Death at Hallows End (13 page)

“So I am to take it that as you both drove home at some unknown time before or after five o'clock you saw in the lane Humby's car which was drawn into the side of the roadway, which may or may not have had its lights on and may or may not have contained a dead or a living man? That's as near as we can get?”

“That's about it,” said Holroyd and Cyril grinned.

“Then perhaps Mr. Darkin can help us. Do you remember what time they came in?” asked Carolus.

“I was with Mr. Grossiter,” said Darkin. “From his room one does not hear much that goes on in the house and I did not hear either the lorry or Mr. Neast entering. But I noticed when Mr. Holroyd Neast came in to see his uncle. That was at exactly five to six, so they must have been in before that.”

Like Holroyd, he was apparently very helpful and like Holroyd he said nothing at all, reflected Carolus. And like Holroyd's, his answers came pat as though they had been well prepared. Perhaps the best chance of hearing something spontaneous would be from the other brother, Cyril. Carolus turned to him.

“Did you see your uncle that evening?” he asked.

“Not I,” said Cyril. “I told you I was under the weather, didn't I? Never do for the old man to see me like that.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“How on earth do you expect me to know that?”

“I think I can help there,” said Holroyd smugly. “I left my brother in this room when I went to see my uncle at about nine. I was with my uncle for some twenty minutes and when I came back my brother had gone to bed.”

“And you yourself followed his example immediately?”

“No. Not for an hour or so. I was reading the evening papers.”

“So let's say you went to bed between half past ten and eleven. You heard nothing during the night?”

“Nothing. There was nothing to hear. My uncle died in his sleep.”

“And you?” Carolus asked Cyril.

“I was right out. Didn't know a thing.”

“Till?”

This seemed to pull him up. Carolus fancied he looked to Holroyd for prompting, but could not be sure of this. He answered after a long pause, “Till my brother came to my room at some unearthly hour of the morning to say my uncle was dead.”

“I see. It was Darkin who made the discovery. Would you tell us about that, Darkin?”

“Mr. Darkin, please,” said the man with ridiculous solemnity. “I was something more than a manservant to the late Mr. Grossiter.”

“Oh,” said Carolus, preparing to go off at a tangent. “If that is so, and you were his friend, why do you suppose you were not mentioned in his will?”

“I had no reason to suppose I wasn't,” said Darkin with a touch of resentment.

“But you know now, surely.”

“How … how should I know that, Mr. Deene?”

Carolus pressed home his advantage.

“Haven't you seen the will which Mr. Humby had prepared for him?”

“Seen it? Certainly not. How could I possibly have seen it?”

How indeed. Unless from Humby's pocket, thought Carolus. But he said, “There is a copy of it at Humby's office, of course.”

Darkin seemed relieved. “I should never have presumed to ask to see that,” he said.

Carolus was forming certain fixed conclusions now, about each of the extraordinary persons who confronted him.

“Let's get back to your finding Mr. Grossiter,” he said. “It was soon after five o'clock, I believe?”

“Yes. I took him his tea and biscuits as usual. He was always awake at that time, but this morning did not stir. I called him but received no answer. I touched his shoulder and saw at once that he was dead. He was lying on his back quite peacefully. So I went and informed Mr. Neast who called the doctor.”

Yes, it all fitted together admirably. There was nothing that any of them had told him that could be nailed as a lie, Carolus thought. There was only one thing that made the whole story improbable—that were it true, there had been one colossal coincidence: Humby's voluntary disappearance on the eve of Grossiter's death. That the lawyer bearing a new will for Grossiter to sign should have chosen to disappear from a spot near Grossiter within a few hours of Grossiter's natural death—that this should have happened by coincidence, was too much for any sane man to believe.

Carolus asked another question. “I suppose the police have made a search of the farm premises?”

“Oh, certainly. And of this house too. We accepted that as a reasonable outcome of events. It was a very thorough one which took four men a whole day.”

“Which whole day?”

“Let's see. It was the day before our uncle was cremated. The Thursday, that was it. The day before yesterday, in fact. Things have happened so quickly and strangely here that I'm apt to be confused.”

“If I may say so, Mr. Neast, you show very little confusion about anything.”

“Ah. I have an orderly mind at most times,” said Holroyd.

The room was in semi-darkness now and no attempt was made to light it. Carolus felt its oppressive atmosphere about him like a threat. There was little more he could learn here and he was about to take his leave when to his surprise Holroyd delayed him.

“Now that you have apparently asked us all the questions you want, Mr. Deene, let me tell you something of which you seem to be wholly unaware.”

“Could we have a little light on the subject first?” asked Carolus facetiously.

Cyril rose and pushed down a switch that lit one bare bulb over their heads.

“Did you know that my uncle had an illegitimate son?” Holroyd asked.

Carolus rarely admitted complete ignorance of what might be a cardinal fact.

“I had heard some gossip to that effect in Newminster,” he said.

“Then you did not know that the young man came on the day after my uncle and has been staying as a lodger with Mrs. Rudd?” persisted Holroyd, with a suggestion of triumph in his voice.

“I did not know exactly that,” said Carolus.

“Mr. Darkin was fortunately able to supply us with details of this young man's career. His name is Humphrey Spaull. It appears that his mother, who died some years ago, was housekeeper to my uncle for some years but became pregnant by him some five years before Mr. Darkin took service with him.”

“Became his companion,” corrected Darkin.

“Exactly. My uncle is believed to have settled a sum of money on Mrs. Spaull but denied all responsibility for her condition. She left his service and bought a small confectioner's shop on the outskirts of Newminster where she brought up her son. He is apparently an athletic young man, now aged twenty-two.”

“But what evidence is there that he is Mr. Grossiter's son?”

“My dear Mr. Deene, isn't it obvious? The woman was living in his house and he provided for her generously. What other explanation can there be?”

“Many. Mr. Grossiter was an eccentric and erratically generous man. If his housekeeper was—to use a phrase of the time—in trouble, he may have wished to help her. Or he may have known who was the father and felt in some way responsible for the situation.”

“You may believe that,” said Holroyd. “We had not such exalted ideas of our uncle's character.”

“You scarcely knew him, I believe.”

“That is so. But whatever the truth about Humphrey Spaull's parentage, the point here is surely that he believed himself to be my uncle's son. He came to Hallows End in the hope of seeing his father.”

“And did he see him?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We were totally unaware of his identity. We knew that Mrs. Rudd had a lodger, but nothing more. He hung about the place for a couple of days and we thought nothing of it. Mr. Darkin never saw him, unfortunately, or we should have been forewarned. Then one day when my brother and I had business in Cashford and were out in the lorry, the young man waited till Mr. Darkin went for his brief afternoon stroll and broke into the house.”

“Broke in?”

“Technically to enter through an unlocked door premises where one has no right to be is to break in, surely? That is what he did. We do not lock up during the daytime and this man Spaull went in by the back door and opened doors till he found my uncle's room.”

“What took place?”

“Unfortunately we can only guess. No one knew he was in the house until I myself returned to get something and heard raised voices.”

“Raised voices? They were quarrelling then?”

“I heard chiefly my uncle. He sounded furious. ‘How dare you come here and threaten me!' he shouted. ‘You shall have nothing. Nothing at all. I provided generously for your mother and that is the last I shall do.'”

“And did the young man say nothing?”

“There was a mumble in reply. Nothing articulate.”

“And when you entered the room?”

“They both fell silent for a moment, then my uncle said, ‘Never let this young man into the house again, Holroyd.' Spaull slunk away.”

“Did you see him again?”

“Frequently. He had not the good taste or the good manners to keep away. We saw him, as a matter of fact, leaving the house on the Monday evening, my uncle's last day alive.”

“But Darkin was here all day, surely?”

“I was,” said Darkin, “But he managed to get in when I was not looking. I found them together.”

“This time how were they behaving?”

“Mr. Grossiter lay back on his pillows with his eyes closed. He was deadly white and I thought he had fainted. He raised his hand as if to dismiss young Spaull but said nothing. I quietly led the young man out of the house, then came back to attend to Mr. Grossiter. I gave him a drop of brandy and he recovered somewhat.”

“I see. Do you think he could possibly have returned later that evening?”

Everybody seemed doubtful.

“I don't think he could have got into the house without one of us being aware of it. But he might have appeared at my uncle's window.”

“Causing the last fatal heart attack?”

“It is possible.”

Carolus considered this in silence, then said, “Of course I only have your word, Mr. Neast, that his visits were unwelcome.”

Neast gave an unpleasant smile.

“You surely have more than that,” he said. “You have seen a copy of that last will my uncle was to have signed. Surely if Humphrey Spaull's visits were welcome, he would have been
mentioned in it. It is obvious that he came to Hallows End with that in view. Now, was he in the will?”

Carolus saw that all three men were watching him.

“No,” he said, “I'm bound to say he was not.”

Holroyd smiled as if to show his satisfaction.

Still Carolus did not move. There was one name which had not been mentioned by either of them, as if by design. Yet Carolus sensed that Holroyd was waiting for it, perhaps with secret anxiety, to come from Carolus.

“Your neighbours here are connections of yours, I believe, Mr. Neast. I mean the Hickmansworths.”

“I am glad you use the word ‘connections' and not relatives. This is unfortunately another case of illegitimacy which seems to have been frequent in former generations of the family. Gerald Hickmansworth is the natural son of my mother's younger sister.”

“So Mr. Grossiter's nephew?”

“My uncle's illegitimate nephew, yes.”

“You were not on friendly terms with him, I believe?”

“We had not spoken to each other for several years.”

“Your uncle knew he lived here, I suppose?”

“I daresay. He never mentioned him or his brood to us.”

“Or to you, Darkin?”

Darkin frowned, perhaps at being addressed without the “Mister.”

“Not for a very long time,” he said.

“And what about Hickmansworth?” asked Carolus. “Have you any reason to know whether he was aware of your uncle's presence here?”

“It is virtually certain that he did. In a village like this everything is known.”

“But he made no effort to see Mr. Grossiter?”

Holroyd looked inscrutable.

“That we know of, none,” he said. “He was quick enough to send his son over to see us after my uncle's death. They hoped we knew something about the will, I suppose.”

Carolus stood up and thanked them, particularly Holroyd, for their patience and information, then, feeling suddenly rather sick, hurried to the door.

C
AROLUS CAME OUT OF
that bungalow as though he were emerging from a region of evil odours, and breathed the fresh air of the evening. He felt that he had been in contact with something poisonous or obscene. Whether any of the three men were guilty of crime or not, he hoped that he would not have to endure their presence again.

He decided to get away from the farm, from the village, from the whole district, at least for tonight and return to the comfort and cleanliness of his own home. No investigation that he had previously undertaken had brought him such a physical reaction as this. He had expected to feet that he was near danger—instead of that there was this cesspool sense of evil. He could see the confident leer of Holroyd even now.

He passed through Hallows End without pausing, but when he came to the main road, he glanced at the car park of the Falstaff and saw something which immediately made him apply his brakes. A blue Ford Consul car stood there alone, looking rather forlorn on the generous space of tarmac supplied by Mr. Sporter for his customers. Carolus turned and drove in, leaving his Bentley near the entrance.

In the saloon bar were Molly Caplan and Lionel Thripp. Carolus greeted them cordially.

“So you found your way here,” he said, somewhat ambiguously.

Thripp looked a bit baffled, but Molly was equal to the occasion.

“Thought we might see you, Mr. Deene,” she said breezily. “I hope you're on the job?”