General Burnett shook his head. “The Chief Constable has been keeping me abreast of events,” he said. “I’m afraid they’ve dropped that line of enquiry. It appears that there was some sort of shindig at the Royal George last night. Seems they’re working on the theory that a couple of navvies had a bit too much beer and…”
“Beer?” said Lady Maud with a strange look on her face. “Did I hear you say ‘Beer’?”
“My dear lady,” said the General apologetically, “I only mentioned beer because I believe that is what these fellows drink. I wasn’t for one moment imputing…”
“As a matter of fact I believe it was vodka,” said Colonel Chapman tactfully. “In fact I’m sure it was. They found a bottle.”
But the damage had already been done. Lady Maud was looking quite distraught.
In the pinetum Sir Giles was desperately trying to make up his mind. From his tree he had watched General Burnett and Colonel Chapman and Miss Percival arrive. They had come in one car – Miss Percival had left her car outside the main gates and had joined the General in his – and their coming seemed to offer Sir Giles an opportunity to escape if only he could reach the house. Maud could hardly shoot him down in cold blood in front of her neighbours. There might be a nasty scene. She might accuse him of arson, of blackmail and bribery. She might expose him to ridicule but he was prepared to run these risks to get out of the Park alive. On the other hand he wasn’t sure that he was prepared to run the gauntlet of the lions who had sauntered away from their last meal and were lying about on the lawn in front of the terrace. Then again he was now extremely hungry and the lions on the contrary weren’t. They had just eaten their fill of giraffe.
At least Sir Giles hoped they had. It was a risk he had to take. If he stayed in the tree he would starve to death and sooner or later he would have to come down. Better sooner, he thought, than later. Sir Giles climbed down and got over the railings. Perhaps if he walked confidently… He didn’t feel confident. He hesitated and then moved cautiously forward. If only he could reach the terrace. And as he moved across the grass he was conscious that he was increasing the distance between himself and the safety of the tree while decreasing that between himself and the lions. He reached the point of no return.
In the sitting-room General Burnett was lamenting Sir Giles’ absence. “I’ve tried ringing his flat in London and his office but nobody seems to know where he’s got to,” he said. “If only we could get in touch with him, I’m convinced we could bring pressure to bear on the Minister to call a halt to the motorway. I’m the last one to complain, but it’s at a time like this that a constituency needs its MP.”
“I’m afraid my husband tends to let his business interests get in the way of his Parliamentary duties,” Lady Maud agreed.
“Of course, of course,” said Colonel Chapman. “He’s bound to have a lot of irons in the fire. Wouldn’t have got where he has if he hadn’t.”
“I think…” said Miss Percival nervously staring out of the window.
“All I’m saying is that it’s about time he made his presence felt,” said the General.
“I really do think you ought to…” Miss Percival began.
“It’s at times like this he ought to raise his voice… Good God! What the hell was that?”
There was a ghastly scream from the garden.
“I think it was Sir Giles raising his voice,” said Miss Percival, and fainted. The General and Colonel Chapman turned and looked out of the window in horror. Sir Giles was visible for a moment and then he disappeared beneath a lion. Lady Maud seized a poker and opened the french windows.
“How dare you?” she shouted charging across the terrace. “Shoo, Shoo.”
But it was too late. The General and Colonel Chapman rushed out and dragged her back still waving the poker and shooing.
“Damned plucky little woman,” said the General as they drove home. Colonel Chapman said nothing. He was trying to rid his mind of the memory of those gumboots, and besides, he found the General’s description of Lady Maud a little inappropriate even in these distressing circumstances. His left ear was still ringing from the blow she had given him for telling her she mustn’t blame herself for what had happened.
“Mind you, I’m afraid it’s put an end to the Wildlife Park,” continued the General. “Pity really.”
“It’s also put an end to Sir Giles,” said Colonel Chapman, who felt that General Burnett was taking the whole affair too calmly.
“There is that to be said for it,” said the General. “Never could stomach the fellow.”
In the back seat Miss Percival fainted for the sixth time.
At Handyman Hall the Superintendent explained to Lady Maud as tactfully as possible that there would have to be a coroner’s inquest.
“An inquest? But it’s perfectly obvious what happened. General Burnett and Colonel Chapman were here.”
“Just a formality, I assure you,” said the Superintendent. “And now I’ll be getting along.”
He went out to his car with the gumboots and drove off. In the Park the lions were licking their paws and wiping their whiskers. Lady Maud stared out of the window at them. They would have to go of course. Sir Giles might not have been a nice man but Lady Maud’s sense of social propriety wouldn’t allow her to keep animals that couldn’t be trusted not to eat people. And then there was Blott. Blott and the events of the previous evening in Guildstead Carbonell. It was all too obvious what he had wanted Very Special for and it was all her fault. And to think she had invited Ivy Bullett-Finch to come and stay. Well, at least she had a good excuse for cancelling the invitation now. She went through the kitchen and was about to go out when it occurred to her that having tasted human flesh once the lions might not succumb quite so readily to her fearlessness. She ought really to carry some sort of weapon. Lady Maud hesitated and then went on regardless. She owed it to her conscience to take some risks. She went down the path and into the kitchen garden.
“Blott,” she said, “I want a word with you. Do you realize what you have done?”
Blott shrugged. “He got what was coming to him,” he said.
“I’m not talking about him,” said Lady Maud, “I’m talking about Mr Bullett-Finch.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead. He was killed last night when his house was demolished.”
Blott took off his hat and scratched his head. “That’s a pity,” he said thoughtfully.
“A pity? Is that all you’ve got to say?” said Lady Maud sternly.
“I don’t know what else I can say. I didn’t know he was in the house any more than you knew he was going to go and get eaten by those lions.” He picked a caterpillar off a cabbage and squashed it absent-mindedly.
“I must say if I had known what you were going to do I would never have given you the day off,” said Lady Maud and went back into the house.
Blott went on with his weeding. Women were odd things, he thought. You did what they wanted and all the thanks you got for it was a telling off. A telling off. That was an odd expression too, come to think of it. But then the world was full of mysteries.
In London Mrs Forthby woke with a vague sense that something was missing. She rolled over in bed, switched on the light and looked at the clock. It said eleven forty-eight and since it was dark it must be nearly midnight. On the other hand it didn’t feel like midnight. She felt as though she had been asleep a lot longer than four hours, and where was Giles? She got out of bed and looked in the kitchen, the bathroom, but he wasn’t in the flat. Oh well, he had probably gone out. She went back to the kitchen and made herself some tea. She was feeling very hungry too. That was strange because she had had a big dinner. She made some toast and boiled an egg. And all the time she had the nagging feeling that something was wrong. She had gone to bed at eight o’clock and here she was at midnight wide awake and famished. To while away the time she picked up a book but she didn’t feel like reading. She turned on the radio and caught the news headlines. “… Lynchwood, Member of Parliament for South Worfordshire, who was killed at his home Handyman Hall near Worford by a lion. In Arizona a freak whirlwind destroyed…” Mrs Forthby switched off the radio and poured herself another cup of tea before remembering what the announcer had just said. “Oh dear,” she said, “this afternoon? But…” She went through to the sitting-room and looked at the date on the clock. It read Friday the 20th. But yesterday was Wednesday. Giles had said so. She had said it was Tuesday and he had said Wednesday. And now it was Friday morning and Giles had been killed by a lion. What was a lion doing at Handyman Hall? What was Sir Giles doing there, come to that? They had been going to Brighton together for the weekend. It was all too awfully perplexing and horrible. It couldn’t be true. Mrs Forthby dialled the nice lady who told the time. “At the third stroke it will be twelve ten and twenty seconds.”