‘Nor any other place I ever heard of,’ said Hemingway. ‘Still, we’ll hope it won’t happen for a good many years to come. The Squire looks pretty hale and hearty – more so than Mrs Ainstable, I thought.’
The Vicar sighed. ‘“For thou knowest not what a day may bring forth,”’ he said, as though he spoke to himself.
‘Well, no, sir,’ said Hemingway, startled but respectful. ‘That’s true enough, but –’
‘The Squire has angina pectoris,’ said the Vicar simply.
‘You don’t say so!’ exclaimed Hemingway, shocked.
‘There is no reason to suppose that the Squire won’t live for a great many years yet,’ said Haswell.
‘Indeed, we must all pray that he will, my dear Haswell!’
‘Yes, but I see what the Vicar means,’ said Hemingway. ‘With that disease – well, you don’t know what a day may bring forth, do you? I’m not surprised Mrs Ainstable looks so anxious. And he’s not the sort to spare himself, by what I can see.’
‘He is not an invalid,’ said Haswell shortly. ‘He has been an energetic man all his life, and it would be extremely bad for him not to take the sort of exercise he’s accustomed to.’
‘True, very true!’ the Vicar said. ‘One wishes, though, that he had fewer cares to weigh upon him. I am almost tempted to say, that he were less conscientious, but one should not, and indeed one does not, wish that.’
‘Struggling to keep up an estate which some kind of a cousin or nephew who lives in South Africa will inherit,’ said Hemingway slowly. ‘And I should say it is a struggle.’ He glanced at Haswell. ‘I saw he’d been cutting down a lot of timber.’
‘Also planting new trees, however.’
‘Yes, I saw that too.’
‘The Squire is a remarkable man,’ said the Vicar warmly. ‘Indeed, I tell him sometimes that he has all the enterprise of a man half his age! I remember when he first made up his mind to turn the common to account – I should explain, Inspector, that the common –’
‘Talking about the common,’ interrupted Haswell, ‘can anything be done, Chief Inspector, to dissuade people from trailing across it, dropping litter all over it, and staring over the hedge at Fox House? It’s extremely unpleasant for Miss Warrenby, to say the least of it.’
‘Poor girl, poor girl!’ exclaimed the Vicar. ‘This is most disgraceful! One wonders what the world is coming to! This unmannerly craving for sensationalism! Gavin Plenmeller said something to me about it this morning, but I paid little heed, since the way in which he phrased it led me to believe that he was merely indulging in one of those jokes which I, frankly, neither like nor find in any way amusing. Inspector, something must be done!’
‘I’m afraid there’s nothing the police can do about it, sir – not as long as people stick to the common and the public road, and don’t go creating obstructions, which they really can’t be said to do, right up the end of a blind road,’ replied Hemingway.
An anxious look came into the Vicar’s face. ‘I wonder, if I were to go up, and address a few words to them, pointing out to them how very –’
‘Some of them would giggle, and others would be extremely rude to you,’ interposed Haswell. ‘You’d do better to persuade Plenmeller to take on that job – he’d enjoy it, and might even succeed in dispersing the mob. Unless they lynched him.’
‘Haswell, Haswell, my dear friend!’ the Vicar reproved him.
Haswell laughed. ‘Don’t worry! Can you imagine him lifting a finger on behalf of Warrenby’s niece?’
The Vicar shook his head, and said that their poor friend had a very unkind tongue, but one must strive to make allowances, and the heart knew its own bitterness.
‘Well, I daresay it would sour one a bit, to be as lame as he is,’ said Hemingway. ‘It’s certainly an education to hear him talk, and the things he can find to say about pretty well everyone he lays his tongue to fairly made me sit up. However, I don’t know that I set much store by it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was living up to a reputation for coming out with something shocking every time he opens his mouth.’
The Vicar bent an approving look upon him, and said, in his gentle way, that he was a wise man. ‘I have been much distressed at the attitude he has seen fit to assume over this shocking affair,’ he said. ‘Upon the lack of Christian charity, I will not enlarge, but from the worldly point of view I have ventured to warn him that the unbridled exercise of his wit is open to misconstruction. In the event,’ he added, inclining his head in the suggestion of a bow, ‘I perceive that my fears were groundless.’
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said Hemingway cheerfully. ‘Come to think of it, I might feel a lot more suspicious if Mr Plenmeller had seen fit to change his tone, because from what I’m told he’s been saying for months that Mr Warrenby would have to be got rid of. What I haven’t yet been able to make out is why he had it in for Mr Warrenby more than anyone else – which is saying something, according to what I’m told.’ He paused, but the Vicar merely sighed, and Haswell gave a laugh and a shrug. ‘Or even,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘if the only difference between him and the rest of the good people here who couldn’t stand Mr Warrenby was that he said just what he thought, and they didn’t.’
‘I fear so, I fear so!’ said the Vicar mournfully.
There was a decided twinkle in the Chief Inspector’s eye. ‘You too, sir?’
‘I cannot deny it,’ replied the Vicar, sinking deeper into dejection. ‘One has tried not to entertain uncharitable thoughts, but the flesh is weak – terribly weak!’
‘You will soon find yourself regarding with suspicion anyone who did not dislike Warrenby, Chief Inspector,’ said Haswell. ‘Let me hasten to assure you that I found him quite as objectionable as the Vicar did!’
Hemingway laughed, and got up. ‘He does seem to have made himself unpopular,’ he agreed. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time now, sir.’
‘Not at all,’ said the Vicar courteously. ‘My time is at the disposal of those who may need it.’
He then escorted Hemingway to the front-door, shook hands with him, and said that he could have wished to have met him on a happier occasion.
Constable Melkinthorpe then drove away, asking the Chief Inspector, as he halted the car in the Vicarage gateway, which way he was to go. He was told to drive to Rose Cottages, and, after allowing a boy on a bicycle to pass down the High Street, he swung his wheel over to the left, and was just changing gear when the Chief Inspector told him to stop. He obediently pulled in to the side of the street, and saw Major Midgeholme crossing the road towards the car.
‘Good evening, sir!’ said Hemingway. ‘Want me?’
‘Yes,’ said the Major, with an air of resolution. ‘I have been turning it over in my mind, and I think it’s my duty to put you in possession of a piece of information. Mind you, it may be nothing! I don’t say I attach much importance to it, but one never knows, and in such cases as this I consider it to be every man’s duty to tell the police whatever he may know,’
‘Quite right, sir,’ said Hemingway, and waited.
But the Major seemed still to be a little undecided. ‘Can’t say I like talking about my neighbours!’ he said. ‘But when it comes to murder, things are different. My feeling is that if what I have to say is irrelevant, there’s no harm done; and if it isn’t – well! There’s no denying that this business has made us all sit up – do a bit of thinking! I’m not going to pretend I know who did it, because I don’t. Between you and me and the gate-post, there’s a bit too much amateur detection going on in Thornden! Shouldn’t like you to think I was trying to do your job for you, but of course I’ve thought about it a good deal, and talked it over with one or two people. As a matter of fact, I was discussing it with my wife last night – she’s got her own theories, but I shan’t go into that, for I don’t agree with her. Point is, it’s been in my mind all along that the two people who disliked Warrenby the most were Drybeck and Plenmeller. Now, when Drybeck and I we
re on our way to The Cedars on Saturday, Plenmeller joined us, and one of the things he said was that his was the only threshold in Thornden which Warrenby couldn’t cross.’ The Major paused impressively. ‘Well, I happened to mention that to my wife, and she told me that she had seen Warrenby go into Thornden House on Saturday morning! Of course, she doesn’t know what he went for, or for how long he was with Plenmeller, for she was shopping, and she thought no more about it. I didn’t set much store by it myself when she first told me, but I’ve been turning it over in my mind, and I’ve come to the conclusion you ought to know about it. As I say, there may be nothing in it. On the other hand, queer thing to do – boast that Warrenby had never crossed his threshold when he’d done so that very morning! Almost as if he wanted to make sure no one should think he’d had any dealings with the fellow.’
Constable Melkinthorpe, glancing at the Chief Inspector to see what effect this disclosure had upon him, was not surprised to perceive that his calm was quite unruffled.
‘I see,’ said Hemingway gravely. ‘He’d have to be a bit of an optimist, wouldn’t he, sir, to think no one would notice Mr Warrenby going to call on him, on a Saturday morning, right on the village street?’
‘Well,’ said the Major, shrugging, ‘I’ve told you for what it’s worth, that’s all!’ He looked up, and stiffened a little. Gavin Plenmeller, coming from the direction of his house, was crossing the road diagonally towards them.
‘Undergoing interrogation, laying information, or just passing the time of day, Major?’ enquired Gavin. ‘I’m glad to see you here, Chief Inspector, and I’m sure the whole village shares my feeling. We confidently expected to see you in our midst at crack of dawn, but it was not to be. I may add that a certain amount of dissatisfaction has been felt. Action is what we want, and we did think that a real detective from London would provide us with plenty to talk about.’
‘Well, I must be getting along,’ said the Major, not quite comfortably.
Gavin looked at him, a glint in his eyes. ‘Now, why are you suddenly in a hurry to go away?’ he wondered. ‘Can it be – can it possibly be – that you were telling the Chief Inspector something damaging about me?’ He watched a dull red creep into the Major’s cheeks, and laughed. ‘Splendid! What was it? Or would you prefer not to tell me?’
It was patent that the Major would very much have preferred not to tell him, but he was an officer and a gentleman, and he was not going to turn and run in the face of fire. He said boldly: ‘Seems to me that you’ve done so much talking yourself about people that you can’t very well object if the tables are turned.’
‘Of course I don’t object!’ said Gavin cordially. ‘I merely hope that you’ve dug up something good about me.’
‘I haven’t dug up anything. Not my business to pry into your affairs! And if you want to know what’s been sticking in my mind, it’s this! – Why did you tell me that Warrenby had never crossed your threshold?’
‘Did I?’ said Gavin, faintly surprised.
‘You know damned well you did!’
‘I don’t. It’s quite possible, of course, and I shouldn’t dream of denying it, but when did I make this momentous statement?’
‘You said it to Drybeck and to me when we were walking up Wood Lane on Saturday. You said that yours was the only threshold he couldn’t cross.’
‘I spoke no less than the truth, then. Yes, I remember: our Thaddeus wasn’t a bit pleased, was he? But what is this leading up to?’
‘That won’t wash, Plenmeller!’ said the Major, gaining assurance with indignation. ‘Warrenby had crossed your threshold that very morning!’
‘Take note, Chief Inspector,’ said Gavin quite unmoved, ‘that I instantly and categorically deny this infamous accusation!’
‘It may interest you to know, however, that my wife saw him go into your house!’
‘She lies in her throat,’ said Gavin amiably. ‘She may have seen him enter my garden. In fact, if she was in the High Street at the time, I should think she could hardly have escaped seeing that. She may even have noticed his very vulgar car parked at my gate. Now tell me how she saw through a brick wall and I shall be all interest!’
The Major looked a good deal taken aback, and a little sceptical. ‘Are you telling me he didn’t enter your house?’
‘You oughtn’t to need telling,’ Gavin reproved him. ‘He found me in the garden, and in the garden we remained. I don’t say he didn’t make a spirited attempt to cross my threshold, for he did. He had the impertinence to suggest that we should go into the house, which forced me to disclose to him that to admit him would be to break a solemn vow.’
The Major gasped. ‘You can’t have said such a thing!’
‘Nonsense, you know very well that I find not the smallest difficulty in saying to people’s faces precisely what I say behind their backs!’
The Chief Inspector intervened at this point. ‘Why did he want to cross your threshold, sir?’
‘Vaulting ambition, perhaps. It may be said to have o’er-leapt itself. Or do you want to know why he wanted to see me?’
‘That’s it,’ said Hemingway.
‘Ah! Well, he came to remonstrate with me. At least, that was how he phrased it. He seemed to think I had been inserting a spoke into his wheel on various occasions, and it had come to his ears – one wonders how! – that I had spoken of him in opprobrious terms. So I told him that these allegations were true, and he then asserted that he would know how to put a stop to my activities. How he proposed to do any such thing I am unable to tell you, and, of course, we shall now never know what Napoleonic scheme he may have had in mind. I can only say that he failed to convince me that he had evolved any form of counterattack whatsoever. The remonstrance somewhat rapidly deteriorated into sound and fury. He favoured me with a catalogue of the services he had rendered to the county, adding, a trifle infelicitously, I felt, a list of the distinguished persons whom he had – as he regrettably put it – forced to play ball with him. After that he became incoherent, and I showed him off the premises.’
‘Well, by Jove!’ exclaimed the Major, bristling with suspicion. ‘Seems a queer thing you didn’t tell Drybeck and me that you’d had this quarrel with Warrenby!’
‘My very dear Major,’ said Gavin sweetly, ‘in the first place, there was no quarrel: I never gratify my enemies by allowing them to lure me into losing my temper. In the second place, I have not so far been conscious of the smallest impulse to confide my minor triumphs to a Drybeck or a Midgeholme. And, in the third, I have long realised that in my not wholly unsuccessful attempts to depress Warrenby’s pretensions I have been playing a lone hand.’
‘You’re the most offensive fellow I have met in all my life!’ said the Major, his face by this time richly suffused with colour. ‘I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here bandying words with you!’
‘No, I didn’t think you would,’ said Gavin. He watched the Major stride off down the street, and said pensively: ‘It’s a mystery to me that so many persons find it impossible to shake off crashing bores. Did you ever see a fish take the fly more readily?’
Hemingway said, ignoring this question: ‘What made you dislike Mr Warrenby so particularly, sir?’
‘Sheer antipathy, Chief Inspector. Mixed with a certain amount of atavism. The blood of the Plenmellers arose in me when I saw that repulsive upstart storming every citadel, including the Ainstables’. When he lived, I rarely managed to earn my brother’s approval, but now that he is dead I feel sure I’m behaving just as he would have wished. Which is what people so often do, isn’t it? There’s a moral to be drawn from that, but I beg you won’t! Do you want to know any more about Warrenby’s ill-advised visit to me, or have you had enough of it?’
‘I’d like to know how he thought he could make you stop running him down,’ said Hemingway, fixing Gavin with a bright, enquiring gaze.
‘So would I, but it was never disclosed. I discount his veiled threat to take me into court on a charge of uttering sla
nder. My imagination boggles at the thought of such a man as Warrenby complaining publicly of the things I’ve said about him. Not quite the kind of notoriety he craved for, you know!’
‘Oh, he did threaten to take you into court, sir?’
‘He did, and I promised him that I should do my best to ensure his winning his case. He was not in the least grateful. In his blundering way he was not devoid of intelligence. Tell, me, Chief Inspector! – have you in your diligent research come upon the name of Nenthall?’
‘Why do you ask me that, sir?’ countered Hemingway.
There was a derisive gleam in Gavin’s eyes. ‘I’m not at all sure, but I see that you haven’t. Well, when you have finished following up the theories put forward by the village half-wits, you might find it profitable to discover what was the significance of that name. I can’t help you: I never heard it until it was tossed, with apparent carelessness, into the conversation at the Red Lion, one evening about a month ago.’
‘Who by?’ asked Hemingway.
‘By Warrenby, upon receiving a well-merited snub from Lindale. He asked Lindale if the name conveyed anything to him. Lindale replied that it did not, but it was all too apparent that it conveyed a great deal to him.’
‘Oh! And what happened then?’
‘Nothing happened. Our curiosity remained unsatisfied. Warrenby said that he had just wondered, and the incident terminated. It appeared to me, however, that the question had had a profound effect upon Lindale – and I just wonder, too.’
‘When you talk of a profound effect, sir, what exactly do you mean?’
‘Well,’ said Gavin thoughtfully, ‘it did occur to me for one moment that I might be going to witness a murder. But you have to bear in mind, of course, that I am by profession a novelist. Perhaps I allowed my imagination to get the better of me. But I still wonder, Chief Inspector!’