Duplicate Death Read online

  ‘Damn your eyes, how dare you speak to me like that?’ demanded Miss Guisborough furiously.

  ‘Yes, I thought it wouldn’t be long before we stopped being comrades,’ said Hemingway. ‘When I was a lot younger than what I am now, it was one of my jobs to move your sort along, and try to stop you spoiling everyone’s fun by chucking yourselves in front of leading horses, and a lot of other silly tricks of the same nature. Now, I’ve had a long day, and I’m not in the mood to listen to what they call stump-oratory. You go and fetch that brother of yours, and while I’m talking to him you can tell that crowd in there how to suck eggs! My old grandmother showed me the proper way before you were born!’

  Fortunately for the peace of the evening’s enter tainment one of Miss Guisborough’s guests came out of the studio at that moment. He had a pleasant face, but was otherwise distinguished only by his evident predilec tion for good tailors and barbers. He slid an arm round Miss Guisborough’s waist, and demanded to be told what was eating her.

  The Chief Inspector answered him. ‘It’s just this, sir! I want a word with Lord Guisborough! I’m Chief Inspector Hemingway, of the Criminal Investigation Department, and I shan’t, I hope, keep his lordship many minutes from his party!’

  The newcomer regarded him curiously, but said: ‘Fair enough! I’ll get him for you. Come on, Trixie! you walked off with the beer, you mindless wench!’

  He then swept his hostess back into the studio; and in a few moments Lord Guisborough came into the lobby, rocking a little on his heels, but with his eyes bright and intelligent still. ‘Hallo!’ he said. ‘Want me, Ch-chief Inspector?’

  ‘If you please, my lord!’

  Guisborough flung open the door into a small parlour. ‘All right, come in here! M’sister doesn’t like people to call me my lord. I don’t mind it m’self. Funny! Wouldn’t mind living at Guisborough, really. Can’t, of course. Let it to old Letty Guisborough. Cousin, or something. Stinks of money! Kenelm’s one of her pets. That shows you! Daresay she makes him an allowance, but she can’t give him the title! Dam’ funny, that!’ He stopped, seemed to make an effort to collect his slightly scattered wits, and said: ‘What do you want with me?’

  ‘I think you called on Mrs Haddington this afternoon, didn’t you, my lord?’

  ‘That’s right. What of it?’ said his lordship, rather belligerently.

  ‘I should like to know, my lord, what was the purpose of your visit.’ Hemingway saw Guisborough’s eyes fixed on his face, at once wary and suspicious, and added: ‘And what passed between you.’

  ‘What the hell’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘Your lordship may take it that it has a lot to do with me.’

  ‘Bloody cheek! Mrs Haddington didn’t like me taking her daughter out to dance last night, that’s all. Silly old trout!’

  ‘Was there any sort of a quarrel between you, my lord?’

  ‘Like hell there was! If you want to know, did I slam out of the house? Yes, I did! And if that’s a crime, it’s the first I’ve heard of it!’

  ‘At what time would that have been, my lord?’

  The wary look was deepening. ‘No idea! Why?’

  ‘Perhaps you can tell me, my lord, when it was that you entered the house?’

  A frown of intense concentration descended on Guisborough’s brow. After a moment for consideration, he replied: ‘About a quarter-to-six, I think.’

  ‘Was anyone else present when you arrived?’

  ‘Butterwick. Passed me on the stairs.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. And how long do you think you may have been with Mrs Haddington?’

  ‘You don’t think I kept my eye on the clock, do you? I don’t know.’

  ‘Where did you go when you left Charles Street, my lord?’ said Hemingway.

  ‘Came home.’

  ‘And when did you reach this house?’

  ‘Look here!’ demanded Guisborough. ‘What’s all this leading up to?’

  ‘If you’ll answer my question, my lord, perhaps I’ll answer yours.’

  ‘Damned if I will! I know you policemen! You’re trying to catch me out or something! Minions of aristocratic power, that’s what you are, the whole bloody lot of you! Upholding one law for the rich, and another –’

  ‘You’ve got that wrong, my lord,’ interrupted Hemingway tartly. ‘It was a Turncock, not the police, and not aristocratic power either!’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ said Guisborough, staring at him.

  ‘Dickens. He happens to be my favourite writer, that’s all!’

  ‘Dickens!’ exclaimed Guisborough, in accents of repulsion. ‘What do you suppose I care for him?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know, my lord, but that’s no reason to go about misquoting him!’ retorted Hemingway. ‘What’s more, there’s a time and a place for everything, and this isn’t either the one or the other for Dickens! What I asked you was, when did you get back to this house after you left Charles Street today?’

  Guisborough glared at him, but after a few moments he said sullenly: ‘God knows!’

  ‘I don’t doubt that, my lord. If you can’t remember perhaps Miss Guisborough can help me.’

  ‘Well, I shouldn’t think I was much more than half an hour with Mrs Haddington.’

  ‘Thank you. And when you left the house?’

  Guisborough passed a hand across his brow, sweeping back the loose lock of black hair that drooped over one eye. ‘What a moment to choose to come and ask me conundrums!’ he said fretfully. ‘Do you want me to remember the names of all the streets between here and Charles Street? Because I don’t!’

  ‘No, my lord, I don’t want that at all. Did you take a taxi, or had you your own car, perhaps?’

  ‘I suppose you think that just because I’ve got a title I’m one of the idle rich?’ said Guisborough jeeringly. ‘Well, you’re wrong! I walked!’

  ‘All the way?’

  ‘Yes, all the way! And if I didn’t happen to like walking I should have taken a ‘bus! If my – if anyone’s been telling you that the title makes any difference to me, it’s a damned lie!’

  At this moment the door opened to admit Trix Guisborough, who stood leaning against it, and demanded how much longer the Chief Inspector meant to keep her brother away from the party.

  ‘Just as little time as I need, miss – Comrade, I should say!’

  Guisborough jumped up from his chair. ‘Oh, do, for God’s sake drop that!’ he shouted. ‘You only do it to annoy me!’

  Correctly divining that this remark was addressed not to him, but to Miss Guisborough, Hemingway preserved a discreet silence.

  ‘Before you allowed yourself to be seduced by visions of power, and rank, it didn’t annoy you!’ Miss Guisborough retorted. ‘You’re a rotten renegade, Lance!’

  ‘Begging your pardon,’ intervened Hemingway, ‘can you help us, Miss Guisborough, to fix the time when your brother got back to this house this evening?’

  ‘This evening?’ She stared at him. ‘About half-past seven, more or less. Why?’

  Hemingway raised his brows at Guisborough. ‘Well, my lord?’

  ‘I daresay. I don’t know. I stopped to have one at a pub on the way.’

  ‘Which pub would that be, my lord?’

  ‘Hell, how should I know? Some place in the King’s Road!’

  ‘Fancy! What had the Ritz done to offend you?’ mocked his sister.

  ‘Oh, shut up!’

  Feeling that there was little to be gained by prolonging the interview, Hemingway closed his notebook, and picked up his hat. Guisborough’s fiery, dark eyes searched his face. ‘Why did you want to know? What’s happened?’ He paused. ‘Or is it a police mystery?’

  ‘Oh, no, my lord, there’s no mystery! You’ll very likely read all about it in tomorrow’s papers, so I’ve no objection to telling you that Mrs Haddington has been murdered.’

  Whatever Lord Guisborough’s reply to this may have been it was lost in the sudden crack