Corpse in a Gilded Cage (23 page)

‘Yes. Nobody could object to that, that we could see.' Nazeby's chin went up, as if she were permanently on the scent for opposition. ‘There's a door out at the end of the Wing. We were very quiet and went out that way.'

‘Was it locked?'

‘Yes, of course. We had keys.'

‘Did you lock it while you were gone?'

‘Well—no, we didn't actually,' said Parsloe, whose job the locking up had always been. ‘I mean, it's only three or four minutes to the stables.'

‘In the dark?' queried Hickory. ‘Quite a bit more, I'd have thought.'

‘There was a moon. We knew the grounds as well as we knew the house. We'd often come back that way on our nights out.'

‘It was creepy, though,' admitted Betty Nazeby. ‘Shadows. I thought I saw someone.'

‘Oh, did you? And was it anyone?'

Nazeby creased her forehead.

‘I just don't know. I've thought about it, but I can't decide. With all those long shadows . . . At the time I thought it might be one of the guests, but Bill said I was drunk.'

‘Where was this shadow?'

‘Not far from the stables. I felt it went in the direction of the big oak—Dick Mont's oak, they call it—which is about ten yards away. But it could have been a squirrel or something, I must admit.'

‘You didn't see anything else, or hear anything?'

‘No, there wasn't anything else. Oh, except—'

‘Yes?'

‘When we opened the car, Bill thought . . . he said he smelt perfume. Quite strongly. But it could have been me.'

‘All you were smelling of was whisky,' said Parsloe. ‘No, I did think I smelt it. But it might have been something Betty left in the car. We'd been out in it the night before. Powder compact. Scent, perhaps.'

‘I don't think I left anything there. I'm pretty careful like that.'

Hickory surveyed them thoughtfully. Was this a tale they'd dreamed up together in Dungarvan, to give substance to their story that the loot had been planted on them? Or was it truth? If it was a piece of collusion, surely they'd have made it a bit more substantial? If it was truth, it was very interesting indeed. Because, surely, if the stuff
was
planted on them, it would have to have been planted between the discovery of them during the party and their departure in the early morning.

‘Anything else you remember from that night?' he asked.

‘No, I don't think so,' said Parsloe. ‘We locked the car, went back in, got back to our room without being seen, and went over our route over another glass of whisky. Then we turned in for a few hours' sleep. Got up about six or so, had a snack, then I drove the car round to the door at the rear end of the Wing, we piled the luggage in, and I drove off.'

‘And the first you knew of the loot was when the Irish police discovered it under the seat?'

‘Of course it was. Why would we take up the back seat?'

‘Why, indeed? Why would anyone—unless they were looking for IRA arms, or pigs with the swine fever. I must say I think you're an unappetizing pair, but your story has this to commend it: if I was making off with
stolen property, the last route on earth I'd take would be the sea route to Ireland.'

Hickory sent them back in custody to Meresham, and then sat in his unsuitable little chair, sunk in agricultural meditation.

•   •   •

Mr Lillywaite made his reappearance in the afternoon. He had not been idle. He had been consulting here, dropping a word there, sounding out the lie of the land elsewhere. Burrowing, constructing unobtrusive earthworks—these were activities that came naturally to Mr Lillywaite. All, it goes without saying, in the interests of his clients. Now he talked to Phil in the late afternoon sun of the Dutch Garden. Some of the party were now inside, packing or prospecting around for the last time. Trevor, though, had taken his deckchair down to the fountain, and Michele lay more spectacularly beside him, as if auditioning for the part of the corpse. Mr Lillywaite took off his spectacles, cast a glance of Presbyterian outrage at her, said ‘Tchah', and then looked determinedly the other way.

‘Lord Ellesmere,' he said, keeping his voice low, ‘I've been talking to your neighbours, the Dowleys.'

‘I thought you might,' said Phil.

‘And I've been reading the papers. As I said to you on the telephone yesterday, I cannot think you have been wise. However, I begin to perceive some plan, some method . . . Am I right?'

‘Could be,' said Phil.

‘I wish you had consulted me first.'

‘I've been developing the plan as I go. Anyway, it was a fair bet you wouldn't approve.'

‘I can't pretend that I do. Nevertheless, it has certain points in its favour. I cannot imagine, though, that the financial dividends you might reap would be such that you could hold on to the house.'

‘For the moment, all I'm aiming at is staving off the evil hour. The possibilities are endless: me and the kids can do cocoa ads if the money's right. Then the next line of retreat might involve following up that obliging suggestion from the MP the other day.'

‘Yes,' said Mr Lillywaite, drawing in breath. ‘I read about that.'

‘Isn't it marvellous? Makes me glad I've always voted Labour—when I've been at liberty to. You and me'd better talk this over when the family's gone. I may as well tell you now that I'm going to open this house to the public.'

‘Yes. I gathered that from Sir Gerald. I see nothing wrong with the plan. It is what I would have advised myself.'

‘I'm going to open it the moment the police get their big boots out of the door, and I'm going to keep it open all summer at ten quid a head.'

‘What?'

‘Ten quid. I'll drop it when we open properly next spring. What we're going to get now will be the ghoul trade: they'll want to gape at the scene of the crime, catch a glimpse of the gaolbird Earl all the papers have been going on about. OK—then they'll have to pay for it. Through the nose. I'm getting a series of interviews lined up to fan the interest, and as many personal appearances as I can cram in. There'll be queues from the Great Entrance to the Main Gate.'

‘But, Lord Ellesmere,' said Mr Lillywaite, with an expression of acute disgust on his cavernous face, ‘surely it would be distasteful to you to
capitalize
on a family tragedy in that way?'

‘Stick me to the heart. Still, Dad wasn't squeamish. I'll beg his pardon when we're both on the same side of the pearly gates. He'll understand when I tell him what the takings were.'

‘Oh dear, oh dear,' murmured Mr Lillywaite. ‘I see, I begin to see, what you have in mind. But I don't like it. I don't like it at all.'

‘In that case, you'll just have to lump it, old cock,' said Phil.

•   •   •

‘It was a perfectly good story, so far as it went,' said Hickory to Peter Medway when, in the evening, they found themselves together in the Pink Damask Room. They stood looking at the attractive Cotman that had been found in the car, at the rather florid clock, and at the collection of toilet jars and jewellery, some of it superb, some very ordinary.

‘It's a very random collection of stuff,' said Hickory. ‘But then it would be if they just grabbed what was conveniently to hand on their last night here.'

‘But on the whole you believe their story, don't you, sir?'

‘Yes. Because though I can see them as capable of robbing the house—Nazeby especially, out of spite—I just can't see them trolling off to Ireland afterwards. If she'd decided to rob the place, Nazeby would have got a much bigger haul, and she'd have been off to the Continent. The difficulties in the way of a murder charge are even greater: no jury is going to believe that after robbing the house and murdering the Earl this pair would calmly proceed to their next job, with the loot very superficially concealed, still in the car. They wouldn't believe it, and I don't.'

‘No. It seems incredibly stupid, and I don't get the impression that Nazeby is stupid in the least. Anything come up while I was in Ireland?'

‘We've got a fair bit on this Raicho character. Tallies with what he told us. He had spent the last few months in Europe, then he had ten days in Canada before flying to England. He said he returned to Canada because he was on a special cheap ticket that included the fare back, and that's true. What he didn't tell us was that he only booked for his Monday flight to England on Sunday night. Make what you like of that. He went straight from Heathrow to Phil's home in Stepney. Talked to the neighbours, was shown Monday's evening papers with the picture of you and Phil leaving gaol, expressed great surprise and interest. Came down here on Tuesday—rail to Meresham, bus to the gates of Chetton, the rest we know.'

‘It is odd that he should go back to Canada, then hotfoot it back to Europe. No point in taking up your cheap seat if you then have to fork out for a seat back.'

‘Unless . . . oh well, just a thought. Gleaned anything from the constables about what the family's been up to while you've been in Ireland?'

‘Trying to pin Phil down on what he's going to do for them. Want to get something definite before they push off.'

‘You know, I do sometimes wonder about the Spenders.'

‘Wonder, sir?'

‘Wonder whether
all
the Spenders, and
all
their friends, and
all
their connections could have been quite so stupendously ignorant as they pretend of their position next in line to a whacking great fortune like this . . . And there's another thing.'

‘What's that, sir?'

‘There's one member of this cast list who doesn't add up.'

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and the burly head and shoulders of Phil poked themselves round.

‘Him!' said Hickory. ‘Come in, Lord Ellesmere, I was just talking about you. You're on my mind. I was just wondering whether crooks' ethics prevented your working with the police, and if that's why you've been playing the cat that walked on his own.'

‘Watch your language, matey. Now I've served my time I'm pure as the driven snow. It's like going to confession. And I've been walking on my own because I've been out of things for three years, and I wanted to make sure my guesses were right.'

‘Well, you've had four days to play your little games. Isn't it time now
that we sat down and went at things together? Isn't it time you came completely clean?'

‘Just what I'd decided myself,' said Phil.

On the day of her departure, the Countess found that her eager anticipation of going home was slightly dampened by her fear of ridicule, or worse.

‘There's some as'll take the mickey,' she announced, in her doomsday-tomorrow voice, ‘and more as would like to if they dared. My not using the title won't stop 'em. Mrs Parsons three doors down will be thinking up sarky remarks already, but I'll soon put
her
down. There'll be some as want to make Remarks, too. About Perce's death. Mrs Carter would be common enough, for one. I shall just say nothing. Maintain a dignified silence. Freeze her. All the same, I do wish it was all cleared up.'

The Countess, unusually for her so early in the day, was dressed. Indeed, she probably would have put on her coat and hat and sat with her case in the Hall if Phil had not dissuaded her. Phil had been in consultation again with the Superintendent during the morning, and had gathered that the final interviews would be finished by lunch-time. He had decided, with the Superintendent's approval, to give them all a slap-up meal before they departed. The Countess had declined the offer of a lift from Joan and Digby, and Trevor had gone off to Meresham to fetch a hire car in which to drive her home. Trevor was financially buoyed up by yesterday's offer of a film part in a homosexual skin-flick with a Japanese slant, to be called
Sayonara, Cheeky.

‘No offence, Joanie, but I'll let Trevor drive me, even if the trollop does come along,' the Countess explained to her daughter. ‘After all, he does live at home, when he
is
at home.'

Phil asked for volunteers to help with the lunch. Dixie stared stonily ahead of her. Joan said she'd come down later, but she had an
awful
lot of packing to do first. Michele just said ‘Are you out of your mind? I can't boil a bleeding egg.' In the end it was Raicho, coming from his second interview with the Superintendent, who found himself commandeered.

Once the two of them had settled down in the kitchen, they found they
had plenty to talk about. While they chatted Phil put on the two large pork roasts he had got from the butcher in Chetton. Phil had driven in himself (such was now his standing with the investigating policemen that they had made no objections), pursued by yelping newsmen who photographed through the plate glass the homely spectacle of the new Earl being handed two substantial roasts over the counter, and of his not paying for them. Word had got around that the Earl, barring accidents such as his arrest for murder, was probably going to be around at Chetton for some time, and this had done wonders for the service. The butcher was positively oleaginous, and almost over-ready to put everything on account.

When the roast was sizzling Phil and Raicho set to on a positive mountain of potatoes. Raicho proved inexpert but willing. When Sergeant Medway poked his nose around the door he was conscripted to help. And when a thought occurred to Phil that he wanted to chew over with the Superintendent, he gave Medway strict instructions not to leave Raicho. ‘Just to be on the safe side,' he said. When he returned he was thoughtful, and remained so during the rest of the preparations.

At one o'clock the interviews had all been completed. The luggage was standing in little piles near the Great Entrance, containing all the personal things the guests had brought to Chetton, and the little souvenirs they had decided to take away from it. Phil despatched Peter Medway with an armful of knives and forks to the Dining-Room, where the cloth was still on from the evening of the guests' arrival, together with much of the magnificent silver impedimenta of that meal. For this final lunch, though, Phil had resolved to make one change: the children could have a table to themselves down in the kitchen, so he told Medway to set places only for the adult members of the family, and for himself.