Chapter 21
Tom came into the library while Ernie Piper was reading back to Alec his shorthand notes of the two doctors’ comments on Lord Gerald.
“You’re doing very well with the medical terminology,” Alec said with approval.
“Once I’ve got it straight, I don’t forget it, Chief. ‘Sides, it’s the same things over and over, isn’t it? Not the oleander poisoning, but strangling and bashing people on the head. Pity more people don’t have heads as hard as this bloke’s.”
“You can say that again,” Tom agreed, setting two sheets of writing paper on the desk. Alec recognized Daisy’s handwriting on one.
“A thick skull seems to be the only thing that saved Bincombe from instant death,” he said. “I wonder … Ah, there you are, Doctor. I was just wondering if you’d completed the post-mortem on Lady Eva before we called you out again.”
Dr. Philpotts entered the library at a brisk stride, followed by Sir Leonard. “All but tidying up. Death was by strangling, of course, by means of that stocking I sent you. She was, as you surmised, half suffocated first with a pillow. I found a few small feathers in the trachea
and lungs, which she must have inhaled gasping for breath after the pillow tore. You noted the thread caught in her ring?”
“Yes. With a magnifying glass, it appears to match the pillow ticking.”
“I cut off a snippet and made a microscope slide. If you can let me have a bit of the ticking, I’ll make sure of the match. Not that there can be much doubt.”
“It’s up in her bedroom. Here’s the key, Piper.”
Ernie dashed off.
“How is the latest victim, Doctor?” asked Sir Leonard.
Philpotts glanced at Alec, who gave a tiny shake of the head. The fewer people who knew of the police surgeon’s comparatively hopeful prognosis, the better.
“In a bad way,” Philpotts answered. “We’ve tucked him up in a makeshift bed in the anteroom near the front door. Mrs. Fotheringay—Mrs. Reverend Timothy, a highly competent woman—is to sit with him until Arbuthnot’s night-nurse arrives.”
“And Constable Stebbins is on guard outside the door until his relief arrives,” Alec added.
“Yes, yes, I telephoned for four fresh men. I’ve spoken to a number of people, Fletcher, impressing on them that they must not retire until you have interviewed them and asking them to spread the word. I suggested they should gather in the drawing room, where you can find them.”
“Excellent, sir.”
“I told the butler to direct people there, also. I thought I’d go and sit with them, show willing, don’t you know, and keep an eye on things, as it were.”
“That will be most helpful, sir.”
“And I’ve just been up to see Lord Haverhill. He’s shockingly distressed, of course. He asked whether you might spare him just a few minutes. I know you’re pressed for time, but I think it would be a
good idea if you had a word him, assure him the police are doing their best, and all that sort of thing.”
“I’ll go up to him at once. There are one or two questions I must put to him, anyway. Sergeant Tring, you can make a start on collating those lists and deciding whom we should call in first. After Mrs. Oliver—I see no reason why we shouldn’t take her first.”
“She’s on both lists, sir, Mrs. Fletcher’s and Miss Lucy’s. Out of the picture.”
“Good. Piper can help you when he gets back, but I shan’t be long.”
Alec, Sir Leonard and the doctor went out to the hall, where Sir Leonard made for the drawing room. As Alec turned towards the stairs, the doctor put his hand on his arm.
“Just a moment, Fletcher.” He waited till the Chief Constable had nearly reached the drawing room door before continuing softly, “The palm tree left a bruise on the victim’s back. It was definitely not the cause of the head injury. I kept my mouth shut in front of Sir Leonard …”
“Thank you. He’s a gregarious soul and might let something slip in front of the wrong person. Here comes your specimen.”
Ernie Piper came racing down the stairs with a strip of blue-and-white striped ticking in his hand. He gave it to the doctor, who went for a last look at his patient before going back to the mortuary to finish off the autopsy. Alec went upstairs, hoping he remembered the way to the family wing.
He wasn’t at all happy about facing Lord Haverhill.
The Earl had every right to be annoyed, not to say furious, that since he called in Scotland Yard, one murder had become three.
Not quite three. Bincombe still clung to life.
Should Alec tell Lord Haverhill that Dr. Philpotts by no means despaired of his recovery?
Better not. The fewer who knew, the less likely that the murderer would hear and perhaps decide to try again.
Alec came to what he thought was the family sitting room. A footman lounging against the doorpost straightened as he approached.
“I’m s’posed to keep people from bothering his lordship, sir,” he said uncertainly.
“Have many people tried to bother him?”
“Lots. Lady Carleton and—”
“That’s all right, I don’t need their names just now, but if you could write them down for me, I might find a use for them at some point.”
The footman spread empty hands. “I don’t have nothing to write on, sir.”
“I’ll bring you a piece of paper and a pencil from in there. Lord Haverhill asked to see me.” Alec knocked, opened the door without waiting for a response, and went in.
Lord and Lady Haverhill sat on either side of the hearth, where a small fire burned.
They both looked round when Alec entered, and the Earl started to rise, stiffly, levering himself with both hands on the arms of his chair.
His cheeks were sunken, his eyes hooded as if the effort to keep up his eyelids was more than he could manage.
“Mr. Fletcher …”
“Please don’t get up, sir.” Alec moved forward as the old man sank back.
“How is Lord Gerald?” asked the Countess anxiously. She looked in better shape than her husband, but her eyes were red-rimmed. She had wept for her quiet, eccentric, amiable son.
“Not good, I’m afraid, ma’am. He’s still unconscious and may remain so.”
“That such a thing should happen to a guest in my house!” exclaimed Lord Haverhill. “I hardly knew what to say to Tiverton. The Tivertons are coming, of course, first thing in the morning. They were on their way, in any case, for the wedding.”
“Poor Lucy! She must be heart-broken.”
Alec assumed Lucy’s decision not to marry Bincombe had not
reached her grandparents’ ears. He had seen her only briefly since the attempted murder and she had looked tense but not heart-broken. Daisy said she was in a “funny mood, blaming herself.” He couldn’t pass that on to her grandparents.
He said, “I’m afraid events keep overtaking me.
No sooner have I begun to work out how to tackle the case than a new disaster presents itself.
However, we have accumulated considerable information, though we’ve had no time to analyse it, and I expect what I learn this evening to narrow the field of suspects. ”
“All members of my family,” the Earl said unhappily. “I can scarcely credit the whole business. I keep expecting to wake up and find it’s been a nightmare.”
“Do you expect anyone else to be assaulted, Mr. Fletcher?” Lady Haverhill asked with more than a touch of acerbity.
“My dear, how can Mr. Fletcher possibly know?”
“Assuming our reasoning to be correct, I doubt it. I’m confident that I know the reasons for the first and third attacks. The second puzzles me.”
“You’re convinced now that Aubrey was murdered?”
“I have no proof until I hear from the pathologist, but the attempt on Lord Gerald’s life …”
“Yes, of course. He saw something.”
“Or the murderer was afraid he had seen something.”
“But how could Aubrey have posed a threat to Lady Eva’s murderer?”
“That’s the question. I suppose he wasn’t in the habit of leaving his room at night, perhaps to check on his plants or make sure the conservatory doors were closed, or something of the sort?”
“Certainly not,” said Lady Haverhill. “He was engrossed in his plants, not obsessed.”
“Whatever he learnt, however he learnt it, we’ll never know now. But why didn’t he come to you with the information, Mr. Fletcher, after Eva’s death?”
“People have all sorts of reasons for not telling us things, sir,” said Alec. “Often they don’t realize the significance. Sometimes they just don’t like to talk to the police. Or they decide to ask the person they suspect for an explanation. Perhaps that’s what Lord Fotheringay did.”
“That doesn’t sound at all like Aubrey,” said his mother.
“No,” Lord Haverhill agreed, “but this is idle speculation and we are keeping you from your investigation, Mr. Fletcher. If there is anything at all we, or the household, can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you. I have one more question for you. Were the Reverend and Mrs. Timothy with you at tea-time and after dinner?”
“With us and with Maud,” Lady Haverhill said, adding disapprovingly, “My daughter-in-law is under sedation.”
“You can’t suspect Timothy and Nancy!”
“It’s my job to suspect everyone, Lord Haverhill. Can you give me times for their visits to you?”
Consulting each other, the Earl and Countess provided times which excluded Timothy from both attacks and Nancy from that on Bincombe, though she had visited their children in the nursery at tea-time.
So Nancy could have put the oleander in the teapot.
However, Alec couldn’t conceive of her conspiring with anyone but her husband—nor with him, come to that!
He had been sure enough of his judgment to leave her to watch Bincombe.
Now he was ready to cross them both off his list.
He went downstairs to tackle Daisy’s and Lucy’s lists.
The vast house was so still, every footstep sounded loud in his ears as he crossed the hall.
If Sir Leonard had managed to gather everyone in the drawing room, they were too subdued for the sound of their voices to carry.
So much the better. Alec had rather expected more vociferous complaints.