Mr. Zero

XXVII

When Algy left Gay in the drawing-room he went straight down to the stables and got out the Bentley, which had been consigned to a coach-house. He wondered whether anyone would stop him. Hardly, at this juncture-unless they were prepared to arrest him then and there. No, he fancied that they wouldn’t do that-not till the safe had been opened at any rate. His own feeling was that if he stayed in the house another minute he would find himself telling Gay just what he thought of her, or old Anstruther just what he thought of him, and he didn’t want to do either. He wanted to get on a straight road and let the Bentley out.

He emerged upon the lane, turned right-handed, and was aware of a plodding figure head, a figure in a dark blue suit and a bowler hat, not at all the figure of a man who walks for pleasure in the muddy lane. Algy recognized Sturrock the butler, wondered where he was off to, and then remembered that this was Sunday afternoon. It was probably Sturrock’s afternoon out, and the fact that his master had been shot last night was not, apparently, to interfere with his taking it. On an impulse Algy slowed down as he passed, opened the door on the butler’s side, and said,

“Like a lift, Sturrock?”

The man stood still. He had an egg-shaped face, pale and smoothly shaved. His manner was respectful as he said,

“I should be very much obliged, if it wouldn’t be troubling you, sir.”

His voice suggested that he served a house in mourning-a rich voice, with a kind of funeral hush upon it. Algy didn’t like it very much-or him. He was shortly, “No trouble at all-jump in,” and shut his own door again.

At any time in the past fifteen years it would have been impossible for Sturrock to jump. He climbed in at the back and closed the door noiselessly behind him. A man of weight, a man of dignity, a man who certainly would not walk for choice. Algy wondered where he was bound for, and said without turning round,

“Well, where can I drop you? Colebrook?”

“If you are not going any farther, sir.”

“Railing any good to you?”

“I shall be very grateful, sir. I was afraid I might have missed the bus, but I shall get one back all right. It’s my half day, and there seemed no reason why I should stay in. I mentioned it to the Inspector.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” said Algy.

Sturrock pursued the subject in an earnest, painstaking manner.

“The Inspector said it would be quite all right, sir. But I shall not be taking the full time. There is a bus at half past four-I thought of catching that. I shall be in the house again before five o’clock. I told the Inspector that such was my intention. I told him I shouldn’t feel comfortable about being out of the house for long-not in the circumstances. William has only been there a short time, and, as I said to the Inspector, if there was to be any emergency it would be beyond him, especially after last night.”

Algy was profoundly bored with Sturrock’s scruples. Railing was, mercifully, only four miles away. He dropped the butler in the market-place, and as he drove out of the square on the farther side, his driving mirror showed him a blue suit and bowler hat disappearing within the doors of the Hand and Flower. If the walls had been transparent, he would presently have seen them esconced within a telephone booth, the bowler hat a thought pushed back, the eyes beneath its brim intent, watchful, and aware.

Algy Somers got back to Cole Lester at half past four. Mr. Patterson, Sir Francis Colesborough’s solicitor, had arrived, and the business of opening the safe was going forward in the study behind closed doors. It fell therefore to Algy to receive Mr. Montagu Lushington when he arrived at about a quarter to five. He had Mr. Brewster with him, and explained that they were on their way back to town-“And I must say, Algy, that you have a singular knack of getting into the limelight. Why you must needs get yourself mixed up in a murder case at this juncture! Heaven knows there’s enough talk already. I’ll see Brook, but things will just have to take their course. Maud is staying on with her sister for a day or two, so I’m taking Brewster back with me. I hope Lady Colesborough won’t think we’re intruding. I suppose she is keeping to her room.”

Algy very nearly said, “Lady Colesborough doesn’t think,” but pulled himself up in time. It seemed rather difficult to find the right thing to say. If Brewster hadn’t been there, he could have talked freely to Monty, but there was Brewster, a little embarrassed, a little shocked, and obviously just a little thrilled at finding himself in the midst of a case which would be front page news in every paper in the country tomorrow, and actually shaking hands with the principal suspect.

Algy said he didn’t think Sylvia would come down. He supposed that someone would bring them some tea. They were in the drawing-room, and to the drawing-room upon the stroke of five tea was borne processionally by Sturrock and two attendant footmen. Algy thought the butler had cut his afternoon uncommon short. He ventured a “Got your bus all right, Sturrock,” and received a glance of dignified rebuke and a quiet “Yes, thank you, sir.”

Neither Gay nor Sylvia appeared, but presently Colonel Anstruther and Mr. Patterson came in, from which Algy deduced that the business of clearing the safe had been despatched. If he expected any information he was disappointed. Colonel Anstruther drank several cups of tea all scalding hot, and half emptied the sugar-basin without perceptibly sweetening his temper. He also partook of buttered toast, scone, and three slices of chocolate cake. These exertions left no room for conversation. He ate, he drank, he appeared to be on the point of saying “Tcha!” several times, and he regarded Mr. Brewster’s painstaking endeavours to make conversation with warm dislike. Mr. Patterson, who only drank hot water and refused food rather as if he suspected it of being poisoned, was quite as uncommunicative. Algy thought he had never seen an elderly gentleman in a worse temper.

Monty discoursed upon migratory birds, a perfectly safe subject in which no one took any interest except Cyril Brewster, who, like a dutiful acolyte, supplied at intervals such responses as “How wonderful!” and “Marvellous indeed!” Not one of those meals which lend gaiety to social life.

There was a moment when Mr. Patterson broke his ferocious silence to observe that the country was an unendurable place in winter and it passed his comprehension how any civilized man could endure it. “Barbarous-completely barbarous,” he said, and reverted to sipping hot water.

There was a moment when Mr. Brewster, in a desire to make harmless conversation, addressed himself with an air of diffidence to the company at large.

“It’s a pity that the evenings are still so dark. If it had been lighter, I should have been so much interested in seeing the grounds. There is a famous yew hedge, is there not?”

Colonel Anstruther brought out a most undoubted “Tcha!” Fellow was a secretary, wasn’t he? In his young days secretaries spoke when they were spoken to.

Algy gazed almost reverentially at the unconscious Cyril.

“There is certainly a yew hedge,” he murmured. “Oh, my only aunt!”

“You mean?” Mr. Brewster raised anxious eyebrows.

“Oh lord, yes, man! That’s where Colesborough was shot!”

“Indeed-I had no idea.” The embarrassed tone faded out.

Montagu Lushington went on talking about birds.

It was over at last. Colonel Anstruther and Mr. Patterson withdrew, presumably to the study. Mr. Lushington expressed a wish to see Mr. Brook, who presently appeared. Algy Somers and Cyril Brewster left the room.