Murder at the Spring Ball: A 1920s Mystery by Benedict Brown (romantic novels in english .txt) 📗

his glare at. “Walter Prentiss, you’re under arrest for the murders of Belinda Trevelyan and Maitland Cranley.”

My mother was the first to react. “But I was with my husband when Maitland was killed. We were upstairs together.”

“How very convenient!” The inspector was sneering by now.

“This is preposterous.” I have no doubt that Grandfather could have called upon any number of fine arguments to weaken the officer’s case, but he was soon overruled.

Blunt raised one hand to silence him. “Save it for the trial. I’m not interested in what you have to say. We have evidence that your son-in-law shot your son through the heart with a crossbow and nothing you can say will change that.”

“Oh yes?” My father replied, his voice coated with all the pomposity that a City gent should be able to call upon on at such a moment. “And what evidence is that?”

Blunt’s needling look grew more aggressive as he pointed to a subordinate who reached into the burlap sack he was carrying.

“We found the bleedin’ crossbow in your bleedin’ bedroom!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Now, no one worry. I swear this is a good thing.”

The police had carried my father off in one of their cars like a common criminal. I suppose that, as far as they were concerned, that’s exactly what he was. Albert, my mother and I were in a state of pure shock and could barely squeak out a word after they’d gone.

Grandfather, though, was far from silent. “Without meaning to, the police have provided us with a key piece of evidence. They’ve shown their hand and it will help us find the killer all the sooner.”

I don’t think any of us had the strength to believe him just then, but I had to try.

“You do mean it, Grandfather? You do believe that he’s innocent?”

He strode over to me and bent low so that our eyes were level. “Of course I do, Christopher. I have never considered your father to be a likely culprit. I promise you that.”

It was hard to believe him. “But that’s what you said about George and Fellowes and Cora too. If we dismiss anyone else, your dog will be the only suspect left.”

He didn’t answer immediately, but dropped into a chair and chewed his lip to think over my words. “If it looked that way, it was only part of the investigation. Our friend Inspector Blunt marches about the place, barking at every suspect he comes across, but that is not my style.”

I knew he was lying. He wouldn’t have been a good detective if he hadn’t at least considered my father’s guilt.

“In the armoury!” I burst out with. “I saw you checking the angle that would have been needed to fire the crossbow at Uncle Maitland. When you were finished, you glanced up at the ceiling for a fraction of a second. You were considering whether he could have shot down from the upper floor.”

I could see that he was taken aback by my deduction and didn’t try to deny it. “I’ve told you many times that, until a suspect can be ruled out entirely, they must remain a suspect, even if they’re a member of the family. That doesn’t mean I believe Walter is capable of murdering two people in cold blood.”

His ferocious response faded out and a hush seized the breakfast room once more. My mother poured herself a glass of water, took a long, desperate drink and dried her mouth.

“None of this matters, as I was with Walter when my brother was killed.” She sat up straighter in her chair and raised her chin to restore a little of her usual decorum.

Grandfather sat down across the table from his daughter and reached his hand out towards her. “You were together in the same room, your eyes on him the whole time?”

“I…” she began, but there was already doubt in her voice and my heart sank. “I was in the bathroom which adjoins our sitting room. But… there’s no way he would have taken the risk of shooting from there, not with me so close by. And, besides, it’s far too long a shot for Walter. He’s an average hunter but no great marksman.”

“The perfect angle to take it from though,” my grandfather put in. “The police have got that much right.” He whistled absentmindedly before realising that we were staring at him in horror and he rushed to clarify. “I’m sorry, that isn’t to say that he’s guilty. I’m merely explaining why Blunt would arrest him.”

It was at this moment that Albert decided to abandon all hope and crashed his head down onto the table melodramatically. It was lucky he’d finished his breakfast, or he would have landed right in the black pudding.

“What hope have I got of finding a fiancée now?” he asked through the tablecloth. “Son of a criminal isn’t the type of chap women look for in a husband.”

Grandfather let out an entirely inappropriate laugh. “You’d be surprised, Albert. I can tell you, you’d be surprised.” He became aware of my mother’s disapproving gaze and looked a little guilty once more.

“You said that, by arresting Walter, the police had shown their hand.” She gripped her hands together tightly as if in prayer. “In what way exactly?”

The old man cleared his throat. “The crossbow! If I ever doubted Walter, the police finding the weapon in his bedroom proves that he didn’t do it.” He looked at me as he said this. “No one would be fool enough to leave such a vital piece of evidence in a place where it could be linked to them.”

“But how does that help us clear Father’s name?” Albert’s question was one long whine. “How can we catch the real killer?”

“Because whoever shot Maitland must have gone upstairs to hide the weapon at some point. There was only a short period between the murder and everyone leaving. We’ll ask the staff and find out who was there.”

“That’s brilliant,” my brother proclaimed, finding a jolt of positivity.

“Unless of course Walter wanted us