The sergeant was left to stare after him in great perplexity. The chief constable, Colonel Watson, who presently came hurrying out of the courtroom, found him scratching his head meditatively. "Has Mr. Amberley gone, Sergeant?"
The sergeant sprang to attention. Just this minute gone, sir. He's in one of his funny moods."
"Oh, you've been talking to him, have you? Very irregular, Sergeant, quite out of order. I suppose Mr. Amberley didn't throw any more light than he did in his evidence?"
"No, sir. Mr. Amberley went off highly humorous," said the sergeant heavily.
At Greythorne only Felicity evinced much interest in the result of the inquest. Sir Humphrey, although a justice of the peace, deprecated the introduction of such subjects into the home circle, and Lady Matthews had already forgotten most of what it was about. But when Amberley met Anthony Corkran at the clubhouse that afternoon he found that worthy agog to talk the matter over. In company with the Fountains he had been present at the inquest, and he expressed himself much dissatisfied with the result.
"Is that the end of it?" he demanded. "D'you mean to tell me there's nothing more. going to be done?"
"Oh no, there's a lot more to be done. Find the murderer, for instance. Look here, there are several things I want to ask you, but first I want to play golf. What about it?"
"Absolutely all right with me," Anthony assured him.
"Might think out a solution on the round, what?"
The course was a long one with a fair amount of trouble on it. Mr. Corkran warned his friend that it was imperative to keep straight and pulled his first drive into a clump of gorse bushes.
"Thanks, Anthony," said Mr. Amberley. "Example is better than precept - every time."
It was past five when they finished the round, and the light had already grown very bad. They found the clubhouse rather empty, as was usual on a weekday, and they had no difficulty in securing a corner to themselves. Over the first half-pint of beer, Anthony would discuss nothing but his tendency to pull, embellished by illustrative anecdotes of fatal pulls on half the golf courses of England. But when he had taken Amberley from Sandwich by way of Wentworth and Hoylake to St Andrews he at last ran dry.
Amberley allowed him to brood over the afternoon's round for a few minutes, while he sent for more beer. When this came Anthony roused himself from his absorption and of his own accord abandoned the subject of golf.
"This 'ere murder," he said. "What about it?"
"Not enough. That's the trouble. What is Brother Basil afraid of?"
"Ah, you noticed it, did you? Blessed if I know. Jolly sort of atmosphere about the place, isn't there? The sooner I get Joan out of it the better."
"When is the wedding, by the way?"
"Next month. As far as I can make out, I look like being a fixture there till then, or practically. I was supposed to be pushing off after these fancy-dress revels - I say, why do women get all unhinged when it comes to fancy dress? Even Joan's definitely insane on the subject. I ask you, Amberley, do I look the sort of silly ass who'd do well as Faust?" Frank shook his head. "Of course I don't. A dance is all right, but why drag in the fancy dress? However, that wasn't what I was going to say. Being a fixture. Well, I always meant to push off on Thursday, but apart from Joan wanting me to stay a bit longer, Brother Basil's all for it."
"Pleasure of your company, or funk?"
"Funk," said Corkran positively. "The man's all chewed up with it, and God knows why. All I know is that he doesn't want to be left alone at the manor. It's since the murder that he's got the jumps to this extent."
"Do you know anything about him?"
"No, not much. Nothing much to know. Good family, public-school man, and all that sort of thing. Always been fairly well off, I gather, on account of old Fountain making him his heir. Naturally I've gleaned a bit from Joan, in the way of conversation. As far as I can make out Brother Basil's led a comfortable sort of life, no worries, or debts, or riotous living. Ordinary bonhomous sort of chap. Simple Pleasures and Athletic Ideal, you know. Shoots, hunts a bit, quite a stylish bat, I believe. He's keen on all outdoor sports. Devilish healthy. Had me out before breakfast to bathe when I stayed with him down at Littlehaven. He's got a bungalow there - rather decent, except for the damned boat."
"What damned boat?"
"Motorboat. According to Basil you can cross the Channel in it without being seasick. Well, I didn't cross the Channel, so perhaps that accounted for it."
Amberley laughed. "Not a good sailor, in fact."
"The world's worst," said Corkran. "Anyone can have the super motorboat as far as I'm concerned. Joan, too. She bars it completely, which feeds Brother Basil stiff. He and she don't hit it off particularly well, you know. "Though according to her things were fairly all right till the old man died. She swears it's something to do with the manor. Of course, the truth is she doesn't like the place, so she's got it into her head there's something wrong with it. Then, on top of that, there's Collins."
"Yes, I'm rather interested in Collins," said Amberley. "Were he and Dawson the only survivors from the old regime?"
"Oh Lord, no! Practically the whole staff's the same. There's a housekeeper who's been there since the year dot, and the cook, and a couple of gardeners, and a whole bevy of skivvies — I don't know about them, by the way. They may have changed since old Fountain kicked the bucket. But the hardy perennials all stayed put. You see, Brother Basil was no stranger to 'em. Old jasper seems to have been very fond of him; always having him down to stay. So they all knew him and seem to have liked him. I tell you, there's no data at all."
"I begin to think there's something in what the sergeant said," remarked Amberley. "Queer case. Nice little holiday problem."
"Well, if you want a Watson, don't forget me, will you?" said Corkran. "And talking of Watson, do you remember Freddy Holmes? Chap with freckles in the Army Class?"
"In Merrill's House? Yes, what about him?"
"I'll tell you," said Corkran, drawing his chair closer.
The conversation ceased from that moment to have any bearing on the murder, but became frankly an interchange of school reminiscences. It lasted for an hour and might have lasted for three had not Corkran chanced to catch sight of the clock. He then fled, having promised to fetch his betrothed from a tea party at least half an hour earlier.
Amberley followed in a more leisurely fashion and drove his Bentley into Upper Nettlefold to buy tobacco on his way home. When he came out of the shop he found that his car was not unattended. A dark, wildlooking boy in grey flannel trousers, a polo sweater and a tweed coat was leaning against it, solemnly staring at the switches on the dashboard. He wore no hat, and a lock of black hair strayed artlessly across his forehead.
Amberley paused outside the shop and began slowly to fill a pipe, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the dark young man.
The youth continued to lean heavily.
"Anything I can do for you?" Amberley inquired.
The dishevelled head was turned. "Nobody," said the youth simply, "need do any - anything for me."
"That's good. Mind if I remove the car?"
The youth disregarded this. "D'you know what I've been doing?"
"Yes," said Amberley frankly.
"I've been - I - have - been having - tea with - with a fellow," announced the youth.
"Strong tea. I should go home now if I were you." 'Thash - what I was going to do," said the youth. "He's a fellow I met - th'other day. He's a nice fellow. I don' care what anyone says, he's a nishe — a nice fellow. Shirley - Shirley doesn't like him. What I shay - say is bloody snob'ry. Thash what I say."
Mr. Amberley's expression changed from contemptuous amusement to sudden interest. "Shirley," he repeated.