A Murder is Arranged (11 page)

Richardson took the report to Jackson of the legal department. He knocked and heard the voice of the man he wanted to see shouting to him to come in.

“I hope you're not busy, Mr Jackson; I've brought you a rather interesting report from Paris, bearing on the case of the Gask murder that we were discussing the other day.”

“Let me have a look at it.”

In moments of concentration Jackson converted his physiognomy into a network of criss-cross wrinkles. This and his baldness made him an unengaging object to the eye, but his unerring judgment and his grasp of an intricate case commanded the respect of all who had to deal with him.

Having read the report, he returned it to Richardson, saying, “My first guess was right: that woman was murdered because she knew too much. That ought to help you in finding her murderer.”

“Do you agree with what Dallas says—that the confederate of this French marquis is in all probability the guilty man?”

“I won't go quite so far as that, but I do think that if you find that confederate you won't be far away from the man you want.”

F
OR WANT
of something better to do, Forge and his guest Oborn took their guns and went out on Marplesdon Moor to shoot rabbits. Huskisson had excused himself on the plea that he had business to transact in Kingston; he had gone by car.

When the two sportsmen returned Forge noticed that the Sunbeam was already back in the garage.

“Oh, I see Huskisson's back,” he said to Oborn. “His business could not have taken him very long; he would have had time to come out with us.”

“I'll bet that his business didn't turn out well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Only because I feel pretty sure that he wanted to find out whether the police would offer any objection to his leaving your hospitable roof and that the police know the proverb of ‘A bird in the hand…'”

“If the police do hold him up don't you think that it's a bit thick? I mean, this is a free country.”

“You never can tell how much the police know about people. I suppose that nine men out of ten in this country have something to hide…”

“Damn it! That's going a bit far. What should Huskisson have to hide?”

“Nothing that I know of, but remember that the police know about that quarrel Huskisson had with Miss Gask and he was upset by the coroner's questions at the inquest; that was quite enough to start suspicions about him.”

“You're talking rot,” said Forge shortly. “Well, you know your way about the place and I'll meet you at lunch.” He turned into the library, shutting the door behind him.

He had not been there five minutes before the door opened to admit Huskisson, who said, “I hope I'm not interrupting you, but I want to see you alone.”

“Come in; nobody's likely to interrupt us here. What's the trouble?”

“I don't want Oborn to know, but the fact is that I've been down to the police and they tell me that, as they put it, the gate has been put up against me leaving the country.”

“Good Lord! Why?”

“They wouldn't tell me why, but one of them said that whenever Scotland Yard wishes to keep a particular man in the country it notifies the port officers and they refuse him leave to embark. It's the same if he tries to fly the Channel.”

“Do they give any reason?”

“No, but I suppose that in their dunderheaded way they don't want any possible witness to leave the country until this rotten business about Margaret Gask's death has been cleared up.”

“Don't think that I'm butting in on a question that doesn't concern me, but I attended that inquest and I couldn't help feeling that your attitude towards the coroner's questions would be quite enough to prejudice the police against you. You must remember that the professional policeman is bred up in an attitude of suspicion. Trust in his fellow creatures has so often been betrayed that he sits up and takes notice whenever anyone prefers to keep his private business to himself.”

“The police are a cursed nuisance.”

“Sometimes they are, I agree, but my experience is that it is always worth while to keep on the right side of them if one can.”

During this conversation Huskisson was showing signs of growing irritation, but Forge took no notice of them. He was wound up and, like an alarm clock, he could not be silenced until the winding had run down. “Couldn't you slip round to the police station and tell the superintendent what that quarrel that you had with poor Margaret was about?”

“No, I couldn't. It is no business of the superintendent or, for the matter of that, anyone else.”

“If I seem to you to be interfering in matters that don't concern me you must understand that the whole business is very unpleasant for me and I think that I have a right to be taken into confidence to a certain extent. Besides, I have some influence with the local magnates and I might be able to help.” It was Forge's weakness to imagine that some of the minor constellations of his part of the firmament revolved round him.

“I quite sympathise with your position,” said Huskisson, losing his aggressive manner, “but if I told the police the subject of our quarrel it wouldn't help them. I'll tell you this much in confidence, that if I did tell the whole story it would be much to the discredit of Margaret.”

Forge pricked up his ears. He belonged to that trying class of people who fasten like vultures on the reputations of their acquaintances. “You know something discreditable against Margaret Gask? I assure you that the secret will be quite safe with me.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't tell you any more.” He turned to the door and left the room abruptly.

Before Forge had had time to recover from his discomfiture there was a tap on the door, followed by the entry of Spofforth, the pseudo under butler.

“I'm glad to find you alone, sir. I thought that the other gentleman would never go.”

“Why, what's the matter?”

“I've had a message from the police station ordering me to report myself at once to the head of the C.I.D. at Scotland Yard.”

“Good Lord! What does that mean—that something important has happened?”

“I cannot tell you that, sir. I shall have to go and my going off suddenly may seem to confirm the butler's suspicion about me. It would ease the situation very much if you could invent some excuse for my absence today.”

“What do you mean about the butler's suspicions?”

“Well, sir, he keeps dropping hints.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, he says that it's a funny thing that another man has been engaged when everyone knows that the house is already over-staffed.”

“But I told him that I was expecting quite a number of other visitors.”

“I know, but he says that you had already a staff big enough to deal with a large party for Christmas. He's no fool, that butler—very wide awake he is.”

“Well, I'll tell him that I'm sending you to London with one of the guns: something's gone wrong with its ejector and you're taking it direct to the shop where I bought it. Will that do?”

“Yes sir; I think that will do.”

“Don't go and leave my gun in the train when you get to Waterloo or, worse still, in a bus.”

Spofforth laughed. “That kind of mistake has never happened to me yet, sir.”

Mr Forge prided himself on the diplomacy with which he had handled a difficult situation; he would have been startled if he had seen the note, addressed to Mr Oborn, which his butler brought in ceremoniously on a silver salver just after lunch.

An hour or two later Oborn sought out his host and found him in the billiard room disconsolately practising cannons.

“Ah! You've come for a game?”

“Well, no; I've come in the hope of finding you alone.”

“Why, what's the matter? You look as if you've something terrible to report.”

“In a sense I have. For some little time I've been uncomfortable about the attention that is being paid to the things in my room and, in order to make sure of my facts, I set an innocent little trap in the shape of a cotton thread which I gummed over the front of a drawer. This afternoon, on visiting it again, I found the cotton broken.”

“Oh, there's not much in that. Probably the fellow that valets you was putting things away.”

“But this was a drawer in which I kept my private papers and no servant would have any reason for going to it. After that affair of your emerald being stolen I thought that I ought to come and tell you.”

Forge looked extremely uncomfortable. His complexion had deepened in hue. “Do you suspect one of my servants?”

“Well, to be quite frank I don't much like the looks of that under butler fellow who has only been here a day or two. I've caught him hanging about the place in a very suspicious manner.”

“Oh! I can assure you that he's quite above suspicion. I have the very highest character for him.”

Oborn touched his host on the shoulder. “He may be all you say, of course, but I think that you ought to know that I caught him sneaking out of Huskisson's room with a letter in his hand.”

“Surely not?”

“Anyway, it leaves an uncomfortable feeling: that a manservant is rooting about among one's papers.”

Forge's colour deepened and his eyes goggled. He took the plunge. “Well, my dear fellow, it will ease your mind to know that he has been specially taken on by me to solve the mystery of that theft. He is really one of the best detectives in the country.”

“For one of the best detectives in the country, his manner of going to work strikes one as clumsy. Do you suppose that he expected to find stolen jewels in my drawer?”

Mr Forge looked shocked. “You must remember that these super-sleuths very often adopt a clumsy method as a cover for their subtle activities. It is far better to let them go their own way to work and this chap is engaged, not to watch my guests, of course, but to size up the servants. I shouldn't have mentioned why he is here if you hadn't come to me with this complaint. I hope you won't mention what I've told you to anyone else in the house, or you'll quite spoil his stroke.”

Oborn laughed a little artificially. “Oh, you needn't worry. I shan't mention it to anyone. As far as I'm concerned he can go on with his little game.”

Forge brooded over this conversation for the rest of the afternoon. He had an uncomfortable feeling that he had become a minnow among a lot of hungry pike and that he was no longer master in his own house. His brooding took the form of irritation against Spofforth and he decided to have matters out with him as soon as he returned from London. He left a message with the butler that the man should be sent to him as soon as he came in.

He was in his bedroom dressing for dinner when there was a knock on the door and Spofforth made his appearance.

“You wanted to see me, sir.”

“Come in and shut the door. What did the gun people say?”

“That there's nothing wrong with the ejector except that it wanted a spot of oil; they lubricated it and showed me that it works quite well.” He lowered his voice. “As for the visit that I really went to pay…”

Forge interrupted him impatiently. “Before you go any further let me tell you something. I don't know how you did it, but you've made my guests suspicious of you and in order to soothe him I had to tell one of them who you really are.”

“I hope not; that would be fatal to any chance of success.”

Forge wilted at the concern in the man's tone. He blustered in his own defence. “Well, what can you expect when you go blundering into their rooms and interfering with their papers?”

“Who says I interfered with their papers?”

“Mr Oborn.” He repeated the story of the thread that Oborn had set as a trap. Spofforth was about to reply, but he checked himself in time and Forge continued, “Well, what about this visit of yours to the C.I.D. at the Yard?”

“They want a piece of information from you, sir, but they impressed upon me that you must give your word not to mention my journey or its object to anyone, however much they may badger you to tell them.”

Forge became irritable. “What do you take me for—one of these street corner advertisers? Of course I shan't blab. What's the information they want?”

“They want to know if you can remember who introduced to you the French marquis who sold you that emerald.”

“Of course I can remember: it was Mr Huskisson.”

“Thank you, sir; that's all they wanted to know.”

T
HE MESSENGER
laid a bundle of papers on Richardson's table; with his usual quiet efficiency he contrived to bring all those bearing a green “pressing” label to the top.

“Anything special?” asked Richardson.

“Yes sir; a report from Inspector Dallas in Paris. I've placed it on the top of these papers.”

Richardson laid aside his other work to make room for the report for which he had been waiting and read as follows: