Джорджетт Хейер - The Unfinished Clue

"I was, but not, believe me, badly enough in need of it to murder my uncle. I admit it was an idiotic thing to do. I yielded to impulse. I usually do. The risk wasn't of exposure, though. But if Uncle succeeded in tracing the notes to me I ran a fair chance of being cut out of his Will. At the time I didn't consider that. One can't think of everything, can one?" He got up, and walked over to the old-fashioned mirror over the mantelpiece, and straightened his tie. In the mirror his eyes met Harding's. "Well, what is the next move? Are you going to arrest me on suspicion of having murdered my uncle? I don't somehow think you'll get a verdict."

"No, I haven't applied for a warrant for your arrest yet," answered Harding. "But it's not, as you said, a good story. I shall have to ask you to remain on the premises until I've investigated it. Meanwhile, I want you to sit down and put on paper what you have just told me."

"Certainly," said Francis. He went over to the desk against one wall, selected several sheets of writing-paper, and dipped a pen in the ink-pot. He wrote unhurriedly, and without any evidence of discomfort in the task. At the end he signed his name with a flourish, and handed the statement over to Harding, who read it through, and put it away in his pocket-book.

"And is that all for the moment?" inquired Francis.

"Yes, that's all," replied Harding.

"Quite enough too, don't you think?" said Francis, walking over to the door. "I said you were getting a remarkable insight into the family." He opened the door, and went out. Then he looked back. "It seems you're wanted, Inspector," he said languidly. "More disclosures, probably."

Harding turned, but Francis had gone, and it was Geoffrey who stood in the doorway.

Geoffrey said impetuously: "Can I come in? There's something frightfully important you ought to know! It absolutely clears me!"

"That's good," said Harding pleasantly. "Yes, of course come in. What is it I ought to know?"

Geoffrey looked back over his shoulder. "I say, will you come in, Mrs. Chudleigh? Mrs. Chudleigh saw me on Monday, Inspector. And look here! Do you know that that b— I mean, that cat of a Halliday woman is going about saying that it was I who murdered Father? She told Mrs. Chudleigh so bang in the middle of Silsbury High Street. I don't know whether I can have her up for libel. but I've a jolly good mind to!"

Harding was not paying very much attention to this speech. He bowed to Mrs. Chudleigh. "Good morning," he said. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," she replied, taking the chair later vacated by Francis. "It is perfectly true, what Geoffrey says. I consider Mrs. Halliday a most slanderous woman. and immediately I heard what she had to say I saw that it was my clear duty to come straight up to the Grange to find you! I must say, I'm not in the least surprised at her spreading such a wicked scandal, for I mistrusted her from the moment I set eyes on her."

"Did you, Mrs. Chudleigh? But I think you were going to tell me where and when you saw Mr. Billington-Smith on Monday, weren't you?"

"I am just coming to that, if you will allow me to speak, Inspector. And I may mention that had I ever dreamed that Geoffrey could be suspected of having — murdered — his father I should have told you that I had seen him when you called on me the other night. But I am glad to say that I am not in the habit of suspecting people of crimes, and such a notion literally did not cross my mind."

"I quite understand," said Harding. "And where was it that you saw Mr. Billington-Smith?"

"I saw him walking down the footpath across Moorsale Park, just beside the lake. I was on my way home from this house."

"Do you mean that you met him, Mrs. Chudleigh, or that you saw him from a distance?"

"Considering that I was on the road, and he in the park I could hardly have met him, Inspector. But if you are hinting that I was mistaken in thinking it was Geoffrey whom I saw, I beg to state that I am not as weak-sighted as that!"

"In which direction was he walking, Mrs. Chudleigh?"

"He was going home, and I thought at the time that he would be late for lunch, for I happen to know Lady Billington-Smith always has lunch at one o'clock, and it must have been quite ten-to when I saw him because I know it takes just under half an hour to walk from the Vicarage to the Grange, door to door, and I was certainly home by one o'clock, if not earlier. So that would mean that it must have taken Geoffrey at least twenty minutes to get home from that particular point, because of the hill."

Harding drew out a pencil from his pocket, and opened his notebook. "I see. And you say this was at ten minutes to one? You mentioned a lake: that might give one rather a wide latitude. Can you place the exact spot rather more definitely?"

"I suppose you are going to see for yourself? No doubt you are only doing your duty, but I am not in the habit, strange as it may seem, of prevaricating. However, you can hardly mistake the place, since it was just where the arm of the lake stretches down to the right-of-way. If you like I will take you there myself."

"Thank you very much, but I don't think I need trouble you to do that," said Harding firmly.

She gathered up her handbag and gloves, and rose. "Then I think I will be getting home. Please tell Lady Billington-Smith that I was sorry she did not feel equal to seeing me, Geoffrey. Good morning, Inspector!" She favoured him with a stiff little bow, and walked out of the room, escorted by the grateful Geoffrey.

"It's a frightfully lucky thing you saw me," he confided, on the doorstep. "I mean, I had had a row with Father. and I suppose it did look rather black, really."

"I am only sorry that I didn't think to tell the Inspector sooner," said Mrs. Chudleigh, buttoning up her gloves. "No doubt had I been Mrs. Halliday I should have. You must have had a dreadfully worrying time."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I did, rather," admitted Geoffrey. "It's all been absolutely ghastly, because after the way she treated me I simply didn't want ever to set eyes on Lola again, and here we've been cooped up in the same house, and everybody thinking I'd broken it off just as a blind."

"Oh, have you broken it off?" said Mrs. Chudleigh. "Well, I'm sure that's very trying for you, Geoffrey, but you know I can't help feeling that Miss de Silva is hardly the kind of girl to make a good wife for you. Not that I have anything against her, but she seemed to me a most callous, immoral young woman, and I should not be at all surprised if I heard that she was no better than she should be."

Geoffrey looked a, little doubtful at this terrific pronouncement, and said: "Oh well, I don't know about that, quite, but she's utterly destroyed my faith in women.

"And I'm sure I don't wonder at it!" said Mrs. Chudleigh.

Geoffrey, having finally seen his saviour off the premises, hurried back to the terrace, where Fay and Dinah were sitting. Francis was also with them, lounging in a basket-chair. "I say, have you heard?" Geoffrey demanded. "Mrs. Chudleigh saw me on Monday, and it absolutely clears me! Isn't it simply marvellous luck that she happened to catch sight of me?"

"Too, too marvellous!" agreed Francis. "My poor ass, nobody's interested in your movements any longer. Attention is now concentrated on my unworthy self."

Fay stretched out her hand to her stepson. "Oh, Geoffrey, I'm so glad! I always knew you couldn't possibly have done such an awful thing, but it's splendid that you've found an alibi. Only Francis has been telling us — no, I can't bring myself to repeat it. It's too revolting!"

"Yes," drawled Francis, "it's all very shocking, Geoffrey. Truth will be in all probability out, so you may just as well hear it now as later. I was in this house at eleven-thirty on Monday for the express purpose of abstracting one hundred and thirty pounds from Uncle's safe. And what is more, I did abstract it."