Johnny Swanson - Eleanor Updale [46]
A man got out and planted his huge foot within inches of Johnny’s head. He was wearing ordinary shoes, not the boots that uniformed policemen had. His brown raincoat almost brushed against Johnny’s face. Johnny was frightened, but he was glad he’d come. These were real plain-clothes detectives: the top men. Fortunately the man by the flowerbed didn’t detect Johnny. He strode straight over to the Rolls-Royce, and after some stern words the reporter got back in his car and drove away. Another policeman rang the doorbell and spoke to the butler, who let the visitors in and closed the door. Johnny crept round the outside of the house, trying to get out of sight of the handyman, who was polishing the car again. He was hoping to find another way into the house.
The back door was open, and there was no one around. Johnny could hear the butler in the distance, talking to the policemen.
‘If you would be so good as to wait in here, gentlemen, I will tell Mr Bennett that you wish to see him.’
Johnny made his way in the direction of the voices. He followed a dark corridor leading from the servants’ area to the front of the house, and stopped where the drab linoleum met the polished marble of the circular entrance hall: a vast open space, with doors all round the edge, lit by a dome of glass. He saw the butler emerge from a room on one side of the ring and walk across to another, directly opposite. Johnny guessed that the policemen were in the first room and Mr Bennett in the second. There was an ornate coat-rack on the wall to his left, not far from the door to the policemen’s room. He recognized the overcoat Bennett had worn on Remembrance Day, and his girlfriend’s long fur cloak. He heard voices: Mr Bennett and the butler were about to come out and cross the hall. If Johnny stayed where he was, they were bound to see him. If he went back down the corridor, he might not be able to hear what they were saying. On impulse, he ran round the edge of the room and slid behind the fur cloak. It almost covered him, but didn’t quite reach the floor. He reached up, grabbed the hook, bent his knees and pulled his feet out of view just in time. It was just as well. The policemen heard Bennett coming and strode into the hall to meet him. Johnny had to stay very still. His arm ached with the strain of supporting his weight, and he wedged his feet against the wall to get steady. With his other hand, he felt a slit in the side of the cloak, where the lady would have put her arms through. He slowly pulled it up to his face. The fur tickled his nose, but he could see now. The butler looked annoyed. No doubt he thought the policemen should have stayed where he had put them, but Johnny was glad they hadn’t. In the echoing rotunda he could hear every word.
‘That will be all, Maxwell,’ said Bennett, and the butler nodded an automatic ‘Very good, sir.’ He strode off, almost brushing against the fur cloak on his way to the servants’ corridor.
Frederick Bennett had not been up long, and was still in his dressing gown. He’d been toying with his breakfast when Maxwell had announced that the police wanted to see him, and he’d come to meet them with the newspaper in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.
‘A bad business,’ he said, using the toast to point to the story about the murder. ‘Langford was our family physician, you know. Perhaps that’s why you’ve come?’
‘Indeed, sir,’ said the older of the two detectives, who introduced himself as Inspector Griffin. ‘We were wondering if you might be able to throw some light on the Langfords’ whereabouts for the past month. We gather that you and your fiancée dined with them on November the eleventh.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Mr Bennett, ‘though Miss Carmichael and I are not