Джорджетт Хейер - A Blunt Instrument

"Followed him where?"

"Back to town, I suppose. He must have tracked him to his flat to have found out who he was. After that he tried his blackmailing game on North, and North naturally had to eliminate him. How do you like that?"

"Not much," said Hannasyde.

"Well, if it comes to that I don't fancy it a lot myself," confessed the Sergeant. "The trouble is that whichever way you look at it that North dame's story gums up the works. We've got to believe she hid behind the bush at some time or other, because we found her footprints. Similarly we've got to believe she went back into the house, because of the postman's evidence."

"Exactly," said Hannasyde. "And, according to your latest theory, she went back into the study when Fletcher was dead. Now, you've seen the photographs. Do you seriously think that a rather highly strung woman, seeing what she must have seen from the window, deliberately went into the study?"

"You never know what women will do when they want something badly, Chief. She wanted her IOUs."

"That won't do, Hemingway. She could not have opened the desk drawer without moving Fletcher's body. She must have known that before she set foot in the room. We can take it she didn't go in to try and render first aid, because if she had she'd have called for help, not stolen out of the house without saying a word to anyone."

"She might have done that if she knew the murderer was her husband."

"If she knew that I can't think she'd have gone into the study at all. Unless she and he are working together, which hypothesis is against all the evidence we have, I don't believe she saw the murder done."

"Wait, Super! I've got it!" the Sergeant said. "She couldn't see into the study from behind the bush, could she?"

"No."

"Right! North leaves at 10.02. He's the man Ichabod saw. Mrs. North, not knowing what's been happening, creeps up to the study window to see. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"So far," agreed Hannasyde. "Where's Carpenter? Still in ambush?"

"That's right. Now, you say Mrs. North wouldn't have gone through the study. She had to!"

" Why?"

"Ichabod!" said the Sergeant triumphantly. "By the time she was all set to do a disappearing act down the path, he must have reached the gate. She wouldn't risk hiding in the garden with the late Ernest lying dead in the study. She had to get clear somehow, and her best chance was through the house."

Hannasyde looked up with an arrested expression in his eyes, "Good Lord, Skipper, you may be right! But what happened to Carpenter?"

"If he was hidden behind one of the bushes by the path he could have sneaked back to the gate as soon as Ichabod passed him on his way to the study. Must have done."

"Yes, possibly, but bearing in mind the fact that the other man left the garden at 10.02, and made off as fast as he could walk towards the Arden Road, and was seen by Glass to turn the corner into it, how did Carpenter manage (a) to guess in which direction he'd gone, and (b) to catch up with him?"

"There you have me," owned the Sergeant. "Either he had a lot of luck, or it didn't happen."

"Then how do you account for his having known who North was? The Norths have been kept out of the papers so far." He paused, tapping his pencil lightly on the desk. "We've missed something, Hemingway," he said at last.

"If we have, I'd like to know what it is!" replied the Sergeant.

"We've got to know what it is. I may find it out from North, of course, but somehow I don't think I shall. He's more likely to stand pat, and say nothing."

"He'll have to account for his movements last night, and the night of the late Ernest's murder."

"Yes. But if he gives me an alibi he can't substantiate and I can't check up on, I shall be no better off than I am now. Unless I can trace the connection between him and Carpenter, or prove he was in Barnsley Street last night, I haven't any sort of case against him. Unless I can rattle his wife into talking - or him, through her," he added.

"I suppose it's just possible North may have had a meal at that restaurant friend Charlie was working at," suggested the Sergeant doubtfully.

"I should think it in the highest degree unlikely," replied Hannasyde. "North's a man of considerable means, and if you can tell me what should take him to a fly-blown restaurant off the Fulham Road I shall be grateful to you. You were with me when I visited the place: can you picture North there?"

"No, but no more I can at any of those joints in Soho," said the Sergeant. "But it's a safe bet he's dined at most of those."

"Soho's different." Hannasyde collected the scattered documents before him, and put them away in his desk. "Time we both went home, Skipper. There's nothing more to be done till we've seen North. I propose to pay him a visit first thing in the morning - before he's had time to leave the house, in fact. I'll leave you to look after this end of the business. No need for you to attend the inquest. See what you can dig out of Carpenter's past history. I'll take Glass along with me to the Norths', just in case I need a man."

"He'll brighten things up for you, anyway," remarked the Sergeant. "I'm sorry I shan't be there to hear him give his evidence at the inquest. I bet it's a good turn."

Superintendent Hannasyde reached Marley at halfpast eight on the following morning, but he was not the first visitor to the Chestnuts. At twenty minutes to nine, as Miss Drew sat down to a solitary breakfast, a slender figure in disreputable grey flannel trousers, a leather patched tweed coat, and a flowing tie, was ushered into the room by the slightly affronted butler.

"Hullo!" said Sally. "What do you want?"

"Breakfast. At least, I've come to see if you've got anything better than we have. If you have, I shall stay. If not, not. Kedgeree at home. On this morning of all mornings!"

"Are you going to the inquest?" asked Sally, watching Neville inspect the contents of the dishes on the hotplate.

"No, darling, but I'm sure you are. Herrings, and kidneys and bacon, and a ham as well! You do do yourselves proud. I shall start at the beginning and go on to the end. Do you mind? Something rather nauseating in the sight of persons eating hearty breakfasts, don't you think?"

"I am what is known as a good trencher-woman," replied Sally. "Roll, or toast? And do you want tea or coffee, or would you like a nice cup of chocolate to go with all that food?"

"How idly rich!" sighed Neville, drifting back to the table."Just coffee, darling."

"You're one of the idle rich yourself now," Sally reminded him. "Rich enough to buy yourself a decent suit, and to have your hair cut as well."

"I think I shall get married," said Neville meditatively.

"Get married?" exclaimed Sally. "Why?"

"Aunt says I need someone to look after me."

"You need someone to furbish you up," replied Sally, "but as for looking after you, I've a shrewd notion that in your backboneless way, Mr. Neville Fletcher, you have the whole art of managing your own life weighed up."

He looked up from his plate with his shy, slow smile. "Art of living. No management. Is Helen a witness?"

She was momentarily at a loss. "Oh, the inquest! No, she hasn't been subpoenaed so far. Which means, of course, that the police are going to ask for an adjournment."

"I expect she's glad," said Neville. "But it's a great disappointment to me. One of life's mysteries still unsolved. Which story would she have told?"

"I don't know, but I wish to God she'd tell the true story to John, and be done with it. You've no idea of the atmosphere of cabal and mystery we live in. I have to think before I speak every time I wish to make an observation."

"That must come hard on you," said Neville. "Where are they, by the way?"

"In bed, I should think. John didn't get in till very late last night, and Helen hardly ever appears till after breakfast. I suppose Miss Fletcher's going to the inquest?"