No Wind of Blame Read online

‘Yes, but the trouble is that something tells me 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.’

  Fourteen

  Since Ermyntrude was extremely loth to abandon what by this time amounted to a conviction that her bête noire had murdered Wally, the Inspector’s last remark annoyed her considerably. She said that to carp and to criticise and to raise niggling objections was men all over; and when the Inspector patiently asked her to explain how White could have packed a rifle into a case designed to carry, separately, the barrels and stock of a shot-gun, she replied that it was not her business to solve such problems, but rather his.

  The Inspector swallowed twice before he could trust himself to answer. ‘Well, if he did it, all I can say is that he must be a highly talented conjurer, which, if true, is a piece of very important information which has been concealed from me.’

  ‘Of course he’s not a conjurer!’ said Ermyntrude crossly. ‘And don’t think you can laugh at me, because I won’t put up with it!’

  At this point, Dr Chester intervened, saying with authority that Ermyntrude had talked enough, and must on no account allow herself to become agitated. He ordered her to rest quietly until luncheon was served, and, at a sign from him, Mary coaxed her to retire to the sofa in the drawing-room.

  The Inspector threw Chester a look of gratitude, and said, when Mary had taken Ermyntrude away: ‘It beats me how you medical gentlemen get away with it, sir! If I’d so much as hinted to her that what she wanted was to cool-off, she’d have turned me out of the house, or had a fit of hysterics, which would have come to the same thing.’

  ‘You’re not her doctor, Inspector,’ answered Chester with a faint smile. ‘You mustn’t forget that I’ve attended Mrs Carter for many years.’

  ‘Know her very well, I dare say?’

  ‘A doctor always knows his patients well.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not talking about her bronchial tubes,’ said the Inspector. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not over and above fond of people’s insides. Not that I’m squeamish, mind you, but once you start thinking about how many yards of intestines, and I don’t know what besides, you’ve got, it’s enough to give you the horrors. Was Mr Carter a patient of yours too?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t often have occasion to call me in on his own account.’

  ‘Still, you probably knew him pretty well, I dare say?’

  ‘Fairly. If you want to know whether he was an intimate friend of mine, no: he wasn’t.’

  The Inspector’s penetrating gaze held a question. ‘I take it you didn’t like him any more than anyone else seems to have done?’

  ‘No, I didn’t like him much,’ Chester replied calmly. ‘He was a tiresome sort of a man – no moral sense whatsoever, and as weak as water.’

  ‘Did it surprise you, when you heard he’d been shot, sir?’

  ‘Naturally it did.’

  ‘You didn’t know of anybody who might have wanted him out of the way?’

  ‘Certainly not. I know of many people who have thought for years that it was a pity Mrs Carter ever married him, of course.’

  His tone was uncommunicative. The Inspector said: ‘It’s a funny thing, doctor, but I get the impression that you’re not being as open with me as I’d like.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can tell you,’ Chester answered. ‘I wasn’t in Carter’s confidence.’

  He turned to pick up his attaché-case from the table, but before he could leave the house, Vicky had entered it, with Hugh Dering behind her.

  ‘Oh, hallo!’ Vicky said, mildly surprised to see the Inspector. ‘Hallo, Maurice! How’s Ermyntrude?’

  ‘Not very well. You ought to know that,’ Chester said, rather sternly.

  ‘Poor sweet, I’m afraid she won’t be until this is all over. Why didn’t you come to the Inquest? I quite thought you’d be there, though as a matter of fact it turned out to be frightfully stagnant.’

  ‘I couldn’t see that it concerned me,’ replied Chester. He nodded to the Inspector, told Vicky briefly not to agitate her mother, and left the house.

  ‘But why is Maurice so curt and unloving?’ wondered Vicky. ‘Did you annoy him, Inspector? And, I say, what are you doing here? Or can’t you tell me?’

  ‘Oh, there’s no secret about what I’m doing,’ responded Hemingway. ‘I’m trying to discover who could have taken that rifle out of the house, and not getting much help either.’

  ‘I’ll help you!’ offered Vicky. ‘Practically anyone could, I should think.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a lot of use,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Well, I could have,’ she suggested. ‘Easily! The only thing is that I’ve never shot with it, so I shouldn’t think I’d have managed to kill my stepfather.’

  ‘Tell me this, miss!’ said the Inspector suddenly. ‘When you heard that shot, just exactly where were you?’

  ‘Oh, I was round the bend in the stream! And I didn’t hear or see anyone, and my dog didn’t bark, or cock his ears, or anything, and have I got to say it all over again?’

  ‘Didn’t you think it was a bit odd, anyone shooting in the shrubbery?’

  ‘No, because actually I didn’t think about it. You often hear shots in the country, you know, and it might easily have been Mr White, or someone, shooting a rabbit.’

  ‘You weren’t within sight of the bridge?’

  ‘No, round the bend. I told you. And then I wandered up one of the paths, climbing the hill, and it wasn’t till I heard Janet crying, that it dawned on me that something had gone wrong. But why on earth you worry about me when you’ve got the Prince right under your nose, absolutely asking to be arrested, I can’t imagine. He could have taken the rifle as easily as I could.’

  ‘Not on Sunday afternoon,’ said Mary, who had just come out of the drawing-room.

  ‘Darling Mary, are you trying to send me to the gallows?’ asked Vicky reproachfully.

  ‘Of course I’m not, but one must be fair, and I saw the Prince leave the house on Sunday afternoon.’

  ‘If he did it,’ said Vicky, ‘he’d laid his plans long before Sunday. Probably on Saturday.’

  ‘Did he go into the gun-room on Saturday?’ asked Hugh.

  ‘Yes, of course he did. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he took the rifle at dead of night, and hid it somewhere. In fact, it would be a good thing to assume that he did, and then work it out from that point.’

  ‘If you don’t mind my putting in a word, miss, before you take the gentleman’s character clean away,’ said the Inspector mildly, ‘I would like to point out that according to all the evidence I’ve heard so far, Mr White didn’t invite your stepfather until Sunday morning.’

  ‘Oh well, we can easily get round that!’ replied Vicky. ‘I expect Alexis just hid the rifle in case it should come in handy. After all, my stepfather was bound to go out for a stroll sometime or other, and I do definitely feel that Alexis is a very thoughtful person and would have had everything ready just on the off-chance.’

  This was too much, even for the Inspector, and he looked round for his hat. Mary said: ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk in that irresponsible way, Vicky! It’s absolutely actionable!’

  ‘Oh, is it? Could I be had up for libel, or something?’ asked Vicky, her eyes brightening.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ said Hugh, addressing Mary. ‘No, Vicky, no! Don’t start seeing yourself in the witness-box, causing strong jurymen to shed tears of pity for you!’

  ‘Yes, it strikes me that you’re just about as bad as she is, sir,’ said Hemingway severely, and left them.

  Mary found herself to be so much in agreement with this pronouncement, that instead of inviting Hug