Джорджетт Хейер - The Unfinished Clue

She straightened the blotter on the desk. "I do not know what can have given you that impression, Inspector. I lost sight of his mother many years ago — when she deserted Sir Arthur, in fact. I chose the district because, having lived abroad all my life, I have scarcely any friends in England. I did not see eye to eye with Sir Arthur, perhaps, but I had known him a long time, and to settle where he had already formed acquaintances to whom he could introduce me seemed a natural thing to do." She looked up and saw him watching her, not suspiciously, but with a kind of grave sympathy. "The fact that I had known his first wife and was fond of her son may have influenced me a little," she said. "I'm afraid, however, that I have not done very much for Geoffrey, except occasionally to talk Sir Arthur into a better humour on his behalf."

"Sir Arthur seems to have had more respect for you than for most of the people he knew, judging from what I have been told," commented Harding.

"When one has known a man for a great many years," said Mrs. Twining easily, "one does acquire a certain influence over him. You must forgive me, Inspector, but is my residence in this district the matter which you said was puzzling you?"

"No," replied Harding. "That isn't it." He opened his pocket-book and took from it the half-sheet of notepaper with the word "There' scrawled across it. "This, Mrs. Twining, was found on Sir Arthur's desk, under his hand, on Monday."

She cast a quick glance up at him and took the paper.

She did not speak for several moments, but presently she said in a level voice, not raising her eyes from the paper. "I don't quite understand. You say this was found on Sir Arthur's desk -"

"I believe it to have been written after he was stabbed, Mrs. Twining. Does it convey anything to you?"

Her eyelids just flickered, another woman less self-controlled, he suspected, might have winced. "No," she said deliberately, and held the paper out to him. The look of amusement had vanished from her face. "It conveys nothing to me. I am sorry." She watched him fold it again and put it back in his pocket-book. She seemed to hesitate on the brink of speech, and finally asked: "Do you feel it to be of importance, Inspector?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Twining. I had hoped that you might be able to enlighten me."

"It appears to be a very ordinary word, of no particular significance," she said. "The start of a sentence, I imagine." She rose, and repeated: "I am sorry. It is a pity Sir Arthur had time only to write that one word. Is there anything else you wished to ask me?"

"Nothing else," Harding answered. "I'm afraid I've taken up your time to no purpose."

She moved over to the bell and pressed it. "Not at all," she said politely. "I only regret that I am unable to help you." She glanced fleetingly towards him. "What is your own theory, Inspector? Or have you none?"

"No doubt it is, as you say, the start of a sentence," he replied.

The butler came into the room, holding open the door. Harding took his leave of Mrs. Twining and went away, back to the police station at Ralton, where he found the Superintendent and Sergeant Nethersole awaiting him.

The Superintendent was in a mood of profound disgust and greeted Harding with the information that the whole case had gone to glory.

"What's happened?" asked Harding, rather abstractedly.

"You sent the Sergeant on here to make inquiries along the road to Bramhurst. Well, we've just had a report from Laxton," answered the Superintendent.

"Oh, yes! Captain Billington-Smith's movements. He's ruled out, is he?"

"It looks precious like it," said the Superintendent gloomily. "Young Mason, of Mason's Stores there, states that he passed the Captain's car on his motor-bike at twelve-fifteen on Monday morning, just short of the village. He says the Captain was changing a flat tyre, which is why he happened to notice him."

"How far from the Grange is Laxton?" inquired Harding.

"That's just it," said the Superintendent, "it's eighteen miles, and you can't make it less. I've been working it out, but it's not a bit of use, Mr. Harding, no matter how fast he drove. He couldn't have got back from there to the Grange and still reached Bramhurst at one-thirty. No, the bottom's been knocked out of the case, and that's all there is to it." He leaned back in his chair and tucked his thumbs in his belt. "Which brings us," he announced, "back to that Halliday."

His tone implied that he was prepared to expatiate on the subject, but the telephone suddenly buzzed at his elbow, and he was obliged to answer it. He became entangled immediately in what appeared to be an involved conversation with some person unknown, and Harding, seizing his opportunity said: "I'll come back later, Superintendent," and escaped, closely followed by the Sergeant.

"You didn't think it was the Captain, did you, sir?" said the Sergeant, outside the station.

"No, the time didn't fit. I'm going up to the Grange now. And I'd better test that alibi of young Billington-Smith's while I'm about it. Come along, Sergeant, and you can direct me to this lane that leads from the Grange to Lyndhurst village."

The Sergeant climbed into the car. "Right, sir. You drive to Lyndhurst and we'll go on to the Grange that way, if you're agreeable. That'll save you having to turn to come back again to the Grange, which you might have a bit of difficulty over, it being what you'd call narrow, that lane."

Neither being of a talkative disposition, there was little conversation on the way to Lyndhurst. The Sergeant asked Harding what he wanted to do at the Grange, and on being told that the Inspector wished to obtain more precise information on the subject of Mrs. Twining's movements on Monday morning, merely nodded and relapsed into meditative silence.

The lane in question led into the middle of Lyndhurst village, immediately opposite the church. A few cottages were huddled together at the top end, but these continued for only a few hundred yards. Beyond them Moorsale Park lay on both sides of the lane, behind somewhat untidy hedges.

"Precious little money to spare up at the Park, if what they say is true," confided the Sergeant. "The Squire's got half the house shut up, so I heard, and the place beginning to go to rack and ruin. Steady, sir, you want to stop just beyond the bend."

Harding slowed the car down, and drew up to the side of the lane. The Sergeant stood up and looked over the hedge. "There's the lake, sir. You can see for yourself."

Harding got out of the car and walked over to the other side of the road, and craned to see over the hedge. As Mrs. Chudleigh described, a narrow arm of the lake ran down to a footpath that had been worn across the smooth turf:

"If she saw Mr. Billington-Smith there, which you tell me she says she did," pursued the Sergeant, "it's about twenty minutes' walk from the Grange. You might do it in less, but it's uphill, steady, all the way. It lets him out all right, to my mind, sir." He noticed that the Inspector was slightly frowning, and inquired if there were anything wrong.

"I was only thinking that the hedges seem to be rather high," said Harding, coming back to the car.

"You're right," agreed the Sergeant, sitting down again. "I'm friendly with the head-keeper, and he was telling me they've cut down all expenses something cruel. "It isn't only the hedges that have been let grow wild. Seems a shame, doesn't it, sir?"

"Yes," agreed Harding, setting the car in motion again. "But what I don't quite understand is how Mrs. Chudleigh contrived to see Billington-Smith on the other side of the hedge. I'm six foot, and I could only just see over the top of it."

"Perhaps she was on her bicycle, sir," suggested the Sergeant, having thought about it for a moment. "Come to think of it, she would have been, most likely."