Sheer Folly (31 page)

“I was just thinking it was a bit fishy the way Carlin disappeared so promptly. Pritchard telephoned Sir Desmond in Swindon when we got Lady Ottaline back to the house, so the three men were still there, so Carlin must have known about the explosion before he caught his train. It's a bit cool, if you ask me, his just going off like that.”

“What's that got to do with Rhino and golf?”

“Well, suppose he and Rhino had quarrelled over a game sometime in the past. Men get frightfully worked up about it. Rhino might forget, but Carlin brooded about it and—”

“But Rhino didn't play.”

Daisy sighed. “No. Pity.”

“All the same, I don't think the inspector should let Carlin off without being interrogated.”

“He told his sergeant to find him in London and bring him back. I hope Lucy took the Daimler or poor DS Thomkin will be stuck in the dickey all the way down. Always supposing he manages to find Carlin and persuade him to abandon his match.”

“It sounds like a tall order.”

“Alec gave him the name of an inspector at the Yard who'll help him. I just hope it doesn't get Alec into trouble.”

They had been standing talking just outside the drawing room. Now Julia said, “Are you coming with me to warn Mr. Pritchard about Charles having to reveal his alias to the police?”

“Not me. I'll leave that to you. I'm just going to find out where Alec is, then I'll go and see if—”

“Madam!” It was the little housemaid, Rita. Twisting a corner of her apron in nervous fingers, she was obviously upset. “Oh, if you please, madam!”

“What is it, Rita?” Daisy asked.

“Oh, madam! Mr. Barker said I got to tell you.”

Daisy envisioned her best evening frock ruined by overenthusiastic application of the smoothing iron. She gave Julia a little push towards the drawing-room door, and taking the hint, her friend went in alone.

“What do you have to tell me?” she asked.

“Oh, madam!” Rita glanced wildly round the hall.

“Would you like to go somewhere private? How about the dining room?” Daisy led the way. “Now sit down and spit it out. I won't eat you, you know.”

“Mr. Barker said you was the best one to tell. I'm sure I couldn't say a word to that inspector, but you'll know what to do,
madam. Oh, madam, I never thought he meant it.” The girl flung her apron over her face and started crying.

“Who? Who meant what?”

“Mr. Gregg, madam.” Her voice was muffled by the cloth and interrupted by sobs and hiccups. “His lordship's man, madam. And I'm sure I wish he'd never said a word to me!”

“Oh dear!” said Daisy and set about coaxing the story from the frightened maid.

 

When Howell
left him, Alec folded his arms on the table and laid his head on them for a moment's respite. Feeling his eyes inexorably closing, he changed his mind, stood up, and went to one of the windows. He parted the curtains and looked out at belting rain, illuminated by electric lamps at the front door, under the portico. The window faced the carriage sweep. The room was at the northeast corner of the house. Thinking back to his arrival with Gerald that afternoon—could it possibly have been this very day?—he reckoned the view from the other window must be across a narrower drive to the service entrance and a group of outbuildings, including garages, partly concealed by shrubbery.

At any rate, it was impossible for breakfasters in here to see anyone heading for the grotto.

Alec rested his forehead against a windowpane. The cold glass revived him a little and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door, which Howell had left ajar, completed the process. Given a villain to track down, he could stay awake all night.

Sir Desmond Wandersley was still an enigma to him. They
had been introduced just before dinner and sat opposite each other at the dinner-table, on either side of Lady Beaufort. When everyone had started to discuss their whereabouts during the morning, Sir Desmond had said briefly that after breakfast he had gone into Swindon, to the Pritchard works. Apart from that, he had made little effort to converse, preoccupied, presumably, by his wife's accident. Yet Howell had said he produced an endless supply of funny stories later, in the drawing room. Curious. Still, Daisy described him as being an expert at presenting a façade to the world.

Alec waved him to a chair and sat down, saying, “How is Lady Ottaline, Sir Desmond?”

“Sleeping soundly. She wasn't seriously injured, you know, just considerably shaken.”

He didn't sound at all concerned. Alec assumed he hadn't actually been to see how his wife was doing. He surely would have commented on the presence of DC Potter guarding her door.

When dealing with bureaucrats, it was safest to make sure all
t
's were crossed and
i
's dotted. “You're aware that I'm a Scotland Yard CID officer, giving Inspector Boyle of Swindon a hand quite informally with preliminary questioning? I have no official standing in the investigation. If you prefer to speak to Mr. Boyle—”

“No, no, my dear fellow. I'm sure I can count on your tact, your understanding, as a man of the world, so to speak. A matter of some delicacy . . .” He hesitated. Though a pause of that sort was usually a sign of uncertainty, Sir Desmond's urbane manner never faltered. “I'll let you decide whether it's worthy of being passed on to the inspector.”

Alec waited. When nothing further ensued, he prompted: “Yes?”

“Do you know, I find this deuced difficult.” Yet he was still cool, calm, and collected.

“Perhaps we should start with your movements this morning. I couldn't take notes at dinner, obviously. Would you mind telling me again, for the record?” He smiled. “We coppers like to have a solid foundation for further enquiries.”

“It's quite simple. I came down to breakfast—doubtless my valet will be able to tell you the precise time—and after breakfast I drove to Swindon, to the plumbing works. That is, my chauffeur drove me and Carlin, my Private Secretary. Howell took his own motor-car. I was at the factory, apart from a break for luncheon, until Pritchard telephoned to tell me Ottaline was hurt.”

“Thank you. Now, what about this delicate matter you want to talk to me about?”

“Dammit, man, it's not easy. If it weren't that—” Sir Desmond took off his gold-rimmed glasses and fixed Alec with eyes like blackcurrant wine-gums, dark and opaque but with a slight sheen. “You realise that in my position, any breath of scandal can be fatal.”

“Sir Desmond, until I know what you have to tell me, I can't give you any assurances, except that the police do not disclose information unless it becomes necessary in the prosecution of a court case.”

“Which I'm terribly afraid . . . If only I knew what to do!”

“If you are aware of facts that could materially affect police enquiries, it is your duty as a citizen—and especially, surely, as a servant of the Crown—to pass them on.”

“My duty! Yes, it's my duty, however painful.” He shaded his eyes with one hand. “I fancy you must already have heard certain . . . rumours about my wife and Lord Rydal?”

“We have.”

“The inspector, too? I suppose I should have expected it. Ottaline was obsessed with the fellow, couldn't leave him alone. You didn't have the doubtful pleasure of meeting him, I gather, but your wife must have told you what an unpleasant specimen he was. I can only believe that Ottaline was . . . unbalanced. It's dangerous to thwart a woman in such a condition.”

“You didn't consider consulting a psychiatrist?”

“No. I didn't realise until recently to what extent her mind was affected. And I must admit, it was abhorrent to me to have her—and, I confess, myself—exposed to the talk that would surely have arisen. These things get about. I felt certain it would
blow over in time, so I didn't kick up a fuss. Then I heard that he was pursuing a young lady with a view to marriage. She—I'm speaking of Miss Beaufort, of course—was badly off and not at all likely to refuse a rich peer. I assumed his . . . connection with Ottaline would come to a natural end. A reasonable assumption, don't you agree?”

“Certainly.”

“When she said she'd like to come into the country with me, I was sure it was over. I didn't know Rydal was here, although, as I found out too late, she did. I could see right away that she still wanted him, and if she couldn't have him, she'd have her revenge. She's a vengeful, grudge-holding person. But I was thinking in terms of petty revenge, and I guessed wrongly that Miss Beaufort would be her target. If I'd had the slightest inkling of what she planned . . .”

Alec let the silence hang for a moment. Then he said impassively, “You'd have warned Lord Rydal? Warned your host? Somehow prevented Lady Ottaline from blowing up the grotto? That is what you're telling me, isn't it? Your wife killed her lover.”

Momentarily, Sir Desmond slumped. Then he stiffened and stood up. He leant forwards with both fists on the table. “I've said enough. I have no proof. But I couldn't let you arrest someone who may perhaps be innocent because you hadn't considered all possibilities.”

“Oh? Whom do you think DI Boyle is about to arrest?”

“Why, the Canadian, of course. Lady Beaufort favoured Rydal, who was pestering the girl. Obviously Armitage was jealous. At one blow he rid himself of his rival and freed her from harassment. But I shan't try to teach you your job. Good night, Mr. Fletcher. No doubt I shall see you in the morning. I must warn you, however, that I must leave for London tomorrow, or early Monday without fail. Perhaps you will be so good as to point out to the inspector that the nation's business cannot wait on the convenience of the provincial police.”

“I'll let him know.” But a trifle more tactfully. Not that he
could hold anyone against his will, government business or no government business. “Good night, Sir Desmond.”

A slight scuffling sound out in the passage was muffled by Sir Desmond's heavy footsteps. Alec wouldn't have heard it had he not been listening for it. In the middle of the interview, he had seen the door handle turn and the door open an inch. He hadn't wanted to stop Sir Desmond in full flow, though he would have done so if he hadn't been all but certain the eavesdropper was Daisy.

Sir Desmond's weighty tread receded down the hall. A moment later Daisy came in.

“He didn't see me, the snake!”

“Snake?”

“All those nasty insinuations about Lady Ottaline, and he admitted he had no evidence whatsoever. He's trying to get rid of her. Well, one can't help but sympathise a bit, but still . . . Darling, you don't believe him, do you?”

“There isn't anything to believe or disbelieve, since he didn't make any direct accusations. Snake, yes. I was thinking rat. You shouldn't have been listening.”

“I had to see you, and I didn't want to interrupt. Oh dear, more insinuations, I'm afraid, but without malice.”

“Daisy, what are you blithering about?”

In response, she stuck her head out of the door and called, “Rita, come along now.”

Rita?

“Come on, he doesn't bite, I promise.” She ushered in a very young housemaid. “Rita has something to tell you.”

“Oh, madam, cou'n't you tell for me?”

“Right-oh.” Nothing loath, Daisy sat down at the table. “But he or the inspector is going to want to ask you some questions. You know, I told you they would. Alec, Rita is the third housemaid, so she does the senior and visiting staff bedrooms. That's how she came to chat with Gregg, Lord Rydal's manservant. And perhaps to flirt a little?” She gave the nervous girl an encouraging smile. “We didn't do nuthen wrong!”

“Of course you didn't. I'm just telling him that so he understands how it came about that Gregg told you things he didn't tell anyone else.”

“I never thought he'd really go and do it,” the maid said tearfully.

“Brace up. Perhaps he didn't. It's for the police—”

“Daisy!”

“Sorry, darling. This morning, when Rita went in to make Gregg's bed and dust around, as usual, he was in his room packing his belongings. He was in a ‘state,' and he told her he'd been sacked.”

“For nuthen!” Indignation overcame fright. “Just his lordship wanted to wear a tie Mr. Gregg'd left behind in Lunnon.”

Daisy continued. “He said he'd put up with enough and he was going to get his own back. He told Rita about a neighbour of his aunt's who had tried to commit suicide with gas. She'd turned on the oven and put her head in, then grew uncomfortable and impatient and decided to have a last cup of tea. She struck a match to light the burner. The gas exploded and burnt off her eyebrows. Gregg decided it would be a good idea to burn off Rhino's eyebrows. I must say, I agree, only he did it rather too thoroughly. If he did it.”

“I never thought he would,” Rita wailed. “I thought it were just talk.”

“You couldn't possibly have guessed,” Alec said soothingly. “He knew about Lord Rydal and Lady Ottaline's plan to meet in the grotto, did he?”

“Oh yes, sir, everyone knew. Wicked, I call it.”

“Thank you for telling Mrs. Fletcher about Gregg's threat. Does anyone else know?”

“Just Mr. Barker, 'cause I didn't know what to do.”

“Good. Don't tell anyone else, there's a good girl.”

“What about that inspector, sir? Will I have to tell him?”

“I'll tell him. I expect he'll want to ask you some questions, as Mrs. Fletcher warned you. You can run along now. Remember, not a word to anyone else.”

“I'll keep mum, sir. Oh, madam, thank you ever so. I'd never 've done it without you.” Departing, the maid cast a dubious backward glance at Alec and added, “Not but what he's not as scary as you might expect.”