Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

“But when could Bragg an’ Harkness have gottogether to dream up this plot? You said Struthers was sure Braggwas kept too busy to be gallivantin’ off to the city.”

“There was a short period last Sunday whenBragg left his group after church and disappeared. I was countingon Harkness having been nearby to meet up with him. But all thesigns now indicate he was already in Burford. Damn! If we couldhave been given just a few more days — ”

“Could you purr-sway Doc Withers intodelayin’ the inquest?”

“Probably. But I’m certain our French guestswill have reached the end of their tolerance by then, and decide togo back to Quebec. We can hardly hold them here indefinitely — thatis, unless we accuse one of them of the crime.”

“Tremblay, fer instance?”

“He has not been struck off my list, butuntil we come up with a better motive than his unhappiness with our‘economical’ negotiations, as you so quaintly called them, I amloathe to even question him vigorously as a suspect.”

“The French gents’ll close ranks, yamean?”

“Something like that.”

Cobb picked up his helmet, shook the last ofthe melted snow off it (he had dropped it in a drift after aninelegant descent from Macaulay’s cutter) and set it on the table.“Well, where does all this leave us, then? Our prize fish haswriggled off the hook, we lost our bait, an’ the hook itself islookin’ a trifle bent.”

“We’ve still got the laudanum, Cobb. Thedisappearance of that bottle from the bathroom shelf afternine-thirty or so and the timely appearance of laudanum in a bottleof Amontillado three hours later can’t be mere coincidence, can it?And Macaulay says it was a fist-sized bottle with a long neck. Thewindows in Elmgrove have long been frozen shut. One of the servantscould easily have disposed of it, but if our killer is not Bragg,and is to be found among our guests, then that bottle is still inthis house.”

“So we oughta roust everybody outta the fancywing an’ go rummagin’ through it inch by inch?”

“If we have no luck by Sunday afternoon, Iintend to scour the place. Meantime, I’ll ask Macaulay to keep theguests indoors or, if they go walking, to accompany them. I’ll alsoask Prissy Finch to keep a sharp eye out when she’s tidying uptheir rooms. But for now, caution and discretion are still thewatchwords in that quarter.”

“Whatever you say, Major. But what about themmissin’ pages ripped outta the lead-ger ? I been wonderin’all along why Bragg would have cause to cart them off if he was thekiller.”

“I haven’t given that a lot of thought, butit’s a valid question all right. Remember, we did speculate thatChilton seemed overzealous and was keeping a critical eye on hisunderlings. Those pages could have contained damaging reports ontheir perceived peccadilloes.”

“But why put yer list of their peck-a-dillies in yer big fat accounts book?”

“It’s the one absolutely safe place for them.The upstairs servants move freely through all the rooms up here,including Chilton’s own quarters. Macaulay told me yesterday thatChilton was working late to bring the estate’s accounts up to datebecause they’d been neglected since Alfred’s death. Macaulaynormally checked the book every month or so, and in this case hewould have waited until Chilton had it ready for him. No-one, then,would have occasion or reason to consult it. Also, I noticed inyour notes that you unlocked the drawer in his office desk with thekey you found on his person and — ”

“An’ there was nothin’ in it.”

“Because he kept only the ledger inthere, eh — locked away.”

Cobb’s face lit up. “Say, you don’t suppose all the servants are in on this, do you? Harkness givesBragg a bottle of Amontillado — somewhere, somehow — an’ Bragg getsPrissy to snitch the loud-an’-numb , he spikes it, giveshimself an alibi with poor Hetty, an’ then Prissy or Tillie sidlesup to Chilton’s office when the house settles down, say abouteleven o’clock, an’ bats her lashes a bit an’ says ever so sugary,‘We chipped in to buy ya little present’ an’ so on. The otherservants know what’s up, but turn a blind eye an’ help with eachother’s alibi.”

Marc smiled, genuinely amused despite thedesperateness of their situation. “A reasonable enough theory, oldfriend, but I was downstairs, as you were, and we were present tojudge for ourselves the strength and truth of the emotions wewitnessed there. Still, Prissy herself remains a possibility. Herevasiveness and her tears may well have much to do with guilt andregret.”

“Then we need to get to her soon.”

“Yes. We’ve got an hour before I’m to meetwith Robert and LaFontaine.”

“An’ we ain’t talked to Mrs. Blodgett yet,have we?”

Marc, who had started to get up, sat backdown. “No, and we should do so before we beard Prissy. There is nochance that Mrs. Blodgett is part of a conspiracy that would in anyway harm Macaulay. She’s been here for two decades, and she andGarnet appear to be very close. And cooks always know what’s goingon in their domain. We need to ask her if she’s noticed anythingout of the ordinary down there. She’ll also know if Bragg wasabsent for any length of time over the past two or three weeks.She’ll be our honest broker.”

Cobb got up. “Then let’s head down there. Wegot less than an hour to come up with somethin’ you can take intayer conflab at six.”

Marc nodded, and followed Cobb down the hall.Once again Macaulay popped out of the billiard-room, lookingknackered. “Any news?”

“We’ll have something by six,” Marc lied.“Right now, we’re hoping to interview Mrs. Blodgett.”

“Then you’re in luck. Finch just told meshe’s up, taking tea, and being her wonderful bossy self.”

Marc excused himself, and he and Cobbsprinted for the rotunda.

Mrs. Blodgett was seated comfortably in herrocking-chair, balancing a cup of tea and smiling up at hernursemaid, Tillie Janes. Hetty could be heard working somewhere inthe back shed, and humming to herself.

“Come right in, gentlemen,” Mrs. Blodgettsaid. “Tillie’s just made the tea. You’ll have a cup?”

“That’s kind of you,” Marc said, “butConstable Cobb and I would like to talk to you in private for a fewminutes before my meeting starts at six o’clock.”

“About the sad business upstairs, I take it?”she sighed. “Tillie’s been bringin’ me up to date since I decidedto rejoin the livin’.”

Tillie looked anxious at this turn of events,but whether it was out of general concern for Mrs. Blodgett’sfragile health or something less noble, Marc could not tell.

“I’ll just go an’ tidy up yer room, then,”Tillie said. “No need fer you to leave yer chair, is there?”

“Thanks, Til. You’ve been real good to an oldlady.”

Tillie smiled, patted her mistress on thewrist, and went back into the cook’s quarters.

“You sure you won’t have a cup of tea? Or amince tart?”

Cobb salivated, but resisted manfully.

“No, thank you,” Marc said. He drew a chairup beside the cook, who looked steadily at him as he said, “Firstof all, what we would like to learn from you has nothing to do withwhat you heard or saw last night, because we know you were in bedsuffering from your arthritis.”

“That I was, sir. I collapsed before thesupper was cleared away, an’ the girls had to carry me into my bed.Tillie stayed with me, bless her.”

“We do think you might be able to help us inanother way, however,” Marc said.

“If you won’t find it too fatiguin’,” Cobbsaid gallantly.

Mrs. Blodgett chortled at this, and managedto slop a good deal of her tea onto her saucer. “My goodness. Lookat me! I ain’t felt this spry in months! I went to bed in terriblepain, but Tillie an’ me prayed real hard an’ the Good Lord blessedme with the longest an’ deepest sleep I’ve had since I was a babe.I’m just disappointed I’ve got no supper to cook fer Mr. Macaulayan’ his guests.”