“Yes, please, sir. And if they’ll ask Lady Eleanor to tell the Steward when they arrive—”
“Lady who?”
“Lady Eleanor, sir. His Lordship’s daughter. She’s on duty at the door.”
“Is she? Then she’ll probably send them round the back anyway,” said the Superintendent, “when she’s taken a good look at them.”
“Yes, sir”—dutifully. Then, “The deceased is a Mr. Osborne Meredith, Librarian to the Earl.”
“Ha!” Triumphantly. “What did I tell you, Sloan? Librarian. He got the idea from a book, I’ll be bound. Mark my words, he’ll be one of these suicides that’s got to be different—”
“Different,” conceded Sloan, at once. “This is different all right, but as to the other, sir, I couldn’t say. Not yet.”
4
« ^ »
Detective Constable Crosby was still keeping watch in the armoury when Charles Purvis and Inspector Sloan got back there.
“I’ve just checked up on the other seven suits of armour, sir,” he said virtuously.
“Good.”
“All empty.”
“Good,” said Sloan again, slightly startled this time. Honest as always, even with himself, Sloan admitted that this was something he wouldn’t have considered. He’d got a real eager beaver on his hands in young Crosby. Surely Grand Guignol himself wouldn’t have thought of seven more men in seven more suits.
“And,” went on Crosby, “on the ways into here.”
“There’s just the one, isn’t there?” said Sloan.
“That’s right, sir. The door.”
Purvis, the Steward, seemed inclined to apologise for this. “That’s because we’re below ground level here, Inspector, and so we can’t very well have windows. Nor even borrowed light. It’s all artificial, the lighting down here.”
Sloan looked round. In a fine imitation of medieval times, flaming-torch-style lighting had been fixed into basket-type brackets high up on the walls.
“The lighting’s not very good,” said Purvis.
“Effective, though.”
Purvis nodded. “Most people are glad to get back upstairs again.”
Sloan went back to the second suit of armour on the right. “Tell me, had anyone mentioned to you that Mr. Meredith was missing?”
“No, Inspector. We—that is, I—had no idea at all that everything was not as usual. We shouldn’t have opened the House at all today had there been any suggestion that…” His voice trailed away.
“Quite so,” said Sloan.
“Complete surprise to us all.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Nasty shock, actually.”
“You said he lived with his sister.”
“That’s right. His Lordship has gone down to Ornum to break the news.”
“Himself?”
Purvis looked surprised and a bit embarrassed. “Not the sort of job to delegate, you know. Come better from him anyway, don’t you think? Take it as a gesture, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then get the Vicar to go round afterwards. Helpful sort of chap, the Vicar.”
“Good,” said Sloan, content that the ground was also being prepared for him. A visit from a humble policeman shouldn’t come amiss after all that.
“Though, as to the rest”—the Steward waved a hand to embrace the armour—“I can’t understand it at all. It’s not as if it was even his subject. It’s Mr. Ames who’s the expert.”
“Ames?”
“The Vicar. Bit of an enthusiast about armour. If we get any visitors who’re really keen we ring him up at the Vicarage and he comes in.”
Sloan looked round the armoury. “There’s never a full-time guide here, then?”
“No. Hackle brings people as far as the door when he’s finished showing the dungeons and so forth—you need a man there because of the
“I see.”
Purvis pointed to an arquebus hanging on the wall. “Not everyone’s subject.”
“No.”
“But Mr. Ames catalogued this collection years ago, and he always comes in if special parties come.”
“Special parties?”
Purvis nodded. “As well as the ordinary visitors we have what you might call specialist groups. People who are interested in just one facet of Ornum House. Parties come to see the armour and I tell Mr. Ames. It’s the same with the pictures and books and manuscript records. Take next week, for instance. I’ve got a party who call themselves The Young Masters coming down to see the pictures on Monday. Arranged it with Mr. Meredith so that he could…” Purvis came to a stop when he saw where his sentence was getting him. “Oh, dear, I’d forgotten all about that.”
Sloan looked at the suit of armour that contained the late Mr. Meredith and said, “What other… er… speciality of the House do you have?”
“The Ornum Collection of china,” replied the Steward, not without pride, “is thought to be one of the finest still in private hands.”
“I see.” Sloan scratched his chin. “Before I see his Lordship, do you think you could just give me some idea of the set-up here?”
“Set-up?” said Purvis distantly.
“Who all live here, then…”
“Well, there’s the family, of course…”
Constable Crosby got out his notebook and started writing.
“There’s his Lordship,” said Purvis, “and the Countess and their children.”
“Lady Eleanor?” said Sloan.
“Lady Eleanor is their only daughter,” said Charles Purvis, a curious strangled note creeping into his voice.
“And who else?”
“Lord Cremond, his Lordship’s son.”
“And heir?” enquired Sloan.
Purvis nodded. “His only son.”
“I see. That all?”
The Steward smiled faintly. “By no means.”
“Oh?”
“Then there’s his Lordship’s cousin, Miss Gertrude Cremond.”
“Quite a family.”
“And,” went on Purvis, “his Lordship’s aunts, Lady Alice and Lady Maude. They are, of course, rather… er… elderly now.”
Sloan sighed. That, being translated, meant eccentric.
Purvis hadn’t finished. “His Lordship’s nephew, Mr. Miles Cremond, is staying in the house just now, with his wife, Mrs. Laura Cremond, and then, of course,, there are the indoor staff… Dillow, the butler, and so on.”
Sloan sighed again
“Do you want me to go on?” asked Purvis.
