Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
“Half past twelve,” the inspector fumed. “Vaughn’s not coming.”
“He may have been held up,” said Alec. “Or locked up, though I doubt it. Your county fraud people would have to go over all the figures first, and in my experience the fraud chappies are not usually so quick off the mark.”
“I’d better find out. I’ll ring my super.”
“If it were my super, I’d make sure of my ground and talk to the accountants first. None of those concerned has confirmed directly that Vaughn was under suspicion.
Even assuming our conjectures are correct, Langridge and Davis may not even have laid a charge yet.
You know your own superintendent best, of course… ”
Underwood grinned. “From what you’ve said, Mr. Crane is much more ferocious than Parry.”
“Crane’s bark is worse than his bite.”
“You’re right, though. I’ll get on to the accountants.
” He put through the call. “Not in the office?… No, I don’t want to talk to Mr. Spencer.
Is Miss Chandler available?… Thank you …
Good morning, Miss Chandler … Yes, DI Underwood.
” Mindful of the capacity of country operators for listening in, the inspector avoided naming names.
“I hope you’re now free to confirm that the accounts you were auditing concerned the business and the specific person we were enquiring about… ” He listened.
Alec could hear Willie’s voice, but not what she was saying. She spoke at some length before Underwood asked a couple of clarifying questions, thanked her, and hung up, frowning.
“Well? Don’t tell me we’ve been barking up the wrong tree?”
“Not at all. We’ve been spot on. I didn’t quite grasp the details of how Vaughn did it, but he’s been helping himself, all right.
Davis and Langridge went off half an hour ago to present the evidence to the accountant who deals with such matters for the county force.
Apparently, Langridge hadn’t decided whether to prosecute or to try to recover the monies without undesirable publicity. ”
“Is Vaughn aware that he’s in trouble?”
“She didn’t say so. From what she did say, Langridge had no time to go back to his office and confront Vaughn.”
“He could hardly have expected to get away with it forever. If he’s chosen this particular moment to take to his heels, why?” Alec could see more than one answer, but it was officially Underwood’s case and he ought to have a chance to do his share of speculating.
“The secretary must have known Langridge was going to see the accountants. Suppose Vaughn went to the office after his appointment this morning, asked to see the boss, and she told him. On top of the pressure we’ve applied over the murder …
It’s enough to make anyone take to his heels, let alone a hysteric like Vaughn. ”
“Unless the hysteria is all an act. It’s one of the easier emotions to fake. The trouble is, he hasn’t been charged on the misappropriation, and we haven’t the evidence to charge him with manslaughter, far less murder.”
“So, at present, we aren’t justified in asking other forces to detain him on any grounds other than wanted for questioning. Damnation. He could go to ground before we— No! I’ll bet you a fiver he’s heading for France!”
“No takers. If he killed her, he’ll want to keep up the pretence of looking for her for as long as possible, trying to bamboozle us. If he didn’t, if he honestly still hopes to find her alive—”
“Then he’ll go on trying till the last possible moment to find out where she is,” Underwood said grimly, jumping to his feet, “and he’s been pestering Isabel—Miss Sutcliffe about it. I’m going to Cherry Trees.”
He grabbed his hat from the stand and jammed it onto his head.
His overcoat half on, he charged through the door.
Alec, amused at his would-be knight errantry, retrieved his hat and coat and followed at a more sedate pace.
After all, he had no reason to suppose Daisy was in peril from the abominable Vaughn.
He stopped to leave a message for Ernie and Pennicuik, who had gone to see the gardener.
Then Alec recalled that Daisy had been going to call on Isabel. He speeded his pace.
Through the wet streets they dashed in the Austin Twelve. Alec pulled up in front of Cherry Trees, Underwood jumping out before the car came to a halt. No sign of Vaughn’s black Jowett, Alec noted.
The front gate hung open. The inspector hurried up the path. When Alec caught up with him, he was banging on the door with one hand and holding down the doorbell button with the other. He stopped. They listened. Not a sound from within.
“She’s upstairs at the back,” Alec proposed, “or gone to the shops.”
“Not in this downpour.”
“If she set out before— Never mind. Try again, and I’ll go round the house snooping in the windows.”
No one in the sitting room, nothing out of place.
Likewise the den and the dining room at the back.
With the solidly built house between them, he couldn’t hear Underwood’s banging.
The next window was the half-glazed side door.
When he looked through, he blocked much of the grey daylight, so that the passage within was in obscurity.
It wasn’t so dark he could have failed to see a person, however.
He was about to move away when something on the floor a few feet inside the door caught his eye.
He stood to one side and craned his neck.
The “something” was a small heap of rubbish.
Presumably Mrs. Hedger had left it there when she stormed out on being accosted by Underwood.
But Isabel, an orderly person, would never have left it lying.
She was the sort who would have cleared it away the moment she noticed it.
Alec peered. Paper, splinters of wood—was that a glint of gold? He tried the door. Locked, but he could break the glass and open it.
He hesitated. This was Underwood’s case and Underwood’s manor. He should be consulted. Alec went on, glancing in at the kitchen windows as he passed. The small size of the windows obstructed his view, but unless someone was under the table, the room was empty.
He caught the inspector trying the front door. “It’s not locked. Should we go in?”
“Yes. But hold your horses a moment.” He told what he’d seen. “It may be just rubbish, but it’s right beside the cellar door.”
“Vaughn pushed Isabel down the stairs!” Underwood gasped, horrified, swinging back to the front door.
“Great Scott, no! That wouldn’t explain the stuff.
I think he does have keys. It would be natural to deny it with a body found in the locked cellar, whether he killed her or not.
My guess is that he’s somehow managed to lock Isabel in the cellar and she’s pushed everything she could find through the keyhole to attract Miss Leighton’s attention when she comes home. ”
“Ingenious! She’s a resourceful woman. Let’s go and release her.”
“Have you a skeleton key on you?” Alec asked as he followed Underwood into the entrance hall.
“No. They’re … frowned upon. We’re supposed to get a warrant and a locksmith. I rather glossed over your lock-picking in my report. ‘Gained access,’ method unspecified.”
“You’d better shut your eyes this time. I just hope Isabel hasn’t tried to master the trick of it and damaged the wards. Anyone at home?” he called.
Turning into the cross-passage, they immediately heard a muffled noise ahead, compounded of thumps and whistles, interspersed with yelps that might have been cries of “help!” Alec recognised the piercing, unladylike whistle that Daisy had been taught by her late brother; she used it—on rare occasions—to summon Nana.
He sighed. Of course she was here, had been present at precisely the wrong moment, as usual.
He went to the cupboard under the stairs as Underwood hurried forward to reassure the captives.
The contents of the cupboard were neatly arrayed, whether a tribute to Isabel’s orderliness or because the ladies had only resided in the house for a couple of weeks. Alec found the bent clothes hanger at once, hung on a hook.
Crouched by the door, the inspector was speaking soothingly into the keyhole.
“We’ll have you out in two ticks, Miss Sutcliffe.
Here’s Mr. Fletcher with the wire. You’d better move down the stairs a bit out of the way of the door.
” He switched his ear to the hole, then stood up with a nod to Alec. “It was Vaughn all right.”
“Is Daisy down there, too? Oh yes, that’s her propelling pencil among the rubbish.
” He picked it up and put it in his pocket, then stooped to probe the keyhole with the hook.
The inside of the lock felt different. He twisted and turned and jiggled the wire, but nothing clicked.
“Damn. Daisy!” he called mouth to hole. “Did you mess about with this lock?”
He turned his head to listen. After a moment, Isabel’s voice said, “We both did. We prised a nail out of the shelves, a nice long one, and tried to open it. Unsuccessfully. Why?”
“Because, between the pair of you, you’ve mucked it up.
Bent the wards or knocked one crooked, or something.
We’re going to have to get a locksmith.” Much as he’d prefer to, he couldn’t stay and deal with Daisy’s predicament.
The hunt for Vaughn must be set in motion.
Alec and Underwood had another interview scheduled with the Cartwrights.
Ernie and Pennicuik were expected back with whatever they had gleaned from the gardener, White.
Depending on their information, Mrs. Hedger might have to be hauled in to the police station. “Are you all right? Over to you.”
“Oh yes, we’ve only been here…” Faintly: “Daisy, how long have we been here?… No, it hasn’t been forever! About an hour, since Vaughn shut the door … Uh, over to you.”
“The air is still good for a long time, then. Tell me what Vaughn said to you and what you told him. Over.” He knelt on the floor, the easier to apply his ear to the hole.