may be, it cannot be Mrs Batty-Faudrey.”
“No, I don’t think it could possibly be a woman at all, because of the nature of the crimes.”
“I wonder at what point it was suggested to Mr Spey that he should retain his Henry VIII costume in order to be photographed wearing it?”
“The only person who might have been able to tell us is Gordon, and, of course, he is dead. I still don’t see why there was such a long gap between Spey’s death and his own.”
“Oh, I explained that to Laura. Mr Perse’s second pageant was seen as a trap, and, so far as the murderer knew, Gordon was the only person who could spring it. Gordon’s murder was a panic measure, so, of course, was Spey’s. It is highly probable that neither man had an inkling of the murderer’s identity.”
“Why should he have thought Spey had?”
“Spey must have lingered in the Town Hall for a little while after Gordon had gone over to the public house. The murderer’s guilty conscience did the rest.”
“So he has a conscience, has he?”
“His wife has seen to that. The next thing is to interview the girl on whose behalf Mr Luton tackled Giles Faudrey on the night of the dress rehearsal.”
“You think Luton believed that the girl laid her ruin at Giles Faudrey’s door, as the saying is?”
“Oh, no. I am sure that Mr Luton had extracted the correct information from the girl and had expected to confront the Colonel with his evidence. Finding nobody but Giles at home, he confided it to him instead, and Giles, who is a thorough-paced young scoundrel, saw a golden opportunity to blackmail his uncle in return for keeping the bad news from his aunt.”
“You’d think that the old man would have murdered the girl if only he’d had the opportunity.”
“He cannot have had the opportunity, but, apart from that, I am quite certain that Mr Luton was able to assure Giles that nobody else—not even the girl’s mother—knew the truth. The girl’s mother believed that Giles was the baby’s father.”
“Then why didn’t she denounce him?”
“Why should she, when the money was coming in so regularly?—the Colonel’s money, of course.”
“You don’t know that for certain, though, do you?”
“I thought it was perfectly obvious, but you could find out.”
Laura returned half-an-hour after her husband had left the house.
“Oh,” she said, “so Gavin’s been here, has he? I smell his pipe. What does he think about things?”
“He is convinced that Giles Faudrey is a blackmailer and that Colonel Batty-Faudrey is a murderer.”
“Ah, that’s what I was coming to. It can’t be true, you know. The whole thing’s out of character.”
“In what way, child?”
“In every way. I can see why the Colonel might have murdered Falstaff, and, in a panic, thought he’d better get rid of Spey and Gordon. But why the elaboration? Why put Falstaff and basket in the Thames? Why decapitate Henry VIII and hang Edward III from the Druid’s Oak?”
“I thought we had settled all that.”
“If the murderer was Giles Faudrey, yes, but not if he’s the Colonel.”
“Much more so. The Colonel, as an old campaigner, is not destitute of cunning, nor is he afraid of a little bloodshed. It is because he has the name for being…”
“An old stick-in-the-mud?”
“Yes, if you care to phrase it so—that the ritualistic nature of his behaviour (after the straightforward killing was done) would deflect suspicion from him. Your own reactions give me the impression that his instinct in the matter was sound. Incidentally, there was a little more in it than that.”
“But why go to the length of murdering people? Why didn’t he stick to stout denial—always a sound defence, so long as you don’t weaken.”
“He did not think that stout denial would stand him in good stead if his
“You mean his name was mud with her, and she’d have been only too ready to believe he’d got that servant of theirs into trouble? But, after all, what was he scared of? These things have been hushed up before and they’ll be hushed up again.”
“He was terrified of the divorce court.”
“But surely, for her own sake, Mrs Batty-Faudrey wouldn’t really have gone as far as that!”
“Well, it is my firm conviction that the Colonel thought she would. And, remember, he probably has nothing to live on but his Army pension. His wife owns Squire’s Acre and holds the purse-strings, as she pointed out at that lunch we gave her.”
“Poor wretched old man!” said Laura. “Well, the police have yet to find out how the murder of Gordon was contrived. What did you mean, by the way, when you said, a while ago, that there was a little more in it than an attempt at camouflage when he did those strange and rather beastly things with the bodies?”
“I have already explained that. Think back a little.”
“Oh—success or non-success with women! All the Colonel could do was to take a willing turtle-dove on his
