Rules of Murder (28 page)

“Perfectly understandable.” Drew patted his hand, gently removing it, but Rushford clung to him, his other hand still on the doorknob.

“You wouldn’t . . . you wouldn’t come in and have a look round, would you? I know there’s a constable posted and all that, but Lincoln’s been so elusive.”

Drew took his arm. Rushford’s fears were making him feel a little unsettled himself. “If he’s in there, we’ll soon have him out.”

Stiffening his spine and his resolve, Drew eased open the door. There was only stillness. “Seems quite empty, sir.”

“Would you mind checking the wardrobe?”

With more indulgent confidence than he felt, Drew flung open the wardrobe. Relieved, he poked about in the meager contents. “Nothing here.”

Rushford’s eyes flickered toward the heaped tangle of sheets and coverlet on the bed. “You don’t suppose . . .”

Drew pulled the coverlet onto the floor, prodded the sheets and, for good measure, looked under the bed. “I’d say you’re safely alone, sir.”

The color returning to his face, Rushford sank into an easy chair. “I daresay I’m an old fool, but with what happened to Parker and all . . .” He put one hand over his face. “I’ve got to get away from all this. My nerves are completely gone.”

Drew poured an inch or so of the brandy from the decanter on the dresser and pressed Rushford’s free hand around it. “Buck up, sir. You’ll be away from here tomorrow. We’ll see to everything here.”

The old man downed the brandy, then grabbed Drew hard by the wrist. “Listen here, if I don’t make it to the morning—”

“Sir, I—”

“Hear me out.” Rushford’s eyes were fever-bright, his face intent. “Lincoln’s eluded everyone so far. He got to Parker even after we knew he might be about the house somewhere. If he gets to me, you’ll be the last. You’ll own Farlinford outright. It’s fairly ruined at this point, but you can build it up again. You’ve enough of your father in you to make a go of it. You do it for him and for his father and grandfather before him. For all the Fartherings.” His expression softened. “And for an old fool who hasn’t anyone else.”

It was deuced awkward, but Drew couldn’t help feeling for the old boy, alone as he was.

“I’ll give it a go. Don’t you worry.” He took a quick look behind the curtains, made sure the window was securely latched,
and then went back to Rushford. “You’d best get to bed, sir. Sounds as though you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.”

Rushford drained the last drop clinging to the inside of his glass and then stood. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. “I’m sorry about Parker. I knew Lincoln was a bit of a blackguard, but I never would have thought it of Parker. Never.”

Drew nodded, weary with the thought of revisiting it all again. “Neither would I. I was hoping we’d find out he wasn’t part of it at all, but it seems there’s no getting round it now.”

“No,” Rushford said. “But you’re young yet, Drew. You still have Farlinford. A great many young men have started with less.” He laughed wistfully. “I know I did.”

“Thank you, sir,” Drew replied. “I might do just that. Good night.”

A cleansing midmorning sun flooded the front lawn at Farthering Place, somehow making even old Rushford, with his little kit bag in hand, look steady and robust.

He took a deep breath and let it out. “I shall miss England, young man. Home and all that. But I just can’t stay any longer, you understand.”

“Of course, sir,” Drew said. “Best to put it all behind you for good and all.”

“Oh, and I have something for you. Just the final loose end.”

He tucked his bag under his arm and reached into his coat pocket for a single sheet of paper, folded lengthwise. He handed it to Drew.

“What’s this?” Drew’s smile faded as he scanned the contents. “Sir, you can’t possibly—”

“It seems rather that I can,” Rushford said. “It’s witnessed by your butler and your housekeeper. Perfectly legal and in order. I confirmed it with my solicitor by telephone this morning.”

“But you’re giving me your interest in Farlinford.”

“Yes, I believe I am. Not that there’s much left in it now, of course, but she’s all yours.”

“But, sir, there’s no need for that. I’ll try to get her running again, you needn’t bother about that, but you’ll still have your share. It’s only right.”

Rushford shook his head. “You know the agreement. No director can sell his interest in the company except to the other directors. That would be only you now, my boy. And the value of my half would hardly buy me tea and toast anymore.” He chuckled. “Look at me. Since I signed that little paper, I’m a new man. I’m off to a new life and leaving all my worries behind me. You wouldn’t begrudge me that, now, would you?”

“Certainly not, sir. I can’t say I was expecting this, but if it’s what you want . . .”

“You’ll be doing me a great favor.” Rushford took Drew’s hand and shook it heartily. “Now, I must be off before my ship leaves without me. Goodbye, young Farthering. Make us proud.”

With a nod of farewell, Rushford shuffled down the steps, carrying his kit bag in both arms now, like a boy off to camp.

Min was holding the door to the black sedan, his face as inscrutable as ever. “May I take your bag, sir?”

Rushford waved him away, scowling slightly, and climbed into the back seat.

Drew followed him to the car. “Don’t you worry about Lincoln. The police will run him to ground in time. I still can’t imagine where he could be, but they’ve checked everywhere, even that little cottage of Mrs. Chapman’s. The police say she has a tenant, but it’s some fellow called Barker come after trout.
Deuced shame, too. It would have been a nice, convenient place for Lincoln to keep himself.”

“I didn’t know there was a place as close as that. I wish you hadn’t mentioned him again. That boat cannot leave too soon for me.” Rushford mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and then managed a smile. “Here, now. Mustn’t give way, eh? That blackguard is likely miles away and daren’t show his face by day.”

“That’s the ticket, sir.”

“Well, best of luck to you, young man. Drive on, Min.”

Min ducked his head and closed the rear door. Then, with one hard look at Drew, he got into the front seat. In another moment, the sedan was out of sight.

Madeline came out of the house in time to wave after it, and then she walked down the steps. “What now?”

“You’ll never believe it,” Drew said. “He’s signed all of Farlinford over to me.” He showed her the paper Rushford had given him. “It will take some doing, but I think I’ll try to make a go of it. Maybe I can make something of myself, after all.”

“Uncle Mason would have liked that,” Madeline said. “He always wanted you to come into business with him. He was very fond of you, you know.”

She knew just how to sting his conscience. Just a little wistfulness in the eyes, a sigh in the voice.

“All right.” Drew let the breath seep out of his lungs like the air from a punctured tire, and then he led her back into the parlor. Nick came trailing in after them.

“We’ll start at the beginning once again.” Drew forced himself to sound resolute and hopeful. “What evidence do we have that doesn’t point to Mason and Lincoln being behind it all?”

“What about Mr. Peterson?” Madeline asked. “From the very first, he had access to the fireworks and the gun. Suppose
his whole story about his daughter is a lie and he and she both are in it with Lincoln? He could be hiding Lincoln in his house right now.”

Drew shook his head. “It won’t work. I couldn’t help wondering that myself and had someone from my solicitor’s look into it for me. She was where Peterson said she was, in an even more wretched condition than he knew. We’ve got her in a sanatorium now, and when she’s ready, she’s to come back home.”

“So,” Nick said, “we could suspect her or her father of killing Lincoln, but it’s not bally likely they’d be helping him. No.”

Drew spent a moment drumming his fingers on the arm of the overstuffed chair. “The fingerprints,” he said finally. “Or lack thereof.” He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Remember what Jimmy said? It couldn’t have been more thorough if they had done it themselves.”

“But why would they do it themselves? I mean, Lincoln, certainly, if he wanted to disappear. But why would Clarke? What would he have been thinking?”

The ringing of the telephone halted the conversation, and in a moment Dennison appeared at the parlor door. “You’re wanted on the telephone, sir.”

“Who is it, Denny?”

“He didn’t give his name, sir. An American gentleman, if I’m not mistaken.”

Drew leapt to his feet and hurried into the study, with Nick and Madeline on his heels.

“Hello?”

“Check out the cottage. Mrs. Chapman’s. He’s there. They’re getting away.”

“Who’s there? Who is this?”

The line went dead.

“Who was that?” Madeline asked. “What did he say?”

“Hello? Hello?” Drew clicked the switch hook. “Hello, operator? Ring Mrs. Chapman at Lilac Cottage. No, I don’t know the number. Hurry, please.”

“Who was it?” Madeline pressed.

“That American. The same one I overheard before. He said— Hello, Mrs. Chapman?”

“This is Mrs. Chapman.” The woman’s voice was quavery with age, but pleasantly chipper. “Who’s calling, please?”

“Drew Farthering here. From up at Farthering Place. I was wondering if I could ask you about the chap you have staying at your cottage.”

“Mr. Barker? The police have already asked about him, you know. Perfectly nice young man from Ipswich.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that. He doesn’t happen to be a tall blond fellow with a mustache, does he?”

“You mean like that Mr. Lincoln they’re looking for. Oh, no, that couldn’t be Mr. Barker. He’s dark, you know, and clean-shaven.”

Drew sighed. “I see.”

“The police showed me a photograph of the man they want. My young man here is nothing like him, especially in the chin. Dimpled on one side and all.”

Drew clutched the receiver so hard, he feared it would break. “He doesn’t happen to have a little scar over his upper lip, does he?”

“Why, yes. How did you—?”

“Don’t . . .” Drew paused and took a deep breath. “Could you please go down to the cottage and see if he’s in?”

“I’m sorry, dear, but he left last night. I went this morning to see how he was getting on with the trout, and he’d taken all his things and gone. Didn’t even bother to lock up.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chapman. You’ve been a great help.” Drew
rung off and stared at Madeline and Nick. “It’s not Lincoln. It’s Clarke. By heaven, it’s Clarke. He must have shaved his mustache and dyed his hair.”

“So it was Lincoln in the greenhouse all along,” Nick said.

“. . . thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead.”
That was it.

Drew nodded. “And Rushford could never have seen him at the office.”

“Or seen him murder Uncle Mason.” Madeline put both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Drew took her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right,” she said, shaking him off. “And you’re letting a murderer get away.”

“Good heavens!” Nick cried, and the three of them rushed into the front hall.

“Get the car, Nick,” Drew ordered. “Madeline, darling, ring up Jimmy at the police station, if you would. Tell him to get hold of someone at the docks before Rushford gets there.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Madeline said. “Denny can call the police. I’m going with you.”

“It could be dangerous,” Drew warned.

“I don’t care. I have a thing or two to say to Mr. Rushford.”

Her full lips were set in a determined line he didn’t want to resist, but he tried all the same. “He’s already murdered at least four people. He’s not going to stick at two or three more now.”

“No, I don’t suppose he will,” she agreed. “That’s why you’re going to take that pistol Uncle Mason kept in his study.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to be so daft as to go empty-handed, you know.” He couldn’t help smiling at her. “All right, you can come, but be quick about it, and if anything happens, you’re to drive the car straightaway back here. Promise?”

“Now, Drew—”

“Promise?”

She sighed. “I promise.”

By then, Nick was in the drive and leaning on the horn. After a few parting instructions for the imperturbable Dennison, Drew and Madeline scurried down the front steps and leapt into the car. Nick hit the gas before Drew could even close the door behind himself.

“No use smashing us up before we even get to the road,” Drew said, pushing his hat off his forehead and back onto the proper place on his head. “I daresay Rushford thinks he’s got us all duped and there’s no need to rush.”

“I suppose,” Nick agreed, “though it’d be a bit easier if he had a puncture somewhere between here and the village.”

Madeline shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. Mr. Rushford seemed like such a nice old man.”

“I told you no one is ever as he seems,” Drew reminded her.

“You also told me Uncle Mason was a murderer.”

“I suppose I did,” he admitted, and then he seized her hand. “I say, Madeline, can you ever—?”

“Good heavens.” Nick wrenched the car to the side of the road, nearly throwing Madeline into Drew’s lap. “I don’t believe it.”