Escapade

Chapter Thirty-one

Marsh and Meadows and I stood up.

“Thank you both so very much for joining us,” said Marsh. I do realize, of course, that my presence in your lovely home is a terrible imposition.”

“Got a job to do, haven’t you,” said Lord Bob. His color had come back and his face was florid again. Maybe the breakfast eggs had buffed it back to normal. Maybe the breakfast fish. Couldn't stomach it myself,” he said. “Prying, snooping about, tracking muck everywhere. But that’s the job, isn’t it. Duty. Responsibility.

Understand completely.”

He escorted Lady Purleigh to a high-back chair, held it while she sat. She was wearing black again, and looked as regal as she always looked. Her ash blond hair was swept above her ears and it glistened up there like a crown. She smiled at Lord Bob, then turned and smiled at us.

Lord Bob sat down in the chair beside hers. Marsh and

Meadows and I found our seats.

“Can’t stay for long, though,” said Lord Bob. “Either of us Services down in the village. Ten o’clock. Don’t usually go myself, of course. Opiate of the people, eh? And the vicar’s a nincompoop. Still, in the circumstances. Death in the family, et cetera. No choice, really.”

“No, of course not,” said Marsh. He turned to Lady Purleigh.

“Lady Purleigh, permit me to say how sorry I am for your loss. And I apologize to you, as I have to his lordship, for imposing myself at such a time. It is, I’m afraid, a necessary evil.”

“I do understand, Inspector. And I thank you.”

Marsh nodded. “And as perhaps, you know, honest plain words best pierce the heart of grief. Love’s Labour Lost.”

In the background, the servant glided discreetly around the room, picking up the breakfast dishes, marching them over to the cart in the corner with great care, as if they were the relics of a saint.

“Oh, Beaumont,” said Lord Bob. “Haven’t had a chance to congratulate you. Did a crackejack job on Merridale. Very cool. Know your onions, no question. Looked like an expert out there.” He leaned forward, narrowed his eyes. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever boxed professionally, eh?”

I nodded. “Before the War.”

He slapped his thigh and turned to Lady Purleigh. “Hear that, Alice? What’d I tell you?” He turned back to me, frowning. “Never mentioned that to Merridale, though, did you?”

“He never asked me,” I said.

He frowned again, unsatisfied. “Still. Fellow owes it to the other chap. Let him know these things.”

Lady Purleigh put her hand on her husband’s forearm. “It’s over now, Robert. It’s finished. And the boxing match wasn’t Mr. Beaumont’s idea. Sir David insisted.”

Lord Bob didn’t want to let it go. “Yes, well,” he grumbled. “Still.”

Lady Purleigh squeezed his arm, turned to Inspector Marsh. “You wished to ask us some questions, Inspector?”

Finished with the dishes, the servant wheeled the cart from the room.

“Yes, milady,” said Marsh. He turned to Lord Bob. And I assure you I shall ask them with alacrity, Lord Purleigh. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed. The Life and Death of King John.”

“Is it?” said Lord Bob, sitting back. “Take your word for it. Don’t read as much as I should. The occasional Punch. And Marx, of course.”

Marsh smiled a small swift smile. “Yes. Now, Lord Purleigh. Concerning the death of the Earl. Before the event, had he given you any reason to believe that he might be… despondent? Depressed?”

Lord Bob shrugged. “Well, he was mad, you know. And one never knows what a madman will do. Definition of madness, really, isn’t it?”

“Mad in what way?” asked Marsh.

“Still living in the nineteenth century. Sixteenth century, more like it. Complete reactionary. One solution for every problem. Flog ’em! Tenants behind on the rents, Flog ’em! Workers rallying, Flog ’em! Two million unemployed in this country, Inspector. And yet the bankers, the capitalists, done damn well off the War, haven’t they? Snatched the oil fields from the Arabs-Lawrence’s lot. Took over the Suez. German reparations pouring into the treasury.” He shook his head. “Damn criminal, you ask me.”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “But getting back to your father, Lord Purleigh. Had he changed recently, in your opinion? Had he evidenced-?”

“The old-’’Lord Bob glanced at me. “The old man wouldn’t change, Inspector. Couldn’t. Stuck in his ways. Made Mettemich look like a radical.”

“Thank you,” Marsh said. Sergeant Meadows made a note in his notebook.

“And what of you, Lady Purleigh?” said Marsh. “Had you perhaps detected any recent changes in the Earl?”

She shook her head. “No I hadn’t, Inspector. He seemed to me as vital as he’d always been.”

“So this came as a shock to you?”

“Utterly. I can’t think how it could have happened. Unless, as Robert suggests, it was some sort of tragic accident.”

“Oh?” Marsh turned to Lord Bob. “You believe your father’s death was accidental, Lord Purleigh?”

“Possibility, isn’t it,” said Lord Bob. “Been mulling things over, you know. Gives a man pause, something like this. Makes him think, eh?”

Marsh nodded soberly. “Certainly. What is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust? ”

“That sort of thing, yes. Try to be a bit less morbid, though, myself.”

“Yes, but tell me, Lord Purleigh. How might the death of your father have been an accident?”

“Easiest thing in the world,” said Lord Bob comfortably. “Say he sends one of the servants to fetch him the pistol. Wants to pot at pigeons. Place is crawling with ’em-told Beaumont that. Say he loads the gun, keeps it ready. No telling when they’ll show up, pigeons. Wily birds. Unpredictable. But say he spots one at the window. Suddenly, eh? Might get excited, mightn’t he? Might pull the trigger? Eh? And then, bang, Bob’s your uncle.”

Marsh nodded. “Pull the trigger while the gun was pointed, by happenstance, at his head.”

“Exactly. Getting on, you see. Past his prime.”

“But I understood from Mr. Beaumont that the bedroom window was closed at the time. If the Earl were of a mind to shoot at pigeons, wouldn’t he have opened it?”

“Ah. But he was mad as well, remember. To a madman, what’s a window or two, eh? Follow me?”

“Yes, of course. Had he ever shot at pigeons before? To your knowledge?”

Lord Bob shrugged. “First time for everything, though, isn’t there.”

“Yes. So there is.” Marsh nodded. “Thank you, Lord Purleigh. This is a possibility we shall certainly wish to consider.”

Sergeant Meadows wrote something in his notebook.

“Only a theory, mind,” said Lord Bob. “No proof, of course. And other possibilities exist. Incline toward suicide myself, though. Contradictions of Capitalism, Historical Necessity. Explained all that to Doyle and Beaumont.”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “Now about this pistol. The American Smith and Wesson. It was taken, I understand, from the collection in the Great Hall.”

“Yes.”

“The collection is yours?”

“The Earl’s. My father’s. Don’t much hold with guns myself. No shooting allowed at Maplewhite. Not since my father's accident. Fell from a horse, you know. Paralyzed. Years ago.”

“I see. Is it fair to say, your lordship, that anyone in the house would have had access to the weapons, and to the ammunition for them?”

Lord Bob shook his head. “Higgens-that’s the butler-hid all the ammunition yesterday afternoon. Locked it away. Doyle's suggestion. But the idea was Beaumont’s.” He turned to me, nodded once. “Credit where credit’s due.”

“Yes,” said Marsh, “but previous to that time. Anyone at all could have removed that pistol. Or the Winchester repeating rifle.”

“Beaumont told you about the rifle, did he?” He glanced at me, disapproving. “Still some question in my mind about that,” he told Marsh. “It being fired, I mean. But your chaps have it now. Honniwell took it.”

Marsh smiled. “Yes. And before he did, anyone at all could have removed it, or the pistol, at his leisure. Is that substantially correct, Lord Purleigh?”

“Could’ve done, I suppose. Have my doubts, though.”

“Thank you. Now, Lord Purleigh. You do understand, I hope, that in order for me to come to some glimmer of an understanding about your father’s death, I must determine, first of all, where everyone at Maplewhite was situated at precisely the time it occurred.”

“That right?” said Lord Bob. “As I say, not my line, police work. Makes perfect sense, though. How can I help?”

“My Lord, Mr. Beaumont has disclosed to me that all the guests, and Lady Purleigh, were present in the drawing room when the shot occurred. But evidently you were not. Might I ask where you were?”

Lord Bob nodded in agreement. “Got you. Good question. What time would that be, exactly?”

Marsh turned to me. “You said the valet heard the shot at a quarter past four?”

“Yeah.”

His eyebrows raised, Marsh turned expectantly to Lord Bob. Lord Bob frowned. “A quarter past four.” He thought for a moment and then he nodded. “Right. Got it. Just returning from MacGregor’s. The gamekeeper. Had an idea, you see. Told Doyle about it, and the others. Houdini, Beaumont. This Chin Soo chap, running loose, hot and bothered. Miffed at Houdini. Know about him, do you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what I thought, why not ask the tenants, keep an eye peeled, eh? Scout the area. If the sod’s anywhere nearby, they’ll flush him out, won’t they. Spoke with MacGregor about it, asked him to sniff up some volunteers.”

“But from what Mr. Beaumont tells me,” said Marsh, “you had at that point already agreed to alert the constabulary to Chin Soo’s presence.”

“Well, yes,” said Lord Bob. “But I wasn’t entirely sure that the local constabulary were up to it, you see. Nothing personal, mind. But better safe than sorry, eh? Spoke to my wife about it. She agreed.” He turned to Lady Purleigh and smiled. She smiled back.

He turned back to Marsh, pursed his lips. “Now. Where was I?”

“You were asking Mr. MacGregor to sniff up some volunteers.”

“Paght. He agreed. All arranged. I left. Just getting back here when Higgens came running after me. Couldn’t open the door to my father’s room, he said. Locked, Carson unhinged. A shot fired, he said. Went up there at a gallop, don’t mind telling you. You know the rest?”

“Yes,” said Marsh. “Thank you. And you were where, exactly, when Higgens found you?”

Lord Bob thought. “In the west wing. The hallway. On my way to the drawing room.”

“But that must have been,” said Marsh, “sometime after a quarter past four, mustn’t it? If Higgens were already aware that the shot had been fired?”

“Must’ve been, absolutely right. Higgens had already spoken with Carson, of course. So four-twenty, let s say, four twenty-five. Promised my wife I’d be back at four-thirty.”

Marsh nodded. Sergeant Meadows wrote something.

“Do you think, Lord Purleigh,” Marsh said, “that you could estimate the time of your arrival at Mr. MacGregor's, and the time of your departure?”

“Arrival? Three-thirty, thereabouts. Departure? Four o’clock, I’d say. Spent half an hour there. Chatting and what not.” He paused. “Sounds about right.”

“Thank you. Now. As to the other incident of yesterday. That mysterious rifle shot, out on the lawn. Have you any idea who might have been responsible for that?”

“But that was Chin Soo.” Lord Bob looked at me, puzzled. “We’d agreed on that, I thought.”

“I thought it was,” I said. “I don’t think so now.” I explained what I’d already explained to Inspector Marsh, what I’d explained earlier to Doyle. “So it makes more sense,” I said, “that whoever fired the rifle was someone who was already here at Maplewhite.”

“Rubbish,” said Lord Bob. “One of my guests, you mean? Rubbish. Why should the guests start potting at each other? This isn’t Afghanistan. No bloody Pathans on the guest list here.” He turned to Lady Purleigh. “Sorry, my darling.”

He turned to Marsh. “Not that I’ve anything against Pathans, mind. Resourceful chaps, I hear.”

Marsh gave him another quick smile. “Yes,” he said. “So. Given the assumption that the individual firing the rifle was not in fact Chin Soo, you have no idea who he may have been. Or at whom he may have been firing. Is that correct?”

“Not a clue,” said Lord Bob. He turned to me. “Where’s this bloody Chin Soo then? Sorry, my love. You saying it was all a false alarm? Eh? Made a compete arse of myself in front of the guests- sorry-babbling about some lunatic magician doesn’t even exist? That what you’re saying?”

“He exists,” I said. “But maybe not in the immediate vicinity.”

He stared at me. “That’s pretty thick, Beaumont. Sent the tenants out for nothing, did I? Made the poor devils go tromping through the forest for no reason at all?”

Lady Purleigh patted her husband’s forearm. “Robert. Mr. Beaumont was merely doing his job.”

“And he had to do it here, did he?” He scowled at me and crossed his legs. He put his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist and he looked away. Beneath the bushy white mustache, his mouth was as thin as a razor scar.

“Excuse me,” said Inspector Marsh. “Lady Purleigh. Returning for a moment to that rifle shot. Do you happen to recall where you might have been at the time it was fired?”

“Hang on,” said Lord Bob, turning to Marsh. His beetle eyebrows were lowered. “You’re not suggesting my wife fired the damn thing?”

“Certainly not. But as I told you, I must determine where everyone was situated at the time of the events in question.”

The beetles danced upward. “Wanted to know about my father’s death, you said.”

“And so I do.” Marsh smiled. “But a rifle was fired on the same day that the death occurred. This seems to me to be at the very least curious. I shouldn’t be doing my job properly, my Lord, if I didn’t make some attempt to account for it.”

“Hmph,” said Lord Bob. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again the other way. “Rum sort of job,” he said. He glanced from me to Marsh. “Both of you.”

“And perhaps,” added Marsh, “Lady Purleigh saw something at the time which might help us determine the individual responsible.”

“I’m afraid I shall disappoint you, then, Inspector,” said Lady Purleigh. “I saw nothing. Nothing that might help you, at any rate.

I was in the conservatory with Mrs. Blandings, the housekeeper, going over the arrangements for dinner. "We heard the shot, both of us-it was quite loud-and we crossed over to the window. It surprised me, the shot. As Robert has told you, shooting is no longer allowed here.”

Marsh nodded. “And what did you see, milady?”

“I saw Robert riding his motor bicycle toward the garden. Everyone else was still under the copper beech tree by the walk, gathered around one of the benches. I learned later, of course, that Miss Turner had fainted. And then one of the men began running down along the lawn, in the same direction Robert had gone, toward the rear of the garden. I recognized him as Mr. Beaumont. He disappeared into the woods as well, and I rang for some servants and asked them to run down to the copper beech. To make certain that no one had been hurt.”

Marsh asked her, “What did you think had happened?”

“I hadn’t the faintest idea, really. I did wonder about poachers, because of the shot. But they’ve never dared come so close to the house before. Even so, I was concerned.”

“I thank you, Lady Purleigh,” said Marsh. “And I thank you, Lord Purleigh. I think that should do us for the moment. I am most grateful for your help.”

Lord Bob looked surprised. “That it, then?”

“For the moment,” said Marsh. “I really must beg your forbearance, both of you. These things inevitably take longer than anyone would wish them to. But I assure you that I'll attempt to finish it as quickly as I can. And it will, I promise you, be finished. C ome what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day. Macbeth.”

“What about the others?” said Lord Bob. “The guests. They’re all roaming about, wondering what’s happening. You wanted to speak with them, did you?”

“Very much so, yes. I should be very grateful, Lord Purleigh, if you’d ask Miss Turner to join us for a few moments.”

“Miss Turner?” said Lord Bob. “Why Miss Turner?”

Marsh smiled. “No particular reason,” he said. “I select her entirely at random. So we profess ourselves to be slaves of chance, and flies of every wind that blows. The Winter’s Tale.”