minced Pulborough, 'how very appropriate for her. Did
it hurt very much at first? I simply must ask her.'
Sir Arnold hurried out of earshot and went in search of Sammy Bathon, the TV interviewer and
entrepreneur, who had recently established a chain of betting shops with the help of the
Government's Aid to Industry Scheme. Sammy Bathon was a chap with his ear close to the ground
and, if anything had been going the rounds about a Press coup that failed last night, he'd be the
one to know.
He found him discussing the advantages of cryogenics with the Rev. Herbert Bentwhistle. 'Sure,
sure, Father, I'm not knocking the Holy Book but where does it say anything about leaving things
to chance? So I have eternal life without liquid nitrogen by being a good boy. I prefer my way.
Bigger chance for Sammy with the nitrogen maybe.' He winked at Sir Arnold but the eye behind it
did not suggest any secret information about the intruder.
It was a remark he caught as he passed the group round Egeworth, the MP for West Twixt, that
interested the Chief Constable most. 'She's a confounded nuisance, Miss Midden is,' Egeworth was
saying. 'Spends half her life preventing developments that would serve the community. I wish to
God someone would shut her up.'
'You mean she's been poking her nose into the housing scheme at Ablethorpe?' someone said.
'You preserve a few trees and lose the chance of a development grant. Where's the sense in
that?'
'That's the trouble with these so-called old families. They seem to think the past matters.
They don't think of the future.'
Sir Arnold went into his study and shut the door. He was exhausted and he had to think of his
own future. The vodka had been of only temporary help. Why wouldn't they hurry up and go so that
he could get some shut-eye and give that bastard his next dose of whisky and whatever? He sat
down and thought about Miss Marjorie Midden. Her and that Major MacPhee. If only he could find
out if it was one of her weekends away birdwatching or visiting gardens. The Midden would be an
ideal place to dump that sod in the cellar. There were all those old weirdos living at the
Middenhall and, while he wasn't prepared to venture down the drive to the Hall itself, the Midden
farmhouse where the old cow lived with Major MacPhee was conveniently isolated. It would be nice
to get her to take the rap for the young toyboy. It was a lovely idea. In the meantime he'd just
make a phone call.
He dialled Miss Midden's number. There was no reply. He'd call the Middenhall later to check
she was really away. As he passed the kitchen door he heard Auntie Bea talking to Mrs Thouless
the housekeeper. 'I really don't see why Arnold had to say that he'd taken the wine to Sweep's
Place when it's patently untrue. And as for a '47 Fitou! Can you imagine how frightful it must
be?'
Fortunately the housekeeper was deaf. She was talking to herself about glass and blood all
over the bedroom floor and the mirror broken and all that water. Sir Arnold hurried upstairs to
check that there were no bloodstains on the wall about the bed. There weren't, and the marks on
the carpet were all his own. He was also glad to see that Vy had passed out on the bed. She had
spent the party drinking gin and Appletiser and pretending it was champagne. It hadn't worked.
The gin had won.
Chapter 9
By the time he had seen all the guests leave, Sir Arnold's exhaustion was almost total. Only
terror kept him going terror and black coffee. But during the afternoon a new stimulant entered
the picture. It came with the realization that whoever had brought that filthy lout to the house
and his bed must have had an accomplice on the inside. All the facts, in so far as he could
marshal them, pointed to that incontrovertible conclusion. Sir Arnold in his awful condition
certainly couldn't controvert it. He clung instead to certain facts, the first of which was that
someone, and
it hurt very much at first? I simply must ask her.'
Sir Arnold hurried out of earshot and went in search of Sammy Bathon, the TV interviewer and
entrepreneur, who had recently established a chain of betting shops with the help of the
Government's Aid to Industry Scheme. Sammy Bathon was a chap with his ear close to the ground
and, if anything had been going the rounds about a Press coup that failed last night, he'd be the
one to know.
He found him discussing the advantages of cryogenics with the Rev. Herbert Bentwhistle. 'Sure,
sure, Father, I'm not knocking the Holy Book but where does it say anything about leaving things
to chance? So I have eternal life without liquid nitrogen by being a good boy. I prefer my way.
Bigger chance for Sammy with the nitrogen maybe.' He winked at Sir Arnold but the eye behind it
did not suggest any secret information about the intruder.
It was a remark he caught as he passed the group round Egeworth, the MP for West Twixt, that
interested the Chief Constable most. 'She's a confounded nuisance, Miss Midden is,' Egeworth was
saying. 'Spends half her life preventing developments that would serve the community. I wish to
God someone would shut her up.'
'You mean she's been poking her nose into the housing scheme at Ablethorpe?' someone said.
'You preserve a few trees and lose the chance of a development grant. Where's the sense in
that?'
'That's the trouble with these so-called old families. They seem to think the past matters.
They don't think of the future.'
Sir Arnold went into his study and shut the door. He was exhausted and he had to think of his
own future. The vodka had been of only temporary help. Why wouldn't they hurry up and go so that
he could get some shut-eye and give that bastard his next dose of whisky and whatever? He sat
down and thought about Miss Marjorie Midden. Her and that Major MacPhee. If only he could find
out if it was one of her weekends away birdwatching or visiting gardens. The Midden would be an
ideal place to dump that sod in the cellar. There were all those old weirdos living at the
Middenhall and, while he wasn't prepared to venture down the drive to the Hall itself, the Midden
farmhouse where the old cow lived with Major MacPhee was conveniently isolated. It would be nice
to get her to take the rap for the young toyboy. It was a lovely idea. In the meantime he'd just
make a phone call.
He dialled Miss Midden's number. There was no reply. He'd call the Middenhall later to check
she was really away. As he passed the kitchen door he heard Auntie Bea talking to Mrs Thouless
the housekeeper. 'I really don't see why Arnold had to say that he'd taken the wine to Sweep's
Place when it's patently untrue. And as for a '47 Fitou! Can you imagine how frightful it must
be?'
Fortunately the housekeeper was deaf. She was talking to herself about glass and blood all
over the bedroom floor and the mirror broken and all that water. Sir Arnold hurried upstairs to
check that there were no bloodstains on the wall about the bed. There weren't, and the marks on
the carpet were all his own. He was also glad to see that Vy had passed out on the bed. She had
spent the party drinking gin and Appletiser and pretending it was champagne. It hadn't worked.
The gin had won.
Chapter 9
By the time he had seen all the guests leave, Sir Arnold's exhaustion was almost total. Only
terror kept him going terror and black coffee. But during the afternoon a new stimulant entered
the picture. It came with the realization that whoever had brought that filthy lout to the house
and his bed must have had an accomplice on the inside. All the facts, in so far as he could
marshal them, pointed to that incontrovertible conclusion. Sir Arnold in his awful condition
certainly couldn't controvert it. He clung instead to certain facts, the first of which was that
someone, and
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