A Connoisseur's Case by Michael Innes Page A

And the gesture, although accompanied by expressions which were sufficiently polite, gave Appleby the impression of a man who was now regretting some futile act. The three men moved to the door of the library. Appleby took a deft sideways step, which brought Binns full-face before him.
    â€˜What do you think,’ he asked, ‘about Crabtree’s death?’
    There was a moment’s silence which might, or might not, have been of incomprehension merely.
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’ Binns spoke to an effect of rather more courtesy than was native to him.
    â€˜Seth Crabtree.’ And Appleby looked straight at Binns. ‘He has been killed. Today. Did you know?’
    â€˜My dear sir, I don’t even know what you are talking about.’ Binns seemed about to break off this exchange and take his leave. Then he gave a start of surprise. ‘Did you say Crabtree? When I had Scroop, there was a fellow of that name working about the place. But he went abroad. You don’t mean him?’
    â€˜I do. He was found dead this afternoon, and the facts point to foul play.’
    â€˜I’m sorry to hear it, I’m sure. But of course I have heard nothing of it. As I explained, I’m simply driving rapidly through.’
    â€˜So that early this afternoon you were, in fact, nowhere near this part of the world?’
    â€˜I was a long way off, Sir John, and with no notion of the impertinent curiosity I might be running into. Good night.’ And Alfred Binns gave a curt nod and strode into the hall, where Colonel Raven was waiting for him.
    For a minute Appleby remained where he was. Binns, he was thinking, had some claim to be called formidable. He had been a man for some reason thrown off his balance at the start of his odd call. But he had met that sudden sharp attack like a rock.
    The Colonel was bidding his guest farewell outside his front door. Appleby slipped through the hall and into the drawing-room. Judith was rather impatiently turning over a copy of The Field .
    â€˜Well,’ she said challengingly, ‘was Mr Binns really unfit for mixed company?’
    â€˜Absolutely not.’ As he spoke, Appleby flicked off the lights, walked over to a window, and drew back a curtain.
    Outside, there was summer darkness. But to the left, from the main portico of Pryde Park, a glow of electric light fell across the drive.
    â€˜Listen,’ Appleby said. ‘A nice noise – wouldn’t you say? Or hardly a noise at all.’
    â€˜What on earth–’
    â€˜And now look.’
    â€˜Well, well.’ Judith, having looked, said no more. So there was no sound except the gentle purr of the silver-grey Rolls-Royce which had circled before them and was now departing into the night.

 
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6
    There was nothing out of the way in Appleby’s sitting up in the library at Pryde to smoke a final solitary pipe, and it was thus that Tarbox found him.
    â€˜Is there anything further that you will require, sir?’
    â€˜Thank you, Tarbox, nothing at all. The only thing that I could do with is a little light on this afternoon’s bad business.’
    â€˜Yes, indeed, sir. It was a most distressing incident for her ladyship to become involved in. But I fear I cannot assist you to any solution. An enigmatical catastrophe, sir.’
    â€˜Do you yourself remember anything of this old fellow, Seth Crabtree, back in Mrs Coulson’s time, or during the years he remained at Scroop after Mr Binns had taken over?’
    â€˜Neither of these periods may be described as of yesterday, sir. But I think I may claim to be not without a modicum of reminiscence.’
    â€˜Would you describe Crabtree as having been some sort of confidant of Mrs Coulson’s?’
    â€˜Yes. I believe, that is to say, that there was some such impression abroad, sir. A confidant in humble station, of course. Crabtree could never have been categorized as an upper servant. He remained an outdoor