The Parliament House

    'What brought you to the north of the city?'

    'A murder inquiry, Mr Howlett.'

    The other man gulped. 'Murder? Can this be so?'

    Bale told him about the crime in Knightrider Street, and, being a friend of Francis Polegate, the brewer was visibly disturbed. Nearing fifty, Erasmus Howlett was a portly man of medium height with a chubby face and a voluminous paunch only partly concealed by a clever tailor. His podgy hands kept twitching involuntarily.

    'These are sad tidings, Constable,' he said, 'but I don't understand why you felt the need to bring them to me.'

    'I came on another errand, Mr Howlett.'

    'Ah, I see. In that case, perhaps you should sit down.' 'Thank you,' said Bale, taking a chair. 'Yours was the last name on my list. That's why I'm here.'

    'List?' repeated Howlett, sitting down.

    'Of people who might be able to help me.'

    'I'm more than ready to do that.'

    'Thank you. I called on Mr Polegate first thing this morning, before he set off to Cambridge. What perplexed me from the start,' Bale went on, 'was how the killer knew that his victim would be in the house on that particular day. Mr Everett had never stayed in London before. The first time that he does, he is shot dead.'

    'Quite horrifying!'

    'I asked Mr Polegate to give me the name of anybody - anybody at all - to whom he may have mentioned that his brother-in-law would be coming to celebrate the opening of the business. At first, he could think of nobody until he remembered dining with some friends a week ago.'

    'That's right,' said Howlett. 'I was one of them.'

    'I've spoken to the other two gentlemen, sir. They all agree that Mr Everett's visit was mentioned in the course of the meal.'

    'It was, constable. I recall it myself.' He laughed heartily. 'You surely do not think that any of us was responsible for the crime, do you?' He extended his trembling palms 'With these wretched hands of mine, I could not even hold a weapon, let alone pull the trigger.'

    'I didn't come here to accuse you, Mr Howlett.'

    'That's a relief.'

    'And I'm sorry about your ailment.'

    'Three physicians have tried to cure it and each one has failed.'

    'It must be an inconvenience.'

    'One learns to live with one's disabilities,' said Howlett, clasping his hands together. 'Most of the time, I hardly notice the problem. On the question of your errand,' he continued, why has it brought you to my door - if you've not come to arrest me, that is?'

    'I wondered if you'd passed on the information to anyone else.'

    'What - about the visit of Mr Everett?' 'Yes, sir.'

    'I don't think so, Constable. To be honest, there's nobody in my circle who would be at all interested to hear about it. Until today, I'd forgotten that the subject had ever been raised. When I dine with friends,' he said with a chuckle, 'I like to drink my fill and that means I remember very little of what was said.' His brow furrowed and he pursed his lips in concentration. 'No,' he decided at length, 'I told nobody - not even my wife.'

    'Then I'm sorry to have taken up your time.'

    'Not at all, Mr Bale. I'm glad that you came. I must call on Francis and offer my condolences. He's off to Cambridge, you say?'

    'Yes, sir. Mr Everett's wife and family have yet to be told.'

    'My heart goes out to them.'

    'I do not envy Mr Polegate's task.'

    Howlett sighed. 'It's never good to be the bearer of sad news.'

    'No, sir.' Bale got to his feet. 'I must be off.'

    'Give me your address before you go, constable.'

    'My address?'

    'Yes,' said Howlett, getting up from his chair. 'I'm fairly certain that I spoke to nobody about Mr Everett, but memory sometimes plays tricks on me. If, perchance, I do recall telling someone about his visit to Francis Polegate's house, then I'll send the name to you at once.'

      The unexpected arrival of Lancelot and Brilliana Serle threw the house into a state of mild turmoil. Susan Cheever was taken by surprise.

    'We had no idea that you would be coming today,' she said.

    'Your letter more or less begged us to set out at once,' argued Brilliana. 'You may not have requested our help in so many words but I could read between the lines.'

    'I merely sought to keep you abreast of developments, Brilliana.'

    'A murder is more than a mere development.'

    'I'll not gainsay that.'

    'We are here now so you may count on our support.'

    'Yes,' added Serle, doffing his hat. 'Delighted to see you again, Susan. This whole business must have been very trying for you.'

    'Indeed, it has, Lancelot.'

    Susan had the feeling that their presence would make it even more trying but she did not say so. Instead, she summoned up a smile and made an effort to be hospitable, inquiring about their journey and asking what their immediate needs were. Her brother-in-law, as ever, was polite, attentive and innocuous. Susan was very fond of him. She also pitied Lancelot Serle for taking on the dazzling burden that was Brilliana. Duty obliged her to love her sister but Susan had never been able to bring herself wholeheartedly to like her. Years of being under the thumb of her elder sibling had left their mark upon her.

    Conducting the visitors into the parlour, she did her best to adjust to the fact that the house would be considerably noisier and more crowded from now on. Peace and quiet were alien to Brilliana. She liked to fill each day with inconsequential chatter. She was still complaining about the condition of the road to London when Sir Julius entered.

    'Father!' she trilled, going to him.

    'Good evening, Sir Julius,' said Serle.

    'What the devil are you two doing here?' demanded Sir Julius.

    'That's a poor welcome, to be sure!' protested Brilliana. 'Can you not even rise to a kiss for your daughter?' Her father reluctantly planted his lips on her cheek. 'That's better,' she said, standing back. 'Now, let me look at you properly. Has Susan been taking care of you?'

    'I can take care of myself, Brilliana.'

    'And you do it tolerably well, Sir Julius,' said Serle, hoping that a compliment might endear his father-in-law to him. 'I've never seen you in such fine feather.'

    'Then you need spectacles,' chided his wife. 'Father is not well.'

    'I was perfectly well until you appeared,' said Sir Julius.

    Brilliana gave a brittle laugh. 'You always did have a weakness for a jest, Father,' she said. 'But the fact is that you look pale and drawn

    to me. Your diet is patently at fault. I need to take it in hand.'

    'You'll do nothing of the kind.'

    'No,' agreed Susan, smarting at the implied criticism of her. 'Now, why don't we all make ourselves comfortable?'

    Brilliana chose the sofa and patted it to indicate that her husband should sit beside her. Sir Julius sat on the other side of the room. Susan occupied a chair that was midway between her father and her sister. An unlikely silence descended. It was broken, improbably, by Lancelot Serle.

    'We are waiting to hear what happened yesterday, Sir Julius.'

    'Are you?' grunted his father-in-law.

    All that we know is that a friend of yours was murdered,' said Serle. 'May one ask where you were at the time?'

    'Not a foot from where Bernard was standing.'

    'Heavens! Then you could so easily have been killed yourself.'