The Gazebo

EIGHTEEN

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR FRANK Abbott was of the opinion that the Yard had got the dirty end of the stick again. You expected it when you were brought in on a country job, but as near in as Grove Hill you might with a bit of luck have hoped to be on the spot in time to get the first reactions of at least the principal suspect. What annoyed him most was that he would have been in time if the Chief, otherwise Chief Superintendent Lamb, had not delayed him over some inquiries as to the winding up of the case against the Callaghan gang, which could perfectly well have waited for a more convenient occasion. Added to which the Chief’s rather bulging brown eyes, sometimes irreverently compared with the smaller kind of peppermint bullseye, having discerned a certain impatience to be off with the old case and on with the new, he was treated to one of Lamb’s well known homilies on the duty of junior officers to behave themselves lowly and reverently to their betters, and to bear in mind the proverb that more haste made worse speed. Ensuing upon which, he arrived at No. 1 Belview Road about ten minutes after Nicholas Carey had made his dramatic entrance.

He had with him Detective Sergeant Hubbard, a young man whose ambition it was to mould himself in every way upon Inspector Abbott – this becoming so evident in the course of the case that the goaded Frank was driven to remark to Miss Silver that if there was going to be a second murder she wouldn’t have far to look for either the victim or the assassin. But all that lay in the future. He knew Detective Inspector Sharp, and had nothing but praise for what had been done up to date. When he had put him in possession of the facts as he knew them Sharp said,

‘It’s an odd story – a very odd story. Here’s a woman who is supposed to be an invalid, and she goes out not once but twice in the night to see if her daughter isn’t meeting a chap in the garden.’

‘They will do it.’

‘Well, there’s rather more to it in this case. This fellow Carey and Miss Graham were going together – oh, it must be the best part of seven years ago. He had a shocking old car, and I’ve seen them out in it myself. Everyone said they were engaged. Then about five years ago it was all off and he went abroad. The mother played up being an invalid – I don’t think there was much the matter with her, but she made the most of what there was. Selfish old woman by all accounts. Didn’t want her daughter to marry and worked her to the bone. A pretty clear case of slave-driving, if you ask me.’

‘You say she went out twice?’

‘If the daughter is telling the truth. She says she went out to meet Carey because her mother wouldn’t let him come to the house and he said if she didn’t come out, he was going to come in. He has the name of being a determined sort of chap. She says they were going to be married, and they wanted to discuss the arrangements. He had come back after five years, and I gather they were going to get on with it and not tell her mother until it was too late for her to do anything to stop them. There’s a sort of summerhouse at the top of the garden. That’s where they met, and that’s where Mrs Graham was murdered. Miss Graham says her mother came out and found them there and made a scene, but she sticks to it that she sent Carey away and took her mother in and put her to bed. If that is true, Mrs Graham must have gone out again. She may have thought Carey was still hanging about and wanted to make sure her daughter didn’t meet him. If it isn’t true and she only went out once, then she was killed when she surprised them, and they are both in it up to the neck. However it was, she was choked by a pair of strong hands and the scarf she was wearing twisted round her neck to make sure.’

‘Was the daughter alone in the house with her?’

‘She is as a rule – she was last night.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

Sharp pulled rather an odd kind of face.

‘Your Miss Silver arrived about half an hour ago, and Nicholas Carey walked in about ten minutes before you did. He banged past young Hammet who opened the door for him, and was in the drawing-room before anyone could stop him. I came up with him just in time to see the girl fling herself into his arms, and to hear her say, “Oh, Nicky, tell them you didn’t do it!”’

Frank Abbott whistled.

‘Well, that’s straight to the point at any rate. I suppose you didn’t leave them to put their heads together?’

‘What do you take me for? He’s in the dining-room – you had better come in and see him. Perhaps you had better look at Miss Graham’s statement first.’

Nicholas Carey was walking up and down with a good deal of vigour and impatience. He wanted to get on with making a statement, and he wanted to get back to Althea. She was looking all in, and what she wanted was a shoulder to cry on. What he wanted was to know what had been happening, and how it could possibly have happened. He stopped his pacing when the two police officers came in, and said abruptly:

‘What’s been going on here?’

Frank Abbott’s colourless eyebrows rose. He had the type of looks which lends itself without effort to an appearance of being supercilious. A long nose, a long pale face, fair hair slicked back into mirror smoothness, eyes of the palest shade of a bluish grey, a tall light figure, a certain elegance of dress, a certain fastidiousness as to detail, added up to something as unlike the popular idea of a police inspector as possible. He might have been any young man in any rather exclusive club. The light eyes focused themselves upon Nicholas in a daunting manner as he said,

‘Don’t you know?’

Nicholas had stopped pacing. He stood between the dining-table and the window, his face pale and frowning.

‘I heard that Mrs Graham was dead. I came to find out if it was true. Miss Graham and I are engaged. I asked you what has been happening. I’m still asking.’

Frank said without any expression at all,

‘Mrs Graham was murdered last night.’

Nicholas exclaimed, ‘Murdered!’

‘Some hours ago.’ He turned to Inspector Sharp. ‘Did the police surgeon hazard any guess as to the time?’

‘Somewhere round about midnight.’

Frank Abbott resumed.

‘Perhaps you can help us. What time was it when you left?’ Then, as everything in Nicholas tautened, ‘Oh, we know you were here – Miss Graham has been quite frank about that. By the way my name is Abbott – Detective Inspector Abbott from Scotland Yard. I have only just arrived, and I haven’t seen Miss Graham myself. I shall be interested to have your account of what happened. You had an appointment with her. How was it made?’

‘I telephoned. I said I would come round and see her at half past ten.’

‘Mrs Graham went to bed early?’

‘Yes – about nine.’

‘She did not welcome your visits?’

‘You might put it that way.’

‘Which is why you arranged to meet Miss Graham in the summerhouse at the top of the garden?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you kept this appointment?’

‘I did.’

Frank Abbott said,

‘Well, Mr Carey, are you going to tell us what happened after that? You are not obliged to do so of course. On the other hand, if you haven’t got anything to hide…’

‘I certainly haven’t got anything to hide.’

‘Then I think we might just as well sit down.’ He turned one of the chairs which stood in to the dining-table and sat down on it. Inspector Sharp followed his example.

Nicholas Carey jerked back the chair for himself. It went through his mind that it must be all of six years since he had broken bread in this house. Yet it was Allie’s house and always had been – an added irony! He took his seat and waited for one of the policemen to begin. It was the Scotland Yard man who led off.

‘Well, you got here at half past ten. Did you come into the house?’

‘No, I waited in the gazebo.’

The word rang a bell in Frank Abbott’s mind. His grandmother, the formidable Lady Evelyn Abbott, had possessed a gazebo in the old-fashioned garden at Deeping. It had been Abbott property for three hundred years, and it belonged now to his uncle, Colonel Abbott. The gazebo looked down a yew walk which Monica Abbott kept planted with lilies in their season. But Lady Evelyn’s money had gone past them to their daughter Cicely, the only one of her relations with whom she had not managed to quarrel. [see Eternity Ring]

All of which was ancient history and did not weigh on Frank at all. Only the gazebo came into his mind in a familiar manner and remained there.

Nicholas Carey went on with his statement.

‘Miss Graham met me as we had arranged, and we were discussing plans when Mrs Graham interrupted us.’

Frank Abbott said, ‘There was a scene?’

Nicholas looked darkly in front of him.

‘She made one. Miss Graham told her she would make herself ill, and I said I would come round and see her in the morning.’

‘Why?’

‘We were discussing arrangements about our marriage. Mrs Graham had put a stop to it five years ago, and she wanted to put a stop to it now.’

Curiously enough, at that moment Frank Abbott and Nicholas Carey entertained the same thought – on Frank’s side ‘He was a fool to say that’; on Nicholas’ side, ‘I suppose that was a stupid thing to say.’ He followed it up by going on aloud.

‘She wouldn’t listen, so Miss Graham told me I had better go away, and she took her mother back to the house.’

Frank’s cool gaze narrowed a little.

‘And then?’

‘I went.’

‘Straight back to – by the way, where are you living?’

‘I’m staying at Grove Hill House with Mr and Mrs Harrison.’

‘And you went back to Grove Hill House?’

‘No – I went for a walk.’

‘When did you return?’

‘I don’t know – pretty late. I was disturbed and I wanted to walk it off. I didn’t notice the time.’

‘I see. And this morning you heard that Mrs Graham was dead. Who told you?’

‘I went out directly after breakfast. We had planned to be married today. Miss Graham wanted a church wedding, and I had to see the parson – I thought I’d catch him before he got going. He used to be rather a friend of mine. I didn’t want to use the telephone. Well, he had had a call to someone who was ill, so I went back to Grove Hill House. Mrs Harrison said her daily maid had just come in to say Mrs Graham had died in the night.’

‘And who had told the daily maid?’

‘She said the milkman told her. I came round straight away.’

The questioning went on. In the end Nicholas Carey had said nothing that did not agree with the statement already made by Althea Graham. When he had signed his own statement they let him go.

As he walked into the drawing-room, Miss Silver emerged from it. She was still in her outdoor things – the black cloth coat with many years service behind it and the prospect of more to come, the black felt hat which was not her best but had been done up for the autumn with some of those ruchings of black and purple ribbon so unbecoming to elderly ladies but so constantly pressed upon them by the hat trade. The weather being mild, she was not wearing the archaic fur tippet, so warm, so cosy, which could be called upon to supplement the coat on colder days, but having regard to the changeable nature of the English climate, it reposed in the suit-case which had not yet been unpacked. She greeted Frank Abbott with the formality which she was always so careful to observe before strangers. In private she might, and did, address him as Frank and permit him the affectionate and familiar behaviour which she would have accorded to a relation, but in public there would be no lapse from the conventions. She said,

‘How do you do, Inspector Abbott?’ and received his entirely proper and respectful reply. After which, Inspector Sharp and the other local detective having departed, Frank took her into the dining-room and shut the door.

‘Well, ma’am?’ he said when they were seated. ‘And how did you get here, may I ask? The Chief will certainly suspect a lurking broomstick. Even I can’t help wondering how you beat us to it.’

Miss Silver smiled indulgently.

‘Miss Graham consulted me yesterday.’

‘And pray, what did she consult you about?’

She was silent for a moment. Then she said,

‘She tells me that she has made a statement. I suppose that you have seen it?’

He nodded.

‘Sharp showed it to me. What did she want to consult you about?’

‘Whether she would be justified in marrying against her mother’s wishes.’

‘And you said…’

She gave the slight cough with which she would sometimes introduce an important remark.

‘Considering the extremely selfish nature of those wishes and the fact that they had stood as a barrier between her and Mr Carey for the last seven years, I was of the opinion that a sufficient sacrifice had been made, and that they should now be disregarded. Mr Carey had secured a marriage licence. He was anxious that the marriage should take place immediately without consulting Mrs Graham any further. Since she has in the past invariably produced a heart attack whenever the subject came up, it seemed desirable to confront her with a fait accompli, and I was able to recommend a retired nurse who would be prepared to take over as her companion. It was therefore natural that Miss Graham should at once acquaint me with the present tragic development and ask me to come to her.’

Frank Abbott had taken up as easy a position as a dining-room chair allows. One long leg was crossed over the other, displaying an inch or two of discreet sock and the polish of a well-cut shoe. One of his very pale eyebrows lifted as he said,

‘Having gone to you in the first place, she would naturally call you in, but I should like to know how she came to go to you at all.’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘It is extremely simple. I was able to help a friend of hers some years ago. She talked about it, and about me. The other day I came down to a cocktail-party at the house of an old friend who lives at Grove Hill, and there I met Mrs Graham.’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’

‘She was the kind of woman who will talk to a stranger about her private affairs.’

He laughed.

‘People do talk to you, you know! What did the late Mrs Graham talk about?’

‘She talked about herself, and about an undesirable young man who was pestering her daughter, and about going away on a cruise in order to separate them. She pointed her daughter out to me and indicated Mr Carey as the undesirable young man. She appeared agitated at discovering that he was present and said that fortunately it had all come to nothing and he had been away, but that it really would be dreadful if it started all over again. Whilst Mrs Graham was speaking to me Miss Graham was making her way across the crowded room and out at the door. Mr Carey followed her. I was in a position to see this, but Mrs Graham was not. It was, I understand, their first meeting for five years. I saw them go, and I saw them return about half an hour later. It was perfectly plain that they had come to an understanding. Miss Graham looked as if she was in a dream. I was sitting on a sofa in a retired position. She came over to it and sat down. After a little while I spoke to her, mentioning her friend’s name and my own. We talked for a little, chiefly about some rather curious offers that were being made for the purchase of this house.’

‘Curious? In what way?’

‘In this way, Frank. The house was not up for sale, yet two would-be purchasers, each introduced by a different agent, had arrived with an order to view and were competing with offers which were proving a serious temptation to Mrs Graham. I gathered that what made this very awkward for Miss Graham was that the house is hers. From what I had seen of Mrs Graham I could imagine that she would find it convenient to forget this or any other fact which did not suit her. I really have very seldom encountered so self-centred a person. Miss Graham was quite restrained in what she said, but I discerned that the situation was weighing upon her. I was therefore not very much surprised when she rang me up and asked if she could come and see me. Now before we go any further, I should like to suggest an inquiry into the antecedents of these would-be purchasers.’

‘My dear ma’am!’

Her look reproved him.

‘I am sure I need not remind you that anything in the least abnormal should be investigated.’

‘Naturally. But I don’t quite see…’

‘The situation as regards the house was abnormal. You have to remember that it was not being offered for sale. Nevertheless two prospective buyers appear. They bid the property up to a price quite beyond its value. Then two things happen. One of them, Mr Worple, suddenly withdraws. Mrs Graham is murdered. The two events may have nothing to do with one another, or there may be some connexion. Even if remote, this would bear looking into. I have made a few notes on what little is known about Mr Blount and Mr Worple. I think that it would be wise to add to it.’

She passed over a neatly written sheet which contained no more about Mr Blount than his address and the fact that he was married to an invalid wife, but furnished particulars of Mr Worple’s previous connexion with Grove Hill and his relationship to Mr Martin of Martin and Steadman, the house-agents, who were, however, sponsoring, not him, but Mr Blount.

Frank put the sheet away in his pocket-book. He was not much interested in Mr Blount or Mr Worple, whose connexion with the case he regarded as hypothetical, and he was very much interested in Nicholas Carey. He said,

‘Suppose we get back to Carey. Mrs Graham described him as an undesirable young man. Any support for this point of view?’

‘I do not think so. He seems to have spent his holidays here with an aunt. Miss Graham had known him since she was a child. They were companions and friends before they fell in love. He is on the staff of the Janitor, and he has comfortable private means. He seems to have made every possible concession to Mrs Graham, even going to the length of suggesting that he and Althea should take over the top floor of this house, an arrangement which would certainly have proved unsatisfactory in the extreme. If Mrs Graham had had anything against his character she would, I feel sure, have produced it for my benefit. She was prepared to use any weapon to prevent her daughter from marrying. In the end the situation became too much for Mr Carey. Miss Graham was afraid to leave her mother. She feared a heart attack which might prove fatal. Mr Carey could no longer bear the strain. He has been abroad for the last five years, travelling in the wilds and supplying the Janitor with articles which have been a good deal talked about.’

‘He’s not “Rolling Stone”!’

‘I believe that is the name under which he writes.’

Frank whistled.

‘His stuff is good, there’s no doubt about that, but – he has certainly been in the wilds. The question is how much of their manners and customs might he have assimilated – enough to make him take an easy step over on to the wrong side of the law and choke an old woman who was standing between him and the girl he wanted? It’s quite a motive, you know.’

Miss Silver shook her head.

‘I do not think such a motive existed. Miss Graham had consented to marry him. The meeting last night was to arrange the details. They were, in fact, to have been married today.’

Frank Abbott’s eyes took on a bleak expression.

‘Were to have been,’ he said. ‘Do you suppose there was any chance that they would have been, after Mrs Graham had walked in on them and their arrangements? If heart attacks were her long suit, do you suppose she hadn’t got all the cards she wanted up her sleeve, or that she would have hesitated to play them? Motive? I should say Carey had a whale of a motive! And quite a lot of inhibitions could have disappeared after five years amongst people who probably hadn’t got any – at least not the sort that would prevent you from bumping off anyone who stood in your way.’

Miss Silver said with the mildness which did not for a moment deceive him,

‘If, my dear Frank, you are asking me to believe that Miss Graham stood by whilst a murderous attack was being made upon her mother, and that she afterwards made a completely false statement and was prepared to swear to it, I feel obliged to tell you that it would be completely out of her character, and that I am unable to entertain the idea for a moment.’