Gilberts, Henrietta Royston’s butler cum driver, answered the doorbell when Harry Axeton arrived back from The Haystack Inn. He gave a polite cough as he reached out to take Axeton’s light weight fedora hat.

‘I wonder if you have a few moments to spare, sir. I believe the study is free.’

Axeton was delighted. The white-haired, softly natured man had been a loyal servant of the Royston’s for most of his adult life. Thus, he was uniquely placed to comment on all aspects of life that went on in the Lodge.

‘Miss Cordelia mentioned you were looking for me,’ Gilberts stated as the two men shut themselves in behind the lustrous wooden door. ‘And I understand you have been talking to the family about this awful tragedy. So, I would like to say I am only too happy to help if I can.’

‘That’s good of you to offer Gilberts. It would be useful to know precisely what you heard and saw yesterday afternoon.’

As expected, the butler’s account of April Bell’s last moments contained little new information. But there were two small snippets of the elderly man’s version which caught the sleuth’s well-honed ear. He’d heard both Oliver Royston and Gordon Fembury mutter something about wanting to know how come April had some chocolates. But he hastily added that he couldn’t remember the precise phrase each man had spoken and as at the time everything was so confusing he may have entirely misunderstood the nature of each man’s query.

Secondly, Gilberts had noticed that ever since he had told Agnes Reeds that the poor girl was dead she had been uncharacteristically out of sorts. He was of the opinion that the middle-aged Agnes had taken quite a shine to young April Bell and was consequently suffering from a mild bought of melancholia brought on by the abruptness of the death.

When asked how the young nephews had reacted to the death, Gilberts’ face grimaced.

‘Neither one has been in their usual carefree spirits, sir. The young lady had affected them deeply. I believe the expression used now days is ‘bowled over’.’ A smile resurfaced on his placid face as he recalled a conversation he had accidentally overheard. ‘Last Friday morning it was. I have to own up to loitering at the dining room door as the empty pots and dirty crockery hadn’t been cleared away after morning coffee. The problem was that Mr Oliver and Mr Gordon were still inside. And I couldn’t help but hear the odd word of their friendly, enthusiastic banter as they discussed Miss April. I found the language they used amusingly modern, so I almost found myself laughing with them. They thought her something of a corker and well worth any man’s keen interest. Anyway, it isn’t my custom to eavesdrop on the family, so I went over to the hall sideboard and checked whether Agnes had dealt with the day’s post. She takes care of Ms Royston’s correspondence.’

Having no further information, Gilberts politely excused himself. Before Harry Axeton had a chance to finish noting down the overheard snippet in his pocketbook, Gilbert’s had to answer another ring of the doorbell. A familiar voice was heard asking for the sleuth’s whereabouts before the study door opened wide.

‘It’s been an interesting exercise this morning,’ Inspector Rufferton said as he flung himself into the nearest armchair.

‘Did you find the errand boy?’ Axeton asked expectantly.

 ‘Put it this way, my men have been all over the village talking to mothers of small boys of about the right age. Most of the families they questioned were eliminated on account of their boy being at home all afternoon on Tuesday. A couple of households are away on their annual holiday according to neighbours. Two other lads spent the time fishing in the stream that runs by the edge of the village. Fortunately, a lady whose garden overlooks the stream was able to confirm this. That left us with just one lad. His story goes like this. He’d been given permission to play with his toy farm vehicles in the field beside the school. But he had to return by afternoon teatime. After leaving home he was on his own the whole time. Thus, he’s the only young boy who could possibly have run the sixpenny errand.’

‘You got him!’ cried a delighted Harry.

Rufferton always enjoyed teasing the impatient amateur detective.

‘Ha. Did I say he was the boy?’

‘He has to be.’

The inspector’s demeanour became one of bitter disappointment.

‘You’d better prepare yourself for a shock. The lad assured me he never left the field until the church clock struck three. And he spoke to no one. Furthermore, his mother confirms it was just after three o’clock that she started to place her newly baked jam tarts on plates in readiness for afternoon tea. Being the good boy that he was, he ran into the kitchen before she had finished. Moreover, his mother was adamant he could be trusted to tell the truth.’

Axeton’s mouth opened a tad as he stared in disbelief. The inspector summed up the finality of the situation.

’I’ll stake my reputation on the fact that this boy was indeed truthful about not going to Royston Lodge that afternoon. So as he was the only boy who was unaccounted for, then it follows that there never was an errand boy. My entire morning has been spent proving that the sixpenny errand in April’s story did not occur.’

‘Well, that’s a blazingly strange turn of events.’

‘Certainly is.’

‘Are you absolutely sure the boy told you everything? Might he have been afraid to own up to taking money from a stranger in the presence of his mother in case he got a sharp ticking off afterwards.’

‘I thought of that at the time. But then I had one of my many brainwaves. Being a father of two small boys I realised I knew exactly where to go to find out. I went to the one place where any little boy with a sixpenny piece burning a hole in his pocket would surely go – the sweet counter in their local shop. But not one child, with or without parents, has purchased sweets, comics or a toy since the approximate time of the errand according to the shopkeeper. And in a village this size there’s nowhere else for a lad to spend his ill-gotten gains.’

‘I must say that was a great piece of intuitive police work.’

Rufferton enjoyed the rare compliment.

‘Ha. Before I left the house, I asked the young’un what he would spend a sixpence on if he were given one. His little eyes lit up with joy. He’d spend it on an assortment of chews, toffees, gobstoppers, sherbet and the like. And believe me that’s exactly how my own sons behave when a relative sends them Christmas or Birthday money.’

A cheeky smile spread over each man’s face at the thought of a young boy munching through all those sticky treats.

Axeton eventually grunted as he perched at the edge of the desk. ‘Damn. April’s errand boy never existed,’ he said.

‘My only lead has hit a dead-end,’ Rufferton grumbled.

‘We did have a second lead.’

‘The other lead being?’

‘The gift card that the admirer sent. My little helper, Cordelia Woods, found it’s hiding place this morning. Here – read it for yourself.’

Harry Axeton retrieved the small white card from his pocketbook and handed it over to the policeman.

‘It’s handwritten,’ a grateful Inspector Rufferton chuckled. ‘Fingers crossed we get a match when we collect samples of writing from everyone who came into contact with April Bell.’

‘I already know who wrote the message.’

‘You do. Well. Who is it?’

‘Harold.’

‘Harold? Who on earth’s Harold?’

‘My Harold.’

‘Your… Oh no. You mean the Harold who manages your chocolate business in Torquay, don’t you?’

Axeton shook his head affirmatively.

‘Harold has very elegant handwriting. So, he offers to write the customers’ messages himself when he is free to do so. Harold believes it adds a bit of class to our most exclusive ranges.’

‘The clever whatever,’ Rufferton went on. ‘Our murderer got someone else to write the card so it couldn’t be traced back to him. Or should I say him or her. After all, poison is often a woman’s lethal weapon.’

‘It’s not our day Rufferton. Two great leads have led us back to where we started,’ Axeton stated with an ironic smile across his lightly tanned, clean-shaven face.

The Inspector’s face in contrast was a picture of frustration. He shot another glance at the card.

‘Can’t see this message card being of any use now. To use your favourite phrase ‘we’ve had another blazingly awkward turn of events.’’

‘This result also rules out April having been silenced for attempting to find the identity of her admirer. Recall Cordelia said April had been hinted about starting a bit of detective work of her own. I had hoped that might lead somewhere.’ The sleuth’s voice suddenly took on its usual cool, detached tone. ‘By the way, any luck tracing the source of the cyanide poison?’

‘Not so far. My man Skinner has been contacting the usual locations that might have a store of such a compound. Don’t hold out much hope of success to be honest. So, I’ll move Skinner onto probing further into April’s background when I get back to the station. Given what’s materialised today that’s become more urgent.’

‘Still can’t fathom the motive. We can rule out money as no one seems to benefit from April Bell’s untimely demise,’ Axeton mused.

‘Jealousy. Women do get very jealous of one another.’

‘Jealousy seems too weak. It takes an awful lot of hate and cruelty to kill someone with poison. Besides, who had reason to be jealous of her? Cordelia and Agnes are the only plausible candidates. But I have ruled out Cordelia as she invited April for the summer because they were best friends. And Agnes must be in her fifties, so is hardly likely to be competing with someone of April’s age for a lover.’

‘Well, I disagree,’ Rufferton argued. ‘Jealous women and use of poison are all too common in official criminal records. So, I’m going to keep all the ladies on my rather thin list of persons to keep an eye on. And Cordelia is well entrenched as a very plausible suspect. Still, I haven’t questioned the tradesmen and delivery men yet. In a house as grand as this there must be quite a few of those who visit on a regular basis. I know the kitchen staff order some produce from the village farm so April might have become friendly with a couple of the villagers that way.’

‘Why would a girl as innocent as April begin an affair with a total stranger she chanced upon in the house or garden? Highly unlikely.’

‘I admit it is a bit of a long shot. But stranger things have led to murder. Besides, it’s good police form to cover all potential contacts. The Assistant Chief Constable would ask for my resignation if I missed an obvious task and it turned out the guilty party could have been found that way.’ He then relaxed a little as a nicer thought cropped up. ‘And what if a delivery man actually saw the box being delivered? There’s no better lead than that in this type of case.’

‘Speaking of long shots, I lunched in the village pub.’

‘It’s alright for some. I haven’t eaten yet.’

‘Don’t worry, the food offering today was nothing to shout about. But the gossip was rather tasty,’ Axeton remarked good-humouredly. ‘Apparently it was common knowledge a lovely looking female visitor had been staying at the big house. Though no one mentioned they actually saw her or that they knew of anyone who had spoken to her. I had rather more luck with my suspicions that the two nephews are well known and regarded by the local community. Landlord and patrons alike deemed the pair to be good eggs. Though Annie, the resident barmaid, had an odd tale about the two that dated back to August last year. She recalled a black-haired beauty called Enid, who’d been taken on to help serve the drinks, having quite an effect on the young men when they dropped in for a quick drink. Their strong reaction to the vivacious Enid prompted the outspoken Annie to brand each one ’’a lady’s man’’. The landlord, who also remembered the incident, took pains to dismiss her claims as all stuff and nonsense and noted neither man actually made a pass at this beauty nor even tried to engage her in conversation. Nevertheless, Annie’s stubbornness in standing by her claim is curious. Left me wondering if her womanly intuition had observed something untoward that the local men had all missed?’

‘Doesn’t sound like much in that barmaid’s story. Personally, I thought the pair of them were more likely to be the type to send chocolates to a lady and not the sort to smirk at barmaids. Still, that Gordon Fembury – he’s a bit of a rum one. You know I think both Oliver Royston and Gordon Fembury warrant another chat given today’s outcomes. See if I can make them uncomfortable enough to reveal a personal secret or two.’

‘Might be worth doing that, Rufferton. Gilberts did mention to me that he thought each man appeared to question how April came to have some chocolates just before she mumbled her last word. Be interesting to see how they react when asked what they meant by those utterances. Though as I’ve noted before, there is lack of motive. I mean, why would a man murder the object of his passionate desire? And even if a man discovered this desirable woman had attracted the attention of another man, then surely even today that type of feud is best settled between the men with pistols at dawn.’

Rufferton couldn’t help but chuckle at the notion of two grown men pacing away from each with loaded pistols. ‘Really Axeton. Didn’t know you were such a romantic. Anyway, I suggest you join me tomorrow morning if you can.’

‘Dualling pistols aside, grilling those two is an excellent idea. Shall we say about ten thirty. Only I really must put in an appearance at the chocolate facility first. I need to twist Harold’s arm and get him to stand in for me for another couple of days.’

‘Talk of getting back to work, I’d better head off immediately. Another late session coming up’ the inspector said with resignation as he arose from his armchair. ‘Not sure how I’m going to concoct a story that explains why my best lead has led precisely nowhere. Worse still there doesn’t appear to be any new evidence that will make up for today’s knock back. I’m certainly now regretting being overconfident with the Assistant Chief Constable this morning. I more or less told him to expect news of a major breakthrough. And he wants my report sent tonight. See you tomorrow, Harry.’

On being left alone Harry Axeton sat quietly on the edge of the desk deep in thought. Whilst the minutes ticked by on his wristwatch, several loud noises filtered through an open window in the room. But none broke through the intense concentration of the determined sleuth.

This case was really baffling. Two good leads had been followed but gone nowhere. Time to revisit the facts. It was interesting that both of the leads had come from the same source – Cordelia Woods. Her statement had given the police the errand boy story and the existence of a message card. The card not being written by the poisoner didn’t imply much. The fact that the story wasn’t true spoke volumes. Either April had lied to Cordelia. Or Cordelia had lied to the police.

Taking this hypothesis further, he considered Cordelia first. Having spent time with the charming young brunette in the search of April’s room he concluded she could more or less be ruled out. What had she to gain from the murder? And it would have been impossible for anyone to fake the look of grief that her sad face couldn’t hide.

April then. What would induce a woman who people liked, trusted and described as innocent lie to her closest confidante. That would necessitate a very good reason indeed.

As ever his thinking time hadn’t been wasted. A refreshed Axeton returned from his state of contemplation with a confident, knowing look on his face. The way to approach this intriguing brainteaser had become crystal clear.

 His next move necessitated peeling off his neatly knotted dark-blue tie and unbuttoning the collar of his summer shirt. Appearing and acting informally was going to be his subtle weapon. For it was the latest tittle-tattle about the goings on at Royston Lodge that he was after. What’s more, the best place in the house to eavesdrop on such enlightening conversations was almost certainly filling up with the relevant people at that very moment.

It was time to take afternoon tea.

Chapter Nine