The Act of Roger Murgatroyd Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Gilbert Adair
case you hadn’t understood, was my way of telling you that, sorely tempted as I often have been these past twenty-four hours, I did not kill Raymond Gentry.’
On this declaration of innocence his interlocutor, whose crafty old eyes were already taking in the dingily sinister little room, made no comment.
‘I don’t suppose,’ he said instead, ‘there’s any point in my asking you if there was a murder weapon left lying about?’
‘Nothing either of us could see, no.’
Trubshawe stepped over to the table, pulled at its two drawers at once – he had to give one of them a violent jerk before it would consent to slide scratchily open – and found both to be empty.
‘Queer …’ he murmured.
‘What is?’
‘Oh, just that if the murderer had wanted the thing to look like a suicide, then all he had to do was leave his revolver in Gentry’s hand – and given the infernal trouble he must have gone to over the locked door, barred window and all, that surely would have been an obvious ploy to distractus from the true nature of the crime. By removing the gun, he – or, of course, she – has actually succeeded in drawing our attention to the fact that it
was
murder.’
He crossed to the window and ran a finger aslant its scabby wooden frame. Then, with that powerful grip of his, he endeavoured to prise apart its two iron bars. Neither so much as wobbled.
Rubbing his now dust-covered palms together, he turned to the Colonel again.
‘Servants above suspicion, are they?’
‘Good heavens, yes. They’ve all been with us for years – or, in the case of the maids, months, which is about as much as you’ve any right to expect these days.’
He reflected a moment.
‘There is Tomelty, of course.’
‘Tomelty?’
‘He’s my chauffeur-cum-gardener-cum-general-thingumabob. Irish. Bit too Irish for my liking. Fancies himself as a real devil, Tomelty does. But, to be honest, if he is a danger, it’s only to the village girls. Mary and I suspect he’s already responsible for having popped a bun or two into some local ovens, but no one was able to prove anything – all the mums kept mum, so to say – and I’m not the type of employer who’ll sack a man on the basis of rumour and tittle-tattle. Especially as, for all his occasional Irish insolence, he’s d**ned good at his job. He’s certainly no murderer.’
‘And Farrar?’ Trubshawe then asked him. ‘Do forgive my bluntness, Mr Farrar, but it’s a question that’s eventually got to be put to your employer and I might as well put it now.’
The Colonel vehemently shook his head.
‘Nothing there for you to worry about. Farrar’s been with me – how long has it been? Three years? Four?’
‘Four, sir.’
‘Yes, four years managing the estate and never so much as a shadow of impropriety. In any event, Trubshawe, this whole line of questioning, if you don’t mind my saying so, is absurd. Not one of my employees could have had any motive for murdering Raymond Gentry, a man they barely met, let alone knew.’
‘Am I to assume, then,’ said the policeman, ‘you share Miss Mount’s view that the murderer must be a member of the house-party?’
‘Oh, and who told you I ever said such a thing?’ Evadne Mount brusquely asked.
‘Why, I think it must have been Mr Duckworth here. Yes, that’s who it was. He told me as Dr Rolfe was driving us back to the house.’
Don’s face creased with embarrassment.
‘It’s true,’ he said to the novelist. ‘I did tell the Chief-Inspector everything I’d heard said in the drawing-room. I thought he oughta know.’
‘Young man, you have nothing to apologise for,’ shereplied in a kindly tone. ‘I just like to keep tabs on who said what and to whom.’
Whereupon, tightening her robe about her with a shiver, she wandered off into the room and started cursorily to inspect its few wretched items of furniture.
For a moment or two Trubshawe observed her out of the corner of his eye before asking
On this declaration of innocence his interlocutor, whose crafty old eyes were already taking in the dingily sinister little room, made no comment.
‘I don’t suppose,’ he said instead, ‘there’s any point in my asking you if there was a murder weapon left lying about?’
‘Nothing either of us could see, no.’
Trubshawe stepped over to the table, pulled at its two drawers at once – he had to give one of them a violent jerk before it would consent to slide scratchily open – and found both to be empty.
‘Queer …’ he murmured.
‘What is?’
‘Oh, just that if the murderer had wanted the thing to look like a suicide, then all he had to do was leave his revolver in Gentry’s hand – and given the infernal trouble he must have gone to over the locked door, barred window and all, that surely would have been an obvious ploy to distractus from the true nature of the crime. By removing the gun, he – or, of course, she – has actually succeeded in drawing our attention to the fact that it
was
murder.’
He crossed to the window and ran a finger aslant its scabby wooden frame. Then, with that powerful grip of his, he endeavoured to prise apart its two iron bars. Neither so much as wobbled.
Rubbing his now dust-covered palms together, he turned to the Colonel again.
‘Servants above suspicion, are they?’
‘Good heavens, yes. They’ve all been with us for years – or, in the case of the maids, months, which is about as much as you’ve any right to expect these days.’
He reflected a moment.
‘There is Tomelty, of course.’
‘Tomelty?’
‘He’s my chauffeur-cum-gardener-cum-general-thingumabob. Irish. Bit too Irish for my liking. Fancies himself as a real devil, Tomelty does. But, to be honest, if he is a danger, it’s only to the village girls. Mary and I suspect he’s already responsible for having popped a bun or two into some local ovens, but no one was able to prove anything – all the mums kept mum, so to say – and I’m not the type of employer who’ll sack a man on the basis of rumour and tittle-tattle. Especially as, for all his occasional Irish insolence, he’s d**ned good at his job. He’s certainly no murderer.’
‘And Farrar?’ Trubshawe then asked him. ‘Do forgive my bluntness, Mr Farrar, but it’s a question that’s eventually got to be put to your employer and I might as well put it now.’
The Colonel vehemently shook his head.
‘Nothing there for you to worry about. Farrar’s been with me – how long has it been? Three years? Four?’
‘Four, sir.’
‘Yes, four years managing the estate and never so much as a shadow of impropriety. In any event, Trubshawe, this whole line of questioning, if you don’t mind my saying so, is absurd. Not one of my employees could have had any motive for murdering Raymond Gentry, a man they barely met, let alone knew.’
‘Am I to assume, then,’ said the policeman, ‘you share Miss Mount’s view that the murderer must be a member of the house-party?’
‘Oh, and who told you I ever said such a thing?’ Evadne Mount brusquely asked.
‘Why, I think it must have been Mr Duckworth here. Yes, that’s who it was. He told me as Dr Rolfe was driving us back to the house.’
Don’s face creased with embarrassment.
‘It’s true,’ he said to the novelist. ‘I did tell the Chief-Inspector everything I’d heard said in the drawing-room. I thought he oughta know.’
‘Young man, you have nothing to apologise for,’ shereplied in a kindly tone. ‘I just like to keep tabs on who said what and to whom.’
Whereupon, tightening her robe about her with a shiver, she wandered off into the room and started cursorily to inspect its few wretched items of furniture.
For a moment or two Trubshawe observed her out of the corner of his eye before asking