Unholy Alliance (20 page)

“Yes, that’s the bad news in all this. But
I’ve felt in this case, as in several of our past ones, that motive
is the most determining factor in an investigation.”

Cobb smiled around his wayward teeth. “You’re
thinkin’ of Tremblay, who ain’t too happy about yer
economical
adventures
an’ might wanta break up yer
parlay
?”

Marc had skirted around the political aspects
of the secret discussions, but Cobb was quite aware of their nature
and purpose. As a Reform supporter, he heartily approved, though he
did wish the Quebec people would adopt a lingo that ordinary folk
could get their ears around.

“I’m certainly hoping it
isn’t
Tremblay,” Marc said. “Now what have
you
got for us?”

“I got us a murderer,” Cobb said, unable to
contain his delight.

“You old bugger!” Marc said, laughing. “You
let me go on and on, and all the while you’d already fingered
somebody. Well, then, go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I’m glad I waited fer you to finish,” Cobb
said, “’cause what yer French gent told ya about what he’d seen in
the office over there perfectly fits what I’ve come up with.”

He then went straight to the main point:
Austin Bragg was their man. Cobb laid out the fellow’s motive,
means and opportunity, and then outlined the testimony he’d
elicited from the various other servants to corroborate his theory.
He magnanimously omitted several of the more clever manoeuvres he
had used to get said testimony from servants who were not always
forthcoming. The presence of the doctored sherry on Chilton’s desk
at or before midnight, along with Chilton’s advanced state of
inebriation, made Cobb’s deductions about how Bragg carried out the
crime not only plausible, but undeniable. Moreover, Bragg had lied
and had suborned his own fiancée. For what other reason would he
behave so brazenly than to cover his tracks as a murderer?

Marc looked much relieved: better a servant
than a delegate from Quebec.

“What do we do now?” Cobb asked. “Go to
Prissy an’ break that phoney alibi? Haul Bragg in here an’ put the
screws to him?”

Marc thought for a minute, then said, “I
think we need to see what Bragg himself has to say first. You admit
you failed to shake Prissy from her story a few minutes ago. I
think it wise to let her stew for a few hours, if need be.”

“Maybe Bragg’ll fess up,” Cobb said, though
he was not sanguine about the possibility.

Marc got up. “We’ll soon see. I’ll have
Garnet round him up and bring him here. We’ll both take a run at
him.”

Cobb rubbed his hands together. “I can’t
wait.”

Marc walked down the hall towards the
billiard-room. Macaulay must have heard him coming because he
popped out of the doorway and said hopefully, “Any news?”

“We’re on a promising trail, Garnet. I can’t
give you details yet, but Cobb and I need to talk to Austin Bragg
right away – in the library.”

“I believe he’s upstairs. I’ll get him for
you.”

“Thanks.”

“By the way, Marc. The natives are getting
very restless. Could we possibly move the seven o’clock meeting
with Louis to six o’clock?”

“All right. Let’s do that. I may have a
result for you by then. If I need to, I can always ask for it to be
moved to a later time.”

“Good, good.” Macaulay, a natural optimist,
did his best to smile through his anxiety. Then he dashed off
towards the rotunda.

***

Austin Bragg was not pleased at being escorted by
his employer into the library and bade to sit down opposite Marc
and Cobb. But the setting, his master’s grave demeanour, and the
no-nonsense expression on the face of his interrogators did much to
undercut his belligerence. He sat grimly silent while Marc thanked
Macaulay, who reluctantly left the room.

Marc got right to the point: “Mr. Bragg,
Constable Cobb and I have good reason to believe that you did
not
spend the night with your fiancée, Miss Finch.”

Bragg’s lip began to curl in defiance, but
his response was meek enough: “I don’t see how that’s possible. I
told yer friend here the truth.”

“We know all about the quarrel you had with
Miss Finch as you two came downstairs from your chores at about a
quarter to ten.”

“So what? We didn’t try to hide it – we was
loud enough to wake the dead.”

“But you failed to mention it when first
interviewed.”

“Why should I have told you people? It didn’t
matter a fig to Chilton bein’ poisoned.”

“Oh, but it did,” Cobb said. “Who’s gonna
believe you an’ Finch cozied up together after yer screamin’ match,
and after that filthy word you yelled at her, eh?”

Bragg started to glower at Cobb, whom he
considered a lesser being than a manservant in a prestigious
country manor. Then he sat back and let a contemptuous grin slide
across his face. “I called her a fucking slut, that’s all. I was
angry. But I was soon sorry I done it an’ – ”

“You called her that vile thing for letting
Mr. Chilton accost her in the hall-pantry and otherwise accede to
his advances,” Marc said quietly. “Didn’t you?”

Bragg’s black eyes blazed. “You got no
business snoopin’ about in people’s personal affairs!”

“Ah, but we have, Mr. Bragg,” Marc said.
“Your response to Miss Finch was one of anger and jealousy, both of
which are powerful incentives to murder. You feared that Chilton
would steal the affections of your bride-to-be, didn’t you?”

Bragg snorted. “You can’t provoke me inta
sayin’ somethin’ I’d regret. Prissy and I made up. I said I was
sorry, an’ that was all there was to it. I knew she’d never really
go fer such a fancy Dan as Chilton.”

“You were heard goin’ inta yer own room an’
she was heard slammin’ the door of hers,” Cobb said.

“Got yer spies everywhere, ain’t ya?”

“So, Mr. Bragg,” Marc said, “are you now
prepared to tell us what really happened? What you did after the
quarrel had driven you to your separate rooms?”

Bragg stared hard at Marc, then Cobb, and
began to smile slowly as he said, “Chilton was poisoned by someone
after midnight, wasn’t he? I was with Prissy all night. An’ she
ain’t said otherwise, has she? Else you would’ve come right out
with it, wouldn’t ya?”

Cobb gave the show away by saying sharply,
“We know you’ve talked that girl inta lyin’ fer ya!”

Bragg got up, grinning. “You got nothin’ on
me. I’ve got an alibi. I’m goin’ back to my work, where I should’ve
been all along.”

And he stomped out.

“He’s a tough customer,” Marc said to Cobb,
who was seething.

“Not as tough as me, he ain’t! He thinks he’s
put one over on us, but all he’s done is make us more certain he’s
the killer.”

“It looks that way,” Marc said. “It’s hard to
see why he’d go through with the lie and the stress it’s obviously
putting on his fiancée unless he were guilty of
something
.”

“So, Major, just how’re we gonna go about
provin’ it?”

“I’ll need to think about that some
more.”

“I say we drag Prissy in here an’ get her to
de-track
that alibi.”

“But even if she does, Cobb, we’ve got no
real evidence against Bragg. You searched his room and found
nothing. In fact, you searched all the bedrooms down there.”

“Except fer Mrs. Blodgett’s.”

“I’d bet ten pounds that Bragg would never
consider hiding the laudanum bottle or anything else in that
quarter. Mrs. Blodgett may be ailing, but nothing goes on in her
kitchen or its vicinity that she won’t know about or soon
discover.”

“So what’ll we do? You wanta come up with a
guilty party before that meetin’ of yers, don’t ya?”

Marc nodded. “Bragg will go straight to Miss
Finch and tell her about the pressure we’re putting on them. Let’s
give her an hour or two more to sweat and worry. Also, the next
time we bring Bragg in here, I want to know a lot more about
him.”

“How’re we gonna do that? Unless we could get
Mrs. Blodgett to help.”

“Possibly. I’d like to know, for example,
whether Bragg and the malcontent, Giles Harkness, were pals. Were
either of them known to filch a bottle of the best from Macaulay’s
cellar or the well-stocked stores of other houses they followed
their master into? That expensive sherry had to come into this
house from somewhere outside it.”

“An’ Harkness was the one who had it in fer
the new butler long before he arrived, eh?”

“Good thinking. Is it not possible, then,
that Harkness and Bragg were in on this together? They both had
powerful motives.”

“When could they’ve met to plan a murder?
Chilton only came here eight days ago.”

“We need to know when Bragg could have
rendezvoused with Harkness, in town or perhaps secretly here on the
estate.”

“How c’n we do all that this afternoon?”

Marc thought for a minute, then said, “”I’d
like you to take Macaulay’s best horse and cutter and drive into
town right away.”

“To Mrs. Sturdy’s poorhouse,” Cobb said
excitedly. “If Harkness is there, I’ll
in-tear-o-grate
him
hard, and if he ain’t, I’ll get Mrs. Sturdy to tell me all about
his comin’s an’ goin’s. She’ll know everythin’.”

“Excellent! Meanwhile, I’ll head out to the
stables to talk to Abel Struthers. He’s been here for years, and
will know a lot about both Harkness and Bragg. Do you think you can
be back here by four-thirty?”

“Can a duck waddle?” Cobb said.

***

Arrangements were quickly made for Cobb to take
Macaulay’s single-seater into the city proper. Young Cal Struthers
harnessed the horse and supplied Cobb with a buffalo-robe and a fur
hat, as a sharp northwest wind had arisen and the temperature had
plummeted. Marc and Abel Struthers watched Cobb glide away, then
walked slowly back to the Struthers’ cottage.

Seated before a brisk fire, Marc and
Struthers lit their pipes, and Marc began the interview.

“I’ll be candid, sir. Austin Bragg is a
suspect in the poisoning of Graves Chilton. I need to know a few
things about him, and I’d like you to be frank with me in response
to my queries.”

Struthers’ heavy brows rose in mild surprise.
He was a large man with craggy features, wind-burnt cheeks and an
open, kindly demeanour. “Hard to believe that, sir. Austin c’n be a
bit bull-headed an’ full of himself at times, but he’s always been
a reliable worker. Never been in trouble that I know of.”

“And I do hope we’re wrong about him,” Marc
said, though he wasn’t sure he wished it so. “You may be able to
help us eliminate him as a suspect.”

“
Me
? Well now, that don’t seem
possible, does it? Cal an’ me spend most of our time out here, far
away from the house an’ the other staff. But I’ll do my best.”

“First of all, were Bragg and Giles Harkness
friends?”

Struthers relaxed a bit and said, “Well,
that’s easy enough. Yes, they were good chums. Giles always wanted
to be a house-servant like his older brother, Alfred, the butler
that died. Giles was the one who took wood into the back-shed an’
did any heavy liftin’ about the kitchen. Sometimes, I know, he’d
follow Bragg about upstairs to get the hang of how things worked up
there.”

“Did his brother encourage him?”

“Not at all. Alfred was very strict about
where our proper place was. Giles was a wonder with horses. Alfred
thought he should stay out here where he belonged.”

“Did Bragg and Giles ever go to town
together?”

“Only to church on Sundays. But they did go
huntin’ together. An’ sometimes I’d let them use this cottage when
they had a Saturday afternoon off.”

“To do what?”

Struthers hesitated, then leaned forward and
whispered, “They had a fondness fer drink an’ dicin’ – nothin’
serious, mind you, just a way to pass the afternoon and unwind a
bit. Mr. Macaulay didn’t allow the servants to drink on the
premises, except fer a glass of wine or beer at supper.” He leaned
farther forward and added, “I never seen either of ‘em really
drunk.”

“Any particular kind of drink?”

“Oh, yeah. It was always sherry.”

Marc tried not to reveal the excitement he
felt. “I trust they were not taking it from Mr. Macaulay’s
cellar?”

“Oh no, never. Alfred kept strict track of
that.”

“Where would they get it, then?”

“Giles got it from someplace in town. He
never said where.”

“I see. And as far as you know, Bragg
wouldn’t have taken sherry to his own room in the house?”

“Never saw him do so.”

“Did Bragg go to church last Sunday?”

“He went along with the rest of us.”

“Could he have had time to do some visiting
while in town?”

“Could have. I took the Janes girls an’
Prissy fer some coffee afterwards. Austin said he felt more like a
stroll. We all come back together about an hour later.”

“Was Bragg carrying anything with him?”

Struthers smiled. “If he did have a bottle on
him, it would’ve been well hidden in his big coat, so I couldn’t
say one way or another.”

“Could Bragg have left Elmgrove anytime on
Monday or Tuesday?” (Chilton, Marc knew, had arrived on the
previous Thursday, so if any plot to murder him had been hatched
after that, the window of opportunity had been small.)

“No way. I know when my horses’ve been used,
an’ Austin was kept far too busy to have had time to walk to town.
He’s been here at Elmgrove since Sunday at two o’clock. An’ we’ve
been so busy gettin’ ready fer this gatherin’ I doubt he could’ve
been off the property in the last two weeks, except fer
church.”

Marc decided to change tack, grateful that
Struthers seemed incurious about the purpose or direction of his
questions. “Yesterday afternoon Mr. Chilton asked Mr. Macaulay if
he might be excused for half an hour or so while he came out here
to check on some discrepancy or other in regard to your
supplies.”