Maughamesque

While the British Empire fights for its life, its little private dramas--often almost as stylized as British tweeds--continue. One recurrent pattern, frequently put on paper by Somerset Maugham, is that of the Britons in India or the Far East whose ultra-British correctness is suddenly upset by tropic passion. Last week in East Africa a typical Maughamesque story appeared to be coming to feverish life.

A Maugham tale could have no better setting than the swank Muthaiga Country Club on a cooling hill outside flat, sunny Nairobi, capital of Kenya Colony. Scarcely one hour's drive from the haunts of zebra, giraffe and hartebeest, the Mut-haiga's members have built themselves a sporting retreat as refreshing as those they remember in Old England. From the club terrace, after nightfall, visitors may watch red, green and white fireflies flickering over the Kikuyu grass lawns.

Seated on the terrace one night last January was a foursome that might have stepped direct from Maugham's pages. One was sun-bronzed, handsome Josslyn Victor Hay, 39, 22nd Earl of Erroll, Hereditary High Constable of Scotland (a title conferred on his family in 1314 by Robert Bruce). He was a veteran of Mayfair, the Continental casinos, the English hunting fields and African big-game trails. Twice married, once divorced, and a recent widower, he owned and worked a large Kenya cattle farm, was active in Kenya's Legislative Council, and like a true sportsman lamented Nairobi's increasing urbanization. He had once said: "The lions just walk past our doors now and always behave themselves nicely."

Opposite the Earl was a gentleman who had been his Kenya neighbor since the early '20s. This was spruce, mustachioed Major Sir Henry John Delves ("Sir Jock") Broughton, 57. An old Etonian, he had inherited his ancestral Doddington Park in Cheshire, and a half-million pounds, from a recluse relative. An ardent racing fan, he had served through World War I in the Irish Guards, where he was known as the best card player in the officers' mess. Early in 1940, after 26 years of marriage, Sir Jock had been divorced by Lady Broughton, an avid sportswoman who kept a private zoo.

With the gentlemen on this moonlit East African night were a Mrs. June Carberry and pretty, chic Diana Caldwell, 29. The four had wined, dined and danced, and they watched the fireflies a while before calling it a night. Then Sir Jock drove Mrs. Carberry home, and the Earl, Miss Caldwell. Several hours later the Earl's car was found on a lonely road in the bush. Crumpled on the floor beneath the wheel was the dead body of the Earl, a bloodied bullet hole near the left ear. It looked like suicide--but there was no gun to be seen.

At the inquest the Government's pathologist, one Dr. Vint, said he believed the Earl had been murdered. Dr. Vint further guessed that two shots had been fired through the window as the Earl sat at the wheel, that the murderer had then driven the car to the remote road and arranged the body to suggest suicide.

Early in February, elderly Sir Jock married the young Miss Caldwell. But the marriage was not to be happy for long. Shortly the police learned that two pistols which usually occupied the mantelpiece in Sir Jock's bedroom had disappeared two days before the party at Muthaiga Country Club. Last week Sir Jock was indicted for murder.

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