He looked around the room. The silk dress she had worn the previous evening was hanging on the side of the wardrobe, the folds arranged to prevent creasing. On a painted satinwood chair nearby the other garments had been put to air, the underskirt draped across the arms, the corset, black like the rest, over the back. The stockings and garters lay unseparated near the boots on the floor, but it was clear enough from the arrangement of the rest that Isabel had not been disturbed before getting into bed. Nor had she got up to admit her murderer; even a woman as unreserved as she would have put her undergarments out of sight first.
He crossed to the safe. It was a small metal container, certainly large enough to have held a hundred five-pound notes. Earlier he would have dearly liked to examine its contents for the evidence Cribb required. Now it was quite empty.
Suddenly Jago turned in surprise. From outside, under the window, had come two reports. He darted to the sill and looked out. The two dogs lay motionless on the lawn.
Presently Vibart, carrying a gun, approached their great bodies with caution, holding it ready for a third shot.
“Why in God’s name did you do that?” Jago shouted down. He was incensed. Hadn’t there been enough meaningless violence already?
Vibart gave no answer until he was satisfied, by shifting the fallen bodies with his foot, that they were really dead.
“They were hers,” he shouted back. “There’s no sense in keeping them on now. They didn’t save her from Morgan, did they? Useless brutes. Better off dead.”
A movement behind Jago made him turn. D’Estin had entered the room and was standing facing the bed, shaking his head in incomprehension.
“I heard shooting,” he said. “But this. .”
“I was coming to tell you,” Jago said. “Vibart and I found her a few minutes ago. He’s outside. He just shot the dogs with that gun he bought you. He must have awaked the entire household.”
“We must stop the servants’ finding out about this,” said D’Estin, collecting himself. “We want no questions- police-that sort of thing. We’ll settle the score in our own way. They emptied the safe, did they? One of those bastards who came last night did this. It was more than they could bear to part with five hundred, even when they stood to gain twice as much in the fight.” He came to the window.
“What’s that idiot going to do with the dogs?” He leaned out and shouted to Vibart. “Move them into the woodshed, man! We want no questions about this.”
“It must be six-thirty by now,” said Jago. “What time does Mrs. Gruber come to wake her?”
“Quarter to eight. She’ll be down in the kitchens by now.
Must have heard that halfwit shooting. He’ll have to tell her he was after game. Look, I’d better get the servants out of the way altogether. I’ll go down there now and tell ’em Isabel went off to London last night, and we’re off shortly, so that they can all take the weekend off.”
“That will sound very sudden,” cautioned Jago.
“You didn’t know Isabel. She was as liable to give them a day off at the drop of a hat as she was to keep ’em working hours after their time. They won’t think anything of it.”
“You ought to dress first then. There is time.”
D’Estin nodded and left. Jago became a policeman again and turned to the window to examine the sill. There was no sign of anyone having entered that way. As the pipes outside were arranged, the climb looked a more difficult feat than he had thought at first. The six feet of brickwork to be bridged between pipe and window was cleared of ivy and had no obvious footholds. Besides, the dogs would certainly have attacked anyone in the grounds at night. Vibart’s supposition that the Ebony was responsible and had taken all the evidence away in the four-wheeler seemed the best explanation. Certainly the Negro had no regard for Isabel; anyone could see the simmering scorn in his eyes whenever she had spoken patronizingly to him.
Vibart returned from depositing the dogs’ bodies in the woodshed. “The servants are bloody delighted! D’Estin’s given them the weekend off. I say, shouldn’t we draw the curtains or something?”
Jago did so. Then, between them, they lifted Isabel’s body to a more restful position on the bed and covered it with a clean sheet which Vibart fetched from the linen store in the window seat on the landing.
After a few minutes they were joined in the dressing room adjacent by D’Estin. Nobody had suggested a conference, but by tacit consent they seated themselves there, and Vibart summarized the position.
“I think we are agreed that only one man can be responsible for this appalling deed, and that is Morgan. He left us last night after Isabel had gone to bed, and he was gone for three-quarters of a bloody hour looking for a few clothes in the gym. He knew she had the money by then and he knew where her room was. Probably he did pick up the dressing gown from the gym and then wore it to protect his clothes as he stabbed her. When it was done, he wiped his hands on the night jacket in there and then made a bundle of the dressing gown with the knife and money inside it.”
“And he thinks he’s clear because, whatever we suspect, we wouldn’t be fools enough to bring in the police,” added D’Estin.
Jago nodded, allowing others to draw conclusions.
“But the bastard’s made a mistake if he thinks that’s the last he’s heard of the matter,” continued D’Estin. “I don’t know if I speak for you two as well, but I certainly plan to settle the score.”
“I’m with you,” said Vibart at once.
“What can we do?” said Jago without committing himself.
“Nothing till we know where he is,” said D’Estin. “Our only chance of catching up with him is to go through with the fight as planned. Afterwards we can get him away and give him a taste of our kind of justice.”
Vibart lit a cigar. He was ready for a long debate on strategy. “Surely Beckett will have him carefully protected. He may have been a party to this murder himself.”
“That’s possible,” D’Estin agreed. “But once Beckett has his hands on the money, he won’t be bothered about his ebony friend. We simply go to the nearest pub with them, as you always do after a fight, and wait our chance to move Morgan out. After twenty-six rounds with Jago here, he won’t be in much of a state to argue.”
Jago smiled feebly.
“Shall we knife him?” asked Vibart matter-of-factly.
“Shooting’s cleaner. I’ve got the revolver. We’ll dump him in the nearest river. Are you with us, Jago? It means you go through with the fight as it was arranged last night. It won’t be all lavender fighting a man you know to be a bloody murderer. Are you game?”
Now was hardly the time to admit oneself on the side of the law.
“Game? Never more so,” declared Jago earnestly.
CHAPTER 14
“I wouldn’t do that, Thackeray,” said Sergeant Cribb unexpectedly.
“Do what, Sarge?”
“Lie on your back in the grass.”
Thackeray propped himself onto one elbow and squinted at Cribb. “Why?”
“Grasshoppers.”
“Grasshoppers, Sarge? What do you mean?”
Cribb paused a second, dissecting a dandelion. “Poor-sighted little parties, grasshoppers.”
Thackeray’s eyes gaped.
“If one of ’em sees that crop turned skywards,” continued Cribb, eyeing the six-day stubble on Thackeray’s chin, “he’s liable to make a jump for it and end up in your mouth.”
There were times, even in the country under a cloudless sky at the height of summer, when Thackeray understood what drove men to violent crime. Without a word, he slumped down again.
Two and a half hours they had lain there in the long grass like scouts on the North-West Frontier, Cribb periodically training his field glasses on the Hall. All the action had taken place in the first half-hour. Two women in their forties and an elderly man had passed within thirty yards of them on their way to the gate. From their dress they were obviously of the servant class, the man probably a gardener and the women cooks or maidservants. They chatted excitedly and with obvious pleasure.