Murder of Gonzago

‘How about The Mysterious Mr Quin?’

‘I believe that’s already been used.’

‘Can’t it be used again?’

‘Not really, darling. What codicil and who or what is Mr Quin?’

‘There’s something peculiar about the whole business. I mean, leaving a fortune to a fella no one’s ever heard of. I knew there was something I needed to tell you, Hughie. You told me to keep my eyes and ears open for developments, didn’t you?’

‘I believe I did, darling, but perhaps you could try to present your facts in a slightly more linear fashion?’

‘The other curious fact is that Clarissa has dismissed all the servants and is at Remnant on her own. Bobo believes she’s gone bonkers. One of the Remnant maids is the sister of Bobo’s gardener, you see. That’s how he heard about it, from his gardener. The sister was terribly upset. They were given no notice. Clarissa just told them to go.’

‘Clarissa is at Remnant on her own?’

‘She is indeed. The mind boggles. Remnant is the size of a hippodrome, with high vaults, eccentrically hazardous staircases and endless corridors. A former abbey or something equally gruesome. For some reason Clarissa brings to mind the woman in the story who sits and waits for her demon lover.’

‘Who is Mr Quin?’ Something had started stirring in Major Payne’s deep well of unconscious cerebration. He believed he was already in possession of a certain significant fact. What was it? Then it came to him. The Damascus chest in the Fenwicks’ drawing room — the secret drawer — the letter from Marrakech signed ‘Q’ — Q for Quin?

‘Quin is the enigmatic legatee. The fellow to whom Roderick left a fortune in his will. No one knows who he is. I was on the blower, talking to Felicity, just before you came and she told me all about it. She is puzzled and angry. Gerard had never heard Quin’s name mentioned before, or so he says. Well, everybody seems to be puzzled. Only Clarissa, it appears, is not.’

Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘Clarissa is not puzzled?’

‘No. At least, Gerard thought not. He was watching Clarissa while the will was being read, you see. She didn’t seem to turn a hair. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t look round in dismay. Asked no questions. She seemed terrified — but that’s a different thing altogether, isn’t it?’

‘Clarissa seemed terrified?’

‘Yes. That’s what Gerard said. He fancies himself as something of a writer, you know. He believes he has special insights into people’s emotional states and all that sort of rot. Writers do like to put on a lot of airs, don’t they?’

‘Antonia doesn’t.’

‘The chap’s full name is Peter Quin and he has been left a fortune in Lord Remnant’s will. Five million pounds sterling, Felicity says, which does seem an exorbitant amount to leave to a stranger, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ Payne agreed.

‘Though of course it’s nothing really, a trifling canape amuse-gueule affair, considering Roderick was worth thirty million pounds, some such sum. Apparently Roderick used to boast about his wealth, so terribly vulgar, he behaved more like a baron than an earl. He said once that, if he felt like it, he could pay a great number of people to do nothing but paint his portrait for the rest of his life, even though he knew the value of the finished product would be negligible.’

‘Was any reason given for the Quin legacy?’

‘For services rendered. It appears Quin had done Roderick some great favour.’

‘What kind of favour?’

‘That was never specified. It’s a mystery, I keep telling you. Felicity is annoyed with Gerard because Gerard doesn’t seem to think it’s such a big deal … She is also unhappy that he spends most of his time at his club. She said they had drifted apart … Perhaps this Quin saved Roderick’s life?’

‘Perhaps he did.’ Payne spoke absently. ‘Clarissa was not particularly surprised and she has dismissed all her servants, eh? Now I find that extremely curious.’

‘It may turn out that it was Quin who killed Roderick after all. Five million is an awful lot of money. For some people, that is. Quin might have saved Roderick’s life for that purpose alone. Quin might have engineered the life- threatening situation in the first place, so that he could save Lord Remnant from it. Do you see? Once he knows the legacy has been made in his name, as a token of Lord Remnant’s gratitude, he kills Lord Remnant.’

‘He saves his life, so that he can kill him later on?’

‘Yes! I love paradoxes like that, don’t you?’

‘Terribly ingenious, darling. A beautiful example of what I believe they call “convoluted cerebration”. Positively Chestertonian. Who was it you said Clarissa might be expecting at Remnant?’

‘Her demon lover. But I never meant it seriously. Demon lovers don’t exist. What is it, Hughie? Why are you looking like that?’

‘I think you’ve just given me a very interesting idea,’ Major Payne said.

‘Lord Remnant was putting the silencer on his gun?’ Antonia said slowly. ‘You are sure it was a silencer?’

‘Well, yes. The gun, when we found it, had a silencer screwed on it all right. A tubular thing. I thought, how odd, but then Lord Remnant was a very odd kind of person. He’d do anything to keep boredom at bay.’

‘Was he a good shot?’

‘I believe he was. The week before he was killed I saw him shoot a rabbit … May I have your pirog, if you’re not going to eat it? It helps me to concentrate if I eat.’

‘You are welcome to it. I haven’t touched it. By all means.’ Antonia pushed the plate towards her.

‘I’d eat anything that’s got jam in it … When I am tense, I tend to eat more than usual,’ Louise confided. ‘I love pirog. I’d sell my soul for a well-made pirog.’

‘Did you say Lord Remnant shot a rabbit?’

‘Yes. It happened the week before he died. I was in the garden next to La Sorciere — enormous botanical gardens, as large as a cricket pitch, stretching down to the sea. I saw Lord Remnant first, then I saw the rabbit. The silly thing was sitting on its haunches, still as a statue. It seemed to think that if it didn’t move, it would remain unnoticed! Lord Remnant was wearing old corduroy trousers, a shabby tweed jacket and he had a pith helmet on his head. He looked terribly eccentric, quite ridiculous, really.’

‘He had a gun with him?’

‘Yes. He lifted the gun and took aim, but he didn’t fire at once. I must have gasped — he glanced in my direction and smiled — as though to say, watch. Then he fired. The bullet hit the rabbit’s hindquarters. The poor creature screamed — how it screamed! It started crawling towards the undergrowth-’

‘Oh no.’ Antonia couldn’t help herself.

Louise stabbed her fork into the pirog. ‘Lord Remnant fired again. This time the bullet hit the rabbit’s head. But still it wasn’t dead! It started twitching horribly. I thought he was going to grasp its hind legs and strike hard with his gun at the base of its neck, put it out of its misery. But he didn’t. He stood gazing at the quivering, bleeding, mangled creature. He gave a little bow in my direction. It was only then that he bludgeoned it to death with the butt of his gun.’

‘That wasn’t the same gun he was killed with, was it?’

‘Oh no, the gun he was killed with was much smaller. This was a four-ten gun. I am actually convinced he did it so very brutally because he knew I was watching. He then came up to me and said that shooting men and animals was the occupation of a gentleman, that it was the kind of thing that should be lauded and encouraged since it put a curb on effeminate impulses. Would you say that was funny? Or clever?’

‘No, not particularly.’

‘Lord Remnant took great pleasure in shocking and upsetting people. He had a real knack for it. He liked playing mind games — experimenting — goading people into doing things against their will — into compromising themselves. He liked setting people up. In my opinion, he displayed all the traits of a sociopath.’

There was a pause.