well have wandered in here.’
‘I see. Sir Basil works here a lot?’
‘I believe so. He was working here this afternoon. I remember him saying that he would probably be working here right through to dinner.’
Leader’s notebook was poised in a flash. ‘Let me have the names, please, of everybody who heard him say that.’
The ferreting had begun. And I realized that Leader, though less forceful than his metropolitan colleague, had the right instincts. I gave the information meekly. Basil had made this remark at luncheon and it had been heard by everybody staying in the house, by Richards, by Ralph Cambrell, and by Horace Cudbird. Getting all this on paper considerably slowed down the tempo of the investigation.
‘Who,’ said Appleby, ‘would wish to shoot Sir Basil Roper?’ He looked at me speculatively, and I was preparing to evolve a reply when I realized that the question was a rhetorical one. ‘But, again, who would wish to shoot Mr Foxcroft? For, after all, it is far from certain that the shot was fired, as we have been assuming, from behind the shelter of the curtains. The assailant may have been facing Mr Foxcroft boldly, and very well aware of what he was about. And there is a third possibility. The shot may have been intended for neither of these people.’
‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that only accident may have been involved?’
‘If it was an accident,’ interposed Leader, ‘where is the gun?’ He turned to Appleby. ‘An accident with some element of criminal carelessness,’ he suggested. ‘Somebody is scared and makes off with the gun.’
Appleby showed no enthusiasm for this reconstruction. ‘I was merely reflecting,’ he said, ‘that Mr Foxcroft might have been taken not for Sir Basil but for somebody else. At least, this is something which we must not exclude.’ He glanced rather vaguely from one to the other of us. I had a feeling that his mind was really occupied elsewhere.
‘May I ask,’ I said, ‘what has prompted you to call me in first in this way? I don’t at all mind, but I suspect that Sir Basil is a little puzzled.’
Leader, to whom I addressed this question, appeared to think it possible that the answer might be found in his notebook. It was left to Appleby to speak.
‘Simply, Mr Ferryman, that you are the only person in this house about whom we have any information. You make a natural starting point.’ Young Mr Appleby met my slight frown with an amiable and deferential smile. ‘I understand that you are a relation, but a distant one. You will take an objective view. And – I needn’t hint – a penetrating one. An investigation of this sort is largely a matter of probing human conduct, of penetrating human character. Here you are our natural ally – and one of the most effective we could find in England, if I may be impertinent enough to say so.’
I had no doubt of the sufficiency of his impertinence – nor that it was accompanied by considerable intelligence. He knew that flattery may usefully be applied to the most sophisticated, particularly if not laboriously dissimulated. As the sweet barb passes the intellect notes it for what it is; it strikes down nevertheless to that uncritical level where self-esteem is all. ‘If you need literary counsel,’ I said, ‘you would do better to co-opt Mrs Chigwidden.’ But I felt pleased all the same.
Appleby treated my reply as a very good joke indeed, and was backed by Leader with a rather belated chuckle. ‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘you would wish to exercise a certain discretion in discussing people you know. On the other hand you will certainly want to help.’
There was no certainty in it. I do not approve of the police. My desire was entirely that the whole horrible business should be hushed up. Nevertheless I heard myself say: ‘Of course I will help in any way I can.’
The young man looked grateful. He had just that deference which I am accustomed to meet with from young critics at literary
‘I see. Sir Basil works here a lot?’
‘I believe so. He was working here this afternoon. I remember him saying that he would probably be working here right through to dinner.’
Leader’s notebook was poised in a flash. ‘Let me have the names, please, of everybody who heard him say that.’
The ferreting had begun. And I realized that Leader, though less forceful than his metropolitan colleague, had the right instincts. I gave the information meekly. Basil had made this remark at luncheon and it had been heard by everybody staying in the house, by Richards, by Ralph Cambrell, and by Horace Cudbird. Getting all this on paper considerably slowed down the tempo of the investigation.
‘Who,’ said Appleby, ‘would wish to shoot Sir Basil Roper?’ He looked at me speculatively, and I was preparing to evolve a reply when I realized that the question was a rhetorical one. ‘But, again, who would wish to shoot Mr Foxcroft? For, after all, it is far from certain that the shot was fired, as we have been assuming, from behind the shelter of the curtains. The assailant may have been facing Mr Foxcroft boldly, and very well aware of what he was about. And there is a third possibility. The shot may have been intended for neither of these people.’
‘You mean,’ I asked, ‘that only accident may have been involved?’
‘If it was an accident,’ interposed Leader, ‘where is the gun?’ He turned to Appleby. ‘An accident with some element of criminal carelessness,’ he suggested. ‘Somebody is scared and makes off with the gun.’
Appleby showed no enthusiasm for this reconstruction. ‘I was merely reflecting,’ he said, ‘that Mr Foxcroft might have been taken not for Sir Basil but for somebody else. At least, this is something which we must not exclude.’ He glanced rather vaguely from one to the other of us. I had a feeling that his mind was really occupied elsewhere.
‘May I ask,’ I said, ‘what has prompted you to call me in first in this way? I don’t at all mind, but I suspect that Sir Basil is a little puzzled.’
Leader, to whom I addressed this question, appeared to think it possible that the answer might be found in his notebook. It was left to Appleby to speak.
‘Simply, Mr Ferryman, that you are the only person in this house about whom we have any information. You make a natural starting point.’ Young Mr Appleby met my slight frown with an amiable and deferential smile. ‘I understand that you are a relation, but a distant one. You will take an objective view. And – I needn’t hint – a penetrating one. An investigation of this sort is largely a matter of probing human conduct, of penetrating human character. Here you are our natural ally – and one of the most effective we could find in England, if I may be impertinent enough to say so.’
I had no doubt of the sufficiency of his impertinence – nor that it was accompanied by considerable intelligence. He knew that flattery may usefully be applied to the most sophisticated, particularly if not laboriously dissimulated. As the sweet barb passes the intellect notes it for what it is; it strikes down nevertheless to that uncritical level where self-esteem is all. ‘If you need literary counsel,’ I said, ‘you would do better to co-opt Mrs Chigwidden.’ But I felt pleased all the same.
Appleby treated my reply as a very good joke indeed, and was backed by Leader with a rather belated chuckle. ‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘you would wish to exercise a certain discretion in discussing people you know. On the other hand you will certainly want to help.’
There was no certainty in it. I do not approve of the police. My desire was entirely that the whole horrible business should be hushed up. Nevertheless I heard myself say: ‘Of course I will help in any way I can.’
The young man looked grateful. He had just that deference which I am accustomed to meet with from young critics at literary
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