‘Seems a funny way to enjoy yourself, miss.’
‘It would seem funny to you or to me, Inspector, but not, believe me, to a Herriard.’
He shook his head dubiously, and asked, without much hope, where she had been between seven-thirty and dinner-time.
‘Changing in my room,’ she replied. ‘Joseph Herriard will bear me out. His dressing-room communicates with my bathroom, and we not only went upstairs together, but he chat – talked to me all the time I was changing. What’s more, we came downstairs together. That’s my alibi, Inspector.’
He thanked her gravely, refusing to be drawn, and said that he would like to interview the servants.
‘Just ring the bell,’ said Mathilda, rising, and walking to the door. ‘You will then be able to start on the butler.’
She rejoined her fellow-guests in the drawing-room. ‘Well?’ said Stephen.
‘I did what I could for you,’ she replied. ‘He’s now about to pump Sturry.’
‘That ought to finish us,’ he said grimly. ‘Sturry was listening outside the door when the storm broke.’
Seven
THE INSPECTOR, WHO HAD BEEN CONFRONTED WITH
condescension in Roydon, hostility in Paula, now encountered, as Sturry majestically advanced into the morning-room, a lofty disdain which would have caused a more sensitive soul to shrink.
‘You rang, Inspector?’ said Sturry, conveying a suggestion of astonishment.
The Inspector felt in a vague way that he had committed a solecism, but he was strong in the consciousness of his duty, and he replied firmly: ‘Yes, I rang. I want to ask you a few questions. Is your name Albert Sturry?’
‘My name, Inspector, is Albert Reginald Sturry.’
The Inspector repressed an impulse to beg his pardon, and wrote the name in his notebook. ‘You are employed here as butler?’
‘I have served Mr Herriard in that capacity for four years and seven months,’ replied Sturry. ‘Previous to that, I was with the late Sir Barnabas Lancing, of Lancing Towers, and Upper Eaton Place.’
The Inspector made a note of this, but wisely thrust Sir Barnabas into the background. He said: ‘Now, what do you know about this business?’
The arctic light in Sturry’s eye plainly informed him that if he imagined he could address a respectable butler in this fashion he would find himself much mistaken. ‘I regret that I am unable to assist you,’ said Sturry. ‘It being no part of my duties to pry into the affairs of my employers.’
The Inspector perceived that he had taken a false step. He said: ‘Naturally not, but a man in your position is bound to know the ins and outs of a house.’
Sturry acknowledged this tribute by a slight bow, and waited.
‘By all accounts the deceased was a difficult man to get on with, eh?’
‘I experienced no difficulty, Inspector. Mr Herriard had his idiosyncrasies, no doubt. Latterly his temper became impaired by rheumatic complaints, as was understandable.’
‘Made him quarrelsome?’
‘I would not go so far as to ascribe the distressing quarrels which have taken place under this roof wholly to Mr Herriard’s lumbago,’ said Sturry.
It became clear to the Inspector that the butler was big with news. It was equally clear that while he had a human desire to impart his news, he was mindful of what was due to his dignity, and must be handled with tact and respect. ‘Ah!’ the Inspector said, nodding. ‘And I daresay you knew him as well as anyone. Stands to reason, being in your position, and with him over four years.’
‘I believe Mr Herriard had no reason to be dissatisfied with me,’ conceded Sturry, unbending a little. ‘It has been my endeavour to fulfil my functions to the best of my ability, whatever the behaviour of certain of Mr Herriard’s guests.’
‘Must have been difficult for you, I daresay.’
‘Not so much difficult as distasteful,’ said Sturry, putting him in his place again. ‘Accustomed as I have been for thirty-five years to serving in the best families – for I commenced as under-footman to the late Earl of Belford, when I was hardly more than a Lad – there have been Incidents at Lexham Manor which I could only deplore.’
The Inspector made a tut-tutting noise, and tried to look sympathetic.
‘I need scarcely say,’ added Sturry, ‘that I shall be giving notice at the earliest opportunity.’
‘You know your own business best, but the house is likely to be kept on, isn’t it? There’s bound to be an heir.’
‘I should not care,’ said Sturry, with a quiver of disgust, ‘to demean myself by remaining in any house where a murder had been committed. It is not what I am accustomed to. It is impossible to imagine such an occurrence taking place under the late Earl’s roof, or, indeed (though the baronetcy was of quite recent creation) under the roof of the late Sir Barnabas.’ He drew in his breath through his teeth. ‘Nor, I may add, would it suit me to take a post either in Mr Joseph Herriard’s household, or in Mr Stephen Herriard’s.’
‘Oh?’ said the Inspector, deeply interested, and trying not to show it. ‘Not your money, eh?’
This vulgarity brought a look of pain to Sturry’s countenance, but being by this time launched on the cumulative tide of his disclosures, he decided to overlook it. ‘Mr Joseph Herriard is a very well-meaning gentleman,’ he said, ‘but the Peculiar Circumstances of his life have made him, I regret to say, forgetful of his dignity. He is Familiar with the Staff.’
The Inspector nodded feelingly. ‘I know what you mean. What about the young one? Cross-grained-looking chap, I thought.’
‘Mr Stephen Herriard,’ said Sturry, ‘is not a gentleman with whom I could ever contemplate taking service. Mr Stephen’s temper is quite as violent as his late uncle’s, and although I would not wish to imply that he is not Quite the Gentleman, he is careless of appearances to a degree which I could not bring myself to overlook. He has, moreover, become engaged to a young lady who will not, in my opinion, Do for Lexham Manor.’ He paused, fixing the Inspector with a basilisk eye. ‘I could not, in any case, reconcile it with my conscience to serve any gentleman who had been on such inimical terms with the late Mr Herriard,’ he said.
Here it comes at last! thought the Inspector. ‘I’d heard that they quarrelled a good bit,’ he said. ‘Bad, was it?’
Sturry closed his eyes for an expressive moment. ‘At times, Inspector, it has been what I should call Shocking, both Mr Stephen and Mr Herriard raising their voices in a manner very unbecoming to their stations, and not caring who might be within hearing. Indeed, upon one occasion Mr Stephen had Words with his uncle in front of the Tweeny.’
The enormity of this did not, perhaps, impress the Inspector as forcibly as it was meant to, but he looked shocked, and said he wondered why Stephen came to Lexham so often.
‘If you were to ask me, Inspector,’ said Sturry, ‘I should say that both Mr Stephen and Miss Paula came for what they could get out of the late Mr Herriard.’
‘Is Stephen Herriard the heir?’
‘That, Inspector, I could not take it upon myself to say, not being in the late Mr Herriard’s confidence. It is generally believed in the Hall that he is, Mr Herriard having had an unaccountable fondness for him. But there has been a good deal of unpleasantness lately over Mr Stephen’s Unfortunate Entanglement, Mr Herriard having taken exception to Miss Dean in a way one cannot wonder at. There was Quite a Scene between them after lunch.’
‘About Miss Dean?’
‘I could not say, I am sure,’ said Sturry primly. ‘But when I was about to enter the drawing-room this evening with the cocktail-tray, I heard Mr Herriard shout at Mr Stephen that he was quite as bad as his sister, and that it was the last time either of them should come to Lexham.’
‘Is that so?’ said the Inspector, very much on the alert. ‘He was quarrelling with Miss Herriard too, was he?’
‘Mr Herriard was in general very indulgent with Miss Paula,’ said Sturry. ‘Though I have reason to believe that he looked with di
sfavour upon her connection with the stage. But Miss Paula most regrettably brought down with her to spend Christmas a Person of the name of Roydon.’
The Inspector knew what this method of referring to Roydon implied, and was inclined to sympathise with Sturry. ‘He didn’t like Roydon?’
‘I gathered, Inspector,’ said Sturry grandly, ‘that he considered Miss Paula’s friendship with the young man Unsuitable.’
‘I could see he wasn’t out of the top-drawer.’
‘Mr Roydon,’ said Sturry, with impressive reserve, ‘is a very estimable young man, I am sure, but he is Out of Place in an establishment where eight indoor servants are employed.’
The Inspector’s sympathy veered momentarily towards Roydon. ‘I understand he wanted the deceased to put up some money for a play, or something?’
‘That, Inspector, was Miss Paula’s object in bringing him to Lexham. Two thousand pounds was the figure I heard her name to Mr Herriard.’
‘That’s a lot of money,’ said the Inspector.
‘It would seem so to some, no doubt,’ said Sturry, in an odiously patronising way. ‘Miss Paula referred to it as Paltry.’
‘I take it that Mr Herriard refused to let her have it?’
‘Mr Herriard, Inspector, said that Miss Paula should have none of his money to waste on Mr Roydon. To which Miss Paula replied that when he was dead she would spend every penny he left her on Immoral Plays.’
The Inspector was shocked. ‘That’s a nice way to talk!’ he exclaimed.
‘Miss Paula,’ said Sturry forbearingly, ‘is not one to Mince Matters.’
‘What did Mr Herriard have to say to that?’
‘Mr Herriard said that she had better not count her chickens before they were hatched, since he would possibly be Making a Few Changes.’
‘Oh, he spoke of changing his will, did he? How did the young lady take that?’
‘Being, as one might say, in a Passion, Miss Paula said that she did not care, and did not want Mr Herriard’s money. Mr Herriard then said that he thought that that was just what she did want, two thousand pounds of it.’ He paused for his final effect. ‘“And ready to murder me to get it!” Mr Herriard said.’
‘He actually used those words?’ demanded the Inspector.
‘Those were his very words,’ replied Sturry solemnly, ‘I heard him with my own ears, being, as I have informed you, Upon the Point of bringing in the cocktails.’
He fixed the Inspector with a glassy stare as he spoke. The Inspector, reading the message thus haughtily conveyed to him, quite understood that the butler had stood with his ear to the door during this painful altercation, and had no intention of admitting it. He nodded his comprehension, and asked: ‘Was it then that Mr Herriard said that Mr Stephen was as bad as his sister?’
‘Immediately consequent upon Mr Stephen’s refusing to support his sister,’ said Sturry.
‘Oh, he didn’t support her?’ said the Inspector, like a terrier with its nose to a rat-hole.
‘Somewhat to my surprise, Inspector, no,’ Sturry replied. ‘Mr Herriard, who was by that time in Quite a Taking, then turned on Mr Stephen, if I may be permitted to use the expression.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I could not say,’ answered Sturry, with a return to his cold reserve. ‘Following my entrance into the drawing-room, Mr Stephen left it.’
‘And Mr Herriard had told him that he wouldn’t have him here any more?’
‘That was what Mr Herriard said.’
‘Had he said that before at any time?’
‘Never, Inspector, to my knowledge. Quite remarkable it was, the way he put up with Mr Stephen. It has been, I may say, a Wonder to us in the Hall.’
The Inspector looked at him for a reflective moment. ‘Where were you between the time the deceased went upstairs and the time he was discovered dead in his room?’
‘I was occupied about my Duties,’ replied Sturry, ‘between the dining-room and My Pantry.’
‘Did you see any of the guests during that period?’
‘No, Inspector, but I have reason to believe that Mr Herriard’s valet and the second-housemaid can give you some information on this point.’
‘Well, you can send them in,’ said the Inspector. ‘I’ll see the valet first. Has he been here long?’
‘Only a matter of a few months,’ Sturry replied. ‘It was not customary for the late Mr Herriard’s personal servants to remain long in his employment.’
‘Difficult master?’
‘Mr Herriard was very particular, and not, I regret to say, above throwing his shoes, or, upon occasion, even weightier articles at his valet, when his rheumatic complaints troubled him. Modern servants, as no doubt you are aware, do not Hold with that sort of thing.’
‘Doesn’t seem to have bothered you,’ remarked the Inspector humorously.
‘I need hardly say,’ said Sturry coldly, ‘that the late Mr Herriard never so demeaned himself with Me.’
He then withdrew in a very stately manner, softly closing the door behind him.
Ford, who, in a few minutes, presented himself, was looking a little scared. He would not admit that he had found Nathaniel a hard master; he seemed, instead, anxious to assure the Inspector that he had got on well with him, and had liked the place. Swallowing, he said, as though he had keyed himself up to it, that he had been upstairs between seven-thirty and eight-thirty, and had tried to enter his master’s room. He thought that that would have been at ten to eight, or perhaps a little later. He had previously run a bath for Mr Herriard, as was his custom, and had laid out his evening clothes.
‘Why did you go back?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Mr Herriard used very often to like me to help him to dress after his bath,’ explained Ford.
‘Did you find the door locked?’
‘Yes, Inspector.’
‘Did you knock?’
‘Only the once,’ faltered the valet.
‘Was there any answer?’
‘No. But I didn’t make anything of that, thinking Mr Herriard might still be in his bath.’
‘Was it usual for Mr Herriard to lock his door?’
‘Not to say usual, Inspector, nor yet unusual. I have known him do it, if he was put out, or didn’t wish to be disturbed.’
‘Well, what did you do?’
‘I went away again.’
‘Where to?’
‘Just along the upper hall to the sewing-room, meaning to wait a little while. Maggie – that’s the second-housemaid – was in there, pressing a skirt, which Miss Paula had asked her to see to. And on my happening to pass the remark that the master had locked his door, she said she had seen Miss Paula only a minute or two before coming away from the door in her dressing-gown.’
‘She did, did she? Did you see anyone on the upper hall?’
‘Not to say see them, Inspector, but when I came up the backstairs I heard a footstep in the hall, and as I came through the archway that leads to the back-landing I saw Mr Roydon’s door shut.’
‘Do you mean Mr Roydon had just come upstairs to change?’
‘Oh no, Inspector! Mr Roydon had been in his room some little time, Maggie having seen him come up with Miss Paula, and the pair of them standing talking together just inside Miss Paula’s room.’
‘I’ll see this Maggie presently. How long did you stay in the sewing-room?’
‘Well, I couldn’t exactly say, Inspector, but I daresay it would have been twenty minutes or so.’
‘And during that time you didn’t see anyone in the upper hall?’
‘Well, I wasn’t looking. I heard everyone go down – that is, naturally I didn’t count them, not knowing it might be important; but I remember hearing Mrs Joseph Herriard come out of her room, and Miss Paula, because Miss Paula called to Mr Roydon, and they went down together. Then I heard Miss Clare and Mr Joseph joking together, a few minutes later. Now I come to think of it, I don’t remember hearing Mr Mottisfont go down, nor Miss
Dean; but I did hear Mr Stephen, for he let his door bang. It was shortly after this that I began to think it was funny Mr Herriard hadn’t come out of his room.’
‘Oh, you knew he hadn’t?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly, but I’d had an ear cocked, as you might say, in case his bell should ring, which I could have heard in the sewing-room, the door being open, and the room just at the top of the backstairs. So I went along to try the door, and when I found it was still locked I took the liberty of calling to Mr Herriard. Then, of course, he didn’t answer, nor I couldn’t hear a sound inside the room, and I began to get a bit scared. Several times I called, and never any answer. And then Mr Joseph came up, and he called to Mr Stephen, and Mr Stephen and I, we broke the lock open, and found Mr Herriard lying there.’ He ended with a shudder, and pressed his handkerchief to his lips. ‘Horrible, it was! I hope I may never have to see such a sight again!’