Джорджетт Хейер - Detection Unlimited

“Must you use my gloves?” asked his father.

“Sorry, Dad! There weren't any others, and it isn't greasy.”

He then deposited the rifle well out of any housemaid's reach, stripped off the glove, and dropped it on a chair. Mr. Haswell observed this with disfavour, but as the gong sounded at that moment he said nothing, merely picking his glove up on his way out of the room, and restoring it to the cloakroom himself.

Since only one of her three servants was on duty on Sunday evenings, supper at The Cedars was cold, and no one waited at table. There was thus no other bar to exhaustive discussion of the murder than Mr. Haswell's silent disapproval. And as it was Mrs. Haswell who set the ball rolling again, by saying that she really didn't think Mavis was the kind of girl to borrow things without asking if she might, Abby felt herself at liberty to pursue her own theory. Exhaustively searching the inside of a large lobster-claw with a silver pick, she said: “Of course she wouldn't! Gavin only said it to be clever. Like saying that if he couldn't have Mavis, or himself, for the murder he'd have Mr. Ainstable.”

“What?” said Mr. Haswell, looking up.

“Yes, because he was the most unlikely person he could think of.”

“Do you mean to say that Plenmeller said that in front of this Chief Inspector you say you met?”

“Oh, lord, yes!” replied Charles, turning the contents of the salad-bowl over in chase of an elusive olive. “I thought it was a bit thick myself, but I don't suppose it really mattered much. Too fatuous!”

“Besides, he didn't mind Mr. Warrenby nearly as much as most people did,” Abby remarked. “I mean, he and Mrs. Ainstable have him to parties, don't they? Had him, I mean.”

“Yes—and, come to think of it, why?” said Charles slowly. “He was about the last man on earth you'd expect the Ainstables to have had any time for at all, and it wasn't even as though he was their solicitor. Why did they take him up, Dad?”

“I have no idea, nor should I have said that they did more than show him a little ordinary civility.”

Charles was frowning. “Well, I think they did. The Squire quite definitely introduced him to you, didn't he, Mummy? And he'd never have wormed his way into the Club if the Squire hadn't sponsored him.”

“I expect the Ainstables felt it was their duty to be neighbourly,” said Mrs. Haswell placidly.

“Well, they didn't feel it was their duty to be neighbourly to those ghastly people who evacuated themselves here from London during the blitz, and took Thornden House for the duration!” said Charles. “They never had anything to do with them at all!”

“No, but that was different,” replied his mother. “They weren't permanent residents, and they got things on the Black Market, and said that if you knew your way about you could always get extra petrol. You couldn't expect the Ainstables to have anything to do with them!”

“No, but that's just the type of man Warrenby was too,” Charles said.

“We don't know he was, dear: he wasn't here during the War.”

“At all events, he wasn't the kind of man the Squire usually encourages.”

“Oh, no, not in the least! I must say,” remarked Mrs. Haswell reflectively, “I have sometimes wondered why he bothered to be nice to him, particularly when poor Mr. Drybeck disliked him so much.”

“He did dislike him, didn't he?” said Abby eagerly.

“Well, dear, I'm afraid we all did.”

“But Mr. Drybeck much more than most people. Charles, I can't think how you can be so dim about this! Going on and on about Mavis, when all the evidence points to Mr. Drybeck!”

“It doesn't. Besides,—”

“Yes, it does,” Abby insisted. “He had a motive, for one thing. Not just hating Warrenby, but being done down by him, which I know from things Aunt Miriam's told me. Losing clients to him, and Warrenby pulling fast ones on him.”

“Abby, my sweet, be your age!” Charles besought her. “Look at poor old Thaddeus! The most respectable body!”

“Like Armstrong!” she flashed. “That's what's been in my mind all day! He's a solicitor, too, and it's almost the same motive. Armstrong was a respectable little man no one ever dreamed would murder anyone, but he did, so it's no use saying the motive isn't strong enough!”

“I agree with all that, but you're forgetting that it was Armstrong's second murder—at least, he didn't pull it off, did he? I remember he was tried for having poisoned his wife, and he had a much stronger motive for that. I don't suppose he'd have tried to do in his rival if he hadn't got away with the first murder. Probably made him think he was so damned clever he could get away with any number of murders. Like the Brides in the Bath man. Isn't it true, Dad, that if a murderer gets away with it he very often commits another murder? Sort of blood to the head?”

“So I believe,” replied his father. “But if you are suggesting that Drybeck has already murdered someone it's high time you curbed your imagination.”

“I'm not. I'm merely pointing out to Abby where Drybeck's resemblance to Armstrong ceases.”

“Well, whatever you're doing, I think we've had about enough of the subject,” said Mr. Haswell. “Did you get any tennis this afternoon?”

This question, impartially addressed to both the young people, put an effectual end to the discussion. It was not re-opened, the rest of the evening being spent in playing Bridge. Only when Charles motored her back to Fox Cottage did Abby say: “Was your father annoyed with us for talking about the murder?”

“Oh, no!” said Charles. “I think he's afraid we shall be indiscreet in the wrong company, that's all. Like Gavin.”

She wrinkled her brow. “He isn't indiscreet. He's waspish.”

“Baiting the Major? I don't think he's doing anyone any harm, you know. Merely being witty, and showing off.”

“He was definitely waspish about Mavis,” she insisted.

“And who shall blame him? So am I.”

“Yes, but you wouldn't set the police on to her,” she said seriously.

“Under certain circumstances I might.”

“What circumstances? I don't believe you would!”

“Like a shot I would! If I thought the police were after me, or my people.” He paused, rounding the corner into Fox Lane. “Or you,” he added.

“Thanks awfully! Big of you!”

“I'm like that,” he said unctuously, pulling up outside Fox Cottage. “Nothing I won't do for the people I love!”

“Go to the stake for them, I wouldn't wonder!” she returned, with an uncertain little laugh.

“With enthusiasm—for you!”

“D-don't be so silly! Oh, look! here comes Aunt Miriam!”

“Blast Aunt Miriam!” said Charles savagely.

“Hallow, Charles!” said Miss Patterdale, opening the gate, and coming up to the car with a large cardboard dress-box under her arm. “I thought you'd bring Abby back, so I packed up the things for your mother's Sale of Work. Will you give them to her, please?”

He took the box from her, and threw it somewhat unceremoniously on to the back-seat. “All right, Aunt Miriam. Is that ghastly Sale upon us again already? Hell! What about running down to the sea tomorrow, after tea, Abby? I'll look in in the morning on my way to the office, and see how you feel about it. “Night, Aunt Miriam!”

“Nice boy, Charles,” remarked Miss Patterdale, accompanying her niece up the path to the front-door. “Did you solve the mystery between you?”

“No. Actually, Mr. Haswell rather squashed us. I say, Aunt Miriam, you know Charles and I looked in at the Red Lion for a short one before we went on to The Cedars? Well, we were having drinks with Gavin and Major Midgeholme when that detective who interviewed Mavis walked in, and whoever do you think he brought with him?”