Unexpected Guest - Agatha Christie [46]
Horrified, the sergeant knelt over him, staring at him in disbelief. ‘No, oh no,’ he murmured. ‘Poor, silly boy. No! You can’t be dead. Oh, please God–’ He checked Jan’s pulse, then shook his head slowly. Rising to his feet, he backed slowly away for a few paces, and only then noticed that his hand was bleeding badly. Wrapping a handkerchief around it, he ran back to the house, holding his left arm in the air and gasping with pain.
By the time he got back to the french windows, he was staggering. ‘Sir!’ he called, as the inspector and the others ran out onto the terrace.
‘What on earth’s happened?’ the inspector asked.
His breath coming with difficulty, the sergeant replied, ‘It’s terrible, what I’ve got to tell you.’ Starkwedder helped him into the room and the sergeant staggered to the stool and sank onto it.
The inspector moved quickly to his side. ‘Your hand!’ he exclaimed.
‘I’ll see to it,’ Starkwedder murmured. Holding Sergeant Cadwallader’s arm, he discarded the now heavily bloodstained piece of cloth, took out a handkerchief from his own pocket, and began to tie it around the sergeant’s hand.
‘The mist coming on, you see,’ Cadwallader began to explain. ‘It was difficult to see clearly. He shot at me. Up there, along the road, near the edge of the spinney.’
With a look of horror on her face, Laura rose and went across to the french windows.
‘He shot at me twice,’ the sergeant was saying, ‘and the second time he got me in the hand.’
Miss Bennett suddenly rose, and put her hand to her mouth. ‘I tried to get the gun away from him,’ the sergeant went on, ‘but I was hampered with my hand, you see–’
‘Yes. What happened?’ the inspector prompted him.
‘His finger was on the trigger,’ the sergeant gasped, and it went off. He’s shot through the heart. He’s dead.’
Chapter 21
Sergeant Cadwallader’s announcement was greeted with a stunned silence. Laura put her hand to her mouth to stifle a cry, then slowly moved back to the desk chair and sat, staring at the floor. Mrs Warwick lowered her head and leaned on her stick. Starkwedder paced about the room, looking distracted.
‘Are you sure he’s dead?’ the inspector asked.
‘I am indeed,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Poor young lad, shouting defiance at me, loosing off his gun as though he loved the firing of it.’
The inspector walked across to the french windows. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’ll come with you and show you,’ the sergeant replied, struggling to his feet.
‘No, you’d better stay here.’
‘I’m all right now,’ the sergeant insisted. ‘I’ll do all right until we get back to the station.’ He walked out onto the terrace, swaying slightly. Looking back at the others, his face filled with misery, he murmured distractedly, ‘“One would not, sure, be frightful when one’s dead.” That’s Pope. Alexander Pope.’ He shook his head, and then walked slowly away.
The inspector turned back to face Mrs Warwick and the others. ‘I’m more sorry than I can say, but perhaps it’s the best way out,’ he said, then followed the sergeant out into the garden.
Mrs Warwick watched him go. ‘The best way out!’ she exclaimed, half angrily, half despairingly.
‘Yes, yes,’ Miss Bennett sighed. ‘It is for the best. He’s out of it now, poor boy.’ She went to help Mrs Warwick up. ‘Come, my dear, come, this has been too much for you.’
The old lady looked at her vaguely. ‘I–I’ll go and lie down,’ she murmured, as Miss Bennett supported her to the door. Starkwedder opened it for them, and then took an envelope out of his pocket, holding it out to Mrs Warwick. ‘I think you’d better have this back,’ he suggested.
She turned in the doorway and took the envelope from him. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Yes, there’s no need for that now.’
Mrs Warwick and Miss Bennett left the room. Starkwedder was about to close