Michael Kurland - Professor Moriarty Omnibus

Barnett decided to work on the text of his article later, make a few notes first, and try to produce something that was actually worth saying. NOTE: he wrote large on the rest of the page, Murder is the worst crime of all. Why? Because it is the only one which cannot be taken back and cannot be apologized for.

Not a bad thought, Barnett decided, folding his notebook and sticking it back in his pocket. With a little work he should be able to get five hundred to a thousand words out of it.

Palmar came back down the hall. With him was a slender, stoop-shouldered man, whose intelligent brown eyes peered out of a face that was habitually set in a serious mien. "Mr. Barnett," he said, "permit me to introduce Mr. Quimby. Mr. Quimby was, until recently, the valet for Lord John Darby. He has been staying with us since his lordship's unfortunate demise, and has had occasion to become reasonably well acquainted with both Lizzard and Margery."

"A pleasure," Barnett said. "Please, sit here. You don't mind if I ask you a few questions? I trust Mr. Palmar has explained what I'm here for."

"A journalist," Quimby said, continuing to stand.

Barnett sensed hostility. "That's right," he said, trying to look as open and honest as possible. "I'd like to talk to you about your friends Lizzard and Margery."

"Why?"

"I am trying to gather information on the events surrounding the murders of their employers."

"They were not responsible."

"I am convinced of that also," Barnett said. "Scotland Yard does not seem to be. They have been placed under arrest."

"I know. I believe that Inspector Lestrade was acting hastily."

"That's so," Quimby agreed. "And it was the newspapers that made him do it. Long stories about how nobody was safe, not even the nobility. Not even in their own homes, or in their own beds. The people were becoming agitated, and the Home Secretary had to do something. Scotland Yard had to arrest somebody, and right quick, too, just to show they was doing their jobs."

"There may be something in what you say," Barnett admitted. "And if journalistic outcry caused your friends to be incarcerated, then perhaps a renewed outcry can get them released again."

"The authorities will have to let them go soon anyway," Quimby said, nodding with satisfaction. "Five killings all committed the same way, and the last while they were already locked up. It stands to reason."

"Five?" Barnett asked, surprised. "I know of only four."

"Five," Quimby said. "And I'm the one who should know."

"Let's see," Barnett said, counting on his fingers. "There's Venn and Stanhope and Lord Walbine and Sir Geoffrey Cruikstaff—"

"And my late master," Quimby said. "Lord John Darby."

"He was murdered?" Barnett asked. "I don't remember hearing of it. When did it happen?"

"His body was found early in the morning of Tuesday, the fifteenth of February."

"By you?"

"No, sir. By the Earl of Arundale."

"In his bedroom?"

"No, sir. In the dining room."

"I see." Barnett leaned back in his chair, which creaked alarmingly. He shifted forward again. "What makes you think that your master's death is related to the others?"

"His throat was cut. And there was no way for anyone to have got in or out. An impossible crime, Mr. Barnett. The only one who could have committed it was me."

Barnett nodded. "I take it you didn't kill Lord John," he said.

"No, sir," Quimby said. "He wasn't a particularly easy man to work for, but I had no reason to wish to do myself out of a position. Besides, I can't stand the sight of blood."

"I see," Barnett said. "If, then, for some reason you had wanted to do his lordship in, you would have used poison."

Quimby shook his head. "I couldn't do that to good food," he said. "No, sir; if I ever decide to do anybody in, I fancy I shall use a very large, very blunt instrument."

Barnett pulled out his notebook. "May I ask a few questions regarding your late employer and your two friends Lizzard and Margery?" he said.

"I will assist you," Quimby said, "because I live in fear that Inspector Lestrade will decide to add a third manservant to the two he already has in quod."

"That is one of my questions," Barnett said. "Why hasn't he? That is, why haven't I read anything about the death of Lord John Darby?"

Quimby poured himself a glass of sherry from the decanter and then seated himself gingerly on one of the hardback chairs beside the upholstered armchair Barnett had settled into. "That I cannot tell you, Mr. Barnett," he said. "Lord Arundale is a powerful enough man to have the news of the murder quenched, and he has done so. But what his motivation is, I do not know."

"Do the police know of the murder?"

"I am not sure. I would think not. There is a private inquiry agent working with the police — a Mr. Holmes — who does know about it. He has questioned me extensively. He also thinks Lizzard and Margery are innocent; he told me so."

"What did he ask you about?"

"Everything you can think of. He asked me how long I had been employed by his lordship, whether his lordship had any enemies that I knew of, what sort of books his lordship liked to read."

"Books?"

"Yes, sir. That's what he asked."

"And what did you reply? What sort of books did Lord John like to read?"

"I can't recall ever seeing his lordship with a book in his hands, unless it was Bradshaw."

"He restricted his reading to the railway timetables, eh?"

"His lordship did take a newspaper, sir. The Daily Gazette."

"I see. Can you remark on anything else of note, either in Mr. Holmes's questions or in your responses?"

"It's hard for me to tell, sir. Being interrogated is a novel experience for me."

"Well then, did Mr. Holmes seem particularly pleased or distressed at any of your responses?"

"No, sir. He did compliment me on my powers of observation at one point."

"When was that?"

"He asked me if anything was missing from the house or from his lordship's person. I replied in the negative, with the possible exception of a thin gold chain that his lordship wore on occasion around his neck. I said I couldn't be sure it was taken, as his lordship didn't always wear it."

"Did you check where it was kept when Lord John wasn't wearing it?"

"Mr. Holmes asked me that, also. I told him that I couldn't say, because I have no idea where his lordship kept it. His other personal jewelry was kept in a box on the dressing table, but I never saw the chain in there. It was when I mentioned that to him that Mr. Holmes complimented me."

"Was the chain found among his lordship's effects?"

"I don't believe so. I was present at a preliminary inventory, conducted by the family solicitor, and it was not found at that time."

"Did Lord John have anything suspended from this chain?"

"Yes, but I cannot tell you what. He always kept it beneath his shirt, next to his skin."

"I see," Barnett said. "An interesting idiosyncrasy, although probably bearing no relationship to the crime. The object cannot have been very large, and if it had been of great value, I'm sure its existence would have been known of by some other member of the family."

"That is probably so," Quimby agreed.

"What I find most interesting is the secrecy," Barnett said. "I can see why the murderer wouldn't wish to advertise, but why the Earl of Arundale would want to suppress knowledge of a murder I don't know. But I will do my best to find out. I suppose there is no chance that this earl did your boss in?"

"Did him in? No, sir. The homicide assuredly occurred before the arrival of the earl."

"Pity," said Barnett, with the heartlessness of a true newspaperman. "Now, about Lizzard and Margery. How well do you know them?"