The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 (19 page)

'Great-Aunt says he has a very special surprise for her...'

Anything concerning the Elriggs was of great interest and
this indeed might prove a rewarding turn of events, thought
Faro. As Vince's glum expression betrayed a certain lack of
enthusiasm, he realised that any change of plans, or possible new evidence of mayhem at the Castle, upset his own wish to
get Faro away from Elrigg as speedily as possible.

At the moment, however, Faro's chief concern was how he
could escape the embarrassing situation whereby his real
identity would have to be revealed and explained to Mark and
Lady Elrigg.

Suddenly he became aware of a figure hovering behind him.

'Excuse me, sir.'

It was Dewar. 'Could I have a word, sir?'

As the constable strode purposefully in the direction of the
bar, Faro followed him with a sinking sense of disaster. Long
ago he had realised the truth of the maxim that murders, like
troubles, seldom come singly.

He was not to be disappointed.

'Miss Halliday's cottage has been broken into, sir. She's been
badly hurt. Sergeant Yarrow found her lying at the bottom of
the staircase when he went to collect his quarantine papers for
the authorities. He reckons she probably disturbed the burglar.'

'Have you any idea who...?'

Dewar shrugged. 'Sergeant reckons it might have been
Duffy.'

'Duffy? But how could -'

'Well, Dr Brand says it might have happened late last night,
before the accident.' Dewar shook his head. 'I don't agree, sir.
Duffy was ready to lift anything that ain't nailed down, but I've never known him resort to breaking and entering.'

'Was there a motive?'

'What kind of motive would that be, sir?'

'Did she have anything of value?' Faro said impatiently,
remembering a few nice pieces of furniture, antiques but hardly
things with an immediate resale value for a poacher. 'And how
did he get in?'

Dewar looked astonished at this remark. 'Bless you, sir, no
one round here ever locks their doors. We don't live in that kind
of society. We all trust one another.'

In Miss Halliday's case badly misplaced, thought Faro, as Dewar's naivety confirmed his original assessment that the
constable's reaction to real crime would be shocked disbelief.
Such things were unthinkable in Elrigg.

'Where is Miss Halliday now?'

'Dr Brand says she's concussed, got a nasty shock, that's for
sure. The minister's wife will look after her till she's better.
We're a caring society, here, sir,' he added defensively in case
Faro should be in any danger of thinking otherwise.

He had indeed read Faro's thoughts. Very caring indeed,
especially when some person hit her on the head and left her for
dead.

'Did she have any difficult pupils?' he asked.

Dewar's eyes widened in horror at such implication.

'I get your drift, sir. But you're wrong. The children are all
obedient and law abiding, sir. Things might be different in big
cities like where you come from,' he added stiffly. 'But here the
bairns are brought up from their earliest days to be God-fearing
and to respect their parents and other people. Besides, Miss
Halliday's loved by everyone; she's taught several decades their
three Rs. Now if you'll excuse me, sir.'

With an air of silent reprimand, Dewar saluted him gravely
and marched out of the inn.

At the table he had just left, the twins were preparing to return to Branxton. Waving them off, the air heavy with instructions for the following day's festivities, Vince smiled:
'Well, that's that. What shall we do now?'

'A walk, perhaps.'

'A good idea. What did your local constable want?'

Faro told him about Miss Halliday and the breakin.

Vince, adept at reading his stepfather's mind, sighed deeply.
'So that's where we are going?'

Faro nodded eagerly. 'Bearing in mind that doors are never
locked in this law-abiding community, I thought we might avail
ourselves of a little private investigation.'

Vince's sigh was despairing this time. 'You never give up, do
you, Stepfather?'

'She was very kind to me. I owe her that much. And I'm very
curious. I'd like you to see her paintings too. They're very
impressive.'

'How far is it?' Vince demanded, in a voice notable for a lack
of enthusiasm, Faro having temporarily overlooked the fact
that his stepson felt the same way about amateur painters as he
did about amateur thespians.

'We'll do it in about forty minutes, there and back,' he said
encouragingly.

Vince thought about it and yawned. 'Forgive me, Stepfather, if I don't come with you. Truth is, I'm devilish tired. Out till the
wee sma' hours delivering a baby.'

Faro smiled sympathetically. 'I've noticed that they always seem to choose times when it's least convenient for your social
life.'

Vince nodded, stretching his arms above his head. 'Must be
on form for the long day tomorrow. I think, if you'll excuse me,
I'll take a bath. Bowden assures me hip baths are readily
available. He even has a special room put aside for such
ablutions. See you at dinner, eh?'

Setting off for Miss Halliday's cottage alone, Faro felt a little
lonely, his spirits cast down. When he got too close to a case
and became enmeshed and thoroughly baffled, it was almost
always Vince who could be relied upon to stand back and view
it coolly from a different and often enlightened angle.

If only Vince had been free of other obligations this time. He
shouldn't really feel like this, he told himself sternly, he had
guessed that his stepson would not be a great deal of use on this occasion, involved with the Gilchrists and their great-aunt's
birthday celebrations.

He sighed. The sooner he got used to the new regime, the
better for everyone. It was what he had always wanted for
Vince, to see him happy with a girl like Olivia. What he was
experiencing, this sudden bitter shaft of loneliness, was no more
than the normal pattern of parenthood, a glimpse into the
future when he would no longer enjoy the comradeship they
had shared since Vince's boyhood.

Opening the door of Miss Halliday's cottage cautiously, he
noted that it was remarkably tidy inside. In the kitchen, a few
papers lay scattered on the floor, a broken ornament, a
shattered cup, but there was a gold watch on the sideboard and
a purse full of sovereigns.

Money had not been the burglar's object.

Turning back again to the kitchen table, he noticed that it
was set for two people, one each side of the table; one cup was
almost full, the other empty.

He stood back and regarded the scene carefully. The clues
were all there.

Miss Halliday had been attacked by someone she knew well enough to take out her best china. He looked at the mantelpiece
and visualised the scene indicated by two broken ornaments
and a framed photograph on the floor, swept off by her arm no
doubt as she fought off her attacker.

Picking them up and returning them to their rightful places
with the complete recall that was one of his remarkable assets,
he saw that Sir Walter Scott's letter was missing. Walking round
the table again, he stood beside the cup of tea that had been
abandoned. Opposite it, the painting of the boy Eric was
missing.

As he closed the door, he had no longer the least doubt that
the killer of Sir Archie and the poacher Duffy had also attacked
Miss Halliday. His experience indicated that the three people
were linked in a murderous chain of events.

Or could it be that the presence of Detective Inspector Faro
upset someone with a guilty conscience?

Going over his conversation with Miss Halliday, he decided to cross the road to the Castle lodge and call upon Miss Imogen
Crowe.

There was no response and, trying the door, he found it
unlocked. He was not as surprised as he should have been to see
Scott's letter lying on her kitchen table.

He picked it up. His fascinated re-reading of it was interrupted by Miss Crowe's arrival.

Then she saw what he held and pointed an accusing finger.

'No!' He forestalled her accusation with one of his own.
This is, I believe, the property of Miss Halliday.'

'It is. She lent it to me. To make a copy.'

Faro laughed. 'Oh, did she indeed? And do you know where
she is at the moment?'

Miss Crowe shrugged. 'Across the road in her house, I
expect.'

Faro leaned on the table. 'Then you expect wrong, miss. Someone broke into her house last night. She was attacked -'

There was a shocked exclamation as Miss Crowe asked: 'Is
she all right?'

'She is unconscious.'

'Where is she? I'll look after her -'

'No need to trouble yourself, the minister's wife is more than
capable.'

Miss Crowe clenched her hands. 'Will she recover?'

'Who knows?'

'But how did it happen - I mean -'

'We gather she intercepted a burglar.'

'A burglar?' whispered Imogen Crowe.

'That is so, miss.' And, laying down the letter, he tapped its
frame. 'I suppose you know you could go to gaol for that.'

He had the dubious satisfaction of seeing her face turn
deathly pale, white as the cloth on the kitchen table, as he
turned on his heel and left her.

At the inn, Faro found Vince looking forward to supper.
Refreshed and bathed, in a good humour, he was eager to listen
to his stepfather's latest experiences.

'You had better get it all off your chest,' he said, 'then you
can consider the case finally closed and we can begin to enjoy
ourselves.'

'First of all, there's this visit to the Castle. They don't know
I'm a detective and it's bound to come out.'

'Ah, I'm well ahead of you there. I've explained to the twins and Miss Gilchrist that you are on a secret mission of national
importance. They were very impressed and you can rely on them not to give the game away. Now, what have you found
out?'

As Faro went through the details, item by item, Vince listened
carefully: 'One thing is obvious, those missing paintings are
tucked safely away somewhere in the attics of the Castle. To be
brought out and discreetly restored to their original places, once
Her Majesty has forgotten all about them. I think it will be safe
enough for I doubt whether Bertie will make any more incognito
visits to Elrigg, don't you agree?'

'Indeed. Two unfortunate fatal accidents should be enough
to cool even his ardour,' said Faro.

'And you can certainly remove from your mind that he had
any part in the bull's horn business. That is hardly his style. I
understand he is not even passable with a rifle.' Vince paused to
take a second helping of game pie. 'I'd hazard a guess that
Philip Gray's death was an accident. As for the laird's - that
comes into the dubious area of "might-have-been-murder".
Trouble was you arrived far too late to be of any use proving
anything to the contrary.'

'True enough, even if they had wanted my help,' said Faro.
'With the blessing of Sergeant Yarrow and the Northumberland
Constabulary, the trail was cold.'

'Worse than that, Stepfather. As far as I can see there isn't a
shred of real evidence against anyone. As for your suspects.
Well, I'd be prepared to bet a great deal of money that it wasn't
Lady Elrigg in the classic role of husband-murderer. I'm sure she
had enough experience of the wicked world not to get rid of the
goose that was laying the golden eggs for her.