Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

“Where was Tremblay?”

“According to Chilton, who was in and outserving us drinks, he had called for a bath. I don’t know if heactually took one — you could check with Priscilla — as he left usright after the meal. At some point I presume he went to bed — in asulk more than likely.”

“An’ all these French gents was helpin’ youwith yer business adventures, I take it?” Cobb said with a sidewaysgrin aimed at Marc.

“That’s right, constable. Anyway, by teno’clock we were all ready to turn in. I waited like a proper hostuntil everyone had left this part of the house. All went to theirrooms, except Bergeron, who, you’ll recall, retired early to tryand catch up on his lost sleep. He too may have taken a bath — I’dinstructed Bragg to fire up the boiler and Priscilla to leave extratowels so that the guests could fend for themselves in there.”

“So, except for Chilton, all the servantswould have been in their quarters by ten?” Marc said.

“Yes. With Phyllis in Kingston attending hermistress, only Bragg and Finch work on this floor.”

“And Chilton?”

“I watched him begin to tidy up the drinksglasses, bade him good night, and retired to my bedchamber. Hisroutine at this point would be to snuff the candles, check thefront and rear doors to see that they were locked and barred, andthen either retreat to his own rooms or go to his office to workthe accounts at his desk — where we found the poor bugger.”

“By ten-fifteen or so, then, this entiresection of the house would have been deserted and in relativedarkness?”

“It should have been, certainly, though Imyself was in my room by then and Chilton was, as we now know,still up and about.”

“Yes. We can be sure that Chilton did at somepoint go to his office, light two candles in there, open up hisledger, and begin sipping whiskey from a silver flask.”

“That surprises me, Marc, because he gaveabsolutely no indication that he was secretly imbibing. Youyourself observed his behaviour. And there was never the slightesttaint of alcohol on his breath.”

“It was his flask, all right,” Cobbsaid. “I saw his initials — G.C. — on it.”

Marc raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement ofCobb’s keen observation. “Cobb and I will look for further evidenceof his drinking when we search his rooms in a few minutes.”

“He must have taken those wine-goblets fromthe china-cabinet in the dining-room,” Macaulay said.

“Perhaps he was expecting company?”Marc suggested.

“Or if someone did come down the hall anddecide to join him, he could have fetched a second glass in thirtyseconds,” Macaulay pointed out. “Or fetched two glasses if he’dbeen drinking his whiskey straight out of the flask.”

“What was drunk from those goblets wassherry,” Marc said. “We need to trace the possible source of thatbottle.”

“Do you keep Amount-i-ladle in yerwine cellar?” Cobb asked Macaulay.

“I noticed the label on the bottle when Ifirst arrived here this morning and was checking the body for signsof life — I didn’t touch anything, just looked — and I can say forcertain that the poisoned wine did not come from my cellar.”

Marc sighed. “That’s unfortunate. We hadhoped that Chilton — who, along with you, would have had the onlykeys to the cellar — had obtained the Amontillado there himself,and that he either did himself in or his visitor distracted himlong enough to pour laudanum into the sherry.”

“Maybe this visitor called fer anothergoblet, an’ when the obligin’ butler went off to fetch it, thebugger doctored the wine.”

“Very plausible,” Marc said. It was apossibility he himself had not considered. “Nevertheless, we nowface the unhappy prospect of discovering who took the laudanum fromthe bathroom shelf and how the Amontillado got into Elmgrove andended up in Chilton’s office.”

“If Chilton was a secret tippler,” Cobb said,“he could’ve brung the sherry here with him. Could’ve been apartin’ gift from his old master.”

“Right now, that’s the most likelyexplanation. But we’ll need to ask everyone concerned aboutit.”

“We gonna ram-sack the rooms lookin’fer the missin’ medicine bottle an’ a jug of sherry like the one wefound beside Chilton?”

Macaulay flinched. “We can’t do that, sir! Myguests are gentlemen!”

“What we’ll do,” Marc said, “is ask thegentlemen themselves to look carefully in their own rooms to see ifthe empty vial has been illicitly stashed there. Surely a cold,calculating killer, which we have here, would not be souncalculating as to hide such damning evidence in his ownquarters.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the proper way to go aboutit,” Macaulay said gratefully.

“Thank you, Garnet,” Marc said, rising.“You’ve been very helpful and a pillar of strength in the midst ofthis sudden upheaval. Would you mind going into the nearby roomsand informing the others that I would like to begin interviewingthem individually in about fifteen minutes. They’ll no doubt beanxious and inquisitive. Please tell them only the essential facts: that the butler is dead, probably murdered, and that for the timebeing all normal activities are suspended. As I meet with them — here, if that’s convenient — I’ll add such information as I deemadvisable.”

“I’ll go right away. What are you going to doin the interim?”

“Have a close look at Graves Chilton’srooms.”

Elmgrove’s butler had been given two rooms for hispersonal use. Marc and Cobb entered the small sitting-room first,furnished simply and illuminated by a narrow window overlooking theeast lawn, now snow-covered. While Cobb turned over cushions andhunched down awkwardly to peer under the couch, Marc went to thesecretary, rolled up the cover, and began poking about among thepapers inside.

“What’ve ya got, Major?”

“Not much, but it may be significant. There’sa passenger’s receipt for a steamship ticket from Bristol to NewYork — in the name of Graves Chilton. Dated last month.”

“Looks like our victim did arrive here whenhe said he did.”

“It would seem so. And here’s a receipt fromThe Albany Hotel in New York City, where Chilton told Macaulay he’dbeen laid up for a week with the after-effects of mal demer. ”

“That don’t leave much time fer him to getoverland to Kingston an’ be recruited fer any new-furious activities at Elmgrove, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. The man’s troubles must havestarted and ended right here in this house.”

“Let’s try the other room. There’s no whiskeyjugs or medicine bottles hidden in this one.”

They went into the bedroom. It was cold, darkand windowless. Cobb went back out, found a candle andlighting-kit, and returned. But an initial search of the placeturned up no hard evidence. However, in the wardrobe beside thebed, Marc found a leather grip and pulled it out.

Cobb opened it. “Empty,” he said. “But lookhere. The fella’s initials are set in brass near the handle. Hemust’ve carted his belongin’s two thousand miles in thisthing.”

Marc was re-examining the frock coats andtrousers in the wardrobe. “Every one of these has the label of aLondon tailor. Mr. Chilton seems to have done very well forhimself, before his fall from grace.”

“Say, what’s that that fell outta one of themcoat pockets?” Cobb said, pointing to a piece of paper at the footof the wardrobe.

Marc picked it up. “It’s a letter of sorts.It must have been stuffed in the lining — I didn’t see it atfirst.”

“What’s it say?”

Marc read aloud:

Bellingham House

21 stinst.

Gravsie:

I hope the kis we had in the ironing