As Miller left, Daisy sat down wearily on the chair the Constable had vacated, and for the first time she gave the patient a proper look. Gooch’s head was practically mummified, only his closed eyes, one ear, nostrils, and mouth visible. One arm was splinted, and a frame holding up the eiderdown suggested one or more broken legs. He was breathing strongly, though, and the pulse in his neck beat visibly.
“He’s a bit of a mess, isn’t he.”
“It’s awful,” said Gwen, “but it could have been worse. Dr. Prentice says the arm and leg are clean breaks. His neck and spine seem to have escaped intact, and his rib cage is just bruised. His face was cut by broken glass, not too badly, though. It’s the head injury that’s worrisome.”
“No way to predict the outcome,” Alec said.
“None. He’ll likely survive, but in what condition. . . . Reggie and Adrian are lucky we all have other things on our minds at present. When this is all cleared up, they aren’t going to know what hit them. Daisy, if you’re going to be on duty for a while, you ought to have a more comfortable chair.”
“Mind reader!”
Gwen rang for a maid, and soon Daisy was ensconced in an easy chair, with her feet on a footstool and a rug over her legs.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Alec warned with a grin.
“I shan’t let her,” Gwen promised. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”
“Rather more than a few questions, I’m afraid. Last night, we only talked about your meeting with the Gooches at the Three Ravens. Before we revisit that in the light of what’s happened since—”
“It can’t be true about Jack!”
“We’ll come to that later. This morning, events overtook us and I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about your movements and observations last night. Let’s start with the arrival of the Gooches.”
Despite her reassurance to Miller, Gwen was plainly nervous, her hands clenched together in her lap. Busy elsewhere, she had not noticed the Gooches’ entrance. “You can’t hear Jennings announcing people unless you’re standing right beside him,” she explained. When she did catch sight of the Australians, she made a point of welcoming them. Later, she had seen Jack talking to them for a short time, but none of the rest of the family.
Shepherding guests, Gwen had been one of the last out to the terrace. As she tried to recall whom she had spoken to, Daisy felt her eyelids growing heavier. She struggled to stay awake—and realized she had failed only when she was roused by a maid ushering in a couple of uniformed nurses.
Alec and Gwen rose to greet the newcomers, leaving Daisy uncertain as to whether they had observed her dereliction of duty. She glanced at Gooch. He didn’t appear to have stirred so much as a finger. If he’d been quietly muttering to himself while she slept, it was too late to worry about it now. She was sorry, though, that she’d missed what Gwen had been saying.
The nurses had received instructions about their patient from Dr. Prentice via their agency, but no one had mentioned that the police were involved. The younger, with a bush of frizzy dark hair attempting to escape her cap, was inclined to be indignant. “Well, I never! I must say, it’s not a very nice position to find yourself in, being mixed up in a murder case. If you ask me, they ought to’ve told us and let us choose if we wanted the job.”
“Now we’re here, there’s no sense making a fuss,” said the other. Middle-aged, she was lean but strong-looking, the severe lines of her face offset by a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She listened eagerly as Alec explained that he must be called at the slightest sign of their patient rousing, and anything he said must be written down at once. “We always do that in any case when there’s been a motor-car smash-up,” she said. “You’d be surprised what they say sometimes. Not a bit like what the other driver’s said. Quite funny it is sometimes.”
“Well,” observed the younger nurse, “murderer or no, one thing’s for sure: He’s not going to be attacking us when he wakes up, not in the state he’s in.” Resigned, she went off to rest in the bedroom already shown her by the maid.
The older shooed Gwen, Alec, and Daisy out of the sickroom. They left her straightening the already-neat bedcovers into rigid perfection.
Standing in the passage, Alec said, “We’re nearly done. Let’s adjourn to the schoolroom.”
“Please come, Daisy,” Gwen begged.
No mention was made of Daisy’s lapse, so she assumed hopefully that they hadn’t noticed. Alec should have asked her to take notes if he expected her to stay awake.
They went upstairs and sat down at the table. Apparently, while Daisy slept, the others had finished with the fireworks show and moved on to Jack’s quarrel with Adelaide.
“I was pretty upset,” said Gwen. “Jack had every right to be furious, but to burst into the dining room when guests were still helping themselves at the buffet . . . Daisy can tell you, they left in a hurry.”
“Not I,” said Daisy. “I was starving.”
“As usual,” Alec interjected sotto voce.
“And Mr. Gooch and Mr. Miller nobly stood by me in spite of being a bit embarrassed. It was an awkward moment, I must say.”
“Mother was awfully upset. She was already tired, and that made her quite ill.”
“Just a minute—Gooch was with you in the dining room during the row, Daisy? No one else has mentioned his presence.”
“Yes. You apologized to him, Gwen, remember?”
“I only remember Martin.”
“Gooch was there,” Daisy said positively. “Martin—Mr. Miller—and I tried to find some plain food for him. He said . . .Oh, what was the word he used? He said that in Australia they don’t muck about with their tucker. We found some cold meat for him, but then he decided he wasn’t really hungry and went off to the drawing room to look for Mrs. Gooch.”
“You say he seemed embarrassed by the family argument, and he’d lost his appetite. How else would you describe him?”
“He was rather fidgety, but no more so than earlier. Inattentive when Mr. Miller talked about rocket propulsion, though he’d asked about it, I think. He really wasn’t at all comfortable with coming to the Manor.” Daisy suddenly realized what Alec was driving at. “He was concerned that Mrs. Gooch might be wondering where he was, and that she might not have anything to eat. Honestly, darling, he didn’t behave at all like a man who’s just shot his wife, or anyone else.”
“Miss Gwen, would you agree?”
Gwen bit her lip. “I can’t say I really noticed. What with the squabble and Mother taking ill, I wasn’t paying attention. Does this mean it wasn’t Gooch? That one of us did it?”
“I wouldn’t go so far. If he had been in a state of extreme agitation, it might have been more helpful.”
“He was absolutely shattered when he heard Mrs. Gooch had been shot,” Daisy said. “If you’d seen his face . . .I don’t believe the best actor in the world could turn that colour. I’m sorry, Gwen, but when I think back to that moment, I simply can’t believe he did it.”
Daisy felt as if she was betraying Gwen. She knew Alec would take her words the more seriously because she was not protecting a friend—he always complained about her shielding people she liked when she found herself mixed up in his cases. Not that he’d cross Gooch off his list of suspects on her say-so, but he’d probably move him down a notch or two.
Which left Jack very much in the centre of the picture, especially if he really was Mrs. Gooch’s son.
Gwen buried her face in her hands, making Daisy feel even worse. “Sorry,” she said again, inadequately.
“No, you have to say what you saw.”
“It’s not what Daisy saw,” Alec pointed out, “it’s her opinion of what she saw. You were there. What’s your opinion?”
After a long hesitation, Gwen shook her head. “No, I can’t say. It’s not that I’ve forgotten, it’s that I was too distraught myself to notice, as I said before. Believe me, I wish I could tell you I thought he was acting, but it wouldn’t be true. All I could think about was having to tell him she had had an accident. I was too cowardly to say she was dead, let alone that Father had shot her. That was what we thought had happened.”
“Because that’s what your brother told you?”
“Of course. Didn’t it look that way, at a quick glance? Martin and Dr. Prentice went up there and didn’t say anything to contradict that impression. Oh, and Sir Nigel, and he’s a policeman.”
“A courtesy policeman. No, I don’t imagine Jack lingered at the scene to analyse the evidence. How long was he gone?”
Gwen looked questioningly at Daisy, who said, “Just—”
“No, I want your opinion, not Daisy’s. I presume none of you were checking the time.”
“Just a couple of minutes, if that. He must have run up the stairs. He was still livid about the stolen rockets and he wanted to tell Father what those wretched boys had done. Father would have made them give them up, and then Mr. Gooch wouldn’t . . .” Her voice trailed away as the futility of this line of wishful thinking struck her.
“He was still livid,” Alec repeated. “Let’s go back to the beginning of the quarrel with Mrs. Yarborough. You said Jack came in when most of your guests had helped themselves at the buffet and moved into the drawing room or on to the hall. Would you please describe his arrival?”
“He came dashing in, positively fuming, and immediately accused Addie of letting Reggie and Adrian run riot. He was quite sure they had pinched the rockets. I can’t recall his exact words, I’m afraid.”
“No matter. What next?”
“Babs came in—she’d been herding the children upstairs—and took Jack’s part. Then Mother arrived, some busybody having told her about the row, and Addie appealed to her, and she said she was afraid Jack was probably quite right. I think it must be worse having thoroughly badly behaved grandchildren than children, don’t you? You have little or no control over their upbringing, and you want to love them and perhaps you just can’t. Anyway, Addie decided to look for Father. She thought he’d support her.”
“Had she any justification for such a hope?”
“Well, he’d never ragged on the boys, but only because he’d never seen their bad side. They were afraid of him, and none of us ever told tales. It must seem odd to an outsider, when he—if anyone—was quite capable of correcting them, but when one is accustomed to not telling a person anything that might upset him, the habit is difficult to break. Jack had reached that point, though. He went tearing after Addie, saying he’d tell Father himself.”
Daisy contradicted her. “No. Now I come to think of it, he went striding off and Addie ran after him. If it makes any difference.”
Alec gave her a look. “Where did they go to search?” he asked Gwen.
“To the drawing room and hall, of course, where everyone had gone to eat. But he wasn’t there, so they came back—No, Jack came back without Addie. She was probably relieved not to find Father. I said maybe he’d popped into the gun room to show off the antiques. Jack glanced in but he wasn’t there, so I said he’d better check upstairs. How I wish I hadn’t!”
“I’m afraid it wouldn’t have changed anything,” Alec said sympathetically, “and from my point of view, it’s lucky he was found while the doctor and the Chief Constable were here.”
And even Struwwelpeter, Daisy thought, since it was he who had advised his CC to beg for Alec’s help.
“I suppose it was,” conceded Gwen. “We’d have had to send for Dr. Prentice anyway.”
“Go on.”
“Jack came back, white as a sheet, and said Father had shot Mrs. Gooch and himself.” Gwen was herself nearly as white as a sheet. Daisy took her hand. “That was bad enough, heaven knows, but at least it was over, finished with, apart from the scandal. This—not knowing what happened or who . . . it’s an endless nightmare!”
Daisy simply couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. The Tyndalls’ nightmare could end only with an arrest, and then a different sort of nightmare would begin. Unless she was wrong about Gooch. Was it possible he had committed a double murder and then come to fill his plate looking mildly worried and fussing about his food?
Set him against Jack, bursting into the room in a state of high agitation, and there was no contest for the more likely murderer.
Alec continued asking questions. His gentle tone suggested to Daisy that he had moved Gwen, with or without Miller as her conspirator, to the bottom of his list. He came at last to Mrs. Gooch’s letters.
“Martin came to Father’s dressing room and told me. Jack asked him to. Jack told him the letter was very affecting, but I think it was positively wicked.”
Alec’s raised eyebrows encouraged her to elaborate.
“I can understand, if it’s true, that she might want to see her child and make sure he’s well and happy, but to push herself in, to disrupt everyone’s lives, that was wicked! Just look what it led to.”
“Do you think she was telling the truth?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. At first I thought it was utter rubbish. It’s difficult to imagine one’s father having a . . .a mistress. But if he did, that’s exactly how he might have acted, riding roughshod over Mother for the sake of having a male heir. It doesn’t really matter—Jack’s my brother no matter what.”
“Do you remember Lady Tyndall being away from home at about the time he was born?”
“No. I was six. I remember being told I had a baby brother and being excited and happy. I wasn’t going to be the youngest any longer, and I suppose I thought of him as a sort of living doll at first. I remember dressing him up, playing mother. Babs and Addie weren’t particularly interested and Mother was often ill. He was a nice little boy, and a nice schoolboy, and a nice young man. Nothing, nothing, will make me believe he shot Father and Mrs. Gooch!” Gwen concluded, fiercely vehement.
“Most understandable,” said Alec gravely. “That’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Gwen, do go and lie down for a bit. You’ve had an exhausting day.”
Gwen smiled with an effort. “I may do just that. But first I’ll just pop down and make sure Mother is all right and the nurse has everything she needs.”
“Would you mind asking Lady Tyndall when it will be convenient for me to see her?”
“Must you? I suppose you must. All right.”
She left, and Alec turned to Daisy. “What else have you not told me?” he asked resignedly.
“Darling, last night you were in a rush to find out what had happened and to see everyone, and today I’ve hardly had a chance to talk to you at all, except about Babs and Lady Tyndall’s trip abroad. Else besides what?”
“Besides Gooch being with you in the dining room. I’d better hear your version of what went on last night, from the Gooches’ arrival at the party. Try to stick to the essential points, love?”
“I’ll try,” Daisy promised. “First, I happened to be watching when the Gooches arrived. I wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but as the Gooches continued into the hall, I saw Sir Harold and Lady Tyndall turn and look after them with horrified expressions.”
“Both Tyndalls?”
“Both. I thought—”
“Just the facts, Daisy.”
“Yes, but you mustn’t jump to the conclusion that they recognized Mrs. Gooch. It might just have been the prospect of Gooch’s Australian accent mingling with the august company.”
“I’ll take that into account.”
“You must, honestly. Martin Miller has hardly any accent, but it’s enough to make them eye him askance. He was very helpful, incidentally. I wanted to go down and see the merrymaking at the bonfire in the meadow, where the villagers gathered, and he drove me down. We went just after the Gooches got here, and got back to the house as people started to move out to the terrace, so I didn’t see anything that happened indoors in between.”
“Pity. I’d give a good deal to know what Sir Harold said to Mrs. Gooch and vice versa, or at least in what spirit it was said.”
“Sorry, can’t help. I can tell you, though, that she didn’t go outside with her husband. I did. I had an idea for an article . . . but you don’t want to hear about that, and it’s dead as the dodo now anyway.”
“How long did you talk to him?”
“Just a couple of minutes. As soon as the fireworks started, everyone moved forward and I lost him. Let’s see, who was next? Babs, I think. She collared the Yarborough boys as they were about to disappear down the steps. Obviously her prohibition didn’t have a lasting effect. Later I had a word with Addie’s mama-in-law, and lastly Jack, for just a moment before he disappeared down the steps. That was just as the final grand spectacle started.”
“I don’t suppose you noticed what direction he came from.”
“Not a hope. It was dark, darling, except for the weird light of the fireworks, and people kept moving around. I didn’t see anyone heading for the house until after the grand finale. I would have told you right away.”
“Yes, of course.” Alec sighed. “Go on. If Jack did the shooting, it must have been before you saw him?”
“I should think so. No time afterwards, not if the fireworks covered the sound of the shots, which they must have, mustn’t they?”
“That’s our assumption. How did he behave?”
“I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. At least, he looked as normal as one can with a blue face. The missing rockets—or rather, the ones that didn’t go missing—showered down green and blue sparks to represent rain, to make the tree—”
“Great Scott, Daisy!”
“Sorry. What was I . . .Oh yes, Jack sounded normal. But he said only a few words before he noticed something wrong with the rockets and got upset and went down.”
“So the missing rockets could have been a very convenient excuse to cover the real reason for his being in a state of nerves.”
“I suppose so,” Daisy admitted reluctantly.
“I gather you were one of the last to return to the house.”
“I’d seen the supper buffet earlier and knew they weren’t going to run out of food, so I stayed to watch the bonfire blaze up. I sort of assumed at the time, without really thinking about it, that Gooch and Miller hung back because they weren’t entirely comfortable with the company. But Gooch was probably hoping to see his wife as she went in, and Miller may have been waiting till Gwen finished helping Babs hand out sparklers to the children. Anyway, we all went in together and we were at the end of the line. By then, I was—”
“Ravenous.”
“I was going to say ‘famished,’ ” Daisy said with dignity. “And my toes were getting frostbitten. I know you don’t want to hear about my toes, but every little bit helps me remember exactly what happened. You’re always saying any detail may prove significant.”
“It may. I don’t want to rush you. It’s just that I can’t recall an investigation when I’ve had so many interviews cut short in the middle, and I was hoping we might get through the whole story before we’re interrupted. But you’re right. Tell it your own way, love.”
As if on cue, there came a knock on the door.
“Come in!” called Alec, exasperated.
A maid peeked nervously around the door. “Telephone, sir, if you please, sir.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Jennings didn’t say, sir, just that it’s for you, sir.”
Alec slammed his hand down on the table. The maid jumped. “See what I mean?” he snarled, eyebrows meeting above his nose. “I must say I never before appreciated what a difference a good butler makes to a household like this.”
“I’ll write down everything I can remember,” Daisy said diplomatically as he strode to the door. “I hope it’s someone ringing with information you desperately need.”
But she’d venture a bet on its being Struwwelpeter, eager to reassert his claim to “his” county.
Less averse to being disturbed than Alec, Daisy took her writing things down to the drawing room. Not that she was positively courting interruptions, she assured herself, or she would have stationed herself in the front hall, with its acknowledged resemblance to Piccadilly Circus. She just didn’t want to appear to be avoiding the family in their time of trouble.
The drawing room was deserted. With nothing to distract her, Daisy soon wrote down all she could recall up to the point where Jack returned from the study to report the shooting. She was wondering whether she need go any further, when Miller wandered in. His disconsolate face brightened at the sight of her.
“Mrs. Fletcher! I was hoping I might come across you. But you’re busy. . . .”
“I’m just about finished. Do sit down. What can I do for you?”
He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, half offered it to Daisy, then drew back. “No, you don’t, do you? Half the girls seem to smoke these days.” To her relief, he returned the packet to his pocket without lighting up. “Do you mind if I ask your advice?”
“Not at all. I can’t promise to be able to give you any. At least, I can’t promise it’d be good advice.”
“Of course not. But you know how people like the Tyndalls think. What’s good form and what’s bad form and that sort of thing. It’s sometimes a bit mystifying to an ordinary bloke like me.”
“I know what you mean,” Daisy agreed. “I’ll try to help.”
“The thing is, I wonder if I ought to buzz off after all, after I’ve fetched the sergeant from the village. The only subject on Jack’s mind is who he really is. He’s not going to be making decisions about his future till that’s sorted out. I can’t even help him by being there for him to talk to. He went riding. I’ve never been on a horse in my life. He’s my host, and for all I know he’s wishing me away but too polite to tell me.”
“Yes, I see your difficulty.”
“I’d stay for Gwen, only I’ve hardly seen her since that wretched Australian crashed his motor. She’s too busy nursing him to—”
“Not any longer. A couple of professional nurses turned up. Didn’t you know? I made Gwen go and lie down. She’s exhausted. But wasn’t the last you saw of her when Jack asked you to explain about Mrs. Gooch’s letter? It seems to me they both need you here, even if they’re rather leaving you to your own devices at the moment. I shouldn’t cut and run if I were you.”
“But what about Lady Tyndall? She wasn’t too happy with me coming here in the first place. I wouldn’t be surprised if she blames me for everything that’s happened.”
“For shooting Sir Harold and Mrs. Gooch?” Daisy asked, astonished. “Why on earth should she think you did it?”
“Oh, not that, exactly,” Miller said gloomily. “But it was for my sake Jack wanted to go down to the Ravens. If we hadn’t gone, he’d not have met the Gooches and invited them to the house.”
“You might as well blame me for suggesting inviting them to our table. Alec’s half inclined to think it’s all my fault.”
“Is he really? I’m sorry I told him about that.”
“Not seriously. I’d have had to tell him myself, so don’t worry about it. But to get back to your original concern, I doubt if Lady Tyndall has the slightest idea that your preference for beer led to the visit to the pub. And I don’t see how your presence could possibly be as disturbing to her as ours—mine and Scotland Yard’s—not to mention Gooch’s. Who knows, she may even be glad you’re here because you’re someone else outside the family for Alec to suspect.”
Miller smiled wryly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Anyway, you see, it’s as much my fault as yours, but if you ask me, the Gooches would have found some other way to meet Jack.”
“Perhaps not one that would lead to murder.”
“Perhaps not,” Daisy had to acknowledge. “The fireworks were perfect cover for the shooting. I wouldn’t be so sure, though. That letter was pretty incendiary.”
“Do you think it’s true? That Jack is not Lady Tyndall’s son?”
Daisy hesitated. “The letter is awfully convincing.”
“If they made a practice of writing blackmailing letters, I suppose they’d have got pretty good at it.”
“The trouble is, it doesn’t matter so much whether it’s true or not. It’s whether Mrs. Gooch told the story to Jack and either convinced him, or he thought her claim might convince other people.”
“Eh?” After a moment’s confusion, Miller sorted it out. “Oh, I see what you mean. So you believe Jack killed them?”
“I don’t believe anything,” Daisy said crossly. “I’m waiting for Alec to find out. Isn’t it time for tea yet?”
Alec took the telephone call in the study, which had been cleaned since the removal of the bodies. Bloodstains were still visible—they would never completely disappear; the desk and carpet would doubtless be replaced as soon as the family had leisure for such niceties—and a slight sickly smell hung in the air, overlaid with acrid whiffs of carbolic disinfectant. But it was preferable to either battling the butler for the use of his pantry or forgoing privacy in the hall.
He picked up the telephone apparatus and sat down in the desk chair, pushed back a bit from the damp desk. Unhooking the receiver, he said, “Hello? DCI Fletcher speaking.”
“Dryden-Jones here, Chief Inspector.” The voice was pompous, with an undertone of complaint.
For a moment, Alec couldn’t think who the hell Dryden-Jones was. Ah, Daisy’s Struwwelpeter, alas, alias Sir Nigel’s stuffed orangutan, not to mention Lord Lieutenant of Gloucestershire. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“Perhaps I didn’t make it clear, Chief Inspector, that I expect to be kept up-to-date with your progress in the enquiry into this horrible crime in my county.”
Though his position gave him absolutely no right to such information, he had been helpful over the search warrant, and there was no sense in antagonizing him. “Sorry, sir. The usual enquiries are proceeding.” Useful phrase, that. “But this is a very early stage in the investigation. With the able assistance of the Gloucestershire police force, we have interviewed every guest at the party. Unfortunately, none of them appears to have observed anything helpful. I’m very grateful for your assistance in obtaining a warrant—”
“Yes, yes, man, and what came of it? That’s what I want to know.”
“Nothing as yet. My detective constable is serving it as we speak. I shall, of course, be in touch with your chief constable as soon as I have anything to report, and he will no doubt keep you up-to-date. I’m expecting a vital telephone call, sir, so if you don’t mind . . .”
“Of course, of course, I’ll clear the line. Keep up the good work, Chief Inspector.”
“I shall, sir, never fear.” Alec breathed a sigh of relief as he hung up. The man was a pest, but easily routed. Whether he’d take the hint and apply to Herriott for information in future remained to be seen.
Leaning back, Alec surveyed the room. The sun was sinking beyond the western window, burnishing a few streaks of cloud. Jack had said the electric lights were on when he came upstairs. Those heavy curtains would have made them unnoticeable from the terrace. Sir Harold had been sitting here, apparently about to write something for the woman seated opposite him, when someone came in.
Through the door to the passage or that to the stairs? Probably the stairs, having picked up the pistol on the way.
Gun in hand, or concealed in a pocket? Very likely concealed, as the baronet had only half-risen by the time the murderer had advanced several paces into the room. Surely he’d have jumped to his feet and dropped the pen had he seen the weapon immediately. Mrs. Gooch didn’t appear to have made any attempt to stand up.
Did any of these assumptions offer a hint as to who had interrupted their tête-à-tête? Was there any point in building speculation upon speculation? He was constantly warning Daisy against wild theorizing.
What he really wanted was a spot of shut-eye. They had worked long hours on the Birmingham job and he hadn’t slept much last night. He longed to lay his head down on his arms and let himself drift. The state of the desk and the memory of its recent occupant prevented such indulgence, but his eyelids started to droop.
Brring-brring. Brring-brring.
Groaning, he reached for the telephone.
“Is that you?” said a creaky voice before Alec could speak. “Are you still there?”
Who the . . .? The butler, of course. “Fletcher here,” he growled.
“I’m not one to complain,” creaked Jennings, “but all these here telephone callers ringing up night and day is not what I’m accustomed to.”
“I dare say you’re not accustomed to murder, either. You’re going to have to put up with it. Do you have someone on the line to speak to me? Put him through.”
Click, ping, click-click. “Hello, Fletcher? Wookleigh speaking. I know you’re busy, my dear fellow, and I won’t keep you. Just wanted to make sure my chaps are cooperating with your chaps all down the line.”
“They’ve been very helpful, sir. They’ve managed to get in touch with everyone on the guest list—”
“Including me,” said the Chief Constable dryly.
“That proves how thorough they were. Unfortunately, no one saw any more of what was going on than you did. The local Constable, Blount, is carrying on a few enquiries for me in his district. A good man.”
“I’ll remember that. All right, I won’t trouble you any longer. Carry on, Fletcher, and let me know if there’s anything else we can do to help.”
“Thank you, sir.” If only all CCs were like Sir Nigel!
Alec had hardly stuck the receiver back in its hook when the bell rang again.
“Chief Inspector?” enquired a harassed voice he didn’t recognize. “This is Herriott. I’ve just had the Lord Lieutenant on the line demanding the latest news of your little murder. He says you told him to ask me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. What I told him was that I’d be reporting to you in due time and I was sure you’d be in touch with him.”
“Oh. Right-oh. Anything to report?”
“No, sir. Enquiries are proceeding, et cetera.”
The Gloucestershire CC produced a gruff guffaw. “Like that, is it? Well, I hope you’ll get a move on. I’ve asked Superintendent Crane to have you come here when you’ve bagged your man. Nasty business, this Customs raid. They blew up an unfortunate watchman with the vault and have got away with a load of bullion. The Yard is sending me a detective inspector, but I want you. How long do you reckon?”
Alec swallowed an unprintable retort. So much for his leisurely drive home with Daisy. He was going to demand a week off after this, and they would go away without leaving an address. “I can’t say, sir. We’ve pretty much narrowed it down to two, but one is unconscious after a motor smash-up and we’re still investigating the other’s motive. There’s very little in the way of hard evidence. It may be one of those cases where we have a moral certainty but can’t prosecute.”
“Well, reach your moral certainty quickly, and in the meantime, I’ll fend off Dryden-Jones.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Alec.