was tall and thin with a sallow complexion,
the kind of anonymity that doomed actresses to character roles. Even in extreme youth he doubted whether she had ever been
pretty enough for juvenile leads. She was no foil for her
mistress's flamboyant beauty.

She was aware of his scrutiny and turned aside sharply. At
her side Poppy Elrigg continued to smile, her composure
unimpaired by this encounter with the insurance assessor. Only
Miss Kent showed evidence of despair, her lips trembling, her
eyes darting back and forth nervously from one to the other as
if in some desperate mute appeal for help.

At last she touched Lady Elrigg's arm, the slightest gesture
but enough communication for the two women to turn and
look at him with expressions that left him in no doubt
regarding his popularity. And had they been able to slip back
into the shrubbery unobserved he guessed they would have
withdrawn immediately.

Feeling that words of explanation were demanded of him, he
said heartily: 'Just the usual procedures, you know.'

'In view of our unfortunate bereavement, I was reminding
him -' Mark's voice held a note of pleading.

'I'm sure Mr Faro understands perfectly.' Lady Elrigg's brilliant smile in his direction was followed by a brisk nod to
Mark. 'And now, if you'll excuse us. Come along, Mark,' she
added as if he had some burning desire to remain. 'Beatrice and
I were looking for you. There are estate matters urgently
needing your attention, you know.'

The heir to Elrigg seemed in no great hurry to take over his
duties either and Faro, detecting a hint of reproach and
reprimand, regarded their rapid exit thoughtfully.

Lady Elrigg had been particularly anxious to remove Mark
and, he felt sure, she would be very concerned about the
particulars of their conversation.

At that moment, he decided that Mark was the most unlikely
person to have murdered Sir Archie if he had found him
unconscious in the spinney.

Unless he was lying in wait for just such a possibility, when
he most certainly would have been seen in the vicinity by
Yarrow or Dewar. Besides, from what Mark had told him, Faro
felt the boy was more likely to have rushed to the scene and
tried his best to resuscitate his stepfather.

Returning along the Castle drive, deep in his own thoughts,
Faro stepped aside to make way for a rider leading a string of
horses.

Greetings exchanged, Faro was admiring the mare with her new foal, when the lad said: 'You're the man from the insurance
people. I thought I recognised you. I've seen you at the inn.'

'You were here the day of His Lordship's accident?'

'I was that,' said the lad as he dismounted. 'Mind you, I
thought little of it at the time. His Lordship had frequent disagreements with the beasts. Often came off worst.'

He shook his head. 'I didn't realise he was hurt, especially as
the other gentleman rode in, never mentioned it -'

'This other gentleman. Who was he?'

The stable boy gave him a curious look. 'Very important he
was sir, very confidential. We'd lose our jobs if we talked about
him - gossiped and the like,' he said anxiously.

'Quite so. I just wondered why he hadn't waited and seen
His Lordship home.'

'Can't say, sir. He rode in. I helped him dismount and he was
very wet and in a tearing rage, I could see that. He ordered his carriage to be sent round immediately and stormed off to the
house. We hadn't been told that he was leaving and of course
there was the usual panic. I watched him leave with his
servants, wondering about His Lordship. Wasn't like him not to
be there to speed on the departing guest. Her Ladyship looked
a bit flustered, apologetic like.'

'Was Mr Mark with her?'

'No. I didn't see him. When I got back to the stables, His Lordship's horse galloped in. I was alarmed. I realised His Lordship might have gone right up to the Castle not to be late
for dinner. But that wasn't like him. It was still raining and
getting dark. I chatted to the other lads and none of us liked the
idea of him lying hurt out there, especially with the cattle
roaming about, upset by a stalking party earlier on. And we'd
been told there were some young calves just dropped.

'Then Constable Dewar rode in, told us about the accident,'
He shrugged. 'When we got there it was too late. Sergeant
Yarrow and Dr Brand were with him.'

'Anyone else?'

The stable lad thought. 'Aye. Mr Mark and Mr Hector were
standing about and one or two of the estate folk. But there
wasn't anything they could do.'

As Faro continued on his way, he made a mental picture of
the scene in the copse. Mark, Hector and a few anonymous
'estate folk', any of whom could ride a horse and might have
found Sir Archie lying injured. From what he had learned, all
the tenants were expert archers. It didn't take much stretch of.
the imagination to realise that the bull's horn might be used as
a murder weapon.

He considered the time factor. Although it took the best part
of thirty minutes to walk briskly to the copse from the Castle,
ten minutes on a swift mount was all that was required, taking
well-known short cuts over fields and fences.

Luck had been with the murderer, since Sergeant Yarrow's
arrival had been delayed by his horse going lame. A murderer
who was clever - or desperate - who had discovered the bull's
horns and realised the possibilities or re-enacting the death of the actor Philip Gray by blaming it on the wild cattle.

His thoughts were irresistibly drawn once more to Hector
Elrigg. He could not dismiss him from his list of possible
suspects. He spent most of his working days at the hillfort with the copse in clear view, his cottage less than a hundred yards
away.

And Hector was an expert archer.

Deep in thought, Faro was halfway between the Castle drive
and the village when the rain began. A few preliminary warning
spots became a torrential downpour. Taking refuge in the only
available shelter offered by a large but still leafless oak tree
whose branches hung over the estate wall, he gazed longingly
towards a cottage on the other side of the road.

Smoke issued from its chimney bringing the scent of a peat
fire. Lamplight gleamed in its windows. Suddenly the door
opened and a lady beckoned to him.

'Won't you come and take shelter, sir? It is only a shower,
and it will soon pass...'

Faro recognised the schoolteacher Miss Halliday. And
needing no second bidding, he raced across the intervening
ground and followed her into the kitchen where a kettle
whistled merrily on a large fire.