Ten Star Clues (16 page)

“I must put this to you: Was there anything in your mind, any fear or apprehension, that any danger threatened Earl Wych?”

“No,” she answered. “You know there has been feeling shown, very naturally, over the appearance of—of our grandson.”

Bobby noticed that she hesitated over the last three words, as if she had some difficulty in getting them out. She saw he was looking at her and she repeated them loudly:—

“—of our grandson.”

“Was that,” Colonel Glynne persisted, “why you seem to have said several times that ill would come of it? Or had you some other reason?”

“Ill has come of it,” she answered sombrely, and would say no more.

The colonel tried another approach.

“After you had made that remark, I believe you went straight upstairs to your room?”

“I did. I went straight to bed. I had overtired myself by coming down to dinner. When I got to my room I had a slight heart attack. It was not serious. Miss Longden wanted to send for the doctor, but I would not let her. He had left me some pills he told me to use if my heart seemed troublesome. I took one. It did me good and I went to bed. Sophy wished to read to me. She often does. She is a very good reader, with a very quiet, soothing voice. Last night I felt I would prefer to rest quietly, not even listening. Sophy sat by me till about ten. She was sewing. At ten o'clock or about then I told her to go to bed as I felt able to sleep. She went to her own room, next to mine, and got ready. Before actually going to bed she came back to see that I was comfortable and if I needed anything. She came in again during the night. I think it was a little before three. I heard a clock strike. I was restless and she heard me moving and came in to see if I was all right. She often does. I don't believe myself she heard anything. If she wakes in the night she often comes and peeps in. If she thinks I am asleep, she goes away again. If she thinks I am restless, she comes in. She is a conscientious little thing and considers herself entirely responsible for me. I suppose I am old enough to like being cosseted.”

She paused, as if inviting comment, and Bobby thought that any one less likely than this grim, upright, resolute old woman either to require or to accept ‘cosseting' he could hardly imagine. But then, perhaps, so contradictory is human nature, those were the very qualities that made the ‘cosseting' welcome. Lady Wych continued:—

“Early this morning I heard the commotion in the house. I asked Sophy to find out what was happening. She came back and told me. I trust that is a sufficiently complete history of the night to satisfy you.” The irony in her tone was evident. As evidently Colonel Glynne didn't like it. She added in conclusion:— “Is there anything further you think I can tell you?”

“There are just one or two other points I would like to mention,” Colonel Glynne said. “It seems to have been generally understood that Mr. Ralph Hoyle was insisting on having a talk with his great-uncle last night. I take it you knew that too?” Lady Wych made a slight movement of assent. The colonel went on:— “Did you expect a quarrel?”

“Hardly a quarrel. I knew Ralph meant to protest against our recognition of our grandson. I think Ralph meant to say that he intended to take legal action against us.”

“Did Earl Wych resent that?”

“Yes.”

“Did he intend to try to stop Ralph?”

“I think he meant to try. I don't expect he would have succeeded. Both of them as pig-headed as most men, more so.”

“There seems no doubt,” the colonel went on, “that a quarrel did take place. There is clear evidence. The expression of one witness is ‘they were shouting at each other something awful'. Indeed Ralph admits as much. He admits saying, in fact he was overheard, he appears to have shouted it at the top of his voice, that he would stop his uncle ‘somehow, anyhow'. Lord Wych seems to have retorted by telling him to get out and stay out. In fact a good deal of violent language appears to have been used on both sides.”

“Very likely,” agreed Lady Wych. “Both of them had the usual vile Hoyle temper. It doesn't last, but it flares up in a minute. I daresay Ralph felt ill used. My husband was not used to opposition. He always reminded me of the man in the Bible—the man who said ‘go' or ‘come' and it was so. I expect he felt Ralph ought to be prepared to believe that the honour of the family was safe in the hands of the head of the family. I can quite believe they were both so busy shouting at each other that neither heard a word the other said.”

“You are still not willing to suggest any reason why Miss Longden should have visited the library last night so late in the evening?”

“I know of none,” the countess answered slowly. “I do not intend to guess. It wouldn't be fair. All I can say is that I had, and have, no reason, except what you tell me, to suppose she ever left her room—except to visit mine—or that she was ever anywhere near the library. I don't know anything about this finger-print business of yours,” she added, “but even if it's as infallible as they say, even infallibility can be misunderstood and misinterpreted.”

“There is another point I must ask about,” the colonel said. “Do you know if Miss Longden, who is a very attractive girl, had any reason to complain of the conduct of any one here?”

Lady Wych looked for once a little disconcerted.

“I suppose you have been listening to gossip,” she said presently.

“Well, we call it information received,” Colonel Glynne answered. “Had it any foundation?”

“I don't know. Perhaps,” the countess admitted though still hesitatingly. “She never said anything to me, and I didn't ask her. She is a very steady, sensible, trustworthy child. I have complete confidence in her. There are girls who, without meaning anything much, do invite men to take liberties with them. Flirting and fooling. Sophy is one of the other sort, the self-respecting kind. I remember I told her once that if she wasn't quite happy or comfortable here, or if anything was annoying her, she was to tell me. I think she would have done so. I think she trusts me. I am fond of the child and I hope she is of me, too.”

“There is nothing more you can tell us?”

“No. I don't know that I should if I could. I can't, but it's her business. If you want to know more you must ask her. I doubt if she will be much inclined to say anything.” The colonel was of much the same opinion, but he made no comment. Changing the subject, he said:—

“I haven't had time to consult the firearms register yet, but I think I remember one of the licences Earl Wych held was for an automatic pistol. We've found in one of the drawers here an empty case that seems to have held a point three-two Colt self-loader, but there's no trace of the pistol itself. Can you tell us anything about it?”

The countess shook her head.

“I believe he had a pistol of some sort. We are insured, but some of the heirlooms would be quite irreplaceable. There's the old silver salt, for instance, said to be a gift from Queen Elizabeth, and things like that. Burglars would probably melt them down. My husband got the pistol some years ago when there was an epidemic of burglaries in the neighbourhood. After that died down, I expect he forgot all about it. I never remember seeing it recently or hearing him speak of it for that matter.”

Bobby moved over and murmured something in his chief's ear. The two men talked together in undertones. Lady Wych was beginning to look very tired. The fierce vigour, the dominating air she had shown when she first entered the room had gradually left her. Now she was looking old and feeble. Bobby indeed was growing afraid she might collapse under the strain of so much questioning, bravely as she was bearing up. She had rallied to her aid all the powers, or more, that age had left her, but now they were nearly exhausted. The colonel nodded in agreement to the suggestion Bobby had been making and said to her:—

“Just one more question. You are convinced that the man calling himself Bertram Hoyle is in fact Bertram Hoyle, and your grandson, and therefore now succeeds to the title and estates?”

Lady Wych rose to her feet as if with a sudden flash of energy and resolve.

“My husband publicly acknowledged him,” she said loudly and clearly.

When she had spoken she swayed and would have fallen had not Bobby jumped forward in time to support her. She leaned heavily on his arm and then seemed to recover to some degree.

“I am sorry, I am afraid I must go back upstairs,” she said.

The colonel, alarmed by her looks, rang the bell and then hurried to open the door for her. She went through leaning on Bobby's arm. One of the maids appeared in answer to the colonel's ring. She was sent to find Sophy. Lady Wych was still leaning on Bobby's arm. She was looking better now, the heart attack that had threatened having apparently passed off. She said to him:—

“Are you still thinking? I wonder what you are thinking?”

“I am thinking,” he answered, “that when people do not tell us the whole truth, then it becomes very difficult for us to discover any of the truth.”

“That remark approaches the insolent,” she said haughtily.

“A police investigation is not bounded by the laws of etiquette,” he told her quietly, “and police are not respecters of persons. Or at least, if they are, they fail in their duty. May I ask you another question? A personal one. I suggested it to Colonel Glynne. He did not wish to put it to you officially, but he said I might ask it if I liked.”

“What is it?”

“Why you do not wish to tell us whom you suspect of murdering Earl Wych?”

“I suspect no one,” she said harshly.

“I will put it another way,” he told her. “Whom do you suspect we may suspect?”

“That is another question,” she said looking at him doubtfully. “I do not like your questions, young man.”

“So you do not answer it. No answer is in itself sometimes an answer. I wonder if you are willing that your husband's murderer should remain unpunished?”

“Young man,” she answered again, “when you come to my age you will understand how little punishment matters.”

“Yet,” Bobby said, “if breaches of the law go unpunished the law will break down, and chaos will result.”

She was looking at him now with a certain grim amusement.

“You are an odd policeman,” she said. “Do you want to discuss the ethics of punishment? I have heard two Oxford professors arguing about that. They came to no agreement, but they both got very cross, and I am sure would have liked to punish each other with a week's bread and water. A severe punishment, too,” she added thoughtfully, “for Oxford professors—especially the water.”

“I have always thought of punishment as society's act of self-defence—-justifiable homicide, so to say,” Bobby answered. “No doubt a better society would find a better means of defending itself. Will you tell me now whom you suspect?”

“No,” she answered.

They had reached the hall. Sophy was running down the stairs towards them. She had only just received the housemaid's message. Bobby and Lady Wych waited at the foot of the stairs, by the portrait of that ancestress of earlier days of whom the tale was told that she had sacrificed her son to the honour of the family. Lady Wych saw that Bobby was looking at it. She said:—

“Well? what are you thinking now?”

“That the honour of the Hoyle family,” he answered slowly, “would seem to demand many sacrifices.”

“You think too much,” she told him frowningly, and then Sophy came up.

To her Bobby relinquished the care of the countess and went back to join Colonel Glynne, whom he found looking very worried and disturbed.

“Well,” he asked as Bobby re-entered the room, “what do you make of all that?”

“For one thing,” Bobby answered, “that she knows a good deal more than she told us.”

“I thought that, too,” agreed the colonel. “But what can we do? An old woman like that—one moment all fire and energy. The next on the point of collapse. Impossible to press her too far. Owen.”

“Sir?”

“You don't think she can be guilty herself? Jealousy or something like that, if she knew the old man had been trying to fool about with this Longden girl.”

“It might be,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “To save her honour, the honour of the family, his honour perhaps.”

“She's a remarkable old woman,” muttered the colonel discontentedly, as if he felt it unfair he should have to do with remarkable old women. “She had me quite scared at times. She would go through with anything. What can she be holding back?”

“I am sure of one thing,” Bobby answered. “There is certainly something odd about Bertram Hoyle. Yet she still wants to acknowledge him. So she must be willing to see him take the title and estates.”

“Difficult to understand,” the colonel agreed. “If he is an impostor, what possible reason can there be for acknowledging him? or for the countess being still willing to accept him? One might suspect blackmail, only with Earl Wych—well, you can't take that idea seriously.” Bobby was less sure. The life of any man may hold strange secrets. His imagination played with various ideas. An early bigamous marriage perhaps somewhere in the family that made all acknowledged issue illegitimate. But what was the use of guessing? The colonel interrupted his thoughts by saying abruptly:—

“We'll have him in next. Thank goodness we needn't handle him so tenderly. He isn't a girl and can't start crying, and he isn't an old woman and can't collapse on our hands.”

“No, sir,” Bobby agreed, “but he can lie. He may prove good at the job.”

They had to wait for a few minutes while the message reached Bertram. The barking of dogs outside attracted Bobby's attention. He moved to the window to see what was exciting them. Anne was walking across the lawn below the terrace. She was accompanied by two or three dogs. She was hurrying, almost running. The dogs were leaping and barking at her side, evidently demanding that she should stop and play with them. Bobby had only a passing glimpse, but he noticed that the coats of the dogs were wet. She had apparently been giving them a swim in the ornamental pond that was one of the features of the castle grounds, Bobby watched thoughtfully as they disappeared from view. The colonel said impatiently:— “What are you staring at?”