Detection Unlimited (16 page)

'You're right. And if I have any cheek from you, Horace, I'll give you the job of checking up on the whole thirty-seven!'

Cheered by this threat, the Inspector permitted himself to smile faintly. 'Well, the Squire has one,' he offered. 'Likewise a chap called Eckford, his agent; and a John Henshaw, game-keeper. Setting aside the possibility that someone might have got hold of their rifles unbeknownst, there doesn't seem to be any reason, from what Carsethorn tells me, to think they could have had anything to do with the case. Next, there's Kenelm Lindale: he has one.'

'Which he lent to Ladislas the Pole not so long ago. I remember that one,' interpolated Hemingway.

'I thought you would,' said Harbottle, eyeing him with melancholy pride. 'Then there's young Mr Haswell's, which he spoke about; and Mr Plenmeller's, which you picked up. Josiah Crailing has one -- he's the landlord of the Red Lion; and the last belongs to Mr Cliburn, the Vicar. Mr Drybeck's got a shot-gun only; and Major Midgeholme's hanging on to his Service revolver, and six cartridges, which there's a fight about every time his Firearms Licence is due for renewal. So far he's managed to keep them.' He folded his list, and put it back in his pocket. 'That's the lot, Chief- -- so far as the Register goes. Do you want Carsethorn to pull them all in?'

'What, the whole thirty-seven?'

'Eleven,' Harbottle corrected him.

'Call it eight, Horace! If all else fails, maybe I'll start to take an interest in these three farmers of yours, but so far I've got enough on my hands without annoying people that very likely wouldn't have recognized Warrenby if they'd met him in the street. Tell Carsethorn to make the usual enquiries, and not to go cluttering poor old Knarsdale up with a lot of rifles which their owners can account for.' He paused, and considered for a moment. 'No sense in us treading on one another's heels -- nor in getting ourselves disliked more than we probably are already. I'm going to Thornden myself tomorrow, and I shall be paying a call on the Vicar. Tell Carsethorn I'll bring in that rifle if I see fit. He'd better pull in the Squire's, Lindale's, and young Haswell's first thing. He seems a fairly sensible chap, but you'd better warn him to do the thing tactfully -- particularly when he gets to the Squire. The usual stuff about persons unauthorized perhaps having got hold of it.'

The Inspector nodded, but said: 'You're going to see the Vicar?'

'Yes, and his rifle gives me a nice excuse.'

'Carsethorn did check up on his alibi. It seems all right, Chief.'

'That's why I need an excuse. By what the Colonel tells me this Reverend Anthony Cliburn is just the man I want to give me the low-down on this high-class set-up. So far, I've had to listen to Mrs Midgeholme, who thinks Lindale murdered Warrenby, because Mrs 113 Lindale gave her a raspberry; and to Drybeck, who's in a blue funk; and to Plenmeller, who wants to be funny; and I'm getting muddled. When you want to know the ins and outs of village-life, Horace, go and talk to the Vicar! Not that it's any use telling you that, because you haven't got the art of making people talk, which is what becomes of drinking sarsaparilla instead of an honest glass of beer.'

'Anything in Warrenby's papers, sir?' said the Inspector coldly.

'Nothing that looks like doing us any good. We may find something at his office tomorrow, but I shall be surprised if we do.'

The Inspector grunted, and sat down. He watched Hemingway collect the papers into a pile, and then said: 'There is something that strikes me, Chief.'

'Second time today. You're coming on,' said Hemingway encouragingly. 'Go on! Don't keep me on tenterhooks!'

'From the moment I was told the shot was probably fired from a .22 rifle,' said the Inspector, 'I've been turning it over in my mind, wondering what was done with that rifle. Because it seems to me it would be taking a big risk to walk away with it over your shoulder, or under your arm. Who's to say you'd meet no one? But I watched you go off up the street with Plenmeller, Chief, and it came to me then that if anyone could walk about with a rifle concealed he could push it down his left trouser-leg, and, with that queer limp of his, no one would notice a thing.'

'Not bad at all, Horace!' approved Hemingway. 'Now tell me why he takes it home, and puts it back in the gun-cabinet, instead of dropping it in the river, or somebody's backyard -- which is just the sort of little joke that would appeal to him, I should think. He inherited his guns from that brother of his; he doesn't shoot himself -- which I believe, because, for one thing, he's not the kind of fool who'd tell lies to the police which they could easily disprove, and, for another, I noticed that the guns in that cabinet were showing signs of rust -- and if he'd chosen to say that he didn't know where the rifle was, and hadn't even known it wasn't in the cabinet, it would have been a difficult job to prove it hadn't been pinched. Because it could have been, easy! His door's kept on the latch, and he's got a deaf housekeeper.' He got up, glancing at the marble clock over the fireplace. 'I'm going to turn in, and you'd better do the same, or you'll start brooding, or get struck by another idea, which would be bad for my heart.'

The Inspector rose, and after eyeing his chief for a pregnant moment, addressed himself to the vase of pampas-grass in a musing tone. 'If I had to explain why I like my present job, I'm blessed if I could do it!'

'If you're thinking the B.B.C. is going to ask you to take part in a programme, you needn't worry!' retorted Hemingway. 'They won't!'

'How Sandy Grant put up with it as long as he did I don't know!' said Harbottle.

'That's all right, Horace: he knew if he stuck to me he'd precious soon get promoted.'

'It's a fact your assistants do,' admitted Harbottle grudgingly.

'Of course they do! Recommending them for promotion is the only way I can get rid of them. Come on up to bed!'

On the following morning, Inspector Harbottle betook himself to Sampson Warrenby's office, and Hemingway went round to the police-station, where, after putting through a call to Headquarters, he had an interview with the Chief Constable, and received a brief report from Sergeant Knarsdale.

The Sergeant had already despatched the bullet, with its cartridge-case, which he had fired from Gavin Plenmeller's rifle, to London, but said frankly that he was not hopeful. 'I wouldn't like to say, not for sure, without seeing them under the comparison-microscope,' he told Hemingway, 'but I think they'll find there's some marks on this cartridge-case I couldn't spot on the other. Got any more for me, sir?'

'Sergeant Carsethorn will be bringing in three more this morning, unless they've got unaccountably mislaid.'

Knarsdale grinned. 'Regular arsenal we'll have here!'

'You don't know the half of it! The Inspector's got thirty-seven on his list.'

'Ah, well! we'll be able to get up a competition,' said the Sergeant, who knew his Chief Inspector.

'That's right: I'm just off to Woolworth's to buy some nice prizes for you!' said Hemingway, and left him chuckling gently.

Ten minutes' walk brought the Chief Inspector to Sampson Warrenby's office. A guide was offered, but as he was informed that he had only to cross the market-place to South Street, which was the main shopping-street in Bellingham, and to walk down it until he 115 reached East Street, which intersected it, he declined the offer, and set off alone. A large number of country omnibuses were ranked in the market-place, and South Street was already congested with all those who had come into the town to do the week's shopping. Hemingway caught a glimpse of Miss Patterdale, stalking into a grocer's, with a large basket on her arm; and a minute later he met Gavin Plenmeller, emerging from the portals of a bank.

'Good heavens! Scotland Yard in person!' exclaimed Gavin, causing everyone within earshot to turn and stare avidly at Hemingway. 'But what are you doing, frittering away your time in idle sightseeing, Chief Inspector?'

'Yes, it's easy to see why you aren't, so to say, popular with Sergeant Carsethorn, sir,' said Hemingway, eyeing him grimly. 'Pity you forgot your megaphone!'

Gavin laughed. 'I am so sorry!' he mocked, and passed on up the street.

Hemingway proceeded on his way, and soon arrived at Sampson Warrenby's office in East Street. Here he was received by a junior clerk, and afforded two stenographers and the office boy their second thrill of the day. All three contrived to catch a glimpse of him, as he was led to Sampson Warrenby's room, and although the glimpse was a brief one it was sufficient to enable the elder of the two damsels to state that he had eyes that looked right through you, and to convince the younger that if she were summoned before him to answer any questions she wouldn't be able to speak a word, on account of her being very high-strung, as anyone who knew her could testify. The office boy said in a very boastful way that it would take more than a C.I.D. man to scare him, after which he went off to the Post Office with two unimportant letters, his mind being troubled with a horrid fear that from so high-ranking an official not one of his youthful peccadilloes could remain hidden.

Meanwhile, the Chief Inspector had joined his subordinate in Sampson Warrenby's room, and had made the acquaintance of Mr Coupland, the head clerk.

Mr Coupland was a thin little man, with sparse, grizzled hair, and anxious face. He greeted the Chief Inspector nervously, and said: 'This is a shocking business! I can't get over it. As I've been saying to the Inspector, I don't know what's going to happen, I'm sure, Mr Warrenby not having a partner. It's very worrying, very! I really don't know what I ought to do. Not when we've cleared up what we have on hand.'

'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you there, said Hemingway. 'Busy practice, this?'

'Oh, very! Very busy indeed!' Mr Coupland said earnestly. 'The biggest practice in Bellingham, and growing so -- well, Mr Warrenby was talking of having to take a partner. And now this! Well, I don't seem able to believe it's happened, and that's a fact!'

'Came as a surprise to you, did it?'

The clerk blinked at him. 'Oh, yes, it did indeed! More like a shock, really. Well, as I say, I can't realize it. I keep thinking Mr Warrenby will come walking in any moment, wanting to know if the Widdringham lease has been posted, and -- But, of course, he won't.'

He glanced up, with an uncertain smile, and was disconcerted to find himself the object of a bright, piercing scrutiny. He did his best to meet it, the smile fading from his face.

'Been his head clerk for long?'

'Ever since he started practice in Bellingham,' said Mr Coupland, with a touch of pride.

'And you didn't know that he had any enemies?'

'No -- no, indeed I didn't! Mr Warrenby wasn't one to take people into his confidence. Even in practice, there were always some things he preferred to deal with himself. He was a -- a very energetic, forceful man, Chief Inspector.'

'By what I've heard he was a man who made a lot of enemies.'

'Yes, I believe -- that is, as to his private affairs I couldn't say, but professionally, of course, he wasn't well-liked. He was very successful, you see, and that made for a good deal of jealousy. On the Council too, and all the committees he sat on -- well, in everything, really, he would have his own way, and -- perhaps I shouldn't say this, but -- but I fear he wasn't always very scrupulous in his methods. He once said to me that there were few things he enjoyed more than making people dance when he pulled their strings, and, of course, that sort of thing doesn't make a man popular. He always treated me very well, and all the staff, but I couldn't but wonder sometimes at the trouble he'd go to to discover everything about the people he came into contact with. I ventured to ask him once, but he only said you could never know when it might be useful.'

117 'Blackmail?' asked Hemingway bluntly.

'Oh! Oh, no, I wouldn't say that! I never saw anything to make me suspect -- it always seemed more to me as though it amused him to make people he didn't like uncomfortable by letting them see he knew something about them they wouldn't wish to be known. Oh, quite trivial things -- I don't mean to suggest -- I daresay you know the sort of thing I mean, Chief Inspector. There aren't many of us who haven't ever done anything we wouldn't be a bit ashamed to have known. If you understand me!'

'I understand you all right. And you were surprised when you heard someone had shot this pocket-Hitler of yours?'

Mr Coupland looked startled. 'Yes, indeed, I was! Oh, dear, I hope I haven't given you a wrong impression! I didn't mean to say that Mr Warrenby did anything to make anyone want to murder him! Often he would say things more by way of a joke than anything: twitting on about some little misfortune or mistake. Well, he's done that to me, and I won't deny it did make one angry, but -- but there was nothing in it really!'

'I see,' said Hemingway. 'Well, Mr Coupland, I don't have to tell you that it's your duty to give me any assistance or information you can, so I'll put it straight to you: have you any reason to suspect that he may have been blackmailing -- or whatever you like to call it! -- anyone, at the time of his death?'

'No, Chief Inspector! No, no, none at all -- I assure you! Well, I couldn't have! I never knew him privately, and in his practice -- oh, no!' said Mr Coupland, looking frightened and unhappy.

Hemingway, who had been watching him with his head a little on one side and an expression in his eyes which reminded Harbottle irresistibly of a robin on the watch for a tit-bit, nodded, and said briefly: 'All right!'

At this point, the junior clerk slid into the room through as narrow an opening of the door as was possible, and stood hesitating on the threshold. Mr Coupland glanced at the Chief Inspector for guidance, but as Hemingway did not seem to think that the intrusion in any way concerned him, he cleared his throat, and said, in rather a strained voice: 'Yes, what is it?'

The youth trod delicately up to him, and murmured something to him, of which the only words which Hemingway heard were 'Sir John Eaglesfield.' They appeared to exercise a powerful influence on Mr Coupland, for, after exclaiming in a dismayed and startled way, he said: 'I wonder if you would excuse me for a few minutes, Chief Inspector? One of Mr Warrenby's most valued clients -- !'