A Blunt Instrument (13 page)

"It might be very interesting to me," interposed the Sergeant.

"You're wrong," Neville said. "It looks to you as though someone climbed over the wall, using the espalier as a foothold, doesn't it?"

"Yes," replied the Sergeant. "It looks remarkably like that to me."

"You're jolly clever," said Neville, "because that's exactly what did happen."

"It did, did it?" The Sergeant eyed him with acute suspicion. "Are you trying to get funny with me, sir?"

"No, I wouldn't dare. You mightn't think it, but I'm frightened of you. Don't be misled by my carefree manner: it's a mask assumed to hide my inward perturbation."

"That I might believe," said the Sergeant grimly. "But I'd like to hear a little more about this branch. Who climbed over the wall?"

"Oh, I did!" replied Neville, with his seraphic smile. "When?"

"The night my uncle was murdered." He observed the Sergeant's expression, and said: "I can see you think there's a catch coming, and, of course, if your mind is running on the murder, there is. I climbed over the wall when everyone, including the policeman parked in the hall, thought I'd gone to bed. Oh, and I climbed out of my bedroom window as well. I'll show you."

"Why?" demanded the Sergeant.

Neville blinked at him. "Policeman in the hall. I didn't want him to know I was going out. It would have put unsuitable ideas into his head - same sort of ideas that you're toying with now, which all goes to show that policemen have very dirty minds. Because I'm innocent. In fact, I had to go and confer with an accomplice."

"You… Now, look here, sir!"

Sally interrupted to say: "I hand it to you; you're as clever as stink, Neville."

"Don't be coarse, precious: the Sergeant isn't mealymouthed, but he doesn't like to hear young women being vulgar."

"What I'd like to hear," said the Sergeant, "is the truth of this story you're trying to gammon me with!"

"Of course you would," said Neville sympathetically. "And just because I like you, I'll tell you. I went round by stealth to tell Mrs. North that my uncle had been murdered."

The Sergeant's jaw dropped. "You went round to tell - And why, may I ask?"

"Well, obviously it was important to her to know, on account of her sordid financial transactions with Uncle Ernie," explained Neville.

"So you knew about that, did you, sir?"

"Yes, didn't I make that clear? I was her accomplice."

"And a damned bad one!" struck in Sally.

"She shouldn't have bullied me into it. I don't wonder you look surprised, Sergeant. You're perfectly right, it wasn't in my line at all. However, I did try to make my uncle disgorge the IOUs. That's what Simmons meant when he told you that he heard my uncle telling me to go to hell, before dinner." He paused, watching the Sergeant through his long lashes. "You know, you're awfully quick," he told him. "I can see that you've hardly finished thinking that that gives me a motive for having committed the murder, before your mind has grasped the flaw in that theory. Not, mind you, that I could have got hold of those IOUs, even if I had murdered my uncle. I haven't actually tried, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't open a safe. Miss Drew could - at least, she says she could, but I noticed that when it came to the point she went to pieces a bit. That's the worst of women: they can never carry anything in their heads. If she had had her criminal notes with her she would have made some very violent stuff which she calls soup, and blown the safe up. You mustn't think I encouraged her, because though I may look effeminate I'm not really, and the sort of primeval crudity which characterises the female mind nauseates me."

The Sergeant, who had listened to this remarkable speech with an air of alert interest, said: "And why, sir, did you think it was so important that Mrs. North should know that your uncle was dead?"

"Well, naturally it was important," said Neville patiently. "You people were bound to discover the IOUs, and if you don't think that their presence in my uncle's safe was extremely incriminating, why on earth did your Superintendent go and grill the poor girl?"

The Sergeant stared at him, unable immediately to think of a suitable rejoinder. He was relieved of the necessity of answering.

"Why boasteth thou thyself in mischief, 0 mighty man?" demanded the condemnatory voice of PC Glass.

Chapter Eight

The Sergeant, who had not heard his subordinate's approach across the lawn, jumped, but Neville proved himself to be Glass's equal by retorting without an instant's hesitation: "Am I a sea or a whale that thou settest a watch over me?"

This question, delivered as it was in a tone of pained surprise, took Glass aback, and had also the effect of warming the Sergeant's heart towards Neville.

Miss Drew said dispassionately: "The devil can quote Scripture for his own use. All the same, that's a jolly good bit. Where did you find it?"

"Job," responded Neville. "I found some other good bits, too, but unfortunately they aren't quite drawingroom."

"Whoso despiseth the Word," announced Glass, recovering from the shock of having been answered in kind, "shall be destroyed!"

"That'll do!" intervened the Sergeant. "You go and wait for me in the drive, Glass!" He waited until the constable had withdrawn, and then said: "Well, sir, you've told me a very straightforward story, but what I'm asking myself is, why didn't you tell it before?"

"You didn't notice the espalier before," said Neville.

"It might be better for you, sir, if you told the truth about your doings on the night of the murder without waiting to be questioned," suggested the Sergeant, with a touch of severity.

"Oh no! You'd have thought it very fishy if I'd been as expansive as all that," said Neville.

Upon reflection, the Sergeant privately agreed with him. However, all he said was that Neville would be wise not to try to be too clever with the police.

"You may be right," answered Neville, "but your Superintendent said that no good would come of my taking the Press to my bosom, and lots of good came of it. I've got my picture in the papers."

"You have?" said the Sergeant, diverted in spite of himself. "What, you're not going to tell me they went and printed all that International spy stuff?"

"No," replied Neville regretfully. "Not that, but one of the eager brotherhood really thought I was the Boots."

Sally gave a crow of mirth. "Neville, is that what you told them? Oh, do let me see your interview!"

"I will, if the Sergeant doesn't mind putting off my arrest for ten minutes."

The Sergeant said: "You know very well I've got nothing to arrest you on, sir."

"But wouldn't you love to do it?" murmured Neville.

"You get along with you, sir," recommended the Sergeant.

To his relief, Neville obeyed his command, linking his arm in Sally's, and strolling away with her towards the house. Out of earshot, she said: "You spilled more than I bargained for."

"Diverting his mind."

"I hope to God you didn't say too much."

"Yes, so do I," agreed Neville. "One comfort is that we shall soon know. How's the heroine of this piece doing?"

"If you mean Helen -'

"I do, darling, and if one of your sisterly fits is coming on, go home and do not bore me with it."

"Gosh, how I do dislike you!" exclaimed Sally.

"Well, you're not singular," said Neville comfortingly. "In fact, I'm getting amazingly unpopular. Aunt Lucy gets gooseflesh whenever she sets eyes on me."

"I'm not surprised. I must say, I think -'

"What compels you?" inquired Neville.

"Oh shut up! I will say that I think it's fairly low of you to get yourself photographed as the Boots. Miss Fletcher's got enough to bear without your antics being added to the rest."

"Not at all," he replied. "My poor aunt was becoming lachrymose, and no pleasure to herself or me. The paper that printed my story, carefully imported into the house by me, has been another of my diversions. Indignation not profitable, but better than aimless woe. How's Helen?"

"She's all right," said Sally, a note of reserve in her voice.

A sleepy but intelligent eye was cocked at her. "Ah, the atmosphere a trifle strained? I wondered why you came round here."

"It wasn't that at all. I wanted to take another look at the lay-out. And I thought it might be a good thing to evaporate for a bit. John's not going up to town till after lunch."

"Don't tell me it's a necking-party!" said Neville incredulously.

She gave a short laugh. "No. But I'm giving it a chance to become one. If only John weren't so - so idiotically unapproachable!"

"These strong men! Oh, do tell me! If it turns out to be John who killed Ernie, do we seek to cover up the evidence of his guilt, or not?"

She did not answer, but, as they reached the drawingroom window, pulled her arm away from his, and said abruptly: "Are you capable of speaking the truth, Neville?"

"Didn't you hear me just now, speaking the truth to the Sergeant?"

"That was different. What I want to know is this, are you in love with Helen?"

"Oh, God give me strength!" moaned Neville. "A chair - brandy - a basin! Romance, as pictured by Sally Drew! Tell me, does anyone really read your works?"

"All very well," said Sally, critically surveying him. "But you're quite a good actor, and I can't get it out of my head that you agreed to try and wrest those IOUs from Ernie. I haven't before seen you falling over yourself to render assistance to people."

"No, darling, and believe me, you won't see it again. Not that I did. If I fell it was because I was pushed. Don't tell me you've inserted this repulsive notion into John's head!"

"I haven't, of course, but I shouldn't be altogether surprised if it were there. I may be wrong, but one thing I do know, and that is that he's being extremely guarded - not to say frozen."

"You'd be guarded if you looked like being pinched for murder."

She let her monocle drop. "Neville, do you think there's a danger of that?"

"I do, of course. What is more, I don't think that the further instalment of Helen's adventures on the fatal night are going to be as helpful to John as she no doubt felt they would be."

"No," said Sally bluntly. "Nor do I. If she'd only keep her mouth shut . By the way, John doesn't know anything about her second interview with the Superintendent, so don't go and let it out!"

"How simple life would be without friends! Why, in the name of all that's feeble-minded -'

"Because he'd be bound to ask why she went back to the study, of course, and that would tear the whole thing wide open. She'd have to tell him about the IOUs."

"Let's go and write an anonymous letter to John, divulging the whole story, shall we?" suggested Neville. "It would be a kindness to them both, and I don't in the least mind doing people kindnesses if it doesn't cost me anything."

Sally sighed. "I darned nearly told him myself, when he first arrived. Only Helen was so terrified of his knowing that I didn't. And since then… Oh, I don't know! She may be right. I can't make John out. Neville, what brought him home?"

"Dear heart, will you purge your mind of the belief that I'm good at riddles?"

"He doesn't suspect her of having had an affair with Ernie. Apparently he told her he didn't."

"Well, it's nice to know that he hasn't joined the great majority."

She looked sharply at him. "Is that what people have been thinking? Go on, tell me!"

"People are so lewd," murmured Neville.

"Has there been talk? Much of it?"

"Oh no! Just a little light-hearted gossip to pass the time."

She was silent for a moment, frowning. At last she said: "That's bad. Easily discovered, and saddles John with a motive. If he got wind of that… Hang it, he wouldn't burst home just to bash Ernie on the head! It's archaic."

Neville handed her a cigarette, and lit one himself. "You could work that up into a plausible story if you put your mind to it," he said. "While in Berlin, John heard repercussions of the gossip -'

"Why in Berlin?" she interrupted.

"That I can't tell you. You'll probably be able to think out several attractive answers for yourself. He returned to remonstrate with Ernie -'

"I don't see John remonstrating."

"No, darling; if you'd seen John remonstrating you'd be a suspect yourself."

"What I mean is -'

"We know, we know! Have it your own way! He came home to issue an ultimatum. Ernie got under his skin, and without taking much thought he knocked him on the head."

"Several flaws," said Sally. "Why did he enter by the side gate, if not with malice aforethought?"

"State entry heralded by butler leading to undesirable publicity. Gossip amongst servants, possibility of encountering Aunt Lucy. Lots of answers."

"All right. What did he do with the weapon?"

"Not a fair question. Doesn't apply exclusively to John. Whoever killed Ernie disposed of the weapon with such skill as to provide this case with its most baffling feature."

"Very nice," said Sally. "You've been reading my books. But let me tell you that I'm not a believer in these sudden flashes of brilliance on the part of murderers. When I think out a bit of dazzling ingenuity for my criminal to indulge in, it usually costs me several hours of brain-racking thought."

"The human mind sharpened by fear -'

"Bosh!" said Sally, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette. "In my experience, the human mind, when under the influence of fear, rushes round in frantic circles. No, thanks: that theory doesn't go big with me at all. As I see it, there was one person who had time, motive and opportunity to kill Ernie, and lashings of time in which to dispose of the weapon."

He met her look with a flickering smile, and lifted his hand. "Oh, no! This hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood."

"Round of applause from the gallery. But quotations prove nothing. You could have done it, Neville."

"Oh, but why stop at me? Perhaps Aunty Lucy did it, with one of her Indian clubs. I believe she wields them with considerable vigour."

"Don't be silly. Why should she?"

"Heaven knows. If you don't fancy her, what about Simmons?"

"Again why?"

"And again, Heaven knows. Why leave all the brainwork to me? You think."

"Yes, well, I see very little point in thinking out fantastic motives for Miss Fletcher and Simmons while you're right under my nose, complete with a motive I don't have to hunt for."

He looked bored. "Well, if you're going to make me the favourite, I shall lose all interest. The crime becomes at once pedestrian and commonplace. Oh, here's my poor aunt! Come and help us to solve the mystery, Aunt Lucy. My theory is that you did it."

Miss Fletcher, who had entered the drawing-room, came over to the window, but said in a voice of shocked indignation: "I'm sure I don't know where you get your dreadful tongue from, Neville. It certainly wasn't from your dear father. I know it is only thoughtlessness, but the things you say are in the very worst of bad taste. And you haven't even bought an armband!"

"I know. I thought it would look like the fall from the sublime to the ridiculous if I did," he explained, indicating with a wave of his hand her funereal attire.

"One likes to show respect for the dead," she said. "Oh, Miss Drew, so kind of your sister to send such beautiful flowers!" She pressed Sally's hand, and added: "I expect you must find this all most interesting. I always think it so clever of you to write books. So complicated, too. Not that I've read them, of course. I find I'm too stupid to understand detective stories, but I always put them down on my library list."