Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“On DI Boyle’s hands, not mine. You’d have done his arrest statistics a bit of good. I take it Wandersley is better to do business with than to entertain, if that’s the right word.”
“If only he wouldn’t insist on being entertaining.
In the circumstances, it’s a bit much.” Entering the room ahead of Alec, he sat down at the table.
Alec took a chair opposite him. He continued, “As for business, I can’t complain.
He’s going to recommend that we get the contract.
Contracts, rather. It’s for local governments to make the purchasing decisions, but with a recommendation from the ministry, most are not likely to want to spend the time and money to vet other companies. ”
“Congratulations. What is it you would complain about otherwise?”
“Oh, just that he’s wasted a good deal of my time. These bureaucrats keep very short working hours. It’s incredible that they ever get anything done. I’m a businessman. If I made a habit of starting work at eleven o’clock, the firm would be bankrupt by now.”
“You didn’t get going till eleven this morning?”
“Nearer quarter past. Wandersley came down late to breakfast for a start. We still could have left for Swindon at a reasonable hour if he wasn’t such a—a hearty eater.”
“Pig?” Alec proposed with a grin.
“You said it, not me. I got tired of watching him stuff his face and left him in here.”
“Alone?”
“No, several other people were still here.”
“Do you recall who?”
“Let me see. My uncle had already gone. Mrs. Fletcher and Lady Gerald left with me. Lady Gerald said something about sorting out her unused photographic plates. She was going to take some interior pictures of the house for Mrs. Fletcher, I gathered. That would leave Miss Beaufort, Armitage, and the abominable Rhino.”
“Where did you go?”
“To Uncle Brin’s den, to have a word with him about—”
“How long after he left this room was that?”
“Quarter of an hour. Perhaps twenty minutes.”
“And how long were you with him?”
“No more than five minutes, I’d say.”
The exact length of time didn’t matter. Pritchard had had at most half an hour or so to get to the grotto, turn on the gas taps, and return to the house to be waiting in his den for Daisy and Lucy.
That was the bare minimum necessary. If Owen Howell had spoken with him during that period, he was out of the picture.
Except that Alec was pretty sure Howell would lie for his uncle, especially in what he might consider a good cause. He’d do it well, too. Men of business, like policemen, were on the whole adept at hiding their thoughts and emotions.
“The abominable Rhino, you called him.”
Howell shrugged. “I can’t think of a better word for him.
He was abominably rude to my mother. There was no point having it out with him, though.
He just didn’t seem to understand why people got upset with him.
I put up with it, in the certain knowledge that he wouldn’t be here forever.
I’m a peaceable sort of chap. More important matters on my mind than squabbling with an aristocratic ass. ”
“A very sensible attitude. But how did your mother feel about it?”
He hesitated. “I’m afraid Mother was dazzled at first by having a living, breathing earl under her roof. Well, under Uncle Brin’s roof, but she tends to regard it as her own. All the same, I can’t see how she can go on living here after what she’s said about him.”
“He told you? Or she did?”
“He told me Mother went to the police—to you and the inspector both, was it?—and accused him of blowing up the grotto.”
“So you expect him to ask her to leave Appsworth Hall.” Alec felt for him. He had twice had to ask his mother to move out, because of clashes with both his first wife and Daisy.
“Uncle Brin? Good lord no! He wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’m trying to work out what’s best for all concerned. For a start, I think when she’s well enough to travel, she must go away for a rest cure—Bournemouth, or Harrogate, Switzerland even.”
He didn’t sound like someone with a guilty secret, whether his own or Pritchard’s.
He didn’t seem very interested in Rydal’s demise at all.
Mrs. Howell’s behaviour was monopolising his thoughts.
That his mother herself might have been responsible for the explosion didn’t appear to have crossed his mind.
“I’m afraid she won’t be allowed to go abroad until Inspector Boyle has cleared up this case.”
“It’s probably better if she stays in England, in any case. Less agitating than foreign travel … and fewer Papists,” he added with a wry grin. “How long—? No, that’s a stupid question. I suppose you’ll want to interview her tomorrow.”
“I’m sure Boyle has a few questions for her.”
“I don’t want to teach the inspector his job, but you’d upset her less than he would. And get more answers from her.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but it’s his call. Just one more point: What did you do this morning after leaving Mr. Pritchard in his study?”
“I went to my room to check some figures, to save time when we got to the works. One of the maids came to tell me when Sir Desmond was ready to leave. That must have been about half past ten. By then I was fretting and fuming, I can tell you! Half the morning gone.”
“It often amazes me that the Empire survives, run by bureaucrats,” Alec agreed dryly. “That will be all for now, thank you, Mr. Howell. Would you mind asking Sir Desmond to come and see me?”
“Running shy, are you?”
“I suspect he’ll kick up less of a dust if the request comes through you, rather than directly from me.”
“We won’t have any data for comparison, but all right, I’ll do your dirty work for you!”
As with Lady Beaufort, Alec didn’t think Howell was Rydal’s murderer and he hoped not to see the man’s nearest and dearest arrested.
The hope was not as strong as in the lady’s case, however.
If Julia Beaufort was guilty of anything it was because she had fallen in love with a jealous young man, whereas Mrs. Howell had bitten the hand that fed her.
An enormous yawn caught Alec by surprise.
He was very tired, he realised. He had got up early to finish reading and writing reports at the Yard, so as to be able to join Daisy for a couple of lazy days in the country.
Instead he’d spent several hours digging in the rain, a level of physical exertion he wasn’t accustomed to these days.
Here he was enmeshed in a case that wasn’t even his own, that could bring him no kudos yet might very well get him into trouble if his informal part in the investigation ever came to official ears.
For once he couldn’t even blame it on Daisy. It was entirely his own fault.
Ah well, involved he was, so he’d better see that it came to a satisfactory conclusion. With a sigh, he extricated from a pocket the sheets of writing paper he’d filched from Pritchard’s desk and scrawled a few details of his interviews with Lady Beaufort and Howell.