Murder in Silence

“Moby Dick?” suggested Mortimer Hopley.

“Romeo and Juliet?” shouted Lady Hopley.

“Hound of the Baskervilles?” said Mortimer Hopley.

“Murder on the Links?” interjected Lady Hopley.

“The Book of Isaiah?” guessed the Reverend Pocklington-Pugh.

This energetic game of charades had been going on for almost an hour. Lord Hopley stood in the middle of the library with his hands round his throat staggering around the room with an expression of pain on his face. His performance was getting more and more passionate. The guesses continued.

“Mysterious Affair at Styles?” asked Lady Hopley

“Murder of Roger Ackroyd?” insisted Mortimer Hopley

“A Winter’s Tale?” said Lady Hopley.

Then suddenly Lord Hopley fell to the floor and appeared to be dead. The guests all stood and clapped at such a bravura performance.

“Very good, dear,” said his wife. “One of your best performances yet. What was the answer?”

But he did not say anything. He did not get up from the floor. He did not move. His body was still and silent. The assembled guests looked at each other nervously. What was going on? Was this just an innocent game of charades or something more sinister?

As often the person who took charge of the situation was the butler, Henderson. He went up to the body and checked for a pulse.

“No pulse,” the butler announced. “I’m afraid his Lordship is actually dead.”

There was silence. Everyone was stunned into total silence.

“If your Ladyship pleases, I will ring for the police.”

**********************************

In the police station Inspector Gough had just started the crossword in his daily paper. He found that this relatively new craze for crossword puzzles allowed him to keep his brain sharp for solving crime and gave him an opportunity to show off his wide knowledge of History and English Literature, the two subjects at which he had excelled at school.

The year was 1930. Almost exactly three years had passed since the murder of Lord Harcourt, a case which had proved to be the most complicated of Inspector Gough’s career.

The last three years had been filled with much more routine cases – burglaries, blackmail and bribery. Privately he was hoping for the excitement of another murder. Suddenly he had a flashback to the climax of that previous murder investigation. He remembered the suspects gathered round him as weighed up all the evidence and finally came to the conclusion that…

Suddenly the phone rang and Inspector Gough answered it eagerly.

“Gough. Lord Hopley is dead? I will be there in 20 minutes.”

Gough knew that murder was a serious business but he couldn’t help smiling to himself as he picked up his special notebook and headed for the door.

*************************************

The suspects were all gathered in the conservatory. Inspector Gough had briefly examined the body and his initial theory was that Lord Hopley had been poisoned. It was time to quiz the assembled suspects.

He looked round the room. All of those in the room had been present at the time of Lord Hopley’s death. His widow, Lady Hopley, was holding back the tears. Her son, Mortimer, was pacing around nervously. Their house-guests, Monsieur and Madame Fournier, sat by the fish-tank in the corner. The local vicar, the Reverend Pocklington-Pugh was sat in silent prayer. The butler Henderson was taking round cups of tea. He offered Gough a cup of tea. The Inspector hesitated but then politely declined. Was it just an innocent cup of tea? Or did a more harmful substance lurk inside?

“Come on Inspector,” said Mortimer. “While you are wasting your time and our time the murderer is getting away. You and your men should be searching the woods and setting up road-blocks and…”

“All in good time, sir. Now, I believe that Lord Hopley actually died during a game of charades. How unfortunate! Tell me, who decided on playing a game of charades?” asked Inspector Gough.

“My husband. It was his favourite game,” replied Lady Hopley. “It allowed him to show off his so-called acting abilities. And I’m afraid he always loved being the centre of attention. It was one of his many faults. He obviously planned his suicide to happen in front of a room full of people at the climax of his favourite game.”

“Suicide? Was there a note?” asked the Inspector.

“Of course. I found this suicide note on his desk in his study under a pile of papers.” Lady Hopley handed over the note to the Inspector.

Inspector Gough looked quickly at the note and then read it out loud.

“Dear Dr.Callaghan, I must apologise for letting you down over this matter. It is most unfortunate. I do sincerely hope you accept my apology. Signed Lord Hopley.”

Inspector Gough looked round at all the people in the conservatory to see if anybody reacted.

“Lady Hopley, where exactly did you find this note?”

“I found it on my husband’s desk when I was looking for some important papers that I needed to destroy, I mean, place in the safe. That’s when I found this suicide note.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do not consider that this note demonstrates that this is a case of suicide. It does not change my initial view of this case. I think we are dealing with murder. And I need you all to help me with my investigations. What was the very last thing that happened before his death?” asked the Inspector.

“It was my husband’s turn at the game. He was standing in the middle of the library. He had his hands round his throat. We all thought that it was just part of the game. He was over-acting a little but that was quite normal. We had no idea that he was on the verge of death. No idea at all.”

“What title was he acting out?”

“Why on earth do you need to know that?” asked Mortimer Hopley.

“I need to consider all of the facts and then eliminate those that are not relevant. As Sherlock Holmes once said, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

“Inspector,” replied Lady Hopley. “We don’t know which title he was acting out. He died before he could tell us.”

“What was the last guess?”

“I think it was me, Inspector,” replied Lady Hopley. “I think I guessed a Shakespeare play, either Macbeth or Romeo and Juliet.”

“No, Lady Hopley,” said Henderson. “I can clearly remember that your last guess was A Winter’s Tale, because I remember thinking to myself that it was very unlikely to be the correct answer. His Lordship was obviously acting out a violent death, possibly a strangling or a…”

“Alright Henderson, I am sure that I said Romeo and Juliet. I can’t really remember very well,” said Lady Hopley. “If that’s what you remember, then you must be right.”

Inspector Gough thought carefully for a moment or two. He was having a flashback. Memories of a school play kept flooding back. He could picture young boys dressed in Shakespearean costumes. It was a production of A Winter’s Tale. He remembered a particularly dramatic scene in which King Leontes publicly accuses his wife Queen Hermione of infidelity and declares that the child she is due to give birth to is the illegitimate offspring of King Polixenes, the ruler of Bohemia.

“I put it to you Lady Hopley,” said Inspector Gough, “that you deliberately made your final guess A Winter’s Tale because you were giving your husband a message. You wanted him to know exactly what you had done and why.”

“I deny everything,” said Lady Hopley on the verge of tears.

“You chose that play by Shakespeare because in that play a faithful wife is unfairly accused of adultery and you wanted your husband to understand why you had poisoned him. Because you had been a faithful wife and then he accused you of adultery.”

“It is true. Eighteen years ago he accused me of being unfaithful to him. It broke my heart. I had overlooked his affairs. I had always been faithful to him. So I have been planning my revenge for eighteen years. I have no regrets. He deserved to die.”

“But Lady Hopley,” asked Inspector Gough, “There is one thing I don’t understand. Why did you wait for 18 years?”

“I didn’t want to leave Mortimer without his papa. But he is 18 now and off to Oxford University next week. He is a grown man. The shame of his mummy murdering his papa will soon be forgotten when he is busy attending lectures and writing essays.”

Inspector Gough motioned to his sergeant to put the handcuffs on Lady Hopley.

“I am reminded,” added the Reverend Pocklington-Pugh, “of what is says in the Book of Proverbs, chapter 21 verse 15. ‘When justice is done, it brings joy to the righteous but…’”

“’Terror to evildoers,’” continued Inspector Gough, completing the quotation.

“I’m impressed, Inspector” said the Reverend  Pocklington-Pugh, “I doubt that many local police officers have such an extensive knowledge of Shakespeare and the Bible. Perhaps you are also a keen fan of charades? You might like to join us one day at the vicarage for a game of charades?”

“Oh no sir. Charades is much too dramatic for my taste, vicar. I am a simple police officer. I much prefer a quiet crossword. I prefer clues that point towards a nice tidy solution rather than ones which confuse, mislead and deceive.”

Inspector Gough headed out through the door. He was looking forward to enjoying a good strong cup of tea back at the station. He knew that there was a crossword still to finish before he could head home for his evening meal.