“Thank you, sir,” said Hemingway, taking a cigarette.
“Difficult question to answer,” said the Squire. “I never came up against Warrenby myself: always very civil to me! but the fact of the matter was that he was a bit of an outsider. Pushing, and that sort of thing. No idea how to conduct himself in a place like this. Got people's backs up. Before the War, of course,—but it's no use thinking backwards. Got to move with the times. No use ostracising fellows like Warrenby, either. Got to accept them, and do what one can to teach them the way to behave.”
Yes, thought the Chief Inspector, you're a hard nut to crack, Squire! Aloud, he said: “Would you have put it beyond him to have gone in for a bit of polite blackmail to get his own way, sir?”
The ash from Mrs. Ainstable's cigarette dropped on to her skirt. She brushed it off, exclaiming: “What a lurid thought! Who on earth did he find to blackmail in these respectable parts?”
“Well, you never know, do you?” said Hemingway thoughtfully. “I've been having a talk with his head-clerk, and it set me wondering, madam.”
“No use asking me!” said the Squire harshly. “If I'd had any reason to suspect such a thing, shouldn't have had anything to do with the fellow.”
“You're trying to make out why we did have anything to do with him, aren't you?” said Mrs. Ainstable, her eyes challenging the Chief Inspector. “It was my fault. I couldn't help feeling sorry for his unfortunate niece! That's why I called on them. It's all very silly, and feudal, but if we receive newcomers other people follow our lead. But do tell us more about this blackmailing idea of yours. If you knew Thornden as I do, you'd realise what an entrancingly improbable thought that is! It's all getting more and more like Gavin Plenmeller's books.”
Out of the tail of his eye Hemingway could see that the Squire's gaze was fixed on his wife's face. He said: “I can see I shall have to read Mr. Plenmeller's books. Which puts me in mind of something I had to ask you, sir. Did you ask Mr. Plenmeller to fetch some papers from his house, during the tennis-party on Saturday?”
“No, certainly not!” said the Squire curtly. “I asked him to let me have them back, but there was no immediate hurry about it. He chose to go for them at once for reasons of his own. Damned rude reasons, too, but that's his own affair! Don't know what you're getting at, but it's only fair to say that he was back at The Cedars before I left the party. Met my wife on the drive, and gave the papers to her. Might have given them to Lindale, and saved me the trouble, but that's not his way!”
“Something to do with this River Board I hear so much about, weren't they, sir? I understand a solicitor's wanted, and Mr. Warrenby was after the post?”