No Wind of Blame Read online

  ‘No,’ said Mary. ‘I mean, I don’t want to cry.’

  ‘It’s the shock,’ said Janet. ‘I expect you’re numbed. I know so well what you’re feeling, and if only you could break down and cry you’d be better!’

  It was clearly impossible to tell Janet that though shock might be present, grief was not, so Mary merely murmured something unintelligible, and tried not to look as uncomfortable as she felt.

  Janet gave her hand a squeeze that conveyed both sympathy and understanding, and stated: ‘You want me to tell you exactly what happened.’

  Mary agreed, and Janet at once launched into her story, decorating it with such a wealth of detail that the main thread was more than once in danger of being lost in the tangle. The information that Samuel Jones had been asked to tea to meet Wally brought a frown to Mary’s brow, and she interrupted to say: ‘Do you mean the man who owns the store in Fritton?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the man. Somehow I can’t like him, but he can’t be as bad as Alan says, because after all he’s a Town Councillor, and I mean to say, he wouldn’t be, would he? Oh dear, I can’t bear to think of it! You just don’t know how awful it was, all day, Mary! Because Alan quarrelled with Father at lunch, and rushed out of the house without finishing his pudding, simply because Mr Jones was coming to tea. And I made some scones, but of course we didn’t eat them, and a brand new kettle was ruined, and naturally I couldn’t replace it on a Sunday, and Florence had a dreadful time trying to make tea for breakfast in a saucepan, because I need hardly tell you, my dear, that I discovered that the other kettle had a hole in it, and she’d never told me! I’m afraid Father had to wait for his breakfast, and he particularly wanted it at a quarter to eight, so that he could be at the office early. And Alan never came home to supper last night, and when I asked him this morning what he’d been doing, he simply bit my head off ! So what with Father being cross, and Alan worse, I’ve had an awful time. And, you know, when one has seen Death for the first time, it does upset one, only neither Father nor Alan seem to realise what I’ve been through in the least!’

  She burst into tears, and Mary had considerable difficulty in soothing her. When she had at last succeeded, and had also managed to persuade her to go home by the garden-way, in order to escape any reporter who might be lurking by the front gates, she discovered that Robert Steel had arrived, and was waiting to speak to her before presenting himself to Ermyntrude.

  She took him at once into the library, and shut the door. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Robert,’ she said.

  ‘You told me last night,’ he replied. ‘That butler of yours heard what I said to you yesterday. I’ve already had a visit from the police.’

  ‘Robert, I’m awfully sorry! What I didn’t tell you yesterday, was that I’m afraid I rather gave it away too. When the Inspector asked me point-blank about it, I didn’t know what to say, and probably made it all sound much worse than it really was.’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ he said calmly. ‘I’m not making any secret of the fact that I’m damned glad Carter’s dead. But how I can be supposed to have had a hand in it I fail to see.’

  ‘Where were you when it happened?’

  ‘On the farm.’

  ‘Can you prove it? Was anyone with you?’

  ‘Old Jefferson was somewhere around. He wasn’t actually with me, but it doesn’t matter a tinker’s curse, anyway. I’m in no danger of being arrested.’

  ‘But, Robert, are you sure? Everyone knows how you feel about Aunt Ermy, and I’m positive the Inspector’s awfully suspicious.’

  ‘He can be as suspicious as he likes, but it’ll puzzle him to pin Carter’s murder on to me. How the devil am I supposed to have known that Carter would be on that bridge at five minutes to five? I didn’t even know he was going to tea at White’s place. Look here, I didn’t come here to discuss that: I want to know how Ermyntrude is.’

  ‘She’s all right. Did the Inspector seem satisfied?’

  ‘Can’t say; I didn’t ask him. Has that fellow gone yet?’

  ‘No,’ replied Mary, correctly guessing the identity of that fellow. ‘He isn’t going till all this has been cleared up.’

  ‘Do you mean the police have refused to let him go?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Aunt Ermy asked him if he would stay.’

  The muscles about his jaw seemed to harden. ‘I get it. Can I see Ermyntrude?’

  ‘Yes, I expect she’ll be very glad to see you,’ replied Mary. ‘Only, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t pick a quarrel with the Prince. We’ve got enough to contend with already.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool!’ said Steel shortly. He looked frowningly down at her. ‘What was this precious Prince doing when Carter was shot?’

  ‘He was at Dr Chester’s house.’

  ‘Seems to me the police might look into his movements before badgering me. I suppose the truth is that the case is beyond their capabilities.’

  This, though merely a remark occasioned by annoyance, was the conclusion Inspector Cook had rather despairingly reached. He had come away from Palings with enough evidence to make him feel hopeful of a speedy result to his investigations, but a quiet study of this evidence, coupled with several conflicting circumstances, had shaken his confidence.

  He was a zealous officer, and he had lost no time in interrogating Percy Baker. He guessed that Baker would leave Fritton on Sunday evening, or very early on Monday morning, since he worked at the larger, manufacturing town of Burntside, some twenty miles from Fritton; and he forwent his supper in order to catch this important witness.

  Miss Gladys Baker was easily located. She lived with her widowed mother, in one of the back streets of Fritton. When the Inspector arrived at the house, she, and her mother and brother, were sitting down to supper, in company with Mrs Baker’s lodger, an earnest young man who worked in Jones’s store. Mrs Baker opened the door to the Inspector, which was perhaps unfortunate, since she was a lady of extremely delicate sensibility, and the information that he wanted to see her son at once brought on her palpitations. However, when she had been supported into the kitchen, and left there in the care of her daughter and the lodger, Percy Baker took the Inspector into the front room, a neat apartment, smelling strongly of must, and decorated with red plush, aspidistras, and pampas grass, and asked him belligerently what he wanted.

  He was a good-looking young man, but rather spoiled by the pugnacious expression he habitually wore; and it soon became apparent to the Inspector that in his different way he was quite as dramatically inclined as Ermyntrude Carter. When asked what he had been doing that afternoon, he countered by demanding what his movements had got to do with the police; and when told never to mind about that, he plunged into a dark, and somewhat involved diatribe against the police, whom he called minions of the bourgeoisie. Finally, the Inspector managed to elicit from him the admission that he had been out on his motor bicycle.

  ‘Out on your motor-bike, were you? Take anyone with you?’

  Baker looked suspiciously at him. ‘What are you getting at?’

  ‘You answer my question, and never mind what I’m getting at. Come on, now! Took your young lady, I dare say, pillion-riding?’

  Baker sneered horribly at him. ‘I’ve got no time for young ladies. Think I’d get married, with the world the way it is? Marriage is for the rich, and a man who—’

  ‘All right, I don’t want to hear about that. Had you got anyone with you, or hadn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ said Baker sulkily.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  ‘You take it from me, my lad, it’s got a lot to do with me. What’s more, you’re doing yourself no good by refusing to answer my questions.’

  ‘Don’t think you can come here brow-beating me!’ said Baker