Death in the Stocks: Merely Murder Read online

  ‘Unmarried?’

  Giles sat down on the edge of the table. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me of what his immediate family consists?’

  ‘His half-brother and half-sister, that’s all.’ Giles took out a cigarette and tapped it on his case. ‘Arnold Vereker was the eldest son of Geoffrey Vereker by his first wife, my father’s sister, Maud. He was forty last December. There was one other son by that marriage, Roger, who would be thirty-eight if he were alive now – which, thank heaven, he’s not. He was not precisely an ornament to the family. There was a certain amount of relief felt when he cleared out years ago. He went to South America, and I believe got himself mixed up in some revolution or other. Anyway, he’s been dead about seven years now. Kenneth Vereker and his sister Antonia are the offspring of a second marriage. Their mother died shortly after Antonia’s birth. My uncle died a month or two before Roger, leaving both Kenneth and Antonia under Arnold’s guardianship.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Carrington: I hoped you would be able to help me. Can you tell me what sort of man Arnold Vereker was?’

  ‘A man with a genius for making enemies,’ replied Giles promptly. ‘He was one of those natural bullies who can yet make themselves very pleasant when they choose. Queer chap, with a streak of appalling vulgarity. Yet at the bottom there was something quite likeable about him. Chief hobbies, women and social climbing.’

  ‘I think I know the type. From what I can make out he had a bit of a bad reputation down here.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be surprised. Arnold would never go weekending to an hotel for fear of being seen. He always wanted to stand well in the eyes of the world. Hence Riverside Cottage. Is it known, by the way, whether he had one of his fancies with him last night?’

  ‘Very little is known, Mr Carrington. We have not yet traced his car. That may conceivably tell a tale. Whoever it was murdered your cousin presumably drove away in the car.’

  ‘Neat,’ approved Giles.

  The Superintendent smiled faintly. ‘You share Miss Vereker’s dislike of the man?’

  ‘More or less. And I have one of those cast-iron alibis which I understand render one instantly suspect. I was playing bridge in my father’s house on Wimbledon Common.’

  The Superintendent nodded. ‘One more question, Mr Carrington. Can you tell me anything about this man’ – he consulted his notebook – ‘Mesurier?’

  ‘Beyond the fact that he is the Chief Accountant in my cousin’s firm, nothing, I’m afraid. I am barely acquainted with him.’

  ‘I see. I don’t think I need keep you any longer now. You’ll be wanting to take Miss Vereker away. Shall we say ten o’clock in Eaton Place to-morrow?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. You’d better have my card, by the way. I should be very grateful if you would let me know what happens.’

  He held out his hand, the Superintendent grasped it for a moment, and opened the door for him to pass out.

  Antonia was engaged in powdering her face when Giles rejoined her.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d deserted me. What did he want?’

  ‘One or two particulars. I’m Arnold’s executor, you know. Come along and I’ll give you some lunch.’

  Miss Vereker was hungry, and not even the intelligence that she might have to be present at the inquest interfered with her appetite. She ate a hearty meal, and by three o’clock was once more at Riverside Cottage, backing her car out of the garage. ‘Are you coming back to Town, too?’ she inquired.

  ‘Yes, as soon as I’ve found out the date of the inquest. I’ll look in to-night to have a word with Kenneth. Mind the rose-bush!’

  ‘I’ve been driving this car for over a year,’ said Antonia, affronted.

  ‘It looks like it,’ he agreed, his eyes on a battered mudguard.

  Antonia slammed the gear-lever into first, and started with a jerk. Her cousin watched her drive off, narrowly escaping a collision with the gate-post, and then got into his own car again, and drove back to Hanborough.

  Rather more than an hour later Antonia let herself into the studio that she shared with her brother, and found him in an overall, a cup of tea in one hand and a novel in the other. He was a handsome young man, with untidy dark hair and his sister’s brilliant eyes. He raised them from his book as she came in, said, ‘Hullo!’ in a disinterested voice and went on reading.

  Antonia pulled off her hat and threw it vaguely in the direction of a chair. It fell on the floor, but beyond saying damn she did no more about it. ‘Stop reading: I’ve got some news,’ she announced.

  ‘Shut up,’ replied her brother. ‘I’m all thrilled with this murder story. Shan’t be long. Have some tea or something.’

  Antonia, respecting this mood of absorption, sat down and poured herself out some tea in the slop-basin. Kenneth Vereker finished reading the last chapter of his novel, and threw it aside. ‘Lousy,’ he remarked. ‘By the way, Murgatroyd has been yapping at me all day to know where you’ve been. Did you happen to tell me? Damned if I could remember. Where have you been?’

  ‘Down at Ashleigh Green. Arnold’s been murdered.’

  ‘Arnold’s been what?’

  ‘Murdered.’

  Kenneth looked at her with lifted brows. ‘Joke?’

  ‘No, actually murdered. Popped off.’

  ‘Great jumping Jehoshaphat!’ he exclaimed. ‘Who did it?’

  ‘They don’t know. I believe they rather think I did. Someone shoved a knife into him, and stuck him in the stocks at Ashleigh Green. I went down to see him, and spent the night there.’

  ‘What the devil for?’

  ‘Oh, he wrote me a stinker about Rudolph, so I thought I might as well go and have it out with him. But that’s not the point. The point is, he’s dead.’

  Kenneth looked at her in silence for a moment. Then he carefully set down his cup, and poured himself out some more tea. ‘Too breath-taking. Don’t know that I altogether believe it. Oh, Murgatroyd, Tony says Arnold’s been done-in.’

  A stout woman in a black frock and a voluminous apron had come into the studio with a clean cup and saucer. She said severely: ‘That’s as maybe, and if it’s true you couldn’t say but what it’s a judgement. But there’s no call for anyone to drink their tea out of the slop-bowl that I know of. For shame, Miss Tony! And where was you last night, I should like to know? Answer me that!’

  ‘Down at Arnold’s cottage. I forgot to tell you. What a mind you’ve got, Murgatroyd! Where did you think I was?’

  ‘That’s neither here nor there. What’s all this nonsense about Mr Arnold?’

  ‘Murdered,’ said Antonia, selecting a sandwich from the dish. ‘What’s in this?’

  ‘Stinking fish,’ replied her brother. ‘Go on about Arnold. Was he murdered in the cottage?’

  ‘There’s anchovy in them sandwiches, and I’ll thank you, Master Kenneth, not to use such language!’

  ‘Shut up, we want to hear about Arnold. Do get on, Tony!’

  ‘I’ve told you already he was in the village stocks. I don’t know any more.’

  ‘And quite enough, too!’ said Murgatroyd austerely. ‘I never heard of such a thing, putting corpses into stocks! Whatever next!’

  ‘Not in the best of good taste,’ conceded Kenneth. ‘Did you discover him, Tony?’

  ‘No, the police did. And they came to the cottage and took me off to the Police Station to make a statement. So I sent for Giles, because I thought it safest.’

  ‘And I hope,’ said Murgatroyd, picking up Antonia’s hat, ‘that Mr Giles gave you a piece of his mind, which I’ll be bound he did. Getting yourself mixed up in nasty murder cases! Fancy anyone up and murdering Mr Arnold! I don’t know what the world’s coming to, I’m sure. Not but what there’s many as could be spared less. If you’ve finished with that tray I’ll take it into the kitchen, Miss Tony.’

  Antonia finished what was left in the slop-bowl and put it down.

  ‘All right. There’ll be an inquest, Ken. Giles says I shal