Unexpected Guest (11 page)

‘After him! Quickly!' the inspector shouted to Cadwallader as they ran into the room. The sergeant raced out onto the terrace through the french windows, as Starkwedder rushed into the room from the hallway. He was followed by Laura, who ran to the french windows and looked out. Angell was the next to appear. He, too, went across to the french windows. Mrs Warwick stood, an upright figure, in the doorway.

Inspector Thomas turned to Miss Bennett. ‘There, there, dear lady,' he comforted her. ‘You mustn't take on so. You did very well.'

In a broken voice, Miss Bennett replied. ‘I've known all along,' she told the inspector. ‘You see, I know better than anyone else what Jan is like. I knew that Richard was pushing him too far, and I knew–I've known for some time–that Jan was getting dangerous.'

‘Jan!' Laura exclaimed. With a sigh of deep distress,
she murmured, ‘Oh no, oh no, not Jan.' She sank into the desk chair. ‘I can't believe it,' she gasped.

Mrs Warwick glared at Miss Bennett. ‘How could you, Benny?' she said, accusingly. ‘How could you? I thought that at least you would be loyal.'

Miss Bennett's reply was defiant. ‘There are times,' she told the old lady, ‘when truth is more important than loyalty. You didn't see–any of you–that Jan was becoming dangerous. He's a dear boy–a sweet boy–but–' Overcome with grief, she was unable to continue.

Mrs Warwick moved slowly and sadly across to the armchair and sat, staring into space.

Speaking quietly, the inspector completed Miss Bennett's thought. ‘But when they get above a certain age, then they get dangerous, because they don't understand what they're doing any more,' he observed. ‘They haven't got a man's judgement or control.' He went across to Mrs Warwick. ‘You mustn't grieve, madam. I think I can take it upon myself to say that he'll be treated with humanity and consideration. There's a clear case to be made, I think, for his not being responsible for his actions. It'll mean detention in comfortable surroundings. And that, you know, is what it would have come to soon, in any case.' He turned away, and walked across the room, closing the hall door as he passed it.

‘Yes, yes, I know you're right,' Mrs Warwick admitted. Turning to Miss Bennett, she said, ‘I'm sorry, Benny. You said that nobody else knew he was dangerous. That's not true. I knew–but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it.'

‘Somebody had to do something!' Benny replied strongly. The room fell silent, but tension mounted as they all waited for Sergeant Cadwallader's return with Jan in custody.

By the side of the road several hundred yards from the house, with a mist beginning to close in, the sergeant had got Jan cornered with a high wall behind him. Jan brandished his gun, shouting, ‘Don't come any closer. No one's going to shut me away anywhere. I'll shoot you. I mean it. I'm not frightened of anyone!'

The sergeant stopped a good twenty feet away. ‘Now come on, lad,' he called, coaxingly. ‘No one's going to hurt you. But guns are dangerous things. Just give it to me, and come back to the house with me. You can talk to your family, and they'll help you.'

He advanced a few steps towards Jan, but stopped when the boy cried hysterically, ‘I mean it. I'll shoot you. I don't care about policemen. I'm not frightened of you.'

‘Of course you're not,' the sergeant replied. ‘You've no reason to be frightened of me. I wouldn't hurt you. But come back into the house with me. Come on,
now.' He stepped forward again, but Jan jerked the gun up and fired two shots in quick succession. The first went wide, but the second struck Cadwallader in the left hand. He gave a cry of pain, but rushed at Jan, knocking him to the ground, and attempting to get the gun away from him. As they struggled, the gun suddenly went off again. Jan gave a quick gasp, and lay silent.

Horrified, the sergeant knelt over him, staring at him in disbelief. ‘No, oh no,' he murmured. ‘Poor, silly boy. No! You can't be dead. Oh, please God–' He checked Jan's pulse, then shook his head slowly. Rising to his feet, he backed slowly away for a few paces, and only then noticed that his hand was bleeding badly. Wrapping a handkerchief around it, he ran back to the house, holding his left arm in the air and gasping with pain.

By the time he got back to the french windows, he was staggering. ‘Sir!' he called, as the inspector and the others ran out onto the terrace.

‘What on earth's happened?' the inspector asked.

His breath coming with difficulty, the sergeant replied, ‘It's terrible, what I've got to tell you.' Starkwedder helped him into the room and the sergeant staggered to the stool and sank onto it.

The inspector moved quickly to his side. ‘Your hand!' he exclaimed.

‘I'll see to it,' Starkwedder murmured. Holding Sergeant Cadwallader's arm, he discarded the now heavily bloodstained piece of cloth, took out a handkerchief from his own pocket, and began to tie it around the sergeant's hand.

‘The mist coming on, you see,' Cadwallader began to explain. ‘It was difficult to see clearly. He shot at me. Up there, along the road, near the edge of the spinney.'

With a look of horror on her face, Laura rose and went across to the french windows.

‘He shot at me twice,' the sergeant was saying, ‘and the second time he got me in the hand.'

Miss Bennett suddenly rose, and put her hand to her mouth. ‘I tried to get the gun away from him,' the sergeant went on, ‘but I was hampered with my hand, you see–'

‘Yes. What happened?' the inspector prompted him.

‘His finger was on the trigger,' the sergeant gasped, and it went off. He's shot through the heart. He's dead.'

Sergeant Cadwallader's announcement was greeted with a stunned silence. Laura put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, then slowly moved back to the desk chair and sat, staring at the floor. Mrs Warwick lowered her head and leaned on her stick. Starkwedder paced about the room, looking distracted.

‘Are you sure he's dead?' the inspector asked.

‘I am indeed,' the sergeant replied. ‘Poor young lad, shouting defiance at me, loosing off his gun as though he loved the firing of it.'

The inspector walked across to the french windows. ‘Where is he?'

‘I'll come with you and show you,' the sergeant replied, struggling to his feet.

‘No, you'd better stay here.'

‘I'm all right now,' the sergeant insisted. ‘I'll do all right until we get back to the station.' He walked out
onto the terrace, swaying slightly. Looking back at the others, his face filled with misery, he murmured distractedly, ‘“One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead.” That's Pope. Alexander Pope.' He shook his head, and then walked slowly away.

The inspector turned back to face Mrs Warwick and the others. ‘I'm more sorry than I can say, but perhaps it's the best way out,' he said, then followed the sergeant out into the garden.

Mrs Warwick watched him go. ‘The best way out!' she exclaimed, half angrily, half despairingly.

‘Yes, yes,' Miss Bennett sighed. ‘It is for the best. He's out of it now, poor boy.' She went to help Mrs Warwick up. ‘Come, my dear, come, this has been too much for you.'

The old lady looked at her vaguely. ‘I–I'll go and lie down,' she murmured, as Miss Bennett supported her to the door. Starkwedder opened it for them, and then took an envelope out of his pocket, holding it out to Mrs Warwick. ‘I think you'd better have this back,' he suggested.

She turned in the doorway and took the envelope from him. ‘Yes,' she replied. ‘Yes, there's no need for that now.'

Mrs Warwick and Miss Bennett left the room. Starkwedder was about to close the door after them when he realized that Angell was moving across to
Laura who was still sitting at the desk. She did not turn at his approach.

‘May I say, madam,' Angell addressed her, ‘how sorry I am. If there is anything I can do, you have only–'

Without looking up, Laura interrupted him. ‘We shall need no more help from you, Angell,' she told him coldly. ‘You shall have a cheque for your wages, and I should like you out of the house today.'

‘Yes, madam. Thank you, madam,' Angell replied, apparently without feeling, then turned away and left the room. Starkwedder closed the door after him. The room was now growing dark, the last rays of the sun throwing shadows on the walls.

Starkwedder looked across at Laura. ‘You're not going to prosecute him for blackmail?' he asked.

‘No,' Laura replied, listlessly.

‘A pity.' He walked over to her. ‘Well, I suppose I'd better be going. I'll say goodbye.' He paused. Laura still had not looked at him. ‘Don't be too upset,' he added.

‘I
am
upset,' Laura responded with feeling.

‘Because you loved the boy?' Starkwedder asked.

She turned to him. ‘Yes. And because it's my fault. You see, Richard was right. Poor Jan should have been sent away somewhere. He should have been shut up where he couldn't do any harm. It was I who wouldn't
have that. So, really, it was my fault that Richard was killed.'

‘Come now, Laura, don't let's sentimentalize,' Starkwedder retorted roughly. He came closer to her. ‘Richard was killed because he asked for it. He could have shown some ordinary kindness to the boy, couldn't he? Don't you fret yourself. What you've got to do now is to be happy. Happy ever after, as the stories say.'

‘Happy? With Julian?' Laura responded with bitterness in her voice. ‘I wonder!' She frowned. ‘You see, it isn't the same now.'

‘You mean between Farrar and you?' he asked.

‘Yes. You see, when I thought Julian had killed Richard, it made no difference to me. I loved him just the same.' Laura paused, then continued, ‘I was even willing to say I'd done it myself.'

‘I know you were,' said Starkwedder. ‘More fool you. How women enjoy making martyrs of themselves!'

‘But when Julian thought
I
had done it,' Laura continued passionately, ‘he changed. He changed towards me completely. Oh, he was willing to try to do the decent thing and not incriminate me. But that was all.' She leaned her chin on her hand, dispirited. ‘He didn't feel the same any more.'

Starkwedder shook his head. ‘Look here, Laura,' he exclaimed, ‘men and women don't react in the same
way. What it comes down to is this. Men are really the sensitive sex. Women are tough. Men can't take murder in their stride. Women apparently can. The fact is, if a man's committed a murder for a woman, it probably enhances his value in her eyes. A man feels differently.'

She looked up at him. ‘You didn't feel that way,' she observed. ‘When
you
thought I had shot Richard, you helped me.'

‘That was different,' Starkwedder replied quickly. He sounded slightly taken aback. ‘I had to help you.'

‘Why did you have to help me?' Laura asked him.

Starkwedder did not reply directly. Then, after a pause, he said quietly, ‘I still want to help you.'

‘Don't you see,' said Laura, turning away from him, ‘we're back where we started. In a way it
was
I who killed Richard because–because I was being so obstinate about Jan.'

Starkwedder drew up the stool and sat down beside her. ‘That's what's eating you, really, isn't it?' he declared. ‘Finding out that it was Jan who shot Richard. But it needn't be true, you know. You needn't think that unless you like.'

Laura stared at him intently. ‘How can you say such a thing?' she asked. ‘I heard–we all heard–he admitted it–he boasted of it.'

‘Oh, yes,' Starkwedder admitted. ‘Yes, I know that.
But how much do you know about the power of suggestion? Your Miss Bennett played Jan very carefully, got him all worked up. And the boy was certainly suggestible. He liked the idea, as many adolescents do, of being thought to have power, of–yes, of being a killer, if you like. Your Benny dangled the bait in front of him, and he took it. He'd shot Richard, and he put a notch on his gun, and he was a hero!' He paused. ‘But you don't know–none of us really know–whether what he said was true.'

‘But, for heaven's sake, he shot at the sergeant!' Laura expostulated.

‘Oh, yes, he was a potential killer all right!' Starkwedder admitted. ‘It's quite likely he shot Richard. But you can't say for sure that he did. It might have been–' He hesitated. ‘It might have been somebody else.'

Laura stared at him in disbelief. ‘But who?' she asked, incredulously.

Starkwedder thought for a moment. Then, ‘Miss Bennett, perhaps,' he suggested. ‘After all, she's very fond of you all, and she might have thought it was all for the best. Or, for that matter, Mrs Warwick. Or even your boyfriend Julian–afterwards pretending that he thought you'd done it. A clever move which took you in completely.'

Laura turned away. ‘You don't believe what you're
saying,' she accused him. ‘You're only trying to console me.'

Starkwedder looked absolutely exasperated. ‘My dear girl,' he expostulated, ‘anyone might have shot Richard. Even MacGregor.'

‘MacGregor?' she asked, staring at him. ‘But MacGregor's dead.'

‘Of course he's dead,' Starkwedder replied. ‘He'd have to be.' He rose and moved to the sofa. ‘Look here,' he continued, ‘I can put up a very pretty case for MacGregor having been the killer. Say he decided to kill Richard as revenge for the accident in which his little boy was killed.' He sat on the sofa arm. ‘What does he do? Well, first thing is he has to get rid of his own personality. It wouldn't be difficult to arrange for him to be reported dead in some remote part of Alaska. It would cost a little money and some fake testimony, of course, but these things can be managed. Then he changes his name, and he starts building up a new personality for himself in some other country, some other job.'

Laura stared at him for a moment, then left the desk and went to sit in the armchair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then opened her eyes and looked at him again.

Starkwedder continued with his speculative narrative. ‘He keeps tabs on what's going on over here, and
when he knows that you've left Norfolk and come to this part of the world, he makes his plans. He shaves his beard, and dyes his hair, and all that sort of thing, of course. Then, on a misty night, he comes here. Now, let's say it goes like this.' He went and stood by the french windows. ‘Let's say MacGregor says to Richard, “I've got a gun, and so have you. I count three, and we both fire. I've come to get you for the death of my boy.”'

Laura stared at him, appalled.

‘You know,' Starkwedder went on, ‘I don't think that your husband was quite the fine sporting fellow you think he was. I have an idea he mightn't have waited for a count of three. You say he was a damn good shot, but this time he missed, and the bullet went out here'–he gestured as he walked out onto the terrace–‘into the garden where there are a good many other bullets. But MacGregor doesn't miss. He shoots and kills.' Starkwedder came back into the room. ‘He drops his gun by the body, takes Richard's gun, goes out of the window, and presently he comes back.'

‘Comes back?' Laura asked. ‘Why does he come back?'

Starkwedder looked at her for a few seconds without speaking. Then, taking a deep breath, he asked, ‘Can't you guess?'

Laura looked at him wonderingly. She shook her head. ‘No, I've no idea,' she replied.

He continued to regard her steadily. After a pause, he spoke slowly and with an effort. ‘Well,' he said, ‘suppose MacGregor has an accident with his car and can't get away from here. What else can he do? Only one thing–come up to the house and discover the body!'

‘You speak–' Laura gasped, ‘you speak as though you know just what happened.'

Starkwedder could no longer restrain himself. ‘Of course I know,' he burst out passionately. ‘Don't you understand?
I'm
MacGregor!' He leaned back against the curtains, shaking his head desperately.

Laura rose, an incredulous look on her face. She stepped towards him, half raising her arm, unable to grasp the full meaning of his words. ‘You–' she murmured. ‘You–'

Starkwedder walked slowly towards Laura. ‘I never meant any of this to happen,' he told her, his voice husky with emotion. ‘I mean–finding you, and finding that I cared about you, and that–Oh God, it's hopeless. Hopeless.' As she stared at him, dazed, Starkwedder took her hand and kissed the palm. ‘Goodbye, Laura,' he said, gruffly.

He went quickly out through the french windows and disappeared into the mist. Laura ran out onto
the terrace and called after him, ‘Wait–wait. Come back!'

The mist swirled, and the Bristol fog signal began to boom. ‘Come back, Michael, come back!' Laura cried. There was no reply. ‘Come back, Michael,' she called again. ‘Please come back! I care about you too.'

She listened intently, but heard only the sound of a car starting up and moving off. The fog signal continued to sound as she collapsed against the window and burst into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing.