Endicott approached their table and pointed his staff at Langham. ‘Donald? Good God, it is! Donald Langham! What on earth brings you to this neck of the woods?’
Langham laughed. ‘As a matter of fact, you do.’
‘Hmm. I think this calls for a drink. What’s yours?’
‘Best bitter.’
‘And for you, my dear?’
Maria stared up at the man, her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Ah, I will have a gin and tonic, please.’
Endicott propped his staff against the table and strode into the pub. Langham shook his head. ‘Well … I must admit that I was beginning to fear the worst.’
‘What? That Edward …?’
‘That he was responsible and scarpered.’
She gripped his arm. ‘Just wait until Alasdair and Caroline find out he’s safe and well!’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing their expressions.’
Endicott emerged from the pub clutching two pints and a gin and tonic. He sat down and Langham introduced Maria.
‘Delighted,’ Endicott said.
He was a big man who carried excess pounds with the enthusiasm of an overweight schoolboy; in fact, Endicott had always put Langham in mind of a boy scout, with his gung-ho vitality and his big open face. Only his greying thatch and liverish lips betrayed his advancing years.
He sat down at their table and accounted for half of his pint in a single swallow. ‘By God, that’s better. Been on the road since six. Now, what’s all this about my bringing you here?’
‘Where to begin? Well, I think there’s been some mix-up between you and Alasdair. He came up on Sunday expecting you to be at home, and when he didn’t find you I think he flapped rather. He found your study locked from the inside, you see.’
Endicott laughed. ‘Silly young pup! He told me he’d be up on the second Sunday of the month. Last Sunday was the first. But that’s Alasdair all over – gets confused then flies into a tizzy. As for the blasted study, I stepped outside on Saturday morning just as I was due to set off and the damned French window blew shut and the catch dropped, locking me out.’
‘That’s what I told Alasdair,’ Langham said, rather pleased that his theory had been proven correct. A small victory for the forces of rationalism.
‘Couldn’t be bothered to break the catch so I went on my way. There’s nothing like a few days under canvas to blow out the cobwebs.’ He snorted. ‘Pity Rasputin didn’t think the same. Upped sticks and ran off on Sunday. Done it before. I expect he hightailed it back here.’
‘Caroline found him,’ Maria said. ‘She was rather worried, too.’
‘She was? Dash it, isn’t a man allowed to take a few days off without telling the whole damned village?’ He took another long draught of beer and eyed Langham. ‘So how did you get involved?’
‘I met Alasdair at a do in London on Saturday, and when he found you missing on Sunday he rang me.’ He shrugged. ‘I once worked for a detective agency, and Alasdair asked if I’d come up and take a look. The locked room rather spooked him.’
Endicott grunted. ‘Hmm. Suppose it would.’
‘Apparently he rang you on Friday, but there was no answer.’
‘Of course there wasn’t! I was working in the folly.’ Endicott shook his head then drained his beer. ‘Well, I suppose I should get back to the Chase and put Alasdair out of his misery.’
Langham hesitated, then said, ‘There is one other thing …’
Endicott stood, shouldered his backpack, and looked down at Langham. ‘Yes?’
‘Ah … Well,’ he said, watching Endicott’s reaction closely, ‘I’m afraid to say that Vivian Stafford was found dead this morning.’
The big man slumped back down on to the seat. He stared at Langham. ‘Stafford? Dead?’
‘I was with Maria and Caroline, and we came across the body in the woods. It appeared that he’d been hit over the head with something sharp.’
It was as if the blood had drained from Endicott’s face. ‘Stafford … dead?’ he said. ‘But …’ He gestured ineffectually. ‘But … he was due to hold another “Evening of the Occult” up at the hall next week …’
‘I’m sorry.’
Langham watched the man as he shook his head and stared across the green. Was Endicott experiencing the regular shock that was to be expected when you heard that the subject of your studies had passed away, or the disbelief at finding that someone who you had assumed immortal was nothing of the sort?
‘But who would do such a thing?’ Endicott murmured to himself.
‘Perhaps we’d better be getting back to the Chase. Alasdair kindly invited us to stay …’ Langham explained.
‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ Endicott said abstractedly.
They left the pub and crossed the green, the big man lost in thought. Langham was aware of the stares from two or three locals who’d no doubt heard – on the village telegraph – that Edward had gone missing.
They came to the Chase and Endicott crunched down the gravelled drive. Rasputin galloped from the house, barking, and romped up to his owner.
‘Down, boy, you great idiot. Running off like that!’
Alasdair appeared at the door, his expression phasing from mild curiosity to disbelief, and finishing with delight as he beheld the larger-than-life figure of Edward Endicott.
‘Father!’
He rushed from the house and paused, quite unsure, in the presence of Langham and Maria, how to greet his father.
Endicott acted for him – clapping Alasdair on the shoulder and leading him into the house. ‘Bit of a mix-up, son. You said you were coming up on the second Sunday – next week. So I decided to go for a hike.’
Langham and Maria followed them into the sitting room and Endicott boomed, ‘Look here, I’m famished. Rustle up a thick beef sandwich, would you, Alasdair? I’ll be down when I’ve had a hot bath.’
Maria said, ‘I wonder if I should phone Caroline with the news? She was worried …’
Endicott said, ‘Go ahead. Tell her to come over. We’ll have a spot of tea, hmm, and you can fill me in on everything that’s been going on.’ His face fell as he stared at Langham. ‘Stafford … Dead?’ He shook his head. ‘I must admit, I find it hard to believe.’
Thirty minutes later Caroline Dequincy hammered at the front door and Langham let her in. She appeared radiant, breathless, and her first words were, ‘I can’t believe it! This is wonderful. I was beginning to think …’ She peered down the gloomy hall. ‘Where is he?’
‘Taking a bath,’ he said. ‘He should be down in a few minutes.’
They moved to the sitting room where Alasdair was arranging a table with china cups and a big pot of tea. Boardman greeted Rasputin and they trotted off through the open French windows and rolled around on the lawn.
‘And he’d taken himself off hiking without telling a soul?’ Caroline asked.
Alasdair nodded. ‘I got the weekend wrong. Told the old man I’d be up on the second Sunday and came last Sunday instead.’
Caroline laughed, gay with relief. ‘Didn’t I say he’d probably gone camping? And here he is,’ she said, jumping to her feet as Endicott stepped through the door.
She crossed the room and hugged him. ‘You silly man! You had us all worried. Why didn’t you tell anyone!’
‘Steady on, old girl. Can’t a man abscond these days without telling all and sundry? Anyway, I’m back – and things’ve been happening in my absence, I’ve heard?’
Caroline resumed her seat, dabbing at her eyes with a small lace kerchief. ‘You’ve heard about Stafford?’
‘Donald broke the news. What I don’t understand is who the bally hell would do him in?’
Langham said, ‘Well, from what I hear he wasn’t well liked.’ He paused, and chose his next words with care. ‘Those who didn’t believe his claims to be the Victorian Stafford thought him an impostor.’
‘That’s no reason to want the man dead,’ Endicott thundered.
‘No,’ Langham said, sipping his tea, ‘but it begs the question – why the charade? Why was he claiming to be Stafford? If he had an ulterior motive then it’s my guess that this had something to do with his death.’
Endicott gestured at Langham with his gargantuan beef and mustard sandwich. ‘But there was no ulterior motive, Donald. Because there was no charade. He wasn’t an impostor. He was the real McCoy. Listen here, I’ve read damn near everything there is to read about the man, I’ve done all the research and talked to him, and there’s only one explanation … Confound it, I’ve seen him at work. We all have. Everyone who experienced one of Stafford’s events will tell you the same. He was a bona fide occultist—’
‘I don’t think Haverford Dent would agree with you,’ Langham said, resting his empty cup on its saucer and balancing them on the arm of the chair.
Endicott waved. ‘Dent’s a purblind rationalist,’ he said. ‘Can’t see the wood for the trees.’
Langham looked from Endicott to Alasdair, and then to Caroline; he saw the light of conviction in their eyes and had the sudden, uneasy feeling that he was in the minority on the issue. He glanced at Maria for support, and was cheered by her quick grimace.
He stared at Endicott. ‘So you’re seriously trying to tell me that this man, this Vivian Stafford, born in … what was it?… 1835, was alive and kicking until just recently?’
Endicott held his gaze. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Donald.’
Langham nodded, phrasing his next question. ‘And … are you aware of how he achieved this miraculous feat of longevity?’
Endicott licked his liverish lips. He stared at Langham. ‘I was working up to asking Stafford about his … his immortality,’ he said. ‘And now I’ll never have the chance.’
‘Perhaps he sold his soul to the Devil, Edward? That’s supposed to be one way to achieve immortality, isn’t it?’
‘You mock at your peril, Donald. You really shouldn’t scoff at what you don’t understand.’ Endicott tried to make his voice light and bantering, but Langham detected an underlying tone of seriousness which made him uneasy.
Maria, bless her, weighed into the debate. ‘And anyway, what I don’t understand is how someone who is immortal …’ she shrugged, ‘… how he could be killed like this, with a simple blow to the head?’
Endicott said, ‘His enemies have ways and means, my dear, perhaps beyond our comprehension. It might appear that he died simply of a blow to the head, but the injury might disguise the real, more arcane method of despatch.’
It was all Langham could do to stop himself from snorting in derision.
Caroline said, ‘I was worried, Edward. When you went missing … and then the blood was discovered at the end of the garden …’
‘Blood? Stafford’s?’
Alasdair shrugged. ‘That’s the assumption, anyway.’
‘So he was attacked here and his body moved?’ Endicott said.
‘Or he was attacked,’ Langham said, ‘and managed to stagger away to where he eventually fell and died.’
‘And when we found him dead, Edward,’ the actress said, ‘and you were still missing … well, I was worried that he, that he might have … from beyond the grave …’
Endicott crossed to her and gripped her hand. ‘No need to worry now, Carrie, hmm? I’m home and safe.’
Langham looked at Caroline, who stared up at Endicott as he sat on the arm of her chair. ‘And you don’t know how good it is to have you back!’ she said.
‘I suppose the constabulary will want to ask me a few questions,’ Endicott said. ‘Alasdair, go and phone them, would you, and tell them that I’ve turned up.’ He looked at Langham. ‘Best to get this out of the way.’
Langham finished his tea and said to Maria, ‘I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.’
They stepped through the French windows and strolled the length of the lawn. Langham sat down on a sturdy timber bench beneath a flowering cherry tree and looked back at the Chase. It appeared idyllic in the bright afternoon sunlight, mantled in wisteria and Virginia creeper.
She turned to him; he could tell from the sudden animation in her features that something had occurred to her. ‘I know … why don’t we get away this evening, Donald? Do you recall that nice hotel in Bury St Edmunds where we dined back in April? Why don’t we go there for a meal tonight?’
‘Capital idea. I’ll ring through and book a table right away.’
He was in the hallway five minutes later, speaking to the local operator, when the police arrived and took Edward Endicott away for questioning.