Had Rose produced a pistol and pointed it at the woman, the effect of her words on her listener could not have been more devastating. The duchess dropped her handkerchief. A look of horror lit up her features so that they became grotesquely contorted. It seemed to Rose that the woman recoiled from her, leaning back heavily on the cushions, and looking as if she wished for nothing more in all the world than that the sofa should open up and swallow her whole.
‘Murdered?’ the duchess said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘No! You must be mistaken. Why … why should anyone wish to kill …?’ She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. Rose could not tell now whether it was disbelief or fear which clouded her face. For a fleeting moment, it looked as if the woman might faint. Had she still been standing, then no doubt she would have crumpled to the ground. ‘You’re … you’re a liar!’ the duchess gasped between shallow breaths. Her lips were trembling, but a little colour had returned to her face accompanied by a flash of anger. ‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘It is wicked of you, wicked to say such a thing!’
‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ said Rose quietly. ‘Mr Dewhurst undoubtedly fell from the cliff as the result of a blow to the head.’
‘What?’ The duchess looked incredulous and put a hand up to her head as if to feel his wound upon her own skull.
‘Mr Dewhurst suffered a blow to the back of his head,’ continued Rose quickly. It seemed to her, all things considered, that she had spent a great deal of time with the duchess and Miss Calder. A furtive look at her wristwatch informed her that, in all likelihood, the other guests would by now be in the hotel dining room having breakfast. ‘The wound was neither self-inflicted, nor as a result of his fall,’ she continued, speaking hurriedly. ‘Whether the blow was fatal, or rendered Mr Dewhurst unconscious is not yet known, but the result was the same; it caused him to topple over the edge of the cliff.’
‘I … I don’t believe you.’
‘You needn’t take my word for it. You may speak with the local doctor who examined him, if you wish,’ said Rose, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. ‘He will tell you the same. Mr Dewhurst was murdered. Someone struck him with a blow to the back of his head which, one way or another, caused his death. Lord Belvedere has viewed the body and is of a similar opinion.’
Rose gathered her things together. She had said her piece and now she must leave, but not before she had carried out one last task.
‘I would be grateful if you would accompany me to Mr Dewhurst’s study,’ she said. ‘There is something I should like to show you.’
For one awful moment, she thought the duchess might refuse. Rose had given her little reason why she should fall in with her wishes. Indeed, she had yet to inform the woman that she had been engaged by the hotel proprietor to investigate Alec Dewhurst’s murder. A quick glance at the duchess, however, revealed that the shock that gripped her was absolute. She was in no fit state to query any command given her. Almost without thinking, and with heavy footsteps that seemed to drag across the floor, she followed Rose out into the hall and stood beside her as Rose threw open the study door. It was only then that she appeared to recover a semblance of her senses. A sharp gasp of breath escaped from her lips as she surveyed the ransacked room. She could not fail to see the desk, with its drawers pulled out and their contents strewn across the floor in such a chaotic fashion.
‘When was the last time you were in this room?’
‘I?’ The duchess shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It was Mr Dewhurst’s room. I seldom had occasion to use it.’
‘But you have been in this room before?’
Was it Rose’s imagination or did the duchess hesitate for a moment before answering?
‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I had forgotten how untidy Alec kept this room.’
Rose glanced around her at the disorder, at the scattered pages and the books with their ruined spines. It seemed to her that the state of the room was more than just the result of someone’s slovenly clutter. She was tempted to say as much but, on reflection, thought better of it. Instead, she crossed to the fireplace and examined the empty hearth. A fire had not been lit in it for months, and yet what appeared to be the charred remains of some letters lay in the grate. It was as if someone had seen fit to put a match to them and had tossed them into the empty grate to burn. She stooped and examined what was left of the singed correspondence. Only a few small fragments remained and, of those, only one small piece contained anything akin to writing. She peered at it closely. To her disappointment, she realised that it was no more than one incomplete word. She returned the scrap of papers to the grate, deciding nevertheless that she would memorise the partial word. ‘Ober’, she said to herself softly. ‘Ober.’
She looked up and discovered that the duchess was regarding her closely. The woman had remained on the threshold to Alec Dewhurst’s study, and had no doubt witnessed her studying the fragments in the grate. Aware that her activities might be perceived as rather peculiar to anyone unaware that she was an amateur sleuth, Rose hurried across the room to join her. Ushering the duchess out into the hall, she closed the door firmly behind them.
‘Did Mr Dewhurst keep this room locked?’ she enquired and then, when she received no answer: ‘Is there a key?’
The duchess’ thoughts appeared elsewhere for it was a moment or two before she muttered rather distractedly: ‘I don’t know.’
‘Nothing must be touched,’ said Rose firmly. ‘The room will have to be examined for fingerprints.’
It was difficult to know whether the duchess had heard her for the woman’s only response was to put a hand to her forehead and close her eyes. The next minute, she had begun to sway, clinging at Rose’s arm to steady herself. The girl steered her back into the sitting room. ‘You’d better lie down and rest a while. You’ve had an awful shock.’ Rose looked about her for the lady’s maid. ‘I expect Miss Calder’s just popped out,’ she said, wondering how long it would be before the servant came back. She ought not to leave the duchess alone. She looked again at her wristwatch, and then up at the clock on the mantelpiece. Time was marching on and the only two people she had spoken to were the Duchess of Grismere and her maid. Indeed, she was still in the Dewhursts’ rooms and likely to remain there for a while. Mr Kettering would be waiting for her in the dining room, impatient to inform his patrons of the tragedy and of the measures he had put in place to apprehend the murderer.
Rose glanced at the duchess. The woman was lying stretched out full length on one of the sofas, her head resting on a couple of cushions. There was nothing agitated about her manner now. Judging from the sound of her breathing, she was almost asleep. Certainly, she had closed her eyes and was lying very still. Rose hesitated, unsure what to do. Though she was reluctant to go before the servant had returned, it seemed to her that there could be no real harm in leaving the duchess alone.
She glanced at the clock again. ‘I must go,’ she said finally. ‘Will you be all right?’
The duchess muttered something under her breath. Though Rose could not make out the words, she construed them as a sign of assent. Her mind was finally made up. Casting one last look at the duchess, she crept out into the hall. As she quietly opened the outer door, she could still hear the faint sound of the woman’s breathing. She closed the door to behind her, resisting the urge to leave it ajar for the servant, and set out quietly across the terrace.
It was only later that she admonished herself for not having waited to speak to Miss Calder.
Chapter Nineteen
Ralph Kettering was waiting for Rose at the entrance to the dining room. He was fiddling impatiently with the horn-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. Being rather long-sighted, he required them only for close work, though it was his habit to wear them on occasions when he wished to appear a little older than he was, or to give the impression of being intellectual or studious, personal traits he valued highly, and considered particularly fitting for the proprietor of a r
espectable, upper class hotel.
He did not see Rose approach and she took the opportunity to study him. There was a striking resemblance between Ralph Kettering and his younger brother, Giles, Lord Belvedere’s personal secretary. It gave Rose the odd impression that she was well acquainted with the man, when in fact she was not. The illusion was not dispelled when the hotel proprietor opened his mouth and spoke, for his voice might as well have been that of his brother’s, so similar did it sound in both tone and inflection.
‘Ah, your ladyship,’ said Mr Kettering, spotting her and straightening his spectacles. ‘The guests are all gathered in the dining room. With the exception of Lord Belvedere, of course. He is still with the doctor. They are examining Mr Dewhurst’s clothes for traces of …’ He paused, as if he did not quite know how to finish his sentence delicately. Instead, he said: ‘Lady Lavinia was asking after your ladyship and Lord Belvedere. I didn’t tell her ladyship anything, of course. I did not consider it my place to do so, and I … I was afraid the other guests might overhear. It appears they are aware that something is afoot, though not what it is, of course.’ He took off his spectacles and made a show of polishing them with his handkerchief. While staring at the cloth he said in something of a mournful voice: ‘I’m afraid I am not very good at this sort of thing.’
It occurred to Rose then that the hotel proprietor might well be having second thoughts about his decision not to send for the local police to investigate Alec Dewhurst’s murder. She regretted having left him alone to reflect upon his decision. While he awaited the arrival of his acquaintance from the civilian city police force, the mantle of responsibility hung heavily on his shoulders. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to help him shoulder the burden, while harbouring various misgivings herself. To the effect of trying to appear confident of her position, however, she bestowed on him one of her most assured smiles, and it was together as a united team of two that they entered the dining room.
Without exception, every head turned to regard them with a great degree of curiosity.
‘Oh, there you are,’ cried Lavinia, running forward to meet her sister-in-law and launching into a tirade of sorts. ‘I was wondering where you were. Whatever kept you?’ Her gaze travelled towards the door. ‘Where’s Ceddie? Isn’t he with you? I say, I think it awfully unfair of you to leave me to breakfast all alone. You might have said. Really, it’s been most frightfully dull.’
‘Do be quiet, Lavinia and sit down,’ Rose said quickly, aware that the exchange was drawing curious glances from those seated at the neighbouring tables.
Mr Kettering coughed rather self-consciously and went to stand on the stage which was ordinarily used by the hotel band. Rose accompanied him, aware that various pairs of eyes followed her progress across the room.
For someone not sure of the position he had opted to take, the hotel proprietor took no time in broaching the subject matter.
‘I’m afraid,’ began Mr Kettering, without preamble, ‘that it is my unfortunate duty to inform you of the tragic death of one of our hotel guests.’
This announcement was greeted by a shocked silence, followed by sharp gasps of breath. His audience then took to looking furtively about the room as if trying to ascertain to whom he was referring by determining who was missing.
‘Ceddie!’ cried Lavinia suddenly, a look of panic on her face.
‘No,’ said Rose hurriedly. ‘Cedric is all right. I say, do pull yourself together, Lavinia.’
She looked about the room at the expectant faces. All seemed to be fearing the worst. Mabel Adler’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, as if she had already been crying. Father Adler’s face was grim, for once free of its benevolent expression, and Ron Thurlow looked considerably shocked. Miss Hyacinth looked distressed, and her bottom lip trembled; she cast an occasional furtive little glance at her sister, whose face, in contrast, remained resolutely impassive. Only Mr Vickers appeared visibly excited by the news, though Rose thought that even in him she detected a degree of apprehension.
‘It’s Mr Dewhurst,’ said Mr Kettering. ‘He … he has met with a most unfortunate accident.’
‘He has been murdered,’ corrected Rose, still staring at the faces before her, hoping that her abruptness would bear fruit. For it was perfectly feasible, she reasoned, that in one fleeting, unguarded instant she might detect in one face at least a sign of something akin to prior knowledge, if not guilt.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noted that the hotel proprietor looked aghast at such directness. Miss Hyacinth emitted a startled little scream; her hand flew up to her mouth as if to stifle her cry. The others were also decidedly shocked and Mabel Adler had begun to cry. Rose studied their faces closely, trying to ascertain if anyone looked unsurprised by the news that had been imparted. She thought it possible that Mr Vickers looked relieved which, mingled with his air of excitement, made a most unsavoury picture. Ron Thurlow had gone very white, and Miss Hyacinth, having recovered from her scream, now looked as if she was on the verge of joining Mabel by bursting into tears. Father Adler, Rose noted with a degree of interest, made no move to comfort his daughter; if anything, he seemed to withdraw within himself. Lavinia seemed understandably shocked by the news, her eyes wide. A look of anguish had fleetingly crossed Miss Peony’s face, before it had returned to its expression of impassive indifference.
Ron Thurlow appeared to be the first to recover. ‘I say,’ he said, ‘how perfectly appalling. Murder, you say? Are you quite certain there has not been some dreadful mistake?’
‘Quite sure,’ replied Mr Kettering, regaining some of his composure. ‘I, myself, found Mr Dewhurst’s body earlier this morning a little way from the bottom of the cliff … I do beg your pardon, ladies … your ladyship,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the Misses Trimble, Mabel Adler and Lavinia, and becoming a little flustered. ‘Do forgive me. It is a most shocking business and –’
‘Oh, don’t mind me, Mr Kettering,’ said Lavinia, rallying. ‘It isn’t the first dead body I’ve come across and I doubt it will be the last.’ She added, with a show of flippancy: ‘In fact, I’m really quite an old hand when it comes to murder.’
‘Quite,’ said the hotel proprietor hurriedly, conscious that Miss Hyacinth looked as if she might faint. ‘Naturally, I initially assumed that Mr Dewhurst had met with an unfortunate accident.’
‘Toppled over the edge of the cliff, do you mean? said Mr Vickers, edging his way forward towards the hotel proprietor.
‘That seemed the most likely explanation,’ agreed Mr Kettering, a trifle coldly. ‘On further examination, however, it appeared that Mr Dewhurst had suffered a blow to the head which would either have been fatal or rendered him unconscious. Either way, there is no doubt that it was this injury which caused him to fall from the cliff.’
‘Think yourself to be a bit of an expert in the field, do you?’ enquired Mr Vickers rudely.
‘Certainly not,’ retorted the hotel proprietor. ‘It is not my opinion, but that of the doctor who inspected the … the deceased.’
‘Are you suggesting he was pushed?’ continued Mr Vickers, apparently undaunted by the rather lacklustre reception of his comments. ‘Couldn’t the blow have been self-inflicted? By that, I mean, couldn’t the fellow have tripped and banged his head?’
‘No,’ said the hotel proprietor. ‘I put that very question to the doctor who examined his body; Dr Costas. The blow was struck to the back of the deceased’s head … Again, ladies, I feel I must apologise … this is all very unpleasant for you …’ He paused a moment to remove his spectacles and polish the lenses vigorously with his handkerchief.
‘What you are saying,’ said Mr Vickers, summing up, ‘is that this doctor fellow of yours thinks this blow was struck by a third party, as it were?’
‘Dr Costas is very strongly of the view that the … the injury was not something the deceased could have inflicted upon himself, either by accident or design.’
‘So he couldn’t have slipped?�
� persisted Mr Vickers meditatively. A thought seemed to occur to him, for he said: ‘Any good is he, this Dr Costas chap?’
‘He is a doctor of the very first rate,’ replied the hotel proprietor tersely.
‘I suppose you’ll be wanting us to remain here?’ said Mr Vickers. ‘Just ’til the police have had a word with us, like. No question of me leaving now, eh?’ He gave the hotel proprietor an unpleasant leer. ‘Not that I’m very minded to stay, seeing as how you treated me last night. Shocking, that’s what I call it. I’ve a good –’
‘That will do, Mr Vickers,’ said Mr Kettering. ‘I’d be obliged if you would kindly be quiet and sit down. I don’t need to tell you that this is a pretty ghastly affair and I don’t need you to make it any worse.’
Mr Vickers snorted but made no further protest, instead returning to his table while mumbling something derogatory under his breath.
‘I have not contacted the local police,’ said Mr Kettering, addressing his guests as a whole. ‘Instead I have sent for an acquaintance of mine in Athens, who is in the civilian city police force. Murder is much more in his line.’
‘In Athens? Good lord!’ exclaimed Ron. ‘It’ll take him an age to get here.’
‘A couple of days at most,’ said the hotel proprietor quickly. ‘But I’m sure you will agree with me that this is a … a most delicate matter which needs to be handled carefully.’
There was a long pause as everyone reflected on this statement, and then Ron said: ‘Look here, Kettering –’
‘I do not propose that you all be kept waiting,’ said the hotel proprietor hurriedly. ‘That’s to say that we all just sit here doing nothing. Indeed,’ he added before anyone could interrupt, ‘nothing could be further from the truth. I have in fact, on behalf of Hotel Hemera, engaged Lady Belvedere to investigate this case in her capacity as a private enquiry agent of very great reputation.’
Murder on Skiathos Page 18
