“It was Carson, of course,” Honniwell said to Lord Bob. “There’s no question in my mind. The Earl ordered him to obtain the pistol.”
“Absurd,” said Lord Bob. He was slouched down in his chair, slump-shouldered and sleepy-eyed. On the table before him, the decanter of brandy was nearly empty.
“With all due respect, Lord Purleigh,” said Honniwell, “I beg to differ. The man was literally quaking with guilt.”
“Guilt?” said Lord Bob. He raised his balloon glass, drank some more brandy. “Been quaking with it, then, for seven bloody years. Bloody palsy, Superintendent.”
Honniwell wasn’t the kind of cop who let facts interfere with a summing up. “Be that as it may, sir, the man is guilty. If I had him alone for a few hours, I’ll wager I’d shake the truth out of him.” Lord Bob looked at him for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was sober and dangerously level. “Lay a finger on Carson, Superintendent, and you’ll not believe the trouble in which you find yourself.”
“But Lord Purleigh,” said Honniwell, “you mistake my meaning.”
“Forgive me,” said Doyle, diplomatically. “Superintendent?”
Honniwell turned to Doyle and this time he raised both of his handsome eyebrows. “Sir Arthur?”
Doyle said, “I take it, Superintendent, that you don’t believe Carson to be responsible for the Earl’s death.”
“Not responsible, Sir Arthur, no. But he did assist in the death, indirectly, by making the pistol available.”
“Perhaps so,” said Doyle. His hands on the table, fingers interlocked, he leaned forward. He winced faintly. “But you’ve no doubt that the death itself was self-inflicted.”
“None at all. Powder burns at the wound. Nothing else is possible, not with the door locked and bolted as it was.”
The Great Man sat up and Doyle shot him a subtle warning glance. Subtlety wasn’t the Great Man’s strong point, so I kicked him in the ankle. He spun his head and glared at me, then he pursed his lips and looked away and sat back. He crossed his arms over his chest, silent and sulky.
“Precisely,” said Doyle to Honniwell. “And so, even if you could verify your belief that Carson provided the pistol, which I very much doubt, you’re still left with a suicide.”
“That’s correct,” said Honniwell. “And that is what my report will read.” He turned back to Lord Bob. “As I was about to say, Lord Purleigh. I am merely attempting here to do what’s best for all concerned.”
Lord Bob scowled and waved his hand slowly, as if shooing away sluggish flies. He reached out, snared the brandy decanter, poured what was left into his glass.
Honniwell said to Doyle, “As I told you earlier, it’s an utter waste of time, sending this Inspector Marsh from London. The autopsy and the examination of the pistol will establish that, of course.” He turned to Lord Bob. “As to the rifle, Lord Purleigh, I shall inform you when that examination is completed.”
Lord Bob nodded. “Can’t wait.”
I said, “You know about Chin Soo, Superintendent?”
He gave me the faint smile he reserved for Pinkertons. Or maybe he reserved it for Americans. Or maybe it wasn’t reserved at all, and he gave it out to anybody he thought it was okay to smile faintly at. “Yes,” he said. “Mr. Houdini and Sir Arthur have explained that situation. I think it extremely unlikely that this person could make his way into Maplewhite. I agree with Lord Purleigh that the rifle that was fired this afternoon was most likely fired by a poacher. The man is long gone by now.”
He glanced at Lord Bob to see how he took that. Lord Bob didn’t take it at all. He was staring at the empty brandy decanter as though it were the philosophers’ stone.
“How do you explain the Winchester?” I asked him. “It’s been fired recently.”
“One of the servants, perhaps.”
“Uh-huh. But you’ll leave some police on the premises?” Another faint smile. “I shall be posting two of my men outside. I’ll see to it that they’re relieved in the morning.”
“Only two?” I said.
He let himself get faintly amused again. “I’m quite sure that two trained British police officers will be more than sufficient. And, in deference to Lord Purleigh and his guests, I wish to keep our presence to a minimum.” He glanced hopefully at Lord Bob.
“Long as they stay outside,” said Lord Bob, talking to the empty decanter. “Don’t want ’em in here. Tracking muck about.”
The Great Man said, “And you will not be informing the press?
“Not as to your difficulties, Mr. Houdini. I will of course defer to Lord Purleigh’s request. But, Lord Purleigh, I’m afraid the news of the Earl’s death will soon reach the newspapers.”
“Swine’s a swine for a’ that,” Lord Purleigh told the brandy decanter.
Honniwell nodded crisply. “Yes. Well, then. I must be getting back to Amberly. I came here only to make certain that Lord Purleigh wasn’t unduly troubled by the arrival of my men.”
He looked at Lord Bob, who ignored him again.
Doyle stood up. “Perhaps you’d permit me to accompany you, Superintendent.” More diplomacy.
“Certainly, Sir Arthur. Lord Purleigh.” Still peering at the brandy decanter, Lord Bob scowled and waved a limp hand. “Mr. Houdini.” The Great Man nodded. “Mr. Beaumont.” I nodded.
He had decided, I guess, that there was no point in asking me any questions.
Doyle escorted him from the hall.
The Great Man turned to Lord Bob. “Excuse me, Lord Purleigh. I shall be going to my room for a short while.”
“Bloody nincompoop,” Lord Bob told the brandy decanter.
The Great Man stood.
“Harry?” I said.
He looked down at me, his face cold. Without saying a word, he pursed his lips and looked away. Then he strode off.
Lord Bob was still studying the decanter.
I got up and went after the Great Man.
Doyle was coming back from the main entrance, and he intercepted me. “Mr. Beaumont?”
Chapter Twenty
“Yes?” I said.
“Well,” he said, and his wide pink forehead was creased with thought. “What did you think of our Superintendent?”
“Not a whole lot,” I told him.
“No. I gathered as much. But I’d like to assure you that he’s not truly representative of our police officials.”
“Good.”
“I’ve heard, for example, excellent reports of Inspector Marsh.”
“Marsh is still coming tomorrow?”
“Well, I doubt, personally, that Scotland Yard will give any great credence to Superintendent Honniwell’s report. He and his people spent only about ten minutes in the Earl’s room.”
“They took away the body?”
“For the autopsy, yes.”
“You think it was a suicide, Sir Arthur?”
He considered the question for a moment. “Let me put it this way,” he said. “I should like to persuade myself that if it was not a suicide, then all other human agencies have been entirely ruled out.”
“Human agencies,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” I looked back at Lord Bob. He was still contemplating the empty decanter. I turned to Doyle. “You might talk to Lord Purleigh about moving the rest of the ammunition and locking it up somewhere.”
“The ammunition? Oh yes. Yes, of course. If it is Chin Soo, why should we provide him any more it?”
“Right.”
“An excellent idea.” He glanced at Lord Bob. “Lord Purleigh is rather under the weather at the moment. But I’ll have a word with Higgens.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
“Harry?”
Nothing.
I knocked on the Great Man’s door again. “Harry?”
Nothing.
I tried the knob. The door was locked.
I rapped again at the wooden panel. “Harry. Open the door.” Nothing.
I said, “It’s about Bess, Harry.”