The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5) (10 page)

‘I don’t know,’ said Bobby. ‘I bumped into him when I was coming out of the gun-room and gave him a shock. I told him he was going in the wrong direction and the door was back the other way, and he said thank you, and I said he’d better hurry before the snow got too thick for him to pass, and he sort of nodded and ran off.’

‘Was he a local?’ said Gertie. ‘I thought we knew everybody who came to the dance.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Bobby, frowning. ‘He didn’t have a Scots accent at any rate. He spoke like one of us, but he was all dirty, as though he’d been sleeping in a hedgerow, or something.’

Angela and Gertie exchanged glances again.

‘Young or old?’ said Gertie.

‘Young, I think,’ said Bobby.

‘Did you mention him to Claude?’ said Angela.

‘Yes, but he didn’t seem very interested,’ said Bobby.

Angela raised her eyebrows. Either the mention of the mysterious man had not registered in Claude’s mind, or he had a reason of his own for discounting its importance—and presumably that reason was that he suspected someone else.

‘What do you think?’ said Gertie when the boys had gone back to their igloo. ‘Could this man be our murderer, do you suppose? He doesn’t sound like anyone we know. He wasn’t a villager, and the only people around here who speak like us are us—if you see what I mean.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela thoughtfully. Gertie glanced at her.

‘Come on, out with it,’ she said. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘Just that those tracks the boys and I followed yesterday might be more significant than I thought,’ replied Angela. ‘I thought they were probably made by a local at first, but now I wonder.’

‘Do you mean because of the man that Bobby saw?’

‘Yes, and don’t you remember what Clemmie said the day we all arrived, about a suspicious-looking stranger who had to be chased off?’

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Gertie. ‘Perhaps it was the same man. Do you think he has been hanging around here waiting for Professor Klausen in order to kill him and steal the documents?’

‘It’s possible, don’t you think?’

‘But we’ve been snowed in since last night. That means he must still be here,’ said Gertie.

‘Yes,’ said Angela.

‘Let’s go and find him,’ said Gertie.

They looked at each other.

‘We’ll need a gun,’ said Angela.

Inside the castle Lord Strathmerrick, Sandy Buchanan, Henry Jameson and Claude Burford were conferring in private.

‘It’s damned awkward, that’s what it is,’ the Earl was saying. ‘Why the devil didn’t somebody tell us earlier about Nash and Mrs. Marchmont? I should never have invited her had I known he had such a conflict of interest.’

‘Oh, come now,’ said the Foreign Secretary. ‘Why, you couldn’t possibly have known that Klausen was going to get himself killed.’

‘No, but even so—even had everything gone according to plan, the whole situation is extremely delicate, and it’s not going to get any less complicated when we have an attractive divorcée, or widow, or whatever she is, sashaying about the place, trailing former lovers in her wake. Especially when one of those former lovers happens to be the American Ambassador.’

‘Do you think Nash has compromised himself, then?’ said Buchanan.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Lord Strathmerrick. ‘One would hope not, given that he has brought his wife with him. However, it’s clear he’s still rather sweet on the Marchmont woman and so I’m not certain we can trust his judgment.’

‘Then you are quite certain she and Pilkington-Soames are mixed up in all this?’ said Henry Jameson.

‘I have no doubt of it myself, sir,’ said Claude, addressing the Earl. ‘I know very little about her, but I was at school with Pilkington-Soames and I know him of old. I’ve never met a more dissolute and unprincipled fellow in my life. He fagged for me at school and I never liked him—always found him to be a sneaking, insinuating little crook of a boy, and not above indulging in all kinds of unnatural activities, I’m certain, although I could never prove it. I took every opportunity to try and thrash it out of him but he always bounced back with that smug look of his. I always knew he’d go to the bad. And he and Mrs. Marchmont seem to be as thick as thieves—or worse. If she is guilty then I’m certain they’re in league with each other. I’ve no doubt she’s come under his influence and will do whatever he says.’

Henry raised his eyebrows at this picture of Angela, which he was fairly sure was nothing like the truth, but made no comment.

‘Have you managed to find out whether anyone saw anything while they were all hiding in the cupboard?’ said Buchanan.

‘Priss didn’t see anything,’ replied Claude, ‘and neither did Gus and Bobby. Bradley slept through the whole thing. I haven’t spoken to Gertie yet, and of course there’s no use in questioning the other two, since they certainly won’t give us a truthful answer.’

‘They say they didn’t see anything,’ said Henry, ‘and I’m inclined to believe them.’

‘Very well, then,’ said the Foreign Secretary. ‘I think we have found out as much as we can for the present. The men are out looking for footprints leading away from the estate—although I don’t suppose they’ll find any. Now, we need to decide what to do next. Is there any concrete action we can take to salvage the situation? For example, is there any way in which we can hush up the professor’s death for the present? What do you think, Strathmerrick? Do you suppose the local police will be amenable to a little juggling with the truth?’

‘I shall deal with that,’ said Henry. ‘I have the authority to issue orders to the police if national security demands it. In fact, I suggest we don’t involve the local constabulary at all. We shall merely inform them that the case is a delicate one of a political nature, and that we have handed it straight over to Scotland Yard. It’s a pity my brother is not here,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘The case would be in safe hands with him.’

‘But didn’t you say he’s a friend of Mrs. Marchmont?’ said Buchanan.

‘I understand your suspicions of the lady,’ said Henry patiently, ‘but I’m not sure we ought to be concentrating on her to the exclusion of all else. If it turns out that she had nothing to do with it, then the real criminal may escape in the meantime.’

‘That is true,’ said the Earl, who was a fair man at heart. ‘Very well, let us not lose sight of all the other possibilities. If we are unable to find the criminal or criminals ourselves then we shall leave it to your brother, Jameson.’

‘More important, however,’ continued the Foreign Secretary, ‘is this matter of the documents. As you know, I have a copy of them upstairs in my room, so in that respect they are safe. However, Professor Klausen’s copy has presumably been stolen. I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you how imperative it is that we find the papers as soon as possible and prevent whoever took them from passing them on to his or her political masters. It is in all our interests that this research remain in our hands alone.’

Everyone nodded in solemn agreement.

‘Jameson, have you conducted a search yet?’ said the Earl.

‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘I searched Mrs. Marchmont and Mr. Pilkington-Soames’s rooms this morning, but found nothing.’

‘Are you sure they don’t suspect you’ve been in there?’

‘Oh, I dare say they know perfectly well I’ve been in there,’ replied Henry. ‘As a matter of fact, Mrs. Marchmont as good as gave me permission.’

‘Did she?’ said Lord Strathmerrick, somewhat disconcerted.

‘Of course. She’s fully aware that she’s under suspicion, and I imagine she’s told young Freddy that he is too.’

‘In that case, if she did take the documents she won’t have hidden them in her room,’ said Buchanan.

‘No,’ agreed Henry.

‘Then where can they be? We must widen the search.’

‘Good God, man,’ said the Earl with a laugh. ‘Have you any idea what an impossible task that is? Why, the castle itself is over two hundred thousand square feet in size, and that’s not even taking into account all the outbuildings and cottages on the estate. Where would we even begin? We certainly won’t find those plans by searching at random for them.’

‘No,’ said the Foreign Secretary, ‘but if we know who took them we can narrow down the search considerably by retracing that person’s footsteps since last night.’

Claude Burford coughed.

‘Since we are here behind closed doors,’ he said, ‘might I ask whether we can be sure that the Ambassador and his secretary are entirely to be trusted?’

The other men looked at each other in surprise.

‘Are you suggesting that this is a plot on the part of the Americans?’ said the Foreign Secretary at last.

‘Perhaps I am,’ said Claude. ‘It would make things rather simpler, don’t you think?’

‘But then that means Mr. Nash must be the murderer—or his wife,’ said Lord Strathmerrick, ‘and Ambassadors don’t generally go around killing people.’

‘Not even on the orders of their Governments?’ said Claude. ‘Perhaps America is keen to develop this new weapon and keep it for itself. You know how terrified they are at the mere idea of the Socialists gaining influence—they still haven’t forgotten those bombings of ten years ago—and we did have that spy scandal last year, which made us look pretty bad in the eyes of the rest of the world. Perhaps they have decided we are not to be trusted and want to cut us out of the thing altogether.’

There was a pause as everyone considered this new idea.

‘I can’t believe the Americans would do such a thing,’ said Buchanan finally. ‘Why, we’re practically their closest allies. Can you imagine what a fearful scandal there’d be if they did do it and it all came out? And besides, our scientists are the cleverest in the world. They can’t do without us if they want to see the thing developed any time in the next twenty years.’

‘Well, then,’ said Claude, who was reluctant to let go of his theory, ‘could the Ambassador be working for a foreign power?’

This idea was pooh-poohed even more firmly, and he was forced to subside.

‘I know I am repeating myself,’ said Sandy Buchanan, ‘but we are running short of time. Even if we don’t find out who
took
the papers, we must find the papers themselves—and quickly, before they can be spirited away from the castle and passed on. Please, I urge you—if you have any idea of where they might be hidden, then act on it immediately.’

Henry Jameson now spoke.

‘What about your copy of the papers?’ he said to Buchanan. ‘I confess I am a little uneasy about all this. I think now would be a good time to bring them downstairs and lock them in the safe here in the study. I should hate to lose this second set. Even if we can’t make head or tail of it, there are presumably people who can—the professor’s colleagues at the university, for example. We don’t want to lose such vital research.’

The Foreign Secretary hesitated for a second. He liked to act alone, but was forced to acknowledge that this was not the moment to do it.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I shall go and fetch them now.’

He went out, and the others waited. After five minutes he returned, white-faced. It was immediately apparent that something had happened.

‘The papers,’ he said, aghast. ‘They’re gone!’

Meanwhile, Angela was not sashaying but rather tramping with difficulty—and a nose that
would
run—in the direction of the East meadow in company with Gertie. Here the ground rose gently before them and there were fewer drifts, and so they made rapid progress. They reached the top of the incline and turned back to gaze at an unprepossessing view of the side of the castle, its walled kitchen garden and one or two tumble-down cottages.

‘Might he be in one of those?’ said Angela.

‘No,’ said Gertie. ‘They’re occupied, but there are some empty buildings over this way. I thought he might be in one of them.’ She looked at Angela, who had her hand in her pocket. ‘May I see it?’ she said.

Angela glanced around cautiously and brought out a revolver. It was a dainty little thing, almost toy-like, but nonetheless deadly.

‘Perhaps I ought to have brought Father’s shotgun with me,’ said Gertie, examining it with interest.

‘I think this will be enough,’ said Angela. ‘We don’t want to kill anyone—only bring him in.’

‘Why didn’t they find it when they searched your room? I should have thought they would have pounced on it with glee and locked you in the turret immediately if they had.’

‘Yes, I rather thought so too, so I gave it to William this morning, to look after for me,’ replied Angela.

‘Clever of you. You don’t suppose it was used to kill the professor?’ said Gertie suddenly.

Angela shook her head.

‘That was my first thought, but I’ve checked it and it’s still fully loaded,’ she replied. ‘Besides, I didn’t exactly advertise the fact that I had it with me, so I don’t see how the murderer would have known about it.’

Gertie pointed the revolver into the distance and shut one eye.

‘I wonder if I could hit anything from here,’ she said, then handed it back. ‘Have you ever shot anyone with it?’

‘Not with this one,’ said Angela. ‘I did shoot a man with its twin once, though.’

‘Good Lord. Did you kill him?’ said Gertie.

‘Not with the gun,’ said Angela shortly.

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ said Gertie, impressed, and would have asked more questions, but something in Angela’s manner told her that further inquiry into the matter would not be welcomed, so instead she said, ‘And to think I thought that Hogmanay was going to be deadly dull! I never dreamed for a moment that we’d be tracking down a murderer.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Angela.

‘I must say, it’s all jolly exciting. You must come again for next New Year, Angela.’

‘I don’t suppose I’ll be invited,’ said Angela dryly. ‘Your father thinks I am a foreign spy and murderer’s accomplice, and your mother thinks I am setting traps for every man in the house.’

‘Oh, that’s quite tame compared to what they think about some of my other friends,’ Gertie assured her.

They came to a stile and crossed it.

‘This is the East meadow,’ said Gertie. ‘There’s a barn and a couple of other buildings over there by those trees. I vote we take a look inside.’

‘What did MacDonald say about the man he chased away the other day?’

‘Not much; only that he wasn’t a Scot as far as he could tell.’

‘I wonder if it is the same man, then. It’s certainly possible.’

‘Why do you think he came?’ said Gertie. ‘Did he mean to kill the professor all along, do you suppose, or did it happen accidentally when he was trying to get the documents off him?’

‘You’d have to ask your father or Mr. Jameson about that,’ said Angela. ‘I imagine they’ve had plenty of opportunity to examine the body by now and draw some conclusions.’

Gertie made a face.

‘They won’t tell me, though, will they?’ she said. ‘We girls always get left out when there’s anything exciting happening. Not this time, though. We’ll find him, just you wait and see.’

‘We don’t know that he hasn’t escaped across the fields,’ said Angela.

‘What, at two o’clock in the morning in the dark, and with three feet of snow on the ground? Why, he’d have frozen to death if he tried it. No,’ said Gertie, ‘I’m willing to bet that he’s still somewhere here on the estate, hiding.’

‘If he had any sense, he’d have hidden in the castle where it’s nice and warm,’ said Angela, and Gertie paused uncertainly.

‘I say, I never thought of that,’ she said. ‘Do you really think he might be there?’

‘There would be less chance of him dying of cold if he were,’ said Angela, ‘although of course there’s always the risk that he might be caught.’

Gertie looked towards the barn in the distance and then back towards the castle.

‘Well, we’ve come all this way,’ she said. ‘We may as well carry on.’

They did so, crunching across the field towards the little group of outbuildings, which stood about a quarter of a mile away by the side of a small patch of woodland. There were no footprints but their own in the meadow, so if the murderer had escaped that way then he must have done so while it was still snowing.

As they approached the barn, they glanced at each other and with one accord slowed their pace and lowered their voices.

‘Look!’ said Angela suddenly.

‘Footprints!’ hissed Gertie.

From the look of the snow outside the barn, it was evident that someone had been there, for several sets of footprints led into and out of the building. Going away from it, the tracks led in more than one direction, but most of them headed towards the little pine wood nearby. Angela crouched down and examined them briefly, then held up one finger to Gertie to indicate that they all belonged to the same person. She looked about her; there was no sign or sound of anyone nearby.

Gertie pointed into the barn with an inquiring expression. Angela shrugged and brought out the revolver. She placed her finger over her lips and together they peered through the slightly open door. The barn was perhaps half-full of baled hay, all piled high in a single mound. The two women crept as silently as possible around the stack, looking about them carefully, but there was no-one to be seen.

‘There’s nobody here,’ said Gertie at last. ‘He must have left before we arrived.’

‘He
was
here, though,’ said Angela. ‘Look—he made himself a bed.’

It was true: a heap of loose hay on the floor before them indicated that someone had attempted to make himself comfortable and ward off the cold.

Gertie shivered.

‘He must have been freezing,’ she said. ‘I wonder who he was.’

‘Whoever it was, he’s been wandering around Fives since yesterday, at least,’ said Angela.

‘How do you know?’

‘From his boots. It’s the same man Gus and Bobby and I were following yesterday,’ said Angela. ‘I recognized the footprints. The right boot has a nail stuck in it.’

‘Well, that seems to fit,’ said Gertie after a moment’s thought. ‘He first tried to get in on Friday and was chased off by MacDonald. Then he came back yesterday along the path from the village, and this time got into the castle and was seen by Bobby while he was wandering around. He shot Klausen and dumped his body in the chest, then escaped across the meadow while it was still snowing and decided to shelter here for the night and escape the next day.’

‘If he’s a stranger, then I wonder how he knew where to put the body,’ said Angela.

‘Oh, he probably wandered around looking for somewhere likely, and finally happened upon the chest,’ said Gertie. ‘It was just unfortunate for him that we happened to be hiding in the cupboard.’

‘Ye-es,’ said Angela doubtfully. She was just about to say something else when there was a sudden noise behind them like a gasp, and they whirled round to find themselves face-to-face with the most extraordinary apparition. It was dark and dishevelled, with wild hair sticking out from under a filthy deer-stalker. A muffler covered the lower part of its face, leaving only a pair of wide eyes visible, and its grubby, crumpled clothes were covered in bits of hay.

‘Oh!’ said Gertie.

The apparition recovered immediately from its shock and darted out of the barn.

‘Quick! After him!’ said Angela.

Gertie needed no prompting: she was already halfway to the door. They emerged into the daylight, squinting, and looked about them breathlessly.

‘There he is!’ cried Gertie, and was off like a shot, following the man as he stumbled as fast as he could across the meadow. Angela thrust her gun into her pocket and set off too, describing a large arc in an attempt to cut off his escape. She was too late, for he looked behind him and saw what they were doing. He immediately changed direction and headed to his left, back towards the castle. He reached the stile they had just crossed and vaulted over it, Gertie following not far behind.

‘Stop!’ she cried, but he paid no heed. Instead of running back in the direction of the castle, however, he followed the fence to the left, his objective apparently the wood behind the barn. Gertie followed doggedly but he was gaining on her little by little. Soon he would be lost in the trees.

Angela, meanwhile, had seen what he was doing, and doubled back, intending to enter the wood from the other side and perhaps cut off his escape that way. She reached the barn and stopped for a second to get her breath back. There was no sense in wearing herself out in useless pursuit of a quarry who was undoubtedly faster than her, and so she stood there for a few moments, thinking and listening. She heard Gertie shouting something; the noise seemed to be coming from behind her, so she crept to the back of the building to try and see what was happening. Here, the fence ran between the barn and the pine wood. Angela was over it in a moment, listening and watching. All was silent, save for the hoarse ‘raark’ of a crow in the distance and the whistling of the wind in her ears. He must be hiding in the wood.

Quietly, stealthily, she stepped forward, taking her gun out of her pocket again as she did so. Here, under the shelter of the trees, the snow lay less thickly on the ground, but even so it was still difficult to move without making a sound. But if she was making a noise then so must he be. She cocked the revolver and edged forward cautiously, glancing about her as she did so. It was all very well having a gun, but he almost certainly had one too, and the last thing she wanted was to make a target of herself. Suddenly, there was a flapping of wings and a cracking of twigs as a bird took flight with a great commotion, and Angela whirled around with a little gasp of fright. Quickly, she slipped behind a tree and looked towards the source of the noise. What had scared the bird away? She decided to find out. Taking a circuitous route, she quickly reached the spot she was aiming for and paused, taking cover behind a small, bushy-branched pine. Then her heart nearly leapt out of her mouth, for her knee bumped against something soft which gave a muffled shriek and jumped to its feet in front of her. Angela raised her gun in panic, but then lowered it immediately and lifted her eyes to the heavens, breathing deeply to calm herself.

‘Damn you, Angela,’ whispered Gertie in relief. ‘I almost died of fright!’

But Angela had placed her finger over her lips and was indicating a spot a few yards ahead. There, with his back to them, was their quarry. He was crouched down in the shelter of some bushes, and was evidently under the impression that his pursuers were somewhere in front of him. Angela and Gertie exchanged glances and crept across to him.

‘Don’t move,’ said Angela sharply.

The man started and turned, and would almost certainly have attempted to run off had he not seen the lethal-looking pistol that was being pointed at his head by the taller of his two pursuers.

‘Don’t shoot me!’ he cried in terror. ‘Gertie, it’s me!’

He pulled down the muffler that covered the lower part of his face and Gertie gave an exclamation.

‘St. John!’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’