Skinner’s round

Sixty-three

They guessed that the night bell must have rung in Mr Burton's bedroom, when the little butler appeared in the doorway, a minute or two after Skinner had pushed its button.

He wore an immaculate black silk dressing-gown tied, creaseless, over white pyjamas buttoned up to the neck. Even roused from bed at 1.50 a.m., his hair was neatly parted and combed. 'Yes?' he began, imperiously, then stood stiffly to attention as he recognised the two policemen outside the tall front door of Bracklands.

`Gentlemen? What may I do for you at this hour?' He moved aside, allowing them entrance to the great domed entrance hall.

`We'd be grateful,' said Skinner, 'if you could take us directly to Mr Morton's room.'

Mr Burton nodded. 'Certainly sir, but first shall I awaken the Marquis, or Lady Kinture?'

Skinner shook his head. 'No. I don't want anyone alerted at this stage. We have to check on something, that's all.'

For a few seconds, Mr Burton wrestled with the etiquette of the situation, until eventually, he nodded. 'Very well. If you believe there is no need to awaken them. Please follow me.' He led the way up the marble staircase which led to the upper floor, and towards the corridor to the right. He moved silently on black leather slippers until he reached the door of Morton's room.

He knocked softly, then waited. After perhaps twenty seconds, he knocked again, slightly louder. Still there was no answer. He put his hand on the doorknob, and looked up at Skinner for approval. 'Go ahead,' said the policeman, quietly. Mr Burton turned the handle, and, without looking into the room, opened the door and stood aside for the two visitors.

The bedroom was empty. The curtains were pulled shut, and a bedside lamp was switched on.

The bedspread was ruffled slightly as if someone had been sitting on it, beside the telephone, but otherwise the bed was undisturbed.

`Come in, please, Mr Burton,' said Skinner to the butler, who still stood in the corridor. The immaculate little man obeyed, closing the door behind him.

`When did you see Mr Morton last?'

Mr Burton put his hand to his chin and knitted his brows. At about two minutes past ten, sir, when he went out.'

`But wasn't he at the Murano dinner in North Berwick with the rest of them?'

`No sir. He informed Lord Kinture earlier in the evening that he had decided not to go.'

`Do you have any idea why?'

`No, sir. I do not believe he gave a reason. However he did have a telephone call, just before seven.'

`Who took the call?'

I did, sir. The caller, a gentleman, asked for Mr Morton by name, but would not give his. He said merely that it was a business call. I put the call through to Mr Morton's room.'

`Can you describe the caller's voice?'

`Not really, sir. It was a bad line, unusual in these days. It was a deep voice, but I could not determine the accent with any degree of certainty.'

`British, American?'

I could not say even that, sir.'

`Fair enough,' said Skinner. 'When Morton went out, what was he wearing?'

Mr Burton thought for a moment. 'A sports jacket, sir, grey slacks

…' The butler paused and his mouth curled with distaste, `… and golf shoes. I remember hearing their sound as he crossed the hall.'

`He didn't say where he was going?'

`No, sir.'

Did you hear him come back in?'

`No sir, I did not, but I was watching television in my room from that time on until Lord Kinture summoned me, upon the party's return from North Berwick, to say that he could see a fire on the course, and asked me to call the head greenkeeper, and the Brigade.'

Skinner nodded. 'After that, what happened?'

`Nothing, sir. Lord Kinture said that the fire seemed to be isolated. Probably vandals, he thought. He was annoyed, but he refused to allow it to spoil his evening. He said that he intended to set an example to the rest by retiring for the night in spite of it, and he suggested that his guests did the same.

`To my knowledge sir, everyone did.'

And after that, could Mr Morton have come in?'

`No, sir, not without my knowing of it. At that point I locked up for the night.'

OK.' Skinner glanced around the room. There was a notepad by the phone on the bedside table, with a faint scrawl on the top sheet. He picked it up looked at it and handed it to Martin. The Superintendent squinted at it through his green-tinted lenses, and read aloud.

'Witches' Hill. Ten-thirty.'

`That tears it, Andy.'

He turned back to the butler. 'Thank you, Mr Burton. We'll go for now, but I'll be back in the morning to see Lord Kinture. In the meantime I'd like you to keep our visit entirely to yourself.'

Mr Burton looked puzzled, but nodded. 'If that is your wish, sir.' He led them from the room, and back downstairs to the front door.

As he held it open for the two policemen to leave, he coughed quietly. 'Sir, if I may. Should Mr Morton, return, do you wish me to call you?'

Skinner grunted, grimly. 'I don't think that'll happen, Mr B. Cinders won't be back from this ball!'