Murder on Safari (22 page)

223

Vachell extracted a cigarette from a tin in his pocket, lit it, and rearranged his long, bony body against the hard tent-pole. He wished he wasn’t aching in quite so many places.

“Okay,” he said.” I guess you realize that, aside from Geydi, there are just three people in this outfit who have no alibi for the time when Lady Baradale was shot?”

“Alibis, young man, are your business — not

mine.”

“I’m afraid, sir, I have to disagree. Those three people are yourself, Luke Englebrecht, and —

your daughter.”

“I suppose you consider this sort of tomfoolery to be your duty,” Lord Baradale said acidly, a dangerous edge in his voice, “but I must ask you to come to the point of this ridiculous performance immediately.”

“Okay. Yesterday you told me that you stopped right here in camp, in your tent, all morning.

Does that statement still stand?”

“Of course it stands, you young ape! Are you

accusing me of telling lies?”

“Yes,” Vachell said, “I am.” He squared his

shoulders and stood upright, staring down at the indignant face of the peer and hurrying on before the storm broke. “And I can prove it right now.

You told me yesterday that you heard two shots, around 11.30 or noon, from beyond the hippo

pool. That was the time you knew the lion got drilled.

That pool is downwind from here, and none

224

of the natives heard those shots. But they did hear a single shot, up-wind of here — Rutley’s shot that hit the buffalo. You didn’t mention that, because you didn’t hear it. And you didn’t hear it because you weren’t here in camp.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Lord Baradale exploded, half rising from the bed. “I’ve never heard such damned ridiculous infernal impertinence in my life, you young puppy! How dare you speak to me like that, sir? I tell you I was here in this tent, developing. How the blazes could I tell which direction the shots came from? And do you think I stood here and counted them? I hardly noticed them. If this is the way you — “

“Just a moment, sir,” Vachell interrupted. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet. There was nothing for it but to try a bluff. “That’s not all. I have two witnesses who saw you leaving this camp shortly after ten o’clock, on foot, with a rifle in one hand and — “

“That’s a lie!” Lord Baradale shouted. “It’s

a damned lie, I tell you! I didn’t have a rifle! I only — “

He broke off abruptly, and a look of consternation spread over his face like a cloud over the sun.

For a moment there was silence in the tent. Lord Baradale’s hand, gripping a cigar, was arrested halfway to his mouth. Then his fleshy face

suddenly crinkled, and a gust of laughter filled the tent. He sat on the bed and shook and spluttered with mirth, his hands on his knees, rocking to and 225

Vachell extracted a cigarette from a tin in his pocket, lit it, and rearranged his long, bony body against the hard tent-pole. He wished he wasn’t aching in quite so many places.

“Okay,” he said.”! guess you realize that, aside from Geydi, there are just three people in this outfit who have no alibi for the time when Lady Baradale was shot?”

“Alibis, young man, are your business — not

mine.”

‘I’m afraid, sir, I have to disagree. Those three people are yourself, Luke Englebrecht, and —

your daughter.”

“I suppose you consider this sort of tomfoolery to be your duty,” Lord Baradale said acidly, a dangerous edge in his voice, “but I must ask you to come to the point of this ridiculous performance immediately.”

“Okay. Yesterday you told me that you stopped right here in camp, in your tent, all morning.

Does that statement still stand?”

“Of course it stands, you young ape! Are you

accusing me of telling lies?”

“Yes,” Vachell said, “I am.” He squared his

shoulders and stood upright, staring down at the indignant face of the peer and hurrying on before the storm broke. “And I can prove it right now.

You told me yesterday that you heard two shots, around 11.30 or noon, from beyond the hippo

pool. That was the time you knew the lion got drilled.

That pool is downwind from here, and none

224

<(T╗.

of the natives heard those shots. But they did hear a single shot, up-wind of here — Rutley’s shot that hit the buffalo. You didn’t mention that, because you didn’t hear it. And you didn’t hear it because you weren’t here in camp.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” Lord Baradale exploded, half rising from the bed. “I’ve never heard such damned ridiculous infernal impertinence in my life, you young puppy! How dare you speak to me like that, sir? I tell you I was here in this tent, developing. How the blazes could I tell which direction the shots came from? And do you think I stood here and counted them? I hardly noticed them. If this is the way you — “

“Just a moment, sir,” Vachell interrupted. He felt the ground slipping from under his feet. There was nothing for it but to try a bluff. “That’s not all. I have two witnesses who saw you leaving this camp shortly after ten o’clock, on foot, with a rifle in one hand and — “

“That’s a lie!” Lord Baradale shouted. “It’s

a damned lie, I tell you! I didn’t have a rifle! I only — “

He broke off abruptly, and a look of consternation spread over his face like a cloud over the sun.

For a moment there was silence in the tent. Lord Baradale’s hand, gripping a cigar, was arrested halfway to his mouth. Then his fleshy face suddenly crinkled, and a gust of laughter filled the tent. He sat on the bed and shook and spluttered with mirth, his hands on his knees, rocking to and 225

fro.

“You got me nicely, young man,” he gasped,

rubbing a tear out of one eye. “Yes, that was very neat. I gave myself away properly that time. I congratulate you; that was clever. You’ve earned the truth with that.”

“I shall be glad to have it,” Vachell said dryly.

Lord Baradale took a puff at his cigar and

examined the glowing end. “You shall, you shall,”

he said. “I was perhaps foolish to prevaricate. I made a statement yesterday on the spur of the moment, without, I’m afraid, taking sufficient thought, and I realized too late that I could not go back on it without putting myself in a totally false position. It’s the old story Ч you allow yourself to get rattled, say the first thing that pops into your head, and find yourself plunged into a labyrinth of deception. I owe you an apology.”

“I’d prefer a statement.”

“All right , all right. I went down to the hippo pool yesterday morning, soon after ten, with my 16-millimetre cine-Kodak. I’ve got a hide down there, you know, and I wanted to do some work on the hippos. As I took no boy, there was no one to confirm my statement, and I therefore thought it wiser to say nothing of this. It was foolish, perhaps, but I acted on the spur of the moment, and I couldn’t see that it mattered, for I saw or heard nothing at the pool that could possibly have had any bearing on the death of my wife.”

“How long were you down there?”

226

“I was back here about 11.30,1 should think. I didn’t pay any particular attention to the time. I went straight to my tent to develop the films I had just taken, which I was particularly anxious to see, and I was here until after Gordon and de Mare returned. In fact, my original statement deviated very little from the truth. I merely omitted to mention my excursion to the pool Ч shall we put it like that?”

“Quite an omission,” Vachell said.

“Not in the least,” Lord Baradale retorted,

“since it made no difference to the matter in hand.

I repeat, I neither saw nor heard anything unusual at the pool. I was entirely preoccupiied with the hippos.”

“How were the pictures?” Vachell asked.

“Excellent. The best I have obtained, up to

date.”

Vachell walked over to the flap and threw his cigarette out on to the grass. He turned again to Lord Baradale and asked:

“From which side of the pool did you shoot?”

“The hide is on the left bank. Why?”

“You shot the pictures around eleven o’clock?”

Lord Baradale frowned and showed signs of

renewed impatience. “About then, yes. I fail to see the relevance of all this. You must accept my word for my movements, young man; I can’t produce

any witnesses.”

“I guess you can, at that,” Vachell said. He

walked over to one of the tables and turned a reel 227

of movie film over in his hand. “You have your witnesses right here, in among this photographic junk. The hippos you shot at the pool should

confirm your story.”

Lord Baradale stared at Vachell for several

seconds as if he thought the policeman had gone insane, and then brought his hand down on his knee. “By George, you’re right!” he exclaimed.

“You mean the film I took yesterday morning at the pool. Yes, I’ve got it here.”

He jumped to his feet and crossed to a cabinet full of exposed cine-Kodak reels and film packs, and rummaged about in it for several minutes.

Vachell lit another cigarette and watched his back, a slight frown on his face. Lord Baradale stood up, waving a reel triumphantly. “This is it,” he said.

“I can run it through the projector if you like.”

His mood had changed as abruptly as an English day in spring, and now he seemed to be in high good humour.

“Go ahead,” Vachell said.

As soon as Lord Baradale removed one of the

projectors Vachell sank thankfully into the vacated chair and stretched out his weary legs. He felt too tired to make an offer to help. The tent was wired for the projector, and in a short time the stage was set. Lord Baradale propped the screen against the bathroom flap, placed the projector on a table by the opening, connected it, and inserted the film.

“You’re certain about this reel?” Vachell asked.

“You’re sure it’s the one that you shot yesterday 228

morning?”

“Yes, of course,” Lord Baradale replied. “You’ll have to move your chair.”

Vachell placed it on one side of the projector and sat down again. The bulb suspended from the ridge-pole went black, and a white patch of light flickered on to the screen at the other side of the darkened tent. In the silence the whirr of the projector sounded harsh and loud.

Rocks and water sprang into sharp relief on the screen. A grave, spindle-legged bird was standing near the rocks, immobile. The projector whirred, the bird shot out its neck, plunged its beak into the water, and emerged with a wriggling fish. A gulp, and the fish was gone.

“I took some cranes on the first part of this film,” Lord Baradale explained. “Some vulturine guineafowl come next, and then the hippos.”

A column of guineafowl advanced on to the

screen, wagging their tufted heads, and vanished in a cloud of fluttering wings. Then the hippo pool appeared, with a background of dark bush, and long shadows from the trees falling across the water. In the foreground a hippo wallowed in the mud. It thrust its big ungainly head, with pit-like eyes popping out of a protruding forehead, almost directly at the camera. It wore a friendly and selfsatisfied expression. Presently it lumbered out into

deep water, rolling like a tramp steamer, and sank. There were shots of its nostrils protruding above the surface like periscopes, and a final sequ-229

ence of three beasts clambering slowly out of the water and up the muddy bank and, after some

byplay on the top, disappearing into the bush beyond in search of pasture.

The reel clicked to its conclusion and the whirring died. The white screen vanished and the

tent’s interior sprang into life again as the switch went on. Lord Baradale said, a little suavely: “Now I hope you’re satisfied, Mr Vachell.”

“You have a swell picture there,” Vachell said.

“The finished product should be a knock-out. I guess I won’t need to bother you any more.”

Beneath the surface courtesy was a hint of wariness, a sense of words unsaid. Lord Baradale

seemed unexpectedly at a loss. He grunted “good night” and looked uncertainly at Vachell. Both faces were expressionless, with the fixity of masks.

“Good night, sir,” Vachell said. He pulled the flap aside and ducked into the night. It was sharp and fresh after the stuffiness of heated air that had been imprisoned all day beneath two layers of canvas. Stars in their millions glinted coldly overhead.

He walked slowly across the wet grass, thinking of shadows. For in the moving picture that Lord Baradale had shown him, the shadows of the trees by the pool were long, and fell from west to east across the water.

230

FR1;FR2;CHAPTER

TWENTY TWO

Vachell didn’t go to bed at all that night. In spite of an aching weariness, he was uneasy and

apprehensive. Most of the time he sat in the messtent, smoking and turning over the pages of

magazines and occasionally going out into the moonless night to stroll about and make sure that everything was all right. His senses were as taut as an antelope skin pegged out to dry.

At two o’clock he got into one of the cars and bumped over the veldt, scaring nightjars and small buck and a herd of leaping impala, to the airfield.

There was a campfire near the plane, and two

prone log-like forms rolled up in blankets beside it. They were drivers who had been sent down

there to mount guard. They were sleeping so

soundly that Vachell had to tug at the corners of their blankets to wake them. The boys grunted, sat up, and listened silently to the white man’s instructions. One of the two was to be awake and on guard all night, Vachell said, and to watch the 231

plane all the time. They grunted comprehension and threw some more logs on the fire. Vachell doubted, as he drove back, whether his orders would be obeyed.

An hour later storm clouds rolled over the brilliant stars and the darkness grew dense and heavy.

A little later it-started to rain — a heavy, soaking downpour. Vachell went the rounds of the tents, seeing that they were properly secured and weren’t leaking, and found everybody in bed and, apparently, asleep. The beam of his torch caught for a