Cut to the Quick (16 page)

There were nods from the other servants.

Sir Robert had grown very pale. He stood motionless, save for the quick rise and fell of his chest. Somehow he kept his voice quite level. “You understand, all of you, that we need to obtain information on even the most trivial points. Does any of you remember precisely when Colonel Fontclair left to go riding?”

The servants consulted with each other and agreed that it was after five o’clock—perhaps five or ten minutes after. It was certainly no earlier than five.

Sir Robert was white and still as a statue.

Into this painful silence came a high, clear voice. It was Molly Dale, the pretty mobcapped maidservant. “What I don’t understand, Mr. Dipper, is how you got back in the house?”

Dipper stared, wet his lips, and did not answer.

“What do you mean by that question?” asked Sir Robert.

“Well, seeing that the front door was barred, sir, all the time we was at dinner, I just wondered how Mr. Dipper got back in from his walk outside.’* She gazed at Dipper, perplexed, her head tipped to one side like a bird’s.

Mrs. Cox shook a finger at her. “Haven’t you been told often enough not to meddle in matters that are none of your concern?” “Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” said Sir Robert, “but I wish to hear what Molly has to say. What makes you think Mr. Dipper didn’t come in through the back door?”

Dipper was staring at the table before him, as though memorizing every crack in the wood. Molly caught her lower lip between her teeth, and her eyes grew wide with distress.

“I am waiting for an answer, Molly,” said Sir Robert.

“I— I don’t know what to answer, sir! Am I getting Mr. Dipper in trouble somehow?”

“Listen to me very carefully, Molly. When you speak to me now, you are not merely addressing the master of this house, but a magistrate engaged in the enforcement of His Majesty’s laws. You are bound to answer truthfully and completely any question I put to you.”

“Y— yes, sir.”

“Now I ask you again: How do you know that Mr. Dipper didn’t enter the house through the back door in the servants’ wing?” “Well, because I saw him, sir. I was over at the cabinet, there.” She pointed to a large walnut cabinet next to the door leading into the screens passage. “I’d got up from the table to get a cloth, because Peter knocked over his ale and it spilled all over the floor underneath my chair, and all at once Mr. Dipper popped in through that door and said he was sorry to be so late to dinner. And he gave me a fright, because I didn’t hear him come in, and I jumped up in the air and said, ‘Lord, Mr. Dipper, you should be ashamed of yourself, to scare a girl so.’ And then I teased him a bit for being late to dinner. So I know he came in from the main house. And that’s all I can remember, sir, honestly it is.”

“You’ve done very well. Thank you.” The blood was flowing back into Sir Robert’s cheeks, and his voice rang out clear and strong.

“Dipper, you've presented us with a problem. You say you went out for a walk shortly before half past four. Molly says you came in to dinner from the main house some twenty minutes later. I should like you to explain how you got back into the main house from outside. We know you cannot have used the front door, which was barred, or the conservatory windows, since Lady Fontclair and I would have'seen you/*

Dipper rose, and dragged up his eyes to meet Sir Robert’s. “I didn’t go out for a walk, sir.”

The other servants stared at him, holding their breath.

“Then where did you go when you left Mr. Kestrel’s room this afternoon?”

Dipper threw one remorseful look at his master, then burst out, “I went downstairs to the room where all the guns and knives is kept!”

The servants stared, gasped, whispered, nudged each other.

“Take him to my office for questioning,” Sir Robert ordered Senderby briskly. “Rawlinson, you will take down his statement. Mr. Kestrel, you may be present if you wish, seeing that he's your servant.”

Senderby edged nervously toward Dipper. In height and build he all but dwarfed the lithe little valet; it was like watching a lion creep up fearfully on a mouse. But how could Senderby be sure what Dipper might be capable of? He had never had to deal with a murderer before.

But Dipper went with him meekly. Sir Robert said he would follow as soon as he had had a word with Travis and Mrs. Cox.

MacGregor wondered what he ought to do now. He could stay here and help quell the commotion among the servants. He could join the Fontclairs and Craddocks for whatever was left of dinner. Or he could go along to Sir Robert's office and hear what Kestrel's man had to say for himself. As he stood debating, he felt a hand clasp his arm. He turned and confronted a pair of wild, earnest eyes he hardly recognized as Kestrel's. “He didn't do it,” the young man whispered. “He cannot have done it! I know him.”

MacGregor reminded himself that he had never trusted Julian Kestrel. He had less cause to trust him than ever, now that his

servant had been proved a liar, and might turn out a murderer besides. But MacGregor’s trust in people sprang from instinct, not reason, and his instincts about Kestrel were muddled just now. All he knew for certain was that he could not look into those eyes and tell the fellow to go about his business.

He said, "If he’s innocent, Sir Robert will tumble to it quickly enough."

“Why should he, when he has every reason to find him guilty?”

“See here, Sir Robert's an honest man and a magistrate! You can’t think for a moment he'd charge a man with murder unless he had just cause?”

“I don’t know what 'just cause' means. I only know that if Dipper is cleared of suspicion, Sir Robert will have no choice but to look for the murderer among his own family. How in the name of heaven can he hope to be objective? Think what a convenient culprit Dipper would make—a Londoner, an outsider, a servant, but not one of the Fontclairs* own. Sir Robert has only to bind him over for trial and close the investigation, with no more enquiry into who else might have committed the crime!**

“I've known Sir Robert for years—as many years as you've been alive, most likely—and I tell you, he's as honourable a man as ever drew breath. He'll give your servant a chance to explain himself, and if there's not enough evidence to hold him, he'll set him free and go on with the investigation, no matter what the cost to his family. That's the kind of man he is.”

“I hope to God you’re right.”

MacGregor watched him walk distractedly about, and suddenly grinned. “I'm glad to see you can get yourself into a pother about something. I’d begun to think you were nothing more than a fashion plate out of some London magazine.”

Sir Robert called, “Are you coming, Mr. Kestrel?”

“Are you coming?” Julian asked MacGregor.

“I suppose I might as well,” MacGregor grumbled. “In the mood you're in now, there’s no telling what crack-brained thing you might say, if I*m not there to tug on the reins.”

“Oh, I won’t lose my head. I can't afford to. I've got to keep my

wits about me, and my temper in check, or I’ll be no use to Dipper at all.” His face relaxed into a smile. “You'd hardly credit that in London I'm renowned for my sangfroid.”

‘Tm not sure I don’t like you better without it. But you’re right—if ever you needed a cool head, you need it now.”

Two oil lamps were burning in Sir Robert’s office, one on his desk, and the other on the writing table in the corner where Raw-linson was taking notes. Sir Robert sat at his desk and looked across at Dipper, who stood in the centre of the room. Julian placed his chair strategically beside them, where he could watch them both. MacGregor paced the room, his shadow flitting in his wake. Outdoors, the wind was blowing fiercely, driving pellets of rain against the windowpanes.

Sir Robert said to Dipper, “I have a duty to advise you at the outset that you are not required to answer my questions. I cannot compel you to give information against yourself. I strongly suggest, however, that, if you have information that may excuse or explain your conduct, you present it now. Otherwise, I shall be forced to draw highly damaging inferences against you. Do you understand?"

“I think so, sir."

“What is your full name?"

“Thomas Stokes, sir."

Sir Robert looked up sharply. “I thought you were called Dipper."

“Dipper s a nickname, sir."

“Did you know Dipper wasn't his real name?" Sir Robert asked Julian.

The nickname, as Julian well knew, had been given to Dipper on account of his dexterity at dipping his hand into other people's pockets. “He told me his real name when I engaged him. But he said he was accustomed to be called Dipper, and as I thought it suited him, I've kept it up.” He added, very deliberately, “I haven't the remotest idea what it means.”

Dipper's jaw dropped, and he started to shake his head in protest. Julian's eyes shot him a warning: Don't be an ass. I've lied for you, and I'm going to go on lying. If you try to stop me now, you'll only dish us both.

“What does it mean?” Sir Robert asked Dipper.

“I dunno, sir. Me father give it to me when I was a kid.”

“How old are you now?”

“I'm twenty, sir.”

“How long have you been in Mr. Kestrel's employ?”

“I think it's been about two years, sir.”

Sir Robert turned to Julian. “You engaged him as your valet when he was only eighteen? Had he any previous experience?”

“Not a whit. He was a complete tabula rasa. I was able to train him exactly as I liked.”

“What were you doing before Mr. Kestrel engaged you?”

“I didn't have no reg'lar work, sir.”

“How did you support yourself?”

“Not very well, sir.”

“Have you any family?”

“No, sir. That is, me parents is dead, and I dunno what's got me brother and sister.”

“How did you come to be employed by Mr. Kestrel?”

Dipper hung fire for a moment or two. “I found his ticker—his watch, sir. I give it back to him.”

MacGregor thought: Of all the deuced funny ways to go about engaging a manservant! Especially for a fellow who cares as much about his clothes as Kestrel seems to. Dash it, the man gets more puzzling every minute.

“Let's proceed to the events of this afternoon,” said Sir Robert. “Do you still claim you were in Mr. Kestrel's room until shortly before half past four?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you alone there all that time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have asked you this already, but as you lied to us before, I’m obliged to repeat my earlier questions. I hope you mean to answer truthfully this time?”

“Yes, sir. But, sir, I didn’t wrinkle about nothing except going for a walk outside.”

“I shall get to that presently. Did you at any time today see a young woman with reddish hair and blue eyes, wearing a yellow dress?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you acquainted with anyone who fits that description?” “Not so as I can recall, sir.”

“Have you ever been in trouble with the law in the past, Stokes?” Dipper wet his lips. “No, sir.”

“When I asked you earlier what you did on leaving your master’s room, why did you say you went for a walk outside?”

“I didn’t take it, sir!” Dipper burst out.

“Take what?”

“I dunno, sir. Whatever it is that’s been pinched. I didn’t take it, I swear!”

“Nothing has been stolen that we know of. Someone has been murdered.”

“My Gawd!” Dipper looked at Julian. “Do they think I done it, sir?”

“You’ve confused matters a bit by telling us you went out for a constitutional at a time when you were actually in a room full of possible murder weapons.”

“Oh, sir, I didn’t—I wouldn’t—you got to believe me, I wouldn’t do nothing like that!”

“Why did you tell us you went outside when you were really in the gun room?” asked Julian quietly.

“I was afraid, sir. I knew I hadn’t any business in there, but I wanted to see it. You was telling me about it last night, sir, remember?—how there was all kinds of barking-irons there, and maps, and flags, and bits of metal as knights used to put on their horses. I got a hankering to see it meself, and when I found I had

a little time before dinner, I piked downstairs and had a peery. And it was the lummiest place, sir—I never seen nothing like it. I was so took up with looking at everything, I forgot about dinner, till I snilched the clock and saw how late it was, and I broomed it to the servants* hall.”

“See here, lad,” said MacGregor, “this won’t do at all. If you weren't up to any mischief in the gun room, why didn’t you own up you were there? You couldn't have thought you’d get into any serious trouble, just for going in and having a look round.”

“It wasn’t so much that, sir. I took fright when I saw we was being questioned by a nabsman—a constable, I mean. I thought something must’ve got lifted, and I didn’t want to get mixed up in it. I thought if I said I was in the gun room, everybody'd be down upon me about why I was there, and it just seemed safest to say I was out of the house. I didn’t know about the front door being barred, and that. I just didn’t think at all.” He looked at Julian. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Sir Robert said, “I think it only fair to warn you, Stokes, you’re in a very grave position. When questioned by a magistrate, you told a lie, and apparently you would have persisted in it, if Molly hadn’t spoken. I have no way of knowing what else you may have said that is not the truth. You admit to being the last person in Mr. Kestrel’s room before the body was found there. And you admit that, at about the time when the victim must have been stabbed to death, you went secretly to a room where knives are kept ready to hand.” “The body was found in me master’s room, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sir, if there’s one thing I’d never do, it's clip some cove’s wick and leave him laid out stiff in me master's room! And get me master in trouble like that? Not likely, sir!”

“The victim was not a man,” said Sir Robert. “It was the young lady I described to you earlier.”

“What—you mean the mort with the red hair and the yellow dress? Who is she, sir?”

“We haven’t identified her yet. I will, however, give you another chance to do so, if you can.”