The Adventure of the Audacious Eavesdroppers
Major Payne sat in a deckchair in the garden. He was speaking into the phone. ‘Hope I am not interrupting your tête-à-tête with Lady Tradescant?’
‘You are not. I left a minute ago.’
‘So she agreed to talk to you?’
‘We had coffee together. She was perfectly amiable. She’s got an alibi for the fatal morning.’
‘Of which no doubt you are highly suspicious?’
‘I am not, actually. She does seem to have genuinely been “elsewhere”.’
‘That indeed is what “alibi” means … Jesty won’t like it … Where was she?’
‘Heathrow Airport. I saw her ticket. She was in a check-in queue when she received the sad news.’
Payne asked her whether she had got to see the ring.
‘No,’ said Antonia. ‘The ring has vanished.’
‘The replica—what we believe to be the replica has vanished?’
‘Yes. Apparently it wasn’t in Sir Seymour’s room when Penelope went to collect his possessions.’
‘It would be interesting to know if Bettina Tradescant was at Mayholme Manor on the morning Sir Seymour died,’ Payne said thoughtfully.
‘You think Bettina did it twice? You believe she stole the original ring and the replica?’
‘It’s perfectly possible. Um … It occurs to her that her brother will realize the ring is a replica and that he will guess she is behind it. So she goes and steals the replica, believing one of the stewards will be blamed for it. She reasons that without the replica Sir Seymour can prove nothing that will count against her.’
‘Do you think she might have killed him too?’
‘Well, yes. Say, Sir Seymour catches her red-handed and kicks up a stink. He threatens to call the police. Things get out of hand and she kills him. She is ever so slightly mad. It’s definitely worth checking if she was at Mayholme Manor on the fatal morning. What was the cause of death, did Penelope tell you?’
‘Sir Seymour apparently died in his bath. It’s difficult to imagine Sir Seymour and his sister having a row and then he goes and takes a bath while she is still there, in his room?’
‘Perhaps she left—and then, after a couple of minutes, came back …’
‘Hugh, two policemen came to see Penelope while I was still there.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes—but it had nothing to do with Sir Seymour’s death.’
‘How do you know? They couldn’t have let you stay on and listen while they interrogated Lady Tradescant.’
‘No, but I managed to hear what they said.’
‘Did you eavesdrop?’
‘Well, I happened to be standing outside the drawing-room door and—’
‘You eavesdropped! In your stately hat! You stooped and listened at the keyhole! I bet you tried to hold your breath? Well, I suppose we’ve come to a point where, as they say, the gloves are off and Queensberry rules no longer apply … What did the plod want with Penelope?’
‘It’s a completely new development. It has nothing to do with Sir Seymour’s death, at least I don’t see how—’ Antonia broke off and Payne heard her speak to someone. The next moment she said, ‘Sorry, Hugh, I’ll get back to you later.’
‘Who’s that with you?’ Payne asked but she had rung off.
Who was the man who had spoken to her? Payne was sure it was a man’s voice that had addressed her. He felt vague stirrings of anxiety. No—what could possibly happen to Antonia in the very heart of Mayfair—in broad daylight?
For several moments he sat very still, watching their cat stalk a dove.
He wondered what his next move should be. Another visit to Mayholme Manor seemed to be indicated … He’d need to find out whether Bettina had been there on the morning of her brother’s death … Yes … Where were his car keys?
This time he didn’t so much as glance at the frieze with the bubble and the eerily featureless figure inside it. As he crossed the hall and went up the stairs, Major Payne was struck by the thought that this was a silence more profound and mysterious than the mere absence of noise. He met no one on the way.
He was soon inside the antechamber that led to the Master’s study. He was put in mind of a superior dentist’s waiting room. William Morris wallpaper. Table lamps. A sofa upholstered in dark red. A bowl containing several exquisite roses. (Viscountess Folkestone?) The door to the Master’s study was ajar. He heard the Master’s voice raised in dismay.
Payne listened.
‘He wouldn’t? But you said he would, Robert. Didn’t you say he would?’
‘I did say it, but he wouldn’t. He gave every indication he was going to play ball. I never imagined he’d dig in his heels like that. I am awfully sorry, Wilfred. Didn’t seem that sort of chap at all.’
‘What is it this Lyndhurst is supposed to have found?’
‘Bruises on the right shoulder—black marks. Hardly perceptible to the naked eye, but Lyndhurst thinks they are suspicious. He believes they may be the result of violence. I pointed out that the body of an elderly man could be bruised easily, and in peculiar ways—’
‘What’s he suggesting exactly—that someone drowned Sir Seymour in his bath? That Sir Seymour was pushed under the water and held there? What a fool. People should endeavour not to use their intelligence when they have so little of it.’
‘Lyndhurst appears most anxious to speak to the police.’
Outside the door Payne stood still and inclined his head forward, not daring to breathe. It occurred to him that he was in exactly the kind of situation Antonia had found herself in a little earlier. How odd. We are two parts of a whole, he thought.
‘We can’t afford to have the police here. Any whiff of a scandal would cause irreparable damage. It would destroy me. I wouldn’t be able to survive the pressure. I am not a strong man, Robert, you know that perfectly well. It would drive me to the brink. It would be the end of everything.’
‘Lyndhurst insists there should be a PM followed by an investigation.’
Payne found he was leaning on the polished table that stood outside the study door and now he frowned down at the pile of newspapers and magazines. He noted mechanically that the top paper was two days old.
‘Didn’t you try to impress it on that mule that it would not be a frightfully good idea?’
‘I did my best, but he remained adamant. He’s dug his heels in.’
‘You couldn’t have tried hard enough!’
Payne’s eyes remained fixed on the newspaper. Memorial Service, he read. Friends and relatives of Petunia Luscombe-Lunt, who died tragically in the Alps on 12th June—
The name rang a bell. Did he know a Petunia Luscombe-Lunt? Now where …?
‘I agree it was a mistake bringing Lyndhurst in—’ Dr Henley broke off. ‘I think there’s someone at the door.’
Payne straightened up. His cover had been blown. The blasted newspaper had rustled. Well, time for action. If he was to bluff his way through, he mustn’t hesitate for a second. Pushing the door, he sauntered into the Master’s study.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘So sorry—I don’t suppose this is a frightfully convenient time?’
The Master was sitting at his desk, Dr Henley in one of the large armchairs. The Master’s hand was at his throat. He was a peculiar colour.
‘I am afraid it is not,’ the Master managed to say. ‘You haven’t got an appointment with me, have you?’
‘No. We have met before, actually. You seem to have forgotten, but I was here a few days ago.’
‘Good lord.’ The Master’s eyes bulged a little. ‘Major Ponsonby, was it?’
‘Payne, actually.’
‘Major Payne. Yes. That is correct. You were writing a new history of Mayholme Manor. Hope you won’t think me frightfully rude, but may I suggest you call sometime later? Dr Henley and I happen to be in the middle of an important discussion.’
‘I have a confession to make,’ Major Payne said gravely. ‘I am not writing a new history of Mayholme Manor. I am not a writer. I am a private investigator.’
There was a moment of paralysed silence. The Master had flushed an alarming shade of carmine. ‘It has nothing to do with poor Sir Seymour, I trust?’
Payne said that it had everything to do with poor Sir Seymour. ‘Not with his death as such—’
Dr Henley rose to his feet by executing the three or four distinct movements into which the portly gentleman of advanced middle age tends to divide a simple physical effort. ‘I am afraid I must go, Master. Prior engagement.’ He produced a silver pocket watch and shook his head. ‘Completely slipped my mind.’
Talk of rats leaving sinking ships, Payne reflected as the door closed.
‘A truly remarkable fellow, Henley. This place would never have been the same without him. I admire him immensely,’ the Master said. ‘Such style. Such panache.’
‘I have been employed by Nicholas Tradescant. Sir Nicholas Tradescant, as he now is—’
‘Such vigour, such vitality, such intense joie de vivre. You should see him in the garden, hacking away at hedges. He does it with a kind of savage grace,’ the Master gabbled on. ‘He does it with brutal brio.’
‘Sir Nicholas has asked me to investigate the theft of his father’s ring.’ Payne wondered if the Master had started feigning madness. Or could he have lost his mind for real?
‘Henley is noted for his easy superiority of manner. Henley belongs to that rare breed of men who can command respectful attention in any kind of milieu. Henley would feel equally at home on a battleship, at a cricket test match or at the Savoy Grill. Anyone meeting Henley for the first time might be excused for mistaking him for minor royalty.’
‘Sorry, Master, but would you mind terribly if I asked you a couple of questions?’