Must have heard that halfwit shooting. He’ll have to tell her he was after game. Look, I’d better get the servants out of the way altogether. I’ll go down there now and tell ’em Isabel went off to London last night, and we’re off shortly, so that they can all take the weekend off.”
“That will sound very sudden,” cautioned Jago.
“You didn’t know Isabel. She was as liable to give them a day off at the drop of a hat as she was to keep ’em working hours after their time. They won’t think anything of it.”
“You ought to dress first then. There is time.”
D’Estin nodded and left. Jago became a policeman again and turned to the window to examine the sill. There was no sign of anyone having entered that way. As the pipes outside were arranged, the climb looked a more difficult feat than he had thought at first. The six feet of brickwork to be bridged between pipe and window was cleared of ivy and had no obvious footholds. Besides, the dogs would certainly have attacked anyone in the grounds at night. Vibart’s supposition that the Ebony was responsible and had taken all the evidence away in the four- wheeler seemed the best explanation. Certainly the Negro had no regard for Isabel; anyone could see the simmering scorn in his eyes whenever she had spoken patronizingly to him.
Vibart returned from depositing the dogs’ bodies in the woodshed. “The servants are bloody delighted! D’Estin’s given them the weekend off. I say, shouldn’t we draw the curtains or something?”
Jago did so. Then, between them, they lifted Isabel’s body to a more restful position on the bed and covered it with a clean sheet which Vibart fetched from the linen store in the window seat on the landing.
After a few minutes they were joined in the dressing room adjacent by D’Estin. Nobody had suggested a conference, but by tacit consent they seated themselves there, and Vibart summarized the position.
“I think we are agreed that only one man can be responsible for this appalling deed, and that is Morgan. He left us last night after Isabel had gone to bed, and he was gone for three-quarters of a bloody hour looking for a few clothes in the gym. He knew she had the money by then and he knew where her room was. Probably he did pick up the dressing gown from the gym and then wore it to protect his clothes as he stabbed her. When it was done, he wiped his hands on the night jacket in there and then made a bundle of the dressing gown with the knife and money inside it.”
“And he thinks he’s clear because, whatever we suspect, we wouldn’t be fools enough to bring in the police,” added D’Estin.
Jago nodded, allowing others to draw conclusions.
“But the bastard’s made a mistake if he thinks that’s the last he’s heard of the matter,” continued D’Estin. “I don’t know if I speak for you two as well, but I certainly plan to settle the score.”
“I’m with you,” said Vibart at once.
“What can we do?” said Jago without committing himself.
“Nothing till we know where he is,” said D’Estin. “Our only chance of catching up with him is to go through with the fight as planned. Afterwards we can get him away and give him a taste of our kind of justice.”
Vibart lit a cigar. He was ready for a long debate on strategy. “Surely Beckett will have him carefully protected. He may have been a party to this murder himself.”
“That’s possible,” D’Estin agreed. “But once Beckett has his hands on the money, he won’t be bothered about his ebony friend. We simply go to the nearest pub with them, as you always do after a fight, and wait our chance to move Morgan out. After twenty-six rounds with Jago here, he won’t be in much of a state to argue.”
Jago smiled feebly.
“Shall we knife him?” asked Vibart matter-of-factly.
“Shooting’s cleaner. I’ve got the revolver. We’ll dump him in the nearest river. Are you with us, Jago? It means you go through with the fight as it was arranged last night. It won’t be all lavender fighting a man you know to be a bloody murderer. Are you game?”
Now was hardly the time to admit oneself on the side of the law.
“Game? Never more so,” declared Jago earnestly.
CHAPTER 14
“I wouldn’t do that, Thackeray,” said Sergeant Cribb unexpectedly.
“Do what, Sarge?”
“Lie on your back in the grass.”
Thackeray propped himself onto one elbow and squinted at Cribb. “Why?”
“Grasshoppers.”
“Grasshoppers, Sarge? What do you mean?”
Cribb paused a second, dissecting a dandelion. “Poor-sighted little parties, grasshoppers.”
Thackeray’s eyes gaped.
“If one of ’em sees that crop turned skywards,” continued Cribb, eyeing the six-day stubble on Thackeray’s chin, “he’s liable to make a jump for it and end up in your mouth.”
There were times, even in the country under a cloudless sky at the height of summer, when Thackeray understood what drove men to violent crime. Without a word, he slumped down again.
Two and a half hours they had lain there in the long grass like scouts on the North-West Frontier, Cribb periodically training his field glasses on the Hall. All the action had taken place in the first half-hour. Two women in their forties and an elderly man had passed within thirty yards of them on their way to the gate. From their dress they were obviously of the servant class, the man probably a gardener and the women cooks or maidservants. They chatted excitedly and with obvious pleasure.
“Day off for them,” decided Cribb. “Even the old ’un looks as corky as a two-year-old.”
After that, though, nothing for two hours. Small wonder that Thackeray finally turned on his back. The day had started for him at six, a mortifying hour for a senior constable to be afoot, with Blackfriars Road still wet from the water cart, and a full two hours to go before the dossers got turned out of the Salvation Army shelter. Then a far-from-comfortable third-class journey out to Rainham on the London and Southend and an hour’s walk in the sun to Radstock Hall. After footing it last time through rain and mud, he had brought his Inverness and heaviest boots and now regretted it. He had blisters the size of pennies, he was sure, but dared not examine them for fear of the feet swelling and never going back into the boots. He closed his eyes and imagined himself checking closing time in Hampstead.
“Here they come,” said Cribb. “Take a look while I check my watch.”
Thackeray turned over at once and peered through the field glasses. He saw Vibart waiting in the gig at the front of the Hall, whip in hand, while Jago and D’Estin manhandled a portmanteau aboard.
“Eleven,” said Cribb. “Just as I expected.”
“Then, why,” pondered Thackeray, “did you drag me across the fields blowing like a confounded grampus at eight-thirty?” He trained the glasses on the one constable in the force he would not have changed places with at that moment. Jago was now seated in the gig; from the set of his shoulders it might well have been a tumbril. D’Estin climbed up to join him and Vibart shook the reins.
“Pity we can’t give him a wave to let him know we’re here,” said Thackeray, in a surge of sympathy, as the trap approached along the drive.
Cribb sniffed. “That’s the sure way to give him apoplexy.
Jago’s expecting to see us waiting at the ringside, not here.”
“Shouldn’t we follow, then, Sarge?” urged Thackeray as the carriage trundled past, gathering speed. “He won’t thank us for arriving late. Suppose we lost them altogether.”
“No fear of that. They’ll be taking the eleven-forty to Fenchurch Street and then cabbing across to London Bridge. There’ll be a pretty conspicuous contingent of the fancy waiting to travel out to Surrey with ’em. Won’t need much detective work to find out which train they all boarded.”
That was not Thackeray’s point. “But they could start the fight before we get there.”
“Probably will,” agreed Cribb nonchalantly. “We’ve more important business on hand than sparing Jago a few rounds in a prize ring.”
“He might be maimed for life!” protested Thackeray, appalled at such callousness. Had Cribb forgotten the
