Blood From a Stone (30 page)

‘That's putting it mildly. He said the altar was a mass of flames. According to him, Euthius himself seemed to come to life.'

Wood drew his breath in sharply but said nothing.

‘That's fascinating,' said Jack, ‘especially when you think of what happened at the séance. The sequence of water, blood and fire follows the sequence carved on the altar. What started the fire?'

‘I suppose I got a knock on the head somehow and knocked over the oil-lamp,' said Wood reluctantly. ‘I know this much. I'll never laugh at psychic whatjamacallit's ever again. There was something evil there last night. I felt it and it scared me stiff.' He took another forkful of salmon mayonnaise. ‘From now on, I stay in this world and this world only. Any god, ghost or spirit can go and haunt someone else. I'm not playing.'

‘Quite right, too,' said Frank Leigh approvingly. He turned as Evie Leigh came into the room. ‘Ah, there you are, my dear.' He picked up a plate from the table. ‘What can I get you?'

‘Nothing at the moment, Frank.' There was a gleam of triumph in her eyes. ‘Superintendent Ashley is here, together with Inspector Rackham from Scotland Yard. They want to see Mr Wood.'

Wood went very still.

Frank Leigh's colour rose. ‘They want to see Wood? Why?'

Evie's voice was cutting. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. Stay where you are, Mr Wood!' she added, as Wood backed away. She turned to the door. ‘Officers! In here!'

Ashley and Rackham came into the room. ‘Good afternoon, everyone,' said Ashley placidly. ‘We're sorry to disturb your lunch, but we'd like a word with Mr Wood.'

Wood's shoulders went back, then he consciously relaxed. ‘Me?' he said cheerily. ‘What's wrong? I haven't been caught speeding, have I?'

‘Nothing like that, sir. Tell me, sir, you're employed as a private detective, aren't you?'

Wood's shoulders went back again. ‘I am.'

Bill Rackham spoke for the first time. ‘Mr Wood, I believe you informed Mr Leigh you are employed by the Rapid Results Agency in Victoria, yes?'

Wood swallowed and said nothing.

‘The thing is, Mr Wood, the Rapid Results Agency know nothing about you.'

Wood hesitated, his head to one side. ‘Indeed? That's very remiss of them. Need I really tell you, inspector, that it's sometimes necessary to work under a pseudonym?'

Bill's eyes narrowed. ‘And need I tell you, Mr Wood, that the Rapid Results Agency is far too concerned for its own welfare to give misleading information to Scotland Yard? They know nothing about you because you are not, and never have been, employed by them.'

Evie Leigh let out her breath in a hiss. ‘I knew it! You're an impostor, here to steal my sapphires. You
have
stolen my sapphires!'

Frank Leigh stepped forward, very red in the face. ‘Nonsense, Evie. Inspector Rackham, Superintendent Ashley, I must insist that you stop browbeating Mr Wood in this fashion. There's been some mistake, that's all.' He turned to Wood and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Wood's a fine feller, an excellent chap. He has my complete confidence.'

‘That's a very interesting attitude, sir,' said Ashley in his slow, countryman's voice. ‘It strikes me that you know a bit more about Mr Wood than you're letting on.'

Frank Leigh swelled in visible fury. ‘What the devil do you mean, sir? I won't have it! This interview is at an end.'

‘No!' snarled Evie and would have said more, when Mary Hawker, very white, stepped forward.

‘Frank, stop it!' She swallowed and spoke very rapidly. ‘You've shielded this man long enough but it won't
do
! Don't you see, you're being dragged down with him? For your own sake, Frank, you have to tell the truth. This is murder we're talking about,
murder,
I tell you.'

‘Mary!' said Frank Leigh in an agony of apprehension. ‘Be quiet!'

‘I've been quiet for long enough.' She drew a deep breath. ‘You're perfectly right, Superintendent. This man's name isn't Wood. It's Terence Napier.'

E
vie Leigh sprang to her feet with a shriek. ‘Terence Napier!' She looked wildly at her husband. ‘You
shielded
him, Frank?'

Frank Leigh buried his head in his hands.

‘Arrest that man!' screeched Evie, pointing at Wood. Her eyes blazed. ‘I insist you arrest him this instant!'

Frank Leigh looked up. ‘Evie, please! Of course Wood isn't Terry Napier. Evie, will you
calm down!
' He took a deep breath and braced himself. ‘Terry's dead. He was the man who was murdered on the train.'

Evie stared at him open mouthed. ‘He can't have been. You're lying, Frank. Wood's guilty. I
know
he's guilty!'

‘Napier was the man on the train?' repeated Bill Rackham in astonishment. ‘When did you find that out?'

Frank rubbed his hand over his forehead. ‘When he came to the house. Evie, please! Let me think. Terry had changed so much I didn't recognise him. It'd been years since I'd seen him, remember, but something about him made me feel very uncomfortable. He seemed to act as if he owned the place, you know? I couldn't wait to get rid of him. After he'd gone, I couldn't get over the idea that I knew the man. I didn't say anything, but it worried me. It wasn't until much later it struck me who he was.'

‘Why on earth didn't you tell us, Mr Leigh?' asked Bill.

‘What was the use?' asked Frank with a shrug. ‘Terry was dead. He'd stolen the sapphires and the money from the safe, but they'd been recovered. All I really wanted was to forget about the whole wretched business.'

Ashley stared at him keenly. ‘Are you prepared to swear to that, Mr Leigh?' Frank nodded. ‘Are you sure, sir? You made such a point of telling everyone Napier was innocent.'

‘So he is,' said Frank quickly. ‘Terry couldn't possibly have murdered Aunt Constance. I admit I didn't recognise him at first, but what you have to remember is that I knew Terry, knew him well. He simply wouldn't harm an old lady. He wouldn't harm anyone.'

Bill Rackham turned to Mary Hawker. ‘You seem very certain Wood is Terence Napier, Mrs Hawker. Why?'

‘I recognised him,' she said. She was trembling. ‘Or, at least, I thought I did. I've been beside myself with worry.' She bit her lip. ‘I thought Frank was sheltering him. I hated him being here. I thought Frank would be dragged down with him.'

‘Sorry, Mrs Hawker,' said Wood, recovering some of his self-possession. ‘Absolutely not guilty.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Evie abruptly. ‘I don't believe a word of it. I always knew there was something wrong about you. You're Napier, aren't you? I don't care what Frank says. He'd say anything to get you out of trouble. You're not just a thief, you're a
murderer.
'

‘No, I'm not,' said Wood. ‘I'm nothing of the sort.'

‘Then who the devil are you?' demanded Ashley.

‘Yes, who are you, Mr Wood?' asked Jack. ‘You're certainly a member of the family. There's a portrait of one of your ancestors in the gallery upstairs. It could be a portrait of you.'

Wood rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Ebenezer Leigh,' he said ruefully. ‘Oh, blimey.' He puffed his cheeks out in a sigh. ‘I never thought of Ebenezer.' He turned his hands palm upwards in a defeated gesture. ‘Never mind, Frank. Bear up. I suppose I was bound to be rumbled sooner or later.'

‘You seem to be taking this remarkably calmly, I must say,' said Mary Hawker with a sort of fascinated horror.

‘What's there to take?' asked Wood. ‘Don't bother getting the handcuffs out, Superintendent. I'm not Terence Napier.'

‘So who the devil are you?' repeated Ashley.

‘Can't you guess?' Wood grinned. ‘We'd better own up, Frank. I'm Sandy Paxton.'

Evie Leigh gave a little shriek. ‘You're lying! I know you're lying!' She suddenly stopped, took a deep, shuddering breath, gathered herself together, then looked up, eyes bright and sharp. ‘If you're Sandy Paxton, you're in big trouble. Desertion is a crime!'

Wood rubbed the side of his nose. ‘It
was
a crime,' he conceded, ‘but it isn't any longer. They've said as much in Parliament a few times. Forgive and forget, and all that. I admit that when the children – if I ever have any – ask me, “What did you do in
the Great War, Daddy?” it's not something I'll recount with pride, but it isn't a crime.'

‘There's a few other things that are crimes, though, Parliament or no Parliament,' said Ashley levelly. ‘What about the jewel thefts?'

‘Exactly,' breathed Evie.

Wood put his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. ‘What jewel thefts would those be?'

‘The ones before the war. If you are Sandy Paxton, you were an associate of the Vicar, weren't you?'

‘So it's said. I don't believe it was ever proved, was it? In fact, you'll find it quite a job to work out exactly what I am meant to be guilty of.' He put his hand on Frank Leigh's shoulder. ‘Come on, Frank. You've been an absolute brick but there's really nothing to worry about.' He looked at the assembled company. ‘When the news broke about what happened to my mother, I got in touch with Frank. Frank wanted me to make a clean breast of things, but I preferred to hide my light under a bushel, so to speak. I wanted to see if I could dig up exactly what did happen in Topfordham. I thought my own name would attract rather too much attention.'

‘You're right about that,' growled Ashley. ‘If you've done nothing else, you've been withholding information from the police. Did you meet Terence Napier in Paris?'

For the first time, Wood hesitated. ‘I ... didn't. No, that's not actually true,' He stopped short. Armitage, the butler, had come into the room.

‘What the devil is it?' barked Frank Leigh testily. ‘Can't you see we're busy?'

Armitage, obviously deeply offended, drew himself up to his full height. ‘A Mr Bloomenfield has arrived, sir.'

Frank Leigh ran an exasperated hand through his hair. ‘Bloomenfield? I don't know anyone called Bloomenfield. Send him away, Armitage. I can't see anyone at the moment.'

Armitage coughed. ‘He says he was asked to call on a matter of business by Mr Ashley, sir.'

‘Did he, by Jove!' rapped out Frank Leigh. ‘Mr Ashley, what is the meaning of this? By George, it's come to something when policemen stroll into my house and invite their own guests along into the bargain.'

‘Mr Bloomenfield is an expert in precious stones,' said Ashley. ‘As the question of the authenticity of the sapphires has arisen, I thought it as well to get them checked.'

‘You can think again,' snarled Frank Leigh. ‘There's nothing wrong with the ruddy sapphires. Damned if I know what the world's coming to. There's no earthly reason why I should let a complete stranger examine my property.'

‘
My
property, Frank,' cut in Evie Leigh icily. She turned to Bill Rackham. ‘I would very much appreciate Mr Bloomenfield's opinion. Armitage! Show the gentleman in. I will get my sapphires.'

Cold fury radiating from her, she stalked from the room.

Frank Leigh slumped into a chair, staring sightlessly at the lunch table. Wood dropped an encouraging hand onto his shoulder as Armitage ushered Mr Bloomenfield, a man in his sixties, in faultless morning dress and with a sharp, intelligent face, into the room.

Celia Leigh swallowed and stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon.'

In what seemed like a ghastly parody of the usual social conventions, Celia rapidly introduced everyone. ‘My step-mother, Mrs Leigh, has just gone to get her sapphires,' she finished. ‘As you can see, we're having lunch. Would you care to join us?'

‘Nothing for me, thank you, Miss Leigh,' said Mr Bloomenfield. ‘Glorious weather we're having, aren't we?'

It was, thought Jack, a weirdly unreal situation. Bill, untidy and ginger-haired in his London clothes, Ashley in his dark suit and the sharp-faced jeweller stiltedly talking conventional nothings to the girls in their summer dresses and the men in blazers and flannels round the lunch table.

It was as if the conversation should centre on nothing more than a stroll through the woods, a game of tennis or a row on the lake, but Frank Leigh sat rigid and unseeing, Wood beside him, while Leonard Duggleby fussed around the table.

Mary Hawker, who was obviously regretting her outburst, covered up her awkwardness by offering Mr Bloomenfield ham muffins, scones and sponge cake whilst talking
weather, horses, dogs and crops in a flood of stultifying artificial speech.

It was a relief when Evie Leigh returned, jewel case in hand.

Mr Bloomenfield opened the case. ‘My word,' he said admiringly. He took the sapphires out of the case and held them out in the sunlight streaming into the room. ‘Very nice. Yes, very nice indeed.'

‘Are they real?' demanded Evie Leigh.

Mr Bloomenfield took his jeweller's eyeglass from its leather case and screwed it into his eye. Holding the necklace, he turned it in his hand so the sunlight fell on it. ‘Oh no,' he said absently. ‘Of course not. Beautiful work, though.'

Evie Leigh gave a hiss of triumph. ‘Are you
sure
?'

‘Absolutely certain,' said Mr Bloomenfield, ‘but they're very nicely done. The setting's completely authentic, but the stones are coloured glass.'

‘Those sapphires,' said Frank Leigh, speaking for the first time since Mr Bloomenfield had arrived, ‘are ancient. They're part of the Breagan Bounty. First-rate stones.' His voice was thick and he was obviously finding it a real effort to speak. ‘It's not to be expected they'd look like modern jewels.'

Mr Bloomenfield tutted in disagreement. ‘My dear sir, ancient or not, a first-rate sapphire will have what we call “silk”. It makes an inner star within the stone. Take my eye-glass and see for yourself, if you wish. This necklace is composed of nothing more than coloured glass.' Then, just as Duggleby had done last night, he held the necklace momentarily to his lips. ‘You see? It's warm to the touch. There isn't any doubt about it.'