And she burst into tears.
Mrs Bradley dived into the pocket of her violently striped washing-silk frock and drew out a small note-book and pencil. Then she pulled off her mushroom hat (of a fashion long discarded) and dropped it on the floor.
‘Now then,’ she said peremptorily tapping Mrs Bryce Harringay’s wrist with her pencil to attract the lady’s attention. ‘Sit up and attend to me. Who else hated Rupert Sethleigh besides’ – she thought for a moment – ‘James Redsey, Felicity Broome, Lulu Hirst, Margery Barnes, and darling Aubrey? I include the girls because I understand girls were not attracted by your older nephew.’
Mrs Bryce Harringay lowered the inadequate handkerchief and stared at her out of swimming, fishlike eyes.
‘Rupert knew that Dr Barnes had an illegitimate son,’ she said with a gulp. ‘That’s why I always have a Bossbury doctor when we are staying here. Most unpleasant, I think, to be attended by a man who has had Irregular Relationships – most!’
Mrs Bradley nodded solemnly.
‘Most,’ she echoed in a sepulchral voice. ‘And the doctor knew that – er – that Rupert knew?’
‘Oh, yes. It saved Rupert paying insurance money for the servants, you see. Dr Barnes used to treat them free of charge because Rupert knew and did not tell.’
‘Is Dr Barnes a surgeon?’ asked Mrs Bradley keenly.
‘He helped to amputate the major’s brother’s leg after a hunting accident, and he took out Margaret Somertoll’s appendix,’ replied Mrs Bryce Harringay. ‘At least,’ she added darkly, ‘everybody said it was her appendix, but I drew my own conclusions. You see –’ She lowered her unctuous voice to the note of the practised scandal-monger.
‘Yes, I see,’ said Mrs Bradley at the end of a lengthy, complicated, and remarkably dull tale. ‘Most suspicious. I am so glad that you took up a Strong Moral Attitude about it.’ And she suddenly screamed with laughter.
‘I fancy Rupert found out something about that too,’ Mrs Bryce Harringay concluded rather hastily, for Mrs Bradley’s quite unnecessary mirth unnerved her.
‘Yes? Well, all that you tell me is in James Redsey’s favour,’ observed Mrs Bradley, shutting off her laughter with the abrupt efficiency of a person turning off a tap. ‘The more enemies we can prove Rupert Sethleigh to have had,’ she continued, ‘the more chance there is of showing that James Redsey’s motive for accomplishing his cousin’s death was less strong, perhaps, than the motive of some other person or persons.’
‘But the doctor did not kill Rupert!’ exclaimed Mrs Bryce Harringay. ‘I’m sure I didn’t intend that construction to be placed upon my remarks. I don’t think extremely well of the man, it is true, but I should hesitate to accuse him of an Awful Deed!’
‘Quite so,’ agreed Mrs Bradley. ‘But don’t you see that our best line at present, if we wish to save James Redsey from arrest, is to discredit the present findings of the police and so turn their attention to fresh channels of enquiry?’
‘Yes, I see that, of course,’ said Mrs Bryce Harringay. ‘And the doctor, being a surgeon –’ She shuddered with exaggerated horror. ‘Dreadful man! How glad I am that I refused to call him in when Aubrey contracted the chicken-pox two summers ago! Really, men are such monsters one scarcely knows why one married!’
CHAPTER XII
The Inspector Has His Doubts
I
THE next thing to do, the inspector decided, was to discover the owner of the suitcase. This proved simple. Redsey, confronted by his cousin’s initials, agreed that the case was Rupert Sethleigh’s, but most emphatically denied all knowledge of how it came to be buried in the woods. Neither could he explain the bloodstained condition of its interior.
‘The last I remember about that suitcase,’ he declared, ‘is getting Rupert to lend it to the vicar when he went for his holiday in May – that is – last month. It seems a long time ago, somehow.’
The inspector went straight away to the Vicarage, where the Reverend Stephen, looking very foolish, agreed that the suitcase had probably been lent to him, but that he had forgotten all about it. He usually did forget all about things, he was sorry to say. Oh, here was his daughter. She would know more about it.
Felicity, appealed to, remembered perfectly well that her father had borrowed the suitcase, but thought he had returned it. However, he was so very absent-minded that it was more than possible he had forgotten all about it.
Then she told the inspector where she herself had found it, and of how she and Aubrey Harringay had decided to bury it in the Manor Woods.
‘I wonder why you should think of doing that, miss,’ said the inspector, without finding it necessary to add that the police had found it.
Felicity shook her head.
‘It just occurred to us,’ she said, with delightful vagueness.
The inspector went in search-of Aubrey Harringay.
‘Now, young man,’ he said sternly. ‘What made you decide to bury that suitcase?’
‘But I didn’t bury it, inspector.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I didn’t bury it. I was going to, but while I had gone for the fish, you know, some blighter pinched the case and hopped off with it.’
‘The fish? Was that the fish we found inside the case?’
‘Yes, it was. But I didn’t put it there, I swear I didn’t. I just buried the fish in the hole – for a lark, you know – and that’s all. I had nothing to do with putting it in the case or – or – writing those words.’
‘H’m!’ said the inspector non-committally, and went to the superintendent.
‘I haven’t tested Redsey’s alibi for Sunday night,’ he said. ‘But this is what I’ve got against him so far:
‘First: Had quarrelled with Sethleigh more than once. Plenty of witnesses to that.
‘Second: Admits knocked Sethleigh down. Sethleigh’s head struck trunk of tree. Redsey thought he had killed him, and confessed as much to me.
‘Third: Redsey stood to gain the house, estate, and most of the money belonging to Sethleigh if the latter died before altering his will.
‘Fourth: The bloodstained suitcase belonged to Sethleigh and has his initials on it. There is some evidence offered by Redsey to the effect that Sethleigh lent it this summer to the Reverend Stephen Broome. This statement is corroborated by the vicar and the vicar’s daughter. Redsey swears case was never returned. Vicar uncertain on this point. Daughter thinks case was returned. Vicar absent-minded and forgetful. Daughter very much the reverse.’
‘Of course,’ the superintendent demurred, ‘the suitcase isn’t important. There is nothing at all to connect it with the murder as far as we know at present. I think we might leave the suitcase out of it for a bit.’
‘The bloodstains, sir.’
‘Yes, well, we shall know more when we know whether it’s human blood or whether they carried home the week-end joint without enough paper wrapped round it. Case of wait and see. Still, there’s certainly a good deal of unexplained matter which could easily be worked into a case against the young fellow. He had the motive, you see. That’s the big thing.’
‘Yes, sir. Still, his prints don’t coincide with those on the butcher’s knife and cleaver. Those prints were made by that daft assistant who apparently parted with the key, and there’s nothing to connect him with the murder.’