Rules of Murder (22 page)

Drew pulled the Rolls into the garage at Farthering Place and switched off the engine. Before he could get out, Nick strolled up to him.

“There you are. Did you and old Birdsong turn up anything?”

“Not much,” Drew replied. “Just more Farlinford property being sold off. Bearer bonds this time.”

“The ones they took from Rushford?”

“No. This was before that. Seems all this has been going on for some time now.”

“Doesn’t selling something like that take high-up approval?”

“They were signed by two directors properly enough.”

“And the signatures are good?”

“The inspector and I drove up to Farlinford to verify just that. Lincoln’s was genuine. Rushford’s was not.”

Nick frowned, not saying anything.

“What is it?” Drew asked.

Nick didn’t answer for a long moment, and then he merely shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing yet.”

“Tell me.”

“Really, if it were anything worth mentioning, I would tell you.”

“Father Knox,” Drew cautioned him, snatching the well-worn list from Nick’s coat pocket. “See? Right here. ‘The stupid friend of the detective, the Watson,’ that’s you, ‘must not conceal any thoughts which pass through his mind.’ Now, my Watson, reveal all.”

He smiled when he said it, but he gave Nick a look that allowed for no begging off.

Nick ducked his head a little. “I’m not all that stupid.”

He said it with a laugh, but when he looked up again, Drew could see a flicker of pain in his eyes.

“I say, old man,” Drew said, flustered, “it was only meant to be a bit of a joke. I’d never really—”

Nick quickly shook his head. “Don’t be a cretin. I know all that. I just . . .” He blinked hard. “Mr. Parker’s been good to me and my dad. About as good as your father was. I don’t want to—”

“You don’t want to get him into trouble,” Drew finished for him. “Lincoln’s blatantly involved, Rushford’s been grossly made to look so, but where’s Mason in all this? Someone in authority has to be behind it.”

Nick sagged against the car’s fender. “More and more, I can’t help wondering. It’s an awful thing.”

“I know.” Drew started to pace again. “I’ve noticed things,
just little things, things I wish I hadn’t seen. For Madeline’s sake. For mine.”

Nick looked up. “I didn’t think about her. She’s pretty stuck on him, isn’t she?”

“He’s like a father to her. I don’t know if she’d take it kindly if I were to prove he was a murderer.”

“But if he is, Drew . . .”

“I’ve thought about it a lot. At first, when we thought it was just Lincoln who had been killed, I tried to convince myself that it was all right, that the scoundrel got no more than he deserved. But the more I tried to think it, the more I couldn’t. Once a man has justified cold, willful murder, he can justify anything. And it’s not just one murder now. It’s Clarke and Constance and McCutcheon and maybe even that Chinese girl in Edmonton. If Mason’s the killer, or in league with him, he has to face the law for what he’s done. Madeline will just have to understand that.” Drew let out a slow breath and then slapped Nick on the back. “Come on, old man. Let’s go into the house and hash things out over some of Mrs. D’s cake. Whoever is in this with Lincoln, he’s bound to give himself away. We just have to catch him at it.”

“He can’t bally well get round us forever,” Nick said. “Especially not with Miss Parker helping out.”

Scowling, Drew pushed him out of the garage and along the walk toward the house. “You just carry on being clever, then, and I’ll keep my conclusions to myself.”

“I don’t know why she should upset you. She’s a good egg and not subject to the vapors and other annoying feminine maladies.”

“You remember how Diana Wheaton used to make you feel? If she was along, you’d five-putt every hole on the course.”

A look of wistful fondness came across Nick’s face. “Ah,
Diana. I wonder how she and her aged captain of industry are faring these days.”

“She made her bed and no doubt must lie in it. You got off easy, if you ask me.”

“It never would have done to have her on an investigation like this one, I’ll give you that much. She’d have fainted dead away at the mere mention of murder. Never in a million would she have offered to help solve one.”

“True enough.” Drew smiled a little wistfully himself. “Madeline is a plucky one, isn’t she? You know, I really don’t mind having her along, even if it does muddle my thinking a bit.”

“Perhaps she’d like some cake along with us. It couldn’t hurt to have another brain churning away at the problem, could it?”

They went into the house and were immediately greeted by Dennison.

“Ask Mrs. Devon to serve us tea in the library, would you, please, Denny?” Drew said. “And invite Miss Parker to join us, if she will.”

“Very good, sir.”

“All right, Nick,” Drew continued as they headed toward the library, “let’s suppose Lincoln and his yet-unknown accomplice have decided to bankrupt Farlinford. Why would Lincoln’s
ghost
appear here at Farthering Place? It couldn’t have benefitted him to scare Anna out of her wits that night. What could he have been after?”

“Well, it couldn’t have been a ghost. Father Knox rules them out as a matter of course. Perhaps Lincoln didn’t find what he was looking for when he broke into Rushford’s office.” Nick opened the library door and stepped inside. “Perhaps he thinks Rushford brought it with him here, or perhaps . . .” He slowed to a stop, his voice trailing off.

Drew looked at him, puzzled. “What—?”

Nick cut him off with a quick gesture toward the draperies. There on the left side, just visible under the heavy gold fringe, were the toes of a pair of men’s shoes.

Drew motioned to him to keep talking.

“Of course, we don’t know that yet,” Nick said, quickening his stride once more.

“No, not enough evidence. Not to be certain.” Drew gestured with both hands, indicating that they should approach the intruder from opposite sides. “But there is always something that gives the game away, an inscription on a ring or a left-handed golf club, or perhaps a poorly concealed pair of shoes—”

They pounced at the same instant, and the lavish curtains and attendant lace sheers tumbled with them out the open window and into the damp flower bed. Drew thrashed in the near-blackness and caught hold of someone—a sturdy, flailing someone who seemed equally set on pinning Drew to the ground. Drew struggled under the heavy brocade, determined to keep his crushing hold on the lurker, but the other man struggled just as fiercely.

“Hold him! Hold him!”

Drew could hear Nick’s muffled voice somewhere beyond the sea of antique gold that blinded him and tightened his grasp in response.

“Ugh!” Nick huffed. “He’s got a grip like iron!”

With a sudden burst of realization, Drew threw his opponent onto his back and then shoved the suffocating draperies to one side. Blinking up at him was a startled-looking Nick.

“I thought as much,” Drew grumbled. “I knew he couldn’t be crushing the life out of us both at the same time.”

Nick sat up. “But where did he go?”

“I suppose he took himself off once he suspected we’d spotted
him. Or perhaps . . .” Drew went back to the library window and looked down at the floor. The shoes were still there. Empty. “Perhaps he was never there.”

“That must have been quite a sight,” Nick said, rubbing his head as he leaned into the window beside Drew. “All that was missing was the amusing coconut-like sound when our empty skulls collided.”

“And I suppose we’ve rather neatly obliterated any footmarks that may have been left in the garden, as well,” Drew said. “I’m glad our Miss Parker wasn’t witness to our antics.”

“Who says?”

Drew looked up to see Madeline standing in the doorway, laughing silently. He drew himself up, a picture of wounded dignity.

“Madam, you are no gentleman . . . and for that I am profoundly grateful.”

With a smile of his own, Drew stepped back over the windowsill. Nick hopped into the library after him.

“Did you see anyone?” Drew asked.

“I’m afraid not,” she admitted, coming over to the window beside them. “I got here only in time to see the two of you beat the curtains into submission.”

“No, look here,” Nick insisted. “Someone was back there. Listening.”

“
Maybe
someone was back there,” Drew corrected.

Madeline examined the shoes, not touching them. “Do you recognize them?”

“Could belong to anyone,” Nick said, “but it wouldn’t be hard to compare them to anybody’s here.”

“True enough.” Drew glanced out into the garden once more. “If he’s staying here. Suppose it was Lincoln again, looking for whatever he was after in the first place. Where’s he been keeping
himself all this time since he was ‘murdered’? We’ve searched the house, and he doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Perhaps he’s staying out in the wood somewhere,” Nick offered. “Or in one of our cottages.”

“Like Peterson’s, you mean.”

Nick shook his head. “No. I can’t see that in old Peterson. He’s not the kind to kill for money.”

“Maybe not for money,” Drew said, “but there’s no telling what a father might do because of his child. Of course, the only one he’d kill because of Opal would be Lincoln. It’s hardly likely he’d be hiding him, is it?”

“Well, he’s not registered at the Queen Bess, that’s for certain.” Nick sprawled out on a chair. “That would have helped enormously.”

Madeline’s face suddenly lit. “What if he is?”

Nick sat up straight. “What?”

“Why doesn’t anyone ever see this Mr. Flesch? And why would Mr. Whiteside, a man with connections to Farlinford Processing,
just happen
to come to Farthering St. John right now? And why . . .” She broke off when Drew grinned. “I’m not kidding.”

Drew squeezed one arm around her. “Of course you’re not, darling. I was thinking along those same lines myself earlier today. I even went to the Queen Bess to see what I could see.”

“What made you go there?”

“I don’t know.” Drew shrugged. “Just a hunch, I suppose.” He winked at Madeline. “Perhaps it was divine guidance.”

Nick scowled. “That’s hardly cricket. Father Knox says the detective must never have an unaccountable intuition which—”

“Oh, bother Father Knox. Do you know what I found?”

Madeline narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

“Our Mr. Whiteside has a lady friend.”

Nick burst out laughing. “No. Are you certain?”

“I managed to get a look round his room. Traces of lipstick on the dishes, despite efforts to wipe them off, lipstick-marked cigarette butts bagged up and dumped into the ashtray in the bar, that sort of thing. And evidently our mystery woman has gone out the window and down the trellis at least once.”

“How do you know that?”

“Seems old Whiteside put a pound note up there and then pointed it out to the boy that works at the inn. Told him he could have it if he cared to climb up for it. Best way to account for any marks his inamorata may have left, don’t you think?”

Nick frowned. “Why go to all that trouble? Couldn’t he just have said she was his wife? Who’s to know the difference here?”

“Perhaps she’s got a husband,” Drew said.

“From around here?” Nick shook his head. “Who else would know her?”

“It’s probably that girl from the tea shop,” Madeline said. “That Kitty.”

“Now, now, darling. Mustn’t be snide. I’m sure old Leicester would have noticed if his wife had disappeared for that long, don’t you think?” Drew considered for a moment. “I suppose all we can do is keep our eyes open.”

“Besides,” Nick added, “the police would have surely investigated if they thought Lincoln was hiding out at the Queen Bess. They’ve been combing the area for him for days now. It is combing that they do, isn’t it?”

“I believe combing
is
the preferred term,” Drew replied. “No doubt they’ll want to know about our little tête-à-tête with the intruder in the curtains and have a look at the shoes. I suppose I ought to telephone our chief inspector at once. Excuse me a minute, darling.”

Madeline smiled. “All right, but don’t be gone long. I don’t like being left alone with a murderer around.”

Nick drew himself up melodramatically. “Well, I like that.”

“You can stay here and protect me from the killer,” Madeline said, laughing. “Or at least throw yourself into his path until I have a chance to run away.”

“Yes, do that, old man,” Drew said. “And we’ll make sure our grandchildren know the sacrifice you made to ensure their eventual existence.”

Nick straightened his shoulders and resolutely adjusted his tie. “You have at least to name your firstborn after me in that event.”

“Unless it’s a girl,” Madeline said.

“Especially if it’s a girl,” Nick insisted. “Nick’s a fine name for a girl. Quite sporty, if you ask me.”

“You two hash out the details,” Drew said. “I’m off to telephone the inspector, and then we’ll see what we ought to do next.”

He went down the hallway, intending to telephone from his stepfather’s study but found Mason in there on a business call, something about drill bits and viscosity and other things with which Drew was unfamiliar.

“I’ll go upstairs,” he half whispered when Mason noticed him there in the doorway, and he pointed to the floor above them. Mason nodded and returned to his call.

Drew headed for Constance’s sitting room and her private line.

“I’ll call you the minute I get something.”

Drew stopped outside Constance’s door. The voice he heard was soft, distinctly American, a young man’s voice. Besides Whiteside, Drew didn’t know of any Americans in the area, much less here at Farthering Place.

After a brief pause, the voice said, “Right. They’ll have to be able to prove it.”

Drew waited a moment more. Then, hearing nothing, he flung open the door.

The room was empty.

He hurried to the door to the bedroom and pushed that open. It was empty, too.

He went through the door that led to the hallway from Constance’s bedroom, surprised to find it unlocked, and then opened the door to the guest room next to it.