Doctor Who_ The Banquo Legacy - Andy Lane [43]
‘Susan Seymour?’ I queried sharply.
‘Why not, sir? She was the murdered man’s fiancée, so she probably knew more about the experiment than most. She has been very distracted, almost cold, since we arrived. And her engagement had been broken off. If it was Harries who broke it off she might have been hurt enough to –’
‘Point taken, Sergeant,’ I muttered. ‘What about Hopkinson?’
‘Difficult to say, sir. We don’t know how much he knows about the equipment. He is a solicitor, after all. Harries only wanted him for legal advice.’
‘And Wallace?’
‘If it were him, why call us in, sir?’
‘In case Friedlander or Miss Harries realise about the sabotage. They’re qualified to notice as well as to commit the act. And Wallace is astute enough to know that. It seems such a simple operation, just swapping two wires. I’m inclined to think that anyone could have done it – even the maid.’
‘Beryl Green, sir?’ Baker looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘In fact, sir, you might be closer to the truth than you know. There’s a bit of talk in the village about Beryl; not quite as white as she’s painted, so they say. Not that I have any truck with gossip, of course. But I still reckon your Mr Hopkinson is well in the lead in the field of suspects…’
A knock at the door halted Baker in mid-sentence. It was unfortunate: his talkative periods were rare and always worth paying attention to. Resignedly, for I knew it would be quite some time before I could persuade him to talk again, I raised my voice and bade the person outside to enter.
It was Simpson.
‘Sir George asked me to inform you about your rooms, gentlemen,’ he began. ‘If you care to stop for the night, I believe that the first two rooms at the top of the stairs are free.’
‘Thank you, Simpson,’ I said, and turned to Baker, hoping that he would finish his sentence. I opened my mouth, but I was still aware of Simpson’s shadowy figure in the doorway. ‘Is there anything else?’ I asked, thinking that he was just loitering with intent to eavesdrop.
‘Well, sir, it’s just that… Well, when the sergeant was questioning me earlier, there was something I forgot to mention.’ He looked between us anxiously.
‘Come in and shut the door,’ I said, and after he had done so I gestured for him to continue.
‘I didn’t mention this earlier,’ said Simpson, not looking at either of us, but staring resolutely at the far wall, ‘because I felt it was the business of the gentlemen concerned. However, on further reflection, I realise that it could have some bearing on the matter in hand. I shall now tell you about it.’
The flood of pomposity over, he paused for breath. I glanced at Baker and smiled. His moustache twitched in acknowledgement.
‘You see, sir, I think I know who murdered Professor Harries.’
It was one of those rare occasions when I seemed to be thinking on at least three different levels. Simultaneously I was sifting through the evidence trying to identify his choice, wondering at the luck that had, apparently, come my way and guessing who had told him about the murder. Hopkinson probably. In a darker undercurrent, I was cursing him for falling over the answer before me.
‘I beg your pardon?’ stuttered Baker. I hoped that I didn’t have the same expression on my face as he wore on his.
‘Well, sir,’ said Simpson, ‘it must have been someone who didn’t like Professor Harries, mustn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s conceivable,’ I replied.
‘The Doctor, sir – Dr Friedlander,’ said Simpson, pulling his rabbit from the hat with aplomb. We said nothing, and he eventually continued: ‘I was just preparing dinner, earlier on, and I needed some herbs from the garden. I was kneeling down, cutting some mint for garnish, when I saw the Doctor and his companion, Mr Kreiner, leaving the conservatory. They were obviously concerned that nobody saw them, and it was only the fact that I was kneeling down that prevented my detection. This was before they made their appearance in the house, sir, claiming they had just arrived.’
‘What action did you take?’ I asked.