No Wind of Blame

Chapter Thirteen

Alan White, never one to pay much heed to ther people's utterances, was not interested either in his sister's artless disclosure, or in Steel's obvious annoyance. He plucked at Vicky's sleeve, and said in a portentous undertone that he wanted to talk to her.

"Oh, not now!" Vicky replied, not looking at him but at the Inspector. "I can't think of anything but this afflictive murder!"

"Well, it's about that. I think you ought to know. I may say that I'm absolutely horrified!"

This was arresting enough to drag Vicky's attention from the Inspector. She bent an inquiring gaze upon Alan. "About Wally's murder?"

"In a way. I mean, it's something I've found out, only I can't tell you here."

Vicky saw that the Inspector had made himself known to Steel, and that both he and Steel had moved out of earshot. She said: "Well, all right, but let's go into the lounge, if there is one, only I must tell Hugh, because he thinks he's looking after me."

"I can't see what you can possibly have to say to Vicky!" exclaimed Janet, when Alan informed her that she would have to leave the King's Head without him.

"It's just as well that you can't," said Alan darkly.

"Oh, Alan, I do wish you wouldn't be so theatrical!" Janet said. "You know how Father hates it!"

"Father!" he said, with a crack of bitter laughter.

"Well, I'm sure I don't want to pry into any secrets. I've got some shopping to do anyway," said Janet.

Vicky found Hugh talking to his father in the hall of the hotel. He was not much impressed by the news that Alann had important tidings to disclose, for he held a poor opinion of that young gentleman, but he agreed to await the outcome of the interview.

"Because if he really has discovered a clue, or something, I shall immediately tell you," said Vicky. "And if it's anything incriminating about Robert, we must suppress it, because it will upset all my plans if he's arrested. Oh, I do think Janet is a calamitous female, don't you?"

"What was that she said?" asked Sir William, looking after Vicky's retreating form in some bewilderment. "Extraordinary girl! Times have certainly changed since I was a young man!"

Vicky, meanwhile, had led Alan into a leatherupholstered room leading out of the hall. It smelled of stale smoke, and was such a gloomy apartment that it was not surprising that no one ever sat in it. The discovery that the few weary flowers in a vase on the mantelpiece were made of paper pleased Vicky so much that she seemed to be in danger of forgetting the serious nature of Alan's business. He recalled her to it by saying in a sepulchral tone that he knew why Wally Carter had visited his father on Sunday.

This at once claimed Vicky's attention. "Alan, do you really? Tell me instantly!"

Alan, however, did not mean to be baulked of his dramatic effects. He said: "God knows what I've done to deserve such a father! If it weren't for Janet, of course, I'd sooner starve than live under his roof. I mean, when one has ideals '

"I know about them," interrupted Vicky. "Go on about your father!"

"I only heard of it in the most roundabout way," said Alan. "Though, I need hardly say I had my suspicions, and as a matter of fact I told Father that nothing would induce me to meet Samuel Jones. I'm afraid I let him have it from the shoulder, which shocked Janet, but you know how I feel about that kind of worn-out shibboleth, Vicky. Why one should be expected to respect a man simply because he happens to be one's father-'

"Oh, Alan, do get on!" begged Vicky. "Wally and your father had got a deal on, hadn't they?"

"Of course, if you already know about it."

"No, I don't, but Mary guessed it. And if you don't stop reciting this voluminous prologue, and tell me what you've discovered, I shall go into a screaming fit! Do be more congruous, Alan darling!"

"Well, you've heard about the new building scheme, haven't you?" said Alan, rather sulkily.

"Here, in Fritton? Yes, they're going to build a sort of ghastly garden-city all over Valley Reach, or something."

"That's just where you're wrong, because they're not going to build over Valley Reach at all. I happen to know the Council has chosen quite a different site. Mind you, it's absolutely secret so far!"

"Well, I don't care," said Vicky impatiently. "Is there any point to it? Because Hugh's waiting for me."

"The point is that that swine Jones is a member of the Council. Also, he's as thick as thieves with my father. Mind you, I can't actually swear to this, but from what I know of Father I don't think there's a doubt I'm right. Do you know Frith Field?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Well, a friend of mine, whose name I can't tell you, happens to know that that's the site they've chosen for the new building scheme. It isn't publicly known yet, but naturally Jones knows. And I happen to have discovered that Father's negotiating to buy some of the land!"

Vicky frowned. "Why? Oh, I see! I suppose it'll suddenly be much more valuable! How on earth did you find out about it?"

"Actually, through a chap I know who's Andrews's clerk. I dare say you don't know whom I mean, but Andrews is my boss's rival. Get it?"

"Well, not utterly," confessed Vicky.

"How was Father going to pay for that plot of land?" demanded Alan. "He had to borrow a hundred from Carter only a couple of months ago, so I'd just like to know where the price of this land is supposed to be coming from! Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff! Obviously he'd put the scheme up to Carter, and they were going into some kind of a partnership over it, Carter putting up the cash, and Father and Jones getting a fat rake-off for having let him in on it, I dare say."

"Oh!" said Vicky, digesting it. "I wouldn't wonder if you're right, only I don't immediately see that it's going to help. I rather hoped there was something frightfully tortuous on, which would bring on an utterly undreamed-of suspect, and solve everything."

"You don't seem to see how damnable it is!" said Alan. "It's absolutely disgusting, and when I think of my father going in for that kind of dirty work it makes me feel like cutting away from him altogether."

"Oh, is it dirty?" said Vicky innocently. "Would you mind frightfully if I told Hugh Dering? Because at the moment the police think Percy Baker was blackmailing Wally, and this seems to show that he wasn't at all. You don't know Percy, and I don't really feel I can explain him to you, but he's a garage-hand, and I do rather feel that it's bad luck on him to be suspected of something he didn't do."

"With me," said Alan grandly, "the State comes above every other tie. Naturally I shall confront Father with my suspicions, and if some unfortunate devil is being ruined through his filthy dealings I shall go to the police myself, and tell them all I know. Of course, it won't be very pleasant for me - in fact, it's practically crucifying myself but '

"Darling Alan, I should hate you to crucify yourself, besides it isn't in the least necessary, and I don't think it's the done-thing to sneak about your father to the police. So I shall just tell Hugh, and see what he thinks we ought to do about it."

"I don't see what it's got to do with him," said Alan discontentedly. "As a matter of fact, I haven't got much use for him. He's one of those hearty, old school-tie fellows who make me rather sick."

"Well, I dare say you make him feel a bit squeamish, if he's noticed you, which I rather doubt," retorted Vicky.

This unexpected championing of Hugh had the effect of putting Alan so much on his dignity that he needed no urging to go away, but said in an offended voice that it was obvious he was not wanted, and he only hoped that Vicky would not regret having succumbed to the glamour of an old Etonian tie.

So when Vicky joined Hugh at one of the little tables which were dotted about the hall of the hotel, she naturally had a good look at the tie he was wearing, and said in a tone of considerable astonishment: "Is that an old Etonian tie?"

"No," said Hugh, pulling forward a chair for her. "Sit down, and I'll give you a drink. What would you like?"

"I'll have a Side-car, please. Weren't you at Eton?"

"I was. Why?"

"Well, I wondered, because Alan said that was an old Etonian tie. I thought he must be wrong. What sort of a tie is it?"

Hugh had moved away to ring the bell for a waiter, but he turned at this, and regarded Vicky with a mixture of amusement and surprise. "It's just a tie. Did Alan take you aside to give you erroneous information about my neck-wear?"

"Oh no, that was merely by the way! Actually, he's found out a sordid story about Wally and his father, and fat Mr. Jones, which proves that Mary was right all along. So that ought to be a lesson to you not to be fusty and dusty again."

"What sort of a sordid story?" asked Hugh. "Do you mean that he really did ask your mother for that five hundred for some business deal?"

"Yes, I'm now definitely sure he did. I say, what's become of your father?"

"Gone to buy some tobacco."

A waiter came into the hall at that moment, and while Hugh gave his order, Vicky had time to take stock of her surroundings, and to discover that at the far end of the hall, in a dim inglenook by the empty fireplace, Robert Steel and Inspector Hemingway were seated in close conversation. As soon as the waiter had departed, she called Hugh's attention to this circumstance. "Oh, I do think Janet is a menace!" she said. "I don't want Robert to be the guilty man!"

"Don't be silly," replied Hugh calmly. "And don't forget, in your anxiety to provide your mother with a husband, that you would hardly want her to marry Carter's murderer. I suggest that you wait until he's been cleared of all suspicion before you start match-making. Are you going to tell me about Alan's revelations?"

"Yes, because I quite think it's time I told the police that Percy wasn't blackmailing Wally. Because, though he said he was the enemy of my class, he was rather pathetic in a way, and I don't at all mind clearing his fair name.

"A beautiful thought," said Hugh. "The only flaw being that if you dispose of the blackmailing charge you at once pin a motive on to him."

"Oh dear, how tiresome! Yes, I see. The police will think he did it for revenge. Now I don't know what to do!"

The waiter came back with two cocktails on a tray.

Hugh paid for them, and lifted his glass. "Here's to you, Vicky. Tell me the whole story."

"Well, I will, only I expect you'll cast a blight on it, and refuse to believe a word," said Vicky gloomily.

But when Hugh had heard the tale, he gratified Vicky by taking it quite seriously, and admitting that it seemed probable that he had been mistaken in his first disbelief in Mary's theory.

"Yes, but it isn't really in the least helpful," said Vicky. "Except that it shows Percy wasn't blackmailing Wally, and even that doesn't seem to be altogether a good thing."

"It doesn't help to explain the murder," said Hugh, "but I certainly think the police ought to be told about it - for what it's worth." He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that Steel and Hemingway had got up, and that Steel was moving towards the door. He caught the Inspector's eye, and made a sign to him.

Hemingway came across the hall. "Want me, sir?" he inquired.

"Yes, Miss Fanshawe's got something to tell you, which I think you ought to know. Sit down, won't you? What's yours?"

The Inspector declined refreshment, but turned an interested eye upon Vicky. "Now, is this going to be on the level?" he asked. "Because if it's just one of your variety turns, miss, there's nothing doing. I'm a busy man."

"Oh, it's absolutely on the level!" Vicky assured him. "And if you're busy trying to convict Mr. Steel, just because of what Miss White said, it's the most utter waste of time. I don't say she didn't ask him to tea on Sunday, because she probably did, but she talks so much that I don't suppose he was paying the least attention to her. No one ever does."

The Inspector made no reply to this, but as Vicky's was precisely the explanation which Steel had already given him, her words carried more weight than even she had expected.

He listened to Alan White's story, as recounted by Hugh, in attentive silence, remarking at the end that he was sorry he had never had the privilege of meeting Wally Carter. He did not seem inclined to comment further upon the story, so Vicky, who felt that it had fallen flat, said hopefully that it was probably the clue to the crime. But even this failed to draw the Inspector. He shook his head, and said that he wouldn't be at all surprised if she were right.

To his Sergeant, twenty minutes later, he said that the case had now reached a highly promising stage. Wake scratched his chin, and said: "It beats me why you should say that, sir. What I was thinking myself is that whichever way we turn there doesn't seem to be anything to grasp hold of. You keep thinking you're on to something, and though you can't say definitely that you're not, yet it don't seem to lead far enough, if you take my meaning."

"That's what I like about it," replied Hemingway cheerfully. "In my experience, once a case gets so tangled up that it's like the Hampton Court maze, it's a very good sign. Something's going to break. Now, I've just discovered two things which don't seem to me to help much, but I've got a very open kind of mind, and I'm prepared to find that they're a lot more important than I think. We've got to add Mr. Silent Steel to the list of suspects, my lad."

"How's that?" inquired the Sergeant. "Not but what we always have had an eye on him, haven't we?"

"We'll have two eyes on him now, because according to Miss White, that story of his about not knowing that Carter was going to the Dower House on Sunday won't hold water. It transpires that she asked him to tea when they came out of church, and her father put him off by saying he'd got Carter coming."

"Is that so!" exclaimed the Sergeant. "That doesn't look too good, I will say!"

"It doesn't, but it doesn't look too bad either. Steel's explanation being that Miss White was talking nineteen to the dozen all the time he was trying to have a word with a friend of his, and he didn't pay much heed to her. I'm bound to say I don't altogether disbelieve him."

The Sergeant thought it over. "She does talk," he admitted reluctantly. "What was the second thing you discovered, sir?"

"The second thing, if true, bears out friend Baker's story that he never had a notion of asking Carter for five hundred pounds. Jones, White, and Carter wanted it for their own nefarious doings. You certainly have to hand it to Carter: regular turn in himself!"

The Sergeant, when the story was told him, said severely that there was too much of that sort of thing going on, but he didn't see that it had much bearing on the case.

"Not at first glance," agreed Hemingway. "But if young Baker wasn't blackmailing Carter, then we've got to consider whether he shot him out of revenge, and if so, how he knew where to lay his hands on that rifle."

The Sergeant frowned. "It's my belief he's too much of a wind-bag."

"You may be right, and I'm not denying I don't fancy him much myself. The trouble is I've got something on the whole gang of them, and not enough to hang any one of them. You take the Prince: he's got no alibi; he fakes one, which naturally makes me very suspicious. At the same time, I'm not surprised he wasn't so keen on coming clean before he was forced to, supposing he didn't shoot Carter; and I wouldn't like to say that what he finally told us wasn't true. It might have been. In fact, it's quite plausible. Then there's Steel. He's in love with the widow, and it's common knowledge that he hated Carter, and got remarkably hot under the collar at the way he treated the fair Ermyntrude. He's not the sort of man I take to, and he's just about as anxious to make me think that the Prince did it as the Prince is to make me think he did it. After him, we have to consider the Glamour-girl."

"Miss Fanshawe? Why, she's only a kid, sir!"

"Well, if she's a kid she's a shocking precocious one, that's all I have to say!" replied Hemingway. "She was in the shrubbery; she could have got the rifle any time she wanted; and she knew how to handle it."

"Pretty heavy gun for a little bit of a thing like her," objected the Sergeant.

"I wouldn't put it beyond her to fire it, not with that hair-trigger pull. If it had had a five-pound pull, which I'm told is the usual, she might have found it a bit too much for her. However, I don't fancy her any more than I fancy the other girl. If she did it, it was to do her mother a good turn, which I grant you would seem to me a lot too far-fetched, if she weren't such a caution. As it is, I wouldn't like to say what she'd take it into her head to do. But if the other girl did it, she did it for the reason that nine people out of ten would: money. She thought she'd come into Aunt Clara's fortune; and from what I can make out, it would have been sound sense to see to it that Carter didn't get the chance to splurge around with it first."

"She doesn't give me the impression of being that kind of a girl," said Wake.

"Nor me either, but that's not to say I'm right. Finally, we've got that young Bolshie, Baker. And I say finally, because he's the one I fancy least of all. I'm a psychologist."

"Are you ruling out the widow, sir? Seems to me she had as much cause to shoot Carter as anyone, and we've only got her word for it she was lying down in her room at the time."

"You go and take another look at her, my lad," recommended the Inspector. "If she or either of the girls did it, they had to jump across the stream. Well, if you see her doing that you've got more imagination than what I have."

Upon reflection the Sergeant apologised, and said that he had spoken without thinking. He added: "We've got to remember that funny business at the shoot on Saturday, haven't we?"

"You're right; we have. By all accounts, the Prince or Steel was responsible for that affair. Everyone seems to be agreed it couldn't have been the doctor, nor yet young Dering."

"Well, that puts it on to one of the other two," said the Sergeant. "The murder, I mean."

"Funny," mused Hemingway. "I was thinking just the opposite."

"Why, sir?"

"Psychology," replied Hemingway. "You're jumping to conclusions, and that's a very dangerous thing to do. I grant you it wouldn't be a bad way of getting rid of anyone, to stage an accident at a shoot. But to my way of thinking the man that misses his victim one day and has a second shot at him the next must be plain crazy. And no question of accident about the second shot, either! The more I look at this case, the more I feel I want someone who wasn't mixed up in Saturday's little affair."

"Yes, I see," said Wake slowly. "That's assuming the first affair was an accident. Gave the murderer the idea, so to speak, or at least made him feel it would be a good moment to bump off Carter, because we'd be bound to connect the two shootings."

"Yes, you speak for yourself!" said the Inspector tartly.

The Sergeant pondered a while, a frown creasing his brow. "You know, sir, I don't like it," he pronounced at last. "When I get to thinking about the people who are mixed up in the case, I can't but come to the conclusion there isn't one of them has what you could call a real motive. That Prince said he could have got Mrs. Carter to divorce Carter. I don't say he could, and I'm not forgetting what Miss Cliffe told us, that Mrs. Carter didn't hold with divorce; but the way he talked you could see he thought himself such a one with the ladies he could get them to do anything he wanted. Well, then there's Mr. Steel. Of course I'm not saying he mightn't have got all worked up to murder Carter, but what I ask myself is, why didn't he do it any time these last two years?"

"There's an answer to that one," interposed the Inspector. "If Steel did it, it was the Baker-business set him off. We know the widow pitched in a tale to him that made him see red."

"That's so," Wake admitted. "But would you say, from all we've been able to pick up, that it was the first time she'd complained to him about Carter?"

"I wouldn't, of course, but have you ever heard of the straw that broke the camel's back?"

"All right, sir: have it that it's Steel we're after. He's more likely than either of those two girls, to my mind."

"Yes, you've got a lot of old-fashioned ideas," said the Inspector. "They're a handicap to you."

"Well, what's in your mind, sir?" demanded Wake. "What are we going to do next?"

"You're going to do a bit of nosing around," replied Hemingway. "You can put young Jupp on to it, too. I've noticed he's got quite a gift for getting people to open their hearts to him. Reminds me of what I was at his age, except that he isn't as bright. Find out all you can about Carter. It strikes me he was the sort of chap that might have made a whole lot more enemies than we've yet seen. Meanwhile, I'm going to go into the question of this rifle, and who could have pinched it. I'll see you later."

When he reached Palings, the Inspector found that Dr Chester was with Ermyntrude, and that Vicky had not returned from Fritton. Mary received him, and upon his disclosing his errand to her, said frankly: "I've been thinking over that question, and going over in my mind who could have taken the rifle out of the case, and walked off with it. And I do think that I ought, in fairness, to tell you that when the Prince left for Dr Chester's house on Sunday, I saw him go, and he had nothing at all in his hands. Of course, I quite see that he might have taken the rifle earlier in the day, and hidden it somewhere on the way to the garage, but I don't honestly see when he got the chance. I mean, it would surely have been taking the most frightful risk to have removed it from the gun-room during the morning, with all the servants about, not to speak of ourselves."

"Can you remember, miss, when you last saw the rifle in the gun-case?"

"No, that's the trouble: I can't! I doubt if any of us could, because naturally we none of us have ever used Mr. Fanshawe's rifles. One just doesn't notice things one isn't interested in."

The Inspector nodded. "Well, casting your mind over young Baker's visits to the house, could he have had the opportunity to take the rifle?"

"No, I don't think so. Certainly not, when he called the second time. I wasn't here when he called earlier in the day, but could he have carried off a rifle on his motorcycle?"

"Not without its being noticed, he couldn't. I'm not setting much store by that first visit of his, I don't mind telling you, miss. Stands to reason he wouldn't have come up to the house again to see Mr. Carter if he'd already made up his mind to shoot him, and pinched the weapon he meant to use. The question is, could he have known that there were rifles in the house?"

Mary wrinkled her brow. "I shouldn't think so. According to Miss Fanshawe, he didn't even know that my cousin was married, so it doesn't look as though he could have had any knowledge of the house, does it?" She looked the Inspector in the eyes, "I could have taken the gun at any time; so could Miss Fanshawe. I shan't say we didn't, because you wouldn't believe me. But I can tell you one thing: Mr. Steel didn't take the gun when he was here on Sunday, because I saw him when he came out of the drawing-room, where he'd been talking to Mrs. Carter, and I was with him until he left the house, and drove off."

"For the sake of argument, miss, he could have come back while you were all at lunch, couldn't he?"

"I don't think so. Mrs. Carter had her lunch in the drawing-room, so that the butler was continually passing through the hall, to wait on her."

"No other way he could have got into the house than by the front-door?"

"Well, yes, he could have entered through the gardenhall, or the morning-room, or the library. They both have French windows. But he'd still have run the risk of walking into one of the servants."

"Then it boils down to this, miss: you can't think of anyone other than yourself or Miss Fanshawe who could have taken the rifle."

"Not on Sunday," Mary said. "And there's no point in going back farther than that, is there?"

"Have you got something in your mind, miss?" said Hemingway, watching her.

"No, not really. Only that I do know of one person who was in the gun-room on Saturday morning. But it isn't helpful, I'm afraid."

"You never know. Who was it, miss?"

"Mr. White. My cousin had lent him a shot-gun, and he brought it back on his way to work on Saturday. I didn't see him myself, but Mrs. Carter told me about it."

"Did Mr. White go into the gun-room, then?"

"Yes, he did."

"Alone, miss?"

"Yes. Mrs. Carter said she didn't see why she should bother to put the gun back in its place for him."

"And you don't know of anyone else who went to the gun-room?"

"No, but I quite see that almost anyone could have. The front-door is always open during the summer, and any number of people must know that Mrs. Carter kept all her first husband's rifles." She turned, for the morning-room door had opened, and Dr Chester had come out into the hall.

Chester glanced from her to Hemingway. "Good morning, Inspector," he said. "I hope you haven't come to upset my patient again?"

"Oh no, I don't think so, sir!" replied Hemingway. "Very sorry Mrs. Carter was upset yesterday, but if you don't mind my saying so, you'd better speak to Miss Fanshawe about that. That was her little show, not mine. Any objection to my seeing Mrs. Carter?"

"No," Chester said, re-opening the morning-room door. "None at all."

The Inspector passed into the room. Chester shut the door behind him, and looked across at Mary with the enigmatical expression in his eyes which always made her feel that he saw a great deal more than one wanted him to. "Tired, Mary?"

She smiled, but with an effort. "A little. Rather bothered. How do you find Aunt Ermy?"

"She'll be all right. Nothing for you to worry about."

"I thought last night she was going to have a thorough breakdown. It's absurd, Maurice, but she's worrying herself sick over Vicky."

"Yes. I've assured her that there's no need. I'd like to have a word with that young lady."

"You can't; she's gone to the Inquest, with Hugh." Again he looked at her in that considering way of his.

"Has she, indeed? Why?"

"Oh, heaven knows! In search of a thrill, I dare say. She will have it that she's closely concerned. She'll probably treat us all to another act - Innocent girl suspected of Murder, or Mystery Woman, or something of that nature. I'm sorry to say Hugh rather encourages her. I suppose I must be lacking in a sense of humour, for I don't find it amusing."

"No, nor I. Especially when she saddles me with Ermyntrude's exalted foreign guests," said Chester dryly.

"I feel terribly remorseful about that," confessed Mary. "Only you were so like the god in the car, that I jumped at your offer."

He smiled. "It's all right, my dear."

"Is he a frightful scourge to you?"

"Oh no! I don't see much of him. He had some idea of coming round to explain himself to Ermyntrude, but I headed him off. I trust that the police will soon arrive at some conclusion about him."

She could not help laughing. "Maurice, you've no idea how cold-blooded that sounds! Between ourselves, do you think he did it?"

"I've no idea," he replied shortly.

"I can't make up my mind about it. Somehow, it doesn't seem possible that any one of the people suspected can have done such a thing."

"Nevertheless, it's obvious that one of them must have."

"Couldn't it have been someone quite different? Perhaps someone we don't even know about?"

"My dear, I'm not a detective. It doesn't seem very likely to me."

,It sounds ridiculous, but I do rather wish you hadn't been out on a case at the time. I feel you might have been more use than Dr Hinchcliffe."

"Rubbish! Your cousin was dead before Hinchcliffe got there."

"I didn't mean that. Something might have struck you. You're much cleverer than Dr Hinchcliffe. Everyone says so."

"Very gratifying, but if you're imagining that I could have done anything more than he did, you're quite wrong, Mary."

They were interrupted at this moment by Ermyntrude, who bounced out of the morning-room, with Inspector Hemingway on her heels. "Oh, there you are, love!" she exclaimed. "Look, Mary, isn't it a fact that Harold White was in the gun-room on Saturday, all by himself?"

"Yes, I've already told the Inspector so."

"And what's more hadn't Wally lent him a hundred pounds, which he hadn't paid back?"

"I don't know how much it was, but certainly Wally did '

"Well, I do know, because I've been through the counterfoils of Wally's old cheque-books," said Ermyntrude. "It's as plain as a pikestaff he walked off with that rifle. I always said he was at the bottom of it!"

"Yes, I know," said Mary patiently, "but you're forgetting that Mr. White can't possibly have had anything to do with it, Aunt Ermy."

"Oh, don't talk to me!" said Ermyntrude, brushing this trifling objection aside. "If he didn't actually do it himself, I dare say he got Alan to. Yes, and now I come to think of it, what was Alan doing when Wally was shot? All we've been told is that he was out. Out where, that's what I should like to know?"

"But, Aunt, why on earth should Alan shoot Wally? It isn't even as though he's on good terms with his father!"

"I'm sure I don't know, but I've always hated those Whites, and don't anyone tell me that my instinct's wrong, because a woman's instinct never lies!"

She threw a challenging glance at the Inspector, who replied promptly that he wouldn't dream of telling her anything of the sort. "At the same time," he added, "if the story your daughter's got hold of is true, madam, I'm bound to say Mr. White should be the last person in the world to want Mr. Carter dead."

"What's this about my daughter?" demanded Ermyntrude. "Have you been persecuting her again with your wicked, false suspicions?"

"Aunt Ermy!" began Mary in an imploring tone.

"Don't Aunt Ermy me!" snapped Ermyntrude. "No one's going to badger my girl, so understand that, once and for all. Over my dead body you may, but not while I'm alive to protect her!"

The Inspector was not in the least ruffled by this unjust attack. He said cordially: "And I'm sure I don't blame you! But as for my badgering her, she's more likely to get me running round in circles, from all I've seen of her. Of course, it's easy to see where she gets her spirit from. Same place as where she got her looks if you'll pardon my saying so, madam."

Ermyntrude was naturally a little mollified by this speech, but she said sternly: "Well, what business had you with her today?"

"I hadn't," replied the Inspector. "It was she who had business with me, and since you're bound to hear about it from her, I don't mind telling you that she thinks she's discovered the reason why your husband went to see Mr. White on Sunday."

"She has?" Mary exclaimed. "Are you sure she wasn't well, pulling your leg?"

"I wouldn't be sure, only that Mr. Dering was there, fairly egging her on to tell me all," replied Hemingway candidly.

"Oh! Was I right, then? Had my cousin got some deal on with White and Jones?"

"According to Miss Fanshawe, he had. Which, if true, doesn't make it look as though he'd have shot your husband, now does it, madam?"

Mary pushed back a lock of hair from her brow. "But surely there isn't any question of that?" she said. "I understood that he wasn't even in sight of the bridge when my cousin was shot! He couldn't have had anything to do with it!"

"As a matter of fact, he couldn't," admitted the Inspector. "However, I'm not one to set myself up against a woman's instinct. Broad-minded, that's what I am."

Ermyntrude looked suspiciously at him, but he met her gaze so unblushingly that she decided that he was not being sarcastic at her expense. "I don't know anything about where he was standing when Wally was shot," she said. "Ten to one, it's a pack of lies, for though I've nothing against the girl I wouldn't trust Janet White further than I could see her, while as for Sam Jones, if ever there was a wrong'un, he's one! All I do know is that White brought my poor first husband's shot-gun back on Saturday morning, and what's more no one went with him into the gun-room! I'm sure I don't know who else had as good an opportunity to make off with that rifle, unless it was that young man that came blackmailing Wally. I suppose you aren't going to accuse the Bawtrys or the Derings of having stolen it!"

"But, Aunt Ermy, they aren't the only people who could have taken it! There's all Sunday to be reckoned with, remember."

"The only people we had here on Sunday were Bob Steel and you, Maurice. And if you're going to tell me Bob took the gun you can spare your breath, for it's a lie." She broke off, frowning, and then said triumphantly: "Now I come to think of it, didn't Alan White come over on Sunday morning to play tennis? There you are, then! Not but what I still say it was White himself took the rifle, and nothing will ever make me alter my opinion."

The Inspector regarded her with visible awe. At that moment Peake came into the hall from the servants' wing. Hemingway lifted an imperative finger. "Just you come here a minute, will you?" he said. "Did you happen to see Mr. White on Saturday morning, when he brought back the shot-gun he'd borrowed off Mr. Carter?"

"I did not see Mr. White arrive, Inspector."

"Did you see him at all, that's what I want to know?"

"I encountered Mr. White coming out of the gun-room. I was momentarily taken aback, but Mr. White explained that he had madam's leave to replace the gun."

"Did you notice whether he was carrying anything?"

"Yes, Inspector, Mr. White had his case in his hand."

"What case?" demanded the Inspector.

"That's right," corroborated Ermyntrude. "He brought the gun back in a case of his own, and I said at the time it was just like my husband to lend the gun out of its case."

"An ordinary shot-gun case?" said the Inspector.

"No, a nasty, cheap-looking thing," replied Ermyntrude.

Peake coughed behind his hand. "If I might be allowed to explain to the Inspector, madam? Mr. White was carrying what is known as a hambone-case."

"He was, was he? Was he carrying anything else?"

"No, Inspector, nothing else."

"Did you see him out of the house?"

"Certainly I did," answered Peake, slighty affronted.

"All right, that's all." He waited until the butler had departed, and then said with all the air of one whose most cherished illusion has been shattered: "There, now, we shall have to give up thinking about White after all. Seems a pity, but there it is."

"I don't see why," said Ermyntrude. "Something tells me he did it!"

"Yes, but the trouble is that something tells m° that you can't get a three-foot rifle into a thirty-inch case," replied Hemingway. "It does seem a shame, doesn't it? But, there, that's a detective's life all over! Full of disappointments."