The Murder at Sissingham Hall (11 page)

‘Oh no, sir,’ replied the butler. ‘I ought to have mentioned that the key was in the lock and we had to fetch a length of strong wire to push it onto the floor from the other side before we could try any of the spare keys.’

Mr. Pomfrey nodded.

‘Yes, I have both keys here in my pocket,’ he said. Turning back to Rogers, he said: ‘When you found Sir Neville, did you approach or touch him at all?’

‘I had to approach him, sir, as he was not visible from the doorway. He was hidden by the desk and the easy-chair that is placed to one side of the fire. I approached quite near to him, as I thought it possible that he had merely hurt himself but one look was enough to tell me that there was nothing to be done.’

‘And what did you do then?’

‘Why, sir, I locked the door and came straightaway and reported the matter to you. I did not think it my place to break the news myself to Lady Strickland.’

‘Did you move the body at all?’

‘No, sir. I never even touched him.’

‘When you returned with me to the study, he was in the same position in which you had left him?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I see. Very good, Rogers, you may go.’

‘Just one moment,’ said Mrs. Marchmont gently. ‘I have one or two questions, if I may.’

The butler paused obediently.

‘You are responsible for locking up the house at night, are you not?’

‘I am, madam,’ replied the butler.

‘At what time?’

‘The usual time is ten o’clock but I do my rounds later, at eleven o’clock, when we have guests. Some people like to take an evening stroll on the terrace, you see.’

‘Do you check all the doors every night? Even those that perhaps have not been opened for some time?’

‘Every one, madam. Sir Neville is—was most particular about it. We often have guests here and you never know when one of them might take it into his head to unlock a door without telling anybody—begging your pardon, madam.’

‘Did you check them all last night?’

‘Yes, madam. I made sure they were all locked as usual—all except the French windows in here. Sir Neville came here after dinner and locked himself in. He said he had no further need for me that evening and did not want to be disturbed.’

‘Was it normal for him to lock himself in?’ asked Mr. Pomfrey.

‘Not
normal
, exactly,’ said Rogers, considering. ‘But he had done it one or twice before, usually when he had something important to do and didn’t want anybody to disturb him. I recall he said once that he had done it out of absent-mindedness—he was thinking so hard about the business at hand that he did not realize he had done it.’

‘So you don’t know whether or not the French windows were locked last night?’ said Angela.

‘No, madam, but as Sir Neville had been adamant that he was to be left in peace and as he had locked the study door, I did not feel I could insist on completing my rounds. I mentioned it to Lady Strickland and she agreed that I should not disturb him. The French windows had been locked the night before and I could see no reason why Sir Neville should open them, so I let the matter lie. I hope no harm has come of it,’ he concluded anxiously.

‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Mrs. Marchmont. ‘I have just one more question.’ She indicated the whisky decanter on the sideboard. ‘When did you last re-fill this?’

‘It would have been on Wednesday, madam,’ replied Rogers.

‘Today is Saturday and there is hardly any left. Does that strike you as normal? Pardon me for asking but did Sir Neville generally drink whisky in this sort of quantity?’

Rogers looked shocked.

‘No indeed!’ he replied. ‘I have always found him to be a very temperate gentleman. He would take a small glass before dinner and occasionally another after, usually with soda. I don’t know why the whisky should have gone down so quickly. Perhaps he had company.’

‘I had a glass of it on Thursday,’ I said, ‘and the decanter was almost full then. Did anybody visit Sir Neville in his study after that?’

‘I did,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘I spent some time in here with Sir Neville yesterday afternoon but I had no whisky. I’m afraid I did not notice whether the decanter was full or not. I don’t suppose you noticed it, Rogers?’

‘I do not remember it in particular but I am sure I should have noticed if it was nearly empty,’ replied the butler.

‘Thank you Rogers,’ said Mrs. Marchmont. ‘You may go.’

‘May I ask what this is all about?’ asked the doctor, when the butler had left the room. He had been listening with interest. ‘All these questions about locked doors and whisky decanters—what are you getting at?’

‘Dear me,’ said Mrs. Marchmont wryly. ‘I appear to have been defeated by circumstances this afternoon. I had hoped to do a little quiet thinking on this whole matter rather than create a fuss that might prove both dangerous and unnecessary, but what with one thing and another I couldn’t have drawn more attention to myself had I stood on the lawn and waved a red flag.’ She sighed. ‘Very well, I suppose I must explain. But first, doctor, would you have any objection to telling us why you were so interested in the fireplace?’

‘I suppose there’s no harm in it,’ replied Dr. Carter, with a glance at Mr. Pomfrey, ‘since I have the feeling that we may be thinking on the same lines. I merely felt that the position in which Sir Neville was found did not appear to tally with the accounts of the accident that apparently befell him and I wished to take a closer look at this room. Between ourselves, it would have been almost impossible for Sir Neville to have hit his head on the mantelpiece and fallen so. Ah,’ he said, looking round at the three of us. ‘I see by your faces that this is not a surprise to you.’

‘Not entirely,’ admitted Angela. ‘I must confess that I had some doubts this morning when I accompanied you to the study and saw Neville lying there. It all seemed too neat, somehow, although of course I’m not an expert in these matters. So I came back here this afternoon and was just doing a little snooping about on my own account when I was caught in the act by Sylvia and Mr. Knox, who probably thought me quite mad.’

‘I gather from your earlier question to Rogers that you found the French windows unlocked,’ said Mr. Pomfrey.

‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘The key was in the lock as you see it and the bolts were unfastened.’

‘Do you mean that somebody could have come in from outside?’ asked Sylvia.

‘Well, it did occur to me, certainly,’ replied Angela. ‘When I tried them they were a little stiff but not overly so. It was difficult to tell whether or not they had been opened recently.’

The doctor went over to the French windows to look for himself.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The key’s there all right. And you say the bolts were drawn? That means they were unlocked from inside. We shall have to find out who did it.’

‘Sir Neville would be the most natural person, surely,’ I said.

‘Probably. And what about the whisky?’

Mrs. Marchmont explained about the strong smell of whisky. Mr. Pomfrey inhaled deeply through his nose.

‘Now you come to mention it, there is something,’ he said.

‘This is all very well,’ I said, ‘but if I understand correctly, what you are implying is that somebody arranged Sir Neville’s body next to the mantelpiece, knocked the fire-irons over, sprinkled whisky all over the carpet to give the impression he had drunk too much—’

‘—smeared hair oil on the mantelpiece,’ put in the doctor helpfully.

‘—then left through the French windows,’ I finished. ‘But for what exactly?’

‘It’s a shocking waste of good whisky, certainly,’ murmured the doctor. He recollected himself and had the grace to look ashamed.

There was a pause.

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Since no-one seems to want to say the word, I shall. What we are really saying is that this was not an accident at all but murder.’

NINE

I am not quite sure what reaction I expected when I said it but I was slightly disconcerted when everyone, including Sylvia, merely nodded sagely.

‘A murder that has been hurriedly and clumsily disguised to
look
like an accident,’ I continued.

‘It certainly looks as though that might be a possibility,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘Although of course there is no proof—just a few pieces of circumstantial evidence.’ He counted off on his fingers: ‘One, the position of the body. Two, the whisky decanter. Three, the French windows. Is there anything else?’

Angela explained about the vase on the mantelpiece.

‘Hm, that is something else to consider, certainly,’ said the doctor.

‘Then how did he die, if not by hitting his head?’ I asked.

‘Oh, he certainly received an injury to the back of the head that killed him instantaneously,’ the doctor assured us. ‘But that could equally have been the result of a deliberate blow.’

Mr. Pomfrey coughed.

‘Let us return to the French windows,’ he said. ‘Mrs. Marchmont, I believe you said they were rather stiff when you opened them.’

‘Yes,’ said Angela, ‘but not
very
difficult to open, so I’m not sure we can deduce anything from that. There were some specks of loose paint on the ground outside but I may have done that myself when I opened the doors. I am afraid I have ruined any evidence that might have been got that way.’

‘If the doors were open then anyone could have got in from outside,’ said Sylvia.

‘It seems so,’ replied Mr. Pomfrey.

‘But who unlocked them from the inside?’ I said. ‘Surely the most obvious person is Sir Neville himself. He must have been expecting someone.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Angela. ‘Anybody could have come in during the day yesterday and opened them. It’s unlikely that it would have been noticed until Rogers did his rounds.’

‘Just a moment,’ said Dr. Carter. ‘We are running ahead of ourselves. The fact that the French windows were unlocked is unimportant unless there is clear evidence that Sir Neville was killed deliberately. They are not, in themselves, evidence of foul play. If it was an accident, then we must accept that there is a perfectly innocent explanation for it. At present, therefore, the French windows are merely a distraction.’

‘That is very true,’ said Mr. Pomfrey. ‘The question is, do we have enough evidence to indicate that foul play has occurred?’

‘No,’ admitted the doctor, ‘but the evidence we
have
found is very suggestive. There is one thing I should like to clear up before we proceed further, however. The butler states that the body was not moved but we have not yet spoken to the housemaid. I should like to be certain that their accounts agree. The butler is an old fellow and perhaps he moved Sir Neville and merely forgot about it, or didn’t wish to get into trouble over it.’

This seemed reasonable.

‘Perhaps I should speak to her alone?’ suggested Dr. Carter. ‘Since it seems she was very upset this morning, if she is questioned by five people at once it may prove too much for her.’

This was agreed to and the doctor went off, leaving the four of us to gaze round the room and at one another. I stared at one of the African artefacts that Sir Neville had proudly shown me only two days ago, a statue of an elongated kneeling woman, and remembered our mysterious conversation. Sylvia was the first to speak, voicing my own unspoken question.

‘What if the housemaid confirms Rogers’s story? What then?’

Mr. Pomfrey coughed.

‘Er—I must confess that I am not entirely sure. I expect her to support the butler’s story, of course. Indeed, I should be astonished if she does not, given Rogers’s position of authority among the servants. However, if she does confirm it—ahem—yes, the fact that Dr. Carter is here makes things rather more difficult,’ he finished obliquely.

‘You mean that he will insist on sending for the police, I suppose,’ said Sylvia.

‘But of course we want the criminal to be caught,’ I said, ‘if there is indeed a criminal at large. Other houses in the neighbourhood may be in danger.’

Nobody replied. A few minutes later, Dr. Carter returned.

‘It’s no go I’m afraid,’ he said briefly. ‘The housemaid—Ellen is her name, by the way—is quite certain that neither she nor Rogers touched the body. She says when they finally entered the study, the lamp was still on and Sir Neville was lying by the fireplace exactly as we saw him. The butler then ushered her out of the room and locked the door, as we have already heard. She says she saw him speaking to Mr. Pomfrey almost immediately afterwards.’

‘What now?’ asked Angela.

‘I don’t pretend to know what happened but I’m afraid I must insist on this room being locked for the moment.’ replied the doctor. ‘Pomfrey, you and I must decide what to do. I think we have no choice but to call in the police, or at least the coroner. I wonder—you know Colonel Tremayne, the chief constable, don’t you? A friend of Sir Neville’s too, I believe. Let us start with him. He will send someone discreet. We don’t want a crowd of yokels gawping outside.’

‘Yes, Tremayne is a good man,’ murmured Mr. Pomfrey. ‘Let us hope that he decides this is all a mare’s nest.’