is he?’
‘Yes. He had some kind of fit when he was drinking his port.’ There was a noise of crunching gravel. ‘Ah, here’s the Chief Constable.’
Colonel Philips was very much the military man – alert, assertive and eager to take charge of the situation. The Duke usually found him tiresomely hearty but on this occasion he welcomed his bluff no-nonsense approach. The Chief Constable shook the hand of the doctor, whom he knew well, and then introduced a tall, lean, grey-haired man smartly attired in a suit and tie despite the lateness of the hour.
‘May I introduce Inspector Pride of Scotland Yard, an old friend of mine – or rather, not as old as me but I’ve known him a very long time – proud to know him, don’t you know, what?’ Inspector Pride smiled thinly and shook the Duke’s hand. ‘He happened to be stayin’ with me so I thought I’d bring him along. You never know,’ the Colonel continued vaguely. ‘Sudden death of a distinguished soldier. Need to be seen to have done it all by the book – mustn’t miss anything, what?’
The Duke led the way to the dining-room and struggled to turn the key in the lock. ‘Don’t normally lock this door,’ said the Duke apologetically. ‘In fact I never knew it had a key.’
‘Did you lock the door, Duke?’ asked Pride. The man, though perfectly polite, had an edge to his voice which implied he was dealing with old fools; this ruffled the Duke’s feathers. He wondered just what the relationship was between the Chief Constable and this cold fish of a London policeman. They did not look as if they would be natural friends. ‘No, no, it was my brother – my younger brother – Edward who locked the door. He was insistent we left everything untouched for you to examine.’
‘Quite right,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘So Edward’s here, is he? Came for dinner?’
‘He was supposed to but his car broke down and he only arrived a few minutes ago – just before General Craig . . . before . . . oh, poor man, poor man.’
While they had been talking the Duke had opened the door and they had gone over to the body. Dr Best had gently lifted the cloth off the corpse and revealed the horribly distorted face of the man who had so recently been eating and drinking at the Duke’s table. To each of the four men the visible evidence of the great pain the General had suffered in death was shocking and unforgettable. A heart attack could not have left its mark so savagely. Dr Best was the first to speak. ‘The General has died of poisoning. It looks to me like cyanide but the post-mortem will confirm it.’
‘That’s what my brother said.’
Pride, kneeling beside the dead man, looked up at the Duke. ‘Your brother? Is he a doctor?’
‘Oh no!’ said the Duke. ‘But he was sure it was poison.’
‘Where is he now?’ Pride said, his flat, inexpressive way of speaking making the Duke shiver.
‘He is in the drawing-room with my wife and my guests. I really ought to go and see them. They will want to go to their beds.’
Pride said, ‘Is everyone here who was at dinner?’
‘Everyone except Baron von Friedberg. He insisted on going.’
‘Who is Baron von Friedberg?’
The Duke thought there was something insolent about the way the Inspector spoke to him but he felt at a disadvantage, as if he had committed some solecism letting one of his guests be poisoned at his table, so he dared not get on his high horse and tell the man off. The Chief Constable was looking uneasy.
‘Von Friedberg is an official at the German embassy,’ the Duke said with as much dignity as he could muster. He had taken an instinctive decision not to reveal to Pride the German’s importance.
‘I see,’ said Pride icily. ‘No one ought to have left the house before the Chief Constable gave his permission.’ The Chief Constable tried to look important but it was evident to the Duke that Pride meant until he had given his permission.
‘I don’t suppose you were
‘Yes. He had some kind of fit when he was drinking his port.’ There was a noise of crunching gravel. ‘Ah, here’s the Chief Constable.’
Colonel Philips was very much the military man – alert, assertive and eager to take charge of the situation. The Duke usually found him tiresomely hearty but on this occasion he welcomed his bluff no-nonsense approach. The Chief Constable shook the hand of the doctor, whom he knew well, and then introduced a tall, lean, grey-haired man smartly attired in a suit and tie despite the lateness of the hour.
‘May I introduce Inspector Pride of Scotland Yard, an old friend of mine – or rather, not as old as me but I’ve known him a very long time – proud to know him, don’t you know, what?’ Inspector Pride smiled thinly and shook the Duke’s hand. ‘He happened to be stayin’ with me so I thought I’d bring him along. You never know,’ the Colonel continued vaguely. ‘Sudden death of a distinguished soldier. Need to be seen to have done it all by the book – mustn’t miss anything, what?’
The Duke led the way to the dining-room and struggled to turn the key in the lock. ‘Don’t normally lock this door,’ said the Duke apologetically. ‘In fact I never knew it had a key.’
‘Did you lock the door, Duke?’ asked Pride. The man, though perfectly polite, had an edge to his voice which implied he was dealing with old fools; this ruffled the Duke’s feathers. He wondered just what the relationship was between the Chief Constable and this cold fish of a London policeman. They did not look as if they would be natural friends. ‘No, no, it was my brother – my younger brother – Edward who locked the door. He was insistent we left everything untouched for you to examine.’
‘Quite right,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘So Edward’s here, is he? Came for dinner?’
‘He was supposed to but his car broke down and he only arrived a few minutes ago – just before General Craig . . . before . . . oh, poor man, poor man.’
While they had been talking the Duke had opened the door and they had gone over to the body. Dr Best had gently lifted the cloth off the corpse and revealed the horribly distorted face of the man who had so recently been eating and drinking at the Duke’s table. To each of the four men the visible evidence of the great pain the General had suffered in death was shocking and unforgettable. A heart attack could not have left its mark so savagely. Dr Best was the first to speak. ‘The General has died of poisoning. It looks to me like cyanide but the post-mortem will confirm it.’
‘That’s what my brother said.’
Pride, kneeling beside the dead man, looked up at the Duke. ‘Your brother? Is he a doctor?’
‘Oh no!’ said the Duke. ‘But he was sure it was poison.’
‘Where is he now?’ Pride said, his flat, inexpressive way of speaking making the Duke shiver.
‘He is in the drawing-room with my wife and my guests. I really ought to go and see them. They will want to go to their beds.’
Pride said, ‘Is everyone here who was at dinner?’
‘Everyone except Baron von Friedberg. He insisted on going.’
‘Who is Baron von Friedberg?’
The Duke thought there was something insolent about the way the Inspector spoke to him but he felt at a disadvantage, as if he had committed some solecism letting one of his guests be poisoned at his table, so he dared not get on his high horse and tell the man off. The Chief Constable was looking uneasy.
‘Von Friedberg is an official at the German embassy,’ the Duke said with as much dignity as he could muster. He had taken an instinctive decision not to reveal to Pride the German’s importance.
‘I see,’ said Pride icily. ‘No one ought to have left the house before the Chief Constable gave his permission.’ The Chief Constable tried to look important but it was evident to the Duke that Pride meant until he had given his permission.
‘I don’t suppose you were
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