Chapter 10
Revelations
They glanced in and saw Constable Pearson interviewing Joseph Levi-Strauss in the library as they walked past the French windows. Bertie remarked that the policeman would be no match for the businessman. Ginger concurred, adding that while Pearson would be hard pushed to get anything worthwhile out of the financier, he bet that Levy-Strauss would have found out a lot during the course of the interview.
Bertie obtained the police doctor's telephone number from the butler and put through a call while Ginger sat on one of the hall chairs and listened. Dr Grange proved only too willing to help. He not only provided information about the provisional time of death but also agreed to arrange for a copy of the forensic report to be passed on. Bertie thanked him and put the receiver down.
"Well?" questioned Ginger, who had only been able to hear Bertie's end of the conversation.
"Dr Grange was most co-operative," Bertie told him. "Not only can we expect the forensic report by return of post, but he was able to tell me now that death could have taken place any time between 7 o'clock and 8.30."
"That's nearly a whole hour earlier than we had originally thought," observed Ginger.
Bertie nodded. "We concentrated on asking Celia who was in the drawing room from 7.30 onwards. It seems we ought to have been setting our sights a lot earlier." He frowned. "Of course, most people would have been in their rooms changing. When you think about it, it's an ideal time to go around the corridors unseen."
"Perhaps we ought to have a word with the butler," suggested Ginger. "To see if any of the servants noticed anything."
Bertie looked at him askance. "I do hope you're not going to say the butler did it, old boy," he remarked in mock exasperation. "You really do read too many whodunits, you know."
Ginger grinned. "Stranger things have happened," he declared.
Bertie shook his head sadly but agreed that they should consult Beech. Accordingly they made their way to the butler's pantry to request his help. They found the retainer in the silver safe, supervising the storage of the plate after the previous evening's dinner party.
Bertie explained the situation. Beech was deferential but could not add anything to their knowledge. All the guests had been in their rooms, dressing for dinner. The servants, having laid out the clothes and drawn the baths, were below stairs, preparing to serve dinner. He himself had been in the drawing room, making up the fire.
"Ah, yes," murmured Bertie. "The drawing room fire. Why wasn't the parlour maid doing that?" he wanted to know.
"Sarah was ill," the butler explained as he closed the heavy door of the safe and locked it, putting the key in his pocket. "She fainted earlier in the day. I told her to go to bed and rest. It wouldn't do for her to pass out in front of the family."
"Very commendable," commented Bertie. "And no one noticed anything unusual when the guests were dressing for dinner?" he asked.
"Not at all, my lord," replied the servant. "Everything was completely normal."
Bertie pursed his lips but made no comment.
"How is the maid – Sarah, I think you said – now?" enquired Ginger. "Has she got over her faint?"
"Yes, thank you, sir," replied the butler.
"Did she see a doctor?" asked Ginger. "What was the matter?"
The butler regarded him curiously and looked uncomfortable. "There was no need for a doctor. She was suffering from …" he hesitated before choosing his words carefully, " …'women's problems', I believe, sir," he replied enigmatically.
Ginger frowned and was about to ask for clarification when Bertie butted in. "Thank you, Beech," he dismissed the employee, "that's all for now. We may want to ask you some more questions later." He took Ginger's elbow and steered him out of the pantry.
"Women's problems?" queried Ginger as they made their way down the corridor. "What sort of women's problems?"
Bertie stared at him. "Didn't Jeanette teach you anything?" he asked incredulously.
Ginger coloured. "Jeanette didn't have any problems," he confessed, "or at least, none that she told me about."
Bertie sighed. "Women seem to have all sorts of problems, old boy," he commented darkly, unusually serious, "from child bearing to hysteria. They are a complete enigma and best to be avoided if you want my considered opinion."
Ginger looked at him with compassion. He understood that Bertie occasionally felt uncomfortable with women, but reminded him, "a lot of the suspects seem to be women, including your cousin. Could you see Celia killing Cliffe to keep this house?"
Bertie shook his head decisively. "She wouldn't have shot him," he averred. "She's been too well trained in gun safety to use it on a person. If she was going to kill him I think she'd have chosen some other method; poison or a knife, perhaps."
Ginger's eyes opened wide. When he had posed the question it had been mere idle speculation. He had not expected Bertie's matter-of-fact response.
"Now, my aunt," Bertie continued to Ginger's amazement, "is a completely different kettle of fish, if you get my meaning; she would have had no compunction at all about shooting him. She shot plenty of Germans when she was working with the Maquis in France during the War." Seeing Ginger's horrified expression, Bertie told him, reassuringly, "I don't believe either of them did it, old boy. There's no need to look so shocked."
Ginger swallowed. The revelations about Bertie's family had rocked him on his heels. Lady Conway looked so fragile he could not imagine her in a French underground réseau and still less could he picture her shooting Nazi troops.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me about your family?" asked Ginger. "You haven't got a mass murderer tucked away somewhere in your family tree, have you? Or a skeleton or two hidden in a closet?"
Bertie chuckled. "Well, some of the ancestors were a bit blood thirsty, you know, old boy. Most of the land we received with the titles was a reward for valour on the battlefield – and backing the right side, of course," he added with a smile. "That was the way it worked in those days."
"What about Colonel Hitchcott?" asked Ginger. "Did he know your aunt during the war?"
"I believe he may have done," admitted Bertie. "He says he was in Intelligence. They could well have met, either before a mission or during debriefing. They've certainly known each other a long time." He pushed open the green baize door and ushered Ginger through.
They emerged into the hall to find it in uproar. Beech was remonstrating with Constable Pearson, while Lady Conway sat on a chair, her face frozen. Her daughter stood defiantly beside her. A policewoman, a new arrival from the county town, was at Celia's elbow.
"I say," murmured Bertie, "what's going on here?"
"This idiot," replied Lady Conway scathingly, indicating Constable Pearson, "is proposing to arrest Celia."
There was a moment's stunned silence. Then, as is often the way, several people spoke at once.
"What!" expostulated Bertie.
"Whatever for?" asked Ginger.
"I am arresting her, your ladyship," confirmed the Constable and proceeded to put his hand on Celia's shoulder before intoning the formula of arrest.
Celia shrugged off the policeman's hand irritably. "This is ridiculous," she protested. "I didn't kill that hideous little man!"
"I'm sure you didn't, old girl," Bertie reassured her. To Pearson he said, "what evidence have you found to base your arrest on?"
"Motive and opportunity," pronounced the policeman importantly.
Ginger snorted. "From what we've found out so far," he opined, "virtually everybody in the household had both motive and opportunity. Any evidence you've got has to be circumstantial. Have you found the weapon?"
From the look on Pearson's face, Ginger was sure he had not, but the policeman blustered, "there is enough evidence to issue a warrant for her arrest."
"Bertram," appealed Lady Conway, "can't you do something? I thought you were a policeman. Aren't you at Scotland Yard?"
Bertie grimaced. "Well, yes, Aunt Adelaide," he admitted, "but at the moment, there isn't anything I can do except advise you to get the best legal advice you can. Ginger and I will do our best to find the real killer. Once we do that, they'll have to let Celia go."
When Celia had been escorted to the waiting police car by Pearson and the woman constable, and Lady Conway had retired to the drawing room, Bertie and Ginger exchanged glances.
"I must admit," said Ginger, "I didn't expect Pearson to do that. I wonder what he's found that would give a magistrate grounds to issue a warrant. I don't think it was the pistol with Celia's prints on it."
Bertie regarded him steadily. "You know, if we could find the pistol," he mused, "whether it has prints on it or not, that would be a step forward."
Ginger nodded, distractedly. A movement caught his eye and he glanced up as a maid swiftly withdrew behind the door to the servants quarters. He frowned, puzzled.
Bertie eyed him quizzically. "What's up, old boy?" he wanted to know.
"I just caught a glimpse of a maid coming through the door into the hall. As soon as she saw us, she turned round and went back into the corridor straight away," replied Ginger. "I thought she looked familiar somehow. I must have seen her somewhere before, but I can't place where."
"You've probably seen her at her duties, old boy. Was she the one who cleared up the necklace?" asked Bertie.
"No, I don't think so," responded Ginger. "This one is blonde, although I don't think it's natural," he added to Bertie's amusement, "and quite slim. The one who picked up the pearls was plump and mousy. The trouble is, you don't really notice the servants. I suppose it's their job to be unobtrusive."
"It will probably come to you when you're not thinking about it," suggested Bertie. "These things often do." He glanced at his watch. "Time for a spot of lunch, I think."
