Gin and Murder Read online

  ‘You mean he knew that Guy had been given the poisoned drink?’ asked Hilary. ‘And that he just stood there and watched him drink it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ answered Flecker.

  Hilary shuddered.

  ‘The summerhouse,’ Flecker went on, ‘was, of course, the dumping ground for the weekly gin ration and I suppose the Colonel was afraid of fingerprints, a lost button or some other incriminating evidence and so he burned it down. And then there was the revolver; Miss Hatch was able to clear that up for us. Apparently Mrs. Broughton had taken it to the summerhouse one day soon after the death of the child, with the intention of committing suicide, but she told Nan that the Colonel had happened to look in and caught her at it and he had taken the revolver away. How he must have cursed himself for that act afterwards.

  ‘Of course, like most murderers, the Colonel expected to get away with the murder of Mrs. Broughton, and I think that, actually, he had more chance than most. Dr. Skindle knew all about Mrs. Broughton and if she had died, without the poisoning of Vickers to draw his attention to the symptoms of arsenical poisoning, he would probably have signed her death certificate without a murmur, for there was no doubt, that she was drinking herself to death. The trouble with the Colonel was that he couldn’t wait; she was an ever-increasing risk to his marriage and so he embarked on what he thought would be a hurrying-up operation and nearly committed three murders in the process.’

  For a few moments no one spoke. Then Mark broke the silence.

  ‘That business in the barn gave me the nastiest moment of my life,’ he said. ‘Not when he let the thing off at me, but when you walked in and caught me pointing it at Duggie — my own revolver. And Duggie coolly saying, “Thank God you’ve come, Chief Inspector; Broughton seems to have gone raving mad.” I’ve never been so frightened in my life; I thought you were going to believe him.’

  ‘It served you right,’ said Flecker, ‘for playing Cops and Robbers with him. No one in their senses would rush off to meet a murderer unarmed and alone. But I’m afraid the Colonel knew you too well; he knew just what sort of bait you would rise to.’

  ‘I thought I behaved rather intelligently,’ protested Mark. ‘After all, I did leave the note for you.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have been much use if Commander Chadwick hadn’t told us about the Dentons’ party,’ answered Flecker.

  ‘You simply shot out of the house,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I thought that Miss Chiswick-Norton must be murdering Antonia Brockenhurst; I don’t quite know why.’

  Browning laughed. ‘The Chief Inspector gave Miss Chiswick-what’s it a talking to,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard you speak like it before, sir. Tore strips off her, he did, yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Why, what had she done?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Now that is an unethical question,’ said Flecker. ‘Or rather it would be unethical for me to answer it. Let’s say that a raspberry was deserved and duly delivered, and leave it at that.’

  ‘Well I think you’re terribly clever,' said Elizabeth, ‘I should never even have guessed about the Colonel. I should have been like Hollis and gone for Mark if I hadn’t known that he was much too nice to be a murderer.'

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing clever about it,’ answered Flecker. ‘Detection’s rather like being dumped in the middle of a maze and told to find your way out. You choose a path and start walking; if you’re lucky it turns out to be the right path, and if you’re not, you just go back to the middle and start again. Like most things in life, it’s a matter of perseverance really.’

  ‘I think I would describe that as an over-simplification,’ said Charlie, with a faint relaxation of his mouth.

  ‘We must go.’ Flecker put down his glass and got to his feet. ‘Or we shall have Mrs. Browning after us.’

  Mark said, ‘Well, Chief Inspector, it was nice of you to come, both tonight and professionally.’

  ‘And to satisfy my wife’s curiosity,’ said Charlie.

  As they put on their coats in the hall, they could hear the voices of Deb and Jon singing lustily. The words of the song, which seemed to be a topical version of ‘Daisy’, came to them clearly:

  ‘They’ll tie you up with wire

  In the back of a black maria,

  So ring your bell

  And pedal like hell,

  On a bicycle made for two.’

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be much wrong with them,’ said Browning.

  Mark saw the detectives off and then, as the sound of their car faded, he turned back towards the house. Elizabeth came tearing down the garden path.

  ‘Quick, Mark,’ she said, ‘the Chief Inspector’s gloves.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ Mark told her. ‘He’s gone. Never mind, we’ll put them in a glass case and hang them up beside the foxes’ masks in the office.’

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