The sergeant surveyed him closely. "Where were you before you came down here?"
A shade of discomfort crossed the butler's features. He replied, not quite so readily: "I was temporarily out of service, Sergeant."
"Whys'
"I was suffering from ill health."
"Address?"
"My — my home address is in Tooting," said the man reluctantly. "In Blackadder Road."
"Previous employer?"
"My late master has gone to America."
"He has, has he? Name?"
"Fanshawe," said Baker still more unwillingly.
"Address when in England?"
"He has no address in England, Sergeant."
The sergeant looked up. "Look here, my man, he had an address while you were in his service, hadn't he? What was it?"
Mr. Amberley's quiet voice interposed. "You were with Mr. Geoffrey Fanshawe, were you?"
The butler glanced towards him. "Yes, sir."
"Eaton Square, in fact?"
The butler swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"Then why make a mystery of it? No. 547, Sergeant."
"Do you know the gentleman, sir?"
"Slightly. He's a member of my club."
"Is it true that he's gone abroad?"
"I believe so. I could find out."
The sergeant addressed Fountain. "You had a reference, sir, I take it?"
"Yes, of course. But Baker gave it to me. I wasn't able to write to Mr. Fanshawe myself because he had gone - or was said to have gone - to New York. The chit was written on club notepaper."
"Trace him through the club," said the sergeant, writing laboriously in his notebook. "Or you will, sir?"
"Yes, I will," Amberley said. "I should like to know one thing, though." His hard eyes rested on Baker's face. "You say you would have heard Collins leave the house had you not been in the dining room at the time. Did you see or hear anyone else leave the house during the course of the evening?"
The butler said slowly: "Two of the maids were out, sir. None of the rest of the staff."
"You are sure of that?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you in the servants' hall?"
"No, sir. I was in my pantry most of the evening. Before that I was in the dining room clearing things away."
"So that you would have known had anyone left the house by the front door?"
"No one opened the front door this evening, sir," said Baker, meeting his gaze squarely.
Mr. Amberley returned to the study of Punch. He appeared to take no further interest in the sergeant's examination of Baker, but as the butler was about to leave the room ten minutes later, he raised his eyes for a moment and said: "Did it appear to you, when you looked in Collins' room, that he had taken anything away, as though he were leaving for good?"
"No, sir," replied Baker. "Mr. Fountain told me to look particularly. I took the liberty of glancing in the cupboard and the chest of drawers. So far as I could judge nothing had been taken away."
"And you looked pretty thoroughly?"
Yes, sir. There was nothing of a suspicious nature to be seen."
"Thank you," said Amberley.
The sergeant shut his notebook. "No more questions, sir?"
"No, thanks, Sergeant," said Amberley tranquilly.
"Then I'll be getting back to the station, sir. Sorry to have knocked you up, Mr. Fountain. I expect the inspector will want to see you tomorrow."
Fountain nodded somewhat gloomily. "Yes, I expect he will," he agreed. "I shall be in all the morning."
"Well, if that's all," said Anthony, "I'm going back to bed. And I'd like to take a gun with me. I should feel happier."
"I'm sure I'm not surprised, sir," said the sergeant cordially.
"You come with me, Sergeant," invited Anthony. "What we both need is a drink."
Fountain was roused to his duties as host. "Of, course. What am I thinking about? You'll have a drink too, won't you, Amberley?"
Amberley declined it. The sergeant, eyeing him somewhat aggrievedly, murmured something about regulations, but allowed Mr. Corkran to persuade him. When he came back he was wiping his moustache and seemed to be on the best of terms with Anthony. As he drove away from the manor he informed Mr. Amberley that he didn't know when he had taken such a fancy to a young gentleman. "And what's more, sir," he said confidentially, "though I don't say he's right, there might be something in that idea of his about a homicidal maniac. After all, sir three murders, without any rhyme or reason to them. What do you think?"
"I think you and Mr. Corkran were made for one another," said Amberley. "The murders were not all committed by the same man. Dawson was killed by Collins."
"Eh?" The sergeant was startled. "But you never seemed to make much of Collins, Mr. Amberley! I've suspected him all along, but you…'
"The trouble is, Sergeant, that you suspected him of the wrong crime."
"Oh!" said the sergeant, rather at sea. "I suppose you mean something, sir, but I'm blessed if I know what. Did you make anything of what we heard up there?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the manor.
"There were one or two points," replied Ambericy.
"That's what I thought, sir. I don't mind telling you I got my eye on that butler. I'd like to find out a bit about him. He'll bear watching. Crops up out of nowhere, so to speak, and knows more than what you'd expect. Not at all surprised to see us, he wasn't. Might have been expecting us. Well, I got a feeling about him, and when I get a feeling I'm not often wrong. That's your man, Mr. Amberley, you mark my words!"
Amberley glanced enigmatically towards him. "You've a marvellous intuition, Gubbins."
"Well, that's as may be, sir. But you wait and you'll see I'm right."
"I think, Sergeant," said Mr. Amberley, swinging round a sharp bend, "that you are nearer the truth than you know."
Chapter Fifteen
Felicity, upon hearing the news at breakfast, at once declared her intention of going over to see Joan that morning. Sir Humphrey accused- her of a morbid love of horrors, which imputation she quite blithely admitted. Sir Humphrey himself was very much shocked by what had happened and forbore to rate Frank for disturbing him in the small hours. Although he had so frequently asseverated that he took no interest in crime when not seated in judgement upon it, crime in Upper Nettlefold was assuming so wholesale an aspect that he was induced to inquire into it. From his nephew he got no more than the bare facts, which he said (several times) were shocking.
Mr. Amberley left the breakfast table in the middle of Sir Humphrey's dissertation on hooliganism in These Modern Times, pausing only to recommend his uncle to send his views to one of the Sunday papers. He told Lady Matthews not to expect him to lunch and went out.
Sir Humphrey, cut short in this summary manner, spoke bitterly of the lack of manners of the younger generation. His wife heard him out patiently, merely saying when he had done: "Never mind, my dear. Poor Frank! So worried."
"Was he, Mummy?" Felicity looked up.
"Yes, darling. Of course. Such a lot on his hands. I shall come with you this morning."
Sir Humphrey demanded whether she too had become obsessed with a morbid mania for horrors. She replied placidly that she had not, but she wanted to be driven into Upper Nettlefold.
"Do you mind going to the manor on the way back, mummy?"
"Not at all," said Lady Matthews. "Poor Ludlow. A hundred and two."
"A hundred and two what?" snapped Sir Humphrey.
"I forget, dear. Point three, I think. Temperature, you know."
Felicity was surprised to find, when she and her mother set out, that Lady Matthews' main objective was the Boar's Head. She was curious to know what she wanted to do there, but all Lady Matthews would say was that she wished Shirley Brown to come back to Greythorne.
Felicity had not imagined that her mother would feel so much interest in a stranger as reticent as Shirley. She looked rather sharply at her and accused her of having something up her sleeve.