Mad About the Boy? (10 page)

‘It's not Superintendent Ashley, is it?' asked Haldean, hopefully.

Stanton shook his head. ‘It's not a Superintendent anyone. He's a sergeant, I think. We've all spoken to him. He's interviewing the servants now.' He paused. ‘Look . . . about what I said earlier. I know I apologized but I'd like to do it again. I know I was wrong, but it's difficult to keep on an even keel with all this going on.' He shrugged. ‘All I can say is that I'm sorry.'

So completely had Haldean been caught up with Lord Lyvenden and his affairs, it took him a moment to understand that Stanton was apologizing for their argument. He grasped his friend's arm. ‘Forget it. I'd better go and face the Law, but I want to talk to you and I really want to talk to Isabelle about Tim.'

Stanton gave a rueful smile. ‘Haven't we talked enough? Isabelle's in the garden with Smith-Fennimore. I suppose I could go and get them but I feel a bit awkward about butting in.' He looked at his friend. ‘Okay. I'll do it.'

‘Thanks, Arthur,' said Haldean. ‘I know this isn't particularly easy for you but I'd be very grateful. Can you meet me here in about half an hour? I don't think I'll be much longer.'

Leaving Stanton by the morning room, Haldean went along to the library where there was a little knot of servants outside the door, contentedly grumbling about this break from routine. Amongst them was Lady Harriet's maid, Yvette, who was perfectly happy to speak to Monsieur le Commandant ‘Aldean and tell him all about her emotions, her horror, her lacerated feelings on discovering that the crack she had heard from the room of milor' was not, as she had supposed, a
feu d'artifice
, a how-do-you-say? – a firework, but that so-'andsome young man, Monsieur Preston, in the act of self-annihilation.

Monsieur le Commandant went thoughtfully into the library to give his statement. As it was a purely factual account of Tim's apparent suicide, it didn't take long. He took the opportunity to ask when Ashley would return and was delighted to find out that he should be back on Tuesday. He had met Ashley, said Haldean, the previous year, and had promised to look him up again. Once established as the Superintendent's friend, Haldean was able to learn one other thing. The gun used had been one of a pair. Lady Harriet had one and Lord Lyvenden the other.

He walked back to the morning room where Stanton, Isabelle and Smith-Fennimore were waiting for him.

Isabelle looked at him with a worried smile. ‘Hello, Jack. Arthur tells me you've got some notion that Tim didn't shoot himself, and Malcolm said you'd all had a good look round Lord Lyvenden's room this morning while we were at church. Are you sure? That it really isn't suicide, I mean?'

Haldean shut the door carefully behind him. ‘No, I'm not, Isabelle. I thought I was on the right lines but I'm not nearly so certain now.' He draped himself across an armchair, stretched out his long legs, lit a cigarette and sighed. ‘How d'you feel about murder, Belle?' he asked. ‘About the idea that Tim was murdered?'

She wrinkled her nose in concentration. ‘To be honest I was shocked at first, but now I've got used to the idea I think it makes sense. You see, I couldn't understand why Tim had done it. I saw quite a bit of him last night and he was really looking forward to all the things that he and Bubble were going to do next week, such as taking a picnic on the river, playing tennis and going dancing and so on.' She looked at Smith-Fennimore beside her. ‘He talked about you, Malcolm, and the Isle of Man race, and Bubble said she'd come and watch the race and, well . . . it seemed so odd that with all that in mind he should suddenly decide to end it all. It just seemed so out of character, somehow.'

Haldean nodded. ‘That's virtually what I said to Stanton and Fennimore earlier.'

Stanton shifted in his chair. ‘I still think you're wrong, though, Jack. He really had been stuck for money, don't forget.'

Isabelle wriggled impatiently. ‘But you explained all that to me, Arthur. He wasn't stuck now.'

‘And I would have helped,' said Smith-Fennimore quietly. ‘He must have known I would have helped.'

‘The only trouble is, Belle,' said Haldean, ‘that if Tim was murdered, that presupposes a murderer.'

She looked at him alertly. ‘Yes.' She drew her breath in. ‘I see what you mean. Pass me a cigarette, will you?' Smith-Fennimore lit her cigarette and she smoked it thoughtfully. ‘So you're saying that someone here, someone we know, is a murderer?'

‘That's about the size of it, yes,' replied Haldean quietly.

‘But who, Jack?'

Haldean ran his thumb round the angle of his jaw. ‘That's the interesting question. You see, I thought I knew.' They all looked at him, startled. ‘The trouble is, my favourite candidate is out of it. He can't possibly have done it so now I'm back to square one.'

‘Are you going to tell us who your favourite candidate was?' asked Smith-Fennimore.

Haldean hesitated. ‘I wouldn't have said anything before I was a great deal more certain but it can't do any harm now, I suppose. I'd settled on Lord Lyvenden.'

Smith-Fennimore looked bewildered. ‘Why?'

‘All sorts of reasons, but I'm wrong. The man's got a rock-solid alibi. Yvette, Lady Harriet's maid, the one who was sent upstairs for Lady Harriet's shawl, heard the shot. She thought it was a firework and was a bit fed up to think she was missing the show.'

‘How d'you know it wasn't a firework she heard?' asked Isabelle.

‘Because when she got back with the shawl, the show proper hadn't started.'

‘But those wretched fireworks were going off all evening,' said Stanton.

Haldean shook his head. ‘Not then, they weren't. Lyvenden was building up to his big moment. When Yvette came back into the ballroom, Lord Lyvenden was still gassing about what a wonderful occasion it was and that fixes the time at about at ten to ten. I remember looking at my watch and wondering how long he was going to spout on for. And, although he was my first choice, he can't possibly have been boring us all rigid and murdering people at the same time.'

‘No,' said Isabelle after a pause. ‘No, he can't have been. So who is it, Jack?'

Haldean put his hands wide. ‘Search me. And, as Arthur reminded us, Tim might have committed suicide after all.'

‘That's silly,' she said decisively. ‘You can't get us all thinking about murder and then just bow out like that.' She stubbed out her cigarette and put her hands round her knees, silent for a few moments. ‘Look,' she said eventually. ‘You write detective stories, don't you?'

‘It has been known,' muttered Haldean. ‘I've got to earn a crust somehow.'

‘Can't we think of it as a story? Every time I remember it's Tim I feel sort of crushed and can't think straight, but this way we might be able to come up with some ideas. I know it's a bit off to play Pin The Tail On The Murderer, so to speak, but I can't do it any other way. Actually, Jack, if this was a story then I wouldn't suspect Lord Lyvenden for a moment.'

‘Why not?' asked Stanton. ‘Don't tell me you like the man.'

‘Of course I don't. He's horrible and I wish Uncle Alfred hadn't introduced him to Dad, but that's just it. He's so obnoxious that he's the obvious red herring that I always discount. I'd be right, too, wouldn't I? I mean, if he's got an alibi he's out of it.'

‘As a matter of fact,' said Haldean, ‘if this was a story, then his alibi would make him very suspicious indeed.'

‘This is nonsense,' said Stanton. ‘For one thing I don't believe it was murder and for another I just can't see it. I mean, I can't stand Lyvenden but I'm blowed if I'm accusing him or anyone else of murder, especially as you've just proved he can't be guilty. I mean, you haven't got any evidence, have you? Anyone can make a guess. You might as well say the butler or the Chief Constable or Mr Charnock did it.'

‘Uncle Alfred?' asked Isabelle in bewilderment. ‘Uncle Alfred can't have done it. Why on earth should he? Besides that, he wasn't here last night. I suppose that means you find him suspicious too, Jack.'

‘Deeply suspicious,' he said gravely.

‘Are you serious?' demanded Isabelle.

‘Not really,' he said with a grin. ‘I wanted to see how you'd react.'

‘Jack!' She threw a cushion at him, which, to her irritation, he caught. ‘If we carry on like this, I'm going to decide you did it. Actually, you'd make a very satisfactory murderer. You're dark and sinister.'

Smith-Fennimore grinned. ‘If Haldean had done it, I don't suppose you'd be too anxious to try and convince us it was murder, would you, old man?'

‘If it was one of his stories he might,' chipped in Isabelle before Haldean could answer. ‘He could be dying to boast about how clever he'd been and sort of daring us to catch him out. I remember reading one where you did just that. But what made you think of Lord Lyvenden, Jack? There must be more to it than the fact he's easily one of the most unpleasant guests we've ever had.'

‘He's a bit much, isn't he?' agreed Haldean. ‘But no, Belle, it wasn't his lack of charm and want of ready tact that made me pick him out, it was the circumstances. Lyvenden's got the breeze up about some papers he has with him. Tim told me last night he'd been strafed by Lyvenden for looking in the wrong file. Apparently the noble lord really went over the top about it. So, I thought intelligently, that could be a motive. I believed that Lyvenden had the opportunity to bump off Tim by following him upstairs after he'd sent him to get the cigarette case – and, although it's unimportant, Lyvenden didn't half look flushed when he came into the ballroom to start his speech before the fireworks – and, of course, the fact that it was Lyvenden's room and Lyvenden's gun that was used all seemed to point to Lyvenden, but I'm wrong.'

Stanton scratched his chin. ‘Of course you're wrong, Jack. Even if this was a story I'd think you were wrong. What about the note Tim left? It'd be easy enough to scrawl a message like – oh, I don't know –
Sorry,
I suppose, but I can't see Lord Lyvenden or anyone else sitting down and writing reams about how broke he was and so on.'

‘That's very well spotted, Arthur,' said Isabelle admiringly. ‘Unless the murderer's a master forger then the whole case goes up the spout.'

‘No, it doesn't,' said Haldean with weary patience. ‘And he hardly wrote reams. Look, Fennimore, you saw the note. Describe it for Belle, will you?'

Smith-Fennimore wrinkled his brow. ‘The note? It was Tim's writing, all right. I'd swear to it. That throws a spanner in your murder theory, wouldn't you say?'

‘Go on with your description,' said Haldean without heat.

Smith-Fennimore shrugged. ‘All right. It was written in ink on a half-sheet of cream notepaper and the words were at the top of the sheet. He said that he was sorry and that the cause was money.'

Haldean nodded. ‘That's pretty good.' He stretched his legs out, put his hands behind his head and half closed his eyes. ‘The actual words ran, as far as I remember,
I am sorry for what I have been forced to do
– no, hang on –
course of action I have been forced to undertake and for any distress that might ensue. The motive is purely financial
. The note itself is still upstairs and we can check it if it's necessary but that's about the gist of it. Now, does anything strike you as odd about that note?'

Isabelle cupped her chin in her hands thoughtfully. ‘Not really. It sounds a bit stilted, but so what?'

‘But that's it,' said Haldean. ‘It was far too stilted to be an ordinary note. It sounds much more like a business letter, doesn't it?'

‘Hold on there, Jack,' objected Stanton. ‘It's all very well to talk about the language being stilted but most people write far more formally than they speak. I know I do. It takes quite a bit of skill to write something so it sounds natural. You manage it. I think you must be quite a good writer, really.'

Haldean grinned. ‘Thank you for that glowing tribute, said the blushing author. Signed copies of all my works will be available at the back of the hall after the meeting. What I think happened is that the murderer found part of a business letter and used that. Any more comments, anyone?'

‘Well, yes,' said Isabelle. ‘If the note was taken from a business letter, then where's the rest of it?'

‘The murderer took it with him, of course,' said Haldean, witheringly. ‘He wouldn't leave a dead give-away like that lying around. And that's something else fishy, too. The waste-paper basket was empty, and it shouldn't have been. Tim was working in there yesterday and he told me some of the letters he wrote were duds, so there should have been something in it. None of the servants emptied it. I've asked. So who did empty it? The murderer, obviously, to get rid of any incriminating evidence.'

Isabelle pulled a face. ‘Come on. I bet one of the servants emptied it, realized they shouldn't have done and won't own up. That's a much simpler explanation than yours.'

Smith-Fennimore coughed. ‘I think we're straying from the point. Was Tim murdered or wasn't he? And granted that Lyvenden can't be guilty, who else could it be?'

‘I've been thinking about it,' said Haldean. ‘If the shot was heard at ten to ten, that rules out everyone who was in the ballroom. Who do we know wasn't there?'

‘Lady Harriet's maid,' said Isabelle, promptly. ‘She could have killed him when she went up for Lady Harriet's shawl.'

‘Whatever for?' asked Stanton.

‘Goodness knows, but she was away from the room at the right time. Who else was missing?'

‘There's your Uncle Alfred,' said Haldean. ‘He wasn't at the ball but he could have crept back in.'