The Incident at Fives Castle (An Angela Marchmont Mystery #5) (14 page)

It was growing uncomfortably warm in the drawing-room, and despite everyone’s best efforts, the conversation was flagging. Angela, standing by the window, could feel her limbs growing heavy and had the almost irresistible urge to sit down on a nearby divan and fall into a light doze.

‘Now, Angela, this won’t do,’ she said to herself at last, and decided to go and seek some cooler air. The cold passage outside the drawing-room soon revived her, but she was reluctant to go back in and have to face Eleanor Buchanan’s hostile stares again. She stood there, glancing to the left and right and wondering idly if she might sneak up to bed without being accused of neglecting her social duties. Her mind began to wander over the events of the day, and she wondered if poor Professor Klausen was still in the chest. A poor excuse for a coffin! They would have to bring him out soon, and then she supposed the sombre formalities would begin: the identification, the post-mortem, the inquest, the police presence, the questions, and finally, perhaps, the arrest. But who had done it? Was St. John the man they sought, or was he just an unfortunate scapegoat who happened to have been on the spot at the right time? If not he, then who? Who?

Almost unconsciously she found herself drifting down the passage in the direction of the billiard-room. Once outside the door, she tried it gingerly. It was still locked. Of course it was still locked. What had she hoped to achieve by coming here? Perhaps to get a sense of what exactly had happened last night, when she had hardly been thinking straight. Now her head was clear and she could reflect objectively. Had anybody been thinking clearly today? After all, the situation was hardly a normal one: they were trapped in a castle with no means of communicating with the outside, and perhaps with a murderer in their midst. There were no police to begin an official investigation, and so the people in charge had been left to muddle along as best they could. Henry Jameson struck her as being quite as capable as his brother, but he was only one man and, furthermore, almost certainly had other things on his mind, given the purpose for which most of the male guests had presumably gathered here. He was probably more concerned with the fate of whatever it was Klausen had been carrying with him, than with the identity of the professor’s murderer. Plenty of questions had been asked, but were they the right ones? For example, had anybody thought to investigate where exactly the murder had taken place? Some people seemed to think that the professor might have been shot almost anywhere in the castle, and that the killer had wandered around aimlessly with his body, looking for a hiding-place, but of course that was nonsense. One could not simply carry a corpse about, slung gaily over one’s shoulder, without attracting attention. Dead bodies were heavy, and there had been people about last night. No, of course that was not what had happened. Obviously Klausen had been killed somewhere nearby and then hidden as quickly as possible.

Angela looked about her. To the right of the billiard-room a door opened into the portrait-gallery. She stood in the doorway and looked along it to the other end. It would have been foolish in the extreme for the murderer to come this way, given that it was brightly-lit and had windows on one side which looked onto the garden and the outer door of the ball-room. Had he brought Klausen’s body along here he would have been visible to anyone who happened to be passing outside after the dance. No, that was no good at all. To the left of the billiard-room was the library, which was studiously avoided by most of the family. Angela turned and saw another door in the wall opposite. She opened it and discovered it was a store cupboard, stacked high with pails, brooms and assorted possessions long since forgotten about. It might be big enough to hide a body, but was an unlikely spot for a murder.

It must have taken place in the library, then. Angela hesitated outside the door for a moment, then turned the handle and went in. The room was dim—lit only by a green lamp which stood on a desk nearby. She gazed around at the walls, which were entirely covered with bookshelves. In the far corner was a large globe on a wooden stand. Angela went over to it and spun it gently. As far as she could judge from the countries represented thereon, it appeared to be at least fifty years old. She turned her attention to the books. This section seemed to be devoted to military history. Farther along was a complete set of encyclopaedias. She picked up a volume at random.

‘Bashi-Bazouk—Bashkala,’ she read. ‘Hmm, very helpful.’

She straightened up and turned round, and began to try and picture the scene.

‘Now, what happened, I wonder,’ she said to herself, screwing up her eyes.

But it was no good—it was too dim and she could not see the room clearly enough. No sooner had this thought passed through her mind than there was a click and a light went on. Angela jumped.

‘I suppose I ought to have expected to find you here,’ said Henry Jameson from the doorway. ‘Why didn’t you switch the ceiling light on? You’ll find it much easier to see.’

‘I didn’t think of it,’ said Angela. ‘But thank you—that’s much better.’

‘Is there any use in my asking you nicely to leave the room?’

‘Look here,’ said Angela. ‘You are aware, aren’t you, that practically everyone in the castle knows perfectly well that there’s been a murder?’

‘I suspected they might,’ said Henry with a sigh. ‘It’s almost impossible to keep a secret in a place like this.’

‘Well, then,’ said Angela, ‘what’s the use in sneaking about and pretending nothing’s happened? You may as well come out and admit it at once—that way you can question people quite openly, without having to think up silly reasons why you’re suddenly interested in what they were doing last night.’

‘You’re probably right,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘You’ll have to excuse me—I’m an Intelligence man and I’m not used to telling people things. As you can no doubt imagine, I’ve spent most of my working life trying to do the exact opposite.’

Angela laughed.

‘And of course, politicians are a suspicious lot,’ he continued.

‘Yes, especially of me,’ said Angela dryly.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Common sense,’ she replied. ‘If I were in their position I should suspect me too.’ She did not think it expedient to mention what Aubrey had told her that morning. ‘I know Gabe saw me rooting around in the chest—oh, I quite admit it,’ she said as she saw his look, ‘but it was curiosity rather than guilt that made me do it.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said.

‘I can imagine the conversations you’ve all been having today, asking each other whether I’m to be trusted. You probably told them what you knew about me ten years ago, and then I dare say Aubrey told you that we were once engaged and he would vouch for my honesty, and then someone mentioned that they’d read about me in the newspapers, and someone else wondered what the world was coming to, if women were allowed to go poking their noses into murder cases, and then Lord Strathmerrick probably piped up and said it was a damned nuisance and can we
really
be sure she’s not a spy?’

This was such an accurate summary of the conversation that Henry had to smother a laugh.

‘At any rate,’ continued Angela, ‘I guess I ought to be thankful that St. John turned up this evening and deflected all the attention away from me. But I didn’t do it, I promise you.’

‘Very well, then,’ said Henry. ‘Let’s accept for the moment that you are in no way involved in all this.’

‘Oh, do let’s—just for the moment,’ said Angela slyly.

‘In that case, presumably you have your own ideas as to what
did
happen. You didn’t wander into the library to look for an improving book, I imagine.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Angela. ‘I came here because I assume this is where the professor was killed. That’s why you’re here too, isn’t it? Since the idea of someone carrying his body along miles of corridors to the billiard-room is frankly absurd, it stands to sense that he must have been killed somewhere close by, and as far as I can tell, this is the only room that is suitable.’

Henry nodded in agreement.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think it is.’

‘Then why haven’t you investigated it sooner?’

‘We have had—er—other things to think about,’ he said.

‘Ah, yes, the missing documents,’ said Angela.

‘Now, how in heaven’s name do you know about that?’ said Henry. ‘Don’t tell me you know where they are.’

‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. I don’t even know
what
they are, as a matter of fact, but I can make a pretty good guess.’

‘Very well—tell me what you think they are.’

‘I think they are the practical results of Professor Klausen’s research into radio-activity. I assume he has proved his theories and was coming to tell you all about it.’

‘I didn’t know you took an interest in science, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Henry.

‘I don’t—Clemmie explained it to me.’

‘Does she know about the documents?’ he said half-fearfully.

‘Oh, no,’ she assured him. ‘She doesn’t know anything except that Klausen is dead.’

‘Who else knows about them?’

‘Only Freddy and I,’ she said. ‘And Gertie,’ she added.

‘Gertie!’ he said in horror.

‘But as far as I know, I’m the only one who has deduced what’s in them. I’m right, aren’t I? I can’t think of any other reason why the British and American Governments should be meeting Klausen in secret during the Christmas holidays. He must have finally succeeded in finding a way to obtain energy from atoms and was dying to show you all his research.’

Henry would not confirm it, but he did not deny it either, and Angela guessed she had pretty much hit the nail on the head.

‘So, then,’ she said after a second’s pause, ‘I guess you need to find the papers before the snow melts and they can be smuggled out of the castle.’

‘We do indeed,’ said Henry. ‘I don’t know if you have any idea of just how important they are, Mrs. Marchmont, but let us just say they could mean the difference between peace and war.’

‘Good gracious!’ said Angela. She knew of old that Henry Jameson was not given to exaggeration. If he really believed what he said, then clearly much was at stake. ‘I’m only sorry I can’t help you,’ she said. ‘I rather wish now that I’d peeped through the cupboard door when the mysterious visitor came into the billiard-room. I take it whoever killed Klausen also stole the papers from him, then?’

‘I assume so,’ he replied. He looked at the floor for a moment, as though debating something with himself, then in a rare fit of indiscretion went on, ‘but they’re not the only papers to have gone missing.’

‘Oh?’

Henry looked as though he regretted saying even as much as he had, and Angela had to prompt him to continue. He went on reluctantly:

‘The Foreign Secretary persuaded Klausen to give him a copy of the documents before he arrived, for the purposes of security. They have gone too.’

Angela stared at him.

‘But where were they?’ she asked.

‘Apparently Buchanan kept them locked in a secret compartment of his trunk. Someone broke the lock and made away with them—probably some time last night or today.’

‘Who knew he had them?’

‘That is a very good question, Mrs. Marchmont,’ said Henry. ‘For certain: I, Lord Strathmerrick, the Foreign Secretary, Claude Burford, the Ambassador and Gabe Bradley. Other than that I don’t know. Naturally, everyone denies absolutely having told anybody else about them.’

‘Then either one of you is lying or one of you stole the papers.’

‘That’s about the size of it,’ he agreed.

‘Dear me,’ said Angela, after a pause. ‘Things aren’t going well for you, are they? If you don’t want all this to get out you have to solve the murder
and
find the two sets of missing documents before the snow melts and the police start tramping all over the place and getting cosy with the newspapers.’

Henry grimaced at the mention of the newspapers.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be big news, all right. I only hope we can keep a lid on the part about the missing documents, in the national interest. Your reporter friend, Freddy, now—do you suppose he can be trusted?’

‘Occasionally,’ said Angela without thinking, then went on hurriedly as she saw his alarm, ‘Yes, I think he can in matters of this sort, but you’d do better to ask him outright. He’s not a bad boy, really.’

‘I shall speak to him, then, and impress upon him how important it is that as little as possible gets into the papers.’

‘If you give him first go at whatever
can
be published then I’m sure he’ll be as silent as the grave on everything else,’ said Angela.

‘And what about you, Mrs. Marchmont? Shall you be as silent as the grave, too?’ said Henry with a meaningful glance at her.

Angela smiled at him.

‘Mr. Jameson, you trusted me once, ten years ago, when I was young and untried,’ she said. ‘It was a risk then. I should like you to take that risk again. I don’t like murder, and I’m as keen as you are to see that whoever killed Klausen is brought to justice and that his life’s work is kept safe. I’d like to help you if you’ll let me. Besides,’ she went on in a more practical tone, ‘what have you got to lose? I don’t suppose the situation could get any worse if it tried. The professor is already dead and the papers are already missing. What else could go wrong?’