Scandalous Behavior

8

Sir Charles pulled a silken cord at one side of the fireplace, then opened a cabinet to reveal a very nice bar. “Must have a brandy and soda after that drive,” he said.

Elsie appeared, and Charles ordered lunch, then he sat down by the fire and took a pull on his drink. “Good. Now, what’s the mystery in the meadow?” he asked.

“It appears that a neighbor of yours has met an untimely death,” Stone said, “and Deputy Inspector Holmes is investigating.”

“What neighbor?” Charles asked.

“Sir Richard Curtis,” Holmes replied, watching Charles carefully.

“Good God!” Charles said. He took another swig of his drink and set it on a side table. “Why would anyone harm Richard?”

“That is the subject of our investigation,” Holmes replied, “that and who.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not yet. We’ve interviewed your staff, one by one, and they all appear to have no involvement.”

“I should think not,” Charles said.

“Sir Charles, have you just arrived from London?”

“I have.”

“When did you leave this house yesterday for London?”

“Late in the day — I wanted to avoid the rush-hour traffic in London, so I timed it to arrive around seven.”

“And where did you go?”

“I keep a flat in London. I went there and made myself some dinner.”

“Were you alone?”

“I was. I read for a while, then went to bed. I had a meeting at nine this morning with Mr. Barrington.”

“Did anyone see you when you arrived at your flat?”

“Not that I’m aware of. I have a semi-detached, half a house. The people next door are away on the Continent, I believe.”

“Where did you park your car?”

“In the garage in the house.”

“And did you drive to your meeting this morning?”

“No, I legged it. It’s only ten minutes on foot. Inspector, I’ve watched enough television to know that you are trying to prove either my guilt or my innocence.”

“Quite.”

“I am innocent of any involvement in Richard’s death.”

“I’m glad to hear it. How long did you know Sir Richard?”

“Since first form at school. We were neighbors then, too. We were also at Eton together. After that he went to Cambridge, I to Oxford.”

“So you grew apart then?”

“Oh, no, we remained friends for our... his whole life. Have you a suspect?”

“Not as such.”

“But you have some idea.”

“Some. I can’t discuss it further at this time.”

Charles downed the remainder of his drink and made himself another. “Anybody else?” he inquired. Heads were shaken, and he sat down again. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “Richard was in perfect health, he was supposed to outlive me.”

“Are you unwell, Sir Charles?”

“Very much so,” Charles replied. “I’ve got a few months, if I’m unlucky.”

“Unlucky?”

“I’d rather fall off the twig before getting sicker,” he said.

“I understand.”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Is Sir Richard married?”

“For more than fifty years. They met at Cambridge. Glynnis is healthy as a horse. I’d better go see her at once,” he said, standing. “Have you anything else to ask me?”

“I believe your wife died some years ago.”

“That is correct.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“A woman, you mean? I’m marrying one on Sunday.”

Stone was surprised. “Congratulations, Charles.”

“Thank you. That’s the real reason for the party. It’s not my birthday quite yet. Her name is Elizabeth Bowen. She’s a solicitor in the village. I thought we’d surprise everybody, then bugger off to Paris for a few days.”

“I congratulate you, as well, Sir Charles,” Holmes said. “And I have no further questions for you at this time. Perhaps we’ll talk again before Monday.”

“I have one for you, Inspector. How was Richard killed?”

“With a knife,” Holmes replied. “A rather large one, apparently. His head was half cut off.”

“Good God,” Charles said again, and sadly. “I’d better go and see Glynnis.”

“Will you dine with us this evening, Charles?” Stone asked.

“We’ve plans in the village, Stone, but thank you.” He left without anything further said.

“Sounds like someone took him from behind,” Stone said to Holmes. “Commando style.”

“Quite,” Holmes replied. “And we have four former Royal Marines within spitting distance, counting Sir Richard.”

“Major Bugg, then.”

“Yes, and Sir Charles, and Wilfred Burns.”

“Wilfred? Our hermit?”

“Quite. He grew up with Sir Charles and Sir Richard and was at Eton and Oxford. They were all serving senior officers during the Falklands War. Major Bugg was a subaltern in that one — he’s a good deal younger than they.” Holmes consulted his watch. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a corpse to clear off your meadow and a suspect to question.” He closed the door behind him.

“I love it,” Susan said.

“Love what?”

“Four Royal Marines, one of them dead, the others, suspects. And they all knew how to use a knife, didn’t they?”

“You have an evil mind.”

“I do, don’t I?” She stood up. “I think I’ll go have a nap before dinner.”

“Tell me,” Stone said, “where is the Lilac Room?”

“Never you mind,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek and left him alone in the library.

After a moment, Stone went to the desk and jotted off a note to Sir Charles, offering to fly him and Elizabeth Bowen to Paris the Monday after their wedding, and give them use of his home there during their honeymoon. He’d have to refuel between England and the Azores anyway, and the house was just sitting empty. After summoning Elsie and asking her to convey the note to Sir Charles, Stone headed upstairs.