Murder at Liberty Hall by Alan Clutton-Brock

Author:Alan Clutton-Brock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime fiction;Golden Age crime fiction
Publisher: Moonstone Press
Published: 2020-10-30T13:04:44+00:00

Chapter Ten

I found that Caroline was out to luncheon and I had to have my meal alone. She had, I remembered, been out to several meals lately, but although she had obviously been enjoying herself this did not prevent her from grumbling at me when she returned in the afternoon. I had spent my time, she complained, going about with Superintendent Julian and the Chief Constable, having every kind of exciting adventure, looking at finger-prints, following suspects, sniffing at poisons, and I know not what else. But when I was with her I was dull and secretive; if I thought I was going to make another Dr. Watson out of her she assured me that she was no more willing to assume the part than I was capable of acting that of Holmes. I apologized profoundly, though for what I was not quite sure, and hastily began to describe what had lately happened. I told her I was afraid there was beginning to be something of a case against Dupuy; he had been poisoned at the bottle party but couldn’t find any coherent explanation of how it had happened, and he had admitted receiving some bottles of Genuine Fino sherry from Mrs. Dawes but had apparently told a lie about what he had done with the empties. It looked as if he had given himself a small and safe dose of atropine in order to divert suspicion from himself; it looked as if he had been taken aback by Julian’s questions about Mrs. Dawes’s present and had hastily told an ill-considered lie. There was no kind of proof against him, I said, but certainly some grounds for suspicion.

Caroline protested vigorously. She was sure that poor John, as she called him, was not and never could be a murderer; it was a ridiculous suspicion and absurd to condemn him because the poor boy didn’t remember what he had done with some old empty bottles. Perhaps he had put them somewhere else, perhaps someone had taken them off his rubbish heap; some of the children might easily have found a use for empty bottles, or some of the villagers. I agreed with all this but explained that it was necessary to continue suspecting him at least as much as anyone else and, to turn the edge of her indignation, I asked her whether she had learnt anything in the course of her recent wanderings about the school.

‘Nothing to do with the murder, I’m afraid,’ Caroline answered. ‘I certainly didn’t hear anything against John Dupuy, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

‘No, no,’ I protested.

‘The only thing I heard was some discussion about that old affair of Dawes with some woman in London. Susan’s murder brought the subject up again, I suppose, but only because we were wondering how she actually got on with her husband. It doesn’t seem very relevant really.’

‘No,’ I agreed, ‘but did you hear anything new about it?’

‘I only heard some people remembering what an extraordinary amount of talk there had been about it.

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