Джорджетт Хейер - Detection Unlimited

The Sergeant once more consulted his notes. “Zamagoryski,” he enunciated painstakingly. “Though they mostly seem to call him Mr. Ladislas, that being his Christian name.”

“Well, we'll call him that too, though a more unchristian name I never heard!” said Hemingway. “The sooner we can be rid of him the better. I've had one case with a Georgian mixed up in it, and two more with Poles, and they pretty nearly gave me a nervous breakdown. This Ladislas, now, who was seen riding his motor-bike up Fox Lane shortly after five-thirty, how does he come into the picture?”

“Well, sir, they do say, in the village, that he's running after Miss Warrenby, and that her uncle wouldn't have him, not at any price. He's some sort of an engineer by profession, and he's got a job at Bebside's. He lodges with Mrs. Dockray, in one of the cottages beyond Mr. Drybeck's house. That one,” the Sergeant added, indicating it on the plan. “Nice-looking young fellow, in his way, but a bit excitable. By what he told me, though I'm bound to say I wasn't attending very closely, it not being any of my business, he used to be very well-off before the War. Estates, and such, in Poland. He was so keen on telling me I thought it best to let him get it off his chest. One or two of the gentry have taken him up, but most of them don't know him. He got to know Miss Warrenby, through meeting her at the Vicarage, and it seems she took a fancy to him. She's a very kind-hearted young lady. She told me she was sorry for him in the first place, and got to like him enough to be very friendly. Quite frank she was about it. Said it was true her uncle had forbid her to have anything to do with him, but that she hadn't held with that kind of snobbishness. Seems they used to go for walks together, and to the pictures once or twice, when Mr. Warrenby was away. Well, it was like I told you, sir. He was seen turning into Fox Lane on his motor-bike, round about five-thirty, by Miss Kingston. She keeps the sweet-shop in the village, and she'd gone out for a bit of an airing on the common, after she closed the shop. Quite definite it was him. Well, you wouldn't mistake him: he's a very dark, handsome sort of chap, and foreign-looking.”

“Didn't see him come out of the lane again?”

“No, sir. She wouldn't have, though, being on her way back to the village.”

“What's his story?”

“First he swore he hadn't been near Fox Lane, but I don't set much store by that, because by the time I saw him it was all over the village Mr. Warrenby had been shot, and I don't doubt he had the wind up. After we got through with that, and with him working himself into a state because of him being foreign and everyone against him, he admitted he had gone to Fox House, to try if he could see Miss Warrenby. He didn't know she'd gone to a tennis-party. On account of its being Saturday, and Mr. Warrenby likely to be at home, he says he left his bike a little way away from the house, and went in the side-gate that leads to the kitchen, meaning to ask the maid if he could have a word with Miss Warrenby. Only, Saturday's her half-day, so she wasn't in. He says he knocked on the kitchen-door, and when he got no answer he went away again. Swears he was back at Mrs. Dockray's before six, and never stirred out again. But as she'd gone off to the pictures, here in Bellingham, leaving him a bit of cold supper, she can't corroborate that.”

“Does he own a rifle?”

“He says not, sir. So far, I haven't been able to discover that he does. Mrs. Dockray said she's seen him with one once, but that turned out to have been a couple of weeks ago, and was Mr. Lindale's .22 which he lent him, and which was subsequently returned to him. Corroborated by Mr. Lindale. He's the gentleman who owns Rushyford Farm—this place, on the Hawkshead Road.”

“Well, let's take him next,” said Hemingway. “I see his farm is very conveniently placed for this footpath which leads to the stile at the top of Fox Lane. Any reason why he should want to murder Sampson Warrenby?”

The Colonel answered this. “None at all, on the face of it. He's a newcomer to the district. Bought Rushyford Farm a matter of two years ago. Used to be a stockbroker. Got a very pretty wife, and one child. I fancy they're fairly newly-wed: the child's only an infant.”

“That's right, sir,” corroborated the Sergeant. “There doesn't seem to be any reason to think he could have had anything to do with the murder, barring the fact that he didn't like the deceased, which he makes no bones about, and having been pestered by him a bit to try to get him appointed as solicitor to the new River Board. Mr. Warrenby seems to have been set on that, but by what I can make out they none of them wanted him.”

“Who are "they"?” demanded Hemingway. “Shouldn't have thought it was much of a job to be after, but I don't know a lot about River Boards.”

“Oh, no, it isn't!” said the Colonel. “That is to say, there's not a great deal to be got out of it, but it would make quite a pleasant addition to his business. My own view of the matter is that he wanted it for social reasons. It would bring him into contact with the sort of people he was ambitious to know. Give him more of a finger in county affairs, too. Pushful sort of man, you understand. The appointment is pretty well in the hands of just those people: the Squire, Gavin Plenmeller, Henry Haswell, and Lindale. They're all riparian owners, and they represent the interests of the Fishery rights. The Rushy runs through the Squire's and Lindale's lands; and Haswell and Plenmeller both own property on it. I can't see what bearing a thing like that has on murder. If Lindale hadn't been at that party, he wouldn't, in my opinion, have come into the case at all.”

“Well, sir, seeing as his movements, between the time he left The Cedars, at 6.50, as near as I can get at it, till close on 7.30, aren't corroborated by any witness—”

“Oh, yes, yes, Carsethorn, you were quite right to interrogate him!” the Colonel said impatiently.

“What does he say his movements were?” asked Hemingway.

“At or around 6.50,” said the Sergeant, his eyes on his book, “he left The Cedars, in company with Mr. Ainstable, by way of the gate on to the footpath. Mrs. Lindale had gone off home by the same route about a quarter of an hour earlier. The woman who works for her daily isn't prepared to swear to the time when she got back to the farm, but she says she'd been in a considerable time by seven o'clock, which is when the woman leaves. Of course, she could have gone out again later, but it don't seem likely, not with the baby. She's not one to leave her baby. Mr. Lindale accompanied Mr. Ainstable a little way up the path. Then the Squire turned off to look at his new plantation, and Mr. Lindale walked on to Rushyford Farm. He says he didn't go into the house immediately, but went off to see whether his chaps had finished a job they had to do, repairing some fencing in one of his water-meadows. That's some little distance from the house. The men had gone off by that time, of course, and he didn't meet anyone. He says he went home by way of his wheat-field, and was in by 7.30. Which Mrs. Lindale corroborates.”

“Well, that's all right, as far as it goes,” said Hemingway. “What about this Squire you talk of?”

“Mr. Ainstable. It's like I told you, sir. He went off to look at the plantation, and didn't get home till about a quarter to eight. Mrs. Ainstable, I should mention, had left the party early, by car, at 6.30. That's corroborated by Mr. Plenmeller. He met her in the drive—he'd been back to his house to fetch some papers the Squire wanted—and she stopped to have a word with him. Seems she wasn't very well: he says she looked bad, and was very nervy. She's a bit of an invalid. Another person who went away early was Mr. Cliburn, the Vicar. He went directly after tea, to visit a sick parishioner. I should say that's all right, sir. I haven't yet checked up on him, but—”