Patricia Wentworth - Mr. Zero

“A good many people, I should say, sir.”

“Yourself among them. You agree to that?”

“Oh, certainly.”

Colonel Anstruther frowned in a judicial manner.

“You had access to the weapon?”

“Oh, no, sir-that is going too far. I, in common with the entire household, had access to a drawer in which you suppose the second pistol may have been. There is no proof that it was there. I certainly never set eyes on it myself.”

Colonel Anstruther said, “Tcha! Since Sturrock was shot with this pistol, it is obvious that it was on the premises, and if it was on the premises, you had access to it.”

Algy shook his head.

“I don’t admit any of that,” he said.

Colonel Anstruther’s colour deepened.

“Perhaps you will allow me to continue. Sturrock was shot between twenty-one or twenty-two minutes past five, when you and Mr. Brewster encountered him in the hall, and five-and-twenty to six, when William found him dead and gave the alarm. During that time Mr. Brook was with the Home Secretary in the drawing-room. Mr. Patterson, myself, and the Inspector were in here. Mr. Brewster was in the Parlour, Lady Colesborough in her own room with Miss Hardwicke, who says she left her to go to her bedroom a little before the half hour, but she was not away more than a minute or two. The staff were all in the servants’ hall with the exception of the cook and the second housemaid, who were out, and Sturrock, whom none of them had seen from the time he had taken tea into the drawing-room at five o’clock. The wireless was switched on and a programme of military band music was coming through. This would account for the fact that nobody heard the shot. The servants were all together till just after the half hour, when William tried the pantry door and found it locked. There is a passage between the servant’s hall and the pantry, and the doors are some distance apart. As William could get no reply, he became alarmed and, going round by the dining room, found the butler dead on the pantry floor with the pistol close to his hand. Now, Mr. Somers, who shot him? He didn’t shoot himself, you know-Dr. Hammond is quite clear about that. He was shot by Mr. Zero whom he was blackmailing.”

Mr. Brook, watching closely, saw Algy Somers start. A man may start when he is surprised, or when he is alarmed. Mr. Brook went on watching closely, and Colonel Anstruther went on talking.

“Blackmailing,” he said in a tone which dared anyone to, contradict him. “Does that surprise you?”

“Very much,” said Algy.

Colonel Anstruther said “Tcha!” and continued, “There is evidence to show that Sturrock had been in possession of the letters which Lady Colesborough was about to hand over to Mr. Zero when Sir Francis interrupted them. She must have dropped them, and Sturrock must have picked them up-he had ample opportunity before the police arrived. Anyhow he had them. The handkerchief in which they were wrapped was found on him.”

“And the letters?”

“Mr. Zero’s got them. He did murder for them, and he got away with them. But he hasn’t got clear, Mr. Somers, and I don’t think he will.”

“I hope he won’t,” said Algy in rather an odd tone. Absent-minded, almost as if he was thinking of something else, was what Mr. Brook thought. Then his head came up with a jerk, and he said in quite a different voice and manner, “Colonel Anstruther, may I tell you something?”

The Inspector looked up quickly. Colonel Anstruther stared.

“If you’ve anything to say-any information to give-”

“Well, I have, sir. I don’t know what you’ll think of it, but it seems to me that it might be important.”

“Tell us what it is, Mr. Somers,” said Mr. Brook.

“It’s this,” said Algy. “I expect you know that I took my car out this afternoon.” His eye had a challenging sparkle. “Well, just beyond the gate I passed Sturrock ploughing along in the mud in his store clothes, and I offered him a lift. He said Railing would suit him, and I didn’t care where I went, so I dropped him there in the Market Square, and as I was driving off I saw him go into a pub called the Hand and Flower.” He stopped and Colonel Anstruther said,

“Is that all?”

Algy looked at him seriously.

“It doesn’t sound very much, sir, but when you said Sturrock had been blackmailing Mr. Zero, this is what struck me-if he had the letters, he must have found them last night. I told you we met him on the lawn and sent him down to where Sir Francis was lying, with orders to stay there until the police arrived. If he had the letters, that’s when he got them, and if he used them to blackmail Mr. Zero, the letters must have told him who Mr. Zero was.”

“Quite so,” said Mr. Brook drily.

“Well then, he would have to get into touch with him. If he was shot because he was blackmailing Mr. Zero, it was because he did get into touch with him. Well, how did he do it? Would he risk using the telephone here, or would he think Railing safer? Why did he go to Railing anyhow? He was back again in time to bring in tea, you know. He told me he would be catching a bus at something after four. Don’t you think there must have been something special to take him in to Railing if he was only going to be there for a little over half an hour? Wouldn’t it be worth while to find out what he was doing in the Hand and Flower, and, if possible, whether he put through any telephone call whilst he was there? Someone may have noticed him.”

Inspector Boyce looked up.

“That’s a good idea, sir. I could send Collins. He’s smart.”

Colonel Anstruther sanctioned the sending of Collins with a grunt and a jerk of the head.

Algy got up.

“I’ve told you all I know, sir. Is there anything else?”

If they were going to arrest him, it would be now. He wondered what they had found in Francis Colesborough’s safe. He wondered whether his red herring was going to give him a respite. He wondered what Gay was doing. Everything seemed to hang in the balance. Then Colonel Anstruther said stiffly,

“Nothing more at present, thank you, Mr. Somers.”

Mr. Lushington decided not to go back to town. Mr. Brewster was instructed to ring up Railing Place and say that Mr. Lushington was returning there.

“And you too of course.” Constance Wessex-Gardner’s voice was arch.

Mr. Brewster reflected that it was a mistake to be arch when nature had provided you with a sharp, bony profile and a long, thin neck. He pictured them, shuddered faintly, and replied with his usual politeness that Mrs. Wessex-Gardner was indeed kind, and that he would be delighted.

“These politicians,” said the lady-“always so terribly busy. My brother-in-law never has a moment, but I hope that you will have some time to spare for me.”

Mr. Brewster departed from the stricter ways of truth and said he hoped so too. After which he reported to his chief, and they presently drove away together.

Mr. Lushington appeared to be in a communicative mood.

“Most extraordinary affair,” he said.

“Most inexplicable,” said Mr. Brewster. He paused, hesitated, and coughed slightly. “Would it be indiscreet if I were to enquire whether anything of importance was discovered in the safe?”

Montagu Lushington frowned.

“Mass of stuff-mostly irrelevant, I should say. They haven’t had time to go through it all yet, but from what Brook tells me there’s not much doubt that Colesborough was a most complete wrong ’un-had been for years-brought up to it by his old ruffian of a father. It seems that the old man went off the deep end at being given a baronetage instead of the barony he had set his heart on. There’s a packet of letters about it, all written to the son, saying he’d get his own back-score the Government off-score the country off. The man must have been insane. Francis Colesborough too for that matter. That’s proved by his keeping the letters. Incredible, isn’t it?”