The Key (17 page)

Miss Silver said, ‘Exactly. The theory that Mr Harsch committed suicide was based on the fact that he was found behind locked doors with his own key in his pocket. The case against Mr Madoc was based upon the discovery that he had come into possession of Miss Brown’s key after a jealous scene with her, and about a quarter of an hour before the shot was fired. But since it now appears that the door behind which Mr Harsch’s body was found was neither locked by his own key nor by the one in Mr Madoc’s possession, but by Bush, it seems to me that the case against Mr Madoc is very much weakened. When it is further considered that there is evidence that Ezra Pincott was murdered last night, the case would seem to be very weak indeed, since Mr Madoc could have had no hand in this murder.’

Lamb hoisted himself out of his chair.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I won’t say yes, and I won’t say no. But this man Bush has certainly got something to explain. We’ll have to see him and ask him what about it.

Half way to the door he turned back.

‘You haven’t got a motive to hand us, I suppose? Respectable sextons don’t go about murdering organists as a rule. You’ve got to have a motive, you know. Juries are funny that way.’

Miss Silver drew herself up. It was the slightest, most ladylike of gestures, but it certainly conveyed to Sergeant Abbott, if not to his superior officer, that the Chief Inspector had allowed a perhaps natural exasperation to impair the courtesy due to a gentlewoman. There was a faint chill upon her voice as she said, ‘There is a possible motive, and I feel it my duty to acquaint you with it. Bush, though born a British subject, is of German origin. His parents settled in this country. The name was Busch, spelt in the German manner with an sch, the English spelling being adopted during the last war. Miss Fell informs me that a short time previously this man Frederick Bush, who was then about seventeen years of age, was approached by enemy agents who endeavoured to persuade him to obtain information for them. He was at that time under-footman in a house where the conversation at the dinner table might have been of considerable value. I must hasten to add that he immediately refused, and that he acquainted Miss Fell’s stepfather, who was then Rector of Bourne, with the particulars.’

Lamb pursed up his mouth and whistled.

‘Well!’ he said. Then with an abrupt movement he turned to the door again. ‘Oh, come along, Frank – come along before she tells us anything more! I’ve got as much as I can get through with for today.’

WHILST THIS CONVERSATION was going on Miss Sophy had slipped into a gentle refreshing sleep in the drawing-room. Though she never admitted to an afternoon nap, and would not on any account have put up her feet, she had no objection to supporting them on a foot-stool, or to leaning back against a number of comfortably piled cushions and closing her eyes. Garth Albany on one side of her and Janice upon the other became aware that they no longer had her attention. Her white woolly curls rested becomingly against a blue silk cushion, her breath came evenly and without sound from the slightly parted lips, her plump hands were folded in a purple lap. To all intents and purposes they were alone.

If Janice could have been anywhere else she would have been glad. Or would she? She didn’t know. Ever since that walk on Sunday she didn’t know what she wanted. Down deep in a hidden corner something wept and refused to be comforted. Because Garth had been going to make love to her and she had stopped him, and now she wouldn’t have anything to remember. He would go away, and it might be years before he came back again. He might go abroad, he might be killed, and she would have nothing, nothing to remember. He might have said, ‘I love you,’ he would certainly have kissed her. Even if it had meant nothing to him, it would have been something to treasure up and remember when he was gone. But she had chosen her pride instead. She was finding it icy comfort.

She looked at him across Miss Sophy’s plump bolster of a shoulder, tightly upholstered in plum-coloured cashmere, and found him unbearably dear. The way his hair grew, the line of cheek and jaw, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled—

They crinkled now. He said in a laughing voice, ‘Stock situation from a farce! The chaperone is asleep. What do we do about it?’

Her heart gave a little jerk. Her lips trembled into a smile. She said ‘Ssh!’

Garth laughed again.

‘Oh, no – I don’t think so. My stage direction says, “Crosses R.” ’ Getting up as he spoke, he came round the sofa and sat down on the arm of her chair. ‘You needn’t worry, you know – she won’t wake. Family trait – once I’m off, I’m off – it takes a bomb to wake me.’

‘But you’re not any relation – she’s a step. You can’t inherit something from your grandfather’s step-daughter.’

His arm stretched lazily across the back of the chair behind her shoulders.

‘I didn’t say it was inherited. There are such things as acquired characteristics. Anyhow the point is, she’s good for at least half an hour, and – wilful waste makes woeful want. I suppose you wouldn’t like to be kissed?’

He saw the colour leap like a flame in either cheek and flicker out. When she slowly turned her head and looked at him she was so pale that he was startled. She moved colourless lips to say ‘Yes.’ Instead he put his hand upon her shoulder.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

He gave her a little shake.

‘My child, this was a farce. You’re playing tragedy – “Unhand me villain – I have taken poison”. What’s the matter?’

‘I’m not very good at farce.’

He looked at her with laughing eyes.

‘I’m not at all set on it myself. Let’s make it drawing-room comedy – the great proposal scene. I come of rich but honest parents. I know all about you, and you know more than any other girl does about me. Life’s highly uncertain for both of us. As someone once wrote, “Gather ye roses while ye may”. What about it?’

Her lips were stiff. She forced them to a smile.

‘I don’t know my part, Garth.’

His hand came up on the far side, taking her by the elbow, turning her a little.

‘There’s always the prompter. If it’s a very modern play, you say casually, “All right, I don’t mind if I do.” But if it’s one of those romantic period pieces, it would be, “Oh, Garth – this is so sudden!” ’

She managed to go on smiling.

‘It is rather, isn’t it?’

‘I suppose it is. It’s funny the way things are. I’ve always been fond of you. You were such an odd little thing – I was very fond of you. And then I went away and forgot all about you, but when I saw you come in at the inquest I felt just as if I hadn’t ever been away at all. It’s difficult to explain, but it felt good – it felt quite extraordinarily good. I – Jan, I’m really trying to tell you something.’

‘Yes—’

‘It’s just as if you were part of me – part of the boy I was. You can’t ever get away from what you’ve been, and you really are a part of that. I found that out when I came back, and now I keep finding out that you’re still a part of me. It goes deep down as far as I can get. If it’s been like that and it’s like that now, don’t you think it’s good enough to suppose it will go on being like that? You know, when you said you didn’t want me to make love to you because you’d rather keep something that was real, you made me think. And what I thought was this – why, we’ve got the real stuff – it’s there – we can’t get away from it – it’s as solid as wedding cake, but what’s the matter with having the almond paste and the sugar icing too?’

This time she didn’t speak. The no-coloured eyes were very bright and rather scared. His arm came round her neck, the hand under her chin tipping it up.

‘Hate me?’

‘Not dreadfully.’

‘That’s something. Like me?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Impassioned creature! Love me a little?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

The scared look went out of her eyes. A sparkle made them brighter than before.

‘You haven’t said you love me. Do you?’

‘Quite a lot, Jan.’

She repeated the words gravely – ‘Quite a lot.’

It was at this moment that Miss Sophy opened a round blue eye. It rested hazily upon the agreeable spectacle of two young people embracing one another, and closed again. Miss Sophy was no spoilsport. It was only when the subsequent soft murmurings became so articulate as to make her feel she was eavesdropping that she most regretfully stirred, rustled her cushions, yawned with emphasis, and sat up. The embrace, alas, was over. Dear Janice had a very becoming colour. Dear Garth was also somewhat flushed. She beamed upon them.

‘My dears – how nice!’

Garth had the hardihood to enquire, ‘What, Aunt Sophy?’

Miss Sophy patted her curls.

‘I believe I have had quite a nap,’ she said, and beamed again. ‘Very pleasant – very pleasant indeed. I had a most agreeable dream – if it were a dream.’

Before she could receive any reply the door was opened. Chief Detective Inspector Lamb appeared – a solid presence, but with an air of haste.

‘Beg pardon, Miss Fell.’ He came in and shut the door behind him. ‘I suppose, between you, there isn’t much you don’t know about this village. Can you tell me who keeps brandy in the house?’

‘Brandy?’ said Miss Sophy in a surprised voice. “I think we have some.’

Lamb looked past her.

Janice said quickly, ‘Mrs Bush – her aunt has spasms. She lives with them – she’s bed-ridden. They always have brandy in case—’

‘Is anyone ill?’ said Miss Sophy in a bewildered voice.

Lamb gave a kind of snort. He had an exasperated air. He said testily, ‘He isn’t ill, he’s dead!’ and went out of the room and shut the door. You couldn’t say that he banged it, but he certainly shut it a little more loudly than he need have done.

Miss Sophy opened her eyes as far as they would go.

‘Why did he want the brandy?’ she enquired.

FREDERICK BUSH STOOD looking down from his spare height upon the two London police officers who had summoned him to this interview. Invited to take a seat he did so, retaining an upright carriage and his habitual air of dignified melancholy. He had removed his cap, and held it now in the hand which rested upon his right knee.

Lamb looked shrewdly at him and said, ‘Thank you for coming here, Mr Bush. We are checking up on the events of Tuesday night, and I think perhaps you can help us.’ He reached across the table with a paper in his hand. ‘This is a transcript of the evidence you gave at the inquest. Will you look it through and tell me if you agree that it is correct.’

Bush took the paper and laid it upon his left knee. He then put down his cap upon the floor, produced a leather spectacle-case from an inside pocket, opened it, and put on the spectacles, all in a very deliberate manner. After which he picked up the paper, read it through without haste, and laid it back upon the table.

Lamb watched him.

‘You find that correct?’

Bush was putting away his glasses. When the case was back in his pocket, he said, ‘Yes.’

Sergeant Abbott, writing down that single word, made the mental comment that the interview bore a certain resemblance to a slow-motion picture. Shorthand, he considered, was going to be thrown away on Mr Bush.

Lamb was speaking.

‘Have you anything to add to that statement?’

Bush said, ‘No.’ He took his time over saying it.

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr Bush – it is your habit, is it not, to make the round of the church and churchyard every night?’

With no more hurry and no more hesitation than before, Bush again said, ‘Yes.’

‘At what hour?’

Frank Abbott thought, ‘I’ll get something that isn’t a yes this time anyhow. I’m about tired of writing it.’

The answer came as the others had come, and without change of voice. ‘Ten o’clock.’

‘You made this round on Tuesday night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why didn’t you say so at the inquest?’

‘I wasn’t asked.’

‘It didn’t occur to you to volunteer a statement?’

‘No.’

‘You answered only what you were asked. If you had been asked, you would have said that you had made this round?’

‘Yes.’

Frank thought ruefully, ‘We’re off again.’ His mind played with questions which could not be answered by a mere affirmative.

Lamb said, ‘Then we’ll get back to this round you made on Tuesday night. When did you start out?’

‘A little before my usual time.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not bound to a time. I suit myself.’

‘And why did it suit you to make an early start on Tuesday night?’

This time there was a definite pause before the answer.

‘I don’t know that I can say. You don’t have to have a reason for everything you do.’

‘You say you went out before your usual time. How much before?’

‘I couldn’t rightly say – a matter of ten minutes perhaps.’

‘Did you hear the shot?’

‘No.’

‘It wasn’t because you heard the shot that you started out before your usual time?’

‘No.’

Lamb looked at him shrewdly. The melancholy calm of look and manner were unimpaired. He had picked up his cap again and was holding it on his knee as at first, but in a closer grip. A knuckle showed bloodless where pressure tightened the skin.

Lamb said in an easy voice, ‘Very well – you went out on your round. Now tell me just where you went and what you did. And don’t leave anything out because you haven’t been asked – I want the whole bag of tricks.’

Bush put his left hand in his pocket, pulled out a red bandanna handkerchief, and solemnly blew his nose. It was a leisurely affair. So was the return of the handkerchief. So was the measured fall of words which followed.

‘I went out of my front door into the street and a bit along till I come to the churchyard gate and in.’

‘That would be the gate that opens on the village street?’

‘Yes. And along the path on the right, and right round the church, and out by the gate where I come in.’

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘No.’

‘And that was all?’

‘I went in, and I did my round, and I come out, and I didn’t see no one.’

Lamb said sharply, ‘Nothing to add to that?’

‘No.’

Lamb made a sudden movement. He leaned forward and thrust out a hand across the table.

‘Look here, Bush – you were seen. You didn’t see anyone, but two people saw you – a boy and a girl who were under the tree by the Rectory wall. Now what about it? What have you got to say to that?’

All the knuckles of the hand which held the cap showed white as bone. The melancholy face remained calm. Bush said slowly, ‘I don’t know what they saw. I was doing my round.’

‘They saw you come out of the church.’

‘They might have seen me come out of the porch.’

‘They saw you come out of the door, and they saw you lock it after you.’

There was a long pause. Then Bush said, ‘I was doing my round.’

‘And your round takes you into the church?’

‘It might do.’

‘Did it take you into the church on Tuesday night?’

‘I won’t say it didn’t.’

Lamb drew in his hand and sat back.

He said, ‘Look here, Bush, you’d better make a clean breast of it. If you were in the church you knew Mr Harsch was dead getting on for about two and a half hours before you went in it with Miss Meade and found the body. You can see for yourself that gives you something you’ve got to explain. If you’re an innocent man, you’ll be willing to explain it. If you’re not you’ve got a right to hold your tongue, and a right to be told that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you. Now – are you going to talk?’

There was a prolonged pause. When it had lasted for an indefinite time, Bush said in the same tone that he had used throughout.

‘Seems I’d better.’

Lamb nodded.

‘That’s right! Well, you went into the church—’

‘Yes, I went in to do my round. The rector, he’s careless with the windows.’

‘Did you see Mr Harsch’s body?’

‘Yes, I saw it.’

‘Just tell me what you did from the time you went into the church – everything.’

Bush put up his free hand and rubbed his chin.

‘I went in, and when I come round the corner where you can see the organ the curtain was pulled back and Mr Harsch fallen down off the stool.’

‘Were the lights on?’

‘Only the one he had for playing. And the pistol was fallen down beside him. When I saw he was dead, I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t nothing I could do for him, so I thought what I’d better do for myself. Seemed to me it’d be better if it wasn’t me that found him when I was by myself at that time of night. Seemed to me he was bound to be missed up at the house and someone ’ud come down to look for him – same like Miss Janice did. So I thought that’d be best, and no getting mixed up with the police.’

‘Go on,’ said Lamb. ‘What did you do?’

Bush appeared to consider.

‘I didn’t touch him. I knew that wouldn’t be right – no more than to put away his key.’

There was a sharp exclamation from Lamb. Bush went on.

‘Lying aside of where he’d been sitting on the organ stool.’

‘On the stool?’

‘That’s where he’d put it. He’d let himself in and come along with the key in his hand and put it down on the stool. I’ve seen him do it, and I’d say, “You’ll be losing that key one of these days, Mr Harsch”, and he’d shake his head and say “No”, and slip it back into his waistcoat pocket. So when I saw it lie there, that’s what I done – I picked it up and put it back in his pocket.’

Lamb came in quick and sharp.

‘Then why hadn’t it got your prints on it?’

Bush looked mildly surprised.

‘I took hold of it with my handkerchief.’

Both men stared.

‘What made you do that?’

‘Seemed as if it was the right thing to do.’

‘Why?’ The word came back as sharp as a pistol shot.

Bush put up his hand to his chin again.

‘I’d no call to leave my prints on it.’

‘You thought about that?’

‘It come to me.’ He dropped his hand.

Lamb said, ‘All right, go on. What did you do next?’

‘I put out the light, and I come out and locked the door and off round the church like I said.’

‘What time was it?’

‘Struck ten just as I come to the gate.’

‘Was the church door locked or unlocked when you came to it?’ The Chief Inspector’s eyes were intent and shrewd.

Bush made his undisturbed reply.

‘It was open. Mr Harsch didn’t use to lock it, not once in a blue moon.’

Sergeant Abbott thought, ‘And there goes our case against Madoc!’ He wrote the answer down.

Lamb sat forward in his chair, his jaw hard under heavy muscle and firm flesh.

‘You should have said all this before. Holding your tongue like this, you’ve thrown suspicion on others. When did you see Ezra Pincott last?’

With undiminished calm Bush thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Last night – in the Bull.’

‘Did you leave together?’

‘No.’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘Seven minutes to ten.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went my round.’

‘Did you go into the church?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sure you didn’t take Ezra in with you?’

For the first time Bush looked disturbed. He said, ‘What would I do that for?’

‘You know he had been boasting that he knew something about Mr Harsch’s death, and that it would put money in his pocket?’

‘Anyone could know that. He was there in the Bull, saying it for all to hear.’

The next question came very sharply.

‘You keep brandy in your house?’

Bush moved his chair. A slight frown creased his forehead.

‘There’s nothing wrong about that. Mrs Bush’s aunt, she takes it for her spasms.’

‘So I’ve been told. Did you give Ezra some of it last night?’

The frown straightened out. The grave lips moved into a smile.

‘Ezra never needed for no one to offer him drink. What makes you think I’d give him my good brandy?’

Lamb brought down his fist on the table.

‘Someone gave him brandy, and someone knocked him out and put him in the water to drown.’

Bush stared.

‘You don’t say!’

‘Yes, I do.’

Bush went on staring. ‘Whatever for?’

Lamb gave him back look for look.

‘To stop him opening his mouth about who killed Mr Harsch.’

Bush dropped his cap on the floor. It seemed as if it just slipped from his hand and fell. He stooped to pick it up.

‘Whoever ’ud do a thing like that?‘ he said.