Page 71 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“I’ll be convincing.”
Harry shook his head. “We should look in the stables or the other coach house, somewhere we haven’t already searched.”
It was a point we’d discussed on the train journey. Harry was convinced the rifle wasn’t in Faine’s room or we would have found it last time. I thought a second, more thorough, inspection was required before reaching that conclusion.
Five minutes later, when Faine still hadn’t emerged, I decided to go ahead with my plan to draw him out so Harry could search. I got up, only to be jerked back down by the hand.
Harry put a finger to his lips then pointed at the stables. Faine appeared in the doorway, scratching at his scraggly beard as he strode across the courtyard. He passed us without looking our way and left the courtyard altogether.
Harry signaled to go, and together we cautiously approached the stables. He entered first, setting down the small case he’d brought with him near the entrance, and looked inside. Moments later, he signaled for me to follow. “It’s empty except for one horse.”
The horse was contentedly munching oats in its stall and paid us no attention as we set about our search. I expected to find the rifle in a cavity under the floor, just as we’d found the teaspoon under the floor in Faine’s room. I pushed aside straw and stamped my feet on the cobblestones in search of a loose section that could indicate there was a hiding space underneath.
I hadn’t got very far when Harry joined me, carrying a long bundle wrapped in a blanket. “Found it hidden in the rafters.” He unwrapped the bundle to show me a rifle bearing an elaborate engraving on the silver escutcheon. “It’s an antique Purdey.”
“Just as Mr. Browning claimed.”
If the bullet that killed Esmond Shepherd matched one fired from the rifle, then this was the murder weapon. It was time to telephone Monty to see what he’d learned.
Harry tucked the bundled-up rifle inside his coat and picked up the case. We went in search of a telephone, only to find that the village’s public silence cabinet was located in the post office and it was closed. We had no choice but to got to the police station.
I was surprised to find Sergeant Honeyman there, considering it was Sunday. He was chatting to the constable manning the front desk. It seemed to be just the two of them on duty. I suspected very little happened in Morcombe most days, let alone on a Sunday. The murder of Esmond Shepherd would have been a unique incident.
“I remember you from Hambledon Hall,” Sergeant Honeyman said to me. “You’re Lady Kershaw’s friend.”
“I’m Cleopatra Fox.” I was surprised he remembered me, since he hardly spoke to me on the day of the murder, despite me being one of the first at the scene. I didn’t tell him that, however. We needed his help and I didn’t want to offend him. “Mr. Armitage and I are private detectives. We’ve been investigating the murder of Esmond Shepherd and have something for you. We discovered this in the stables of the Red Lion Inn where Mr. Faine lives.”
Harry unveiled the weapon and set it down on the desk in front of the sergeant.
The constable whistled and bent to inspect the rifle closely.
Honeyman, however, narrowed his gaze at me. “I had a telephone call from Scotland Yard earlier. I was ordered to give you my full cooperation. Why are you chasing my tail?”
“Because there was no poacher.”
“There was.”
“No, there wasn’t, as you are well aware.”
Honeyman opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut him off. “Sergeant, remind me what the consequences would be if you disregard Scotland Yard’s orders?”
The constable melted into the background, eager to distance himself from his superior’s corruption.
The sergeant glared at Harry for a moment before giving in with a grunt. He picked up the rifle. “It’s a fine piece. Faine had it, you say? He’s a bad apple that one. It wouldn’t surprise me if he stole this and shot Shepherd with it when Shepherd saw him.” He seemed satisfied with his theory, perhaps because it meant Faine got the blame, not a member of Lord Kershaw’s family.
“We’re not sure if it’s the murder weapon,” I said. “We need to undertake a scientific experiment to compare a bullet shot from this gun with the one recovered from Shepherd’s body.”
“It won’t work.”
“Bullets shot from old rifles like this will have unique markings visible under a microscope, unlike modern machine-made weapons that appear to be all the same. If there’s a match to the recovered bullet, then we’ll know this is the murder weapon.”
“I know about the science, Miss Fox,” Honeyman bit off. “The problem is, we don’t have a microscope here to inspect the bullets.”
Harry set his case on the desk. “I brought mine.” He looked pleased that he was going to put one of his favorite instruments to good use.
Honeyman snatched up the rifle. “Constable, fetch the evidence box for the Shepherd case. You two, come out the back.”
He retrieved a bullet from a locked cabinet and led the way through the station to a courtyard. We watched as he fired a bullet from the rifle into a sack packed with fabric scraps that had clearly been used as target practice before, going by the dozens of holes. Sergeant Honeyman retrieved the bullet and handed it to Harry.
