A Murder Is Announced - Christie Agatha. Страница 16

Dayas Hall had certainly suffered during the war years. Couch grass grew enthusiastically over what had once been an asparagus bed, as evidenced by a few waving tufts of asparagus foliage. Grounsel, bindweed and other garden pests showed every sign of vigorous growth.

A portion of the kitchen garden bore evidence of having been reduced to discipline and here Craddock found a sour-looking old man leaning pensively on a spade.

‘It’s Mrs ’Aymes you want? I couldn’t say where you’d find ’er. ’As ’er own ideas, she ’as, about what she’ll do. Not one to take advice. I could show her-show ’er willing-but what’s the good, won’t listen these young ladies won’t! Think they know everything because they’ve put on breeches and gone for a ride on a tractor. But it’sgardening that’s needed here. And that isn’t learned in a day.Gardening, that’s what this place needs.’

‘It looks as though it does,’ said Craddock.

The old man chose to take this remark as an aspersion.

‘Now look here, mister, what do you suppose I can do with a place this size? Three men and a boy, that’s what it used to ’ave. And that’s what it wants. There’s not many men could put in the work on it that I do. ’Ere sometimes I am till eight o’clock at night. Eight o’clock.’

‘What do you work by? An oil lamp?’

‘Naterally I don’t mean this time o’ year. Naterally.Summer evenings I’m talking about.’

‘Oh,’ said Craddock. ‘I’d better go and look for Mrs Haymes.’

The rustic displayed some interest.

‘What are you wanting ’er for? Police, aren’t you? She been in trouble, or is it the do there was up to Little Paddocks? Masked men bursting in and holding up a roomful of people with a revolver. An’ that sort of thing wouldn’t ’ave ’appened afore the war. Deserters, that’s what it is. Desperate men roaming the countryside. Why don’t the military round ’em up?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Craddock. ‘I suppose this hold-up caused a lot of talk?’

‘That it did. What’s us coming to? That’s what Ned Barker said. Comes of going to the pictures so much, he said. But Tom Riley he says it comes of letting these furriners run about loose. And depend on it, he says, that girl as cooks up there for Miss Blacklock and ’as such a nasty temper-she’sin it, he said. She’s a communist or worse, he says, and we don’t like that sort ’ere. And Marlene, who’s behind the bar, you understand, she will ’ave it that there must be something very valuable up at Miss Blacklock’s. Not that you’d think it, she says, for I’m sure Miss Blacklock goes about as plain as plain, except for them great rows of false pearls she wears. And then she says-Supposin’ as them pearls isreal, and Florrie (what’s old Bellamy’s daughter)shesays, “Nonsense,” she says-“noovo ar-that’s what they are-costume jewellery,” she says. Costume jewellery-that’s a fine way of labelling a string of false pearls. Roman pearls, the gentry used to call ’em once-and Parisian diamonds-my wife was a lady’s maid and I know. But what does it all mean-just glass! I suppose it’s “costume jewellery” that young Miss Simmons wears-gold ivy leaves and dogs and such like. ’Tisn’t often you see a real bit of gold nowadays-even wedding rings they make of this grey plattinghum stuff. Shabby, I call it-for all that it costs the earth.’

Old Ashe paused for breath and then continued:

‘“Miss Blacklock don’t keep much money in the ’ouse, that I do know,” says Jim Huggins, speaking up. He should know, for it’s ’is wife as goes up and does for ’em at Little Paddocks, and she’s a woman as knows most of what’s going on. Nosey, if you take me.’

‘Did he say what Mrs Huggins’ view was?’

‘That Mitzi’s mixed up in it, that’s what she thinks. Awful temper she ’as, and the airs she gives herself! Called Mrs Huggins a working woman to her face the other morning.’

Craddock stood a moment, checking over in his orderly mind the substance of the old gardener’s remarks. It gave him a good cross-section of rural opinion in Chipping Cleghorn, but he didn’t think there was anything to help him in his task. He turned away and the old man called after him grudgingly:

‘Maybe you’d find her in the apple orchard. She’s younger than I am for getting the apples down.’

And sure enough in the apple orchard Craddock found Phillipa Haymes. His first view was a pair of nice legs encased in breeches sliding easily down the trunk of a tree. Then Phillipa, her face flushed, her fair hair ruffled by the branches, stood looking at him in a startled fashion.

‘Make a good Rosalind,’ Craddock thought automatically, for Detective-Inspector Craddock was a Shakespeare enthusiast and had played the part of the melancholy Jaques with great success in a performance ofAs You Like it for the Police Orphanage.

A moment later he amended his views. Phillipa Haymes was too wooden for Rosalind, her fairness and her impassivity were intensely English, but English of the twentieth rather than of the sixteenth century. Well-bred, unemotional English, without a spark of mischief.

‘Good morning, Mrs Haymes. I’m sorry if I startled you. I’m Detective-Inspector Craddock of the Middleshire Police. I wanted to have a word with you.’

‘About last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will it take long? Shall we-?’

She looked about her rather doubtfully.

Craddock indicated a fallen tree trunk.

‘Rather informal,’ he said pleasantly, ‘but I don’t want to interrupt your work longer than necessary.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s just for the record. You came in from work at what time last night?’

‘At about half-past five. I’d stayed about twenty minutes later in order to finish some watering in the greenhouse.’

‘You came in by which door?’

‘The side door. One cuts across by the ducks and the hen-house from the drive. It saves you going round, and besides it avoids dirtying up the front porch. I’m in rather a mucky state sometimes.’

‘You always come in that way?’

‘Yes.’

‘The door was unlocked?’

‘Yes. During the summer it’s usually wide open. This time of the year it’s shut but not locked. We all go out and in a good deal that way. I locked it when I came in.’

‘Do you always do that?’

‘I’ve been doing it for the last week. You see, it gets dark at six. Miss Blacklocks goes out to shut up the ducks and the hens sometimes in the evening, but she very often goes out through the kitchen door.’

‘And you are quite sure you did lock the side door this time?’

‘I really am quite sure about that.’

‘Quite so, Mrs Haymes. And what did you do when you came in?’

‘Kicked off my muddy footwear and went upstairs and had a bath and changed. Then I came down and found that a kind of party was in progress. I hadn’t known anything about this funny advertisement until then.’

‘Now please describe just what occurred when the hold-up happened.’

‘Well, the lights went out suddenly-’

‘Where were you?’

‘By the mantelpiece. I was searching for my lighter which I thought I had put down there. The lights went out-and everybody giggled. Then the door was flung open and this man shone a torch on us and flourished a revolver and told us to put our hands up.’

‘Which you proceeded to do?’

‘Well, I didn’t actually. I thought it was just fun, and I was tired and I didn’t think I needed really to put them up.’

‘In fact, you were bored by the whole thing?’

‘I was, rather. And then the revolver went off. The shots sounded deafening and I was really frightened. The torch went whirling round and dropped and went out, and then Mitzi started screaming. It was just like a pig being killed.’

‘Did you find the torch very dazzling?’

‘No, not particularly. It was quite a strong one, though. It lit up Miss Bunner for a moment and she looked quite like a turnip ghost-you know, all white and staring with her mouth open and her eyes starting out of her head.’

‘The man moved the torch?’

‘Oh, yes, he played it all round the room.’

‘As though he were looking for someone?’

‘Not particularly, I should say.’

‘And after that, Mrs Haymes?’

Phillipa Haymes frowned.

‘Oh, it was all a terrible muddle and confusion. Edmund Swettenham and Patrick Simmons switched on their lighters and they went out into the hall and we followed, and someone opened the dining-room door-the lights hadn’t fused there-and Edmund Swettenham gave Mitzi a terrific slap on the cheek and brought her out of her screaming fit, and after that it wasn’t so bad.’

‘You saw the body of the dead man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was he known to you? Had you ever seen him before?’

‘Never.’

‘Have you any opinion as to whether his death was accidental, or do you think he shot himself deliberately?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

‘You didn’t see him when he came to the house previously?’

‘No. I believe it was in the middle of the morning and I shouldn’t have been there. I’m out all day.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Haymes. One thing more. You haven’t any valuable jewellery? Rings, bracelets, anything of that kind?’

Phillipa shook her head.

‘My engagement ring-a couple of brooches.’

‘And as far as you know, there was nothing of particular value in the house?’

‘No. I mean there is some quite nice silver-but nothing out of the ordinary.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Haymes.’

As Craddock retraced his steps through the kitchen garden he came face to face with a large red-faced lady, carefully corseted.

‘Good morning,’ she said belligerently. ‘What do you want here?’

‘Mrs Lucas? I am Detective-Inspector Craddock.’

‘Oh, that’s who you are? I beg your pardon. I don’t like strangers forcing their way into my garden wasting the gardeners’ time. But I quite understand you have to do your duty.’

‘Quite so.’

‘May I ask if we are to expect a repetition of that outrage last night at Miss Blacklock’s? Is it a gang?’

‘We are satisfied, Mrs Lucas, that it wasnot the work of a gang.’