A Question of Proof (6 page)

The Superintendent Armstrong who interviewed Hero Vale was a very different man from the official inquisitor of Percival Vale. His eyes expressed a polite admiration of her beauty and his voice a polite recognition of the unpleasant circumstances in which she was involved.

‘This must have been a severe shock for you, madam. But if you could just answer one or two questions; a matter of routine?’

‘Why, of course.’

‘After lunch – you didn’t happen to notice if your nephew was at lunch, did you?’

‘No. I couldn’t. I wasn’t there myself.’

The superintendent gently uncrossed his legs, and said in his mildest voice:

‘Oh, I hadn’t realised that. To be sure. You were lunching out? With friends?’

‘No, by myself. I took some sandwiches out – into the hayfield. My husband will tell you I often behave in an eccentric way.’

‘Quite natural, I’m sure: I mean, to prefer one’s meals out of doors on a fine sunny day. I take it you didn’t see anything of your nephew – or anyone else, while you were in the field?’

‘No, I couldn’t very well. You see, I was in one of the haystacks – the – I’m afraid it was the one where they found him.’

‘You don’t say. This must make it still more distressing for you. But, really, it’s very lucky for us.’

‘For you?’

‘Why, yes. Don’t you see, it narrows down the time during which the murder could have been committed. Unless, of course, the body was placed there later.’

The superintendent’s eyes were twinkling enthusiastically at her, like a benevolent uncle’s exhibiting a new toy to his nephew. Hero realised that he was making great efforts to put her at her ease – ‘did that mean off her guard,’ she thought – and that he knew she realised it. He continued a trifle brusquely:

‘And after that?’

‘I went in, just before the end of the boys’ lunch. I was with my husband for a bit. Then I was superintending the catering and chairs and things for the sports, till I went up to dress.’

‘Which would be about –?’

‘I went up just after the hall clock struck two.’

‘Did Mr. Vale go up with you?’

‘Oh, no. He was in his dressing room when I went into my bedroom.’

‘I see. Thank you very much, Mrs. Vale. I hope I shall not have to trouble you again.’

The superintendent was feeling slightly ruffled when he sat down in the morning-room and prepared to interview the staff. He was fortified, however, by the presence of Sergeant Pearson with a large notebook in the background, and a certain solid piece of metal in his own pocket. Tiverton was the victim. He had been in the common room the whole time between lunch and two-thirty, except for occasional visits to the day room, to see that the boys, who were sitting there till they should be told to change, were doing nothing outrageous.

‘Which of the staff were with you?’

‘Let me see. Mr. Sims was there most of the time. He went out, at about two o’clock – to change, I think: I didn’t notice him after that till just before the first race began.’

‘You did not go up to change, yourself, sir?’

‘No, I had put on my festive garments before lunch.’

‘What about the other masters?’

‘Well, really, I’m not my brother’s keeper, you know. They were in and out, most of them. Gadsby, I believe, went in to the village shortly after lunch. Wrench turned up soon after two o’clock and went out again. Evans came in to change the boys: that must have
been
just before two-fifteen. Who else is there? Oh, yes: Griffin had a cigarette here before he went out to look over the arrangements for the sports. I cannot answer for the headmaster,’ he added mischievously.

‘Did all the masters attend the sports, Mr. Tiverton?’

‘Yes, they were all there. I didn’t see Wrench till the end of the first race. Talking to parents or something, I believe.’

‘And you have no suggestions, sir, as to the perpetrator of the crime?’

‘No. No – except that I can’t conceive what motive any of us could have that makes you inquire so searchingly into our whereabouts.’

‘A matter of form. Thank you, sir; that will be all for the present,’ said the superintendent indifferently. ‘Could you ask Mr. Gadsby to step this way?’

Gadsby came in and embarrassed the superintendent by a hearty handshake. ‘Well, putting me on the mat, eh? Fire away then.’

‘If you could just tell me where you were between lunch and the sports, Mr. Gadsby. We have to inquire into these things.’

‘That’s all right, old man. Fullah’s got to do his duty. ‘S’matter of fact, I popped into the village for a quick one. Have to get primed for these social riots, y’know. Not a society man.’

‘Quite so, sir. And how quick was the one?’

Gadsby went into a paroxysm of laughter. ‘Ha! ha! ha! That’s a good one. Damned smart. Must tell it to
the
chaps. Ha! ha! ‘How quick was the one?’ Well, to tell you the truth, it was quick all right, but more than one. Two or three. Good beer at the Cock and Feathers, and I settled it down with a couple of whiskies. Old Tompkins, keeps the pub, y’know, superintendent; he’ll go into the witness box for me.’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, sir,’ replied the superintendent playfully, a remark which also went down very well with the hilarious Gadsby. ‘You were there, how long, sir?’ he prompted.

‘Left about two-fifteen. No distance in a car.’

‘Oh, I see, you were in a car. I see. Then there is only one further question. Can you think of any reason for this boy’s being done to death? Ever heard anyone threaten to – it might have started as a practical joke on the part of some boys, for instance.’

Gadsby leaned forward with what Tiverton called ‘his schoolgirl’s confidence’ expression. ‘I don’t mind telling you – though it seems a bit hard on the poor little fellow, talking like this just now – most of the school hated him like poison. I wouldn’t put it past a good many of them to screw his neck a touch too violently. Funny thing, that: only at breakfast today –’ he broke off suddenly.

‘At breakfast, sir, you were saying?’ the superintendent prompted.

‘Oh, we happened to be talking about murders, that’s all,’ Gadsby replied lamely. Then, as though feeling that something more was expected of him, ‘Curious what coincidences you run across every
now
and then, isn’t it, superintendent? I remember in ’17 –’

But Armstrong was in no mood for reminiscences of that sort. He intercepted the garrulous Gadsby before he could get into his stride, and skilfully elicited from him the substance of that breakfast conversation which had already been recorded. The sergeant scribbled furiously.

It was Sims’ turn next. He came hesitatingly into the room, an uncertain smile looking coyly out through his reedy moustache.

‘Good evening. Er – I believe you wished to see me.’

‘That’s right, sir. I have to ask you a few questions. Will you just tell me your movements after lunch today?’

‘Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve a hopeless memory for that sort of thing. Now, what
did
I do? I went into the common room for a bit. Tiverton was there, I remember. Then I changed; upstairs. Then I came down again. I’m afraid this is all rather inadequate.’

‘Have you any idea what time you came down, sir?’

‘Well, it struck two as I was going up the stairs. And one takes about a quarter of an hour to change. So I suppose –’

‘I see. You came down about quarter past two. Then you went into the common room, didn’t you?’ ‘Yes.’ Sims shot a quick glance at the superintendent. ‘No, I’m wrong. Whoever told you?
I
went outside and had a cigarette.’

‘Whereabouts did you go?’

‘Oh, out at the back. Along by the hayfield, you know. I walked up and down the path. Griffin must have seen me, you know. He was out on Big Field.’ Armstrong did not fail to note an apprehensive timbre in the tone of Sims’ last statements, but he gave no sign of it.

‘Quite. And I take it you saw nothing out of the way?’

‘No, of course not. I should have told you. There was no one out on that side of the house but Griffin. Evans came in just as I was at the door.’ ‘Thank you, sir. Then, if you have no suggestions to make, will you be so good as to send along Mr. Evans?’

Unless he is lying – no, unless he and Mr. Griffin are in collaboration, and if Mrs. Vale’s evidence is correct, that would seem to fix the murder between one-thirty and two-fifteen, unless, of course, it was committed somewhere else. Far too many ‘ifs’ and ‘unlesses,’ thought Superintendent Armstrong, fingering a certain envelope in his pocket.

‘Ah, good evening; Mr. Evans, isn’t it? Have you any theories about this crime?’

Michael was conscious of antagonism; a very faintly contemptuous accent on the word ‘you’ (had some one else been bothering the superintendent with theories?), and a general air of dangerous quiescence in the superintendent’s big body slumped back heavily in his chair.

‘Me? Oh, Lord, no.’

‘You have never heard anyone threatening to murder this boy?’

‘Of course not. Do murderers commonly proclaim their intentions in public?’

The superintendent’s brow contracted. He said, ‘You do not recall a conversation at breakfast today?’

‘What on earth? Surely you are not suspecting Griffin? It’s too ludicrous. Why, anyone might talk about screwing a boy’s neck. I do myself about twice a week.’

‘Very well, sir, we’ll pass that over.’ Michael had an uneasy feeling that Armstrong was by no means passing it over. Was he just an ordinary police numskull? No, there was a formidable intelligence in those small eyes. Then why go off on this ridiculous tack about Griffin? Perhaps he is trying to put me off my guard. Be careful.

‘Now, just a few formal questions, sir. I am told you were not in school for lunch.’

‘No, I went out – into the wood beyond the playing fields.’

‘Did you see Mrs. Vale?’

O God, now it’s begun. What has she told him? Chance it.

‘No.’

‘Oh, I thought you might have. She was having lunch in the hayfield.’ Thank God. It seems all right so far.

‘Did you have anything to eat, sir?’

‘Yes, I took some sandwiches with me.’ That should be safe enough.

‘I see… I expect they were busy in the kitchen today.’ The superintendent’s voice was just a shade too offhand. Michael sensed the trap.

‘I keep a loaf and butter in my room.’ Well, so I do. Damn and blast! I should never have said that. I should have waited till he asked. Out of one trap into another… Armstrong, however, made no comment.

‘I take it you saw no one in the wood, or on the hayfield?’

‘No. Griffin came out not long after the bell rang. He and Mould, the groundsman, were in Big Field all the time, I think, after that.’

This was going fine. Nothing to be afraid of in this fat official in blue. Just my guilty conscience.

‘I understand, then, that you didn’t go into the hayfield at all, sir? You were in the wood from one-thirty to about two-fifteen?’

‘Yes.’

The superintendent creaked forward in his chair, rummaging in a pocket, and pulled forth an envelope; allowed something to roll out of it on to the table in front of him.

‘And how do you account for this pencil of yours being found in the haystack where the body was? These are your initials, aren’t they?’

Hell and damnation! That’s torn it. Must have dropped out when I was kissing Hero. Didn’t miss it
this
afternoon. He tried to assume a look of injured innocence.

‘Well, I really don’t know. Unless it dropped out during the hay battle yesterday. I was ragging about with the boys a good deal.’

‘Oh, you missed it yesterday, did you?’

Michael became vaguely aware of another pitfall. Always keep as near the truth as possible when you’re lying – he seemed to remember as a convincing maxim.

‘No. I’d no idea I’d lost it till you turned it up in that rather melodramatic way.’ Michael was amazed to feel a wave of apparently genuine righteous indignation surging up in him. He added, with some heat, ‘And I may say, if these are your usual methods of interrogation, I don’t wonder the papers make a fuss about the third degree.’

‘Perhaps we are both being a little melodramatic, sir,’ said the superintendent, retreating in as good order as possible from his false position. To tell the truth, he felt considerably nonplussed, as Michael might have noticed if he had not been too occupied wondering whether the superintendent could have failed to observe the gaping and guilty chasm between his first question about the pencil and its answer. However, Armstrong began to show signs of apology rather than suspicion. Michael found himself giving a lively account of the hay battle, and in the end left the presence with a feeling of doubt as to whether its Machiavellian manoeuvres had not been
a
product of his own guilty imagination.

To him succeeded Griffin, evidently prepared to lose his temper on the least provocation. This was duly given to him by the superintendent’s question about his unwary breakfast table remark.

‘Oh, my holy heavens! If that’s what you’re getting at, you’d better arrest every schoolmaster in England on suspicion of murder.’

The superintendent handled this highly combustible article with great delicacy. ‘Come, sir,’ he said, ‘you must realise that we policemen have to go into every detail, however trivial it may seem. You remember the case of Jones-Evans?’

‘Jones-Evans? The Llanttyprid forward? Do I not. I always said that fellow would come to no good. Bit my – ear once in the scrum. Yes, I see what you mean.’

‘I take it, then, that your remarks were not meant in earnest?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that. I might well have screwed the poor little blighter’s neck for him. But, as it happens, I didn’t, if that’s what you want to know.’

‘Exactly. You were out in the field, weren’t you, after lunch? See anything peculiar?’

‘No, except Mouldy – he’s the groundsman; descended from a long line of village idiots, I think. Found he’d put out one too many sets of hurdles this time.’

‘What did you do about it, sir?’

‘Oh, I spoke a few words to him on the subject. Then we put them back in his shed again.’