Inspector Underwood came with a police car to fetch him. Pipe in mouth, Reggie sank down deep in his corner. “Well, well. Here we are again. And why are we? Any information on that subject?”
“Nothing to speak of, sir. I should say the Midshire police are just protecting themselves. Millionaires getting shot make a stink, and they’d like us to be in it, not them. All I know is, Mr. Burchard was found shot in his dressing - room and the doors were locked.”
“In his dressing - room,” Reggie mumbled. “Well, well. When?”
“This afternoon. About tea - time. Police got there just after five. The chief constable rang us up at six. He promised not to have anything touched till we got down.”
In the black of a cloudy October night they drove up to Letley Hall. It was not lit as Reggie had first seen it. So few windows showed a light that its bulk and shape were lost in the gloom.
A chief constable with the look and manner of a shrewd farmer, a police superintendent who had made a good copy of him, received them and brought them into a sombre place behind the stairs used as a gunroom. “Taking one thing with another, I thought this would be best for our headquarters,” said the chief constable. “You’ll see why. Now let’s go through it from the beginning. Mr. Burchard bought this estate at the end of the winter; he got married in the spring; he went on his honeymoon to the Mediterranean, and he brought his wife home here in September. I just give you that because we’ve got to take it into account; people do sometimes commit suicide after getting married.”
“Yes. I’ve noticed that,” Reggie murmured. “Well, now, this afternoon, just after four o’clock, we had a telephone message that Mr. Burchard was lying dead in his dressing - room, and he seemed to be shot. I came out at once with the superintendent. The butler told us that he had heard a noise upstairs in the west wing - that’s where Mr. and Mrs. Burchard have their bedroom and so on - and it seemed to him like a shot and he went up to see if anything was wrong. The bedroom was empty, but Mr. Burchard’s dressing - room was locked and he couldn’t get any answer from inside. So he went down again and looked about for Mr. and Mrs. Burchard. He found her in what they call the great chamber - that’s a fine old room with coats of arms on the ceiling - -”
“I know,” Reggie murmured. “Not in the west wing.”
“Oh, you’ve been here before?”
“Yes, before they were married. Before Burchard bought it. In Mrs. Healy’s time. Get on.”
“That’s odd.” The chief constable frowned. “Mrs. Healy’s here now.”
“Well, well,” Reggie sighed. “Do get on.”
“I was saying, the butler went to the great chamber - that’s where they have tea. Mrs. Burchard was there waiting for it, alone. He asked if she knew where Mr. Burchard was. She said he’d gone upstairs. Just then Mrs. Healy came in and asked what was the matter. So the butler asked her if she’d seen Burchard, and she said no. He didn’t tell ‘em anything about what he’d heard; he went out and got a gardener with a ladder. They put it to the dressing - room window and went up and looked in. There was a pane of glass broken, and, inside, Burchard lying flat, with a wound in his head. They spoke to him and he didn’t answer, and they made out he was dead. Then the butler telephoned through to me, and we came along and broke open the dressing - room. There you have all we started from. Now you’d better come and see him.”
So Reggie was taken again to that little room between the staircase and the state bedroom. Furniture for a man’s dressing had been put into it; there was whisky and soda on the table. It had an electric fire. He saw no other change except that the body of Burchard lay on the floor, and a gun.
“The gun.” Reggie pointed at it. “You didn’t tell me that. Didn’t the butler and the gardener see the gun when they looked through the window?”
“Sorry. Yes, they saw it. But that’s a shot - gun - and look at the wound. I can’t make out any scorching or blackening, and there seems to be only one small hole in all that blood. I don’t understand it, Mr. Fortune. A charge of shot might not spread if it was fired close - say it was accident, or suicide - but then you’d expect marks of the firing, wouldn’t you? More like a wound from a rifle bullet, to my mind. And you notice they found the window was broken and the lights were on. He might have been shot from outside.”
Through this exposition Reggie was kneeling by the body. The wound was in the face, by the base of the right ear. “Yes. As you say. Single point of entry. No marks of powder visible. As you also said. Curious. If the wound was made by this shot - gun, muzzle was near his head, yet not so very near. However. No definite inference. The modern nitrate powders don’t mark much. Whether killed by shot or bullet easily discovered.” He sniffed at the shot - gun. “This has been fired recently.” He gazed at the chief constable. “Small bore, what?”
“Yes. Twenty - bore. Lady’s gun. There’s no mystery about the gun. It’s Mrs. Burchard’s. Burchard had just given it her. He’d been teaching her to shoot.”
“Had he? Well, well.” Reggie wandered round the room. “And here’s two cartridge - cases. Twenty - bore. Speakin’ provisionally, discharged from this gun. Two. Curious and interestin’. Provisionally, one killed Burchard and one broke the window.”
“I saw the cartridge - cases,” the chief constable nodded. “But I’m not satisfied about the window.”
“No. Nor am I. No. However. Most of the glass went outside. Not conclusive, as you say. But whether shot - gun or rifle killed him - that’s an easy one for the post mortem.” He contemplated the chief constable mournfully. “The only easy one,” he moaned. “Well, well. You can have him taken away now. I’ll do him in the morning.”
But, while the chief constable and his superintendent went out, he lingered, and Underwood watched him drift round the panelled walls, sniffing and peering, touching here and there.
When they reached the gunroom, the chief constable was exhibiting impatience and demanded, “Have you found anything fresh?”
“Oh, no. No. I was only considerin’ the possibilities. By the way, did anyone else hear a shot or shots?”
“I can’t get anything definite about that. The ladies say they heard some noise somewhere, and the servants put it the same way. None of ‘em seem to have thought of a shot.”
“But the butler did?” Reggie drawled.
“Well, yes, he was pretty sure. It’s hard to get it precise. He thought the noise was like shooting, and then he thought he smelt powder. See what I mean? Sort of gradual. One thing led to another in his mind. You can’t make much of it.”
“No. As you say.” Reggie nodded and Underwood leaned forward, intent and watchful. “Fancy a shot and fancy a smell. It would be like that! However.”
“There’s a lot more,” said the chief constable. “And pretty useful stuff to my mind. Now, I was telling you Burchard gave his wife a twenty - bore gun. That was when they came back here at the end of September. He was a keen shot - that’s one of the reasons he bought Letley. She didn’t know anything about shooting, and he wanted to teach her. I got that from the head keeper. Several times they’ve been out together walking round the woods near the house. They were out yesterday, just the one keeper with ‘em. She couldn’t do much good. Burchard chaffed her, and she complained of the gun, said it went off before she meant and that sort of thing - all quite nice and friendly. The keeper tried the gun, and he says it was rather a light pull, and Burchard talked of having a look at it when they got home. He rather fancied himself as a gun expert. Well, you see, that does point to him playing round with the gun in the house - though why he should do it upstairs, rather than down here in the gunroom, I don’t understand. But Mrs. Burchard says he did take the gun upstairs with him. That isn’t the whole story. I don’t know if you ever heard, Mr. Fortune - you said you were over here when Mrs. Healy had the place - Burchard had a valet who was caught stealing some of Mrs. Healy’s jewellery. He got off lightly; first offender and all that humbug. He’s out of prison now. He turned up here yesterday.”
“Well, well.” Reggie smiled. “Curious and interesting. Mrs. Healy comes on a visit, and the valet who stole her rubies comes to call. Interesting and curious.”
