Джорджетт Хейер - Why Shoot a Butler

"Of course we haven't been, have we?" said the sergeant. He waited until the car had turned on to the secondary road leading southwards, and then seeing no immediate danger in front of them, said: "Now, sir, if you don't mind, where are we, so to speak? It seems to me you know a sight more than what I do. We're chasing a certain Vauxhall limousine which has got three quarters of an hour's start of us. I got my own idea who's in that car, but how he had the nerve to come by it I don't know. I've often noticed the quiet ones is the worst. It looks to me like a nasty case. Has he done in the young lady, sir, do you think?"

There was a moment's silence, and the car seemed to leap forward, like a horse given the spur. The sergeant, looking round at Mr. Amberley's profile, saw it so grim that he confessed later it gave him a turn.

"If he has," said Amberley in a very level voice, "if he has, he won't trouble the hangman."

This sinister pronouncement, coupled with the look on Amberley's face, led the sergeant to infer that he had discovered something interesting, though not of much value as a clue. Feeling that the occasion was one for a display of tact he made no comment on his discovery, but merely requested Mr. Amberley to go easy. "No use meeting trouble halfway, sir," he said. "If you was to go and do a murder, where'd I be?"

Amberley gave a mirthless laugh. "Making a sensational arrest, I expect."

"I'd be in a very awkward position, that's where I'd be," replied the sergeant. "If I thought you meant it I'd be obliged to take away that gun you've got sticking into my hip at this very moment."

"I'm more likely to choke the life out of the swine," Amberley said. "I don't think he's done it yet. I'm pinning my faith to that - keep a lookout for a constable. Another killing would be fatal to him. Mark Brown's death passed for an accident, but another accident would be suspicious, to say the least of it. Shirley is to disappear. No body, no conviction, Sergeant."

"I get you, sir. Taking her for a ride and bumping her off miles from Upper Nettlefold?"

"Not unless he's a fool. If he does that, and the body's found, it will be traced back to him. Miss Brown doesn't own a car. How did she get so far afield? Any jury would assume that she had been taken there by her murderer. Much too dangerous. The body must be disposed of. Put yourself in the murderer's place, Sergeant. How is that to be done?" Various gruesome visions came before the sergeant's eyes, but he thought it wiser not to advance a suggestion. A gentleman who had fallen in love with a young lady wouldn't take kindly to the thought of dismembered corpses or charred fragments. "We don't want to start talking horrors, sir," he said severely.

"I see," said Amberley. "Quicklime. No. No."

"Of course not, sir. Whoever heard of such a thing:"

"You're wrong," Amberley said. "I know you're wrong. He's heading south. The sea, Sergeant, the sea!"

The sergeant considered the suggestion and came to the conclusion it was probably correct. "Seems to me, sir, we'd better hurry up," he said gruffly. "Unless . Anyway, we've got to catch him, and that's all there is to it."

The car roared through a hamlet; the needle of the speedometer was creeping up.

"He won't have killed her yet," Amberley said. The sergeant had the impression that he was trying to reassure himself. "He daren't run the risk. Supposing he had a slight accident? Supposing he was held up, and the car was searched? If the girl's alive they can't get him for murder. He'll think of that. He's bound to think of that."

The sergeant agreed, though he felt a little dubious. In his experience murderers seldom laid such careful plans. However, the killing of Mark had certainly been very cleverly planned, so perhaps Mr. Amberley might prove to be right.

The lights of a village twinkled ahead of them; the car slowed to a more respectable pace, and the sergeant espied a constable on point duty at a crossroad in the middle of the main street.

Amberley pulled up beside him, but let the sergeant do the talking. The constable, unlike the one they had left in Upper Nettlefold, was an alert young man. Not many cars had come by him during the last hour, and he was almost sure that the only one of any size had been a Vauxhall limousine. But the number was not PV 80496.

That he could swear to. The Vauxhall he had seen bore the letters AX. He was not prepared to state the number, but he thought it began with a nine.

The sergeant looked inquiringly at Amberley. "Don't quite fit, sir."

"False number-plate. Probably no such number exists. Which way did the car go, Constable?"

"It turned off to the right, sir," replied the policeman, pointing.

"I see. Where does that lead to?"

"Well, sir, it goes to Larkhurst, but there's a good many turnings off it."

"Can you get to the coast by it?"

"No, sir, not exactly you can't. You'd have to go 'cross country a bit."

"Turning off where?"

The constable thought for a moment. "Well, if you by Six Ash Corner and Hillingdean, you'd want to turn off at the first pub you come to, past Ketley. On the hand, sir, if you didn't mind a roundabout sort of way, you could cut down to Chingham and bear on to Freshfield and Trensham, and reach the coast at Coldhaven."

Amberley. nodded. "Thanks. Did you notice whether that Vauxhall was travelling fast?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, sir."

Amberley let in the clutch. "My compliments; you're the brightest policeman I've met during the past fortnight."

The sergeant said with a cough as the car started: "Bright for a constable, sir."

Amberley smiled, but for once in his life forbore to retort caustically. His attention was all for the tricky road he was following; the sergeant got monosyllabic answers to his questions and wisely gave up all attempt at conversation.

The trail was a difficult one, often lost. The Vauxhall had left the main roads for a network of country lanes. From time to time Amberley stopped to ask whether it had been seen. Mostly a stolid headshake answered the question, but twice he got news of the car; once from a railway officiall in charge of a level-crossing, once from a night watchman huddled over a brazier in a wooden hut beside some road repairs. The Vauxhall seemed to be heading south-west and to be maintaining a steady but not extraordinary speed. Obviously the driver was taking no risks of meeting with an accident or a hold-up; it seemed too as though he had no very great fear of being followed.

The sergeant, who, when they plunged into the second-class roads, pursuing an erratic course, privately thought there was little chance of catching a car bound for an unknown destination and bearing a false nameplate, began after a little time to realise that Amberley was pushing forward to some definite point. When they stopped at Hillingdean and the sergeant conferred with a constable on point duty there, he got out a road map and studied it intently.

The warning, sent out from Upper Nettlefold, had been received by all the southern stations but bore no fruit. No car of the stated number had anywhere been seen. Amberley cursed himself for having given the fatal number and wasted no more time in inquiring for it.

There were many circuitous byways that led to the coast, so that it was hardly surprising that the sergeant should consider the chase hopeless. For miles they had no intelligence of the Vauxhall, but Amberley never slackened speed except to read a signpost here and there, and never hesitated in his choice of direction. It became increasingly apparent to the sergeant that he had a fixed goal in his mind, for it could scarcely be due to chance that they picked the trail up again twice when it had seemed completely lost.

Once Amberley bade him take the map over a difficult piece of country and guide him to some village the sergeant had never heard of. The sergeant ventured to ask where they were going. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the roar of the engine. He saw Amberley give a shrug, and managed to catch the word, "Littlehaven." It conveyed nothing to the sergeant. As the Bentley rocked over a stretch of lane pitted with holes he said: "If you're sure where he's gone, sir, why don't you take the main road?"