office beside him, Sir Daynes straddled the hearth, and Gently, continuing to acknowledge his role of supercargo, retired once more to the seat by the window. But before a fresh victim could be hailed in there was a tap on the door, and Somerhayes entered.
‘I thought I’d look in, Daynes, to make sure that you had been well looked after.’
‘Eh?’ queried Sir Daynes, frowning. ‘Yes, thank you, Henry — everything first-class. Couldn’t have been better. Compliments to Mrs Barnes, Henry.’
‘If there is anything you would like sent in…’
‘Nothing, man, nothing. We’re damn near bursting at the seams.’
Somerhayes hesitated, as though at a loss to express himself; then he turned to Gently at the window.
‘You are fully occupied here, Mr Gently?’
‘Occupied…?’ Gently glanced at him in mild surprise.
‘I cannot help remembering that you are a guest who has been unhappily involved in this tragic affair… If you feel you would like to relax for a little while, my library is a very quiet and comfortable room.’
It was said with studied indifference, but both Gently and Sir Daynes caught the curious little undertone of appeal that accompanied it. Sir Daynes fired a sharp look, first at Somerhayes and then at Gently. The latter, after a moment’s pause, rose slowly to his feet.
‘Thank you for the offer… I think I might take advantage of it.’
‘In that case I am glad I thought of it.’ There was no mistaking the eagerness in Somerhayes’s tone. ‘You did not require Mr Gently, Daynes?’
‘Require him? No! Daresay we can get along on our own.’
‘Then I can carry him off with a clear conscience… I would not want to interrupt if he were assisting you.’
‘Damn it, man!’ erupted the baronet. ‘Think the Northshire County Constabulary can’t handle an investigation on their own?’
Somerhayes smiled humourlessly and retired with his capture.
He led the way down a long, parquet-floored corridor from the grey-panelled walls of which stared down several generations of the Feverell family, their wives and their children. He gestured to them ruefully in passing.
‘Decline and fall,’ he observed. ‘My father hung them there, and I have not had the heart to take them down. This way, if you please.’
Gently shrugged and followed him. They had turned a corner into a small hall, and from here a door decorated with a painted armorial shield gave into the library. Somerhayes, having made way for Gently, closed the door silently behind them.
It was a large, well-appointed room with a handsomely decorated drop-ceiling and six tall windows draped with green damask curtains. The walls were completely furnished with glass-fronted mahogany bookcases, about half of them fitted with cupboards below, and a glance at the shelves showed a great catholicity in bindings and periods. Opposite the windows an ashy wood fire burned in a basket in an immense freestone hearth, the mantel of which was ornamented with shields, and above it hung framed several antique maps of the county in their original colouring and gilt. From the ceiling depended two chandeliers, but the only illumination came from a parchment- shaded pedestal lamp standing near the hearth. At an appropriate distance were arranged two wing-chairs with a table and decanter between them.
‘Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr Gently. Can I pour you a glass of this port?’
Gently shook his head and selected the chair nearest the lamp.
‘You will join me in a cigar, perhaps?’
‘No, thank you… I’ve had rather too many.’
‘Like you, I find they pall if one smokes nothing else.’
Somerhayes poured himself a glass from the decanter and took it to the other chair. In spite of Gently’s strategic positioning, the nobleman’s handsome features were indifferently lit, and by withdrawing them slightly he could obscure them in the shadow of the chair-wing.
‘You know, this is not our first meeting, Mr Gently.’
‘Hmn?’ Gently was really surprised.
‘No. Though I doubt whether you would be able to remember the other occasions. But I have been in court twice when you were giving evidence at the Quarter Sessions here, once at the Old Bailey, once at Lewes, and once at the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court. So you see, in a manner of speaking we are old acquaintances.’
Gently nodded dubiously. ‘In a manner of speaking…’
‘More so, perhaps, than you think, Mr Gently.’
Was there a smile playing round that thin-lipped mouth?
‘As you are perhaps aware, there are few situations which reveal a man’s character and personality so strongly as the occupancy of a witness-box. This is true at any level, but particularly true where such a grave matter as homicide is in question, and where the witness has a great deal of sometimes complex evidence to give, in the teeth of ruthless attacks by the defence counsel. Those are the times which try men’s souls, Mr Gently. They bring to the surface all the strengths and weaknesses, the virtues, the vices, in a phrase, the naked ego of a man. One sometimes sees one’s friends as one would not wish to see them.’
‘I trust I didn’t expose myself too much…’ Gently stirred uneasily.
‘On the contrary — quite on the contrary. It was by being able to observe you in these circumstances that I became so strongly impressed with your personality, Mr Gently. I am not a man who impresses easily. By education and avocation I have learned to treat my fellow men with the greatest reserve and, I am afraid, distrust. But in your case I felt an immediate confidence. I felt that there stood a man with a deep and — may I say it? — compassionate understanding of human failings and follies. I felt this so powerfully that I made a point of being present at other times when you were likely to be called, and when I learned that you were visiting the neighbourhood, I took immediate steps to become personally acquainted. I felt, in a sense, that the hand of providence was in the circumstance.’
Somerhayes paused, watching Gently from the shadow of the wing. The glass of port in his hand glowed ruddily in the fitful firelight, and the same illumination made a livid mask of one side of his face. Gently shrugged an indifferent shoulder.
‘It’s a great pity somebody jogged the hand of providence.’
Somerhayes laughed softly. ‘In a way, yes. But only in a way. Even this unhappy tragedy is subject to the point of view. And what makes you so certain that the hand was jogged, Mr Gently? Could it not have moved deliberately, when a certain propitious assembly of factors was complete?’
‘An assembly of factors…’ Gently’s eyebrows rose.
‘I call it that. You must consider me as being a fatalist.’
‘Me… I’m just a realist.’
‘That is your privilege, Mr Gently.’
‘I can see it in only one way. A young man who I liked has been killed… literally, on the threshold of life.’
Somerhayes’s head dropped a little. ‘I, also, was fond of Lieutenant Earle.’
‘By way of corollary, there’s a killer at large.’
‘And killers must be stopped — you are talking to one who has heard all the arguments. Yet consider a little, Mr Gently. The ways of providence are not our ways. A young man is killed. Another life must be given for his. Will you say outright that the event is devoid of pattern, and that a meaningless brutality has taken place and will take place? I do not believe you can be so positive. I believe there may be a point of view which, if it does not justify, will at least explain the occurrence and give it significance. We may not need to be divine to understand the workings of divinity.’
Somerhayes raised his glass and drank, and having lowered the glass, looked at it intently for a few moments as though giving Gently time to appreciate the point.
‘And you think you have this… point of view?’
Somerhayes nodded slowly. ‘To a limited extent, perhaps.’
‘And you wouldn’t mind explaining it to me?’
‘I’m not sure that I can, Mr Gently, though it may be that you are the one man who could understand it. But it is very difficult, and very complex.’
