Unexpected Guest (7 page)

There was an awkward pause after the police officers had left the room with Jan. Then Starkwedder remarked, ‘Well, I suppose I'd better go and see whether they've managed to get my car out of the ditch yet. We didn't seem to pass it on the way here.'

‘No,' Laura explained. ‘The drive comes up from the other road.'

‘Yes, I see,' Starkwedder answered, as he walked across to the french windows. He turned. ‘How different things look in the daylight,' he observed as he stepped out onto the terrace.

As soon as he had gone, Laura and Julian Farrar turned to each other. ‘Julian!' Laura exclaimed. ‘That lighter! I said it was
mine
.'

‘You said it was yours? To the inspector?' Farrar asked.

‘No. To
him
.'

‘To–to this fellow–' Farrar began, and then stopped as they both noticed Starkwedder walking along the terrace outside the windows. ‘Laura–' he began again.

‘Be careful,' said Laura, going across to the little window in the alcove and looking out. ‘He may be listening to us.'

‘Who is he?' asked Farrar. ‘Do you know him?'

Laura came back to the centre of the room. ‘No. No, I don't know him,' she told Farrar. ‘He–he had an accident with his car, and he came here last night. Just after–'

Julian Farrar touched her hand which rested on the back of the sofa. ‘It's all right, Laura. You know that I'll do everything I can.'

‘Julian–
fingerprints
,' Laura gasped.

‘What fingerprints?'

‘On that table. On that table there, and on the pane of glass. Are they–yours?'

Farrar removed his hand from hers, indicating that Starkwedder was again walking along the terrace outside. Without turning to the window, Laura moved away from him, saying loudly, ‘It's very kind of you, Julian, and I'm sure there will be a lot of business things you can help us with.'

Starkwedder was pacing about, outside on the terrace. When he had moved out of sight, Laura turned to
face Julian Farrar again. ‘Are those fingerprints yours, Julian? Think.'

Farrar considered for a moment. Then, ‘On the table–yes–they might have been.'

‘Oh God!' Laura cried. ‘What shall we do?'

Starkwedder could now be glimpsed again, walking back and forth along the terrace just outside the windows. Laura puffed at her cigarette. ‘The police think it's a man called MacGregor–' she told Julian. She gave him a desperate look, pausing to allow him an opportunity to make some comment.

‘Well, that's all right, then,' he replied. ‘They'll probably go on thinking so.'

‘But suppose–' Laura began.

Farrar interrupted her. ‘I must go,' he said. ‘I've got an appointment.' He rose. ‘It's all right, Laura,' he said, patting her shoulder. ‘Don't worry. I'll see that you're all right.'

The look on Laura's face was one of an incomprehension verging on desperation. Apparently oblivious of it, Farrar walked across to the french windows. As he pushed a window open, Starkwedder was approaching with the obvious intention of entering the room. Farrar politely moved aside, to avoid colliding with him.

‘Oh, are you off now?' Starkwedder asked him.

‘Yes,' said Farrar. ‘Things are rather busy these
days. Election coming on, you know, in a week's time.'

‘Oh, I see,' Starkwedder replied. ‘Excuse my ignorance, but what are you? Tory?'

‘I'm a Liberal,' said Farrar. He sounded slightly indignant.

‘Oh, are they still at it?' Starkwedder asked, brightly.

Julian Farrar drew a sharp breath, and left the room without another word. When he had gone, not quite slamming the door behind him, Starkwedder looked at Laura almost fiercely. Then, ‘I see,' he said, his anger rising. ‘Or at least I'm beginning to see.'

‘What do you mean?' Laura asked him.

‘That's the boyfriend, isn't it?' He came closer to her. ‘Well, come on now, is it?'

‘Since you ask,' Laura replied, defiantly, ‘yes, it is!'

Starkwedder looked at her for a moment without speaking. Then, ‘There are quite a few things you didn't tell me last night, aren't there?' he said angrily. ‘That's why you snatched up his lighter in such a hurry and said it was yours.' He walked away a few paces and then turned to face her again. ‘And how long has this been going on between you and him?'

‘For quite some time now,' Laura said quietly.

‘But you didn't ever decide to leave Warwick and go away together?'

‘No,' Laura answered. ‘There's Julian's career, for one thing. It might ruin him politically.'

Starkwedder sat himself down ill-temperedly at one end of the sofa. ‘Oh, surely not, these days,' he snapped. ‘Don't they all take adultery in their stride?'

‘These would have been special circumstances,' Laura tried to explain. ‘He was a friend of Richard's, and with Richard being a cripple–'

‘Oh yes, I see. It certainly wouldn't have been good publicity!' Starkwedder retorted.

Laura came over to the sofa and stood looking down at him. ‘I suppose you think I ought to have told you this last night?' she observed, icily.

Starkwedder looked away from her. ‘You were under no obligation,' he muttered.

Laura seemed to relent. ‘I didn't think it mattered–' she began. ‘I mean–all I could think of was my having shot Richard.'

Starkwedder seemed to warm to her again, as he murmured, ‘Yes, yes, I see.' After a pause, he added, ‘
I
couldn't think of anything else, either.' He paused again, and then looked up at her. ‘Do you want to try a little experiment?' he asked. ‘Where were you standing when you shot Richard?'

‘Where was I standing?' Laura echoed. She sounded perplexed.

‘That's what I said.'

After a moment's thought, Laura replied, ‘Oh–over there.' She nodded vaguely towards the french windows.

‘Go and stand where you were standing,' Starkwedder instructed her.

Laura rose and began to move nervously about the room. ‘I–I can't remember,' she told him. ‘Don't ask me to remember.' She sounded scared now. ‘I–I was upset. I–'

Starkwedder interrupted her. ‘Your husband said something to you,' he reminded her. ‘Something that made you snatch up the gun.'

Rising from the sofa, he went to the table by the armchair and put his cigarette out. ‘Well, come on, let's act it out,' he continued. ‘There's the table, there's the gun.' He took Laura's cigarette from her, and put it in the ashtray. ‘Now then, you were quarrelling. You picked up the gun–pick it up–'

‘I don't want to!' Laura cried.

‘Don't be a little fool,' Starkwedder growled. ‘It's not loaded. Come on, pick it up. Pick it up.'

Laura picked up the gun, hesitantly.

‘You snatched it up,' he reminded her. ‘You didn't pick it up gingerly like that. You snatched it up, and you shot him. Show me how you did it.'

Holding the gun awkwardly, Laura backed away from him. ‘I–I–' she began.

‘Go on. Show me,' Starkwedder shouted at her.

Laura tried to aim the gun. ‘Go on, shoot!' he repeated, still shouting. ‘It isn't loaded.'

When she still hesitated, he snatched the gun from her in triumph. ‘I thought so,' he exclaimed. ‘You've never fired a revolver in your life. You don't know how to do it.' Looking at the gun, he continued, ‘You don't even know enough to release the safety catch.'

He dropped the gun on the footstool, then walked to the back of the sofa, and turned to face her. After a pause, he said quietly, ‘You didn't shoot your husband.'

‘I did,' Laura insisted.

‘Oh no, you didn't,' Starkwedder repeated with conviction.

Sounding frightened, Laura asked, ‘Then why should I say I did?'

Starkwedder took a deep breath and then exhaled. Coming round the sofa, he threw himself down on it heavily. ‘The answer to that seems pretty obvious to me. Because it was Julian Farrar who shot him,' he retorted.

‘No!' Laura exclaimed, almost shouting.

‘Yes!'

‘No!' she repeated.

‘I say yes,' he insisted.

‘If it was Julian,' Laura asked him, ‘why on earth should I say
I
did it?'

Starkwedder looked at her levelly. ‘Because,' he said, ‘you thought–and thought quite rightly–that I'd cover up for
you
. Oh yes, you were certainly right about that.' He lounged back into the sofa before continuing, ‘Yes, you played me along very prettily. But I'm through, do you hear? I'm through. I'm damned if I'm going to tell a pack of lies to save Major Julian Farrar's skin.'

There was a pause. For a few moments Laura said nothing. Then she smiled and calmly walked over to the table by the armchair to pick up her cigarette. Turning back to Starkwedder, she said, ‘Oh yes, you are! You'll have to! You can't back out now! You've told your story to the police. You can't change it.'

‘What?' Starkwedder gasped, taken aback.

Laura sat in the armchair. ‘Whatever you know, or think you know,' she pointed out to him, ‘you've got to stick to your story. You're an accessory after the fact–you said so yourself.' She drew on her cigarette.

Starkwedder rose and faced her. Dumbfounded, he exclaimed, ‘Well, I'm damned! You little bitch!' He glared at her for a few moments without saying anything further, then suddenly turned on his heel, went swiftly to the french windows, and left. Laura watched him striding across the garden. She made a
movement as though to follow and call him back, but then apparently thought better of it. With a troubled look on her face, she slowly turned away from the windows.

Later that day, towards the end of the afternoon, Julian Farrar paced nervously up and down in the study. The french windows to the terrace were open, and the sun was about to set, throwing a golden light onto the lawn outside. Farrar had been summoned by Laura Warwick, who apparently needed to see him urgently. He kept glancing at his watch as he awaited her.

Farrar seemed very upset and distraught. He looked out onto the terrace, turned back into the room again, and glanced at his watch. Then, noticing a newspaper on the table by the armchair, he picked it up. It was a local paper,
The Western Echo
, with a news story on the front page reporting Richard Warwick's death. ‘
PROMINENT LOCAL RESIDENT MURDERED BY MYSTERIOUS ASSAILANT
,' the headline announced. Farrar sat in the armchair and began nervously to read the report. After a moment, he flung the paper aside,
and strode over to the french windows. With a final glance back into the room, he set off across the lawn. He was halfway across the garden, when he heard a sound behind him. Turning, he called, ‘Laura, I'm sorry I–' and then stopped, disappointed, as he saw that the person coming towards him was not Laura Warwick, but Angell, the late Richard Warwick's valet and attendant.

‘Mrs Warwick asked me to say she will be down in a moment, sir,' said Angell as he approached Farrar. ‘But I wondered if I might have a brief word with you?'

‘Yes, yes. What is it?'

Angell came up to Julian Farrar, and walked on for a pace or two further away from the house, as if anxious that their talk should not be overheard. ‘Well?' said Farrar, following him.

‘I am rather worried, sir,' Angell began, ‘about my own position in the house, and I felt I would like to consult you on the matter.'

His mind full of his own affairs, Julian Farrar was not really interested. ‘Well, what's the trouble?' he asked.

Angell thought for a moment before replying. Then, ‘Mr Warwick's death, sir,' he said, ‘it puts me out of a job.'

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose it does,' Farrar responded. ‘But I imagine you will easily get another, won't you?'

‘I hope so, sir,' Angell replied.

‘You're a qualified man, aren't you?' Farrar asked him.

‘Oh, yes, sir. I'm qualified,' Angell replied, ‘and there is always either hospital work or private work to be obtained. I know that.'

‘Then what's troubling you?'

‘Well, sir,' Angell told him, ‘the circumstances in which this job came to an end are very distasteful to me.'

‘In plain English,' Farrar remarked, ‘you don't like having been mixed up with murder. Is that it?'

‘You could put it that way, sir,' the valet confirmed.

‘Well,' said Farrar, ‘I'm afraid there is nothing anyone can do about that. Presumably you'll get a satisfactory reference from Mrs Warwick.' He took out his cigarette-case and opened it.

‘I don't think there will be any difficulty about that, sir,' Angell responded. ‘Mrs Warwick is a very nice lady–a very charming lady, if I may say so.' There was a faint insinuation in his tone.

Julian Farrar, having decided to await Laura after all, was about to go back into the house. However, he turned, struck by something in the valet's manner. ‘What do you mean?' he asked quietly.

‘I shouldn't like to inconvenience Mrs Warwick in any way,' Angell replied, unctuously.

Before speaking, Farrar took a cigarette from his case, and then returned the case to his pocket. ‘You mean,' he said, ‘you're–stopping on a bit to oblige her?'

‘That is quite true, sir,' Angell affirmed. ‘I am helping out in the house. But that is not exactly what I meant.' He paused, and then continued, ‘It's a matter, really–of my conscience, sir.'

‘What in hell do you mean–your conscience?' Farrar asked sharply.

Angell looked uncomfortable, but his voice was quite confident as he continued, ‘I don't think you quite appreciate my difficulties, sir. In the matter of giving my evidence to the police, that is. It is my duty as a citizen to assist the police in any manner possible. At the same time, I wish to remain loyal to my employers.'

Julian Farrar turned away to light his cigarette. ‘You speak as though there was a conflict,' he said quietly.

‘If you think about it, sir,' Angell remarked, ‘you will realize that there is bound to be a conflict–a conflict of loyalties if I may so put it.'

Farrar looked directly at the valet. ‘Just exactly what are you getting at, Angell?' he asked.

‘The police, sir, are not in a position to appreciate the background,' Angell replied. ‘The background might–I just say
might
–be very important in a case like this.
Also, of late I have been suffering rather severely from insomnia.'

‘Do your ailments have to come into this?' Farrar asked him sharply.

‘Unfortunately they do, sir,' was the valet's smooth reply. ‘I retired early last night, but I was unable to get to sleep.'

‘I'm sorry about that,' Farrar commiserated drily, ‘but really–'

‘You see, sir,' Angell continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘owing to the position of my bedroom in this house, I have become aware of certain matters of which perhaps the police are not fully cognizant.'

‘Just what are you trying to say?' Farrar asked, coldly.

‘The late Mr Warwick, sir,' Angell replied, ‘was a sick man and a cripple. It's really only to be expected under those sad circumstances that an attractive lady like Mrs Warwick might–how shall I put it?–form an attachment elsewhere.'

‘So that's it, is it?' said Farrar. ‘I don't think I like your tone, Angell.'

‘No, sir,' Angell murmured. ‘But please don't be too precipitate in your judgement. Just think it over, sir. You will perhaps realize my difficulty. Here I am, in possession of knowledge which I have not, so far, communicated to the police–but knowledge which, perhaps, it is my duty to communicate to them.'

Julian Farrar stared at Angell coldly. ‘I think,' he said, ‘that this story of going to the police with your information is all ballyhoo. What you're really doing is suggesting that you're in a position to stir up dirt unless–' he paused, and then completed his sentence: ‘–unless what?'

Angell shrugged his shoulders. ‘I am, of course, as you have just pointed out,' he observed, ‘a fully qualified nurse-attendant. But there are times, Major Farrar, when I feel I would like to set up on my own. A small–not a nursing-home, exactly–but an establishment where I could take on perhaps five or six patients. With an assistant, of course. The patients would probably include gentlemen who are alcoholically difficult to manage at home. That sort of thing. Unfortunately, although I have accumulated a certain amount of savings, they are not enough. I wondered–' His voice trailed off suggestively.

Julian Farrar completed his thought for him. ‘You wondered,' he said, ‘if I–or I and Mrs Warwick together–could come to your assistance in this project, no doubt.'

‘I just wondered, sir,' Angell replied meekly. ‘It would be a great kindness on your part.'

‘Yes, it would, wouldn't it?' Farrar observed sarcastically.

‘You suggested rather harshly,' Angell went on, ‘that
I'm threatening to stir up dirt. Meaning, I take it, scandal. But it's not that at all, sir. I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.'

‘What exactly is it you are driving at, Angell?' Farrar sounded as though he were beginning to lose his patience. ‘You're certainly driving at something.'

Angell gave a self-deprecating smile before replying. Then he spoke quietly but with emphasis. ‘As I say, sir, last night I couldn't sleep very well. I was lying awake, listening to the booming of the foghorn. An extremely depressing sound I always find it, sir. Then it seemed to me that I heard a shutter banging. A very irritating noise when you're trying to get to sleep. I got up and leaned out of my window. It seemed to be the shutter of the pantry window, almost immediately below me.'

‘Well?' asked Farrar, sharply.

‘I decided, sir, to go down and attend to the shutter,' Angell continued. ‘As I was on my way downstairs, I heard a shot.' He paused briefly. ‘I didn't think anything of it at the time. “Mr Warwick at it again,” I thought. “But surely he can't see what he's shooting at in a mist like this.” I went to the pantry, sir, and fastened back the shutter securely. But, as I was standing there, feeling a bit uneasy for some reason, I heard footsteps coming along the path outside the window–'

‘You mean,' Farrar interrupted, ‘the path that–' His eyes went towards it.

‘Yes, sir,' Angell agreed. ‘The path that leads from the terrace, around the corner of the house, that way–past the domestic offices. A path that's not used very much, except of course by you, sir, when you come over here, seeing as it's a short cut from your house to this one.'

He stopped speaking, and looked intently at Julian Farrar, who merely said icily, ‘Go on.'

‘I was feeling, as I said, a bit uneasy,' Angell continued, ‘thinking there might be a prowler about. I can't tell you how relieved I was, sir, to see
you
pass the pantry window, walking quickly–hurrying on your way back home.'

After a pause, Farrar said, ‘I can't really see any point in what you're telling me. Is there supposed to be one?'

With an apologetic cough, Angell answered him. ‘I just wondered, sir, whether you have mentioned to the police that you came over here last night to see Mr Warwick. In case you have not done so, and supposing that they should question me further as to the events of last night–'

Farrar interrupted him. ‘You do realize, don't you,' he asked tersely, ‘that the penalty for blackmail is severe?'

‘Blackmail, sir?' responded Angell, sounding shocked. ‘I don't know what you mean. It's just a question, as I said, of deciding where my duty lies. The police–'

‘The police,' Farrar interrupted him sharply, ‘are perfectly satisfied as to who killed Mr Warwick. The fellow practically signed his name to the crime. They're not likely to come asking you any more questions.'

‘I assure you, sir,' Angell interjected, with alarm in his voice, ‘I only meant–'

‘You know perfectly well,' Farrar interrupted again, ‘that you couldn't have recognized anybody in that thick fog last night. You've simply invented this story in order to–' He broke off, as he saw Laura Warwick emerging from the house into the garden.