Alan Hunter - Landed Gently

Gently hunched himself deeper in the ulster, which he hadn’t taken off.

‘I’m not getting at anything… I’m just following the ball,’ he replied.

‘Well, I don’t like the way it’s rolling.’

‘I’m not sure I do, either. But one thing is certain enough, if you follow it to the end… you’ll come to a point where a murderer’s bludgeon struck an innocent head.’

Sir Daynes snorted. ‘There’s another thing certain. I ought to blasted well order you back to the Manor to keep Gwen company! Hrmp, hrmp. I suppose it’s Mrs Page you want to see in here next?’

An interesting tray had been brought in soon after Brass was dismissed. It bore several bottles of varying silhouettes, a selection of glasses and some slices of iced cake reposing on a napkinned salver. This caused some awkwardness for Inspector Dyson, who had a strong sense of duty; but a proper ruling from Sir Daynes quickly relieved the situation, and soon two constables, one inspector, one chief inspector and a chief constable were fortifying themselves against the season and making good any gaps that might have appeared since lunch-time. Within bounds, it was a festive scene. The glamour was extended when permission was given to smoke, and Sir Daynes distributed the high-calibre contents of his cigar-case. One did not often see five policemen, two of them in uniform, puffing Havanas while they solemnly partook of vintage port and mellowed liqueurs, and some surprise was to be looked for in the face of Mrs Page when she appeared through the door. Sir Daynes hurried over to her and put a fatherly arm round her shoulders.

‘Don’t be alarmed, m’dear, don’t be alarmed. Only keep you a few minutes, y’know… Somerhayes just sent in a snifter to keep our spirits up.’

Mrs Page smiled, but it seemed to Gently that it required an effort. There wasn’t much colour in her transparent cheeks, and about her eyes, so like and yet so unlike her cousin’s, ran the suspicion of two dark circles. She sat down boldly enough, however, and Dyson, hurriedly getting rid of his cigar, was put a little out of countenance.

‘Like some sherry, m’dear… cherry brandy, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you, Sir Daynes. We have been drinking in the lounge.’

‘Bad business, eh? Bad business! Impossible to imagine who’d want to do any harm to a likeable young feller like that.’

Mrs Page bit her beautiful lips, and for a moment it looked as though she would burst into tears. The moment passed; she sat very upright. Sir Daynes, pulling up a chair, placed himself deliberately between her and Gently.

‘Now just give the inspector your full name and age and address, m’dear… that’s the ticket. Be twenty-nine for some years yet, eh? Now all you have to do is to tell us what you know about the feller, and anything you can remember about what happened after he came here…’

From the way she spoke it sounded as though she had been rehearsing it. For all she could do, it would come out in little rushes of pre-composed phrasing. And the tenor of it was exactly what they had heard before. With minor variations, it was the identical account given by Somerhayes and Brass. The artist had talked scoffingly of him the day after the lecture had been delivered. On the weekend following, driving a rattle-trap Buick he had borrowed from a friend, Earle had parked on the Place terrace and manfully rung the front-door bell. He had made mixed impressions. The tapissiers were an absorbed and conservative little community, and Earle, though he had charm, had very little tact. But his enthusiasm was genuine enough, and so, too, was his talent, and after another visit or two the tapissiers had taken him to their hearts. Somerhayes had shown a liking for him from the outset.

‘Must interrupt, m’dear, but what about a feller called Hugh Johnson…? What was his attitude to Earle?’

‘Johnson?’ Mrs Page hesitated awkwardly. ‘Well, he might have been the exception, I suppose. He’s a Welshman, you know… very clever and all that, but rather… well, introspective, I suppose you’d call it. He’s apt to sulk a bit.’

‘Nurse a grudge, would he?’

‘I don’t think he would forget one in a hurry.’

‘Sort of feller who might turn nasty?’

‘I… wouldn’t like to say that. He’s quick, of course, soon fires up and all that… and sullen — that’s the word for it. He broods over things for days. But he can be a dear, too, when he likes.’

‘Hah. And he took against Earle?’

‘He was a little surly towards him. He felt that Earle had displaced him with Brass. To a certain extent that was true.’

‘Complained about it, did he?’

‘Oh no, Hugh was much too proud to complain. But he had some things to say about Americans being all talk, and cutting things like that. And he used to snub Earle unmercifully, which was a sheer waste of time… Earle being…’

Mrs Page broke off, and from the sinking movement of her head as well as the sudden rise in her voice, Gently judged that she was again struggling on the verge of tears.

‘There, there,’ mumbled Sir Daynes. ‘Shocking affair, m’dear, shocking. Take your time. Got all day. Dyson, stub that confounded cigar-butt… Smoke’s getting in the lady’s eyes.’

The head rose again, and after a pause Mrs Page was ready to go on. Once more the short-hand constable’s pencil commenced whisking down the page. They had been very much looking forward to having Earle with them at Christmas. At first there was some doubt as to whether he could get leave, but the easing of the current political tension had enabled the Sculton CO to grant one or two passes, Earle’s amongst them. He had long planned his day of Christmas shopping in London. He had wanted Mrs Page to accompany him, but she had been prevented from doing so by the necessity of clearing up the business-end of the workshop before the Christmas break.

On the morning after his arrival he had been at his most exuberant; he had dominated the breakfast-table with his account of his visit to London, and directly afterwards had dragged Les and herself away to the workshop to help him set up the loom for his famous cartoon. After lunch he had wanted to stretch his limbs and look at the park. She had consented to walk with him as far as the folly, from which there was a striking prospect of the house and the lake, and on the way he had talked a great deal about his home in Missouri, and about his people, and about the sort of Christmas they would be spending there. He had also talked of a projected visit to Missouri that he was trying to persuade Les to make with him in the autumn, and which he wanted her to undertake also. His lively behaviour at the party Sir Daynes himself had been witness to. When the party broke up, the various members of it had retired in the order already vouched for, and she had first heard of the tragedy when her personal maid brought in the tea at eight o’clock.

‘Fine,’ exclaimed Sir Daynes at the end of the recital. ‘That’s all we wanted to know, m’dear, you’ve given us a perfect model of a statement. Wish everyone could be so precise, eh? Lots of people can’t. But that’s all we want to know, and you can run along now…’

The words froze on the baronet’s lips as he became aware of Gently looming up on his flank.

‘Yes, Gently?’ he demanded sharply.

‘Just one small point…’

Sir Daynes drew in his breath wickedly, but he could think of no good reason for applying a veto.

‘Well?’ he rapped.

‘At the party last night… Mrs Page, his lordship and the deceased were alone for a short time. Could Mrs Page oblige us with a description of the conversation which took place?’

‘Confound it, man! Already had that from Somerhayes. Young feller was still carrying on about Missouri, wasn’t he, m’dear?’