A Connoisseur's Case by Michael Innes Page A

good many crimes of violence, impulsive in nature, are only imperfectly preserved in the conscious memories of those who commit them. But it takes a rare and absolute mania blankly to lose all recollection of such a thing. If we had dinner last night in the company of a homicidal maniac, we shall make quite a name for ourselves, believe me, in the annals of psychiatry. Hullo, here’s the lock again.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Judith said. ‘And some morbid persons peering at it.’
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    The police had concluded such investigations of the spot as they judged might be useful, and there was now no trace of what had happened there. The gates on the down-falling side were open, as Appleby and Judith had managed to drag them. The other gates were, of course, closed, and a young man and woman were standing on them, staring gloomily at the water.
    â€˜Not villagers,’ Judith said. ‘Hikers? Not that, either. There aren’t any young Coulsons, are there?’
    â€˜I gather not. And my guess is that these are the young Binnses, who stay with the Coulsons from time to time. You know, I had several ideas about the call of Binns père at Pryde last night. And one of them was that he came fishing for information as to the whereabouts of his progeny.’
    â€˜He can’t be very trustful of them.’
    â€˜At the moment, the young people don’t look very trustful of each other.’
    This was true. The girl and youth on the gates did now seem to be in attitudes suggesting that they were at odds with one another. At this moment, however, they became aware of the Applebys. And it was possible to feel them as joining forces immediately.
    â€˜Good morning,’ Appleby said, when he had come up with them. ‘Am I right in thinking that, if we walk east along the other side of the canal, we shall come on a track leading up to Scroop House?’
    Without much suggesting pleasure at being thus appealed to, the young man nodded. He was about twenty-four, and Appleby saw at once that he was a young Binns. Thirty years on, he would be the image of his father. The girl, who was perhaps five years younger, was of a different type. And for a moment he wondered whether he had seen her somewhere before. But the slight air of familiarity she suggested was of the sort that is commonly illusory.
    â€˜Quite right,’ the young man said – and gave Appleby a frank scowl. ‘You come to a small wharf and a boathouse. The track goes up from there through the park. It used to be quite a road. You can’t miss it.
    â€˜We came down that way ourselves,’ the girl said. This was plainly by way of continuing the conversation and making up for something approaching incivility in her brother. ‘We are staying at Scroop House. As a matter of fact, we lived there once.’
    â€˜In fact, you are Daphne and Peter Binns.’ Appleby shook hands, gave his name, and introduced the young people to Judith. ‘If you are returning to the house,’ he went on, ‘perhaps we may walk up together. Colonel Raven has sent us to pay a call.’ He smiled at the young Binnses – very much a courteous elderly man, accustomed to authority. ‘As it happens, I feel not entirely a stranger to you. For I met your father last night.’
    There was no mistaking the startled character of the swift glance the young Binnses exchanged on hearing this news.
    â€˜In London?’ Peter Binns asked abruptly.
    â€˜At Pryde. Your father dropped in on Colonel Raven while motoring through. It was his first visit, I gathered, for some time. And he was in too much of a hurry to go on to Scroop.’
    â€˜Daddy never–’ Daphne Binns had begun to say something which she thought better of. She checked herself – but only to plunge at something else. ‘Wasn’t it awful,’ she said, ‘about that old man – here, in the lock?’
    â€˜Tight, I expect. And fell and bashed