‘Didn’t plan it? You came to a country house with no plans to rob it? I have it on the best authority that that’s your MO.’
‘Oh, I can’t fault your sources, Inspector,’ she said. ‘But on this occasion, there was no plan. I had nothing to do with this booking. In fact I didn’t know anything about it until I was given a train ticket and told I had to be here by six o’clock with a bag packed for an overnight stay. I had no time for any of my usual research, no time to plan anything at all.’
‘You usually have a say in your bookings?’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Yes. Rolie makes the bookings, but we all have a vote. This one came out of nowhere.’
There was a knock at the door and the redoubtable Sergeant Dobson peered in.
‘You sent for me, sir?’
‘Ah, Sergeant, yes. Mrs Sewell here will be off to the cells soon, but she’s expecting a visit from Superintendent Witham of Scotland Yard first. Please keep her secure until he arrives.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Handcuffs, sir?’
‘No, Sergeant, that shouldn’t be necessary. Just take her shoes and don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘Very good, sir. I can take her down the cell in the village if you likes, sir.’
‘No, the superintendent is coming here. Find a quiet room somewhere and make yourselves comfortable until he arrives. We can arrange less comfortable accommodation later.’
‘Righto, sir. Come along, madam, if you please.’
Mrs Sewell rose from the table and followed the sergeant.
‘Just to be sure, inspector,’ she said from the doorway. ‘I didn’t kill Nelson and I’d like five minutes alone in a room with whoever did. He was a good man, and a damn fine trumpeter.’
She closed the door behind her.
‘Another dead end,’ said Lady Hardcastle, staring dejectedly at the Crime Board.
‘I shouldn’t say that, my lady,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ve eliminated one of our possible suspects, I think. She’s a talented sneak thief who prides herself on leaving no traces. The sort where the victims don’t even realize they’ve been robbed until days, weeks, sometimes even months later. I’ve heard of cases where it’s been up to a year before someone notices that a special item of jewellery has gone missing. She’s not the sort to go tearing instrument cases to pieces; too calm and cool, that one.’
‘But where do we go from here, Inspector? How does that help us?’
‘We now know that the performance was arranged by Mr Richman without consulting the rest of the band and that he didn’t tell them about it until the last moment. I think Mr Richman wanted to get out of London in a hurry and didn’t want a lot of loose talk about where he was off to.’
‘That certainly makes sense,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘But why would he be in such a rush to get away?’
‘I’m pretty certain that he won’t tell us himself,’ said the inspector. ‘Unless we can kid on that we know a little more than we actually do. And to do that we need to find out a bit more about the band and what they were up to. Miss Armstrong, will you resume bloodhound duties and try to track down…’ He consulted his notes. ‘Mr Ivor Maloney, known to his friends as Skins.’
‘Drummer of this parish. On my way, sir,’ I said, and left the dining room.
I found Skins sitting on the low wall outside the French windows which opened from the ballroom. He had his back to the house and was looking out across the grounds and down into the valley of the River Severn. I coughed politely.
‘Mr Maloney?’ I said.
He turned and smiled. ‘Call me Skins, love, everyone does. What’s your name?’
‘I’m Armstrong, sir,’ I said.
‘And that’s what your mother calls you, is it?’
‘As long as she calls me in time for supper, sir, I don’t mind. Inspector Sunderland would like to speak to you.’
‘No problem, darlin’, you lead the way.’ He stood up. ‘But seriously, what do they call you?’
I went back into the ballroom through the open French windows and he dutifully followed as I led him through the house towards the dining room.
‘Seriously, Mr Skins, they call me Armstrong.’
He chuckled. ‘“Mr Skins”. You are a caution.’
‘So I’ve been told, sir. My name is Florence. My mother calls me Flossie, my friends call me Flo, and you... I shall make up my mind about you presently.’
‘You can’t say fairer than that, Miss Armstrong. I eagerly await the results of your deliberations. But please don’t call me “sir”; I ain’t nobody’s superior. ’Cept when it comes to the drums, then I’m the absolute cake, second to no man, and all shall bow before me.’
I smiled and we walked on.
‘Nice gaff this,’ he said, admiring the oak panelling in the passageway. ‘Must be nice working here.’
‘They tell me it is, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t work here.’
‘Oh, right,’ he said. ‘So how come you’re dressed up in all the clobber, and running errands for this inspector geezer? The detectives round here have maids or something?’
‘Something like that, sir,’ I said and opened the dining room door. ‘Lady Hardcastle, Inspector Sunderland, this is Mr Maloney.’
I gestured for him to enter and he walked in grinning.
‘Call me Skins, guv,’ he said, reaching out to shake the inspector’s hand. ‘Everybody does.’ He waved a salute across the table. ‘Lady H,’ he said, and sat down before anyone could say anything. I took up my unobtrusive place in the corner.
‘Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, Mr Maloney,’ said the inspector, pulling out his own chair and sitting down. ‘My sympathies on the death of your friend. Were you close to Mr Holloway?’
‘Close enough, Inspector,’ said Skins. ‘We’d been working together for maybe... I don’t know... maybe three years. Travelling and that. You get close to a bloke when you work together like that, don’t you?’
‘You do, sir, yes. And what about the rest of the band, are you close to them?’
‘Again, guv, close enough. Me and Barty get on best, I’d say, and Rolie’s all right for a manager, I s’pose. So, yeah, not bad.’
‘What about Miss Montgomery?’ asked the inspector, careful to use her alias.
‘Odd bird, that one. Sings like a nightingale, mind you.’
‘Odd, sir?’
‘Oh, you know. Bit stand-offish. Like she’s always got something else on her mind. Other fish to fry. Know what I mean?’
‘Actually, sir, I think I do, yes. Now then, this Engagement Party engagement, sir. It’s your normal line of work?’
‘Our bread and butter, guv, yes.’
‘So it must have been reassuring to know it was coming up.’
‘Do what, guv?’
‘Good to know there was a nice little earner on the horizon, takes the pressure off paying the bills, eh?’
‘It would have been grand, guv, yes. ’Cept this one was sprung on us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. Train ticket and “Pack your bags we’re on the three o’clock train and if you miss it, you’re sacked.” Not really time to look forward to it.’