Keep It Quiet

by Richard Hull

  Ford’s mouth fell open. He had no desire to explain that, after the certificate had been signed, both he and Anstruther had become aware that the vanilla was nothing to do with it, nor was he going to talk about the blackmailing letters. He plunged deeper into the mess.

  ‘I suppose you are right. He must know. But as you yourself have said, Anstruther is like the proverbial oyster. He impressed on me very firmly that it was heart failure, but in such a way that I was inclined to think that he knew it was not; so that whether he knows or not, I do not. But after all, sir, what does it matter? If it was heart failure, there’s an end of it. And if Benson did – did actually poison him by mistake, wouldn’t it be much better to leave it at that?’

  ‘Do you realise that if he did, you are making yourself an accessory after the event to the crime of manslaughter at the least?’

  ‘But it wasn’t a crime, it was an accident.’

  ‘Not in the eyes of the law.’

  ‘Then the law’s–’

  ‘No, the law is not an ass. That is the silliest remark anyone ever made.’

  ‘But isn’t it in Dickens? Well, sir, anyhow, there it is. Personally I shall stick to it that it was heart failure, and so will Anstruther, and I really with all respect suggest that if you could possibly leave it at that, it would do no harm. But there is one thing I do beg of you, and that is that you will not worry Benson. Whatever happens to law and justice and all those sort of things, we cannot have the cooking upset.’

  ‘Worry? Worry? I never worry anyone. But as to the main matter, it all depends.’

  ‘Depends on what?’

  ‘On what I think of Anstruther. I shall first take the trouble to cultivate his acquaintance.’

  When next Anstruther and Cardonnel met it would be a little hard for a dispassionate observer in possession of all the facts to decide which was spider and which was fly. But as for Ford, there was very little difficulty in describing his position. His mentality resembled with considerable fidelity that of a rabbit which has been mesmerised by two snakes simultaneously.

  Moreover, by way of making quite certain that his position was an unenviable one, he decided to give both of them good cause to dislike him. Having already given Anstruther away to a considerable extent, he considered it only fair to warn him that Cardonnel was after him. He wrote him a very carefully worded note.

  In it he implied that some danger was liable to come from that direction, but he worded it so carefully and so obscurely, from a desire not to put Anstruther on his guard about the books for one thing, and for another to avoid committing himself in any way on paper, that it was almost incomprehensible. On the whole the impression on the doctor’s mind was that Cardonnel was hard on his track in the matter of the death of Pargiter. He did not like it at all.

  24

  ‘The Ways Of Melanesia’

  When it came to a display of agility, as it were, with foils, Anstruther had one advantage over Cardonnel. He did know that he was on the defensive as well as on the offensive. He knew that he had to conceal everything connected with Pargiter’s death, and he also knew that he intended to produce an actual physical counter-attack. Moreover, though he was undoubtedly impeded by having committed a murder, he had the advantage of having discarded all the recognised rules and of allowing himself the choice of any and every weapon. His only limit – but it was a very material one – was that he must not be found out.

  But if Cardonnel suffered from a complete ignorance that he was in any danger, Anstruther was under the disadvantage of misunderstanding entirely the object at which his adversary was aiming. He thought he had to ward off an investigation into the crime he had committed. Actually Cardonnel, a man who liked to deal with one thing at a time, was so immersed in his investigation into the disappearance of the circulating library books that he had relegated even the matter of Morrison’s death to a secondary place, but then Cardonnel was a man who was always in danger of attaching too high an importance to trivialities.

  It was this lack of a sense of proportion that caused any conversation between the two of them to be extremely confused. In the most casual question, Anstruther would imagine there must be some deep trap, while the questions which, to Cardonnel, were really full of significance were answered readily enough; in fact sometimes so glibly and with so unexpected a reply, that Cardonnel, the victim of a preconceived theory, was apt to think that they were answered untruthfully with the definite object of throwing him off the scent.

  There was, for instance, the question of Anstruther’s female relatives. When he discovered that the doctor was a bachelor and never played bridge, Cardonnel had had to abandon the point, which was not one as to the accuracy of which he had ever been deeply committed, that the presence of the books was explained away by the analogy of the second-hand packs of cards. But there was still left the birthday present in May.

  With the absence of a wife, went also some of the possibilities of a sister-in-law actually existing. It was with regret, too, whilst trying to lead the conversation to the subject of cricket and the exploits of the Notts eleven via the subject of village matches and practice in the garden, that Cardonnel learned that no cricket was ever played in the home of Anstruther père.

  ‘What, didn’t you knock a ball about with your brothers?’

  ‘I had no brothers. Besides, I was brought up in London.’

  This was doubly annoying. An absence of brothers eliminated the last chance of the existence of a sister-in-law, and if the man was brought up in London, he did not live in Nottingham. It was almost trebly annoying, since Cardonnel, prizing his reputation for intelligence, objected to fishing with quite so inane a question and bringing up a net that was not only empty but more than empty, if such a thing were possible. Even Anstruther seemed to feel the conversation was futile. He stirred in his chair, and added:

  ‘And even my sister never played tennis.’

  Suddenly he noticed that the remark had interested Cardonnel extremely. He appeared to be asking, with a complete lack of gallantry, how old the lady was. At least he seemed to want to know something about her birthday. Anstruther became suddenly cautious. It was years since he had seen his sister Violet, and as to when her birthday was he had no idea, nor had he in fact sent her a birthday present for years and years. But since it was impossible that such a point could ever interest his questioner in itself, there must be some deep reason for it.

  Finally he decided that Cardonnel must be developing a theory that Violet Anstruther in some way provided a motive for his having wanted to murder Pargiter. As there was not the slightest chance that the two had ever met, he had no objection to so perfect a mare’s nest being completely explored. The more time Cardonnel wasted on that, the better! And since the best way to arouse curiosity was to withhold information, he became acutely mysterious.

  Of course the more enigmatic he became, the more Cardonnel felt convinced that he was on the right scent. He frankly did not believe that anyone could have forgotten the date of his sister’s birthday. He had never done so himself. But then Cardonnel was the kind of man who knows his own size in gloves and is amazed to find that others are not equally well informed.

  Eventually, driven nearly desperate by Anstruther’s evasions, he was forced to go to Somerset House for the information he required, and when he found that the lady was actually born in May, he became convinced that his theory was perfectly correct. As to her brother’s denials of any knowledge as to her literary tastes, he simply did not believe them.

  So far Anstruther had detected no signs of danger in the frequent and rather boring conversations to which he was subjected. He had no great objection to making Cardonnel’s acquaintance, and that the first steps to doing so should be taken by the lawyer was all to the good. It would make it seem more natural that he should be near him if, later on, he wanted to be. For the present, though, he had postponed the administration of even the smallest dose of poison. It would be better to let things die down,
if possible, first.

  He had just practised occasionally the insertion of an occasional grain of calomel so as to acquire the knack of salting his neighbour’s food and drink, but so far as he could make out, he was only improving Cardonnel’s health – which was irritating. Still, what was practised with the subchloride could be carried out later with the very different perchloride. Meanwhile he listened patiently and, if possible, alertly to Cardonnel’s conversation.

  It was a curious form of conversation. It seemed to consist more and more of questions, and of questions without the slightest point. There was, for instance, an insistence on Nottinghamshire, which, to his dying day, Anstruther never understood. He gathered that Cardonnel was deeply interested in everything connected with the county. One evening he had even gone to the length of commenting on the fact that the evening paper mentioned that a reserve centre-forward had been transferred from Torquay United to Notts Forest – a matter which could not possibly have been of the slightest moment. As Anstruther had, as far as he knew, never set foot in the county, or taken the slightest interest in professional football or any other sport, he found it incredibly dreary. Still it was better than a discussion on the works of Beethoven.

  His final conclusion as to Cardonnel’s motives reflected credit on his ingenuity and on his respect for his companion. Cardonnel, he decided, was lulling him into a sense of complete confidence by applying the drug of utter and complete boredom. Finally, when he was weary beyond belief of this senseless chatter, the real questions would begin to come; and by then he would be so accustomed to answering, that he would do so again without thinking.

  And when at last the significant question did come, he was more than ever convinced that he was right. It came so naturally and easily. He had been for once off his guard, half dozing, and when he found Cardonnel searching for the name of a book, without thinking, he had automatically supplied it. The Ways of Melanesia, it was called, by J. S. Christie.

  It seemed such an innocent remark; he had, of course, returned the book to the club long ago. As he said it, he could think of no reason why he should pretend not to know it. It was not until he saw the carefully erased smile that flickered across Cardonnel’s face that he became certain that there was danger. Too late he remembered that in it was that fascinating description of the effects of wood-poisons. Even his impassive face must have for a moment showed his horror at the slip, for he was almost sure that in Cardonnel’s eyes was triumph.

  And so indeed there was. Not that Cardonnel, never having read a word of it, was able to connect its contents with the events that had happened, but simply that it was a moral certainty that this was the book from which Hughes believed that he had seen Anstruther removing the marker. That the suspected ‘borrower’ was familiar with the name of it and of its author was a very strong link in the chain, and when you added the obvious discomfiture from which the man was suffering as a result of having admitted so trivial a fact, well, it was time to report progress!

  The only person to report to being Ford, Cardonnel did so. He even took the trouble to write it.

  ‘I think’, he wrote, ‘that I have made several strides in my investigation. At any rate, I am now quite sure that our friend was responsible for the temporary disappearance of The Ways of Melanesia – it was away for some weeks, was it not? – and I have also found out that it is to a sister that he presents the novels. Do you think you could arrange to have him discreetly watched, or is that impossible? I fear that it is. In which case, I shall have to go on talking to him. I find him a very dull companion.’

  The receipt of this note put Ford into a very considerable state of alarm. He had got it into his head that it was most undesirable that Anstruther should be watched in any way; supposing that the blackmailer was forcing the doctor to do something? There was no knowing what Cardonnel might not find out! He cursed the day that he had so inadvisedly placed any confidence in that pertinacious man, and, in his turn, sat down to write a friendly warning. It was rather a difficult note to write, because he had no proof that Anstruther was taking any books, and he therefore did not like to make too definite a statement. Comforting himself with the reflection that a wink was as good as a nod, he wrote to Anstruther:

  Our friend seems to think that there is some significance in The Ways of Melanesia. Of course I am quite sure that he is following a dead scent. Still, I thought that I ought just to tell you that you cannot be too careful in the matter.

  ‘Very mild weather for this time of year, is it not? Our friend, by the way, was saying that he found it rather relaxing, but personally I have not noticed it.

  He signed it ‘Yours very sincerely’, and decided that no one was better at controlling a very delicate situation. To Cardonnel, he wrote his congratulations, adding that as to convicting the thief, he feared that they were far from proof, and ought not to count their chickens. He was afraid that it would be impossible to have Anstruther actually watched. Did Cardonnel think that if a discreet warning were conveyed to the doctor, it would be possible that the trouble would cease?

  Cardonnel’s reply was almost a telegram. ‘Certainly not. I have nowhere near concluded my investigations.’

  25

  A Breach Of Confidence

  On Anstruther, however, the effect of the correspondence was far more pronounced.

  He had entered into the affair of baiting Ford so light-heartedly and once he had found how easy it was to force one man to do his will, he had thought that so many other things would be easy. Gradually, bit by bit, he had allowed himself to fall into one temptation after another. He had removed one by one the repressions that custom and fear had previously imposed on him, until the picture of the entertainment he was going to derive had become all-absorbing. In the future his victims were to be, not only Ford, not only all the members of the Whitehall club, but all the world with whom he came in contact.

  So that, when his first experiment had ended apparently disastrously in Pargiter’s death, he was constantly swaying between two opinions. At one moment he was full of caution. Nothing mattered except to conceal what had happened. The next, convinced that there was no danger, he was once more envisaging the prospect of further experiments and so fully by now was he under the control of his own illusions, that he found it impossible to relinquish them. It was hard enough to postpone his revenge on a world that did not fully appreciate him. That quite considerable number of conceited members who had seen him come into the Club house, sit there, and go, neglected and alone; who had avoided him deliberately and insultingly; why should they, simply because of the inquisitiveness of one member and one waiter, not suffer the inconveniences he had planned for them?

  In a white heat of hatred, but with a mind steadily clearing, he sat down to plan. The second objective should be Cardonnel, but the first should be Hughes. He would tolerate that man no longer. With nervous fingers he tapped on the typewriter with unnecessary violence. For the first time he allowed a note of hate to creep into the letters written to Ford.

  So now you see the effects of your folly. Hughes is still with you, but Pargiter is dead, the direct result of your disobedience.

  Why?

  Why have you disobeyed the orders I have given you? There can be only one reason. Hughes, I imagine, has some hold over you. You would never risk the consequences of disobedience merely for the sake of standing between him and his deserts unless there were some valid cause.

  He may have some hold on you, but he has none on me. Hughes will go within the next forty-eight hours or there will be another accident. This time it will be your precious doctor friend who will suffer, and it will be of no avail if you tell him to avoid the club. I shall get him sooner or later.

  I shall not trouble you to give any signal that you intend to obey on this occasion, I shall expect to find it done.

  Anstruther sat back in his chair. It was, he knew, despite what he had just written, unlikely that Ford would crumple up at once, though why he should be so
obstinate about so unimportant a matter as the dismissal of one servant, even if the grounds for dismissing him had got to be manufactured, he could not imagine. Still, it had to be done, and if the secretary did not do it, he had, he thought, a plan to force his hand.

  It was not a plan that at first he liked, because it involved inconvenience to himself. Thinking of what he would do, he fell into a brown study. His eyes, always close together, seemed to get closer still. His mouth became a tighter and thinner line, and his hand gripped convulsively on the arm of the chair until the knuckles stood out white.

  By now he had turned his mind to his other objective. Cardonnel might have to come second in point of time, but very surely he was first in importance. He could not get the thought of Cardonnel out of his mind. Without taking sufficient reflection, he rashly let his fingers start tapping the typewriter again.

  And there is one other thing. I observe you, and I observe Anstruther even more, taking that man Cardonnel far too much into your confidence. You should be careful of Cardonnel. He knows too much already.

  He was grimly amused when that night Ford rang him up.

  The secretary was clearly alarmed, but at the same time was rather mysterious. Had Anstruther, he enquired, received a letter from a mutual friend?

  This was a point that the doctor had been thinking over carefully. On the whole he had decided to say he had not, since, despite the fact that on all previous occasions he had caused his blackmailer to send off a copy to himself, it was perhaps natural that he should not do so if he himself was the person threatened.

  Anyhow, natural or not – and it was a little difficult to decide how, in his capacity of imaginary blackmailer and poisoner, he ought to act towards himself in his equally imaginary character (in reality) of harassed medical man, driven by harsh fate and a cruel taskmaster – he had decided to feign complete ignorance.