Gin and Murder Read online

  ‘Where did Mrs. Broughton usually acquire her liquor?’ asked Flecker, stuffing the first envelope into his overcoat pocket and producing another one.

  ‘Mr. Broughton told us that he has a standing monthly order with Baines and Bateworthy, here in Melborough. But lately Mrs. Broughton’s consumption had gone up and he said she’d obviously been drinking far in excess of what he provided. He said that he hadn’t an idea where she obtained it; but she had a certain amount of money of her own and a separate banking account, so it would be quite easy for her to arrange another supply. The old nurse was too distraught to tell us much, but apparently she didn’t know where it came from either — though she was quite certain that there was another source of supply.’

  ‘Have you sent the bottle of gin to our lab?’

  ‘No, having established the nature and strength of the poison …’ began Fox, but the Chief Constable interrupted him.

  ‘We’ll soon send it up to the Metropolitan Police if you’d like us to,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Flecker. ‘They may be able to give us a lead on what commercial preparation was used. And the P.M. report isn’t very detailed,’ he went on. ‘I don’t know how experienced the police surgeon and this Dr. Skindle are, but I think on the whole we’d be wise to get an expert to have a look. I think we should ask them to send Anstruther down, sir,’ he said, looking the Chief Constable firmly in the eye.

  ‘Very well,’ said Lampton.

  Flecker got up. ‘If you’ve got two men looking after the M.F.H. and he’s happy with his bottle I’ll leave him in the moment and take a look round some of the others first. Oh, by the way, sir,’ he asked, turning to Fox, ‘can you lend us a large-scale map?’

  Fox left the office to fetch one and the Chief Constable turned to the question of where they were going to stay. ‘The Coach and Horses is expensive and always full,’ he said. ‘But they tell me the Station Hotel’s reasonable and not too bad.’ He looked at Flecker, but the Chief Inspector was lost in thought and had not heard a word.

  Browning cleared his throat and when that failed to rouse Flecker, muttered, ‘the Chief Constable’s asking where we are staying, sir.’

  ‘Staying?’ said Flecker. ‘Oh, at a pub somewhere, I suppose. I’m a great believer in gossip, sir, and Browning’s a genius at making bosom friends of chance acquaintances. Is there a pub in Hazebrook or Lapworth?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said the Chief Constable. Fox, who had returned with the map, said, ‘Try the Dog and Duck at Lollington. They might take you — so many of them don’t put people up any more.’

  When the two strangers had gone Fox looked at Lampton. ‘Dreamy sort of individual sir,’ he remarked tentatively.

  ‘Hmm. I can’t say I was much impressed. The sergeant looked the better man. Still, it’s out of our hands. We can’t do more than call them in. I shan’t sleep any the worse tonight for knowing we don’t carry the can.’

  *

  Flecker said, ‘You drive,’ and he studied his envelopes while Browning made a great to-do of putting back the driving seat and adjusting the mirror. ‘Now where do we want to go, sir?’ he asked when he had the engine running, for it was obvious that his companion’s thoughts were far away.

  ‘Oh, the Chadwicks’. Orchard Cottage, Hazebrook, isn’t it?’ Flecker searched round for the folder.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘NOW I CALL THAT a pretty place,’ said Browning as he drew up in front of the pink-washed cottage ‘I bet it’s a real picture in summer when the flowers are out. Just the sort of place I’d like to retire to — but there’s not a ruddy hope on a police pension.’

  ‘Not a hope,’ agreed Flecker. ‘Desirable old-world cottages are worth their weight in gold. You’d buy a forty-bedroomed mansion with a park cheaper than a place like this. Look, I don’t think this is going to need two of us. I think it would be much better if you drove on to Lollington and found out if the pub will put us up. If I finish here before you’re back, I can always go and look round the church.’

  ‘You don’t want to hang about looking at churches in this weather,’ objected Browning. ‘And I’ll hang on a minute to see if anyone’s at home,’ he added, as Flecker left the car. He waited until he saw the cottage door open and Flecker disappear inside and then he drove towards Lollington.

  ‘My husband’s out,’ Elizabeth Chadwick told Flecker. ‘Some sort of governors’ meeting, I think. And Hilary’s riding — but if I can be of any use?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Flecker. ‘I’m sure you can,’ and he followed her into the drawing-room. Today, the log fire burned fiercely and a card table had been set up in front of it on which Elizabeth had evidently been typing. Flecker shed his gloves into the first chair he came to and then turned to inspect the bookcase which took up almost the whole of one wall.

  ‘Is this a cross-section of the family reading matter?’ he asked. ‘Or an indication of catholic taste?’

  ‘A bit of both,’ answered Elizabeth. ‘The naval history is read exclusively by my husband and the very learned looking volumes in the bottom shelf are a legacy from my father. I didn’t know Scotland Yard was bookish.’

  Flecker said, ‘Oh dear, I’m off the point. Is this the room where you had the party?’

  ‘Yes, it hasn’t felt quite the same since. One can’t help remembering that Guy stood there, that someone was watching him, contemplating murder. One waits for Banquo. I did hope that it would turn out to be the ceiling at Catton Hall, but now, with Clara dead too, I suppose it must be murder.’

  ‘The ceiling?’ asked Flecker. ‘Oh, you are thinking of Clare Boothe Luce.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘You’ve known Mr. and Mrs. Broughton for quite a long time, haven’t you?’ asked Flecker.

  Elizabeth pulled ineffectively at the card table. ‘Yes, for ten or eleven years, I think. Look, do sit down.’ Flecker moved the table for her and took off his overcoat. ‘Yes, I think it must be eleven years since Mark called on us and said that he was taking over the hounds,’ she went on musingly. ‘He was a sweetie and,’ she added, ‘still is.’ Flecker laughed.

  ‘That stupid Hollis was enough to drive us all mad,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I suppose Mark swore at him — I nearly did myself.’

  ‘I’ve never met this Inspector Hollis, so 1 can’t really advance an opinion.’ Flecker’s voice was casually amiable. ‘However, you’ve got to remember that the poor wretched detective has to sum Mr. Broughton up in half an hour, whereas you’ve had eleven years to form your opinion. Have you known the Broughtons intimately for all those eleven years?’

  ‘Yes. They’re younger than we are — Mark — Mr. Broughton — is forty-one, I think, and his wife was about two years younger — but it never seemed to matter. He always got on very well with my husband and she was a dear, very gay and amusing except when she was in one of her black moods; but they never lasted long. We used to see a great deal of each other.’

  ‘But lately, since things have gone wrong, you haven’t seen so much of them?’

  ‘That sounds like a reproach,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We haven’t deserted them. It’s just that when people are very proud, and both Clara and Mark are proud, they hate to display their sufferings. They withdraw even from their best friends because they can no longer put on the brave face they feel they should present to the world. It’s absurd,’ she added vehemently; ‘what are friends for but to help in times like these? If one can’t help, one can offer comfort; but Mark retreats, throwing up earthworks like a mole, if one says a word. It’s the idiotic educational system that does it: they stuff these wretched boys with a lot of half-baked ideas. They force them willy-nilly into the same mould, they turn them out all to a pattern, outwardly conforming, outwardly correct, and underneath they’re crawling with inhibitions — tied by a suppressed instinct at every turn.’

  Flecker said, ‘No comment, I went to a grammar school … I suppose you haven’t any idea why Mrs. Broughton started t
o drink?’

  ‘That’s always been a mystery to everyone. Locally she’s supposed to have started when a small child fell in the river at Langley. Clara went in after her, which was quite brave, because she’s not — wasn’t I mean — much of a swimmer, and though the river isn’t very wide there it flows fairly fast. By the time she got the child out with the help of some of the villagers who’d arrived, it was too late. Clara went absolutely frantic, she seemed convinced the whole thing was her fault, and no one could persuade her that she’d done everything that could have been done; not even the Coroner. She took to drink with a vengeance about then, but Mark said that the child wasn’t the cause, it was the last straw. He said Clara had been drinking a good deal on the quiet for some time. Once, when he was in a confidential mood, he told me that everything would have been all right if they’d had children. He said Clara hadn’t wanted them at first and then, when she did want them, they failed to materialize. Of course he’s devoted to his orphan nephew and niece, but they arrived on the scene too late to help Clara.’

  ‘You make him sound a very unlikely murderer,’ said Flecker. ‘But circumstances can make the nicest people desperate. He may have suddenly seen his wife as the sodden drunk she was, or he may have fallen in love with someone else and realized what he was missing.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Elizabeth answered quickly. ‘Mark hadn’t done that, I’m sure he hadn’t. I heard him talking to Clara at our party; they were leaving their coats in the diningroom and he didn’t know anyone was listening. He was talking to her in the sweetest possible way; telling her she was only to have one drink. Except when he’s hunting hounds, Mark’s the most patient of men … There’s Hilary,’ she went on as a door slammed in the brief silence which followed. ‘Would you like some tea? I can put the kettle on while you talk to her.’

  ‘I’d love some,’ answered Flecker, looking wistfully round the firelit room. ‘But I think my poor sergeant is back waiting patiently outside. I’ll just have a word with Miss Chadwick and then I really must go. You’ve been a great help to me. You’ve balanced my colleague’s case against Mr. Broughton by being equally biased in the opposite direction.’

  Elizabeth laughed, for Flecker had spoken lightly. Then she said, ‘This is my daughter. Hilary, this is Chief, I mean Detective Chief Inspector Flecker of Scotland Yard.’

  Hilary shook Flecker by the hand and he saw that she had her mother’s enormous eyes, but they were blue instead of brown. She had, too, the same beautiful complexion. Her yellow hair was windswept and hung in tendrils on her shoulders. ‘To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,’ thought Flecker. ‘I’m leaving,’ he said, ‘but I thought I might ask you something on the way out. You knew Mr. Vickers well; had he ever said anything to you about this hunt quarrel?’

  ‘Yes, we discussed it quite a bit. I don’t know that can remember his exact words — everything has begun to seem a very long time ago. Let’s go back to the fire, I’m frozen and this is going to take ages. When Guy first told me that he’d spoken to Colonel Clinkerton, I told him that his suggestion wouldn’t go down at all well; but I couldn’t make him see that poor hunts as well as poor people have their pride. Then he said that he’d only spoken to Clinkerton in confidence and that if the suggestion was unsuitable he would keep it to himself. I told him that Colonel Clinkerton had never kept anything to himself in his life, that the whole hunt would know in two minutes and that Mark would be furious.’ She stopped abruptly and considered the word. ‘I said furious,’ she repeated looking at Flecker, ‘but I didn’t mean the sort of fury that would lead to violence, or anything of that sort.’

  ‘You meant that he would be exceedingly annoyed?’ suggested Flecker.

  ‘Yes,’ Hilary looked pleased. ‘That’s exactly what I meant. One uses these words — a person has only to look a bit disagreeable and everyone rushes round saying he’s livid.’

  ‘Habitual exaggeration,’ said Flecker. ‘I wonder what makes us do it. Go on.’

  ‘Well, Guy said that he didn’t care two pins or words to that effect. He said he wasn’t afraid of Mark or anyone else. He said that if a business was on the rocks it was only too glad to collect a sleeping partner with a bit of cash and that he was prepared to be lavish. He said also that he didn’t want to hunt hounds or run the kennels and finally, when he was tired of arguing with me, he said that if the committee didn’t like his suggestion they could ignore it, and that he’d write to the Scarford Vale who were advertising for a joint master in Horse and Hound.’

  ‘And the committee did ignore it?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘Well, actually they haven’t met; but of course Colonel Clinkerton told everybody so there was a terrific buzz among the subscribers and the farmers and everyone else. The people who hunt to jump were mad to have Guy, but the farmers and the people who are really keen on the hunt would never go against Mark.’

  ‘This excitement didn’t stop your parents from inviting both of them to the same party?’

  ‘No. Well, actually the invitations had gone out earlier but we thought it rather a silly quarrel; we thought it was time it was made up. My father did just mention to Mark that Guy would be there and he didn’t protest too violently so we left it at that.’

  ‘And at the party?’ asked Flecker.

  ‘Oh, they just glared at each other from opposite ends of the room. I talked to them each in turn.’

  ‘From my colleague’s notes I gather that there was a moment when you were not talking to either of them.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I was going back to talk to Guy but he was talking to Colonel Holmes-Waterford, so I couldn’t.’

  ‘If I’d been doing the evil deed, I wouldn’t have done it while you were talking to Vickers,’ said Flecker thoughtfully. ‘I’d have nipped in while Mrs. Broughton was with him, hoping that in her fuddled state she’d be less likely to notice.’

  ‘I can’t see how anyone did it,’ objected Hilary. ‘I’m sure Guy kept hold of his glass.’

  ‘Somebody did do it though,’ said Flecker. ‘And the same somebody murdered Mrs. Broughton and may take it into his head to kill again.’

  Hilary paled a little at his earnestness and then she said, ‘Supposing we had a bottle of gin that had somehow got contaminated with arsenic and supposing Clara pinched it at the party — they say that alcoholics lose their principles and will do anything for a drink.’

  ‘Unfortunately your father mixed the cocktails in the kitchen. He used, if I remember rightly, only one bottle of gin and everyone who drank cocktails was served from the same shaker. Practically everyone did drink cocktails and those who didn’t had either sherry or a whisky. In fact if it had been your gin three-quarters of your guests would have been dead and not just Vickers.’

  Hilary said, ‘There must be some explanation —’

  Flecker smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We only started this afternoon, time will show.’

  ‘No good you making excuses, sir,’ said Browning, when Flecker hurried out to the car. ‘I saw her. A real smasher. I’m surprised to see you out now; you wouldn’t have seen me for a fortnight.’

  ‘Work and play don’t mix,’ said Flecker primly. ‘Captain Bewley also lives in Hazebrook; I think we’d better save the ratepayers’ petrol and see him while we’re here.’

  ‘New Farm,’ said Browning. ‘I’ve been reading those notes through till I nearly know them by heart.’

  Bob Bewley, a wiry little man in cavalry twill trousers, a leather patched hacking jacket and a cap, was filling wooden water buckets in his stableyard.

  ‘Oh, so they’ve called you in, have they?’ he said when Flecker explained that they were from Scotland Yard. ‘I didn’t think that other chap had much in his top storey. I’ll just give these brutes their buckets and then we’ll go inside.’

  Browning was inspecting the horses over the loose-box doors. ‘A very nice stamp of hunter, sir,’ he said to Bewley.

  Bewley grinned. ‘Can’t sell you one, can
I, Sergeant?’ he asked. ‘They’re all quiet with hounds, guaranteed good jumpers and warranted sound.’

  ‘I’ll be back to see you when my pools come up,’ said Browning. ‘I’ve had nineteen two weeks running.’

  Bewley turned out the lights. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get inside and have a drink. What with my prospective purchaser bumped off, my day’s hunting cancelled and poor Clara no more, the bottle is all that’s left me.’

  ‘Did you know Mrs. Broughton well, sir?’ asked Flecker as he followed him into the kitchen.

  Bewley poked at the range. ‘Would you rather be uncomfortable in here or cold and uncomfortable in the parlour?’

  ‘Just uncomfortable,’ answered Flecker.

  ‘Mother’s ruin?’ Bewley brandished a bottle.

  Flecker shook his head. ‘Sorry, we’re on duty,’ he said. Browning looked at the range. ‘The kettle’s singing,’ he remarked. ‘Now a nice cup of tea…’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Bewley obligingly and he turned to the cupboard.

  ‘I’ll make it, sir,’ offered Browning. ‘While you answer the Chief Inspector’s questions.’

  ‘That’s why policemen go about in pairs; I’ve always wondered. There’s the teapot; here’s the tea. Fire ahead, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Did you know Mrs. Broughton well?’ Flecker asked again.

  ‘Yes, and you needn’t looked surprised. I wasn’t always as seedy as I am now. When I first came here I was young and hopeful. I still had my war service gratuity, my demob suit and my first wife, I think. Yes, that’s right, my marital relations were excellent. Mark had just become master and I soon found him a couple of horses; good ones too, never sell a bad ’un in your own hunt, that’s my motto.’

  ‘Where do you keep the milk, sir?' asked Browning.

  ‘Oh, in the cupboard. My wife went back to mother and she took the fridge with her — my second wife, that is.’

  Flecker asked, ‘Why should anyone murder Mrs. Broughton?’