Escapade (35 page)

“This is for my sake,” I said.

He slipped his watch back into his vest. “For both our sakes, Phil. And for the sake of Bess, as well.”

“How do you plan to do all this, Harry?”

“I shall ferret out the truth. I agree with you, Phil. Something is happening at Maplewhite. Yes. You have, just now, clarified my thinking. Something mysterious is going on here. It will take a very special mind to penetrate this. A subtle mind, a mind trained since childhood to recognize chicanery and sleights of hand. Inspector Marsh obviously has no such mind. But as you know, Phil, Houdini
has
. Trickery, deceit, bamboozlement, they are as wisps of straw to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave me the wide, wild, charming smile. “By tea time, Phil,” he said, and he clapped me on the shoulder and then he turned and strode away.

INSPECTOR MARSH LOWERED his coffee cup and smiled at me as I came back into the library. “Mr. Houdini has left?”

“For a while,” I said.

I sat back down. Sergeant Meadows picked up his notebook. “He won’t be wandering off the grounds of Maplewhite, I trust.” said Marsh.

“No. He's decided to solve the case for you.”

Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Which case would that be?”

“Both of them. All of them.”

“How exceedingly kind of him.”

“That's the sort of guy he is.”

“And how, dare I ask, does he intend to do that?”

“No idea.”

“And how much time does he expect he'll need to accomplish this?”

“He figures he can get it done by tea time.”

“Indeed. Well then. Onward. You were speaking about the guests who were present on the lawn when the shot was fired.”

I told him that. I told him everything. Chasing after the sniper. Explaining my job to Lord Bob in his office and then later here in the library, to Sir Arthur. The tea party in the afternoon. The news about the Earl’s door being locked. Breaking down the door, finding the body. Lord Bob grabbing the Smith & Wesson, then setting it back down on the floor. My finding out, in the Great Hall, that the Winchester had been fired. My talking to Carson, the Earl’s valet. Talking to Superintendent Honniwell about the ash on the floor.

“It sounds,” said Marsh, “as though the Superintendent wasn’t as appreciative of your help as he might’ve been.”

“He probably had a lot on his mind.”

“Doubtless,” said March dryly. He waved a delicate hand. “Please. Carry on.”

I told him about my conversation with Briggs and my learning about the nighttime visits of Darleen, the kitchen maid.

Inspector Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Briggs?” He smiled. “The faithful footman?
Served without grudge or grumblings
. The Tempest. And have you consulted with the peripatetic Darleen?”

“Not yet.”

He nodded. “Please. Continue.”

I told him about dinner. About the seance and Lord Bob’s arrival there. About going to Mrs. Corneille’s room.

“You went to her room, of course, solely to discuss the events here at Maplewhite.”

“Right. And then Miss Turner showed up.”

“Miss Turner of the apparition?”

“Yeah.”

I’d just finished telling him what Miss Turner had found in the Earl’s room, the stolen knickknacks, the beard and wig, when someone knocked at the library door.

“Come in,” Marsh called out.

A servant stepped in and held the door stiffly open. Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh paraded into the library.

MARSH AND MEADOWS and I stood up.

“Thank you both so very much for joining us,” said Marsh. I do realize, of course, that my presence in your lovely home is a terrible imposition.”

“Got a job to do, haven’t you,” said Lord Bob. His color had come back and his face was florid again. Maybe the breakfast eggs had buffed it back to normal. Maybe the breakfast fish. Couldn't stomach it myself,” he said. “Prying, snooping about, tracking muck everywhere. But that’s the job, isn’t it. Duty. Responsibility.

Understand completely.”

He escorted Lady Purleigh to a high-back chair, held it while she sat. She was wearing black again, and looked as regal as she always looked. Her ash blond hair was swept above her ears and it glistened up there like a crown. She smiled at Lord Bob, then turned and smiled at us.

Lord Bob sat down in the chair beside hers. Marsh and

Meadows and I found our seats.

“Can’t stay for long, though,” said Lord Bob. “Either of us Services down in the village. Ten o’clock. Don’t usually go myself, of course. Opiate of the people, eh? And the vicar’s a nincompoop. Still, in the circumstances. Death in the family, et cetera. No choice, really.”

“No, of course not,” said Marsh. He turned to Lady Purleigh.

“Lady Purleigh, permit me to say how sorry I am for your loss. And I apologize to you, as I have to his lordship, for imposing myself at such a time. It is, I’m afraid, a necessary evil.”

“I do understand, Inspector. And I thank you.”

Marsh nodded. “And as perhaps, you know,
honest plain words best pierce the heart of grief
. Love’s Labour Lost.”

In the background, the servant glided discreetly around the room, picking up the breakfast dishes, marching them over to the cart in the corner with great care, as if they were the relics of a saint.

“Oh, Beaumont,” said Lord Bob. “Haven’t had a chance to congratulate you. Did a crackejack job on Merridale. Very cool. Know your onions, no question. Looked like an expert out there.” He leaned forward, narrowed his eyes. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever boxed professionally, eh?”

I nodded. “Before the War.”

He slapped his thigh and turned to Lady Purleigh. “Hear that, Alice? What’d I tell you?” He turned back to me, frowning. “Never mentioned that to Merridale, though, did you?”

“He never asked me,” I said.

He frowned again, unsatisfied. “Still. Fellow owes it to the other chap. Let him know these things.”

Lady Purleigh put her hand on her husband’s forearm. “It’s over now, Robert. It’s finished. And the boxing match wasn’t Mr. Beaumont’s idea. Sir David insisted.”

Lord Bob didn’t want to let it go. “Yes, well,” he grumbled. “Still.”

Lady Purleigh squeezed his arm, turned to Inspector Marsh. “You wished to ask us some questions, Inspector?”

Finished with the dishes, the servant wheeled the cart from the room.

“Yes, milady,” said Marsh. He turned to Lord Bob. And I assure you I shall ask them with alacrity, Lord Purleigh.
The spirit of the time shall teach me speed
. The Life and Death of King John.”

“Is it?” said Lord Bob, sitting back. “Take your word for it. Don’t read as much as I should. The occasional
Punch
. And Marx, of course.”

Marsh smiled a small swift smile. “Yes. Now, Lord Purleigh. Concerning the death of the Earl. Before the event, had he given you any reason to believe that he might be . . . despondent? Depressed?”

Lord Bob shrugged. “Well, he was mad, you know. And one never knows what a madman will do. Definition of madness, really, isn’t it?”

“Mad in what way?” asked Marsh.

“Still living in the nineteenth century. Sixteenth century, more like it. Complete reactionary. One solution for every problem.
Flog ’em!
Tenants behind on the rents,
Flog ’em!
Workers rallying,
Flog ’em!
Two million unemployed in this country, Inspector. And yet the bankers, the capitalists, done damn well off the War, haven’t they? Snatched the oil fields from the Arabs—Lawrence’s lot. Took over the Suez. German reparations pouring into the treasury.” He shook his head. “Damn criminal, you ask me.”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “But getting back to your father, Lord Purleigh. Had he changed recently, in your opinion? Had he evidenced—?”

“The old—’’Lord Bob glanced at me. “The old man wouldn’t change, Inspector.
Couldn’t.
Stuck in his ways. Made Mettemich look like a radical.”

“Thank you,” Marsh said. Sergeant Meadows made a note in his notebook.

“And what of you, Lady Purleigh?” said Marsh. “Had you perhaps detected any recent changes in the Earl?”

She shook her head. “No I hadn’t, Inspector. He seemed to me as vital as he’d always been.”

“So this came as a shock to you?”

“Utterly. I can’t think how it could have happened. Unless, as Robert suggests, it was some sort of tragic accident.”

“Oh?” Marsh turned to Lord Bob. “You believe your father’s death was accidental, Lord Purleigh?”

“Possibility, isn’t it,” said Lord Bob. “Been mulling things over, you know. Gives a man pause, something like this. Makes him think, eh?”

Marsh nodded soberly. “Certainly.
What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust?
”

“That sort of thing, yes. Try to be a bit less morbid, though, myself.”

“Yes, but tell me, Lord Purleigh. How might the death of your father have been an accident?”

“Easiest thing in the world,” said Lord Bob comfortably. “Say he sends one of the servants to fetch him the pistol. Wants to pot at pigeons. Place is crawling with ’em—told Beaumont that. Say he loads the gun, keeps it ready. No telling when they’ll show up, pigeons. Wily birds. Unpredictable. But say he spots one at the window. Suddenly, eh? Might get excited, mightn’t he? Might pull the trigger? Eh? And then, bang, Bob’s your uncle.”

Marsh nodded. “Pull the trigger while the gun was pointed, by happenstance, at his head.”

“Exactly. Getting on, you see. Past his prime.”

“But I understood from Mr. Beaumont that the bedroom window was closed at the time. If the Earl were of a mind to shoot at pigeons, wouldn’t he have opened it?”

“Ah. But he was mad as well, remember. To a madman, what’s a window or two, eh? Follow me?”

“Yes, of course. Had he ever shot at pigeons before? To your knowledge?”

Lord Bob shrugged. “First time for everything, though, isn’t there.”

“Yes. So there is.” Marsh nodded. “Thank you, Lord Purleigh. This is a possibility we shall certainly wish to consider.”

Sergeant Meadows wrote something in his notebook.

“Only a theory, mind,” said Lord Bob. “No proof, of course. And other possibilities exist. Incline toward suicide myself, though. Contradictions of Capitalism, Historical Necessity. Explained all that to Doyle and Beaumont.”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “Now about this pistol. The American Smith and Wesson. It was taken, I understand, from the collection in the Great Hall.”

“Yes.”

“The collection is yours?”

“The Earl’s. My father’s. Don’t much hold with guns myself. No shooting allowed at Maplewhite. Not since my father's accident. Fell from a horse, you know. Paralyzed. Years ago.”

“I see. Is it fair to say, your lordship, that anyone in the house would have had access to the weapons, and to the ammunition for them?”

Lord Bob shook his head. “Higgens—that’s the butler—hid all the ammunition yesterday afternoon. Locked it away. Doyle's suggestion. But the idea was Beaumont’s.” He turned to me, nodded once. “Credit where credit’s due.”

“Yes,” said Marsh, “but previous to that time. Anyone at all could have removed that pistol. Or the Winchester repeating rifle.”

“Beaumont told you about the rifle, did he?” He glanced at me, disapproving. “Still some question in my mind about that,” he told Marsh. “It being fired, I mean. But your chaps have it now. Honniwell took it.”

Marsh smiled. “Yes. And before he did, anyone at all could have removed it, or the pistol, at his leisure. Is that substantially correct, Lord Purleigh?”

“Could’ve done, I suppose. Have my doubts, though.”

“Thank you. Now, Lord Purleigh. You do understand, I hope, that in order for me to come to some glimmer of an understanding about your father’s death, I must determine, first of all, where everyone at Maplewhite was situated at precisely the time it occurred.”

“That right?” said Lord Bob. “As I say, not my line, police work. Makes perfect sense, though. How can I help?”

“My Lord, Mr. Beaumont has disclosed to me that all the guests, and Lady Purleigh, were present in the drawing room when the shot occurred. But evidently you were not. Might I ask where you were?”

Lord Bob nodded in agreement. “Got you. Good question. What time would that be, exactly?”

Marsh turned to me. “You said the valet heard the shot at a quarter past four?”

“Yeah.”

His eyebrows raised, Marsh turned expectantly to Lord Bob. Lord Bob frowned. “A quarter past four.” He thought for a moment and then he nodded. “Right. Got it. Just returning from MacGregor’s. The gamekeeper. Had an idea, you see. Told Doyle about it, and the others. Houdini, Beaumont. This Chin Soo chap, running loose, hot and bothered. Miffed at Houdini. Know about him, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what I thought, why not ask the tenants, keep an eye peeled, eh? Scout the area. If the sod’s anywhere nearby, they’ll flush him out, won’t they. Spoke with MacGregor about it, asked him to sniff up some volunteers.”

“But from what Mr. Beaumont tells me,” said Marsh, “you had at that point already agreed to alert the constabulary to Chin Soo’s presence.”

“Well, yes,” said Lord Bob. “But I wasn’t entirely sure that the local constabulary were up to it, you see. Nothing personal, mind. But better safe than sorry, eh? Spoke to my wife about it. She agreed.” He turned to Lady Purleigh and smiled. She smiled back.

He turned back to Marsh, pursed his lips. “Now. Where was I?”

“You were asking Mr. MacGregor to sniff up some volunteers.”

“Paght. He agreed. All arranged. I left. Just getting back here when Higgens came running after me. Couldn’t open the door to my father’s room, he said. Locked, Carson unhinged. A shot fired, he said. Went up there at a gallop, don’t mind telling you. You know the rest?”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “Thank you. And you were where, exactly, when Higgens found you?”

Lord Bob thought. “In the west wing. The hallway. On my way to the drawing room.”

“But that must have been,” said Marsh, “sometime after a quarter past four, mustn’t it? If Higgens were already aware that the shot had been fired?”

“Must’ve been, absolutely right. Higgens had already spoken with Carson, of course. So four-twenty, let s say, four twenty-five. Promised my wife I’d be back at four-thirty.”