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‘So do I, but I can’t help seeing that it would be a very Nordic act. Really, darling, you must admit I was quite right to send for him. He’s even soothed Ermyntrude!’
‘You know, Vicky,’ said Mary, ‘I’m absolutely horrified by the way you talk about your mother! It’s positively indecent.’
‘Dearest pet, the way I talk truly isn’t as indecent as the way you think,’ Vicky replied. ‘Because you’ve got the most degrading suspicions, and you disapprove of the poor sweet so much that you daren’t put it into words. I don’t disapprove of her at all; in fact, she has my vote.’
Mary was silenced, and turned away, merely remarking over her shoulder that she hoped Vicky was not really going to the Inquest.
The hope, however, was without f
oundation, and she was not surprised when Vicky left the house next morning at half past ten, and drove off in the direction of Fritton.
Hugh Dering had already arrived at the King’s Head Hotel, where the Coroner’s Court was to sit, but he was not alone. He had brought his father to the Inquest, in spite of Sir William’s strongly-worded announcement that he wished to have nothing to do with the affair. ‘I wish you would come, sir,’ Hugh had said. ‘I’d like you to take a look at some of the protagonists, and tell me what you make of them.’
‘Why?’ demanded Sir William.
‘I want your opinion. It’s got me guessing, and I’d very much like to know how it strikes you.’
After this, Sir William’s protests had been merely a matter of form, for although he would have hotly denied such an idea, he was secretly much flattered to think that Hugh wanted his opinion. Whenever anyone asked him questions about Hugh, he naturally disparaged him, and said that he was an idle young hound, and that he didn’t think he was at all clever (though, as a matter of fact, he took a first in Greats, for what that was worth), or particularly good at games (though actually he got his Rugger Blue, and had entered for the Amateur Golf Championship last year; not that that was anything to make a fuss about); but if Sir William had ever been obliged to enter a confessional, and to state his true opinion of his son, he would have said, with the utmost reluctance, that Hugh’s equal for character, brains, physique, athletic prowess, and general virtue did not exist. So when this paragon expressed a desire to hear his opinion on the Carter case, Sir William swelled with inward gratification, and allowed himself to be persuaded to give up his own plans for the morning, and to accompany his young fool of a son to a stuffy room at the King’s Head, all to listen to an inquest which he had no interest in, and which Hugh wouldn’t have had any interest in either if he had had a grain of sense, which, however, he knew from long experience he hadn’t, and probably never would have.
Having made quite clear his extreme reluctance to accompany Hugh, he got happily into the car beside him; wished he could drive as well as the boy could; said that Hugh took his corners too fast; was sorry for an acquaintance whom they passed on the road, whose son was a very poor specimen compared with Hugh, and never wanted to take his father anywhere.
When Hugh drew up outside the King’s Head behind Vicky’s sports-car, and Sir William saw Vicky sitting pensively at the wheel, and looking very young and fragile in a black hat and frock, he exclaimed: ‘Surely it’s not necessary for that child to be present!’
‘She thinks it is,’ responded Hugh, opening the door for him to get out. ‘She’s a suspected party.’
‘Preposterous!’ said Sir William. ‘As though a girl of her age could have had anything to do with it!’
‘I wouldn’t put it beyond her,’ said Hugh. ‘Hallo, Vicky! Congratulations on the ensemble!’
‘Hush, I’m feeling frightfully holy, because black has that effect on me, I find. Oh, how do you do, Sir William! I’m glad you’ve come, because so far the most scruffy-looking people have turned up, and I thought it was going to be utterly drab.’
‘My dear child, you ought not to be here,’ said Sir William, shaking hands with her. ‘There’s no need at all: I can’t think what that boy of mine was about to let you come.’
‘You don’t think he could stop me, do you?’ asked Vicky, quite shocked. ‘Besides, I’ve rather fallen for the Inspector from Scotland Yard, on account of his reminding me awfully of a robin that got so tame it used to hop into the dining-room. Oh, Hugh, all the Whites have turned up, and Janet was terribly sweet to me, and said she’d stay with me, only I thought not, because she’s wearing the kind of hat that makes you feel perhaps after all you’re frittering your life away, and ought to be telling people how to look after their babies, or drilling Girl Guides, or something just as dispiriting. And the Prince hasn’t turned up, which seems to me pretty callous, really.’
Sir William rather blinked at these confidences, but though he did not approve of the younger generation, he was easily won over by a pretty face. Vicky made him feel fatherly, so he smiled tolerantly at the extravagances of her speech, and took her into the King’s Head, telling her that he was glad she did not think he was scruffy-looking.
Quite a number of people had come to attend the Inquest. Robert Steel was present, Dr Hinchcliffe, the three Whites, Mr Jones, and, as Vicky immediately pointed out to Hugh, Gladys Baker, who was sitting beside her mother at the back of the room. In addition to these interested persons there was a large sprinkling of strangers, who appeared to have come in the hope of hearing startling revelations.
In this they were disappointed, for, as Hugh had warned Vicky, nothing exciting happened. Inspector Cook gave his evidence in a monotone; Dr Hinchcliffe followed him; and a man, who, Vicky said, looked like a haddock, got up, and announced that he was a gunsmith, and that he was prepared to swear that the bullet lodged in Wally Carter’s chest had been fired from the rifle found in the shrubbery. No one, except, perhaps, the Coroner and the police, was at all interested in his evidence, for it was very dull, quite lacking in human interest. He said that the rifle was a Mannlicher-Schönauer .275, standard in all respects, except that it had a hair-trigger pull; and that it had the appearance of not having been kept in very good order, since the barrels were slightly rusty. He then displayed photographs, taken through a comparing microscope, of test bullets in juxtaposition with the bullet found in Wally Carter’s body, and sat down.
After that, Harold White gave his evidence, and was followed by his friend Samuel Jones, and his daughter Janet. Sir William Dering muttered into his son’s ear an uncharitable estimate of Mr Jones’s character, which differed hardly at all from that given by Alan White to his sister, and said that in his opinion there was not a penny to choose between him and Harold White.
Janet’s way of giving her evidence made the optimists in the room feel that they had not wasted their time in coming, after all, but no sooner had she sat down, than Inspector Hemingway rose, and disappointed everyone by asking for an adjournment. This was granted, and there was nothing for the interested to do but to disperse.
‘Well, sir?’ said Hugh. ‘What do you make of it?’
‘Not enough evidence. I don’t make anything of it,’ answered Sir William. ‘I should like to know what those three were up to.’
‘Carter, Jones, and White? You think they were up to something?’
‘All birds of a feather,’ said Sir William, with a snort.
‘That’s what Mary suspects, that there was some deal on, probably shady.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised. Who’s that child got hold of ?’
Hugh looked round. ‘The Scotland Yard man. Heaven grant she isn’t putting on some disastrous act! I think I’d better go and keep an eye on her.’
