time of night. It isn’t just round the corner … see here, there’s four or five rooms to go through after you’ve left this wing, not to mention the gallery on the north side of the hall. What was he after, unless he’d arranged to meet someone?’
Somerhayes shook his head slowly. ‘I can suggest no reason …’
‘And what was the object of the meeting, which was presumably clandestine?’
Again the head shook, unhurriedly but with determination .
‘Gad, Gently, you’ve got something there,’ broke in Sir Daynes. ‘If the feller went to meet someone, must have been clandestine. D’you think he was a bad ’un, and this tapestry fal-de-lal was just a blind?’
‘Be a good way of getting in, sir,’ put in Dyson, with interest.
‘Damn it, yes – confounded clever. And not above some of the johnnies we’ve had to deal with.’
It was Gently’s head that was shaking now. ‘He comes from a US camp, you know …’
‘That’s just the point, man,’ exclaimed Sir Daynes. ‘Who’s going to check his credentials, when he turns up at an Air Force lecture? Feller’s genuine – take him at his face value – and all the time he’s a crook, infiltrating his way into a country house. It’s been done before, I tell you. There’s no end to the tricks these johnnies get up to.’
‘But surely they’d know their own officers at the camp?’
‘Not necessarily – not at Sculton. Place is a staging-post, men in and out the whole time. And the whole business fits in … You’ve got a motive there to play with. Feller lets his accomplice into the house, say – they quarrel about the division of the loot – accomplice fetches him one with the truncheon, and clears off sharp without touching anything. There you are, man, in a nutshell. Answer to the whole confounded mystery.’
Gently shrugged his bulky shoulders. ‘Just one minor objection. Did they happen to know who you were talking about when you phoned Sculton Camp this morning?’
Sir Daynes gave him the look he usually reserved for defaulting constables …
They could get little more out of Somerhayes. For the benefit of the record he repeated his description of the finding of the body, of his suspicion about the injury, of the search he had made with Thomas, and the subsequent phoning of the police and Sir Daynes. And all the time Gently had the curious impression that he had been constituted as some sort of special audience, that he was a gallery to whom Somerhayes was playing. But why? And with what object? – the circumstances remained a mystery. Somerhayes’s last look, like his first, was an unclassifiable smile aimed at the man from the Central Office.
‘Hmp!’ grunted Sir Daynes, as the door closed behind his lordship. ‘What do you make of it all, Gently, what do you make of it? Can’t say I like theway things are shaping – damn feller Somerhayes doesn’t seem to realize his position.’
‘He was the last person to—’ Dyson was beginning complacently, but he discreetly ended there as he caught the expression on the baronet’s face.
‘Confound the man!’ Sir Daynes turned to stare gloomily into the fire. ‘What a blasted kettle of fish to turn up on a Christmas Day, eh? I feel like a drink … I feel like some of that 1905 cognac.’
CHAPTER FIVE
L ESLIE BRASS, DRESSED in green Harris tweed with a red line, seemed to bring a current of vitality with him into the room, which Somerhayes had chilled and enervated. One only had to catch a glimpse of his strong features with their Semitic nose and twinkling green eyes to be impressed by a feeling of warmth and energy – the ginger beard suited Brass; it seemed to grow out of his personality like an overplus of good spirits. When he sat down, the chair creaked under his massive but boyish frame.
‘Leslie Edward Brass, thirty-seven, artist – this isn’t the first time I’ve given the police my particulars! – late of Kensington, W8, now of Merely Place,
Somerhayes shook his head slowly. ‘I can suggest no reason …’
‘And what was the object of the meeting, which was presumably clandestine?’
Again the head shook, unhurriedly but with determination .
‘Gad, Gently, you’ve got something there,’ broke in Sir Daynes. ‘If the feller went to meet someone, must have been clandestine. D’you think he was a bad ’un, and this tapestry fal-de-lal was just a blind?’
‘Be a good way of getting in, sir,’ put in Dyson, with interest.
‘Damn it, yes – confounded clever. And not above some of the johnnies we’ve had to deal with.’
It was Gently’s head that was shaking now. ‘He comes from a US camp, you know …’
‘That’s just the point, man,’ exclaimed Sir Daynes. ‘Who’s going to check his credentials, when he turns up at an Air Force lecture? Feller’s genuine – take him at his face value – and all the time he’s a crook, infiltrating his way into a country house. It’s been done before, I tell you. There’s no end to the tricks these johnnies get up to.’
‘But surely they’d know their own officers at the camp?’
‘Not necessarily – not at Sculton. Place is a staging-post, men in and out the whole time. And the whole business fits in … You’ve got a motive there to play with. Feller lets his accomplice into the house, say – they quarrel about the division of the loot – accomplice fetches him one with the truncheon, and clears off sharp without touching anything. There you are, man, in a nutshell. Answer to the whole confounded mystery.’
Gently shrugged his bulky shoulders. ‘Just one minor objection. Did they happen to know who you were talking about when you phoned Sculton Camp this morning?’
Sir Daynes gave him the look he usually reserved for defaulting constables …
They could get little more out of Somerhayes. For the benefit of the record he repeated his description of the finding of the body, of his suspicion about the injury, of the search he had made with Thomas, and the subsequent phoning of the police and Sir Daynes. And all the time Gently had the curious impression that he had been constituted as some sort of special audience, that he was a gallery to whom Somerhayes was playing. But why? And with what object? – the circumstances remained a mystery. Somerhayes’s last look, like his first, was an unclassifiable smile aimed at the man from the Central Office.
‘Hmp!’ grunted Sir Daynes, as the door closed behind his lordship. ‘What do you make of it all, Gently, what do you make of it? Can’t say I like theway things are shaping – damn feller Somerhayes doesn’t seem to realize his position.’
‘He was the last person to—’ Dyson was beginning complacently, but he discreetly ended there as he caught the expression on the baronet’s face.
‘Confound the man!’ Sir Daynes turned to stare gloomily into the fire. ‘What a blasted kettle of fish to turn up on a Christmas Day, eh? I feel like a drink … I feel like some of that 1905 cognac.’
CHAPTER FIVE
L ESLIE BRASS, DRESSED in green Harris tweed with a red line, seemed to bring a current of vitality with him into the room, which Somerhayes had chilled and enervated. One only had to catch a glimpse of his strong features with their Semitic nose and twinkling green eyes to be impressed by a feeling of warmth and energy – the ginger beard suited Brass; it seemed to grow out of his personality like an overplus of good spirits. When he sat down, the chair creaked under his massive but boyish frame.
‘Leslie Edward Brass, thirty-seven, artist – this isn’t the first time I’ve given the police my particulars! – late of Kensington, W8, now of Merely Place,
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