Chapter 12 #2
Babs complied. Jack had returned after a while, with Gwen, both looking frightful.
They told her what had happened. Acting on Daisy’s advice, they had scattered to explain quietly to the guests that an accident had occurred and the police had been sent for.
They had apologized for cutting short the party.
As they knew everyone and Gwen had the guest list, they hadn’t considered it necessary to take names and addresses.
Having seen off the last inquisitive guest, Babs had gone with Gwen and Jack to break the news to her mother. At that point, Babs clammed up.
After an unpromising start, she had turned out to be a cooperative witness. Alec didn’t want to press her, not at this stage. “Mrs. Stephen Yarborough had already left?” he asked.
“Addie? Yes. We have her mama-in-law to thank for that. We didn’t tell her what had actually happened—what we thought had happened—but she started to get hysterical anyway.
Mrs. Yarborough simply swept her and the brats off home, bless the woman.
Gwen’s going to have to tell Addie the news. I’ll be damned if I’m going to.”
“That’s something I can do for you,” Alec said, making it sound like a favour, not a normal, if unpleasant, part of his job.
“Will you?”
“I’ll have to see Mrs. Stephen Yarborough first thing tomorrow anyway.”
“Depends what you call first thing.” Babs gave a sour laugh. “It’s no good going before eleven o’clock. She won’t be up.”
Alec let her go. He and Piper headed downstairs.
“Didn’t like her pa much, did she, Chief? And she didn’t seem to care one way or t’other for Mrs. Gooch. Blount said she’s a good shot and don’t think twice about popping off at birds and such. You reckon she did it?”
“The boy’s motive is much stronger. Miss Tyndall may get to control the estate, but he’ll own it. At least, I assume so. Tom didn’t mention seeing a will in the study. Not that he had a chance to search the desk, what with the body sitting at it. In any case, we’ll have to find his lawyer.”
“If the local doctor was here last night, maybe—”
“Hush!”
They had reached the top of the stairs to the hall and Alec heard a murmur of voices below.
Looking over the balustrade, he saw Tom Tring talking to Miller.
They were both smoking and seemed to be getting on together all right.
The engineer so disparagingly described by Sir Harold as a “counter jumper” might talk more freely to the big detective sergeant than to Alec.
If not, all they’d lose would be a little time.
He glanced at the long-case clock standing against the wall. Nearly one o’clock. They weren’t going to get much more done tonight anyway. Even Piper was beginning to flag.
The two of them sat down on a well-cushioned Jacobean bench beside the clock.
A small table with an ashtray stood at Piper’s elbow; he took out his packet of Woodbines and raised questioning eyebrows.
Alec nodded. He’d give Tom the time it took Ernie to smoke one cigarette, then they’d go down.
Fortunately, since he hadn’t yet scraped out the dottle from his last smoke, he had no craving to light his pipe at this chilly hour of the night.
As the clock struck one, Ernie stubbed out his cigarette. They were halfway down the stairs when Tom spotted them and stood up.
“Just having a chat with Mr. Miller, sir. He tells me he designs aeroplanes at Armstrong Whitworth in Coventry. You’ll excuse me a moment, sir, while I report to the Chief Inspector.” He came to meet Alec and Piper.
“Has he told you what the deuce he’s doing here at Edge Manor, Tom?”
“Trying to persuade the old man to let the young chappie go and work with him. Seems young Jack is a very promising engineer. Keen, too. Sir Harold didn’t like the idea.
It’s not like it’s Miller’s own company, though, that might be going broke and desperate for talent.
It don’t sound to me like a motive for murder. ”
“You never can tell,” Piper observed sagely.
“Too true, laddie. He wasn’t shy of talking about it, but there’s something he’s holding back, Chief.”
“I’ve a good idea what it may be. Did you get anything else out of him, anything about the family?”
“I’ve only had a few minutes. Took forever to get a line to London, and you know what the Yard is like this time of night. Then I had a word with the butler while Sir Nigel rang up Evesham about a doctor and a mortuary van, and you know what a country-town copper shop is like this time of night.”
“Don’t I just!”
“The CC pushed off after he’d talked to ’em.
Nice bloke—offered Blount a lift, so I sent him home, told him to get a good night’s sleep because he’ll be needed tomorrow.
I gave him a note to push through the letterbox at the inn, telling Mr. Gooch we’ll expect him around nine o’clock to make formal identification of the deceased. That all right, Chief?”
“Excellent.” What a joy to have a sergeant who read his mind! “Right-oh, I’ll have a word with Miller now, and then you can give me the gist of what the butler saw.”
Tom’s moustache twitched as he grinned. “You’d be surprised.”
“I doubt it.”
Alec walked over to the engineer. “Mr. Miller, I appreciate your waiting up for me.”
“You’ve got your job to do. But so have I. They’re expecting me back at work tomorrow.”
“That’s in Coventry, correct? Not too far if we need to get hold of you again.”
“No, but . . . The fact is, I’ll feel like a rat if I go off and leave them in this bloody awful situation.”
An interesting statement, Alec thought, one tending to confirm the hints he had picked up that Martin Miller’s interest in the Tyndalls was not confined to hiring a bright young engineer.
“It would certainly be more convenient for us if your employers could see their way to letting you stay on here for a day or two.”
“That should do the trick. I’ll telephone in the morning and tell the boss the situation with regard to young Jack’s employment has changed and the police want me to stay on for a bit.”
“Keep it brief. Don’t give them any details.”
“I don’t know any details. When I showed Sir Nigel and the doctor the way to the study, I glanced in. All I saw was what Jack told us, that Sir Harold had shot Mrs. Gooch and himself.” He grimaced. “I assure you I didn’t linger.”
“Appearances can be misleading. It’s conceivable, though unlikely, that Sir Harold shot Mrs. Gooch. He did not shoot himself.”
For a moment, Miller was very still. He could have been wondering where he’d gone wrong in staging a murder-suicide, but Alec was inclined to think that sharp, logical brain was swiftly assessing the situation.
“You’re sure, of course,” he said coolly.
“As sure as you are of your equations. Armstrong Whitworth designed the BE2, didn’t they?”
“Yes. I had a hand in that design. Mrs. Fletcher told me you flew recce.”
“That’s right. When I took off in one of those machines, I trusted that it would fly. You’re going to have to trust me now, because I’m not going to explain our reasoning.”
“You want to know if I saw anyone enter the house during the fireworks, I take it. I didn’t, not Sir Harold, nor Mrs. Gooch, nor anyone else. I was watching the show. I helped set it up, you know, and I was interested to see how it worked out.”
“Are you familiar with firearms, Mr. Miller?”
“Not at all. I was exempt. They had plenty of poor sods to be Tommies and never enough aircraft designers. We didn’t have time for mucking about with the Volunteer Force, either, I can tell you. That was another strike against me as far as Sir Harold was concerned.”
“You didn’t get on with Sir Harold.”
“We rubbed each other the wrong way.” Miller smiled wryly. “It was no skin off my nose. My notions didn’t suit him any better than his suited me. He did his best to make me lose my temper, but you don’t persuade a man by quarrelling with him.”
“Very true.”
“In any case, it was no skin off my nose. Jack’s a promising lad and I like him, but he has to make the decision for himself, whether to join the firm or stick with being just another in a long line of squires.
Had he chosen the latter, it would have been solely to please his father, I believe.
I dare say the police are bound to suspect the heir in this sort of case, but I assure you, Jack doesn’t care for the title or the land.
His heart is set on building aeroplanes.
Besides, he was very taken with Mrs. Gooch. He would never have harmed her.”
“Suppose he came upon the scene after Sir Harold had shot the woman, might he not have wreaked vengeance?”
“Hardly! Much as he liked her, he had only just met her. I’ll tell you what’s much more probable: Suppose Sir Harold shot Mrs. Gooch and her husband came upon the scene. If you’re talking vengeance, he’s the one with the motive.”