Footsteps in the Dark (21 page)

Both men had listened to him in attentive silence. "If that is so," Charles said slowly, "it seems to exonerate Strange. For if I'm not very much mistaken Duval was afraid of Strange."

"But did he suspect him of being the Monk?" Peter asked.

"No, I don't know that he did, but he thought Strange had something to do with the Monk. At least, so I infer from what he said when he saw Strange come into the bar yesterday morning."

The inspector was fingering the typewritten statement. "I wouldn't go about saying Strange did this, sir," he said slowly.

"Well, naturally not, but you must admit things look pretty black against him. Did you see him after we'd left you last night?"

"Yes, sir, I saw him. You'll understand I can't tell you anything about him, but you can set your mind at rest on one point: there's nothing Strange can do that we shan't know about. So in case you were feeling that we are leaving any dangerous person at large you can be sure that his doings are known to us, and you don't stand in danger from him."

"I must say, I'm glad to hear you're keeping a watch on him," Charles said, preparing to get up. "Well, we mustn't waste your time. If there's nothing else you want me to tell you I think we'd better be pushing off."

"No, sir, nothing else, only to remind you again not to talk of this. The inquest will be held here at eleven-thirty on Tuesday."

Charles nodded. "We'll be here. I take it I shan't be wanted to speak about Duval's fears of the Monk?"

The inspector came as near to a wink as so staid an individual could. "The coroner won't want to hear any ghost stories, sir," he said meaningly.

Chapter Fourteen

The news of Duval's death had spread round the neighbourhood as such news does spread, and when it was known that the people to discover the corpse were Charles Malcolm and Peter Fortescue, not only Roote and Colonel Ackerley, but Mr. Titmarsh as well, all found excuses to call at the Priory on the chance of picking up some fresh news. The Colonel, who knew the family best, was entirely frank. "Sheer curiosity, Mrs. Malcolm," he twinkled. "That's what's brought me up to see you." But even he could extract nothing more from Charles and Peter than was already known.

Mr. Titmarsh said that he had come to inquire how Margaret was after her experience on Thursday; Dr Roote thought that he had left his scarf at the Priory on Saturday evening. And both gentlemen tried their hardest to pump Charles, and went away dissatisfied. On Monday morning Celia met Mrs. Pennythorne, the Vicar's wife, in the village shop. Mrs. Pennythorne was far too adroit to ask questions, but she greeted Celia most effusively, and said that she had been meaning for some days to ask the whole Priory party over to dinner. As Celia was perfectly well aware of the fact that Mrs. Pennythorne did not like her, she was not taken in by this, and she declined the invitation to dine at the Vicarage on the following evening on the score of the inquest, which might last till late. Not to be baulked, Mrs. Pennythorne begged her to choose her own day, and she was so persistent that Celia was forced to accept an invitation for Wednesday.

When she broke the news to the family there was an outcry from all but Mrs. Bosanquet, who said reprovingly that the Vicar was a most interesting man, and she should be glad of an opportunity of consulting him as to the best method of exorcising unquiet spirits.

"All right," Charles said. "You go, and say the rest of us have developed smallpox."

"You and I have simply got to go," Celia said. "I'd have got out of it if I could, but she just wouldn't take no for an answer. But I really didn't see that it was fair to let you all in for it, so I said I couldn't speak for the rest of you. If Aunt Lilian wants to go surely three of us'll be enough. You don't want to, do you, Margaret?"

"Not much!" Margaret said. "You're a true friend and sister, Celia. Peter and I will spend a tete-a-tete evening."

"She may be a true sister, but as a wife she's a stumer," Charles announced. "Anyone with a grain of resource would have said that I was so unnerved by finding Duval's body that only complete quiet could restore me."

"I hardly think she'd have been convinced," Celia replied. "By the way, Margaret and I can come to the inquest, can't we?"

"If you like," Charles answered. "But it won't be at all interesting."

Mrs. Bosanquet assumed her most disapproving cxpression. "If you take my advice, my dears, you will stay quietly at home with me. You do not want people to think you are some of these sensation-hunters we hear so much about nowadays. In my opinion, inquests and murder trials are not things that can interest women of breeding."

"But this is different, because Chas and Peter are mixed tip in it," Celia objected. "Besides, everyone's going, even Mr. Titmarsh. Colonel Ackerley said that though he didn't want to seem heartless, Framley hasn't had anything so thrilling happen since he came to live here."

"That may be, my dear, but the Colonel is not a Icmale. Quite the reverse, in fact, for being a soldier I've no doubt he holds human life very cheaply."

Later in the day Constable Flinders paid them a visit, and shook his head broodingly. "You ought to have sent for me, sir," he said reproachfully. "It would have been a nice case for me to handle, and there's no denying there's precious little scope in Framley for a man who has ambition."

"Sorry," Charles said. "But I thought you were watching him."

"I can't be everywhere at once, sir, can I? I go and take my eye off him for half a moment, just to make sure that Mr. Titmarsh wasn't getting up to mischief, and I'm blessed if he don't go and hang himself. I suppose the next thing'll be I'll find while I been about my ordinary duties that tiresome old bug-hunter - Mr. Titmarsh, I should say - has gone and done himself in with his own killing-bottle."

"Well, that'll give you a case anyhow," Charles consoled him.

The constable said austerely: "You mustn't get it into your head, sir, that the police want people to go about killing themselves. All I said was, it's a bit hard that when a Framley man commits sooicide them chaps from Manfield get called in before I hear anything about it. Not that I'm blaming you, sir," he added handsomely. "No doubt you done as you see fit, and it isn't everyone who keeps his head on his shoulders when he goes and finds a thing like a corpse."

The inquest, as Charles had predicted, was not particularly interesting to Celia and Margaret, but those outside the family who had not imagined that any other verdict than suicide would be forthcoming, were in a positive buzz of speculation and wonderment.

Charles and Peter recounted all that they had done, both citing as their reason for visiting Duval's cottage his suspicious presence in their grounds on the night before. The inspector was called, and also Dr Puttock, and the inspector then asked for an adjournment, pending further police inquiries. This was granted, and for the time being the case was over.

"And I vote," said Peter, "that we ask old Ackerley in for some tennis this afternoon, and try to get the taste of all this out of our mouths."

They waited for the Colonel outside the court-room, and when he appeared he readily accepted the invitation. "I won't ask questions now," he said, "but I warn you, I'm all agog to hear a bit more. If you don't want to fall into Mrs. Pennythorne's clutches, you'd better get away before she catches you. I saw her making for the door fairly bursting with curiosity."

"Then let's clear out at once," Peter said. "Half-past three suit you, Colonel? We ought to tell you that the court's a terror, and full of docks."

"Be able to blame it then for my bad shots," the Colonel said.

They escaped just as the Vicar's wife emerged from the court-room, and drove back to the Priory in time for a late lunch. The Colonel arrived punctually at half-past three, and proved to be a player of considerable standing.

"What a pity we couldn't have got another man!" Celia said when they repaired to the terrace for tea. "But Dr Roote doesn't look as though he'd be any good, and I can't see Mr. Titmarsh standing up to you, Colonel."

"Give me a mixed double every time," the Colonel said. "Much better fun! But I'm out of practice. When I was in India I used to play a lot. I've rather given up of late years."

"What part of India were you stationed in?" Peter asked. "I've got a cousin who's just had the luck to be sent to Wellington."

"Oh, I've been all over the place," the Colonel answered. "But I didn't come here to talk about India, young man. Out with it! Did you know the police thought it was murder?"

"Now then, sir, you ought to know better than to try and drag information out of us," Charles said. "Of course I need hardly say that the police perceiving at once that we had missed our vocations, entrusted us with all their secrets. In fact, we're considering entering the force on the strength of it."

"Yes, yes, but you needn't be so close," the Colonel said. "What I can't understand is, who in the world should want to murder that French fellow? Seemed harmless enough, I always thought."

"I've got a theory about it," said Charles, helping himself to a cucumber sandwich. "Who knows but what he may have possessed an oleander hawk-moth? We are all aware that Mr. Titmarsh is expending untold energy in his pursuit of this elusive specimen. Very well, then. He found that Duval had one, and so…'

"Really, Chas, I don't think you ought to joke about it," Celia said. "It's not exactly decent."

"Well, why was he in your grounds?" the Colonel asked, not to be put off. "Was that what he came up to see you about Saturday evening? You know, you're being quite maddening, and it's my belief you know a lot more than you pretend."

"Of course I do," said Charles. "Didn't I say so?"

"Oh, I give you up!" the Colonel said hopelessly. "All I can say is, I hope it hasn't given you a distaste for the Priory."

"Not at all," Charles said, demolishing another sandwich. "Why should it?"

"I don't know, but after all the business about the ghost which you spoke of some time ago, I was afraid finding a corpse - must have been a bit of a shock, eh? Glad I didn't stumble on it - might rather put the lid on it."

"A new theory," Peter remarked. "The Priory ghost killed Duval. You'll be making my sister nervous, if you're not careful, sir."

"Well, I wouldn't do that for the world," said the Colonel gallantly, and began at once to talk of something else.

But it seemed as though no conversation could for long steer clear of the problems besetting the owners of ihc Priory. The Colonel's talk led to a description of a round of golf he had played the day before, and since his partner had been Michael Strange it was not surprising that he began to talk about him. "Seems a nice chap," he said. "How do you get on with him?"

"We hardly know him," Celia replied.

"He's played golf with me once or twice," the Colonel said. "Retiring sort of fellow, but I always feel sorry for people taking a holiday by themselves. Dull work, what? What's his job by the way? Haven't liked to ask him outright since he seemed so uncommunicative. Wondered whether, like so many poor fellows since the war, he's had to take up some rotten thing like selling from house to house. Distressing, the number of sahibs who are doing jobs they wouldn't have touched in 1914."

"I'm afraid we can't tell you anything about him," Celia said. "We've really only met him to talk to once, and that was at your party." She looked round. "Will anyone have any more tea? No? Then what about another set?"

The next day passed quietly enough, and was only marred, Charles said, by the prospect of having to go to dinner with the Pennythornes. He spoke bitterly on the subject of people who shirked their clear duty, but his words made not the slightest impression on either Peter or Margaret.

"We shall be with you in spirit," Peter told him, but so far from consoling Charles this assurance provoked him to embark on a denunciation of his brother-in-law's character, which was only stopped by Celia hustling him upstairs to change into his dress clothes.

Peter and Margaret enjoyed a tete-a-tete meal, and sat down afterwards in the library to play piquet together. After three hard-fought rubbers they gave it up, and to Margaret's dismay Peter, instead of retiring as he usually did, into a book, showed a disposition to talk. She had a shrewd idea whither his conversation would lead, and she was not mistaken. In a very short time Peter, busy with the filling of a pipe, tackled her bluntly. "I say, Sis, mind if I ask you a question?"

She minded very much indeed, but she had to say No.

"We've always been pretty frank with each other," Peter said, "or I wouldn't ask. But aren't you a bit more interested in that fellow Strange than you pretend to be?"

Margaret reflected gloomily on the manifold failings of the male sex, and decided that the worst of these was the appallingly blunt questions men asked. "I don't think so," she replied. "I must say I do rather like him. I'm sorry you've got such a down on him. Does he wear the wrong kind of tie?"