Death by the Book (14 page)

“I was afraid that might be your answer.”

“Do apologize to Miss Allen on our behalf for any difficulties this may cause her.”

“All right, no need to be snide, Inspector. I did call you up voluntarily, you know.”

“Well, there is that, Mr. Farthering, and wise thinking it was, too. Now you see the young lady stays close at hand. And if she does decide to change her place of residence, within reason, of course, you see she lets us know. Understood?”

“Perfectly, Inspector. Good morning.”

Drew hung up the telephone, smiling reassurance into the worried eyes of the girl.

“As you might have guessed, the inspector isn’t too sanguine about your departing for the New World just at present. Do you have anyone nearby you might stay with? Anyone?”

She shook her head. “I suppose it’s back to the flat for me,
though I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep even that now that Hirsch’s have dismissed me.”

“Does anyone know you here in Farthering St. John?”

“No, though they’re all likely to know
of
me after this morning’s papers.”

“True enough. Hmmm. There must be someplace you can go until all this has been sorted out.”

Just then Nick popped his head into the room. “Anything else you need me to do?”

“Come in, old man, and put on your thinking cap.”

“What? Before breakfast?”

Drew seized him by the arm and pulled him back to the table. “You can think while you’re eating.”

“Oh, all right.” Nick made himself comfortable and began dishing out a plate of food. “Now, what am I meant to think of?”

“Where would you go, hereabouts, I mean, if you didn’t want anyone knowing you were here?”

Nick contemplated the question while salting his eggs. “Have I any money?”

“Enough so it’s no difference.”

Nick ate a piece of bacon and then another in silence. Then he nodded. “I’d go to Mrs. Chapman’s.”

Drew laughed, earning a startled look from the girl. “Nick, old man, you’re an absolute genius. Nobody ever pays any attention to the fishing cottage or knows if anyone’s staying there. Mrs. Chapman will be discreet if we ask it of her. It’s perfect.”

Miss Allen shook her head. “Wait. What are you talking about? I can’t possibly—”

“You can possibly.” Drew held up a hand to silence her protests. “It’s only temporary, until you are allowed to go to your aunt’s, but it really is the best solution. You’ll stay there, tucked
nicely out of the way, and we’ll let our dear chief inspector know where you are. Mrs. Chapman is a lovely old lady who’ll take excellent care of you and keep the reporters and other undesirables at bay. All you have to do is have a nice rest and not tell anyone where you are for a bit. What do you think?”

“But I could never pay for—”

“Just you let me see to that. Besides, I doubt if Mrs. Chapman asks much in rent. The cottage is sound and clean, but it’s small and rather spartan. It’s not likely you’ll be bothered with the Duke of Kent popping by at odd hours to borrow ha’p’orth of sugar for when the king comes to tea.”

She looked at him, wary, bewildered, as if she might cry again, and then a softness came over her face along with a hint of a smile. “You’re very kind. I’ll repay you in time.”

“Not at all. Not at all.” Drew took her arm and brought her to her feet. “Now I’ll ring up Mrs. Chapman, and you go along with Mr. Dennison here. He’ll see you’re properly settled. And if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“You’ll speak to Mrs. Montford for me? Promise?”

He took the hand she offered. “Most certainly.”

“You’re really too kind, Mr. Farthering.” She looked down then, a shy smile on her face. “And I’ll remember what you said. In your sermon. I’ll wait for you in the cab, Mr. Dennison.”

She gave Drew one final grateful glance and scurried out the door.

“Do you think it wise?” Nick asked. “Keeping her close like this? After all, she’s still a suspect.”

“I haven’t forgotten that. I still can’t imagine she’d kill anyone, but if she has, at least she’ll be where we can keep watch on her. When I said Mrs. Chapman would be discreet, I didn’t mean she would be discreet with us.”

“Well thought out, as always.” Nick bowed briefly. “I salute you.”

“Yes, yes, all right, now don’t keep the young lady waiting. I’ll ring up Mrs. Chapman and see to that end of things. And on the drive over, if you happen to find out a bit more about our Miss Allen, her family, past history, if she has someone who calls on her regularly or who used to before Montford, that would be all to the good.”

Nick grinned. “Leave it to me.”

G
iven the generosity of his proposed financial terms, Mrs. Chapman was more than happy to agree to Drew’s plan to rent her cottage. He was still at the breakfast table, rereading the salacious article beneath the girl’s picture, when Nick returned from the cottage.

“Our charge has been safely delivered and warmly received. What next?”

“Any revelations along the way?” Drew asked.

Nick shrugged. “Nothing all that helpful. She comes from a little place in Derbyshire called Ault Hucknall. Moved to Winchester along with her mother three or four years ago when her father died and her mother took a position as nurse to an elderly relation of theirs. About two years ago, both mother and elderly relation were taken by the influenza, leaving our Miss Allen alone to make her way in the world as she was not provided for from elderly relation’s modest fortune. Has an aunt in America as she’s already told you. No one else in the world.”

“No young man?”

“She describes a rather tepid series of evenings out with a farrier some fifteen years her senior when she was still in Ault Hucknall. He did not approve of her staying in Winchester on her own when her mother died and wanted her to come back to be his wife.”

“I don’t suppose she’d care to go to him?”

“Apparently that would be a bit sticky at this point in time. It seems she rather firmly refused the man the last time they spoke and invited him to never call upon her again. Heated words were exchanged, ties severed. All in all, it wasn’t a conversation meant to engender future amicable relations.”

“But would she like to go to him now? Sometimes a bit of stability, even dullness, is quite welcome in uncertain times.”

Again Nick shrugged. “I had the distinct impression that making a fresh start in America was far more appealing to her. You don’t suppose he . . . ?”

“Made away with the man who had soiled his innocent darling? I shouldn’t think so. Yes, all right, perhaps he’d have a motive in the Montford murder, but what about the good doctor? What about Clarice?”

“Well, what would be the harm in letting the police know about him? They could take it from there, and we’ll have done our duty.”

Drew thought for a moment. “Did she mention the man’s name?”

“Called him Alfred. I didn’t like to press for a surname.”

“It’s a start, though. How many approximately thirty-seven-year-old farriers named Alfred could Ault Hucknall have?”

“Shall we go find out?”

“No, Nick, old man, I think you were right in the first place. No need to tear clear across the country. We’ll let the police
investigate our would-be bridegroom.” Drew put down the newspaper and got to his feet. “I’ll ring up our beloved chief inspector once more.”

“Very good. Mr. Padgett and I have some estate affairs to see to anyway, so I don’t expect I’ll see you until this evening. No fair doing any sleuthing without me.”

Drew laughed. “Madeline said the same thing when she told me she’s taking Auntie up to London for some shopping. Ah, well, I suppose I shall try to confine my efforts to discussing my theories with the chief inspector and, when he tires of me, with Mr. Chambers. He’s the best listener of the lot of you, at any rate. No promises, though.”

At the mention of his name, the little white kitten came trotting into the room, head held high, dwarfed by the feather duster he had stolen from parts unknown and was dragging alongside. He stopped to furiously shake his prey, rolling over with it and kicking it. Then he carried it off to his secret lair under the sideboard.

Drew merely shook his head. “I suppose I’ll go telephone Birdsong now, seeing Chambers is occupied.”

“Good idea. I expect Mr. Padgett is waiting for me as it is. Shall I let Mrs. D know about the feather duster? I expect one of the girls will be wondering where it’s gotten to by now.”

“Yes, do that, Nick, and give old Padgett my best.”

“Righto. Let me know what the chief inspector tells you, as well.”

As soon as Nick had gone, Drew rang up Birdsong’s office.

“You again, eh?” Birdsong grumbled when the desk sergeant put him through. “What is it now?”

“A bit of information you might well thank me for, I daresay.”

“Oh, yes?”

“May well be nothing of course, but we had discussed the possibility of Miss Allen having a young man she was seeing before Montford.”

“You mean Alfred Begbie from Ault Hucknall in Derbyshire?”

“Ah. You know about him already, do you?”

“We have our little ways, Detective Farthering.” Birdsong’s tone was smug. It always was when he knew something Drew didn’t. “We’ve been at this a bit longer than you have, you know.”

“Naturally, naturally. At any rate, Mr. Dennison and I—Nick Dennison, I mean—were discussing our little problem and wondering if this Alfred chappie might not have taken offense at seeing his girl taking up with someone else.”

“You can forget that idea, sir. This Begbie was born in Ault Hucknall and, to hear him tell it, will die there. And in between, he’ll stay there. He’s a bit of a local character, my man found out. They claim he’s not been more than five miles from the village green in all his life. His family has been farriers in Ault Hucknall since Cromwell’s time and before, and he sees no reason to be anything or anywhere else. No doubt the whole village would come out for the spectacle were he ever to leave.”

“Little wonder he wasn’t pleased to have the object of his affection move to Hampshire.”

“Indeed. According to the people there in the village, he had made some sort of agreement with her father and was quite put out when the old gentleman died and the girl refused to stay on with him.”

“I suppose he could have hired the murder done if he felt strongly enough about it, couldn’t he?” Drew asked.

“Might do,” the chief inspector agreed, “but for one thing.
The constable who interviewed him says that, finding the young lady’s personal conduct a bit lacking even before the recent publicity, he’s washed his hands of her.”

“The story’s got as far as Ault Hucknall already?”

“I’m afraid so. Evidently he’d had rather a fixed idea about her since she left the village, determined yet that she’d come back to him, but this last has been the death of it.”

“Ah, well, at least we know. Oh, one thing you don’t know, Chief Inspector. The girl’s staying at Mrs. Chapman’s cottage for the time being. You remember the one.”

“I’d hardly forget.”

“We thought it was the ideal place, since you didn’t seem too keen on her going to stay with her aunt.”

“Why couldn’t she just stay where she was?” Birdsong complained.

“For one thing, the reporters and gossipmongers wouldn’t let her alone where she was. For another, she’s been dismissed from her job and hasn’t money enough to stay there now.”

“I see. And so it’s Detective Farthering to the rescue once again.”

“It’s little enough. And yes, I do know she’s still a possible suspect.”

“She is. But thank you for keeping us informed of her whereabouts. You might prove useful yet.”

“We live in hope, Chief Inspector. We live in hope.”

Once he had rung off, Drew wandered out of the study and back into the dining room, prepared for an in-depth review of the case with Mr. Chambers. Unfortunately he found the little beggar sprawled on his round belly, his head buried under the feather duster, obviously fast asleep.

“I suppose I’m on my own then, eh, Chambers old man?”

After a brief walk in the garden to clear his head, Drew returned to the study and sat down at the desk. He found a freshly sharpened pencil and a note pad and wrote
SUSPECTS
at the top in bold letters. Then he began listing names:

“Jack”

Thos. Hodges (caddy)

Margaret Allen

Alfred Begbie

Mrs. Montford

Daniel Montford

Roger Morris

Delivery Boy (
florist)

He paused before adding one more:

Person/Persons Unknown

He tapped his chin with the pencil and then, leaning back in his chair, caught sight of Mr. Chambers’s mother, Minerva, sunning herself in the study window.

“Hullo, my lovely.”

“Hello.”

He smiled when he saw Madeline standing in the doorway. Holding a wide-brimmed hat, she looked fresh and breezy in her mint-green dress and crisp white gloves.

“Hullo, darling, and yes, you are quite lovely. I thought you and your aunt were off to London.”

She came over to him and kissed his cheek. “Not quite yet. She has a letter she wants to put in the mail this morning, and she’s not done with it.”

“That important, eh? Telling the home folks what a monstrous place it is, this England?”

She giggled and sat on the edge of the desk, reading his list over his shoulder. “That last one is helpful.”

He gave her a grin. “We can’t ignore the possibility that the actual killer is someone we haven’t yet thought of. Unhelpful as the designation is, it wouldn’t do to confine our theories only to the people I’ve already listed.”

“I suppose not. But what have you come up with so far?”

“Well, we have the mysterious ‘Jack.’ Is he actually a suspect or just a motive?”

She frowned. “Does he even exist?”

Drew shrugged. “Hodges seems a rather unlikely choice at this point, though it is possible that he carried off an elaborate scheme where he pretended to be called away, disguised himself, and returned to the club to kill Dr. Corneau.”

“That seems a little farfetched even for an Agatha Christie novel.”

“I’m afraid so.” He smiled when she slipped her hand into his. “Besides, in addition to having been seen in Inverness and on the train there and back, he had no motive for Corneau’s murder, much less Montford’s or Clarice’s.”

Once again, she peered at his list. “Margaret Allen doesn’t seem like the type to kill anyone.”

“That’s neither here nor there at this stage of the game. The question is, might she have. She certainly had motive.”

There was pity in Madeline’s eyes. “I feel so bad for her.”

He squeezed the hand he still held. “So do I, darling. It’s not a pretty story, is it?”

She only sighed, and he went on.

“Begbie seems out of the running, mostly because of the distance between Hampshire and Derbyshire.”

She nodded. “He might have a motive for making away with Mr. Montford, but I don’t see any connection between him and Dr. Corneau or Clarice. Same with Mrs. Montford or her son.”

“Right,” Drew said. “She’s a bit like Miss Allen, I think. Not the murdering type.”

Madeline gave him a sly little smile.

“And not just because she’s a woman.” He shook his index finger at her. “And don’t be smug.”

“All right, but I think I agree with you anyway about her. I’m not as sure about Daniel.” There was sympathy in her expression as she looked at the list once again. “What about Roger Morris?”

Drew sighed. “Poor Rog. I can’t imagine him having the nerve to kill anyone. And it seems that, along with everyone else on the list, he might have motive for one murder, but not all three. Yet clearly the three murders are connected.”

She frowned, thinking. “The delivery boy for the florist?”

“The boy who delivered the flowers,” Drew corrected. “We don’t know he was actually connected to any florist at all.”

Drew wrote a note on the pad:
Find out
if the Empire knows which shop sent the flowers.

“Anything else come to mind, Madeline?”

“I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

“Very well, we’ll try a different route.”

He slashed his pencil across the middle of the page, dividing top from bottom. At the top of the lower half, he wrote
Messages
.

“What do we have so far?”

“The first one,” she said. “Mr. Montford. ‘Advice to Jack.’”

He wrote it down.

MONTFORD: Advice to Jack. “First thing, kill
all the lawyers.”

“Montford was a lawyer,” Drew observed. “Were the others killed because of their professions?”

She could only shrug. “What about the second one? The doctor?”

He added to his list.

CORNEAU: Kentish wisdom would have him paid
so.

“I’m a bit stumped on this one.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Jack Cade who wanted to kill all the lawyers was from Kent.”

“What about other references to Kent in Shakespeare?” she asked. “Or to doctors?”

“Do the other notes necessarily refer to Shakespeare? Perhaps ‘Kentish wisdom’ is a reference to something completely different. Kentish folkways or something.”

She shook her head. “You’d know much more about that than I would.”

He tapped his pencil against his chin once more and then added the third murder to his list.

DESCHNER:
Mismatched, hot-tempered, simply waiting for
greatness to be humbled, she, but for the scandal, might
have been queen of them all.

“What is or was mismatched?” Madeline asked, picking up the note pad. “That necktie?”

“It certainly didn’t go with that dress she was planning to wear.” He chuckled and then considered the words of the note. “What greatness is or was to be humbled? And why wait? For what?”

“And what was the scandal?” Madeline added. “Are you sure Roger couldn’t tell you anything about that?”

Drew could only shake his head. “And of whom might she have been queen?”

“Drew, if this has something to do with people being murdered over their careers, what was Clarice’s?”

“Still haven’t a clue on that one, darling.”

Drew frowned at the page and then added something to the list of suspects:
Clarice’s lover(?)
And under his note about the florist, he added:
Ask Rog who Clarice might have been seeing
. Have police interviewed her family, if any?

Madeline tilted her head to one side, thinking. “Didn’t Roger know any of her—”

“Madeline! Come on, the morning’s wasting!”