Heirs of the Body(108)
“It could be an accident,” the doctor suggested. Alec, Tom, and Ernie exchanged glances. Another accident? “But I wondered if it could somehow be connected to whatever this business is you’re investigating here.”
“Chief,” said Tom, “I told you the servants said Vincent and his wife—and Raymond, come to that—had been poking their noses all over the house the first few days they were here. What I didn’t mention is that Mrs. Vincent was in and out of the pantry and the larder. The cook caught her opening jars and tins to see what was in them.”
“Get down there right away, Tom, and bag anything that might have contained mint tea. With a bit of luck we might get a fingerprint. Doctor,” added Alec as Tom hurried off and Pardoe turned back towards the door, “would you kindly tell Sam I’d like a quick word with him?”
“The husband? He’s not here. Went out for a breath of air, I’m told. Lady John has been sitting with Mrs. Dalrymple. It was she who sent Mrs. Fletcher for a doctor. And she has been helping me very ably, I might add.”
“Good,” Alec said absently. “Let’s go, Ernie. I should have foreseen this possibility. If Martha has a boy…”
He passed a couple of doors and stopped at one that had a small table beside it. On the table was a tray with a teapot, plates, and cups and saucers, all used. He knocked.
No response. He stepped back and gestured to Ernie, who put his ear to the door. After a minute’s silence, Ernie shook his head, then knocked again, saying loudly, “Police! Mr. Dalrymple, please open the door.”
“Who is that?” Laurette’s voice sounded thin and strained.
“Detective Sergeant Piper, madam. From London. Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher would like—”
“Ce salaud!” she spat out. “Why does he not discover who attacked Vincent?”
“That’s one thing he wants to talk to you about, madam.”
“He is of the family. It is perhaps a plot to lure us out—”
“Mrs. Dalrymple,” Alec said sharply, “that’s nonsense. We have Lord Dalrymple’s permission to search the house. If you or your husband refuses to open the door, we’re coming in anyway.”
Ernie took from a pocket a gadget reminiscent of a dentist’s instrument of torture. As he inserted it in the lock, they heard swift footsteps inside, moving away from the door.
Always neat and quick, Ernie had the door open in a few seconds. They burst into the room. Laurette was fumbling with a key at a connecting door in the wall to their left.
Alec went to her, took the key from her shaking hand, and led her to the window overlooking the terrace. “Sit down.”
Without a word, she slumped into one of the two wing chairs.
Meanwhile, Ernie glanced under the bed, in the wardrobe, and behind the curtains. “Must be in there, sir,” he said, waving at the connecting door.
“Check.” Alec tossed the key to him.
The door was not locked.
“Police!” Ernie flung the door open. “Bathroom. No one here, sir. But there’s a door in the opposite wall.… It’s bolted on this side.” The bolt snicked. “And locked.”
“Try the same key. Hotels may have a different key for each bedroom, but these country houses usually don’t.”
“Got it. Nothing but a corridor.”
“So he’s been coming and going at will! That’s torn it.”
“Three doors opposite. One looks like back stairs.”
“Don’t bother with them. Lock the door and bolt it, then come through and lock that door. Mrs. Dalrymple, I can’t spare the time for you now. I’m going to leave you here, locked in.”
“Mais—”
“For as short a period as possible. And in case you have any other keys, I’m stationing a constable at the corner where he can watch both corridors. Come on, Piper. Lock the door behind you.”
Ernie obeyed. As they strode along the passage towards the main stairs, he enquired, “Which constable would that be, Chief? The one you set to follow Crowley or the one guarding Miss Belinda and her cousins?”
“One of the six others I should have asked for. No use crying over spilt milk. We have to find Vincent or Sam, or both. In a hurry.”
* * *
Half aware of children’s voices and a dog’s bark, Daisy knelt beside Sam. A dark red patch was spreading across his shoulders. Groaning, he tried to push himself up.
“Keep still! You’ll make it worse.”
“Yes, ma’am! Bloody hell, it hurts.”
“I can’t get you out of your jacket to see how bad it is. I’m going to put pressure on, to try to stop the bleeding.”