Chapter 32 #2
“I told him about the Hotel Majestic. I’m sorry, but he was looking quite wild-eyed.
He locked us in to stop us raising the alarm before he could get away.
The rotter had the keys all the time. I expect you and Mr. Underwood are anxious to get on his trail.
We’ll be all right, but tell the locksmith to hurry! Over.”
“We’ll send a constable with an axe in case the locksmith has any difficulty. Tell Daisy I have her gold pencil safe; I’ll leave it on the hall table. And give her my love, would you? We’re off now. See you later.”
“Give my … thanks to Mr. Underwood. See you later.”
Alec stood up, with a crick in his neck and another in his lower back. Underwood had disappeared at the mention of a locksmith. Now he returned with a bunch of keys dangling from his forefinger.
“I rifled Miss Sutcliffe’s handbag,” he explained in a low voice. “We oughtn’t to leave the house unlocked. I hope she’ll forgive me.”
“Seeing you rifled the entire house a couple of days ago,” said Alec, “I doubt she’ll mind. We can put out that alert now. We’ve got him for false imprisonment at the least.”
* * *
“You mean they just went away and left us here?” Daisy asked indignantly.
“They have to chase after Vaughn. I suppose I could have asked them to fetch my hatchet and chop down the door, but I didn’t think of it in time. Besides, I’d really rather not have to replace the whole door.”
“No, sorry, of course not. I just hope they can find a locksmith who’ll come right away.”
“You’re not getting the wind up again, are you, Daisy?”
“Certainly not. Don’t harp on that.”
“My turn to apologise. I didn’t mean to. I know it was just because you were ill.”
“Being locked in a cellar doesn’t improve one’s disposition! Alec wouldn’t have left if there were any danger. He may even think we’re safer locked up. At worst, his axe bearer will come along and let us out for a late lunch.”
Isabel grinned. “Hungry again?”
“I went for a long walk this morning. Nana would have loved it. You really must get a dog. Vaughn wouldn’t have taken us by surprise if you had a nice mastiff sleeping in the front hall.”
“I was thinking of a bulldog. I’ve always liked the look of them, and someone told me they’re not half as fierce as they look.”
“More likely to slobber a burglar to death than to bite him.”
“What’s your Nana?”
“‘Heinz Fifty-seven. She’s a farm dog, part sheepdog, probably part terrier. My stepdaughter fell for her when she was a puppy.”
They talked about different breeds, Daisy having known a good many dogs while growing up in the country, at Fairacres.
Then they talked about gardens, flowers, fruit and vegetables, and raising chickens.
Isabel hoped for better harvests here in the temperate south than she had achieved in the suburbs of Huddersfield.
The natural sequel was food. Daisy was ravenous, as well as dying of thirst, by the time a knocking on the cellar door announced the arrival of a bobby, axe in hand.
The constable was perfectly willing to chop down the door, if that was what Miss Sutcliffe required. “Howsumdever,” a locksmith was on the way from High Wycombe. If the ladies would bide just a wee bit longer, they would be released with no damage done.
Daisy would have opted for immediate release, but it was for Isabel to decide. They bided a wee bit longer.
An hour later, they were sitting in the kitchen, finishing the last bites of a lunch of toasted cheese and apples, when the doorbell rang. Isabel got up and peeked out of the window.
“A black umbrella—I think it’s Mrs. Barnes. I don’t feel like entertaining, but it’s the first time she’s called. And I want to see if she has any suggestions about someone to take Mrs. Hedger’s place.”
“Offer a cup of coffee. I could do with one. I’ll put it on while you answer the door.”
An explanation of why they were having after-lunch coffee so late inevitably turned into an account of the morning’s excitements. The doctor’s wife was properly sympathetic as well as much entertained.
“I won’t breathe a word to a soul,” she promised. “Goodness, I never dreamt the life of a policeman’s wife was so exciting.”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Daisy assured her.
When Mrs. Barnes left, Daisy helped Isabel wash the few dishes, then went back to the hotel. She had intended to take a nap, but she wasn’t really sleepy and her typewriter sat in silent reproach on the table in the window.…
Once she started transforming her notes on the Inns of Court into an article, she became absorbed in manipulating words. Time passed without her noticing, until a knock on the door made her surface.
“Mrs. Fletcher, it’s Sally. You didn’t come down to tea, so I brought you some.”
“You spoil me, Sally. Put it here, will you? I’ve fallen behind in my work, so I’ll just keep at it while it’s going smoothly.”
“I don’t want to interrupt.” Sally hesitated. “But do you mind if I ask you a question?”
Daisy tore her thoughts away from the Inns of Court, which the arrival of tea had scarcely disrupted. “Yes?”
“It’s Auntie May. Someone told me she was at home, not out at work, so I went round this afternoon.
She’s upset: angry for sure, and maybe afraid.
But she won’t tell me what the trouble is.
She just sits there in her rocking chair, rocking and rocking.
Do you know what’s wrong, Mrs. Fletcher? What happened to upset her so?”
“The police went round to Cherry Trees this morning to ask her a few questions, that’s all.
You know my husband and DI Underwood. You know they wouldn’t bully her.
She wouldn’t talk to them, just stormed out of the house, I was told.
Older people without much education tend to be afraid of the police, I’m afraid,” Daisy added tactfully.
“Auntie left school at twelve to go into service.”
“There you are, then. I wouldn’t worry about it. She’s just being awkward.”
“I know she can be difficult. She likes to keep herself to herself, you see, and questions always upset her. Oh dear, I suppose she’ll get over it.”
“I’m sure she will.” Daisy didn’t mention that Mrs. Hedger might have lost her job at Cherry Trees in the meantime. “Try not to worry, Sally.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll pop round after supper and make sure she’s all right. It’s just that she’s the only relative I’ve got left in these parts.”
Daisy went on with her work. It was going well. She let her tea grow cold and got crumbs in her typewriter, but by the time she went down to dinner, she had finished the draft.
The dining room was busy, and buzzing with chatter. Sally had saved Daisy a small table in a comparatively quiet corner.
“Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, we’re out of everything ’cepting the ham.”
“Then ham let it be. What’s brought the crowd out?”
“Hasn’t Mr. Fletcher told you yet? They’ve arrested Mr. Vaughn. I’ve got to run. I’ll bring your soup in just a minute.”
Sally had no time to stop and chat. Eavesdropping on nearby diners supplied “arrested for murder,” but offered no further credible details. Daisy went back up to the bedroom without much food for speculation. She sat on the bed with her typescript, trying to concentrate on editing.
Alec came in before she had finished, wresting off his tie as he closed the door.
“Darling, you look exhausted. Sally says you’ve arrested Vaughn.”
“I suppose Sergeant Harris has been talking again. I’m going to write a strongly worded suggestion that he be sacked, or at least demoted.
Yes, Vaughn was easy to catch, driving his wife’s car.
She’s furious—she wanted it for some errand this afternoon.
Once we were fairly sure he was heading for Paris, and had good reason for stopping him, it didn’t take long to pull him in.
” Alec grinned. “We’re grateful to you and Isabel for the information and for being stuck in the cellar. ”
“What do you mean? You arrested him for kidnapping us, not for murder?”
“False imprisonment, as he didn’t run off with you.
We’ll need your statements tomorrow. Still no grounds for homicide.
We can hope for a confession.” Wearily he sat down on the edge of the bed.
“But I’m not inclined to believe he killed her.
We’ve found Judith Gray’s maid and housekeeper, one in London, one in Bath, so tomorrow we’ll have local lads ask them a few questions.
Between them, they should be able to confirm the quarrel Mrs. Tom heard about, and identify the second woman for certain. ”
“Mrs. Tom? You didn’t tell me … I’m glad she had some success for her trouble.”
“Yes, it may reconcile her to Tom’s notion of a nice outing to the countryside. The maid used to go up to town with Mrs. Gray, so we’re hoping for the names of London friends.”
“What about the one in St. Tropez? Elizabeth Knox?”
“She wired. She and her husband and Geegee, who turns out to be Sir George Gantry, are devastated. A flic is going round to talk to them.”
“The inquest is tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes. I doubt you and your friends will be called upon. Underwood’s going to request an adjournment as early as possible in the proceedings, and he says the coroner’s a reasonable man. Enough, Daisy. I didn’t get much sleep last night and I’ll be up early again in the morning.”