The Second Shot (25 page)

‘Don’t be so infernally impertinent!’

‘You are,’ returned Sheringham coolly. ‘Well, I should jolly well think so. She must be a girl in a million to do a thing like that. Now don’t shout at me any more, Tapers, because I’m going to review the situation for you quite impartially. Control your temper and don’t interrupt, and I’ll give you the detached point of view; you ought to find it interesting.

‘Now, the police believe her story, for more than one reason. She made you out a fool, which was so convincing (no, don’t bristle; it’s the truth). She made herself out a fool too, a dear little innocent wide-eyed fool, which may not have been so convincing to the police but certainly was to the coroner and the public; she took them in. Then, she gave the sort of detail which sounds exactly like the truth and would need a really remarkable power of invention to fabricate, such as the business with the wild rose and the walking round and saying “Hi!”And finally there is the evidence of the wild rose itself – which incidentally you haven’t yet explained. Her inventions, you see, convince because they’re in character. Consequently the police (who always knew the thinness of their case against you) now believe that you were deliberately shielding the girl, at the cost of possibly considerable unpleasantness to yourself; and, to pay you a compliment for a change, Tapers, they consider that in character too.

‘Well, I needn’t tell you that it took them exactly two seconds to ask themselves:
Why
have you been shielding her? The answer of course is obvious, even if she hadn’t supplied it: because you thought she’d shot her cousin. And, we’ll add, justifiably, but that doesn’t concern the police.

So having removed one suspect from them, Armorel in the same breath very kindly presents them with another; and we can’t imagine that they’ll be slow to follow up her suggestion.

‘Furthermore, we can make the point here that even if the police didn’t believe her story, they know their case against you is gone. If she is prepared to repeat that story at the assizes, they wouldn’t have one chance in a million of conviction. And, so far as we know, they’ve no rebutting evidence at all. It’s simply one word against another. Even if you were prepared to gratify them by admitting in the witness box that you shot the man, as you suggest, the jury would acquit you on her story without leaving the box and give you a hearty rousing cheer into the bargain. The police won’t touch you now.

‘But that doesn’t say they won’t touch her; because they’re pretty sure it was murder, and they want their victim. So do you still want me to pack up and go home, Tapers? Or shall I go on?’

My nervous anger had gone. Sheringham had been quite right. It had been prompted by sheer fear – indeed, terror. For if I had been frightened on my own account, on Armorel’s I was now terrified. What had the dear, misguided girl done? She had avoided me since the inquest, but I had been able to ask her, on the way home, in a hurried aside, why she had done such a thing, and she had replied, almost angrily: ‘My God, what do you take me for? Do you think I’d let you do a thing like that for me, and then leave you in the lurch, you idiot? You make me tired.’ She had then hastily joined the others, and I had been unable to see her alone since. Armorel really was a baffling person.

‘Yes,’ I said to Sheringham now. ‘Go on, please. Why are the police sure it’s murder?’

‘Poor old Tapers,’ Sheringham said, with a sympathy that I could not resent; indeed, unaccustomed though I have always been to rely upon others, I found it unexpectedly welcome. ‘Still, remember there’s no more case against her than there was against you, –
yet:
motive and opportunity, that’s all, and the latter on her own admission only. Not much for the police to work on.

‘As to their idea about murder, I didn’t say they were sure; only that they were pretty sure. They still admit the bare possibility of accident. But there are two very nasty pointers towards murder. The first is the path of the bullet, which is practically horizontal through the body; that indicates of course that the rifle was about level with the place of entry, and parallel with the ground – in other words, that it was fired in the usual way from the shoulder, and from the shoulder of someone several inches shorter than Scott-Davies.’

‘Isn’t that rather splitting hairs?’ I demurred.

‘Certainly not. It’s a very reasonable, not to say obvious, assumption. And the second snag is the absence of powder marks. That’s most significant. If he really had been dragging the thing along behind him by the muzzle, you see, there couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet at the most for the bullet to travel before entering the body.’

‘And would that leave powder marks?’ I asked doubtfully. ‘A little .22?’

‘Well, traces of smoke, rather than powder, perhaps, but quite unmistakable. I saw some tests; this particular cartridge fired at squares of white cardboard at different distances. The smoke is visible up to about four and a half feet.’

‘White cardboard, yes, but it wouldn’t be visible on a tweed coat.’

Sheringham smiled. ‘My dear Tapers, you’d better not try your hand at murder after all. You don’t know much about modern crime detection if you imagine that what’s there can’t be found, visible to the human eye or not. The coat Scott-Davies was wearing was sent up to Scotland Yard at once for examination. The report is that there are no traces of powder on it. That’s almost conclusive that the muzzle was at least five feet away from the coat when the trigger was pulled.’

‘Then there’s the penetration of the bullet. The tests for that of course can’t be nearly so exact, but they confirm the same conclusion. And the other limit the police gauge from these is sixteen feet. In other words, the muzzle of the gun was between five and sixteen feet away from Scott-Davies’ back.

‘And lastly there’s another pointer towards murder, a third, though not so decisive. Armorel said definitely that her cousin mentioned an appointment. Nobody’s come forward with any story of such an appointment. That’s significant, to say the least. And what’s more, it’s a point which passes by both you and her – about the only one that does.’

‘It doesn’t occur to you,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘that if all her story of her interview with me was a fabrication, that of her interview with her cousin might be equally so?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Sheringham retorted. ‘For the simple reason that though she might have an interest in inventing the first, she could have none in inventing the other.’

‘I see,’ was all I said.

‘One last piece of news about the police. It’ll relieve you perhaps to hear that they’re not making a dead set at your young woman by any means. She’s now only the chief of two or three possible suspects. For instance, I may as well tell you that they know all about the De Ravels, and her relations with Scott-Davies.’

‘They do?’ I said in surprise.

‘Yes. Not unnaturally, since it’s been the gossip of that set in London for the last year apparently, as you yourself said. And that means, of course, that they’ve seen through the significance of your little play.’

‘You seem to have persuaded the police to take you very fully into their confidence, Sheringham.’

‘I did,’ Sheringham grinned. ‘The colonel, as I said, became most charmingly expansive. After all, the poor man only wants to get at the truth, which is reasonable enough; and he imagines, quite rightly, that I want the same thing. Furthermore, he doesn’t want to call in Scotland Yard. So he saw no reason for not putting his cards on the table. Very right and proper. But I made no promise to put mine down in return. So have no fears, Tapers; the contract remains inviolate, and those interesting footprints, those remarkably interesting footprints, remain a secret.’

‘Indeed they don’t,’ I retorted.

‘What?’ Sheringham exclaimed. ‘You mean, the police have found them?’

‘No, I don’t,’ I smiled, pleased at the ease with which I had scored off the redoubtable Sheringham. ‘I mean that they don’t remain at all. I’ve trodden them out.’

Sheringham stared at me. Then he whistled. ‘Whew! Then Armorel’s story
was
true. And you do suspect her.’

‘Certainly not,’ I replied indignantly. ‘Nothing of the kind. That is a quite unwarranted deduction.’

‘I disagree. In fact, I should call it obvious. You must think her position very serious if you’re prepared to go to the length of destroying evidence against her.’

‘That doesn’t follow at all,’ I retorted hotly. Indeed, I was much upset at this travesty of my motive. ‘I might have had several reasons without – without that one. Besides, you don’t know that those footprints were evidence against her at all. They were equal evidence against any woman.’

Sheringham looked at me pityingly. ‘Really, Tapers, do you imagine I should leave such a remarkable piece of evidence as those prints, and in a case where positive evidence is so scarce,
and
in a place where cattle wander at will, without taking any precautions at all? As you do seem to think so, let me tell you that I measured those prints most carefully, that I drew as exact a diagram of the best-defined one as I could, that they are the prints of a woman’s four-and-a-half shoes, and that I took the opportunity of the inquest this morning to examine a pair of Armorel’s outdoor shoes and found they corresponded exactly with my outline. Moreover, although they’re destroyed I’m a witness to their existence, and I have the diagram; and in view of the connection I’ve had with Scotland Yard the police would certainly accept my word without hesitation that they did exist, to which fact, moreover, I should be a competent witness in court. So tell me what you’re going to do about that, Tapers? Push me over a handy cliff? It’s the only way if you really want to suppress all knowledge of those footprints.’

I stared at him in apprehension. ‘You don’t mean you contemplate telling the police about them, Sheringham? That’s impossible. You couldn’t be such a cad. You gave your word.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied coolly. ‘I expressly made the reservation that I be permitted to use my own judgment. And as for being a cad, as you so charmingly suggest, there is such a thing as duty too, you know. I may consider it my duty to tell the police what I know. After all, if Armorel did shoot her cousin there’s only one motive, isn’t there? And not by any means a noble one. To get hold of Stukeleigh. If that turned out to be the case – well – ’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘How dare you make such a suggestion?’ I fear I raised my voice. ‘It’s – it’s infamous. I won’t permit it, Sheringham.’

He looked at me searchingly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, Tapers, because it’s the conclusion to which I’m being driven. You may as well know now as later.’ He paused. ‘I’m seriously wondering whether I’ll speak to the police or not.’

I looked at him. Clearly he meant what he said.

I made a terrible decision. ‘There’s no need for you to do that, Sheringham,’ I said quietly. ‘I’d rather tell you the truth here and now.
I
shot Scott-Davies.’

Our steady looks challenged each other. ‘You make that statement in all seriousness, knowing what the consequences may be?’ Sheringham asked.

‘Perfectly,’ I replied and, leaning back in my chair, smiled at him. Once again, I felt strangely at ease, as in court that morning after I had given up hope.

‘I shall have to report it to the police, you know.’

‘Of course.’

There was a short silence between us.

Then the door opened softly, and we both looked round. It was Armorel.

‘My poor Pinkie,’ she said, half-affectionately, and half-contemptuously, ‘you can’t even confess convincingly. Well, how could you, poor lamb?’ She turned to Sheringham. ‘All right, Mr Sheringham. You win. Yes, I shot him all right. But not to get hold of Stukeleigh. You got that wrong – if you did really, and it wasn’t part of the game. It was partly because he was going to sell Stukeleigh, and partly because it’d be so much better for so many people if he was dead. By the way, how did you know I was listening?’

These wooden ceilings,’ Sheringham murmured, in a deprecatory tone. ‘And as I could even hear you brushing your hair just now – You did brush you hair, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Armorel replied equably, sitting on the arm of a chair. ‘Well, what are you going to do about it? Give me away, eh?’

‘This is – this is ridiculous,’ I managed to gasp, wondering if I was going mad. ‘I – I – ’

‘Yes, and so are you,’ returned Armorel, not at all kindly. ‘No, don’t say any more. You spoke up your piece like a good boy, just as Mr Sheringham wanted you to. Don’t spoil it.’

‘And how did you know I did want him to?’ Sheringham asked her. ‘That was clever of you.’

‘Was it?’ Armorel said indifferently. ‘I heard you egging him on, of course; and it wasn’t long before I realized you were talking at me. So I thought I’d better oblige.’

‘Well, and so there we are,’ Sheringham laughed – actually laughed. ‘It certainly was a pretty trap, though I says it as shouldn’t. Tapers fell into it because he didn’t see it, and you because you did. Anyhow, we know where we are now.’

‘Indeed,’ I had to put in, ‘I cannot agree. Miss Scott-Davies has just made the most preposterous – ’

‘Yes, yes,’ Sheringham rudely cut me short. ‘You’ve both confessed to the murder. That means that each of you suspects the other – as I thought. And
that
means that neither of you did it. And so, as I say, we know at last where we are – or rather, I do. Somebody else did it. The only question now is, who?’

‘And why not leave it at that?’ Armorel remarked carelessly. ‘Personally, I don’t care. But knowing Eric, I’m sure there was a very good reason.’

I began to see daylight at last. ‘Ah!’ I said ‘I understand. It was a ruse. And you do realize at last, Sheringham, that Miss Scott-Davies’ story this morning was an invention?’

They both looked at me, and then at each other; then, for some totally inexplicable reason, they began to laugh. I could only raise my eyebrows in silence.

‘Poor angel,’ giggled Armorel. ‘He is rather sweet, isn’t he? Still, never mind. What do you think about it, Mr Sheringham? Why not leave it at that?’