“And did he also make a remark about Miss Bryce and Miss Villiers?” asked Hamish.
“What?”
“Just before you threw your drink at him,” said Hamish, “you were looking up at him and your lips were framing a kiss. He said something. You looked horrified. He turned and looked pointedly at Miss Bryce and Miss Villiers, then he turned back and gave you a knowing look, and he winked. That was when you threw your drink at him.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” cried Vera, an ugly tide of red beginning to crawl up her neck.
“Mrs Forbes-Grant,” said Hamish in a soft voice.
“We are from the police department and not the Moral Rearmament. It would be quite easy, I think, to prove that you had an affair with Captain Bartlett. Now, that is your own business. You are a very beautiful woman and must often be plagued with men chasing you.”
Vera gulped and looked at Hamish, who gave her a charming smile.
“Freddy doesn’t know,” she said. “Freddy mustn’t ever know.”
“And he won’t,” said Hamish, “unless it has a direct bearing on the murder. But it would be nice to get it out of the way. The only thing that’s suspicious about it is your refusal to talk. You must see that.”
There was a long silence while Vera looked down at her plump hands on her lap.
“All right,” she said at last. “I did have an affair with him a few years ago. I didn’t know he was going to be here. He made me think he still loved me. I visited his room, the night before the party. He said…he said I couldn’t stay the rest of the night or Freddy would find out. I thought he loved me. I was prepared to run away with him. He said…at the party…I hadn’t been the only woman who had been in his room. I told him he was lying. And then he turned and looked at Diana and Jessica, and turned back to me and winked. I knew all in that moment – he’d used me as he’d used me before. I saw red. I must have been mad, because I can’t afford to leave Freddy anyway.”
There was a long silence.
Chalmers said, “How long have you been married to Mr Forbes-Grant?”
“Twenty years.”
“And he knew nothing of your affair with Captain Bartlett?”
“Oh, no. Freddy’s quite stupid. But he can make money. That merchant bank of his is one of the most powerful in the country. He’s more or less retired. He wanted to come and live up here and start afresh. The simple life,” said Vera with a harsh laugh. “But he runs the bank by phone.”
“Where did your affair with Captain Bartlett take place?” asked Hamish.
“In London. Freddy was abroad. We keep a flat in Knightsbridge.”
“And did Captain Bartlett at any time suggest you leave your husband?”
“No. We were two of a kind. I used to give him money out of my allowance. It sounds awful now. Peter used to say I loved money more than men.”
“And is that true?” asked Hamish, genuinely curious.
“It’s all men are good for in the long run,” said Vera. “Oh, you occasionally meet some fellow and think it’s springtime all over again. But nothing lasts…except money.”
Chalmers cleared his throat. “Can you use a shotgun, Mrs Forbes-Grant?”
Vera laughed. Hamish thought she looked like someone leaving the confessional. She had told the worst and now she could relax.
“No, I can’t,” she said. “But it doesn’t take any expertise to blow a hole in someone at point-blank range. I could have done that.”
Chalmers patiently took her over the rest of her statement.
“You’d better see Freddy now,” said Vera, rising and smoothing down her skirt. “You won’t tell him…?”
Chalmers shook his head. “Not unless it becomes necessary.”
“You mean, not unless one of us did the murder? Don’t worry, Freddy couldn’t kill a fly.”
She drifted out, leaving a heavy aroma of Arpege in the room behind her.
Freddy Forbes-Grant entered the room about a minute later.
It took ages to calm him down in order to get him to say anything coherent at all. But when he finally decided to talk reasonably, his statement had very little to add to what he had already said. Captain Bartlett had insulted his wife on the evening before the murder and had upset her terribly. She was not the only one Bartlett had upset. No, said Freddy, he did not believe in blood sports and never used a gun. They had more or less invited themselves to the Halburton-Smythes when they heard about Henry Withering. Both he and his wife had seen the play in London and thought it a rattling good show. He had written personally to the Secretary of State for Scotland to complain about Blair’s harassment, and would complain again if Chalmers wasn’t more careful and courteous. He, Freddy Forbes-Grant, considered all policemen some lower form of life anyway.
“He knows about his wife’s affair,” said Hamish, after Freddy had crashed out.
“How do you make that out?” asked Chalmers.
“Thon is one very frightened man,” said Hamish.
“Something’s terrifying him. I could smell him from here – fear-sweat. Angry, blustering, ranting people are usually frightened.”
“Like Colonel Halburton-Smythe?”
“Och, no. That one was born a scunner.” Macpherson, who had left to find another victim, returned to say that no-one else was available until the afternoon. They had either gone out or had sent messages via the servants to say they were not to be disturbed. Dr Brodie was with Sir Humphrey Throgmorton, who was in need of a sedative.
Chalmers turned to Hamish. “In that case, you may as well tell me what you’ve discovered about the others.”
Hamish prised a small notebook out of his tunic pocket.
“Captain Bartlett,” he said, “was having an affair with Jessica Villiers four years ago. He met her friend, Diana, and dropped Jessica. He actually became engaged to Diana Bryce for two whole weeks before jilting her. The Helmsdales have reason to hate the captain. He turned up at a ball they were giving in their home near Dornoch with some other army officers. They got drunk and took the place apart. He painted a moustache on a portrait of a Helmsdale ancestor. The portrait was by Joshua Reynolds. The captain refused to pay for any of the damages. He went to sleep drunk with a cigarette burning in his hand and set his bedroom on fire. With the luck of the drunk, he jumped from his window on to the lawn and fell asleep again without warning anyone. The fire spread and burnt down most of the guest wing. It did not become a police matter, because Helmsdale inexplicably refused to prosecute. It came out later in county gossip that Helmsdale had fired a shotgun at the captain and missed. Captain Bartlett said if Helmsdale sued him, then he would sue Helmsdale for attempted manslaughter. It was at that point that Lady Helmsdale, beside herself with rage, punched Captain Bartlett and broke his jaw.”
“Golly!” said Chalmers. “Don’t tell me old Sir Humphrey has a reason to kill the captain as well?”
“He might have. He’s a fanatical collector of rare china. He had some people to afternoon tea awhiles back and they brought along their houseguest, Captain Peter Bartlett. The poor old boy had the tea served in a very rare set. He went on bragging about the value and beauty of it. Captain Bartlett dropped his teacup and saucer on the hearth, smashing it and ruining the set.”
Chalmers sat for a long time deep in thought. Then he said, “It’s very curious that so many people with reason to hate Bartlett should be gathered together under one roof.”
“The British Isles is full of other people wi’ mair reason to bump Bartlett off than any of the folks here,” said Hamish. “I wass checking up all around. I am telling you this so’s you will not be surprised when you get my phone bill. If we begin to think the murder was committed by someone outside the castle, then we are going to have a terrible job. There was a wee lassie in London killed herself with an overdose of sleeping pills when the captain jilted her, and then there’s a lot of husbands as well who’ve threatened to kill him at one time or another.”