Why Shoot a Butler (5 page)

He determined to look into the butler's record. He had little expectation that anything would come out at the inquest. Whatever the butler's secret was and whoever held the key to it, were mysteries which would need a deal of solving.

Nor was he mistaken. The inquest next morning provided the sensation hunters who flocked to it with very little to interest them. The doctor and the gun expert were dull witnesses, and the most hopeful witness, Amberley himself, disappointed everyone by giving his evidence in a dry and exceedingly succinct manner. No one came forward with a startling disclosure; no one seemed to know of any secret in Dawson's life, and no one knew of anybody who might be supposed to wish the butler out of the way. The jury returned a verdict of murder against person or persons unknown, and the case ended.

"In fact, sir," said Sergeant Gubbins afterwards, "it's a queer case, and do you know why, Mr. Amberley?"

"I can think of several reasons, but by all means tell me."

"It's because there ain't nothing queer about it, sir," said the sergeant darkly.

Mr. Amberley regarded him enigmatically. "You ought to go a long way, Sergeant - if you're lucky."

"Well, sir, it isn't for me to say so, but I won't say you're wrong," said the sergeant, much gratified.

"But you will have to be very lucky," said Mr. Amberley gently.

The sergeant looked at him suspiciously and pondered the remark for a while in silence. Having considered it carefully he said with some indignation: "It don't surprise me to hear you make a lot of enemies, sir. Not that I'd be one to take offence, because I know you will have your joke. But there's a lot of people mightn't like the way you have of saying things. Now if I didn't know you like I do, I wouldn't tell you what I'm going to. But you gave us a tip or two over that robbery case we had when you were down here, and freely I admit it."

"Yes, you made a bit of a mess of that, didn't you?" said Mr. Amberley. "Still got that chuckle-headed inspector at Carchester, I notice."

The sergeant grinned. "He'll be getting promotion soon. Maybe I will too."

"What for?" asked Mr. Amberley, interested.

"Solving this murder case, sir."

"Oh!" said Mr. Amberley. "Well, don't let me waste your time. You run along and solve it."

"That's just it, sir. I thought that you, having a bit of a knack of hitting on things, in a manner of speaking, and making a sort of hobby of it - well, what I thought was, I might do worse than tell you what's puzzling us."

"You might, but if you imagine that I'm setting up as an amateur detective…'

"Oh no, sir, nothing like that. Though when you spotted it was Bilton had those diamonds I must say that I did think to myself that you were fair thrown away in your profession. Of course, you happened to be present when the theft took place, which was an advantage we hadn't got. Still, I will say it was a very neat bit of work, Mr. Amberley, and we were all very grateful to you, because it was touch and go whether we called in the Yard or not."

"Just like this case," nodded Mr. Amberley.

"You've hit it, sir," said the sergeant. "It's the chief constable. He's what you might call - well, a bit timid. Now when I said that there wasn't anything queer about this case, what I meant was, it's all straight on the surface. Nothing known against Dawson, no enemies, no women, been in service at the manor for years, everything above board. Well, that ain't natural. Take it from, me, Mr. Amberley, when a man gets himself murdered there's always something behind, and ten to one he's a wrong 'un. Setting aside women, that is. Now in this case there's only one thing that looks a bit fishy."

"Do you wear glasses?" asked Mr. Amberley suddenly.

"Me, sir? No, I do not."

"You should."

"Not me, Mr. Amberley. I see as well as I did when l was a two-year-old."

"That's what I meant. Go on."

"Blessed if I know what you're driving at, sir," said the sergeant candidly. "Well, this fishy thing is the money Dawson had put by. It all goes to his sister. She's a widow, living in London. He hadn't made a will, so she gets it. And there's a tidy sum by what one can make out."

"I always imagined butlers made a bit on the side."

"Some do and some don't. But I never heard of one who made as much as Dawson did. As far as we can make out he's got a matter of a couple of thousand laid by. Spread about, too. Make anything of that, sir?"

"Spread where?"

"Post Office Savings Bank here, them War Loan Certificates, and a bank at Carchester. Looks funny to me. The inspector doesn't make much of it. Of course, people do get ideas into their heads about spreading their money about, but what I'd like to know is how did he come by so much? Always paying in money he seems to have been."

"How much at a time?"

"Well, not a great deal, sir, but steady. I could let you have the figures."

"Yes. Or rather, no. You'd better not."

"Colonel Watson wouldn't object, sir, if that's what you're thinking. Not as it's you, if you understand me."

Mr. Amberley's saturnine smile appeared. "The question is, Sergeant, am I on your side?"

"Beg pardon, sir?"

"I'm not sure that I am," said Mr. Amberley. "I'll let you know when I've thought it over. Meanwhile, I want some lunch. Good hunting!"

The sergeant was left to stare after him in great perplexity. The chief constable, Colonel Watson, who presently came hurrying out of the courtroom, found him scratching his head meditatively. "Has Mr. Amberley gone, Sergeant?"

The sergeant sprang to attention. Just this minute gone, sir. He's in one of his funny moods."

"Oh, you've been talking to him, have you? Very irregular, Sergeant, quite out of order. I suppose Mr. Amberley didn't throw any more light than he did in his evidence?"

"No, sir. Mr. Amberley went off highly humorous," said the sergeant heavily.

At Greythorne only Felicity evinced much interest in the result of the inquest. Sir Humphrey, although a justice of the peace, deprecated the introduction of such subjects into the home circle, and Lady Matthews had already forgotten most of what it was about. But when Amberley met Anthony Corkran at the clubhouse that afternoon he found that worthy agog to talk the matter over. In company with the Fountains he had been present at the inquest, and he expressed himself much dissatisfied with the result.

"Is that the end of it?" he demanded. "D'you mean to tell me there's nothing more. going to be done?"

"Oh no, there's a lot more to be done. Find the murderer, for instance. Look here, there are several things I want to ask you, but first I want to play golf. What about it?"

"Absolutely all right with me," Anthony assured him.

"Might think out a solution on the round, what?"

The course was a long one with a fair amount of trouble on it. Mr. Corkran warned his friend that it was imperative to keep straight and pulled his first drive into a clump of gorse bushes.

"Thanks, Anthony," said Mr. Amberley. "Example is better than precept - every time."

It was past five when they finished the round, and the light had already grown very bad. They found the clubhouse rather empty, as was usual on a weekday, and they had no difficulty in securing a corner to themselves. Over the first half-pint of beer, Anthony would discuss nothing but his tendency to pull, embellished by illustrative anecdotes of fatal pulls on half the golf courses of England. But when he had taken Amberley from Sandwich by way of Wentworth and Hoylake to St Andrews he at last ran dry.

Amberley allowed him to brood over the afternoon's round for a few minutes, while he sent for more beer. When this came Anthony roused himself from his absorption and of his own accord abandoned the subject of golf.

"This 'ere murder," he said. "What about it?"

"Not enough. That's the trouble. What is Brother Basil afraid of?"

"Ah, you noticed it, did you? Blessed if I know. Jolly sort of atmosphere about the place, isn't there? The sooner I get Joan out of it the better."

"When is the wedding, by the way?"

"Next month. As far as I can make out, I look like being a fixture there till then, or practically. I was supposed to be pushing off after these fancy-dress revels - I say, why do women get all unhinged when it comes to fancy dress? Even Joan's definitely insane on the subject. I ask you, Amberley, do I look the sort of silly ass who'd do well as Faust?" Frank shook his head. "Of course I don't. A dance is all right, but why drag in the fancy dress? However, that wasn't what I was going to say. Being a fixture. Well, I always meant to push off on Thursday, but apart from Joan wanting me to stay a bit longer, Brother Basil's all for it."

"Pleasure of your company, or funk?"

"Funk," said Corkran positively. "The man's all chewed up with it, and God knows why. All I know is that he doesn't want to be left alone at the manor. It's since the murder that he's got the jumps to this extent."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"No, not much. Nothing much to know. Good family, public-school man, and all that sort of thing. Always been fairly well off, I gather, on account of old Fountain making him his heir. Naturally I've gleaned a bit from Joan, in the way of conversation. As far as I can make out Brother Basil's led a comfortable sort of life, no worries, or debts, or riotous living. Ordinary bonhomous sort of chap. Simple Pleasures and Athletic Ideal, you know. Shoots, hunts a bit, quite a stylish bat, I believe. He's keen on all outdoor sports. Devilish healthy. Had me out before breakfast to bathe when I stayed with him down at Littlehaven. He's got a bungalow there - rather decent, except for the damned boat."

"What damned boat?"

"Motorboat. According to Basil you can cross the Channel in it without being seasick. Well, I didn't cross the Channel, so perhaps that accounted for it."

Amberley laughed. "Not a good sailor, in fact."

"The world's worst," said Corkran. "Anyone can have the super motorboat as far as I'm concerned. Joan, too. She bars it completely, which feeds Brother Basil stiff. He and she don't hit it off particularly well, you know. "Though according to her things were fairly all right till the old man died. She swears it's something to do with the manor. Of course, the truth is she doesn't like the place, so she's got it into her head there's something wrong with it. Then, on top of that, there's Collins."

"Yes, I'm rather interested in Collins," said Amberley. "Were he and Dawson the only survivors from the old regime?"

"Oh Lord, no! Practically the whole staff's the same. There's a housekeeper who's been there since the year dot, and the cook, and a couple of gardeners, and a whole bevy of skivvies — I don't know about them, by the way. They may have changed since old Fountain kicked the bucket. But the hardy perennials all stayed put. You see, Brother Basil was no stranger to 'em. Old jasper seems to have been very fond of him; always having him down to stay. So they all knew him and seem to have liked him. I tell you, there's no data at all."

"I begin to think there's something in what the sergeant said," remarked Amberley. "Queer case. Nice little holiday problem."

"Well, if you want a Watson, don't forget me, will you?" said Corkran. "And talking of Watson, do you remember Freddy Holmes? Chap with freckles in the Army Class?"

"In Merrill's House? Yes, what about him?"

"I'll tell you," said Corkran, drawing his chair closer.

The conversation ceased from that moment to have any bearing on the murder, but became frankly an interchange of school reminiscences. It lasted for an hour and might have lasted for three had not Corkran chanced to catch sight of the clock. He then fled, having promised to fetch his betrothed from a tea party at least half an hour earlier.

Amberley followed in a more leisurely fashion and drove his Bentley into Upper Nettlefold to buy tobacco on his way home. When he came out of the shop he found that his car was not unattended. A dark, wildlooking boy in grey flannel trousers, a polo sweater and a tweed coat was leaning against it, solemnly staring at the switches on the dashboard. He wore no hat, and a lock of black hair strayed artlessly across his forehead.

Amberley paused outside the shop and began slowly to fill a pipe, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the dark young man.

The youth continued to lean heavily.

"Anything I can do for you?" Amberley inquired.

The dishevelled head was turned. "Nobody," said the youth simply, "need do any - anything for me."

"That's good. Mind if I remove the car?"

The youth disregarded this. "D'you know what I've been doing?"

"Yes," said Amberley frankly.

"I've been - I - have - been having - tea with - with a fellow," announced the youth.

"Strong tea. I should go home now if I were you." 'Thash - what I was going to do," said the youth. "He's a fellow I met - th'other day. He's a nice fellow. I don' care what anyone says, he's a nishe — a nice fellow. Shirley - Shirley doesn't like him. What I shay - say is bloody snob'ry. Thash what I say."

Mr. Amberley's expression changed from contemptuous amusement to sudden interest. "Shirley," he repeated.

"Thash right," nodded the youth. He looked hazily at Amberley, yet with a certain cunning in his face. "She's my sister."

"If you get into my car I'll return you to her," said Amberley.

The youth's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" he demanded. "I'm not going to - to tell you anything. See?"

"All right," Amberley said peaceably and managed to thrust him into the car.

He was not an easy passenger. While he babbled aimlessly all went well, but when he had switched off the engine for the second time Amberley came near to losing his temper.

Mark cringed a little before the wrath in his face and wanted to get out. He seemed to become obsessed all at once with the idea that he was being kidnapped. It was with considerable difficulty that Amberley succeeded in allaying his fears, and then he began to talk about the murder. Very little of what he said made sense, nor did Amberley press him to be more explicit. He said several times that no one was going to make a cat's-paw of him, maundered a little of hidden dangers and of dark plots, and asserted loudly that whoever else got murdered it would not be himself. As Amberley swung the car into the lane that led to Ivy Cottage he suddenly grasped his sleeve and said earnestly: "I didn't think there was anything in it. Shirley thought so, but I didn't. A hoax. Thash what I thought. But it isn't. I see it isn't now. I've got to be careful. Not speak to anyone. Not give anything away."