Chapter 10
Glad to leave the gruesome scene of the crime, Alec switched off the lights and descended the stairs from the late baronet’s study to the room below.
Tom Tring had already dusted the polished oak banisters for fingerprints.
He had found only a few blurred smudges, probably made by gloves.
Anyone coming in from outside on that cold night would have worn gloves.
The billiard/gun room and the study were not much warmer than outdoors, as they had not been prepared to welcome guests, so no fires had been lit.
The female victim still had her gloves on.
Sir Harold had taken his off. They lay on the bloody desk, beside the blood-splashed telephone, to the left of his slumped body.
The lack of both fingerprints and blood spatters on the gun was sufficient to cast doubt on the suicide theory. The fountain pen clenched in Sir Harold’s right hand was conclusive proof that he had not shot himself.
No message from the dead offered a clue. The sheet of paper beneath his head was soaked with blood, but he had died before he started writing.
Following Alec down the stairs, Tom pointed. “French windows to the terrace not locked, Chief. Key left in the lock. Likewise the gun cabinet, over there. No dabs on the key or the cabinet, just smudges.”
Behind him, Piper said in disgust, “Everyone in gloves. Pity it wasn’t a nice warm evening.”
Alec stopped in front of the glass-fronted cabinet. “Great Scott, he had half a dozen of the damn things!”
“Seems a bit excessive, don’t it, Chief? You can’t exackly call ’em sporting guns.”
“On the contrary. Besides being police weapons, many officers carried them in the War as a second sidearm. He might have used one or two for target shooting, I suppose, but six . . .”
“All oiled not too long ago, and polished. One other loaded, besides the murder weapon.”
“Blount?”
“Edge Manor isn’t properly in my district, sir,” said the local bobby nervously.
“I’m not holding you responsible, just asking if you know anything about this.”
“Only what I’ve heard in the village, sir, and I didn’t come but a couple o’ years back.
Master Jack was too young to be called up and Squire never was a military man, but he was very keen on the Volunteer Force, besides they did do a bit of target shooting, like you said.
And like you’d expect of country gentlemen, they’d go out after rabbits, pigeons, partridge, pheasant and such, and vermin.
What I’ve heard is they’re both good shots, and Miss Tyndall, too. ”
“Miss Tyndall?” Alec was surprised. In his experience, women and firearms seldom mixed.
“Miss Barbara, the oldest daughter. Very keen on farming, she is, and don’t turn a hair at shooting rooks and jackdaws and jays and suchlike that get into the crops.”
“Thank you, I’ll bear it in mind. But first I think we’d better concentrate on the Gooches. It seems to me they hold the key to this puzzle. If we knew what brought them to Didmarsh, possibly intending to try to infiltrate Edge Manor, we might have some notion what this is all about.”
“All I know, sir, is they turned up yest’day morning and took a room at the Ravens.
Very pleasant couple, Dawson—that’s the landlord—told me.
No side, though it was obvious they were worth a bob or two.
He didn’t mention any partickler interest in the Manor nor the fireworks, but then, I didn’t ask. ”
“No, why should you? You can do that tomorrow. Now, Tom, you’d better find a telephone other than the one up in the study. First make sure someone is sending a police surgeon and a mortuary van. Where would be the closest place with such facilities, Constable? Gloucester?”
“Cheltenham, I should think, sir,” said Blount doubtfully. “There’s a sergeant at Chipping Campden, but it’s a small place. I’d ring up Evesham if so be I had the need in my district, which I hope and pray I never may.”
“I’ll try Cheltenham, Chief.”
“On second thoughts, if Sir Nigel is still here, see if he’s willing to let us use Evesham’s facilities, and if he’ll square it with the Gloucestershire CC.
He’s been helpful so far, but there’s rivalry in the air, and I don’t know if it’s with the Gloucestershire force or just with Whatsisname, the Lord Lieutenant. ”
“Dryden-Jones,” Piper put in.
“Right, Chief,” said Tom. “These county-boundary cases are a proper pain.”
“We’ll need the Evesham police to make enquiries about Mrs. Gooch’s past, too.
” Alec took the passport from his pocket and opened it.
“Here’s her maiden name in their joint passport.
Too late for that tonight. Here you are, Tom.
Get on to the Yard. I want enquiries telegraphed to the police of Western Australia, Perth, and—what was the other town Miller mentioned, Ernie? ”
“Coolgardie, Chief.”
“That’s it.”
“Got it.” Tom went out, moving more heavily than was his wont. It had been a very long day, as had yesterday.
“Let’s go and sit down in the next room,” Alec said to the two young constables. They followed Tom as far as the dining room, now cleared of the remains of the interrupted feast. “I need all you know about the Tyndalls, Blount, fact and rumour, but make sure you let me know which is which.”
Blount’s report, though based more on hearsay than observation, gave Alec some idea of how to approach the family.
A picture emerged of Sir Harold as a bully who ruled his family not so much with a rod of iron as with explosions of temper.
His family were the only ones to suffer, however.
The local gentry regarded him as a cordial gentleman and good neighbour, and he treated his tenants and servants well enough.
Unfortunately, the servants had all been too busy preparing for the Bonfire Night festivities to relay the latest gossip to their relatives in the village, who might have passed it on to Blount.
Alec would have to count on Daisy to tell him who had most recently suffered the force of the baronet’s displeasure.
He wished he hadn’t sent her off to bed without asking a few more questions, but he didn’t want to disturb her, in her condition.
Nonetheless, he wanted a word with the Tyndalls while they were off balance. The only question was whether he should see them singly or all together, and with or without the mysterious Martin Miller, about whom Blount knew next to nothing.
He led the way through the deserted drawing room.
Glasses and plates had been cleared away, but the room was still in some disarray from the influx of diners.
The servants must have dealt with the worst of the mess and then gone off duty.
They would be a source of information about the family, of course, but Tom was the one to tackle them.
Servants felt more comfortable with him, females in particular, despite his undoubted attachment to the equally mountainous Mrs. Tring.
In the entrance hall, Miller stood by the fireplace with a pale young woman, her hands clasped in his. Lost in earnest conversation, they didn’t hear Alec step from the drawing room carpet onto the oak boards of the hall, but the constables’ boots were not to be ignored.
The woman glanced round, hastily withdrawing her hands and stepping back. Miller came forward.
“Chief Inspector!” he said with the heartiness of a not naturally hearty man caught in an embarrassing situation. “Sir Nigel went with your sergeant to the telephone, in case his authority was needed. They’re in the butler’s pantry. Would you like me to show you the way?”
“No, thank you. I’m sure DS Tring and the Chief Constable can manage between them.” Alec looked at the young woman, his eyebrows raised in enquiry.
Miller introduced him with obvious reluctance. “Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher. Miss Gwendolyn Tyndall. Miss Gwen is dreadfully upset by . . . what’s happened. Can’t it wait till morning?”
“It’s all right, Martin.” Gwen had blotted her eyes with a handkerchief, but they were red-rimmed. “Daisy warned me that Mr. Fletcher would want to see the family tonight. How do you do.” She shook hands with Alec.
So this was Daisy’s friend, and she appeared to be involved with Miller.
Blount had passed on hints that the engineer might be courting the squire’s youngest daughter, but Alec had hoped the rumours were unfounded.
He suppressed a sigh, foreseeing complications.
“I’m afraid Daisy’s right, Miss Gwendolyn.
I should prefer to talk to you all while your memories are fresh. ”
“My sister Adelaide went home, but the rest are upstairs in Mother’s sitting room. Would you like to come up?”
“Not just yet, thank you. Perhaps we could sit down here while I ask you what you know of the Gooches?”
“Yes, of course, not that there’s much to tell. Do have a seat.” She dropped wearily onto the sofa. “Martin?” Her voice held an appeal.
With a somewhat defiant glance at Alec, Miller sat beside her, leaving a discreet space between them.
In a low voice, Alec said to Blount, “Go up to the landing. I don’t want any of the others interrupting.”
“Sir!” Blount saluted and tramped off.
Alec and Piper sat down, as far apart as the arrangement of chairs allowed. Piper selected a fresh pencil from the collection in his breast pocket and opened his notebook.
“Mr. Miller has already informed us of the meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Gooch at the inn,” said Alec.
“I doubt I can add anything.”
“He’s given us the briefest of accounts, and in any case, what you noticed is probably different from what he noticed.
Mr. Miller, you may stay, but I must ask you not to speak.
If you disagree with anything Miss Gwendolyn says, or have anything to add, let me know afterwards.
All right, let’s start with whose idea it was to go to the Three Ravens. ”
“Babs, I suppose, in a way. At least, she had arranged to meet a couple of tenant farmers.”
“Do you know why?”