No Wind of Blame

‘I can assure you, madam, I shall, so far as I am able, conduct my inquiries with the utmost discretion,’ said the Inspector.

‘Yes, I wish I may see you!’ retorted Ermyntrude tartly. ‘And if you’re going to interview that – that – well, never mind what, but if you’re going to see that girl, you can tell her that she can sing for her five hundred pounds, for she won’t get it out of me, not after this!’

‘Is that the sum that was demanded from Mr Carter, madam?’

‘Yes, you may well look surprised!’ said Ermyntrude. ‘And the young man coming up here, as bold as brass, to blackmail my husband in the middle of a dinner-party, and him having the face to tell me as cool as you please that he’d have to ask me for five hundred to get rid of this Gladys with!’

‘Mr Carter told you what he wanted this sum for?’ said the Inspector incredulously.

‘Well, he had to, or I wouldn’t have given it to him.’

The Inspector coughed. ‘No doubt that was the cause of your disagreement with Mr Carter, madam?’

‘Of course it was!’ replied Ermyntrude. ‘Well, I ask you, wouldn’t you be a bit upset if you found that your husband was carrying on like a Mormon all over the town, and expecting you to provide for a pack of – well, I don’t want to be coarse, so we’ll leave it at that!’

The Inspector was staring at her. ‘Yes, madam, I’m bound to say I would. But – but – did you tell Mr Carter you would give him this money?’

‘Well, what else was I to do?’ demanded Ermyntrude. ‘Faults I may have, and I don’t deny it, but thank God no one’s ever said I was mean!’

A new train of thought had been set up in the Inspector’s mind. He said in a suspiciously mild voice: ‘I don’t think I need to ask you any more questions at present, madam, except what you were doing at the time of Mr Carter’s death – just a matter of routine!’ he added, perceiving a spark in Ermyntrude’s eye.

‘How do I know when he died? What are you trying to get at?’

‘Judging from the evidence I’ve heard so far, madam, and the time of Mr White’s phone call to the police station, Mr Carter was shot at about five minutes to five.’

‘It makes no difference to me when he was shot,’ said Ermyntrude. ‘I’ve been lying down the whole afternoon on my bed.’

‘And you, miss?’ said the Inspector, turning suddenly towards Mary.

‘I came downstairs just before my cousin set out to go to the Dower House. When he left, I went out to get some tomatoes from one of the hot-houses.’

‘Where is this hot-house, miss?’

‘By the kitchen-garden, on the other side of the house.’

‘I take it you heard nothing?’

‘No, nothing at all.’

‘I see, miss.’ The Inspector shut his notebook. ‘I should like to interview the servants, if you please.’

‘Certainly,’ Mary replied. ‘But only the butler and his wife, and the under-housemaid are in. The rest of them went out immediately after luncheon. If you’ll come into the morning-room, I’ll send the butler to you at once.’

The Inspector thanked her, and followed her to the morning-room. Ermyntrude, after c

ommenting acridly on the effrontery of policemen who behaved as though the place belonged to them, allowed herself to be persuaded to go into the drawing-room.

When Mary came back to the hall she found Hugh alone there. ‘I think I ought to clear out,’ he said. ‘But if there’s anything I can do, you know you’ve only to tell me.’

‘Oh, don’t go!’ said Mary, who was feeling a good deal shaken. ‘I can’t cope with them! It’s like being in a madhouse, and when that awful Prince gets back, it’ll be worse. Wasn’t Aunt Ermy ghastly? And as for that little beast, Vicky, I’d like to wring her neck! She deliberately dragged Wally’s affair with Gladys Baker into it! The one thing we wanted to keep quiet about!’

‘I don’t think you could have done that, though I admit I was a trifle startled when Vicky flung the bomb into our midst. She seems to have recovered from her first shock.’

‘Of course she’s recovered! She’s probably enjoying all the sensation. But, Hugh, what are we going to do? Who did kill Wally? And how am I to stop Aunt Ermy making foolish admissions?’

‘I shouldn’t think you could do that,’ said Hugh frankly. ‘You might have a shot at quelling Vicky, though. As for who killed Wally, I haven’t the faintest idea, unless Vicky was right, and it was Baker.’

‘Oh, I hope it was!’ Mary said, pressing her hands to her temples.