Cyril Hare - An English Murder

"Very true," said Julius humbly. "I am sorry, Rogers; it was selfish of me."

"Just as a matter of interest, Sir Julius, I suppose it was Downing Street you were making for?"

Cold and exhausted though he was, Julius smiled. "Oh yes," he assured his companion. "It was Downing Street. I'm not a fugitive escaping from justice, Rogers."

"Ah," said the detective. It was impossible to tell from his tone whether he believed the assertion or not. "It's only a matter of academic interest for me now, as you might say, but I thought it would be interesting to know."

It was nearly dark when the two men arrived back at Warbeck Hall in a renewed downpour of rain. Anybody who had been there to see them might well have been excused for thinking that their figures were indeed those of a recaptured prisoner and his keeper. Sir Julius could hardly drag one foot after another and could scarcely have completed the journey but for the support of Rogers, who marched impassively by his side, holding his arm in a firm grip, a look of sullen determination on his face. But happily there was no-one to see the Chancellor's disgrace and they gained a side entrance unobserved.

Still in silence, the sergeant led his charge to the cloakroom, where he stripped him of his mackintosh and waders. Sir Julius made no protest. In any case his fingers were by now too numb for him to have dealt with the sodden straps and buckles for himself. This done, he allowed himself to be taken upstairs to his room and undressed. Meekly he swallowed the hot brandy and water that Rogers conjured up with astonishing speed; meekly he got into the hot bath that Rogers prepared for him. He was by now in such a state of subservience that he felt positively grateful that the man at least abstained from accompanying him into the bathroom and scrubbing him down.

On emerging from his bath, he found Rogers waiting for him in his room, having in the interval found himself a change of clothes. The bath and the drink had worked wonders, and Sir Julius was by now sufficiently recovered from his own discomfort to reflect that he was not the only person to have had a wetting that afternoon.

"I hope you are none the worse, Rogers," he said in an unwonted tone of consideration.

"Thank you, no sir," said the detective shortly, as if a trifle annoyed that any human weakness should be attributed to him. "And now I dare say you would like to go to bed."

"No, no. I am perfectly all right again, thanks to your attention, Rogers. I am a little tired and shall retire early, perhaps. But at the moment I am more in need of food than rest."

"Very good, sir. In that case, as soon as you are dressed we will go down to tea."

The "we" was not lost on Sir Julius. He understood perfectly all that it implied. From now on Sergeant Rogers was to be his constant companion. So long as he remained at Warbeck Hall he would never be out of range of that cold, disapproving eye. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the inevitable and made haste to dress himself.

"Well, Sir Julius," said Mrs. Carstairs, as he and his keeper entered the library, "here you are. Did you get very wet?"

Sir Julius was astonished to find that tea was only just being brought in. The whole of his escapade, during which he had lived through enough sensations to last a lifetime, had occupied little more than an hour. It was a relief to find that his absence had not been long enough to occasion remark. There was Mrs. Carstairs, preparing herself to preside over the teapot, just as Camilla had done—could it be only twenty-four hours ago?—and Dr. Bottwink, placid and silent, both of them completely unaware that he had done anything more than take a stroll in the rain. At the same time he felt a little aggrieved that after such a fearful ordeal he should be taken for granted. One does not narrowly escape from drowning every day. But much though he loved to talk about himself and his doings, this was an occasion for restraint.

"I did. Very wet indeed," he replied. "So did Sergeant Rogers, who came with me part of the way. Which reminds me, you have no objection, I hope, to Rogers joining us at tea? He feels that in all the circumstances it would perhaps be advisable——"

"Of course, of course." Mrs. Carstairs appeared to be in high good humour. "We shall be delighted to have his company, shall we not, Dr. Bottwink? (I've got the name right now, you see!) Briggs, will you fetch another cup and saucer for Sergeant Rogers?"

"Very good, madam."

Briggs's voice was completely devoid of expression. By no movement of limb or feature did he give the smallest indication that the order was anything but a perfectly normal one. A well-trained butler is schooled to repress his feelings on such occasions. None the less, by some occult means he contrived to convey to every person in the room that he was outraged by the proposal. How he did it, it was impossible to say. Such subtle means of a communication are the secrets of telepathists and well-trained butlers.

As though in deliberate defiance of the waves of disapproval directed at her, Mrs. Carstairs chose to improve on the occasion.

"I quite understand, Sir Julius," she said confidentially, "and, if I may say so, I entirely approve. After all, you are a particularly important person just now, are you not?"

For the second time in less than a minute Julius found himself under the cruel necessity of holding his peace about the subject which, of all subjects under the sun, he most liked to discuss. That he succeeded on this occasion was perhaps due to the presence of Briggs, perhaps simply to the fact that Mrs. Carstairs did not give him the opportunity to say anything. For in the next breath she succeeded in giving additional offence to an already deeply wounded man.

"And bring a tray for Lady Camilla, Briggs," she went on. "I don't expect she will wish to come down. I'll take her up her tea before I have my own."

Dr. Bottwink, Julius and Rogers simultaneously offered to spare her the trouble by assuming the burden of Camilla's tray. Briggs emphatically but wordlessly declared that it was the butler's business and nobody else's to take meals up to guests at Warbeck Hall; but Mrs. Carstairs disregarded them all. Keeping up a flow of inconsequential chatter, she dispensed tea to the men until a tray complete with a freshly made pot of tea was produced.

"You men must look after yourselves until I come back," she said archly. "But I shan't be more than a minute or two."

Decidedly Mrs. Carstairs was in good humour. She was humming a tune under her breath as she tripped—it was the only word for it—to the door which Briggs, exuding disapproval, held open for her. If there was one person in that unhappy household who had recovered hope and spirit since the onset of the thaw, it was certainly she.

The three men, left alone, resumed their seats in a room that had suddenly become blissfully silent. Julius found himself to be ravenously hungry. He devoured two buttered scones and half a plate of bread and butter, before going on to make deep inroads on the Christmas cake. It was perhaps fortunate that Dr. Bottwink had a small appetite, for Rogers, too, proved to be a hearty eater.

The meal was accomplished with the minimum of words. Julius was too much engrossed in feeding to wish to speak, and neither of the other two was normally given to small talk. Only when the teapot was exhausted and cigarettes produced did anything that could be called conversation begin, and then it was little more than a few desultory remarks from Dr. Bottwink about the weather, responded to by grunts from Julius and more civil monosyllables from Rogers.

A little later, leaning back in an armchair, his weary legs extended towards the fire, Julius was feeling much as in younger days he used to feel after a long day in the saddle. (The fact that in his twenties he had been a regular rider to hounds was one of the most jealously guarded secrets in the higher circles of the Party.) He was going to be confoundedly stiff tomorrow. Why hadn't Rogers put mustard in that bath? He hadn't told him to do so, but the fellow should have thought of it for himself. No, that was hardly fair. After all, he was a policeman, not a valet. He had done pretty well as it was. The Chancellor dozed for a moment, then jerked himself awake. This wouldn't do! There was work to do, awaiting him in his room. He had better make a start on it now. But he remained glued to his seat, and his eyes began to close again. They opened once more as he heard Dr. Bottwink's voice, coming apparently from an immense distance: