They Found Him Dead (20 page)

The sergeant nodded wisely. "I've seen 'em like that often. What's more, I'd as soon handle a nest of wild cats."

Hannasyde smiled but said: "Oh, she seems quite reasonable. Did it strike you that Oscar Roberts was keeping anything back, Hemingway?"

"No," replied the sergeant, looking interested. "Got something on him?"

"Oh no, not that! But apparently he's seen fit to warn James Kane that he may be the next victim."

"Paul Mansell!" said the sergeant instantly. "Now I come to think of it, he did drop a hint we'd do well to keep an eye on Pretty Paul. Said he was anxious to cooperate with us too. Funny what a lot of people you meet who fancy themselves as detectives."

"Well, I don't know," said Inspector Carlton. "He didn't strike me as being a know-all, not Mr. Roberts. Come to think of it, he may see a bit more than what we do, not being official."

"That's always possible," agreed Hannasyde. "I'll have a talk with him."

His talk with Oscar Roberts, however, was not productive of very much. Roberts admitted that he had let drop a word of warning in Jim's ear, but when Hannasyde asked him what grounds he had for thinking a warning necessary, he hesitated for a moment and then looked frankly at Hannasyde and said with the shadow of a smile: "I'd like you to get this, Superintendent: it's not my intention to hold out on you. If I were to stumble on something that might help you, believe me, I'd be right along at the police station with it."

"Very kind of you," said Hannasyde. "It would certainly be your duty. Am I to understand that you had no grounds for warning Mr. Kane that his life might be in danger?"

"Call it a hunch. And maybe I'm wrong at that."

"Oh, a hunch!" Hannasyde said, an inflexion of contempt in his voice.

Roberts' smile broadened. "I kind of figured you'd feel that way about it, Superintendent, which is why I kept my mouth shut. I don't know what you think of the case, but to my mind, when two men who don't see eye to eye with their partners die within a fortnight of each other, it's time to sit up and look around."

Hannasyde said dryly: "I think I ought to warn you, Mr. Roberts, that that kind of innuendo, unsupported by evidence, is actionable."

"Sure," agreed Roberts amiably. "Go right along and tell Mr. Paul Mansell I said it, if you wish, Superintendent. Maybe he'll bring an action against me. And maybe he won't."

This enigmatic remark rather annoyed Hannasyde, who told his sergeant later, with unaccustomed acerbity, that he hoped Timothy Harte and Oscar Roberts between them would succeed in clearing up the case for him.

"I don't know about Terrible Timothy," replied Hemingway; "but it's my belief Roberts is a downy bird. Give him his due, he was onto old man Silas having been pushed off the cliff from the start."

"So he says. We've no proof that Silas Kane was murdered."

"That's true," conceded the sergeant. "Of course, if Lady Harte shot Clement, it looks as though the old man wasn't murdered. If you were to ask my opinion, I should say that this case is my idea of a mess. However, I'll see what I can get out of Master Jim's faithful nanny."

"James Kane was out joy-riding in that speedboat of his today," said Hannasyde inconsequently.

"Well, it may be his idea of pleasure. It wouldn't be mine," said the sergeant. "What with camels and speedboats, they seem to me an unnatural lot. There's some sort of a motorboat race billed to take place in Portlaw this month. Young Timothy tells me his brother's entered for it, so I dare say he'll be cavorting about in that boat of his a good bit."

"Either he has an easy conscience or a cast-iron nerve," said Hannasyde. "I'm not sure which."

"Bit of both," said the sergeant. "Gets it from his mother, I expect. Most mothers 'ud try and stop him monkeying around with racing boats and cars, and I don't know what besides; but according to what young Timothy tells me, there's nothing her ladyship likes better than watching her sons get up to dangerous tricks."

He was only partly right, for Lady Harte, hearing of the forthcoming race from Timothy, said that she was glad Jim was going to have some amusement after the stress of the past few days, but she wished he were a stronger swimmer.

Timothy, though offended with Jim for not having taken him out in the boat, never let anyone but himself criticise the paragon, so he said perfunctorily: "Oh, he can swim all right, Mother!"

"All right!" said Lady Harte with great energy. "I want my sons to do everything well! Always remember, Timothy, that mediocrity is fatal! Whatever you do, you must make up your mind to excel at it. Look at me!"

Jim came into the room at that moment and, hearing, only the last part of this invigorating speech, promptly asked: "What for, Ma?"

"Success!" answered Lady Harte. "I've always succeeded because I make it my business to do everything thoroughly. I hate half-measures. It's about your speedboat. You ought to be able to swim."

"But I can swim!"

"Not nearly well enough," said his mother sternly. "There's a tide race here too. Not that I wish to keep you tied to my apron strings, for I don't. Did you want me for anything in particular, darling? I shall be down as soon as I've sorted this collection."

"Yes," said Jim firmly. He cast an eye over the chaos reigning in the room and added: "You'd better let one of the skivvies put all this junk away."

"Look here, are you going to take me with you when you try the
Seamew
out properly, or aren't you?" demanded Timothy belligerently.

"I'm not. I'll take you some other time."

"Well, I call it absolutely rotten of you! I bet I can handle her as well as you can, what's more!"

"Clear out now! I want to have a chat with Mother. You've had your innings."

"I don't see why, just because you——"

Mr. James Kane interrupted this speech by advancing purposefully upon his young relative. Mr. Harte retreated in good order, promising vengeance.

Jim shut the door upon him. "Getting altogether too uppish. Can you bear a shock, Mother?"

Lady Harte looked up from the task of stowing clothes away haphazard in a large chest of drawers and stared at him with foreboding in her eyes. "You're engaged to be married!"

He laughed, his brows lifting in surprise. "How did you know? Quite right."

"Of course I'm right! What else could it be? Who is it?"

"It's Patricia Allison."

For a moment she seemed puzzled; then her brow cleared. "Do you mean Aunt Emily's secretary, or whatever she calls herself?"

"Yes."

"Oh, that's not so bad!" said Lady Harte, relieved. "I was afraid you were going to say it was that towheaded little fool Adrian and I disliked so much. Patricia Allison! From what I remember, there's no silly nonsense about her. I always like these girls who do something, even if it's only looking after Aunt Emily. What I can't stand is a parasite. I hope she won't encourage you to live a life of idleness now you've come into all this money."

"I think I'm going to take an intelligent interest in netting."

Lady Harte said despairingly: "How I could ever have given birth to a son with so little ambition passes my comprehension! When I think what you might do——"

"But, darling, I hate travel!" objected Jim. "Can I bring Patricia in to see you?"

"Very well; but you know I don't get on with modern girls," said Lady Harte gloomily.

However, when Patricia presently came into the room, looking very cool and charming in a severe linen coat and skirt, her future mother-in-law said approvingly: "That's what I call a sensible kit. I hate frills and furbelows. Jim tells me you are going to be married. I should think you'll suit one another very well. It's always been my dread that he might marry something out of a tobacconist's shop, so you can imagine what a relief it is to me to know he's had the sense to choose a really nice girl. Not that I'm a snob, but there are limits, and young men are such fools."

"I know," said Patricia. "It's nice of you to take it like that. I was afraid you might feel that he could have done a lot better for himself."

Lady Harte seemed to find this amusing. She gave her jolly laugh and said that she had no use for pampered young women who had nothing to do except lacquer their fingernails and drink too many cocktails.

While Patricia sorted and put away her scattered belongings she walked up and down the room, energetically planning a useful future for her elder son and laying her commands upon Patricia not to allow him to fritter away his time either in money grubbing or more frivolous pursuits.

By lunchtime she was on the best of terms with Patricia and had even favoured her with a brief sketch of her own (parliamentary) plans. She evinced not the smallest interest in the shocking events that had taken place at Cliff House during the preceding fortnight, and Patricia, feeling that Jim's mother was hardly the person in whom to confide fears for his safety which might, after all, be groundless, made no attempt to talk to her on the subject.

At the luncheon table Lady Harte dominated the company. She ate casually of any dish that happened to be placed in front of her and described in trenchant yet picturesque terms the adventure she had lately been through. Emily, who liked hearing about foreign lands, listened to her with a good grace, only interrupting her occasionally to say either that she had never heard of such a thing, or that she had no patience with such outlandish ways.

On Norma's proposed excursion into the realm of politics she spoke with vigour and decision, condemning it from the outset as ridiculous nonsense and announcing that she didn't know what the world was coming to. Norma then delivered a stern lecture on her responsibilities as a citizen, and the lunch party came to an end without anyone having mentioned murders, clues or policemen—a change which Miss Allison at least felt to be an advantage.

The news of Lady Harte's spectacular arrival at Cliff House reached the offices of Kane and Mansell within two hours of her taxi's return to Portlaw. The taxi driver described it, with humorous embellishments, to a man selling newspapers, who passed it on in due course to a junior clerk, who retailed it to his senior, who thought proper to mention it to Joe Mansell. Joe, surprised, told his son over the lunch table. Paul Mansell, stirring his coffee, said reflectively: "Oh!—— That's funny. Dam' funny."

Joe cast a quick look at him and then averted his eyes. "She's a very unaccountable woman, Norma Harte—very. Of course, she may have heard of Silas' death."

"Wonder if she had anything to do with Clement's death?" said Paul. "Violent sort of female, what?"

Joe stirred restlessly in his chair. "Really, my boy, really!"

"Well, I don't know," pursued Paul, watching his parent's discomfort with rather a mocking expression in his eyes. "Seems to me she might well be the guilty party. Rather a good shot, isn't she?"

Joe set his coffee cup down. "Now, look here, Paul!" he said in an angry undertone; "I'll tell you something! You make a great mistake to talk like that—a very great mistake! There's nothing looks worse than trying to cast the blame onto someone else!"

"Someone else?" repeated Paul lifting his brows.

"Well, you know what I mean! The less you say, the better. This is a very nasty business. I—upon my soul, it's taken years off my life! I've never been through such a fortnight, never!"

Paul leaned back in his chair, smiling and keeping his eyes, under their drooping lids, fixed maliciously on his father's face. "I do believe you think I killed Clement!" he said softly.

"You know very well I think nothing of the sort! I wish you wouldn't talk in that silly way. It's folly, rank folly! Of course, I know you wouldn't dream—good God, the very idea is preposterous! There's no need to discuss it. All I mean is that most unfortunately you've no alibi—that is, you can't prove an alibi—for the time of poor Clement's death. The police are bound to be suspicious of you. Well, they are suspicious: no use blinking facts."

"I'm not afraid. It's you who seem to have got cold feet. The police can't prove a thing against me. You needn't worry, Dad."

"I am worrying!" Joe said with suppressed violence. "You don't seem to realise what a ghastly business this is. Silas and Clement both gone within a fortnight."

Paul shrugged nonchalantly, took out his thin gold cigarette case, and opened it. "Speaking for myself, I don't look on their deaths as much loss," he drawled.

For a moment Joe did not answer. Then he said in a low voice: "Sometimes, Paul, you seem to me to be utterly callous! How you can sit there and say such a thing of two men you've known from the day you were born——"

"Oh Lord, don't pull out the pathetic stop, Dad!" Paul interrupted. "You know dam' well you agree with me."

"I deny that—I utterly deny that! I had the greatest regard for them. Silas was my oldest friend. Don't you dare say such a thing again! It's—it's an impertinence! A gross untruth!"

"Oh, all right!" replied Paul. "Sorry I spoke!" He tapped a cigarette on his case and put it between his lips. "I suppose you're only too glad to have young Jim Kane all ready to step into Clement's shoes."

"I've nothing against Jim, nothing at all!" Joe said. "He's a very nice boy; but of course as for his knowing anything about the business—well, that's absurd, and he'll be the first to realise it. If he likes to learn it, I shall be only too glad to help him and teach him the ins and outs of it. I don't anticipate that he'll be anything more than a sleeping partner, actually, but——"