A Louse for the Hangman, Chapter Seventeen

A Louse for the Hangman

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Driving through the dreary streets surrounding Brixton Prison next day and remembering the stream of wretched man who came this way daily from the London courts, Carolus found himself wondering at the workings of the official mind, that Robot mechanism which ruled men’s lives like a factory clock.  In this case, for instance, the police had charged Piggott with the murder of Penge, but no one with the murder of Ratchett.  They had pulled the young ex-sailor from his everyday life and thrown him in this gloomy gaol, and it could only be in the sincere belief that he was a murderer.  For this belief they obviously had more reasons than others knew.  A charge of murder was not lightly brought and certainly not, as Piggott had suggested to Gribbley, for any reason other than it was believed true.

As he passed through the gates and was taken into a grim courtyard, Carolus felt the grey and sickly horror of the place filling his pores like a fog.  A few seedy-looking prisoners wearing the own clothes passed him, and the warder who conducted Carolus explained that they were debtors.

“Your man is in the hospital,” he added.

“Why?  Is he ill?”

“No.  Murder remand.  We always keep them in the hospital under observation.”

Carolus was shewn into a small room on the door of which was painted the word ‘Solicitors’.  Presuming it meant lawyers and not unfortunate old clergymen brought in from Piccadilly, he entered and waited till Piggott should appear.  This took some ten minutes.  He was accompanied by a warder, but Carolus and Piggott were left together, the warder taking up his position outside.

The young man looked cheerful enough, though Carolus thought there was something a little brassy and forced in his manner.

“Bastards, aren’t they?” he said after an offhand greeting.  “Putting anyone in this filthy, stinking place.  It’s enough to turn you up to see the crowd in here.  All the dregs and riffraff of London, you’d say they were.  It’s not as though they were criminals, most of them.  Just rubbish.”

“I gather you’re in the hospital?”

“Yes, all us murderers are in there.  You’ve never seen such a collection in your life.  Look like respectable churchgoers, most of them.  Especially the poor bloke they’ve just brought in for that Chatham job.”

“Oh yes.  Why had the girl no shoes?”

“I haven’t got round to asking yet, but I’ll find out for you if you’re curious.  How long do you think they’ll keep me here?”

“Until your trial, I suppose.  Unless anything happens to convince them you’re not guilty.”

“Such as?”

“Such as their coming to believe that it was someone else.”

“They must.  They can’t seriously think it was me, can they?  What would I want to shoot the old man for?”

“I think you should face the fact that they do think it was you, Piggott.  They would not have charged you otherwise for any consideration at all.  What’s more, they must have good reason to think it.  Suppose you tell me how it all happened?”

“Well, I told you about that row I had with the old man?  I was a bit worried about it because I didn’t really want to leave the job, and anyway he’s not a bad old stick.  So when he said for me that evening . . .”

“What time?”

“I don’t know.  Late.  Past eleven, anyway.  I went over, meaning if I could to put it straight.  But I didn’t need to.  The old man did that himself.  ‘Oh, Piggott,’ he said in his quiet way.  ‘I think perhaps I was a little hasty today.  We are all under a strain.’  I said yes, and I’d said more than I meant and was sorry; so he said, very well we’ll forget it.”

“Was that all?”

“No.  This is the funny part.  He said he thought I’d better take a day off.  We all need a bit of a change.  So why didn’t I run down to Brighton to my home and he’d let me have the truck for it.  What about the stuff from the farm?  I asked him, and he said Gribbley could fetch that later in one of the other cars.  So I jumped at the chance, naturally.

“Then he said since I was going to Brighton there was something I could do for him.  Would I deliver this letter as soon as I arrived?  He wanted it there not later than eight in the morning.  This meant me getting up at about six, but since he was letting me go I agreed to this.”

“To whom was the letter addressed?”

“To someone called Gorringer at the Sandringham Private Hotel.  I took it and was just going to say good night when you old man said, ‘I should prefer that it is not known that you will be absent tomorrow.’  So I told him I wouldn’t tell anyone.  The only other thing he said was something about the gun-room.  You see, I was responsible for the gun-room.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, nothing important.  Just asked if it was in order and that.”

“You had a key of it, of course?”

“Yes.  It was always kept locked and it has a barred window.”

“Did you go to it that night?”

“As a matter of fact I did.  I thought it funny the old man asking about it and wondered if I’d left something out of place.  But no.  Everything was there and in order.”

“You’re quite sure of that?  I ask because the next morning Eustace discovered that the savage 30•30 belonging to Lord Penge was missing.”

“It was there all right when I looked in.  I checked everything, locked the door and went up to bed, setting my alarm for six o’clock next morning.”

“You didn’t tell Gribbley you were going?”

“No.  He’d have been asleep by the time I went to bed, and anyhow the old man had told me not to say anything.  Grib would hear in the morning, I thought, when he was sent to the farm.”

“And you spoke to no one else?”

“No.  The alarm went off all right and I dressed and went down to the garage for the truck.”

“This may be rather important.  Were the garage doors shut or open when you reached them?”

“Shut.  They’re roller doors, as you may have noticed, and take quite a bit of shutting.  But they were closed.  Lockyer’s car was out.”

“Did that strike you as strange?”

“Not really.  He often used to go off for a week-end or a night.  I just noticed it, hopped in the truck and was off.”

“How light was it?”

“Dark enough for headlights at first ”

“When you had opened the garage doors you entered the garage no more than to get into the driving-seat of the truck?”

“That’s right.”

“And it had been backed in?”

“Yes.”

“Did Lockyer usually run his car in forwards or did he back in like you?”

“Always forwards.”

“I see.  Go on with what happened that day.”

“I ran down to Brighton quite comfortably.  It was light when I arrived at my home.  Mum was up, and very surprised to see me with the truck.  She got me some breakfast and I sat talking to her while she was doing her work.  She’s very fussy about the house and takes longer than anyone I know to get it how she likes.  Then she had to go out shopping, and I went with her.  It was twelve o’clock when we got back and saw the police waiting by the truck.

“Of course mum went right off the deep end and asked what I’d been up to.  Then, when they shewed me the Savage in the back of the truck and said Lord Penge had been murdered, she calmed down a bit because she knew it couldn’t have anything to do with me.  That’s like mum, ready to tear me to ribbons if I’m in trouble for something I’ve done, like that time I was adrift from the Navy, but right with me when it’s some dam’ silly thing like this.  However, they only said they wanted to ask me a few questions, and I went down to the station with them.

“Then it began.  I soon saw that they weren’t going to believe that Penge had given me the day off, so I told them about the letter to this character Gorringer.  They said they would go and ask him, and then a funny thing happened—they came back and said they had seen him but there hadn’t been any letter.  It had been too early when I got to this Sandringham Private Hotel to knock anyone up, so I’d dropped it in the letter-box.  I told the coppers that, but they only said that Gorringer was quite positive.  He had received no letter that morning from Lord Penge.  That made it worse for me.  Why should he say a thing like that?  What sort of man is he?  Do you know him?”

“Yes,” said Carolus.  “I can only say I have never known him to tell a deliberate lie.”

“Well, he did this time, and it’s dropped me right in trouble.  The next thing was the rifle.  It appeared it had the silencer on it.  They almost laughed when I said I had no idea it was in the back of the truck.  They asked if I had seen it before, and I said of course I had.  I was in charge of the gun-room, wasn’t I?  So they said when had I seen it last, and I told them the night before in the gun-room.  ‘So you admit going to the gun-room last night?’ they said, and I told them I had no reason not to admit it.

“Then they told me my fingerprints were on the rifle, and I said, why not?  I’d cleaned it the previous day.  They said, ‘Ah, but this is the rifle used to kill Lord Penge, and there are no other fingerprints on it.’  It was no use telling them that whoever had shot him could have worn gloves.  I just let them go on.

“They’d heard about my row with the old man and they made the most of that.  What I’d said and what I hadn’t said.  I thought they were never going to let me alone.  Then, just when it didn’t look as though there was anything more for them to ask me, they began on the other lot, the anonymous letters and Ratchett.  Can you believe it?  They want to put that on me, too!”

“It is generally accepted that both Ratchett and Penge were killed by the same person.  I think so myself.”

“Yes, but you don’t think it’s me, for God’s sake.  Those coppers were sure of it by the time they’d finished.  But there wasn’t much to base the charge on, so in the end they charged me just with killing Penge.  As if that wasn’t enough.  So what’s going to happen?”

Carolus looked at him steadily.

“I am going to explain what actually took place,” he said.

Piggott returned his look without evasion.

“The lot?” he asked at last.”

“The lot.”

There was a rather tense silence in the room.

“Will that mean they let me go?”

“You must answer that question for yourself,” said Carolus.

“One thing, anyway.  Will you see this Gorringer and find out why he lied about that letter I took him?”

“I shall certainly see him.”

“And tell old Grib I’m all right, will you?  When you see him, I mean.”

“I’ll do that.”

Driving back to Highcastle, Carolus felt no elation at having obtained, by means somewhat oblique, the information he wanted.  More than once during his recent cases he had felt oppressed by his responsibilities.  It was no light thing to have this flair for finding out the heart of the matter, and it gave him duties towards people and sometimes made him interfere in a way the detested with the lives of others.  It was one thing to investigate a crime and discover the truth about it; it was quite another to find himself against his own will an arbiter who had to decide for himself how to act when his actions might mean death or life to a fellow human being.

Besides, he found the atmosphere at Highcastle Manor an unpleasant one.  The way in which the family, either by joint resolution or by a natural tendency to act a part, shewed complacency in the face of death, was nothing short of callous.  And not only death, but the fate of those about them.  Carolus did not believe that any one of them really believed Piggott guilty, yet Gribbley seemed the only one in the least concerned with him and the charge against him.

It was somewhat macabre, thought Carolus, to see the whole archaic game go on, the huge meals, the organized service, the obstinate maintenance of an extravagant and out-of-date way of life.  The police, the inquest on the head of the household, the rest of their footman, Carolus himself with his eternal questions, the two funerals, the screaming headlines in sensational newspapers—all these left this collection of people outwardly unmoved.  Eustace was the only one who had seemed concerned about the threat to his father, and now Eustace seemed more angry than sorry at his death.

When he reached the East gate he found it standing open for the first time since he had known the place.  It seemed that the police considered no more security precautions necessary.  But Mrs. Carker was at her garden gate, and waved to him energetically to stop.  She seemed animated.

“What do you think?” she asked rhetorically.  “That Lockyer came back this afternoon and never so much as said good afternoon as he went driving in.  To my way of thinking that’s no way for anyone to behave, especially when there’re nothing to speak of themselves, as you might say.  Then he hadn’t been up at the house ten minutes before the police came and took him away for questioning, as well they might.  I said to myself when I saw them go, ‘I should think they would want to ask questions,’ I said, ‘what with him popping off like that on the night of the murder and one thing and another.  It wouldn’t surprise me if it went further than questions, upon my word it wouldn’t.’  Anyway, they’ve got him now, and I shouldn’t like to say when they let him go, if they don’t keep him in altogether which I wouldn’t put past them, things being what they are.  I don’t care what anyone says, I don’t believe it was that Piggott who did it, though I can’t say I’ve ever really taken to him.  Still, you wouldn’t wish for anything like that, whichever way you look at it.  Well, I must be getting on, because my husband will be home in a minute.  I shouldn’t wonder if that Lockyer had a hand in it that night when I saw him opening the gate as plain as a pikestaff.  I said to myself then, ‘I don’t believe he’s up to any good,’ I said, and it’s turned out I wasn’t far wrong, hasn’t it?  Well, this won’t do.  I’ve got my husband’s tea to get.  It’s really dreadful about his Lordship being done for like that, after the murderer telling him he was going to be killed the same as Ratchett was.  I couldn’t bring myself to believe it when my husband came home full of it the other morning.  I said to myself, ‘They wouldn’t do anything like that to his Lordship, would they? because he’s so quiet and nice with everyone,’ but there you are . . .”

Carolus seized this momentary pause.

“This won’t do,” he said with a friendly smile.  “I must be getting on.”

Before Mrs. Carker could reply he let the car glide gently forward.

Lady Penge was in the hall.

“Oh, Mr. Deene, I have news for you,” she said.  “Your friend Mr. Gorringer is coming over tomorrow.  He feels he should be present at the inquest.”

“I think he should, too.  Surprisingly enough, he has some evidence, I believe, which may be valuable.”

Lady Penge smiled.

“Gorringer!” she said and chuckled.

Carolus went upstairs to change, and returning just before eight o’clock found Hermione alone.  She was rather flushed.

“So you went to see Stanley.”

Carolus remembered that Stanley was young Chilham’s first name.

“Yes.  I think you understand why I had to do so.  I knew he was over here that night.”

“How did you know?”

“I saw him.”

“You’re mad if you suspect him having anything to do with Father’s death.”

This was said tentatively rather than emphatically, and Carolus did not answer it.

“Anyway,” Hermione continued, her manner growing defiant—“anyway, we’re engaged now.  That ought to shew you that neither of us is worried about your suspicions or anyone else’s.  We should scarcely announce our engagement straight away if we had anything to do with my father’s death which made it possible.”

“A good argument.  You certainly haven’t wasted any time.”

“What’s more, we’re going to get married as soon as Stanley can get a licence.”

“ ‘The funeral bak’d meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables’.”

“Not as bad as that, perhaps, but we’ve no reason to delay now.  We’ve waited so long, you see, because of Father.  Mummy agrees.”

“Yes.  I understand.”

“On the other hand, Mr. Deene, I do wish you or the police or someone would clear all the mystery up before the wedding.  It is hateful not to know.”

“And awkward, surely, to have one of your servants in prison on a capital charge?”

“Yes, that too.  When are you going to tell us everything?”

“You think you will be happier when you know?”

“As long as . . .  Yes, of course we shall.”

“I’m going to do my best to put everyone out of doubt tomorrow.  But I warn you, it’s not going to make you very happy.”

❦

A Louse for the Hangman, Chapter Sixteen

A Louse for the Hangman

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was again through the Press that Carolus learnt the latest move of the police.  Piggott had been charged with the murder of Lord Penge.

He read the news without comment and went out to find Gribbley.  The chauffeur was surly now.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked Carolus.

“I’m going to see Piggott.”

“In the nick?”

“Yes.  He’ll be at Brixton Prison on remand.  Do you think you can arrange for me to visit him in four days time?”

“I’ll try.  But what’s the reason for all that delay?”

“The something I must do first.”

“Don’t hurry yourself, will you?” said Gribbley with angry sarcasm.

“On the contrary, I don’t intend to lose any time at all.  I’m leaving for Scotland at once.”

“Look, Mr. Deene, don’t be funny, will you?  Piggott’s my mate, and I’m not in a mood for anyone to be funny.”

“I’ve never felt less like any kind of funniness in my life.  I’m going to Scotland with a particular purpose.”

“Connected with this?”

“Yes.  I’m going to Achendouroch.”

“The shooting lodge?  I’d like to know what you expect to find out there.  It’s a God-forsaken place.”

“What route do you usually take?”

“London, Nottingham, Leeds, Carlisle, Stirling.  That’s my way, though you’ll find plenty to argue about it.”

“From there?”

“Inverness and Dornoch.  That’s about the end of civilization.  From there you keep along the coastal road as far as Helmsdale, where you fork left.  Carry on for about twenty miles till you come to Auchintoul.  From there you leave anything that you might call real life.  You turn sharp right by a queer sort of a road through the mountains for about ten miles, till you’re halfway from Auchintoul to Gobernuisgeach.  You’ll find the shooting-lodge on its own there, the only building for miles.”

“What’s the total distance?”

“From here?  About six hundred and eighty miles.  If you make it by lunchtime tomorrow you’ll have done well.”

Carolus thought so, too, as his car streaked across the Highlands next morning.  He lunched at Dornoch, then set himself to do the last seventy odd miles.

It has been glorious spring weather till now, but during lunch there started a sudden downpour of rain, and he drove away through it.  He found the turning to the right at Auchintoul and had a curious feeling of fantasy as he sped eastwards.  ‘You leave anything you might call real life,’ Gribbley had said, and Carolus agreed with him.  This road, which no one seemed to use, threading its white metalled way across the hills was like a road across space.  For mile after mile it went without a sign of human habitation.  There was not even a sheep.  He felt he was driving away from life, leaving behind the sordid intrigues, the cruelty, the meanness of the case he was investigating and finding a new clear atmosphere.  The rain continued to pour down, and when he was approaching, as he hoped, the spot indicated by Gribbley he drove slowly, looking for any house that might be the shooting-lodge.

What he found was a track, even narrower and rougher than the road he was following, which led off to the right.  At the fork was a notice board, Achendouroch, but no sign of a house.  He followed this track for a slippery mile, and last saw the place he was looking for.  It was past three when he eventually pulled up in front of the fresh-looking, pleasantly proportioned house.

Immediately the front door opened and Lockyer hurried out.  Carolus watched narrowly, and saw the tutor look in the car before speaking. 

“Have you come alone?” he asked, without the civility of a greeting.

“Yes,” said Carolus.

“Why?  Why have you come?”

The rain was pouring down on Lockyer as he shouted through the car window.

“Wouldn’t it be better to discuss that in the house?” suggested Carolus mildly.

“Yes.  Come in.  Come in.”

Lockyer bolted across to the front door, and Carolus followed him.  He was relieved to see a fire burning in the grate of a comfortable room with big chintz-covered arm-chairs.

“Where is Lord Penge?” asked Lockyer.

Carolus watched his face.

“Dead,” he replied.

There was a short silence.

Then Carolus went on:  “He was found shot through the head.  He was on the floor of the garage in which you kept your car.”

“When?”

“The day before yesterday.  In the morning.”

Carolus said no more, but watched Lockyer.  The man seemed stunned, but Carolus had never thought him stupid or incapable of dissimulation.

“You . . . mean this?  It’s true, isn’t it?  I can scarcely . . .”

Carolus handed him one of the newspapers he had brought in from the car.

Lockyer’s next shock was the news of Piggott’s arrest.

“Piggott arrested!  Why Piggott?”

“Obviously because the police think he did it.  But they found him immediately.  They haven’t found you yet.”

“Me?  What have I got to do it?”

“That’s a question which you will have to answer quite a number of times, I think.  Suppose you start now.  How do you come to be up here?”

“How did you know I was?” countered Lockyer.

“I didn’t know for certain.  But when you saw Ronald you had to go back to Lord Penge because you had forgotten the key of the house.  What house could that have been except this place?”

“I see.”

“Besides, I don’t under-rate you.  I don’t think you’re such a fool that you imagine you could hide long in England if the police wanted to see you.  You had to be somewhere when you didn’t know they wanted you.  Somewhere where you wouldn’t see a paper.  You still haven’t told me what brought you here.”

“Penge, of course.  He took me along to the library that evening and gave me my instructions.  For the first time I thought he was really jittery.  He said he was going to get away from Highcastle, away from the family and everyone, and come here.  No one was to know where he would be.”

“Except you?”

“That’s right.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know.  He trusted me, I suppose.”

“More than his son, for instance?”

“Apparently.”

“It doesn’t sound very probable, does it?”

“That’s what he said, anyway.”

“If that was so, why didn’t he go with you at once?”

“I asked him that.  In fact I tried to persuade him.  You were to blame for that.  You had told him he was safe that night.”

“I had told him nothing of the sort.  But go on.”

“He said he would leave next morning.”

“How?  By car?”

“I don’t know.  He didn’t say.  He just told me that he was tired of living under a threat.  He was coming up here, where it wouldn’t be hanging over him.  ”

Lockyer thought for a moment, then turned rather aggressively to Carolus.

“He said you knew who had sent those letters and who had shot Ratchett.”

“He was quite right.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you have him arrested?  The old man would be alive now.”

“And you wouldn’t be wanted by the police.”

“I?  Don’t talk nonsense!  What do they want me for?”

“According to the usual official verbiage, they ‘think you could assist them in their enquiries’.”

“How?  I wasn’t there.”

“They can’t fix the time of death to a minute.  Your time of departure from Highcastle comes well within the range of time during which the murder could have been committed.  In other words, you have no alibi.  Added to that there is what appears to be a flight.  That doesn’t look well.”

“It wasn’t a flight at all.  Penge told me to come here and get the place ready for him.  There is an old couple permanently in the house, but there are always endless preparations necessary for a stay here.”

“I should think so.  Well, it’s not a bad story.  I haven’t heard Piggott’s yet.  His departure looked like flight, too.  But he was unlucky.  The gun was with him.”

“Again which had killed Penge?  Then surely there’s no question?”

“There’s a great deal.  The gun could have been planted.”

“By whom?”

“You, for instance.”

“Damn you, I tell you . . .”

“It’s not I who has to be convinced.”

“I see now I ought never to have left without Penge.  There was no serious reason why he shouldn’t have come.”

“Can you suggest what can have made him go out to the garage that night?”

“After I had left, you mean?”

“Or before?”

“You don’t suggest I persuaded him to come out to the garage, do you?”

“No.  I don’t think you persuaded him.”

“Well, then?”

“Something caused him to go out there.  I think he went with you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re lying.”

Again there was silence.  The rain had ceased now.  As they sat there a bony woman in a shawl asked from the door whether they wanted tea.

“Yes, yes,” said Lockyer absently.

After a moment Lockyer sat up and spoke earnestly:

“Look here, Deene, I’ve never liked you and I resented you hanging about for no reason but curiosity.  But I don’t think you’d deliberately get anyone into trouble.  Tell me, where was Lord Penge when he was shot?”

“In the garage behind the place where your car and the truck usually stood.”

“Is that sure?  He couldn’t have been carried there and dumped?”

“The wall shews where the bullet hit it behind his head.”

“Then I am in a spot, because as a matter of fact he did come out to the garage with me.  I couldn’t understand it at the time and I don’t now.  He said he wanted to see me safely away.  The car might not start, or some rubbish.  When I got the car out I offered to go back to the house with him, but he waved me off.  I left him standing just in front of the doors of the garage and started my journey.”

“And didn’t turn back?”

“No.  I drove like hell.  What does it mean, Deene?”

“You’ll have a lot of questions to answer.  I heard the two of you pass under my window, and I’ve already reported it to the police, so it’s useless for you to say that you went alone.  I didn’t see you, of course, but I don’t know what other pair it could have been.”

“No.  I shall tell the police exactly what happened.”

“I should certainly do that.  Whatever the consequences.”

“I suppose I ought to return to Highcastle straight away?”

“I think so.  Yes.”

“There’s a room which was got ready for Penge which you can have tonight if you like.  Then we can both start back tomorrow morning.”

Carolus paused.

“Thank you,” he said at last.  “I should like to stay.”

The gaunt woman brought tea.  Knowing the family penchant for the typical, the traditional, the true-to-type, he half expected her to start talking about Bonnie Prince Charlie, or pixies, or Sir Compton Mackenzie, or the island that likes to be visited or something of the sort.  She would at least speak Gaelic or in a dialect so obscure that only her husband could understand her.  But she brought several tray-loads of viands to a table on the other side of the room, said “There’s your tea” and departed without so much as a step of a highland fling or a gesture to ward off evil spirits.

“She’s from Battersea,” explained Lockyer.  “Her husband is an old crofter, though.”

She had evidently absorbed enough of Scottish customs to make the tea-table a place for a quite intimidating display of biscuits, scones, cakes and curious discs containing oatmeal, all of which, Carolus believed, had their own names.  There were eggs and jam, fruit and jelly.

“Mrs. MacKennageall wants us to make what she calls ‘a good tea’,” said Lockyer chattily.

But it was Carolus who now appeared silent, or perhaps only thoughtful.  Having asked Lockyer the questions he needed to ask and received his replies, he seemed to want no communication with the man.  Left to himself, he went to the bookshelves to see what they had to offer, and for the rest of the evening scarcely looked up from Ferdinand Schevill’s History of Florence from the Founding of the City through the Renaissance.

On the following morning at six-thirty or so he started southward, and reached Highcastle for lunch on the following day.  He told no one he had seen Lockyer or that the tutor was on his way and gave no explanation for his absence.

There was no sensational here.  The case, in fact, seemed to have run into an ominous calm.  The family life went on and, except for the absence of Lord Penge, Piggott and Lockyer, very little change was noticeable from that life a week ago.  Carolus had already claimed to know the truth and to have posted details of it to an unknown address.  The threat in the letters had been fulfilled.  It seemed that anything startling now must come from police action.

After lunch he called Chilham aside.

“I’m going over to see your son,” he said.

“Is that necessary, sir?”

“Yes, Chilham.  Quite necessary, as I think you understand.”

“You know his address?  I’ll write it down for you.”

He found young Chilham alone in surgery.  He was a tall, rather heavily built man with good grey eyes and a firm chin, a man not easily rattled, Carolus decided.  He told him his name.

“Oh yes, I know about you.  Hang on five minutes, will you, till I finish my surgery time and we can go across to the pub for a drink?  I’ll certainly tell you anything I can.”

Over two pints in a quiet corner of the bar Carolus said, “Perhaps it would save time if I told you what I know already.  I know that you and Hermione wanted to become engaged and that Penge was against it.  And I know that you were at Highcastle on the night Penge was murdered.  That’s about all.”

“It’s quite enough.  Yes, I was over there.  You see, Hermione couldn’t come to visit me here.  The district nurse is a bitch and well . . . you know the sort of situation . . .”

“You mean she thinks she ought to be the doctor’s wife?”

“Something like that.  Anyway, once before she ’phoned Penge when she saw Hermione’s car here.  So if we meet at all we have to make it somewhere away from both our homes.  But that night I had to see her.  I ’phoned and told her I was coming.  She said I should never get into the place because of the police.  But I don’t suppose you want to know all this?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea of it already.  You arrived at seven and finally left between twelve and half-past, didn’t you?”

“That’s it.”

“Did you see anyone there besides Hermione and Spotter?”

“I didn’t even see Spotter.  I certainly didn’t see my father or anyone else.”

“You left your car in the village and came on foot across the park?”

“Yes.”

“And you met no one?  No one at all?  Please be quite sure of this.”

“I am quite sure.”

“You haven’t the slightest idea who killed Lord Penge?”

“If I had it would be a sheer guess.”

“Would it, Dr. Chilham?”

“Certainly.”

“Then there is nothing else I need to ask you.”

“There’s one thing I’d like to ask you, though.  Out of curiosity.  How did you know I was there that night?”

“That’s very simple.  I saw you.  Does that mean you want to add anything to what you have told me?”

“No.  Nothing.  Tell me, will Piggott be found guilty?”

“If he’s ever before a jury I think it highly likely.”

“You’re very cryptic, Mr. Deene.”

“Yes.  I could put it rather more strongly about you.  You see, I believe you know who shot Lord Penge.”

Dr. Chilham shrugged.

“I think this is a rather pointless conversation,” he said.

In less than half an hour Carolus was talking to Gribbley.

“Have you arranged my visit to Piggott?”

“Yes.  It’s for tomorrow.  You go as one of his solicitors.  Here’s the card.”

“Have you seen him?” asked Carolus.

“Yes.  I’ve been up.  He’s quite cheerful.  Doesn’t seem to take it seriously.”

“I think he’s making a mistake there.”

“You can’t believe there can be anyone so bloody silly as to think he did it.  He doesn’t even believe the police do.  He says they must be holding him with some other object.  To make someone else talk or something like that.”

“Does he?  That’s interesting.”

“Anyway, you’ll see tomorrow.  Did you find out anything at Achendouroch?”

“Yes.  All I needed.”

“I wish you’d get a move on.  Spill the whole beans and get young Piggott get out of there.  If you know who it was, you’ve only got to say, haven’t you?”

“It’s not as simple as that.  I’ve got to be able to convince not only the people connected with the case but the police as well.  But I think when I’ve seen Piggott I shall be able to do so.  ”

“Hope you do,” said Gribbley, and Carolus left him staring sulkily at the polishing leather in his hand.

❦

A Louse for the Hangman, Chapter Fifteen

A Louse for the Hangman

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

From the moment the body was discovered, Carolus ceased to have any hand in the direction of the case.  There was a great deal of practical work to be done and there were measures to be taken which were quite outside his power or authority, and he was content to leave these to the police.  He would, in fact, have moved down to the Duke of Suffolk Hotel had not Lady Penge, on arrival that morning, insisted on his doing nothing of the sort.

She rather shocked both the household and the investigating police by the cool and business-like way in which she heard of her husband’s death.

“Murder, you say?” she said to Scudd.  “Where is the weapon?”

“It hasn’t been found, but a rifle similar to the one that killed Ratchett is missing from the gun-room.”

“That’s it, then.  Somebody took it during the night and shot him.  But how did the murderer persuade him to leave the house and go out to the garage so conveniently?  He was actually shot in the garage, you say, not taken there afterwards?”

“No.  He was shot there.  We shan’t get a report from the ballistics people for some days, but there can be little doubt.  The bullet was embedded in the wall behind him.”

“You think he was killed by the killer of Ratchett?” asked Lady Penge.

“It is too early to say.  I couldn’t give any opinion on that,” said Scudd importantly.

“What about you, Mr. Deene?”

“Oh yes,” said Carolus off-handedly.  “Of course he was.”

It was then that Carolus suggested to Lady Penge that he should move to the Duke of Suffolk.

“Your family naturally feels that I have been remiss,” said Carolus, “that I could have prevented this.  I think it would be better if I stayed in the village.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Deene.  I should like you to be here.  I think we understand one another better than might be supposed.”

“Perhaps we do, Lady Penge.  But you understand that in no circumstances can I be a party to any kind of misdirection of justice.  I’m sorry if I sound priggish, but I have no alternative, really.”

“I see that.  I shan’t ask you to lie.  But surely you ought to be here to see what the police are up to?”

“Thank you for letting me stay.”

It was not easy, as a matter of fact, for Carolus to learn what the police were up to.  The position in which Lord Penge’s body was found suggested that he had stood with his back to the wall, almost as though he faced a firing-squad.  The single shot which had killed him had been fired at very close range and death would have been instantaneous.  As usual, the exact time of expiry was hard to fix, but it had been somewhere in the small hours.  The fact which the police took most seriously was that the drivers of the two cars here were missing.

Their longest cross-examination was naturally of Gribbley.  As he told Carolus afterwards, he thought they would never finish with him.  They concentrated on the shot—he must have heard it, they said:  his flat was not twenty paces away.  No, he had heard nothing.  He was a heavy sleeper, but a shot fired in the small hours would awaken him, of course.  He was positive.  Yes, he had been in his flat all night.  No, he had never left it for an instant.  No, No one had telephoned during the night.

“Didn’t it occur to them,” suggested Carolus when Gribbley told him this, “that there may have been a silencer on the rifle?”

It must have done in the end, thought Gribbley, because they did eventually leave him alone and start on some of the others.

Lord Penge had still been wearing a dinner jacket when he was shot and an overcoat over it.  Carolus gathered that there was no indication of exactly how he had been standing or where his hands were (except that he had his back to the wall), but, remembering Ratchett’s death, Carolus was not much perturbed by the absence of evidence on this point.  He remembered that in the case of Ratchett accounts have been rather at variance, Ronald saying that just before he was shot Ratchett had his hands up, and the body when it was discovered shewing both hands in the overcoat pockets.

It appeared that little more could be gathered from the dead body, and before noon, after it had been photographed, it was removed.  Carolus guessed that the police were concentrating on finding the weapon and questioning Piggott and Lockyer when the whereabouts of these was known.

If Carolus had been surprised at the family’s behaviour immediately after the death of Ratchett, he was even more amazed at it now.  Eustace seemed more angry than anything else.  He looked at Carolus with resentment and dislike, but otherwise seemed to behave as normal, going over to the stables for an hour before lunch.  Hermione was nowhere to be seen, but young Ronald shewed no great grief, and Lady Penge shewed nothing at all.  It was astonishing that a man who had loved his family and been loved by at least some of them, who had been shot dead a few hours earlier, received so little mourning, at least of a discernible kind.  The life of the house went on, lunch was served punctually at one and consisted of a cucumber-cream soup, grilled sole, blanquette de veau and roast duckling.  Lady Penge spoke of her visit to her relative and explained why she had been able to leave, and although Hermione looked pale and peaked, she said nothing about her father’s death.

Could it be that he was wrong, Carolus wondered, and that these people had hated Penge?  Was even Eustace indifferent?  If this were so, there was an added sadness in situation, for there could be no doubt that Penge had cared deeply for his son and heir.

But Carolus found over coffee that, at least so far as he was concerned, this indifference was assumed, for when Chilham had left the room the family rounded on him as though by pre-arrangement. 

“Mr. Deene,” said Lady Penge.  “You said this morning that the same man killed Ratchett and my husband.”

“I did not say ‘man’, Lady Penge.”

“The same person, then.  Do you know who it was?”

“Yes.  It’s not very puzzling, really.  Anyone who knows what I know should see it at once.  And I have no secret information at all.”

“When are you going to tell us?” said Ronald.

“Never, I think,” said Carolus slowly, “unless there is danger of a miscarriage of justice.”

“Now what do you mean by that?” asked Lady Penge calmly.

“I mean if the wrong person is blamed, or seriously threatened with blame, I should have to give all the details I know.”

“You seem to have great sympathy for the murderer of my father,” said Eustace bitterly.

“I have very little sympathy for anyone in this case.”

“But do you think the wrong person will be blamed?” asked Hermione anxiously.

“I’m afraid I think it is quite likely.  So many people’s actions last night would seem inexplicable to an outside observer.”

“What persuaded my father to leave the house, Mr. Deene, after your warning to him?  Do you know that?”

“Yes, I know that.  But I don’t think I’ll say any more on the subject unless I am forced to do so by circumstances.”

When the rest of them had gone, Hermione came to Carolus.

“How much do you know?”

“I’m afraid I know it all,” said Carolus, “the whole wretched business.  There are some parts I’ve had to fill in with guesswork, but the outline’s whole.”

“And you say you have to sympathy for anyone?  How can you say that?  ”

She was crying as she left the room.

All that day Scudd was interrogating the people in the house, and he came out last to Carolus.  It was sitting at Lord Penge’s desk in the library.

“You understand, Mr. Deene, but so far as we’re concerned you’re simply another guest in this house.  You realize, I hope, they would be a serious matter to withhold information from us?”

“What do you want to know?”

The usual questions followed—what time Carolus had gone to bed, had he noticed anything unusual the evening, did he see or hear anything during the night.  He answered each question frankly and to the last gave what details he could of the three things that happened after midnight:  the weeping woman, Ronald’s report about Lockyer and the footsteps under his window.  He thought that Scudd would like to ask him his opinion in the matter, but refrained, perhaps for pride’s sake.

“Do you still want me to consider this matter of hidden papers?” Scudd asked.

“The papers aren’t hidden, exactly.  I certainly want to see them still.”

“They have not become irrelevant?”

“Oh no.  I think they are more to the point that before.  From them I think you may gather who killed Lord Penge.”

“Something you know already?”

“One can’t have too much confirmation, though, can one?”

“We must see what we can do when we’re not too busy.  Can’t possibly go flying off today.”

Detective Inspector Scudd was in fact heavily occupied with matters which he considered far more important than the mysterious ‘papers’ Carolus had mentioned.  He had fingerprint experts at work, still more persons to interrogate, prints and photos to study, reports to read from various parts of the country, messages to send, superior officers to reassure, the Press to interview; It was small wonder that he had not much time to wonder who killed Lord Penge, and certainly none to spare for a drive to an uncertain destination with Carolus Deene.

When the evening newspapers came out Detective Inspector Scudd found himself famous, but he did not altogether like some the references to ‘previous warnings’ and the fact that Lord Penge was stated to have been under police protection when he was killed.  Nor did he like the allusion in one paper to the presence in the house of the famous private investigator Carolus Deene, ‘who, it is understood, will shortly give an exposition of the whole case’.

Carolus liked the evening paper less, for from it he learnt for the first time that Piggott had been found and was being interrogated.  It appeared that the truck had been seen outside Piggott’s home in Brighton and that a Savage 30•30 rifle from which a shot had recently been fired was still in Piggott’s possession.

Carolus went with this news to Gribbley.

“Nobody seriously thinks it’s Piggott, do they?” he said at once.  “They must be crazy if they do.  He’d never think of such a thing.  Besides, what would he have to gain?”

“I suppose we shall hear in good time,” said Carolus, “why he went off like that and was found in Brighton.”

“Of course we shall.  There must have been some reason.  Piggott liked a laugh and that, but he wasn’t a lad to go chasing off without some good reason.”

“Then how did he come to have the rifle, do you suppose?”

“Somebody must have planted it on him.  Whoever shot the old man, I suppose.”

“So far all we know is that they’ve questioned Piggott.  They’ve questioned everyone here, too.  But I don’t like that rifle being found with him.”

“No.  But there can’t be anything against young Piggott.  I’ve known him for years, in the Andrew and out.  He’s straight as a die.  His old mum will be pretty upset when she reads this, though.  She’s Getting On and thinks the world of him.  However, I suppose it will soon clear up.”

“Now that they’ve all finished with the place, would you mind shewing me just how and where you found Lord Penge?  ”

“Certainly I will.  Come over to the little garage.”

They went over to the smaller of the garage buildings.  Carolus remembered seeing Piggott the other day very skilfully as swiftly back his truck into this, and come over grinning to join him and Gribbley.  They entered now to find it completely empty.

“You see, there was just room for the two in here, and for over a year now Lockyer had kept his Rover there and the truck was kept here.  When I was told to search this morning, I thought it dam’ silly to search the garages at all, but I did what I was told and looked all through the big garage and all the cars in it, then came over here.  I saw it at once, of course.  The old man was on the ground back there, between where the two cars stood.  He was sort of slumped over, but I understand the police say he must have been facing this way towards the door and been shot from quite close.”

“Mm.  I notice there’s no electric light in this garage.”

“No.  It had been ordered, but the local electrician’s pretty slow.  This is the only building on the whole estate that hasn’t got it.”

“These doors are normally kept open or shut?”

“Shut at night.  Piggott used to open them up to get the truck out in the morning.  But they weren’t locked.”

“If Lockyer took his car out before Piggott took the truck, as all our information suggests, he might have left them open or shut after him?”

“That’s so.”

“We shan’t know that till we see Piggott.”

“I hope to God that’s soon.  This is getting on my nerves.  Fancy their interrogating a decent lad like Piggott.  What the hell next?”

“So long as it’s only interrogation,” said Carolus.

“You mean, you think they may charge him?”

“It’s possible.”

“With murder?”

“I think you should be prepared for it.  So Lord Penge lay just here.  Can you suggest anything that might have brought him to this garage?”

“I can’t.  I don’t suppose he has set foot in it for years.  He had no reason to.  Now tell me what you think the police will do with Piggott.”

“They can’t hold him much longer without bringing a charge, but of course they may hold him by just charging him with stealing the truck or something till they decide what they intend to do.”

“It’s a rotten turn-out, the whole thing.”

“I agree with you.  Now I want to take my car out for an hour.”

Carolus drove straight to the Duke of Suffolk and went to the manager’s office, when he found Major Stour.

“Dreadful business this,” said the Major.  “Worse to think the police knew Penge had someone gunning for him and couldn’t prevent it.”

He said ‘the police’, but Carolus felt himself included in the condemnation.

“Yes,” he said curtly.  “Where’s Tramper?”

“Gone,” said Major Stour.  “Fellow came in about six yesterday afternoon and paid his bill for everything owing since Saturday, then went upstairs and packed his bag.”

“What time did he actually leave the hotel?”

“Bit hard to say.  Fellow went to the public bar.  My barmaid wouldn’t have him in the lounge.  She’s a very decent young woman and wouldn’t stand for Tramper.  The barman in the public bar remembers him coming in and having a game of darts, but can’t remember when he left.  He had his bag with him there.”

“He had no car?”

“Car?  No.  All he had was one suit-case.”

“Surely there must be some idea when he left?  Was he still there a closing time, for instance?”

“No, no.  It was before then.  Between eight and nine, so far as I could gather.  He was talking to some lorry-drivers, so he may have got a lift with some of them.  No one saw him leave.  Why?”

“I’m interested.”

“You don’t suspect the fellow of . . .”

“I didn’t like him.”

“Nor did I.  But you surely don’t think he had anything to do with Penge’s death?  The police would have been round asking questions today if it was anything like that, I should have thought.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m glad to see the back of the fellow, anyway.”

“Would you be kind enough to ’phone me if he reappears?”

“I’ll do that.  But I hope I never set eyes on him again.”

“Don’t be too sure that you won’t.  Good night.”

❦

A Louse for the Hangman, Chapter Fourteen

A Louse for the Hangman

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Alone in his room Carolus felt no relief from the oppression and foreboding of the evening.  The great house seemed unnaturally still, but when he opened his window he saw it was a night of darkness and rain, though the wind seemed to have dropped.  He stayed at the window for some time, but could see very little of his surroundings, and the night was almost noiseless.

Anyone watching Carolus might have thought him what in one sense he was, a schoolmaster on holiday staying with an hospitable family and now going to bed after a rather tiring evening.  No one would have guessed that he had spent days in murky investigation into a baffling murder and found the truth, or that this was the eve of its revelation.  Tomorrow some human being would be shewn as a murderer, tomorrow the balloon would go up.  Yet Carolus stared into the darkness, then returned to his bedside with what appeared to be a calm, even a cheerful deliberation.

But sleep was impossible.  He picked up the book he had brought up from the library, Cousen’s Architectural Antiquities of Western India, and was soon back among the rock-cut shrines and monasteries, the bizarre and beautiful temples, the lavish and sensuous carving of a civilization which would make today’s look like a tawdry fair-ground.  He had the gift of leaving the present and returning to the past in more than imagination, in spirit and mind entirely.  He wanted to forget the people in the case he had been investigating, forget all he had observed of their behaviour and characters, forget the crime itself and the tension that had gripped them all tonight.  The hours began to pass, and Carolus scarcely left his contemplation of frescoes and carved pillars and dancing gods and conquered devils.

Midnight came and still the night was silent.  Carolus wondered whether he could sleep a little.  Then he heard a sound which, for effect, should have been that of a ghost, so sad and memorable a ghost would it have suggested.  It was the heart-breaking sound of a woman crying as she walked, crying with such abandonment that she did not care heard.  The passage was heavily carpeted, but her progress could be followed by the sound of her crying.  She came from the top of the stairs, passed the door of Carolus’s room and went out of earshot without opening a door.  Carolus looked at his watch.  It was half-past twelve.

Carolus did not return to the activities of Western India, but he did not sleep.  He lay on his back with his head in his hands staring at the ceiling.

That was why, perhaps, he heard the footsteps, for they could scarcely have awakened him.  His watch told him that it was exactly five to one.  The footsteps passed under his window: the jumbled footsteps of two walkers who are side by side but not in step.  They crunched on the gravel.  Whoever the passers-by might be, they were neither dawdling nor hurrying.

Carolus went to the window and looked down, but the night was too dark.  He could not even see anyone moving below.  There was only the sound of those footsteps on the wet gravel, fading away in the direction of the other wing of the house.

Carolus made no attempt to follow.  Indeed, it was with something that sounded like a sigh of relief that he settled at last in bed and extinguished his light.

Not a quarter of an hour later he was disturbed more peremptorily by a knock at his door.  Without hesitation he called, “Come in.”

Ronald entered.  He was fully dressed and looked confused and unhappy.

“May I speak to you for a minute?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know why I thought I had better tell you this.  I told you about . . . the other thing.  It somehow seemed this was something you ought to know.”

“What’s it about?”

“Lockyer.  He has disappeared.”

“You mean?”

“Well, gone.  Gone away.  But so suddenly that it’s odd.”

“When was this?”

“About a quarter of an hour ago.  He came to my room and said that he was going away for a few days.  His bags were all packed.”

“Did he say why?”

“No.  He seemed upset about something.  I asked him what was the matter, and he said, ‘Nothing’, but I could see there was.  He looked . . . I thought he looked scared.”

“How was he going?”

“He has a car.”

“Where does he keep it?”

“In the garage here.”

“Do you know if he has taken it?”

“Yes.  I can see the garages from my window, and I saw his lights as he drove away.  I doubt if you would hear it from here.”

“Does your father know?”

“I asked Lockyer that.  He said, ‘Of course’.  Then I asked him about my studies, and he looked at me as though he didn’t know what I was talking about.  Then he said, ‘Oh hell, just go on with everything’.  He seemed in an itch to get away.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Not a word.  I asked him, too.  He said, ‘Oh, just away’.  It is rather extraordinary, isn’t it?  This was after midnight.  Where could he be going at this time?”

“Perhaps,” said Carolus dubiously, “he spoke the truth to you.  He wasn’t being funny.  Perhaps he was just going away without any clear plan.”

“He usually never moves without a plan.  Besides, I think he did know where he was going and it was somewhere out my father was sending him, because just before he left he remembered that he hadn’t got ‘the key of the house’ and went back to Father for it.  ”

“That does look as though he had a destination in mind, I must say.  Anyway, thanks for telling me.  I think you ought to run along and get some sleep now.”

“All right, Mr. Deene,” said Ronald cheerfully.  “See you in the morning.”

At last Carolus slept.

He was awakened in the morning by Chilham with his morning tea.  It was eight o’clock, and there was some light in the room.

“His Lordship is absent, sir,” said Chilham.

Carolus sat up in bed.

“Absent?  What do you mean?  Out of his room?  Out of the house?”

“Out of the house, sir.  His bed has not been slept in.  His overcoat is missing.”

At that moment Eustace hurried in.

“Where’s my father?” he almost shouted at Carolus.  His hair was tumbled and he looked as though he had not slept.

“I understand from Chilham that he is out of the house.”

Carolus said this quietly, but with enough meaning to remind Eustace of what he had said last night.

Eustace stood still for a moment, staring at Carolus, then bolted from the room.

Chilham had remained there.

“Mr. Lockyer also is absent.”

“I knew that, Chilham.  He apparently went off in his car at about one o’clock.  Tell me, where is Piggott?”

“Piggott took the truck out unusually early this morning.  He has not yet returned.”

“Can you ’phone the farm from which she brings supplies, Chilham?”

“Yes.”

“Will you please do so once and let me know the results?  Ask what time Piggott called.”

Carolus began to dress rapidly, even sacrificing to speed one of the primary pleasures of his day, this morning bath.  When Jill returned, Carolus was fully carelessly dressed.

“A very extraordinary thing, sir.  Piggott has not called at the farm this morning.  He left here over an hour ago.”

“Has that ever happened before?”

“Never, sir.  There have been mornings when the family was away when he has not had to go over, or at any rate so early, but never once has he set out and not brought back the supplies.  It is most extraordinary.  Piggott is a very reliable man.”

“Lord Penge sacked him yesterday.”

Chilham gaped.

“Are you quite sure?  His Lordship thought a great deal of Piggott.”

“Piggott told me they had a violent scene and he was sacked.”

“Most surprising.  I scarcely know what to think about all this.  ”

“Tell me another thing, Chilham.  Has Lord Penge ever left the house like this without notice?”

“Not since I have been here, sir.”

“Will you get the valet to examine his clothes and things?  Let me know if anything is missing.  I have to run down to the lodge for a minute to make an inquiry.  Tell me when I come back.”

Carolus hurried across to the garage for his car, which Gribbley had put out in the yard.  He did not see the chauffeur as he drove away.  In a few minutes he was at Mrs. Carker’s door.

“Tell me,” he said before her volubility could be released, “did anyone drive out through these gates during the night.”

“Well, there it is, they’ve all got their keys of the gates, so I’m not to know one way or the other.  But I did happen to see Mr. Lockyer going off.  Somewhere around one o’clock I should say it was, though I didn’t look at the clock.”

“You saw Lockyer himself?”

“Yes.  I heard a car stop and just peeped out, if you know what I mean, to see who it might be.  He’d jumped out to open the gates with his headlights on, so I could see him as plain as if it was daylight.  When he’d gone through he came back and shut the gates and was off, as you might say.”

“You couldn’t see if there was anyone in the car with him, of course?”

“No.  Well, it wasn’t to be expected on a dark night like that.  What I mean to say, I could only see him because he was in his headlights.  Why, has anyone gone in the night?”

“Lord Penge is not in the house.”

“There!  Well, it never rains but it pours.  I wonder wherever he can have got to?  You don’t think anything can have happened to him, do you?”

“It’s not known yet.  What other cars passed through?”

“Nothing that I know of till that Piggott came driving down in the truck this morning.  I said to myself, ‘There, he’s early today,’ I said.  I don’t know of anyone else.”

“Is the West gate locked at night?”

“Yes, but they don’t have keys to that.  None of them.  The new lock’s only just been put on, with all this to-do about his Lordship, and only the police have the keys.  Even She hasn’t.”

The pronoun, which was spoken with a capital, could only refer, Carolus knew, to Mrs. Spotter.

Gribbley was in the garage-yard.

“Did you see Piggott this morning?” Carolus asked him.

“No.  I haven’t seen him to speak to since before dinner last night.  He went off early this morning.”

“He did not call at the farm, it appears.”

“So Chilham just told me.  I can’t understand it.  I know he was under a month’s notice, but he told me yesterday evening that he thought that would all blow over.  He doesn’t really want to leave here, and he said he thought Lord Penge would forget it after a few days.  They always got on well together before this happened.”

“Can you think of any possible explanation for his absence, Gribbley?”

“I can’t.  I’ve been trying to think.  If it had been anything out of the way he was certain to have told me.  I simply can’t understand it.  I thought it might be a breakdown, but I’ve just driven over to the farm to see.  Not a sign of him.”

“Lord Penge cannot drive a car?”

“No.”

“Are you quite sure of that?”

“Absolutely.  He didn’t know a gear-lever from a starting-handle.”

“You don’t think it’s possible that he just didn’t like driving and always left it to you?”

“No.  I should have known.  You can’t drive someone about the years without knowing that.”

“If you can think where Piggott might be let me know at once, will you?  For his own sake, I mean.”

“Yes.  All right.  I expect him back in minute, wherever he’s gone.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Carolus was met in the hall by Eustace, who was dressed now, but looked distraught.

“Mr. Deene, there’s something I must tell you at once.  Could you come with me?”

Carolus followed him to a door at the back of the house which was locked.  Eustace pulled a key from his pocket and as he inserted it Carolus saw that his hand trembled.

“The gun--room,” Eustace muttered.

The gun-room, like most things at Highcastle Manor, was a little too perfect.  The lines of sporting guns looked impressively clean.  There was a gap in the line towards which Eustace pointed.

“My father’s savage 30•30 is missing,” he said.

“How did you come to discover that?”

Eustace did not seem to like the question.

“I came to look.  I can’t treat this thing as lightly as you do.  I’m afraid something’s happened to my father.  I had a sort of presentiment.”

“This was the first place you came to, then?  You came here before making any search elsewhere?”

“Yes.  Ratchett was killed with a gun exactly similar to the one missing from here.  Mr. Deene, tell me frankly, do you think my father is dead?”

Carolus looked the young man squarely in the eyes.

“I think it is possible,” he said.  “I suggest any rate that you organize a search of the house, the outbuildings and the grounds.  More particularly the outbuildings and grounds.”

“You mean . . .”

“I think they should be searched.”

Eustace recovered a little and said, “I suppose the Detective Inspector will see to that.  He’s coming up at once.”

“He probably will.  There is no reason why you and the staff should not begin.  But of course it’s for you to decide.”

Going to the dining-room for a hurried cup of coffee, Carolus discovered the events had at last broken the resolve of the family to masticate their way through every crisis.  Only Ronald was at the table.

“I’m not awfully worried about my father,” he said to Carolus.  “I’m sure he went with Lockyer.  Its obvious, isn’t it?  That must have been the reason why Lockyer went off in a hurry—to take my father somewhere.”

This reminded Carolus of his request to Chilham, and he turned to the butler now and asked him to send Wilpey to him.

The valet, when he arrived, looked scared.

“Have you examined Lord Penge’s things?” asked Carolus.

“Yes, sir.  So far as I can see there’s nothing missing.  Only the clothes he was wearing last night and his overcoat and hat.”

“He was wearing a dinner-jacket.”

“Yes.  That’s what’s missing.  Nothing’s out of place in his room.  He surely wouldn’t have gone away wearing a dinner-jacket, would he?  I mean, without taking anything else with him?”

“Unless he meant to return at once.”

Carolus found Mrs. Murdoe waiting in the hall.

“Her Ladyship has just ’phoned,” she said.  “She is on her way back.”

“Why?”

“She ’phoned to say that she wasn’t really needed and she was coming home.”

“Did you tell her that Lord Penge was missing?”

“Yes.  She said she would come as soon as possible.”

“Did you know where she ’phoned from?”

“I presumed Godalming.  That’s where her niece lived.  That’s about sixty miles away, but Lady Penge drives rather fast.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Murdoe.  Has Hermione come down yet?”

“Yes.  I’m afraid she is terribly upset.  She’s in the morning-room, if you want to see her.”

“Not at present.”

When Inspector Scudd arrived he did as Carolus anticipated, organized an immediate and methodical search of the whole estate.  He entirely ignored Carolus, and Carolus himself quite understood this.  It was a moment of crisis for the man in charge of the case, and the mere presence of an amateur was annoying.  He had brought two men with him, and gave his instructions clearly.

But it was not one of Scudd’s men who found the body of Lord Penge, but Gribbley.  He saw it lying at the back of the garage in which Lockyer’s car and the farm-truck were kept.

Penge had been shot through the head at close quarters.  No weapon was in sight.  Within a few moments it was known throughout the household that he had been murdered.

❦