Death on Allhallowe’en (4 page)

‘But if it struck the tiles it could scarcely have been aimed at you, surely?'

‘I didn't wait to think of that. Mine was the normal reaction. Someone was shooting, and I expected the shots would get me.'

‘Why?' asked Carolus.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Why? Why should you think someone was shooting at you?'

This seemed rather to floor Connor Horseman.

‘What would anyone think? What would you think? There wasn't a soul about…'

‘So far as you knew. It was a dark night.'

‘But there was a light in a ground-floor window of Chimneys.'

‘You noticed that?'

‘Yes. Just before the shot. It was very bright, though some kind of thin curtains were drawn. I see nothing odd in my behaviour. The natural reaction was to hurry on. I can't move very fast—lost a leg in the war—but I didn't waste time, I can tell you.'

'You weren't expecting it?'

‘That, if I may say so, Mr Deene, is a very silly question. Of course I wasn't expecting it.'

Unruffled, Carolus asked, ‘You can't think of anyone who might want to take a pot at you?'

‘Why on earth would they? I have no enemies that I know of.'

‘Yet your first words were “Someone tried to shoot me.” They do rather suggest that you thought the shot was meant for you.'

‘I suppose I did at the time. I see now that, since it hit the roof, it couldn't have been aimed at me. What possible motive could anyone have?'

‘You don't think it could have been a warning of some kind?'

‘No. I do not,' said Horseman curtly.

Carolus spoke seriously.

‘Mr Horseman, we have only just met and you evidently don't like my questioning you. Please believe that I am doing my best to help you and John. I must say frankly that I think you know some reason why that shot was fired. I do beg you to tell me what you know. I believe I can help you and I believe you need my help. After all, there's nothing the police can do. A shot fired at a house roof won't mean much to them, you see. It could have a hundred fairly innocent explanations even if they find out who fired it. But in the light of certain other things which we know about, it may have vital significance. And I mean vital. Won't you please tell me all you know?'

‘I know nothing. There may be, as you say, a hundred explanations. But I certainly can't think of anyone, here or elsewhere, with a motive for shooting at me. If whoever it was did shoot at me.'

‘Then there's nothing more to be said.'

‘Oh, yes, there is. You haven't heard the whole story. Soon after I started running I heard someone following me. Someone who could run fast. He came up with me and I should have
known by the voice who it was if I had not seen enough to recognise him. It was Charlie Sloman.'

‘I've told you about him,' put in John to Carolus. ‘The wild boy of the village.'

Horseman continued.

‘He's not a bad lad. I've taken a bit of interest in him. Lent him one or two books. Tried to get him to do a job of some sort. I think in his dizzy way he appreciates it. I wouldn't have been surprised to see him there at any other time. He's always wandering about at night. Perhaps he's not quite right in the head, poor boy, though in some ways he's very intelligent. And I have never known him behave really badly.'

‘Why had he run after you?'

‘I don't know. What he said was—“Are you all right, Major Horseman?” I said I was and asked why he had followed me. He just said, “I heard the shot,” then turned and ran back the way we had come. What do you make of that?'

‘The simplest thing. He wanted to know if you
were
all right.'

‘Obviously. But did he have anything to do with the shooting?'

‘I should have to know a lot more before making a guess at that. Things you decline to tell me.'

John, as peacemaker, interrupted.

‘Connor's not a man to have enemies,' he told Carolus. ‘Quite the contrary. He's very much liked around here.'

Horseman seemed to cheer up and be more his hail-fellow-well-met self.

‘Yes, I think you've got me wrong, old chap,' he said to Carolus. ‘You detectives see sinister things where none exist.'

If there was one thing Carolus disliked more than being called a detective it was being addressed as ‘old chap'. But he said nothing more for a time.

The thing is,' Horseman said brightly to John, ‘do we go on with the dance, or don't we?'

‘Of course,' said John, smiling. ‘Let joy be unconfined. We may all be imagining things. The youngsters want it, anyway.
They have their own band,' he added to Carolus.

‘And a jolly good one,' said Horseman. ‘The Sarawaks.'

‘Why not The Warlocks? Or The Fetisheers?' suggested Carolus.

Horseman smiled.

‘Or The Necromancers. Or The Hoodooists. They're good fellows, though, and really enjoy themselves.'

But Carolus had another shot in his locker.

‘I read your book on Mathew Hopkins,' he lied. ‘You seem to have made quite a study of witchcraft. Have you found anything to interest you in Clibburn?'

Horseman laughed.

‘Oh, come now. My book was a serious consideration of the subject. I'm not interested in poor Alice Murrain with her love potions. Anything here is old-fashioned “wise woman” stuff.'

‘Weren't Mathew Hopkins's poor old women much the same?'

‘Yes, but people believed in them then.'

‘And they don't now?'

‘Of course not. It's a joke.'

‘I hope you're right,' said Carolus seriously.

‘You don't mean to say you believe in all that stuff?'

‘I don't believe in what is called the supernatural. The word is a contradiction in terms. Supernatural to me means simply hitherto unexplained.'

‘Too deep for me, I'm afraid.'

‘But I do believe,' Carolus continued unperturbed, ‘that there are people whose faith in such things makes them act in wholly illogical and sometimes criminal ways. There have been cases of human sacrifice quite recently. One should never underrate the power of a religion which to oneself may make nonsense.' He turned to John Stainer. ‘Yes, John, I am converted to your view. There is evil of a certain kind in this community. I should like to stay here till I learn what it is and attack it at the roots if I can.'

‘Good for you,' said John.

'And I would like to make a last appeal to you, Horseman, to help me by telling me what you know.'

‘Oh, Lord. That again. There's nothing,' said Horseman angrily. ‘Do you think I'm a liar?'

‘Since you ask me I'm afraid that in this matter I do.'

‘Carolus!' said John unhappily.

‘That's all right, Rector. I asked for it. Perhaps you think I'm making up the story of a shot?'

‘We'll soon clear that up,' said John decisively. He was evidently glad to do something to relieve the tension.

The others watched him go to the telephone and dial a number.

‘Mr Murrain? Yes, good evening. I'm sorry to bother you with what is probably unimportant, but did you hear a shot somewhere near your house tonight?
No?
About six, it would have been. You heard nothing?'

Horseman stood up.

‘Let me speak to him. He's lying,' he said excitedly as he grabbed the instrument.

‘Murrain? This is Horseman. You remember meeting me this evening? You
don't?
But you spoke to me. A few yards from your house. Are you daring to suggest that I'm mistaken? You said, “Good evening, Major Horseman,” and some moments after that a shot was fired. What the hell do you mean delusions? I don't have delusions. Your wife would have heard it? I don't know anything about that. She may not have been at home for all I know. But there was certainly a shot. It hit your roof.' There was a pause. ‘Very well. I shall go to the police about this. We'll see who's lying then.'

He slammed the receiver down.

‘What a liar! He must have heard it. He can only have been a few yards away. There
was
a shot.'

‘I've never had the slightest doubt of it,' said Carolus calmly.

‘Then why did you call me a liar?'

‘It wasn't on the question of whether or not there was a shot.

What I disbelieved was that you cannot account for it.'

‘I'm afraid I'm on Connor's side over this, Carolus. I'm sure if he knew of any explanation he'd tell you.' John sounded worried.

‘I hope so. Have you any crack shots in the village?'

‘I suppose I'm stupid,' said John. ‘But I can't think that a crack shot would have hit the roof at a few yards—whatever he was aiming at.'

‘No. But have you?'

‘There's Drummer Sloman. That's Charlie's elder brother. He has the reputation of being able to hit anything at any range. Exaggerated, of course. But I believe he is pretty deadly. As you know, I don't like shooting. As a so-called sport, I mean. Birds have a right to their lives. On the other hand, Drummer's a sensible boy. He wouldn't pot at Murrain's roof for no reason.'

‘Or miss anything at a few yards.'

‘Not if he could see it. It was very dark tonight.'

‘You're both forgetting something,' said Carolus. ‘The fight was on in a downstairs window of Chimneys. Is there a hedge in front of the house?'

‘No. A low brick wall.'

‘Then someone passing that window would be seen plainly in outline from the churchyard. For a moment or two, I mean.'

‘By Jove, I believe he's right!' exclaimed Horseman. ‘But why didn't he hit me, then?'

‘First we have no reason to suppose it was Drummer Sloman. It might have been anyone who wanted to kill you. Or give you a warning.'

‘That brings us back to square one.'

‘Exactly.'

Mrs Lark looked in.

‘Sorry I forgot the tray,' she said, smiling. ‘Will Mr Horseman be staying for sup?'

Horseman stood up.

'No, thanks, Mrs Lark,' he said. ‘I must be running along. Sorry to have stayed so long, Rector.'

‘I hear you've had a bit of a shimozz this evening,' Mrs Lark said to Horseman.

‘There you are! Right round the village at once! What did you hear, Mrs Lark?'

‘Only that you accused Mr Murrain of shooting at you when he's never fired a gun in his life.'

‘This is preposterous! Who told you this?'

‘It was Lucy Smith, if you want to know. She happened to be round at Chim when you rang up. It's what she said, anyway. But she's rather a girl for a bit of scan, I'm afraid.'

‘She certainly is. Good night, John. I'm glad you agree about the dance. Good night, Deene.'

‘You'd better let me run you home,' said Carolus. ‘My car's outside.'

Horseman seemed to hesitate, then said, ‘Very kind of you, but it won't be necessary. I live only ten minutes away. We mustn't make too much of this. I don't feel in the least bit threatened, or anything.'

To prove it he swung out of the front door and down the drive unconcernedly.

‘You dislike him, don't you?' said John when they had returned to the fire.

‘I distrust him. Was he in the Regular Army?'

‘No. Major was his wartime rank.

‘I thought so, said Carolus and turned to another subject. ‘Why is the older Sloman called Drummer?'

‘Oh, that. He doesn't play the drums and he wasn't in the Army. But drummer is the country name for ferret. I told you he was a sportsman.' John gave a hostile emphasis to the word. ‘That's how he got the name, I understand.'

‘A good lad?'

‘Apart from his cruel habits with nets and guns and wires, I dare say he's all right. The two brothers are certainly devoted. They live alone with their widowed mother. I prefer
the wild Charlie to Drummer, but there's nothing against either of them.'

‘What is Drummer's job?'

‘Among others, he's a gamekeeper. Xavier Matchlow has some shooting outside the village—known as Kirby Woods. He employs Drummer to look after it. It appears that
he's
fond of shooting, too. Whether Drummer poaches more game than he looks after I don't know. But he's never been in trouble for poaching.'

‘I'm going to call on the Murrains,' said Carolus over breakfast.

‘In the morning? They will think you're an opinion pollster or something.'

‘I don't want any false pretences. This is not exactly a social call. Besides, if information spreads as quickly as you say, they'll already know who I am.'

He found Chimneys to be a four-square early Victorian or late Regency house, having a porch with two rotund pillars in the centre, and two windows on each side. There were trees behind the house but none between it and the road. Among the bright pink council houses of the village it had a somewhat faded and out-of-date look without the grace of a Georgian exterior.

A wide brick-paved path led to the front door and an iron handle set a spring-bell ringing somewhere in the rear portion of the house.

Carolus was prepared for most eventualities and was amused at what happened. The door began to move noiselessly inward with no sign of human agency. When it was fully open, revealing a rather mean staircase rising straight ahead of him, a woman's deep voice called, ‘Come in, Carolus Deene.'

Carolus, who considered this sort of thing an insult to his intelligence, replied cheerfully, ‘Thank you, Mrs Murrain.' Then he forcefully swung the door towards him revealing, as he anticipated, Gerald Murrain standing behind it.

'Call that a conjuring trick?' he said. ‘Remind me some time to show you how to make a door jump off its hinges and do a
pas seul
round the garden.'