Why Shoot a Butler (10 page)

"What?" Fountain stared down at Mark.

"Pal of yours, Collins?" inquired Corkran.

"Hardly, sir. I fear the young gentleman is, as you say, not entirely sober."

"You ought to cure yourself of this habit you've got of exaggerating," said Corkran. "Whom did he take a potshot at?"

"At me, sir, but I do not think that he is responsible for his actions."

"Whatever makes you think that?" inquired Corkran innocently. "

Fountain was still looking at Mark. "A gentleman, is he? You're quite right, Tony; he's drunk." He jerked Mark farther into the hall and pushed the door to with his free hand. He released the boy and stood frowning down at him. "Now look here, young man," he said, "what the hell do you mean by coming to my house and firing at my servant? Do you know I can have you put into prison for it?"

Mark was rubbing his bruised arm. "All right, put me in prison!" he said recklessly. "I'm not afraid! I'll make you sorry you dared to interfere with me. That's what I'll do!"

Fountain made a gesture of disgust; "I ought to give him in charge, of course, but he's far too drunk to knot- what he's doing."

"That's all jolly fine," objected Anthony, "but what brought him up here trying to murder Collins? Just natural high spirits?"

"I didn't want to murder him!" Mark said, looking_ frightened. "I didn't mean to fire."

Mr. Amberley, who had stood silently watching, spoke at last. "You had better apologise to Mr. Fountain," he said. "You've made a fool of yourself."

Fountain glanced quickly towards him. "Do you know him, Amberley?"

"Slightly. This condition is more or less habitual to him."

"Good Lord! Well, I don't want to be hard on the boy. What do you think I ought to do? Give him in charge or let him go?"

"Personally, I should let him go," said Amberley. "But it's a matter for you to decide."

"Well, I don't know. After all, he might have killed Collins."

The valet gave a little cough. "I'm sure I do not wish to get the young gentleman into trouble, sir. When he comes to himself he will realise that he has been behaving foolishly."

Mark, looking uncertainly from him to Fountain, said: "I didn't mean to do it. I made a - a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Let it be a lesson to you in the future to keep off spirits," said Fountain severely. He stepped back and opened the door. "Now get out!"

Without a word Mark turned and shambled out.

"Well!" exploded Corkran as Fountain shut the door again. "Of all the dam' silly things to do! How do you know it wasn't he who shot old Dawson?"

"Shot Dawson?" repeated Fountain blankly. "Why the devil should he?"

"If it comes to that, why the devil should he shoot Collins?" demanded Corkran. He watched the valet disappear through the swing door at the end of the hall. "I don't say I altogether blame him, but…'

"Tony, don't be so awful!" begged Joan. She was still trembling from the shock of the sudden gun-shot. "Mr. Amberley, you don't think he's the murderer, do you?"

"No, I think it extremely unlikely," he replied.

"All right, say he didn't." Anthony was standing obstinately by his guns. "Why did he come snooping up here? Don't say because he was tight, because I shall be sick if I hear that again. If I went bursting into a strange house and tried to shoot up the place and then said I was tight by way of excuse, would you be satisfied with that? Like hell you would! That chap wanted to shoot up someone to start with. Then he had four or five drinks and thought: By Jove, I'll go straight off and do it. Don't tell me that just because a fellow's three sheets in the wind it's the natural reaction for him to get hold of a gun, stagger off several miles to a house he's never been near before, and turn it into a shooting gallery. It's childish."

"Perfectly true," said Amberley. "If I found you forcing your way into a strange house I should think the worst. But you are not an unbalanced person. This youth is."

"What-ho!" said Anthony, gratified. "The old brainbox full of grey matter, eh?"

"I didn't say that," Amberley answered. "There's a difference between the unbalanced and the merely feeble-minded."

Anthony cast a speculative look round him, in search of a likely missile. Joan interposed hastily. "Oh, don't scrap!" she begged. "Is that really what you think, Mr. Amberley?"

There was a twinkle at the back of Amberley's eyes. "You see, I was at school with him," he said gravely.

"A little more of this, dear old boyhood's friend, and I don't help you to solve the great Nettlefold mystery."

"That'd be a blow for the unknown assassin," remarked Amberley. "Seriously, Miss Fountain, my own impression is that young Brown has - or thinks he has — a grudge against someone. Once he's a bit drunk he hasn't a particularly clear idea what it is or whom it's against. For all I know he may have a general hate against capitalism, which is why he raided this place. In any case, I don't honestly think you need be frightened of him." He glanced at his wrist watch. "I must be going. I hope you don't have any more unhinged visitors tonight."

Mr. Corkran saw his chance and pounced on it. "No, two in one evening is a bit steep," he said with immense relish.

Mr. Amberley did not choose the Greythorne Road when he left the manor, but instead turned right, towards Upper Nettlefold. He had not gone very far when his headlights threw into bold relief the figure of a pedestrian wandering somewhat dejectedly along the side of the road. Amberley drew abreast of the figure and pulled up. He leaned across and opened the door of the car and issued a brief command to Mark Brown to get in.

Mark refused petulantly and began to walk on, but when the command was repeated in a distinctly savage tone he gave in weakly and obeyed.

Mr. Amberley seemed disinclined for conversation. Beyond remarking that Mark had made a complete ass of himself he said nothing during the journey to Ivy Cottage. Mark kept up a kind of explanatory mumble, but what little of it reached Amberley's ears above the noise of the engine was neither interesting nor sensible. After a while Mark seemed to realise that no attention was being paid to his involved explanation and relapsed into a sulky silence.

When the car drew up outside Ivy Cottage Mark got out and stalked ahead of Amberley up the garden path. His air of defiant nonchalance was rather spoiled by the uncertainty of his gait.

As he reached it the door of the cottage was flung open and a beam of warm lamplight shone forth. Shirley's voice sounded, sharp with anxiety: "Is that you, Mark?" Then she saw the second, larger figure. "Who's that?" she said quickly.

Amberley strolled into the light. "Don't be alarmed," he said.

She stared at him, but he thought he saw a certain amount of relief on her face. "I suppose I might have guessed," she said. "What has happened?"

Mark, who had been fidgeting restlessly, answered belligerently: "He'll tell you fast enough. And you needn't think I want to hear your remarks about it, because I don't. I'm going to bed."

He tried to thrust his way past her into the house, but she caught his arm. "Where have you been? I went down to the Blue Dragon. They said you'd gone."

He shook off her hand. "Well, perhaps that'll teach you not to follow me about," he said, and flung into the house.

Shirley turned to Amberley. "Will you come in?" she said listlessly.

He followed her into the living room. Seen in the pale lamplight her face looked tired and wan. She made a little gesture towards a chair. "I suppose you brought him home," she said. "It seems to be your mission in life. What has he been doing?"

"Merely trying to get himself arrested." He drew the automatic out of his pocket and laid it down on the table. "May I suggest that you keep this where he won't in future find it?"

Her pallor grew. "I know. I missed it. I didn't know he'd discovered where I keep it. Where did he go?"

"You know, don't you?" said Amberley softly. Her eyes lifted to his face; she did not answer. "He went to Norton Manor."

She said steadily: "When he's drunk he behaves like a madman. What did he do?"

"Nothing much beyond attempting to shoot Fountain's valet."

"Oh, my God," she said bitterly.

"It is sickening, isn't it?" agreed Amberley. "After all the trouble you've taken, too."

"What did they do? What was said?"

"They decided that he was too drunk to know what he was doing and kicked him out."

"Did the valet get hurt?"

"Oh no; no one was hurt."

She was silent, frowning. After a pause she spoke again. "They let him go. Then…" She broke off and began to drum on the table with her fingers.

"Exactly," said Amberley. "It looks as though he's given the show away, doesn't it?"

She looked searchingly at him. "I don't know what you mean."

His voice took on a kinder inflection. "Why don't you: make up your mind to trust me?" he said.

She shrugged. "I know of no reason why I should, Mr. Amberley. I know nothing about you except that you are mixed up with the police. And since the police can't help me…'

"I know. But I can."

Her eyes were full of distrust. She pushed the heavy hair back from her forehead. "Please don't bother me any more about it," she said wearily. "I don't wish to argue and I haven't any idea what you're talking about."

His face hardened. "In fact, you prefer to play a lone hand?"

"Infinitely."

He picked up his hat. "You're being unwise. Things are likely to become very dangerous for you, Miss Shirley Brown."

"Dear me, is that a threat?" she asked jibingly.

"Why should I threaten? I'm warning you. Good night."

He was frowning as he drove back to Greythorne, and he was short with Felicity, who wanted to know why he had been such a time. On the following morning he went off immediately after breakfast and drove to Carchester, to the police station. He was conducted at once to Inspector Fraser's sanctum. The inspector greeted him with veiled hostility and said that he had expected to get a visit from him before this.

Mr. Amberley was in an uncompromising mood, and returned an answer so brusque that the inspector reddened with anger. Without giving Fraser time to recover he demanded an account of the police investigations up to date.

The inspector, knowing on whose side the chief constable was likely to be, thought it politic to obey. He took Mr. Amberley through a long list of perfect alibis first. Everyone at the manor had one, even the female staff. By the time that Amberley had heard that the headkeeper had been in Upper Nettleford, that the headgardener had visited the chauffeur, that the valet had been pressing a suit for Mr. Fountain, that the undergardener had been with his young lady, he was frankly yawning. When the inspector proposed to continue through a list of cottagers living near the scene of the murder, he cut the recital short and said that he had not come to Carchester to be told who had not committed the murder.

The inspector made an enigmatic reference to amateur detectives and passed on to the search for the cartridge-case. This had not been discovered, nor had any trace of bicycle wheels in the fields behind the hedge been found. The source of Dawson's income was equally wrapped in mystery. In fact, as Mr. Amberley had no hesitation in pointing out, the police had discovered nothing at all.

While the inspector digested this Amberley briefly recounted the story Fountain had told him the night before.

The inspector was interested. When Amberley had finished he rubbed his hands together and said: "Now we are getting to something. A pity Mr. Fountain didn't remember it sooner. To the trained mind, Mr. Amberley, what you've just told me is highly significant."

"Highly," agreed Amberley. "I wish you joy of it. In the meantime l want a man put on to watch Mark Brown."

The inspector stared at him for a moment. Then his features relaxed into an expression of tolerant amusement. "Mark Brown, eh, sir? Now, now, Mr. Amberley, I'm afraid you've been reading these popular thrillers. I know the style of thing. The mysterious young man who comes down to stay for no reason. But it won't do, you know. The police aren't quite asleep."

"Not all of them," said Mr. Amberley sweetly. "By the way, have you grasped it yet? I want a man put on to watch Mark Brown."

"That's all very well, Mr. Amberley, but we've been into his record. There's nothing to it. You're on to a false trail. He lives in Earl's Court in a small flat with his sister which they've let for a month. She works as secretary to Anne March."

"I want Mark Brown watched."

"I take my orders from the chief constable, Mr. Amberley."

"Very proper. Do you mind if I use your telephone?"

"Of course, if you've got any real reason for having him watched, that makes a difference," said the inspector, beginning to hedge. "What have you found out about him?"

"So far, nothing. I shall be able to answer that question more fully in - say, a couple of days' time."

"Suspicions, eh, sir? The police want more than that to go on, I'm afraid."

"Which is why I don't propose to burden you with them."

The inspector fingered his chin, glancing sideways at Amberley. "Perhaps you'd better tell me what you have in your mind, Mr. Amberley," he said at last. "I may as well hear it. Do you suspect him of having committed the murder?"

"I should think it extremely improbable that he had anything to do with it."

The inspector flushed. "I don't know what you're getting at, sir, but if Brown isn't implicated in the murder he doesn't interest me."

"That I can readily believe. You never could see farther than the end of your own nose, could you? The murder, as I have said before, is likely to prove the least interesting feature of the whole case."

"Indeed, sir? Funny, isn't it? I was under the impression that the murder is the whole case."

"Try and disabuse your mind of that erroneous idea. Unless I am very much mistaken I am on to something far bigger and more fantastic than you've any of you imagined."

The inspector sat up at that. "Are you trying to hoax me, Mr. Amberley?" he demanded. "What is all this about?"