Hannasyde nodded. ‘Very often the way.’
‘So I believe. Well, she was perfectly confident she could stage a convincing suicide, but in case of accidents she took care to provide herself with some sort of an alibi. Actually, it wasn’t an alibi at all, but it might have worked if she hadn’t made her fatal mistake.’
‘Something to do with that mysterious letter,’ Hannasyde said instantly.
‘Yes, everything. You see, I was present when Miss Vereker gave Violet Williams that letter to post. She gave it to her on the night of Roger’s death – after seven o’clock.’ He paused, and looked at Hannasyde. ‘Which meant, of course, that having missed the six-thirty collection it would catch the next – I don’t know the exact time, but I suppose not earlier than eight-thirty, and probably later. I have a great respect for the Post Office, but I can’t bring myself to believe that a letter posted at that hour can possibly be delivered at its destination the same evening. Violet Williams must have used the letter as an excuse to call on Roger at that unconventional hour.’
‘What hour?’ Hannasyde asked. ‘Have you any idea?’
‘Sometime after eleven – when the girl she had invited to spend the evening with her left – and certainly before twelve, when she knew the main door would be shut.’
‘Yes, I see. Coinciding with the entrance of the woman who might have been Mrs Delaford’s personal maid, and the noise which was thought to be a tyre burst, heard by Mr Muskett. Is there a possibility of her having delivered the letter by hand prior to the arrival of her visitor?’
‘No, I think not. She told me that her visitor came to dinner with her, and I expect you’ll find she was speaking the truth. She wouldn’t have had time.’
There was a long silence. Then Hannasyde said ruefully: ‘If all this turns out to be true, you’ll have made me look rather silly – Mr Holmes.’
‘Not at all,’ replied Giles. ‘I only got on to it because I’m on very intimate terms with my cousins, and have been in a position to watch every move in the game at close quarters, as you never could.’
‘I ought to have thought of it,’ Hannasyde said. ‘If it hadn’t seemed so certain that she’d never met Arnold Vereker, I must have thought of it. She was the only other person who had a motive.’
Giles laughed. ‘I really don’t think you can blame yourself! My young cousin has been building up far too damning a case against himself to admit of your looking beyond him for some really unlikely suspect. All the same, you’ve never felt sure that Kenneth did it, have you?’
‘No,’ confessed Hannasyde. ‘I haven’t. It always seemed to me that he was enjoying himself at my expense, for one thing, and for another – if he killed Arnold Vereker, why the stocks?’
‘You gave up your first idea of a practical joke? Yes, that was what made me sure it wasn’t Kenneth, and must have been a woman. The more I thought about it the more certain I felt that the stocks had an important bearing on the case. Whoever stabbed Arnold wanted to get him in a helpless position – in case, I suppose, the first blow didn’t kill him. That pointed to a woman. Whether the stocks were a premeditated feature I suppose we shall never know. I’m inclined to think not. Perhaps Arnold’s tyre burst occurred in the village, and Violet got the idea of using the stocks while she was waiting for him to change the wheel. Or perhaps – since it was a moonlit night – she caught sight of them when they were driving through Ashleigh Green, and got him to stop then, on the spur of the moment. It must have occurred to her that it would be safer to kill him in the open than to wait until they reached the cottage.’
Hannasyde did not speak for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘What a case! I apologise for not taking your amateur efforts seriously, Mr Carrington. You ought to be in the CID. That pistol, by the way, had been recently oiled. There should be traces of oil on the gloves that Violet Williams wore, or in her hand-bag, where I suppose she carried it. What a fool she was to use Miss Vereker’s gun! Suspicion was bound to fall on young Vereker.’
‘Yes, but she thought he was provided with a safe alibi,’ Giles reminded him. ‘I don’t suppose, either, that she could lay her hands on any other pistol. Nor is she a clever woman by any means. I grant you that she planned the first murder neatly, but it was quite easy to kill Arnold and leave no trace. When it came to staging a suicide it was far more difficult. There were no clues to destroy in the first place, several in the second.’
‘A thoroughly diabolical young woman!’ Hannasyde said roundly. ‘Now, Mr Carrington, if you’ll let me have the names and addresses of your witnesses – ?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Giles said, smothering a yawn. ‘And then perhaps you’ll release my client.’
Hannasyde said seriously: ‘I’m sorry for that boy. This’ll be a bad business for him.’
‘I expect he’ll get over it,’ Giles answered. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if, when he’s had time to recover from the shock of it all, he and Leslie Rivers made a match of it.’
‘I hope they will,’ said Hannasyde, glancing sideways at Giles. ‘And does Miss Vereker mean to marry Mesurier – er – soon?’
Giles smiled. ‘No, that’s off. Miss Vereker has become engaged for the third and last time.’
Hannasyde stretched his hand out across the table, and gripped Giles Carrington’s. ‘Splendid!’ he said. ‘Many congratulations! Yes, come in, Sergeant; while we’ve been chasing red-herrings, Mr Carrington has solved our case for us. We shall have to let Mr Vereker go after all!’
‘Let him go?’ said Hemingway. ‘You’ll have a job to make him go. The last I saw of him he was asking what they’d charge for board-residence till he’s finished a set of the most shocking pictures you ever laid eyes on. Portraits of the Police, he calls them. Libels, I call them. Are we going to make an arrest, Super?’
‘Yes, thanks to Mr Carrington. Just take down the addresses he’s got for us, will you?’
The Sergeant drew out his notebook and opened it, and moistening the tip of his pencil, looked at Giles, waiting for him to begin.
About the Author
Georgette Heyer wrote over fifty books, including Regency romances, mysteries, and historical fiction. Her barrister husband, Ronald Rougier, provided many of the plots for her detective novels, which are classic English country house mysteries reminiscent of Agatha Christie. Heyer was legendary for her research, historical accuracy, and her inventive plots and sparkling characterization.
Table of Contents
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Twenty-one
Twenty-two
About the Author
Georgette Heyer, Death in the Stocks: Merely Murder
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