“And playing his clarinet?”
“That’s right. I wonder Mason didn’t complain about that. I spent yesterday afternoon in the garden, doing some weeding, and I saw Edwin come back from the river about five. He had his clarinet with him and he had caught a fine salmon trout. It was a pity he put the clarinet in the creel and the fish in the music case, but Violet thinks she can save it. He said he was going to his room to have a kip, or ky-eep, as they say in Bugolaland, and he went indoors.
“Claud and Ramona arrived from Bradwood on the 3:45. The local taxi brought them up from Cregwell Halt. When they had unpacked — about half-past four, it must have been — they came out into the garden and said they were going to potter about a bit. Ramona said something about making friends with the trees, which I didn’t quite follow. That’s why I put them on the ‘Opportunity’ list, y’see. They were in the garden.
“Well, around half-past five I heard the roar of that great, ugly car of Mason’s coming up the drive. I had no desire to speak to the fellow, so I grabbed a gun from the cloakroom and went off down to the range as fast as I could. I met Maud and Julian, who were walking up from the river, ‘I wouldn’t go back to the house just yet,’ I told them. ‘You-know-who has just arrived in his Mercedes.’
“Maud went quite pale, poor child, but Julian was very angry. ‘I’ll go and see him off the premises,’ he said. ‘No, darling,’ said Maud. ‘Be sensible. Let’s go down to the river again and keep clear until he’s gone.’ Well, Julian was raring for a fight, but Maud persuaded him in the end and they went off down to the river again.
“I carried on around to the range and had a bit of target practice. I was keeping an ear cocked to hear the car leaving, and sure enough, about an hour or so later the engine started up. ‘Fine,’ thought I. ‘Capital. Now I can go into my own house and have a quiet bottle of stout without interruption.’ ”
“Did you hear Mason’s engine cut out again?” Henry asked.
“Can’t say that I did — consciously. The noise stopped, but I assumed that he’d driven off down the drive. Then I heard a shot. I was very surprised. I had my own gun with me and nobody is allowed to fire outside of the target range. I was afraid there might have been an accident, so I took the quickest way back to the front of the house. That is to say, I came through the shrubbery and out into the drive. There I saw the car standing with its hood open. And Mason, lying on the ground beside it.”
“You didn’t see anybody else?”
“Only Aunt Dora. She was coming across the drive from the house waving some of those damned pamphlets of hers, if you’ll forgive my French, and shouting out ‘Mr. Mason! Mr. Mason!’ I don’t suppose she realized at all what had happened. Then Violet and Edwin came running out of the house.
“‘What’s happened?’ Violet said. ‘Mason’s been shot, by the look of it,’ said I. ‘Oh, George,’ she said, ‘what have you done?’ ‘Don’t be a fool, Vi,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done anything. Go and phone Dr. Thompson.’ And so she did.”
Henry had been taking notes unobtrusively while Manciple spoke. Now, in silence, he finished a scribbled page and drew a firm line across the bottom.
“How much of that did you believe?” asked Major Manciple. “What I mean is — did it sound convincing at all?”
“You surely don’t imagine that I’d tell you, do you?” said Henry. He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. Let’s go and take a look at this famous shooting range of yours.”
CHAPTER FIVE
AS THEY CROSSED the hall Major Manciple said, “Are you a marksman yourself?” And before Henry could reply, added, “Of course you are. Silly of me. Part of your training. We’ll take a couple of guns with us.”
He disappeared through a massive oaken door and came back a few moments later carrying two pistols. He handed one to Henry.
“I look forward,” said George Manciple, “to showing you my little invention. I flatter myself that it is quite ingenious, a fair substitute for a bird in flight. The local tennis club are very cooperative, you understand.”
Henry, who did not understand, said, “I suppose you get a lot of shooting around here?”
“Certainly. I usually spend at least an hour a day on the range.”
“Game, I mean. Pheasant and…”
“Game?” Manciple sounded deeply shocked. “Certainly not. I strongly disapprove of blood sports — except fishing, which doesn’t count. I can assure you, sir, that no bird or beast is hunted or shot on my lands. If you want to kill or mutilate living creatures for sport you have come to the wrong place. You should go to a barbarian like John Adamson for that sort of thing.” The Major had gone very red and was breathing hard.
“I’m very sorry, Major Manciple,” said Henry. “I didn’t mean to upset you. As a matter of fact, I’m against blood sports myself. It was just the fact that you are so keen on shooting…”
“That’s all right, Tibbett,” said the Major, mollified. “This way. Down the steps and through the shrubbery. Perhaps I should explain. When I was in the Army I went through a crisis of conscience. The only part of my profession which I really enjoyed, and at which I excelled, was sniping, sharp-shooting. Whatever you like to call it. And then, one day, I was having a bit of target practice in the garden of the mess with a friend of mine, when he suddenly said, ‘There she goes! Watch this, Manciple!’ And he aimed up into the trees at the end of the compound, and shot a monkey. Have you ever shot a monkey, Tibbett?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Henry.
“They cry, like babies. They…” The Major cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter. Only, from that moment on I knew I would never raise a gun in anger against a living creature. A fine frame of mind for a soldier, you’ll agree. That was why I was so delighted to be able to resign my commission; and ever since, I have greatly enjoyed using my lethal skill in an entirely harmless manner.”
“I wonder,” said Henry, “whether you are trying to convince me that you would never have shot Raymond Mason.”
The Major looked at him sidelong, and then laughed hugely, “Perhaps I am,” he agreed with great good humor. “Perhaps I am. Here we are.”
The shooting range was a bleak place. It was, in fact, no more than a bare tract of land which ran slightly downhill away from the east wall of the house. At the far end was a twenty-foot-high concrete wall pitted with the scars of many shots. In front of the wall stood four mysterious-looking boxes, spaced at intervals of several feet from each other and connected one to the other with what looked like string.
The Major said, “You’ll take a couple of shots?”
“No, thank you,” said Henry. “I’ll just watch you, if I may.”
“Just as you wish; just as you wish. In that case, keep well back, near the wall of the house. That’s right. Now…”
Major Manciple walked up to the row of boxes and knelt down beside the left one. Henry, to his surprise, saw him pull a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and ignite the string. Then the Major stood up and strolled back to where Henry was standing.
“Fuse,” he explained shortly. He then took his stance, pistol cocked and ready.
“But what…?”
“Quiet, if you please!”
Henry became quiet. He was straining his eyes, fascinated, to see how the fuse was burning gradually nearer and nearer to the wooden box. Suddenly, with no noise and no warning, a sort of silent explosion took place. The box sprang open, and out of it, like a jack-in-the-box, a small circular object flew upward and outward. At the same moment, the Major fired; and with the sound of the shot the small flying object appeared to explode in mid-air. Henry had no time to comment before the second box behaved in a similar manner. Another shot rang out, but this time the flying object continued unharmed on its upward trajectory, hung poised for a moment, and then fell to the ground.