The Sword in the Stone-Dead, page 15
part #1 of Great Vicari Mystery Series
“There were some flakes of burnt paper in the grate in his room. I think we can assume that he destroyed them,” Malloy said.
“That is as I feared,” Vickery said. “Fulbright remains tight-lipped about the full contents of the letters. It is really most inconvenient. I feel sure that the threats in the letters have a bearing on what happened last night, or if they don’t, they can explain some of the unusual behaviour we have witnessed.”
“Guilty secrets make people behave guiltily?” Malloy said.
“Yes. And most of these secrets are completely irrelevant to the situation at hand. They only serve to cloud things.”
“Was the attack on Fulbright’s life connected to the letters, do you think?”
“Possibly,” Vickery said. “Our letter-writer may have decided to take more direct action since the letters did not seem to be having the desired effect.”
“Are the murder and the attempted murder the work of the same person? It would be a bit of a coincidence to have two different murderers, wouldn’t it?”
“Perhaps that is what the murderer wishes us to think,” Vickery said. “But what if the attempt on Leo Fulbright’s life was not a genuine one? It may have been arranged in order to make us think of him as a victim.”
“But why do that?”
“Because if we regard Mr. Fulbright as a victim, we are less likely to regard him as a possible murderer.”
“But he didn’t fire the crossbow at himself,” Malloy said.
“No indeed, he would have needed an accomplice.”
“Someone who was a very good shot, and who he trusted.”
“That is a very good point, Mr. Malloy. It does seem somewhat unlikely. But until we have all of the facts, we should not discount it as a possibility.”
“Whether the attempt on Fulbright’s life was genuine or not, it does not rule him out as a suspect in the murder of Eleanor Trenton,” Malloy said.
“We should proceed on that basis,” Vickery said.
“You were in the drawing room when the crossbow was fired at Fulbright,” Malloy said. “Who was in the room at the time?”
“Eleanor Trenton, Sir Geoffrey, Artie Delancey, Linette and her fiancé, Mr. Garvin, all were present when the crossbow was fired through the drawing room window.”
“None of them could have fired it. Who does that leave?”
“Margot McCrae, Ted Kimball, Veronica Fulbright, and Dickie Bannister were all absent from the room,” Vickery said. “They must be regarded as our suspects for the attempted murder of Leo Fulbright.”
“Have the police determined who was missing last night at the time of the murder?”
“They have information from several people, and the list seems to be consistent: Artie Delancey was absent, as were Margot McCrae, Veronica Fulbright, and Leo Fulbright.”
“Then they are our suspects for the murder of Eleanor Trenton,” Malloy said. “Two names appear on both lists.”
“Margot McCrae and Veronica Fulbright.”
“Didn’t the Fulbright woman try and kill her brother once before?”
“With a bow and arrow,” Vickery said. “Not so very different from a crossbow.”
“Though we ought to consider the fact that someone may have used the crossbow in order to direct attention away from themselves and towards Veronica Fulbright,” Malloy said.
“Quite right. While I am certain that she has a motive for wanting her brother dead, I am not aware of any such bad blood between Veronica Fulbright and Miss Trenton.”
“What would she gain from killing Eleanor Trenton?” Malloy mused. “I can’t imagine that they were rivals in love, can you? That excludes any revenge motive.”
“True,” Vickery said. “Unless she wished to have her revenge on her brother. She holds Leo responsible for separating her from the man she loved.”
“But why kill Eleanor Trenton? Perhaps Leo Fulbright cared for her, and he needed her for his motion picture, but it seems too far removed somehow,” Malloy said. “Why not hurt Fulbright more directly? I’m sure that would have been George Starling’s preference.”
“Indeed, we must consider him as a possible accomplice. If the motive wasn’t revenge, it might have been money.”
“How could Veronica Fulbright gain financially from Eleanor Trenton’s death?” Malloy asked.
“It is not that she would gain money, rather that she might lose less. Leo Fulbright is providing the funding for his own motion picture, using money he and his sister inherited from their father.”
“If Veronica thought her brother was ‘wasting’ their money, she might wish to try and put an end to the shooting of the motion picture. Eleanor’s death might lead to the movie being abandoned...” Malloy said.
“I think I shall have a chat with Miss Fulbright and try and ascertain her whereabouts last night. She led us to believe that she was visiting George at the inn in the village. But that might have been a ruse. George might have made his way here, either alone or having met up with Miss Fulbright.”
“There was time for them to get back to the keep before midnight, even if they stayed at the inn for last orders,” Malloy said.
“The people at the inn might tell us if Veronica Fulbright arrived last night, or whether George left.”
“And on the night of the attempt on her brother’s life,” Malloy said.
“I shall challenge her immediately. Unless she happens to be holding a loaded shotgun.”
“Why should she be holding a shotgun?” Malloy asked.
“Pigeons,” Vickery said. He turned to go.
“Psst!”
Vickery turned back. “What?”
“It wasn’t me,” Malloy said. He looked around, but could see no one else. He shrugged.
“Psst!” The sound came again, from the bushes nearby. A slight figure crawled out from under them. “It is I, Artie Delancey.”
Artie Delancey’s hair was sticking out in all directions and his cheeks were smeared with dirt. The knees of his trousers were dirty and the toes of his shoes scuffed. He approached them cautiously in a half-bent scuttle. His eyes were wide and he appeared to have passed beyond fear into a state of constant nervous vigilance, his head jerking this way and that like a bird fearing the approach of a cat.
“The police are here?” He asked in a breathless whisper, never quite making eye contact.
“Yes,” Vickery said.
“Then it is nearly over.” Artie nodded rapidly, but it wasn’t clear whether he was relieved or upset by the presence of the police. “And she is really dead?” There was a flash of pathetic hope in his eyes.
“I’m afraid she is,” Vickery said.
Artie nodded his head sadly. He had known what the answer would be, even while hoping that the reality might be different.
“Why don’t you come inside and warm yourself by the fire, Artie?” Malloy said.
Artie looked at him with a combination of relief and gratitude, but it quickly vanished and he looked away. “I can’t!” Eyes wide. “It’s not safe!”
“Why isn’t it safe, Artie?” Vickery asked. “Who are you afraid of?”
“Can’t say.” Artie licked his lips nervously. “I’ve done a bad thing. I should be punished. But I don’t want to die!” He let out an anguished wail, and then darted off, running doubled-over and flat-footed.
Malloy made to go after him, but Vickery restrained him with a hand on his arm, for at that moment Inspector Debney appeared through the door from the kitchen.
“Highly suspicious,” the Inspector said.
For a moment they weren’t sure if he was referring to Artie or to them.
“Inspector?” Vickery said.
“Arthur Delancey, our missing suspect,” Inspector Debney said. “I’ve done a bad thing—that sounded very much like a confession.”
“But would he have asked if Eleanor Trenton was dead if he had killed her?” Malloy asked.
“Yes, if she was still breathing when he pulled the sword out of her,” the Inspector said.
“We should be careful not to read too much into what Mr. Delancey said,” Vickery cautioned. “He has been greatly disturbed by what has happened.”
“He sounded insane,” Inspector Debney said.
“I do not believe we just heard a confession of murder, Inspector, but rather the admission of someone who did nothing to prevent the killing,” Vickery said.
“I would expect you to take the side of one of your own kind,” the Inspector said.
“And what kind might that be, Inspector Debney?” Vickery asked.
Patches of pink coloured Debney’s pale cheeks.
“Theatrical types,” he muttered. “You can hardly claim to be impartial.”
“But I am, Inspector, and I shall seek to protect anyone that I believe to be innocent. Theatrical type or otherwise. In seeking the guilty, we must always take care not to run rough-shod over the innocent.”
“Say what you like, that young man is harbouring a guilty secret,” Debney said.
“There I can agree with you,” Vickery said. “He knows something about the murder, and Mr. Delancey believes that possession of this knowledge places him in mortal danger.”
“He knows something about the murder because he was responsible for it,” the Inspector said. “I regard him as my prime suspect at this point.”
“On that I must disagree,” Vickery said.
“That is your prerogrative, Mr. Vickery. But I am expected to solve this crime and bring the guilty to face justice, however you may feel about them. I shall have my men search for Delancey, and seize him.”
“Then I would ask you to remind your constables that Mr. Delancey should be treated as an innocent man, until you have proof of his guilt.”
“Not that you wish to tell me how to do my job, eh?” Inspector Debney asked.
“I shall make close observation of how all of the guests here are treated during the course of your investigation,” Vickery said.
“We shall behave properly and without prejudice,” the Inspector said. He seemed offended that Vickery was suggesting they would do otherwise.
“I ask nothing more,” Vickery said.
Inspector Debney gave a curt nod and went back inside, in search of his constables.
Malloy made to speak out, but Vickery silenced him with a gesture, until he was sure Debney was out of earshot.
“At least we know Artie Delancey is not dead,” Vickery said.
“We have to help him,” Malloy said.
“For the moment, he may be safer wherever he is hiding. He has avoided discovery thus far.”
“We should find him, calm him down. Warn him about the police search.”
“He has come to us once, that means he trusts us. It would be a mistake to pursue him. We must hope that he comes to us again. And we must be ready to protect him when he does.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Malloy asked.
“I keep asking questions, and you keep searching for Excalibur,” Vickery said.
“Where do I look next?”
Malloy didn’t like the look of the smile that flickered across Vickery’s lips.
* * *
“They can’t think Artie did it, surely?” Bannister said.
Sir Geoffrey’s butler had brought up another selection of breakfast foods and set them out in the dining room. Having now been interviewed by Inspector Debney, the guests had gathered round the dining table to drink tea and fill plates with food that they only nibbled at. Leo Fulbright, and Sir Geoffrey and his nephew, were the only ones absent. It had seemed like a long day already, and yet it was still only ten-thirty.
“I heard he confessed,” Kimball said.
“He did not,” Vickery said. “He was in a very agitated state, and admitted that he had done something he knew was wrong.”
“But he didn’t say what?” Kimball asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Vickery said.
“I can’t really imagine Artie as a murderer,” Linette said. “Can you?” She looked at Garvin, who shook his head.
“Artie Delancey isn’t the murderer,” Margot said. “It’s ridiculous to suggest he could be: he’s an understudy at best, not a lead player.”
“But the police are out searching for him,” Bannister said.
“Perhaps they know something we don’t,” Veronica Fulbright said.
“Nonsense!” Margot said. “Inspector Debney knows only what we have told him.”
“Artie didn’t do himself any favours by disappearing like that,” Bannister said.
“Perhaps he knows who the murderer is,” Linette said. “If he does, he’d be afraid of being killed himself.”
“That’s a bit melodramatic,” Margot said.
“It would explain why he ran and hid himself away,” Bannister said.
“It is one possible explanation,” Vickery said.
“Do you think the police will arrest him?” Linette asked.
“If they find him,” Kimball said.
“What can we do?” Bannister asked. “If they’re going to arrest him whether he’s guilty or not—”
“The only thing that will help Artie Delancey is the real murderer being unmasked,” Margot said. She looked towards Vickery, and gradually every eye turned the same way.
“You’re a detective, Mr. Vickery, you could investigate the murder,” Veronica Fulbright said.
“I am not really a detective as such, Miss Fulbright.”
“But you have solved mysteries before. What about Hattie Graham and her so-called ‘cat-burglar’?” Margot said.
“Inspector Debney has made it crystal clear that he does not want my assistance.”
“Then don’t assist him,” Veronica Fulbright said, “conduct your own investigation.”
“I shouldn’t—” Vickery said.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t been snooping around already,” Margot said.
“I was investigating the poison pen letters sent to Mr. Fulbright,” Vickery said.
“Then investigate the murder for us,” Margot said. “We are all being treated as suspects until the murderer is found. Help us.”
Margot could see that he needed only a little more convincing. She glanced towards Dickie Bannister, who was already rallying to the cause.
“Do it for Artie, Mr. Vickery,” he said. “None of us want to see the poor boy in a jail cell again.”
“I second that,” Kimball said.
“I could only conduct an investigation with your help,” Vickery said to them all. “I would need you to submit to my questioning.”
Having spent the early hours of the morning being interrogated by Inspector Debney, not everyone seemed keen to endure another similar ordeal.
“Talking to Mr. Vickery won’t be as bad as being grilled by that sour-faced Inspector,” Garvin said.
“Leo will never agree to it,” Vickery said to Margot.
“Then we won’t tell him,” Margot said. “When you talk to him, don’t let on that it is an interview.”
“You all agree to be part of this?” Vickery asked. He looked around the room, and they all nodded, some more enthusiastically than others. “Very well: I accept your invitation,” he said.
* * *
“Miss Fulbright, a word if I may?” Vickery said.
Veronica Fulbright was unarmed, and the smile of her greeting was perhaps more cheerful than the circumstances might dictate.
“Mr. Vickery, good day to you.” Then, noting his sombre expression, she added: “Terrible thing that happened last night.”
“It is a terrible thing to see a young life cut short,” Vickery said, watching her face carefully.
“Makes one realise that we should seize every moment and make the most of it,” she said.
“I have some questions, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Anything to help. But can’t say that I saw anything that might be of any use.”
“We don’t always recognise the importance of the little things, until someone comes to put all of the pieces together,” Vickery said.
“Then ask away, Mr. Vickery.”
“Did you see Mr. Kimball play Hamlet last night?” Vickery asked.
“No. I watched for a couple of minutes, but it made me uncomfortable, hearing someone else speaking like Leo. I’m sure it was a wonderful performance, but...” She shrugged. “I couldn’t watch.”
“You went out?”
“I didn’t feel like being around everyone. Sometimes these moods overcome me, and then all I can do is take myself off somewhere until it passes.”
“And last night, where did you take yourself off to?” Vickery asked.
“Do you think I could have murdered Eleanor Trenton? Is that the reason for these questions, Mr. Vickery?” Her tone had become challenging.
“I am trying to establish whether you could have murdered her, and to do that, I need to know where you went after dinner yesterday evening. Until we know who didn’t commit the crime, everyone must be viewed as a potential murderer.”
“That’s not a very nice thing, is it, to be suspicious of everyone?”
“No, Miss Fulbright, it is not. Which is why I intend to remove the shadow of suspicion away from the innocent as soon as I am able. But I will need their help to do that. Hence my questions.”
“I understand.” Veronica Fulbright nodded firmly.
“Last night...?” Vickery prompted.
“I went outside to get some air, then I went up to bed.” She nodded again, as if that was the end of it.
“You went out onto the terrace immediately after dinner?”
“I did.” Again the firm nod.
“How long did you remain on the terrace?” Vickery asked.
“I don’t know, I never looked at my watch. Half an hour perhaps. Just wanted to let my dinner settle before I went off—off to bed.”
“Quite so, I did the same thing myself,” Vickery said. “But before you went up to bed, you took a stroll? Through the woods?”
