Gin and Murder Read online

  ‘Are you and Miss Chiswick-Norton early risers?’

  ‘It depends what you call early,’ said Antonia. ‘I’m out in the yard about half past seven in the winter. Earlier on hunting days, of course.’

  ‘What about this morning?’

  ‘Oh, my partner was up first this morning. She wanted to go to the inquest so she took the dogs out before breakfast.’

  ‘And what time did you go to bed last night?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘Oh, early, about ten o’clock. There hasn’t been another murder, has there?’

  ‘No, only a fire this time,’ answered Flecker. ‘I won’t keep you any longer,’ he added hastily as Goody Two Shoes began to throw herself about in a series of leaps and bucks.

  ‘Where was the fire?’ Antonia shouted above the clatter of hoofs, but Flecker pretended not to hear and waving cheerfully, climbed into his car.

  After lunching at the Dog and Duck, Flecker drove to the kennels where the front door was opened to him by Deborah. ‘Hullo,’ he said cheerfully, you look as though you’ve been riding.’

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Deb answered formally. ‘Yes, actually we have. Hilary came out with us and it was absolutely icy.’

  ‘Is your uncle at home?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘Yes,’ Deb turned and abandoning her poise, bawled at the top of her voice, ‘Uncle Mark, the Chief Inspector wants to see you.’

  Mark appeared in the passage. ‘Really Deb, must you?’ he protested. ‘No wonder Miss Pinkerton, or whatever the woman’s name is, complains.’

  Jon’s head peered round the sitting-room door. ‘Deborah must learn to modulate her voice,’ he exclaimed in falsetto accents.

  ‘Come into the office, Chief Inspector,’ said Mark, leading the way.

  ‘The family seem to have cheered up,’ observed Flecker.

  ‘Yes, they’ve been out with Hilary; she’s very good with them.’ Mark sighed.

  Flecker said, ‘I only want to ask you one question. I heard at this party last Friday you told Mrs. Broughton not to have more than one drink; is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose that you were keeping an eye on her during the party; have you any idea if she did only have one?’

  ‘I didn’t keep an eye on her,’ answered Mark. ‘We’d passed that stage; I used to cross my fingers and hope for the best. I didn’t expect my plea for one drink to have any effect, but for some reason she did only have one. She told me so as we left.’

  ‘But mightn’t she have just said that to please you?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I know that they say that alcoholics are immoral or amoral, whichever it is, but Clara still had certain standards. She'd never lie just to create an effect; she hated vainglorious boasting. Certainly she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to tell me that she had had one drink if she’d had two, though she might not have told me the truth if I had asked her how many she’d had. That was why I never did ask her; there was no point.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Flecker. ‘Well, that’s the lot so far as you’re concerned, sir; but d’you think I could see Nan?’

  ‘She’s being a bit emotional,’ said Mark gloomily. ‘And she still suspects me though we’ve found the arsenic. I don’t think she’d have come to Melborough in the car this morning if I hadn’t arranged to take Codding as well. But it’s up to you, if you like to brave the flood — she’s in the kitchen. The more upset she is the harder she works; I’m expecting spring cleaning to start at any minute.’

  Flecker found Nan polishing silver.

  ‘That Mrs. Philips is supposed to do it, but you can see it’s not ’alf done,’ she told him. ‘All Mrs. Broughton’s lovely things tarnished. Wedding presents and all. And this was Sir Richard’s shaving jug. They presented it to him; I forget what it was for now, but he was a very clever man. Oh, a very clever man. I don’t know whatever he’d have thought of all this, ’e’d turn in ’is grave if he knew ’alf of what was going on.’

  Flecker spoke quickly to avert the threatened tears. ‘He’d want us to find out who the murderer was, wouldn’t he? I don’t want to upset you, but I do need your help; you knew Mrs. Broughton better than anyone.’

  ‘I’ll do all I can to ’elp,’ answered Nan.

  Flecker pulled out a chair and sat down opposite her at the kitchen table. ‘First of all,’ he said, producing envelopes and a pencil, ‘Mr. Broughton tells me that you are sure no visitors came to the house on Saturday or Sunday. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s right. I never saw a soul all day long, except for Mrs. Broughton and Codding. He was in in the morning for ’is elevenses, but he goes off twelve sharp on Saturdays and ’e went over to Kidford on the bus to see ’is sister. Oh, Mrs. Philips came in in the morning and tore around, ’alf doing them bedrooms.’

  ‘No one brought a parcel for Mrs. Broughton?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘A parcel? No, that they didn’t.’

  ‘You’re sure? It’s very important.’

  ‘Well, if they ’ad, they’d have given it to me, for she was upstairs poorly all Saturday.’

  ‘Mrs. Philips might have taken it up?’ suggested Flecker.

  ‘She never went near Mrs. Broughton. I always did ’er room myself.’

  ‘How did Mrs. Broughton get all that extra gin?' asked Flecker. ‘It can’t have fallen from the skies. She never went in to Melborough or down to the village pub, did she?’

  ‘No, she never went further than the garden unless ’e took her and that wasn’t often.’

  ‘Well, how do you suppose she got hold of all that extra drink?’

  ‘The doctor from the ’ome said she was to have so much,’ Nan explained. ‘“You can’t cut it of altogether”, he says, “but if you don’t limit it she’ll kill ’erself.” Mr. Broughton ordered the right amount each month and then, what he had for ’imself, he kept locked up in the safe in the office. But I used to wonder sometimes ’ow she did get hold of the extra and whether it was ’im. Whether he remembered what the doctor ’ad said, and whether he wanted to be rid of ’er.’

  ‘I see,’ said Flecker, gnawing his stump of pencil reflectively. ‘Do you remember if Mrs. Broughton went out in the garden on Saturday or Sunday?’

  ‘Not Saturday, she didn’t; she was poorly all day. But she went out on Sunday, no coat nor nothing. “You’ll catch your death,” I told ’er, but she didn’t take a bit of notice, not a bit.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Sunday afternoon. ’E was drinking in the office and the children were out in the stables seeing to them ponies. I was just going to put the kettle on for tea when I noticed she’d gone. I looked out of ’er bedroom window and there she was across the lawn, only half dressed and out in her bedroom slippers, in all that wet grass. By the time I got downstairs she was in the ’all.’

  ‘Was she carrying anything?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘Only a little coat. She ’adn’t even the sense to put it on.’

  ‘Mr. and Mrs. Broughton never had any children, did they?’ asked Flecker. ‘Not even a stillborn one?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ Nan answered sadly. ‘She wouldn’t ’ave one at first. I warned her. “Don’t you go interfering with nature”, I told her; “no good ever came of it.” But she wouldn’t listen. She didn’t want to settle down straight away; she wanted to have a good time — hunting and going to parties.’

  *

  Flecker’s last call that afternoon was on Captain Bewley at Hazebrook. He left his car in the road and guided by Bewley’s voice swearing viciously at a horse, entered the stableyard. The swearing stopped abruptly when the Captain heard footsteps on the concrete and when his head appeared over the loose-box door he spoke pleasantly and in his usual bantering tones.

  ‘Come to arrest me, Chief Inspector?’ he inquired. ‘Where’s the horsey sergeant?’

  ‘Chasing red herrings,’ Flecker answered. ‘I won’t keep you a moment, sir, but, I’ve just got a couple of questio
ns. I’d like answered.’

  ‘You’re as bad as the Elephant Child,’ said Bob. ‘But carry on.’

  ‘You gave me a graphic account of how you collected Mrs. Broughton from Mr. Vickers last Friday evening. Now can you remember if she had a glass in her hand?’

  ‘A glass?’ said Bob thoughtfully. ‘No, I don’t think she had. No, wait a minute, it’s coming back to me now. She hadn’t got a drink at all. I offered to get her one; in fact we had a bit of an argument about it, but she said she’d promised her husband or something. She was a bit inconsequent and I wasn’t feeling any too sharp myself. But I am sure about the glass.’

  ‘Good,’ said Flecker.

  ‘You don’t think she killed Vickers, do you?’ asked Bob. ‘I suppose that she might have gone a bit shaky up top. She wouldn’t have done it in her normal state, she couldn’t even bear to see hounds kill.’

  ‘No, I don’t think she did it,’ answered Flecker. ‘I suppose you haven’t an alibi from eleven until one last night?’

  Bewley laughed. ‘Considering that my second wife has recently deserted me, I call that a highly indelicate question. But the answer is no. I was in bed from half-past eleven onwards — alone. What happened last night, anyway?’ he asked on second thoughts. ‘Not another murder?’

  ‘No, nothing very disastrous,’ said Flecker. ‘Goodnight,’ he called as he made for his car.

  *

  From Lollington Flecker telephoned Superintendent Fox. He learned that so far the two men making inquiries for him had found nothing of especial interest. ‘This ’flu’s holding them up a bit,’ Fox told him. ‘A lot of the managers are away sick. Still, they hope to be through by the weekend.’

  ‘I shall be going to London tomorrow,’ Flecker said. ‘I’ve got hold of an address for Mrs. Basset, but it’s three years old. I’ll report to the Central Office while I’m there.’

  Fox said, ‘I don’t see what good Mrs. Basset’s going to do you when you do find her — still, that’s your business. All right, Flecker, I’ll hold the fort; let me know when you’re back.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CLARA BROUGHTON was buried at Great Lapworth on Friday afternoon. Although the date and time had not been published, they had become known locally and the handful of friends and relations was augmented by a crowd of sensation-seeking visitors from the villages round about.

  It was a depressing funeral. Neither Clara’s life nor the manner of her going offered any comfort to the mourners, but only Nan’s grief was unqualified. The relations could not forget that Clara had been murdered. They looked surreptitiously at Mark — it was usually the husband — and then at his friends.

  Mark, though he showed no sign of it, was very conscious of the searching looks and the nudging that accompanied his appearance. His mind was as much on his own predicament as on Clara’s tragic end.

  Afterwards, Clara’s relations refused an invitation to go back to the house, but two or three Broughtons, remembering that blood was thicker than water and that in case the worst came to the worst someone ought to take an interest in the children, decided that it was their duty to accept.

  Mark, frigidly aloof, provided whisky and then relapsed into silence. A sniffing Nan produced an enormous meal which no one could eat, while the children, who’d spent the afternoon with Hilary Chadwick, only appeared shortly before their relatives departed.

  *

  On Friday evening Steve Denton reached home in time for supper. He found Sonia cooking and, ignoring all that had passed between them, embarked on an outline of Bob Bewley’s plan.

  ‘I’m going to do something constructive about these murders,’ he told her. ‘This misery has gone on long enough. I’m going to ask everyone who was at the party, bar Mark, round for a drink tomorrow evening. I’m sure that between us we ought to be able to help the police, and they don’t seem to be getting anywhere by themselves.’ He made the idea his own, not because he wanted the credit for it, but because he was certain of Sonia’s reflex antagonism if she knew that it had come from Bob.

  Sonia said, ‘Oh,’ and then, after a moment’s reflection — ‘People in to drinks? The place is in a terrible mess, Steve, and look at my hair. I didn’t have it set this week.’

  ‘Nothing like that matters,’ said her husband. ‘It isn’t a party. We shall all be thinking about the murders and not noticing dust, or even your hair, which looks perfectly all right to me.’

  ‘You may be thinking of the murders, but the others won’t be; women are such cats.’

  After supper Steve telephoned. The Chadwicks, doubtful at first, agreed to come when they heard that it was to be a serious attempt to pool available knowledge and not just a gossipy party. Antonia Brockenhurst had to be persuaded. She said that she was sick and tired of the whole affair and had already told the police everything she could remember about the party. When she finally gave way to Steve’s insistence she said that she must bring her partner.

  Duggie Holmes-Waterford decided, after consultation with his diary, that he could come, but refused for Alicia who, he said, had been rather upset by the murders.

  ‘That leaves Bob,’ Steve told Sonia. ‘No use ringing him until the pubs close.’

  ‘Do we have to have him?’ asked Sonia, wrinkling her nose. ‘He ‘s such a revolting little man.’

  ‘He goes too far sometimes, I admit,’ said Steve. ‘But he has his good points and he can be funny when he’s not completely sloshed. Anyway, this is an investigation; we can’t pick and choose our guests, we’ve got to have the characters who were there when Vickers died.’

  ‘Supposing they start asking awkward questions?’ suggested Sonia. ‘It could be very embarrassing; I suppose you hadn’t thought of that?’

  Steve’s face hardened at the reminder that he dwelt in a glass house. ‘We’ll stick to opportunity and leave motive alone,’ he said. ‘Anyway, our affairs are probably common knowledge by now.’

  Sonia was plainly annoyed. ‘You don’t care tuppence about my reputation, that’s obvious,’ she said.

  *

  On Saturday the frost loosened its grip. The countryside lost its tinselled look and took on homelier hues of brown and green. But it was still not fit to hunt; the ground was treacherous — greasy on the surface and bone hard below.

  Browning, back from his expedition to see the Vickers family, joined Flecker in London to help in the search for Mrs. Basset. Flecker had been encouraged by the Assistant Commissioner’s attitude. It was a strange sensation, he thought, when your chief appeared to have more confidence in you than you had in yourself. But, as he hunted Bassets unsuccessfully through the London streets, he began to feel that his long shot had been too long, that the A.C.’s confidence was misplaced, and that Fox would have the last laugh.

  *

  On Saturday evening, Bob Bewley was the first of Steve’s guests to arrive. Bewley wore such a conspiratorial air that Steve felt sure that Sonia would notice and realize the plan had been preconceived. But Bob was in one of his good moods; determined to please, he talked to Sonia while Steve finished organizing the drinks and, despite her avowed antagonism, she felt herself falling under his spell.

  The Chadwicks came next. In defiance of fashion Commander Chadwick was always punctual. He took it that if people asked you for six, they meant six and he would arrive on the dot and expect to find his hostess dressed and ready to receive him. He had come to the Dentons armed with a writing-pad and pencil.

  Steve thought that Hilary looked tired and that even Elizabeth was not her usual vivacious self. We’re all in it, he thought; even the most innocent among us are affected. Bob’s perfectly right; it’s time we did something.

  Antonia Brockenhurst had cleaned herself up for the occasion and wore a black skirt and a gay blouse, but Miss Chiswick-Norton was still in slacks, with which she wore a man’s shirt, a tie, and a riding jacket. Colonel Holmes-Waterford came attired as a country gentleman, in a brown suit and a buff waistcoat.


  Steve said, ‘Now that we’re all here, who’d like to be chairman? What about you, Commander — you’re senior to the rest of us.’

  ‘No, no,’ Charlie answered. ‘That’s your job, Steve; you called us together.’

  Steve said, ‘I’m the host; I’m dealing with the drinks.’ And Sonia, suddenly reminded of her position, said, ‘Do sit down, everyone; I hope there are enough chairs.’

  They sat in a semi-circle facing the electric panel. It was unnecessary to cluster round it, because the flat possessed efficient central heating, but they were all used to a fire as the focal point of a room. Then Bob formally proposed that Charlie Chadwick should be chairman and Duggie Holmes-Waterford put it to the meeting. Everyone agreed.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Chadwick, ‘I’ll do my best. But I’m not sure I’m in a very enviable position. I think that if we’re not very careful we’re all going to lose the rest of our friends, or such of our friends as are here.’

  ‘Oh no, surely not. We must look on it as a purely scientific investigation,’ said Duggie. ‘Nothing personal allowed. Call us to order, Charlie. You’re the man for that, we all know.’

  ‘It’s a great deal easier in the hunting field,’ answered Charlie, with the slight relaxation of his face that served for a smile.

  ‘I’ve never known a field master who could control his field with so little cursin’ and swearin’,’ said Bob, ‘and I’ve hunted with a good many packs. If looks could kill some of yours would, Charlie.’

  ‘Murder by glance,’ said Elizabeth with false brightness. ‘Perhaps Charlie killed Guy with a look.’

  ‘But not Clara,’ Charlie answered. ‘What are our terms of reference, Steve?’

  ‘Opportunity,’ answered the vet. ‘Opportunity and method. Some of us have motives, but I doubt if it would do much good to discuss them.’

  ‘Quite, and the police seemed to know all about the motives anyway,’ said Duggie. ‘I’m quite astounded by what they’ve found out in that line; we can’t help them there. It’s the actual poisoning of Vickers at the party that we may still be able to throw some light on.’