Джорджетт Хейер - Why Shoot a Butler

"I ought to. I came down here this morning to investigate."

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" said the sergeant. "Whatever made you do that, sir? Did you find anything out?"

"I did. I found that a certain privately owned motorboat has been fetched from Morton's Yard, which we passed a little way back, and made fast to a mooringbuoy about a quarter of a mile up the creek. Not only has she recently been overhauled, but her tanks are full. I found that so interesting, Sergeant, that I'm paying a longshoreman who lives in one of the cottages this side of the creek to watch the boat and the bungalow and let me know what he sees."

The sergeant found that he could still feel surprise after all. He would very much have liked to ask why Mr. Amberley should suddenly dart off to Littlehaven unknown to anyone, and why the vicissitudes of a motorboat should interest him in the least, but he thought it unlikely that he would get a satisfactory answer just now. He merely said: "Well, sir, I'll say one thing for you; for one who ain't in the Force you're very thorough. Very thorough indeed, you are."

The road curved inland; the sergeant could see the sheen of water and knew that they must have reached the creek. The car was slowing down and stopped presently in front of a small cottage about five hundred yards from the coast. The sergeant, peering, could just see the dark line of the shore -on the other side of the creek, and something that might have been a house reared the night sky.

Amberley had opened the door of the car and was getting out when suddenly he checked and said sharply: "Listen!"

Through the stillness of the evening the throb of a motorboat's engines drifted over the water to their ears.

A figure came across the road towards the car and shouted to Amberley, who looked quickly round.

"Is that you, sir? Well, I never! I was just going to get off to telephone you, like you said I was to. Well, of all the coincidences!" He caught sight of the sergeant's helmet and added: 'Lumme, is that a bobby?"

"You come here and tell us what you seen, my man," commanded the sergeant sternly.

It struck him that under his tan Mr. Amberley was very pale. Amberley's eyes were fixed on the longshoreman's face. "Be quick; let me have it."

"Well, there's someone gorn off in the motorboat," said the man. "gorn off this very minute. Ah, and he 'ad something with 'im, wot he carried over 'is shoulder. Well, I thought to myself, taking your luggage with you, are you? It might ha' been a sack. Well, sir, "e come down to that there landing-stage and 'e chucks this 'ere sack, or whatnot, into the dinghy wot's been tied up to the jetty, like you saw when you was down 'ere; and 'e gets out 'is oars and off 'e rows up the creek, me follering this side unbeknownst, and 'e comes alongside 'is motorboat and gets aboard with the luggage. Well, I thought, wot might you be up to now? - me not being able to see clear-like. Then I seen wot it was 'e was so busy with. banged if 'e weren't hitching the dinghy on to the motorboat. Then 'e starts 'er up and off 'e goes, "eading for the sea, the dinghy bobbing be'ind 'im. And wot 'e wants to take it along for fair beats me."

It beat the sergeant too, but he did not say so. He was looking sympathetically at Amberley, whose hand, lying on the door of the car, had gripped till the knuckles shone white. The longshoreman's description had convinced the sergeant that Shirley Brown had been done to death already. He did not wonder that Mr. Amberley stood there as though he'd been turned to stone. He wished he could have thought of something kind to say, but only managed to murmur gruffly: "Fraid we're too late, sir."

Amberley's eyes turned towards him; behind their blankness his brain was working desperately. "The dinghy," he said. "The dinghy. That means something. God, why can't I think?" He smote his hand down on the car in an impotent gesture.

"I must say, I don't see it myself, sir," said the sergeant. "What did he want it for when he had the motorboat?"

"To come back in!" Amberley said. "What other reason? Think, man, think!"

The sergeant did his best. "I don't hardly know, sir. He wouldn't hardly send the - the body out to sea in it, would he? He'll throw… I should say, he'd be more likely to throw it over… Well, what I mean is…' He broke off in embarrassment and was startled to find Amberley staring at him with a dreadful look in his face.

"My God, no, it's not possible!" Amberley said in a queer, strained voice.

"Ullo!" said the longshoreman suddenly. "Engine's stopped."

Amberley's head jerked up. The chug of the motorboat, which had been growing fainter, had suddenly stopped altogether.

"Well 'e's a rum 'un if ever there was one!" said the longshoreman. "E can't 'ave got much beyond the mouth o' the creek. Wot's 'e want to stop for?"

Amberley gave a great start. He swung himself back into the car and switched on the engine. "Get out!" he snapped. "Get out, Sergeant. You, there - Peabody! Row the sergeant across the creek. You've got to get that man, Sergeant. Stand by that Vauxhall; he's coming back to it. God's teeth, will you get out?"

The sergeant found himself thrust into the road. The Bentley was already moving, but he ran beside it shouting: "Yes, but where are you going, sir?"

"After that motorboat," Amberley shouted back him. "She's alive, you fool!"

The next moment he was gone, leaving two amazed creatures to stare at one another.

The longshoreman spat reflectively. "E's touched. Thought so all along."

The sergeant collected his wits. "You'll soon see whether he's touched or not," he said. "Come on now; I've got to get across the creek to that landing-stage I've heard so much about. Look lively!"

Back along the shore road tore the Bentley. The needle of the speedometer crept up to fifty, to sixty, to seventy. The creek was just a mile from Littlehaven, and Amberley reached Littlehaven harbour in one minute a half and drew up beside one of the yards with a jerk that sent a shudder through the car.

There was a man in a blue jersey locking up. He looked round in mild surprise as Amberley sprang out of the car.

When it penetrated to his intelligence that the gentleman wanted to set out to sea at once in a motorboat he glanced instinctively round for protection. It seemed him that a lunatic had broken loose from some asylum.

"I'm not mad," Amberley said. "I'm acting for the police. Is there any boat here ready to start?"

One had to humour lunatics; the sailor had often heard that. "Oh yes, sir, there's a motorboat all ready," he said, edging away.

His arm was grasped urgently. "Listen to me!" Amberley said. "A man has set out in a boat from the creek. I must catch that boat. There's ten pounds for you if get me there in time."

The sailor hesitated, trying to loosen the grip on his arm. Ten pounds were ten pounds, but the gentleman was clearly insane.

"Do I look as though I were mad?" Amberley said fiercely. "Where's that fast boat you had moored here this morning?"

The sailor scanned him closely. "Lord love me, I believe you're the Lunnon gentleman what come down here today arsting questions!" he exclaimed.

"I am. For God's sake, man, hurry! Any boat that's ready to start, the faster the better."

"Are you a plain-clothes man, sir?" inquired the sailor, awed.

"Yes," said Amberley without hesitation.

"Well, there's Mr. Benson's racing motorboat, and she's half full, I know. He had her out today, but I don't know as how…"

"Ten pounds!" Amberley snapped.

"Right you are, sir, and you takes the blame!" said sailor, and let him into the yard.

The racing motorboat was moored some fifty yards out. The sailor, having taken the plunge, seemed to realise that the need for haste was desperate and led Amberley at a trot to the steps. In less than a minute both men were in the dinghy that was tied up there and the sailor had cast off and shipped the oars.