“I know she won’t refuse,” said Mrs. Manciple in a voice of pure honey. “It’s quite simple. All she has to do is to take the sixpences and write down each person’s guess with their names. And make sure that the children are kept away from the cake. Last year two of the prizes were eaten before they could be distributed. I never caught the culprits, but I have my own ideas. Why, look!” Violet sounded really surprised. “Here’s my list that I was asking Julian to ask Maud to — and it’s here on the hall table after all. I’ll just write it down. Let me see — here it is, Vicar’s Weight Contest. I’ll just cross out Mrs. Penfold and put in Mrs. Tibbett.”
“I’ll have to ask her,” said Henry dubiously.
“Of course you will,” said Mrs. Manciple, generous in victory. “But I know she won’t refuse.”
“Meanwhile,” Henry pursued doggedly, “there are a few things I’d like to talk to you about, you and Major Manciple.”
“Jumble?” asked a cheerful voice.
“In the study,” said Henry automatically.
The kitchen door opened and a ruddy-faced man in tweeds looked out into the hall. “About that bran, Mrs. M.,” he said.
“Yes Harry, what about it? You promised…”
“Well, it’s like this, see. If you can send someone up to the big barn at Tom Rodd’s place…”
Violet Manciple turned to Henry. “You see how it is, Mr. Tibbett,” she said. “I really can’t. Come back at teatime; we’ll be quieter then. And Claud and Ramona will be here,” she added, as if promising a rare treat.
Henry hesitated, and in the moment of his hesitation four separate people appeared with problems which only Mrs. Manciple could resolve and which concerned matters as diverse as sheets to cover the tables in the refreshment marquee, sacks for the choir boys’ sack race, the placing of the fortune teller’s tent, and the composition of the bouquet to be presented to Lady Fenshire. Meanwhile, Harry Penfold was repeating patiently, “The big barn up at Tom Rodd’s place, Mrs. Manciple, but it means someone going up there for it. Bess was going to take the Jeep, but now she’s been taken bad…”
Henry gave in. “I see how it is, Mrs. Manciple,” he said. “I’ll go and ask Emmy about the Vicar’s weight.”
Violet Manciple did not even hear him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AS A MATTER OF FACT Henry had had every intention of returning to Cregwell Grange that afternoon, once the frenzy of preparation for the Fête had died down; but things did not work out like that.
On arriving back at The Viking, he first of all put to Emmy Violet Manciple’s proposition that she should take over from the ailing Mrs. Penfold and assume charge of the Vicar’s weight. Emmy, outwardly amused but secretly flattered, said she would try anything once.
“Well, you’d better ring Mrs. Manciple and tell her so,” said Henry. “It’s like a madhouse up there, but I expect you’ll be able to get the message through to her. It’ll set her mind at rest.”
“You don’t think I should go up and see her?”
“Heavens, no. I tell you, it’s like Piccadilly Circus at the rush hour. Just call her.”
Emmy disappeared down the corridor into the small, dark box under the stairs which housed The Viking’s telephone, and Henry applied himself to compiling his official report on the death of Raymond Mason. In a few minutes Emmy was back.
“Did you get her?” Henry asked.
Emmy laughed. “I did in the end,” she said. “Madhouse is about right. But after I’d spoken to her, Major Manciple came on the line, wanting to speak to you. He’s waiting now.”
“Oh blast,” said Henry. “Did he say what it was about?”
“No, he wouldn’t tell me. Another of his crack-brained theories, I expect.”
“Oh, well, I’d better go and see what he wants.”
“Tibbett?” George Manciple’s voice made a gruff solo against the accompaniment of shrill sounds that floated down the wire from the Grange.
“Speaking,” said Henry.
In the background a feminine voice said, “Where’s Frank Mason? He promised…”
“You were up here yesterday,” Manciple went on, “searching the place, looking for things.”
“That’s right,” said Henry.
“Jumble in the study!” came the ghostly echo of Violet’s voice from far away.
“And one of the things you were looking for was my gun. The one I reported missing.”
“Right again.”
“Well, I just thought you’d like to know that it’s turned up.”
“It’s — what?”
“Turned up. Can’t you hear me?”
There was a crash from somewhere in the background and Maud’s voice said, “Everything for the Lucky Dip has to be wrapped…”
Henry said, “Where has it turned up?”
“Why, in its proper place. In the rack in the cloakroom with the others.”
“Oh, damnation,” said Henry.
“What’s that? I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Well, I’m not. Everybody in Cregwell has been milling around your house this morning, and any of them could have slipped the gun back. I don’t like it.”
“Well, I can’t help that, Tibbett.” George sounded nettled that his good news had not been better received. “Anyhow, I reported it missing, and now I’m reporting it back again.”
“Well, I suppose there’s a hope of fingerprints. Now, listen carefully, Major Manciple. I want you to wrap that gun up in…”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid,” said George.
“What do you mean, too late?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have known the thing had been returned, with all the rush and to-do, if it hadn’t been for Edwin.”
“What has the Bishop to do with it?”
“He’s helping me on the range on Saturday, you see. He’s a surprisingly good shot, for a clarinet player. I always say these things run in families.”
“Please, Major Manciple, would you just give me the facts?” Henry was experiencing the now-familiar woolly sensation.
“I lend the range every year, you see,” said George, who was evidently in no hurry. “Partly philanthropy, of course, but I won’t hide from you the fact that I welcome the chance of demonstrating to all and sundry that it’s perfectly safe — after that unpleasant business with the Council. We don’t use the traps, of course. Too difficult for amateurs, and too cumbersome to prepare. No, we set up ordinary targets — outers, inners, and bulls — and charge half-a-crown for six shots. There’s a small prize for the winning score at the end of the afternoon.”
Again Violet’s voice floated distantly by. “Well, if Julian has taken Maud’s car, and Frank has gone, you’ll just have to see if Mrs. Thompson will…”
“Could we get back to the missing gun?” asked Henry.
“Oh, indeed. Yes, to be sure. As I was saying, Edwin is helping me on the range on Saturday, so I asked him today, would he do the usual maintenance job on the guns? Cleaning, oiling, and loading — all ready for the fray. He came to me just now and said, ‘Well, that’s done, George, all five of them.’ ‘All five?’ I said. ‘But there’s only four. The police still have the gun that shot poor Mason and another one is missing.’ ‘There’s five as sure as I’m standing here,’ he said. ‘Come and see for yourself.’ It seems Edwin hadn’t realized there was one missing, you see. So I went along to the cloakroom and there they were…”
“All nicely cleaned and polished by the Bishop,” said Henry bitterly.
“Yes, he’d made a very nice job of them, I’ll say that for him. Now he’s quite positive that all five were in the rack when he started on them about an hour ago. And I’m sure that there were only four first thing this morning. So…”