CHAPTER V

Hammer Farm

When they approached Hammer Farm, Alleyn saw that the three desmesnes on Watt’s Hill ended in spinneys that separated them from the lower slopes and, as the sergeant had observed, screened them from the reaches of the Chyne below Bottom Bridge. The river path ran upwards through the trees and was met by three private paths serving the three houses. The sergeant led the way up the first of these. Thomasina Twitchett leapt from Alleyn’s embrace and with an ambiguous remark darted into the shadows.

“That’ll be one of Mr. Phinn’s creatures, no doubt,” said Sergeant Oliphant. “He’s crackers on cats, is Mr. Phinn.”

“Indeed,” Alleyn said, sniffing at his fingers.

They emerged in full view of Hammer Farm house with its row of French windows lit behind their curtains.

“Not,” said the sergeant, “that it’s been a farm or anything like it, for I don’t know how long. The present lady’s had it done up considerable.”

Skip gave a short bark and darted ahead. One of the curtains was pulled open, and Mark Lacklander came through to the terrace, followed by Rose.

“Skip?” Rose said. “Skip?”

He whined and flung himself at her. She sank to her knees crying and holding him in her arms. “Don’t, darling,” Mark said, “don’t. He’s wet and muddy. Don’t.”

Alleyn, Fox and Sergeant Oliphant had halted. Mark and Rose looked across the lawn and saw them standing in the moonlight with their wet clothes shining and their faces shadowed by their hatbrims. For a moment neither group moved or spoke, and then Alleyn crossed the lawn and came towards them, bareheaded. Rose stood up. The skirts of her linen house-coat were bedabbled with muddy paw marks.

“Miss Cartarette?” Alleyn said. “We are from the C.I.D. My name is Alleyn.”

Rose was a well-mannered girl with more than her share of natural dignity. She shook hands with him and introduced him to Mark. Fox was summoned and Sergeant Oliphant eased up the path in an anonymous manner and waited at the end of the terrace.

“Will you come in?” Rose said, and Mark added, “My grandmother is here, Mr. Alleyn, and my father, who informed the local police.”

“And Nurse Kettle, I hope?”

“And Nurse Kettle.”

“Splendid. Shall we go in, Miss Cartarette?”

Alleyn and Fox took off their wet mackintoshes and hats and left them on a garden seat.

Rose led the way through the French window into the drawing-room, where Alleyn found an out-of-drawing conversation piece established. Lady Lacklander, a vast black bulk, completely filled an arm chair. Alleyn noticed that upon one of her remarkably small feet she wore a buckled velvet shoe and upon the other, a man’s bath slipper. Kitty Cartarette was extended on a sofa with one black-velvet leg dangling, a cigarette in her holder, a glass in her hand and an ash tray with butts at her elbow. It was obvious that she had wept, but repairs had been effected in her make-up, and though her hands were still shaky, she was tolerably composed. Between the two oddly assorted women, poised on the hearthrug with a whiskey-and-soda, looking exquisitely uncomfortable and good-looking, was Sir George Lacklander. And at a remove in a small chair perfectly at her ease sat Nurse Kettle, reclaimed from her isolation in the hall.

“Hullo,” said Lady Lacklander, picking her lorgnette off her bosom and flicking it open. “Good evening to you. You’re Roderick Alleyn, aren’t you? We haven’t met since you left the Foreign Service, and that’s not yesterday nor the day before that. How many years is it? And how’s your mama?”

“More than I care to remind you of and very well considering,” Alleyn said, taking a hand like a pincushion in his.

“Considering what? Her age? She’s five years my junior, and there’s nothing but fat amiss with me. Kitty, this is Roderick Alleyn; Mrs. Cartarette. My son George.”

“Hah-yoo?” George intervened coldly.

“…and over there is Miss Kettle, our district nurse. Good evening,” Lady Lacklander continued, looking at Fox.

“Good evening, my lady,” said Fox placidly.

“Inspector Fox,” Alleyn said.

“Now, what do you propose to do with us all? Take your time,” she added kindly.

Alleyn thought to himself, “Not only must I take my time, but I must also take control. This old lady is up to something.”

He turned to Kitty Cartarette. “I’m sorry,” he said, “to come so hard on the heels of what must have been an appalling shock. I’m afraid that in these cases police enquiries are not the easiest ordeals to put up with. If I may, Mrs. Cartarette, I’ll begin by asking you”… he glanced briefly round the room… “indeed, all of you, if you’ve formed any opinion at all about this affair.”

There was a pause. He looked at Kitty Cartarette and then steadily, for a moment, at Rose, who was standing at the far end of the room with Mark.

Kitty said, “Somehow, I can’t sort of get it. It seems so… so unlikely.”

“And you, Miss Cartarette?”

“No,” Rose said. “No. It’s unthinkable that anyone who knew him should want to hurt him.”

George Lacklander cleared his throat. Alleyn glanced at him. “I… ah…” George said, “I… ah… personally believe it must have been some tramp or other. Trespassing or something. There’s nobody in the district, I mean. I mean, it’s quite incredible.”

“I see,” Alleyn said. “The next point is: do we know of anybody who was near Colonel Cartarette within, let us say, two hours of the time… I believe it was five minutes to nine… when you, Miss Kettle, found him?”

“Exactly what,” Lady Lacklander said, “do you mean by ‘near’?”

“Let us say within sight or hearing of him.”

“I was,” said Lady Lacklander. “I made an appointment with him for eight, which he kept twenty minutes early. Our meeting took place on the river bank opposite the willow grove where I understand he was found.”

Fox, unobtrusively stationed by the piano, had begun to take notes. Although her back was turned towards him, Lady Lacklander appeared to sense this activity. She shifted massively in her chair and looked at him without comment.

“Come,” Alleyn said, “that’s a starting point, at least. We’ll return to it later if we may. Does anyone know anything about Colonel Cartarette’s movements after this meeting which lasted… how long do you think, Lady Lacklander?”

“About ten minutes. I remember looking at my watch after Maurice Cartarette left me. He re-crossed Bottom Bridge, turned left and disappeared behind the willow grove. It was then nine minutes to eight. I packed up my things and left them to be collected and went home. I’d been sketching.”

“About nine minutes to eight?” Alleyn repeated.

Kitty said, “I didn’t see him, but… I must have been somewhere near him, I suppose, when I came back from the golf course. I got home at five past eight — I remember.”

“The golf course?”

“At Nunspardon,” George Lacklander said. “Mrs. Cartarette and I played a round of golf there this evening.”

“Ah, yes. The course is above the stream, isn’t it, and on the opposite side of the valley from where we are now?”

“Yes, but the greater part is over the crest of the hill.”

“The second tee,” Mark said, “overlooks the valley.”

“I see. You came home by the bottom bridge, Mrs. Cartarette?”

“Yes. The river path.”

“On the far side wouldn’t you overlook the willow grove?”

Kitty pressed the palms of her hands against her head.

“Yes, I suppose you would. I don’t think he could have been there. I’m sure I’d have seen him if he had been there. As a matter of fact,” Kitty said, “I wasn’t looking much in that direction. I was looking, actually, at the upper reaches to see…” she glanced at George Lacklander …“well, to see if I could spot Mr. Phinn,” she said.

In the silence that followed, Alleyn was quite certain that the Lacklander wariness had been screwed up to its highest tension. All three had made slight movements that were instantly checked.