Landed Gently (4 page)

‘Of course you damned well couldn’t! What would you expect to find after a feller falls downstairs?’ Sir Daynes rubbed his hands with the air of one who was restoring rationality where madness had reigned. ‘Let’s be cool about this, Henry. We’d all been making merry last night. If that young feller wasn’t used to hard liquor, it’s ten to one he finished up a bit uncertain on his pins. Do you remember him drinking after we’d gone?’

‘Yes,’ assented Somerhayes, after a pause.

‘Hah! And strong stuff at that?’

‘The last drink we had was an 1905 cognac.’

‘There you are – what more do you want? A vintage cognac, on top of all the other stuff we’d been putting away. The wonder is you didn’t have to carry him to bed, not that he tripped over his feet at the top of the
stairs. No, no, Somerhayes, I appreciate your anxiety about this. You’ve tackled the business like a good feller and a conscientious magistrate. But I assure you you’re making too much of it. The shock of the thing has unsettled you, man. Now I’ll just get an ambulance along and give the coroner a tinkle, and we’ll try to get this affair out of our minds …’

Sir Daynes came to a halt, his eye falling on Gently. The forgotten Central Office man had apparently been doing some exploring, for he was now in the act of descending the great marble stairway. He looked woodenly at the baronet and then at Somerhayes, and Sir Daynes, who knew his Gently, felt a sudden uneasiness creep over him.

‘This hall … is it cleaned out often?’

For some reason, a pin might have been heard to drop.

‘Not at this time of the year.’ Somerhayes’s voice sounded flatter than ever. ‘In summer when the visitors come it is cleaned several times a week, but now, perhaps not more than once a fortnight.’

‘Would it have been last cleaned recently?’

‘Yes, I think two days ago, in preparation for Christmas.’

Gently nodded his mandarin nod. He seemed quite unaware of the pregnant silence.

‘So that if, out of six objects in the hall, five had a thin layer of dust and one had not, you would say that that one had been wiped at some time less than two days ago?’

Somerhayes’s head slowly sank in
acknowledgement
.

‘Damn it, man, what
is
all this?’ erupted Sir Daynes fiercely. ‘What the devil six objects are you talking about?’

Gently pointed up the stairway. Seven pairs of eyes followed his outstretched finger. On two oval panels, hung on each side of the marble doorway, were displayed six antique japanned-and-gilt truncheons.

‘It’s the lowest one on the left-hand side … Do you think we might have it sent to the lab?’

‘Blast you, Gently!’ roared Sir Daynes. ‘I thought I asked you to keep out of this business?’

Gently hunched his shoulders and looked down at the sprawling figure at the foot of the stairs.

‘There was somebody else who asked me to keep in,’ he replied expressionlessly.

D
R SHIEL ESTIMATED
the time of death at between one and three a.m. The ambulance had arrived and departed; Earle’s belongings had been collected and examined by curious policemen. The best part of them were comprised by a pile of variously shaped packages wrapped in silver foil and tied up with gold tinsel … Each one was labelled, and it was a nice legal point whether the labels did or did not have the force of a last will and testament. Sir Daynes, with the air of one gripping a nettle, had phoned Earle’s unit at Sculton and conservatively reported the details of the lieutenant’s demise.

‘That’ll mean trouble before we’re very much older,’ he forecast gloomily as he pressed down the receiver.

They had returned to the Manor for lunch, which was, of course, dinner; but the flavour had gone out of the festivities for that day. Sir Daynes was like a bear with a sore head. Even now he was unwilling to
relinquish the comfortable theory of accidental death – surely that was a bad enough condiment for the turkey, without invoking the ultimate in misfortunes.

‘I suppose that damned truncheon of yours clinches the matter,’ he grumbled over his pudding. ‘No other reason why it should be wiped … People don’t go around wiping odd truncheons.’

‘We’ll know when we get the lab report.’ Gently was no more in love with life than his host.

‘Could have been something else … some fool using it to poke the fire, or something. Or what about the feller himself ? It’s shaped like a baseball bat. Might have taken a swing or two with it, just to see how it was balanced …’

‘Daynes,’ sighed his spouse, ‘you’ll almost certainly get indigestion. Why don’t you let Inspector Dyson get on with it, and stop fretting like a broody hen?’

They were smoking cigars when the lab got through. Sir Daynes was in the hall almost before the phone began ringing.

‘Well – that’s settled that! The lab confirms it was the weapon. Among other things it has his brilliantine on it, and some impacted human skin.’

‘There weren’t any prints?’

‘No – wiped off clean.’

‘Someone didn’t panic after the body went down the stairs.’

‘I think this is
horrid,
’ exclaimed Lady Broke reprovingly. ‘Daynes, I really will not have you discussing homicide in my lounge.’

‘All right, m’dear!’ Sir Daynes found a smile for her. ‘Come on, Gently, let’s get back. Dyson is waiting the interrogations for us.’

The Place seemed as empty and as frigid as a gigantic sepulchre on that grey afternoon. Except for the constable, reinstalled outside the door, and the servant who led them through the interminable dust-sheeted rooms, they met nobody until they arrived at the little blue drawing room in the north-east wing. Here Inspector Dyson was impatiently warming his
posterior
at a newly lit fire, and two constables stood gleaning what they could, one on either side of him.

‘Hah!’ said Sir Daynes, by way of inspiring the atmosphere with his presence. The monosyllable had its effect. A reluctant Dyson unbonneted the hearth, which was immediately reinvested by the shameless baronet. The two constables shrank yet further away from the centre of comfort, and their places were taken by Dyson and Gently.

‘Hah!’ repeated Sir Daynes with satisfaction. ‘Don’t know how they got on in the eighteenth century, but this blasted great barn has been an ice-house ever since I can remember. Must have bred ’em tougher in those days, Dyson. Must have had circulations like
double-action
pumps. No wonder the confounded females wore eighteen petticoats, eh, eh?’

Dyson essayed a polite laugh, and Sir Daynes rubbed his hands genially.

‘Well now, about this business. You’ve had the lab report, have you?’

‘Yes, sir. It came half an hour ago.’

‘What are your ideas, man? I suppose you’ve got some?’

Dyson looked uncomfortable, as though he were a bit low in that department.

‘We’ve been all round the outside of the house, sir, just in case there’d been a break-in. And Lord Somerhayes and some of his staff checked through the inside to see if anything was disturbed or missing.’

‘Did y’get any results?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Pity, Dyson.’

‘Looks like an inside job, sir.’

‘You don’t have to blasted well rub it in, Dyson.’

Sir Daynes knitted his brows, which were splendidly adapted to the purpose, and swayed forward slightly to adjust matters in his rear.

‘And you’ve got some ideas?’

‘Er … nothing concrete, sir.’

‘You mean you
haven’t
got any?’

‘At this stage, sir, I thought it best to keep an open mind.’

Sir Daynes grunted meaningfully, but refrained from a sarcasm that had obviously occurred to him. ‘Well, let’s get on with it,’ he said. ‘Ask Lord Somerhayes to come in.’

A constable was dispatched, and returned shortly to usher in the nobleman. Somerhayes looked more collected than he had done in the morning. The ghostly paleness had left his high-boned cheeks; there
was some colour in his lips; a certain firmness, when he spoke, had replaced the near-hysteria-sounding flatness of his voice. He looked quickly around him on entering, and seeing Gently, gave him a fey little smile. Gently returned it with a solemn nod.

‘Haven’t interrupted your dinner, man, have we?’ enquired Sir Daynes with concern.

‘No, thank you, Daynes. I have had very little appetite for it.’

‘Mistake, man, mistake. Should keep up your strength, y’know.’

Somerhayes made no reply, but took his seat in the chair that had been set facing the table impressed for the business of taking statements. Dyson took his place opposite, his short-hand constable beside him; Sir Daynes and Gently remained standing, the former shifting over a bit to give Gently a fairer look at the fire.

‘Your full name, sir?’

‘Henry Ainslie Charles Feverell, sixth Baron
Somerhayes
.’

‘Of Merely Place in the county of Northshire, sir?’

‘Yes … magistrate of that county.’

Why was he looking at Gently while he gave these details, as though they constituted a wistful joke?

‘We would like you to tell us, sir, what you know about the deceased, and how he came to be staying at Merely Place.’

Somerhayes crossed his legs with deliberation and addressed himself to the task. He had nothing
significant to tell them, but he gave it in precise detail. The deceased had been introduced to him in the tapestry workshop six weeks previously. He had been invited there by Mr Brass, following a lecture given by Mr Brass at the American Air Force base at Sculton. According to the deceased’s account of himself, he was the only son of a newspaper proprietor in the town of Carpetville, Missouri, USA, and his age was
twenty-three
. He had had artistic training and was
enthusiastically
interested in the tapestry workshop. He had subsequently paid a number of visits during which he had taken weaving lessons from Mr Brass, who had been very favourably impressed by his pupil’s ability, and his general popularity had led Somerhayes to invite the young man to spend his Christmas leave at the Place.

‘He was a complete stranger to all the residents, sir, as far as you know?’

‘A complete stranger.’

‘None of the residents or staff are American, sir, or to your knowledge have been to that country?’

‘None of them are American, and I would be surprised to learn that any of them except myself had been to America.’

‘When were you in the States, Henry?’ interrupted Sir Daynes in surprise. ‘Thought you were attached to the Paris Embassy when you were in the Diplomatic Service?’

‘I was there as a very young man,’ agreed
Somerhayes
. ‘But that was before the outbreak of war.
During the war, as you know, I worked in the Foreign Office. It was while I was there that I had occasion to visit the United States.’

‘And of course … never had anything to do with this feller or his family?’ Sir Daynes sounded
embarrassed
at having to put such a tendentious question.

‘I did not have that pleasure.’

‘Of course not … too busy, eh? Didn’t get around much.’

‘I made a few excursions in the neighbourhood of Washington, but my acquaintance was confined to members of the embassy and their families and friends. I had no opportunity to visit the state of Missouri.’

‘Naturally … understand! Just have to get these things straight, y’know. Go on with what you were telling us, Henry … feller obviously a complete stranger.’

Sir Daynes relapsed into some throat-clearing and Somerhayes, unmoved, proceeded to relate the events leading up to the tragedy. He had sent his car to pick up Earle at Merely Halt on the evening of the 23rd. The young man had arrived at some time after eleven, when the rest of the household had retired.
Somerhayes
had ordered him some supper and chatted with him while he ate it. He had been in high spirits, talking gaily of his experiences in London and of a certain ‘amusing old buffer’ – here Somerhayes’s strange little smile again found Gently – who had travelled down with him. They had retired together to the north-east wing, where Somerhayes had given him a room in his
own suite. In the morning Earle’s high spirits had continued. He had begun the day by going round with a piece of mistletoe and kissing, it was understood, every female member of the household, including the housekeeper, who was fifty-nine. Later on he had gone to the workshop in the company of Mrs Page and Mr Brass, and had made a start at setting up a low-warp machine on which he was purposing to weave a cartoon, or pattern, of his own design. During the afternoon he had accompanied Mrs Page on a walk through the park to the folly, and during the evening he had made one of a party in the north-east wing, which was in communal use during the holiday.

‘He was full enough of horse-play then, as I can testify,’ grunted Sir Daynes. ‘Young devil led me a caper or two.’

After Sir Daynes had left with Lady Broke and Gently, Earle had wanted to continue with the fun. In view of the morrow, however, the party broke up shortly after midnight. The
tapissiers
had retired to their quarters in the south-east wing, which adjoined the workshop, Mr Brass to his rooms in the south-west wing, and shortly afterwards, Mrs Page to the suite she occupied in the north-west wing.

‘So that for a short time there were yourself, Earle and Mrs Page alone in the … where was it?’ murmured Gently from his corner of the hearth.

Somerhayes paused directly in his statement. ‘The yellow drawing room, Mr Gently. Yes, that is perfectly correct, though the three of us were together for
only a few minutes while my cousin finished some Sauternes she was drinking.’

‘Would you remember the conversation?’

‘I’m not certain that I would. I believe Lieutenant Earle was describing to us the advantages of a visit to Missouri, which he would have liked to have
persuaded
us to make. But as I said, my cousin did not remain with us longer than it took her to finish her drink.’

‘After which Lieutenant Earle and yourself were left together?’

Somerhayes looked Gently straight in the eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said.

They had sat by the dying fire until Somerhayes had been called away by Thomas, his butler-valet, with some question about the laying-out of presents in the wing breakfast room. When he returned to the yellow drawing room Earle was still there, and they had had a night-cap together. Then Earle had gone up to his room, at about one a.m., and Somerhayes had followed him ten minutes later, after giving some final
instructions
to Thomas.

‘Was Thomas there, sir, when the deceased retired?’ enquired Dyson quickly.

Somerhayes shook his head. ‘Thomas was busy in the breakfast room. I returned to him there after seeing Lieutenant Earle go up. As you probably know, in this wing one passes the stairs to the first floor on the way from the yellow drawing room to the breakfast room.’

‘And you left Thomas in the breakfast room when you retired, sir?’

‘Yes. I left him putting out the silver.’

Dyson nobly restrained himself from jumping down his distinguished informant’s throat, but it was with a visible effort.

‘Like that, sir, you were the last person to see him alive?’ he suggested carefully.

‘I was,’ replied Somerhayes flatly, without the suspicion of an evasion.

‘Hrrmp, hrrmp!’ interrupted Sir Daynes. ‘Apart from the criminal, of course, apart from the criminal. Suppose the young feller did go up to his room, Somerhayes? Bed wasn’t slept in, y’know.’

‘I cannot be positive, Sir Daynes. He expressed the intention, and I last saw him ascending the stairs.’

‘Didn’t you hear him moving about when you went up? Room only one away from yours, eh? Passed your door when he was on his way out of the wing?’

Somerhayes did not reply immediately. His
expression
a blank, he seemed to be running over in his mind every minute detail of the night before.

‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I can be of no help to you on that point. I heard nothing from his room when I went up, nor later when I was in bed. Being tired, I went to sleep quickly, and I remembered nothing more until I was wakened by Thomas at ten minutes past seven.’

‘Feller might never have gone to his room, then?’

‘As you say, Daynes, he might not.’

There was a small commotion by the hearth as
Gently searched the pocket of his ulster and produced a crumpled pamphlet. It was a visitor’s guide to the Place, of which a small pile still lay on a side-table in the great hall.

‘If you don’t mind … I’d like to get these premises clear in my brain.’

He opened the guide on the table and turned the pages with clumsy fingers. On the verso of the cover was printed a plan of the state apartments, in shape a large rectangle, its width two-thirds its length. At each corner were four smaller rectangles representing the wings. They were connected to the central block by narrow anterooms or galleries. In the centre of the state apartments, facing east, was the great hall, with galleries running round its three inner walls. From the inner end of the hall, at almost the exact centre of the block, the flight of marble stairs descended from the
gallery-level.