“When did you realize, Victoria?”
Rachel and Victoria looked at each other. “It was Wednesday,” said Rachel at last. “We were sitting, talking things over, after Gregory made her speech; Toria, do you remember? You said that Irene couldn’t have got hold of any of the poison, because she hadn’t been near the table where we were doing the hat.…”
“And then I suddenly realized that she might have kept back some of what she picked up off the floor; but I was just going to say that even so she couldn’t have murdered Doon because she’d thought, as I thought, that the lunch was for Gregory, and it flashed upon me that the poison might not have been meant for Doon at all, but for Gregory. The detective thought the same thing afterwards about me.”
“I saw it at the same moment,” said Rachel, from the bed.
“And Judy …?”
“I saw you as you were picking up the crystals, Irene, from the showroom carpet; and I saw your face.… Of course, I didn’t understand until much later, and by that time Doon was dead. While I was making up my mind what to do, Rachel told me that she knew, too, and that if we weren’t going to tell Mr. Charlesworth, we must keep the whole thing an absolute secret and not let you guess that we knew.…”
“Why not?” said Irene, staring at her.
Rachel looked embarrassed, but she said, gravely: “We didn’t know then, Irene, that you hadn’t intended to murder Doon—or rather Gregory. Mr. Charlesworth told the Dazzler on the day of the inquest that the murderer wouldn’t kill anyone else unless they knew too much. It suddenly came to me, while I was dressing for the funeral, that I had noticed Judy standing at the door of the mannequins’ room, while we were picking up the poison; I thought she might have put two and two together, so on the way to the funeral I asked her if she knew; and she said that she’d seen us picking up the crystals. I told her that we must both say nothing to anybody about our suspicions; but when Victoria began to get into a mess over your attempt at suicide, of course we couldn’t allow that. We talked it over at odd moments in the shop to-day, and this evening we got hold of Toria and agreed to meet you here and tell you that we couldn’t let Victoria suffer to protect you.”
Victoria looked miserable. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t let it go on a little longer.…”
“No, no, darling, of course not,” said Irene. She looked at them wistfully. “It was terribly loyal and marvellous of you all.”
“It was terribly wrong of us all,” said Rachel, without a smile. “I don’t know what we’d have done in the end, Irene; I think we all expected that the police would inevitably find out, and we didn’t want to feel responsible for—for giving you up. Each of us had something to be grateful to you for; we were all so fond of you.…”
“Well, we just couldn’t give information against you,” said Judy, “that was all. We knew you were suffering; it wasn’t as if you were just going gaily on and showing no remorse or anything.…”
“I’ve never been through such hell in all my life,” said Irene, looking up into their eyes, twisting her little hands. “The letters were the last straw; knowing that they were true, having you all so good to me; when I went to bed after the party at Gregory’s, I felt I just couldn’t go on. Gregory had given me a box full of sleeping powders and it seemed the best and happiest and easiest way out; I sat up in bed and tipped the powder all into the glass and drank it down; I hardly thought at all. Then, just as I was fading off to sleep, I realized dimly that I hadn’t left any sort of message to say what I was doing. We’d been living in such a world of poison and suspicions and dreadfulness that it came to me that perhaps nobody would realize I’d done it myself and that one of you might be suspected. I was getting drowsier and drowsier and I couldn’t drag myself out of bed to write a note, but with a last sort of dying effort I took the edge of my sheet and wiped round the outside of the glass, and then I gripped it hard with my hand to show that my fingers only had touched it. That was the last thing I remember before I woke up in hospital. I couldn’t understand what had happened, but when I realized that I’d been saved, I had the sense to close my eyes and think things over before I said anything.”
“Naturally you couldn’t have admitted that you’d tried to commit suicide, or the police would have begun to realize why you’d done it?”
“No, of course. And then, when they found the confession … who could have put that there?”
“I thought you’d written it yourself?” said Victoria, staring.
“No, of course I didn’t. I’ve just explained that to you. This afternoon that man Smithers came and questioned me again and he told me that you were supposed to have been in my room; I thought perhaps you’d guessed what had happened and had written the message then.…”
“I never even saw the message,” said Victoria. She went and sat beside Rachel on the bed. “I did go into your room, because on my way down from Gregory’s I suddenly realized that it had been foolish to put an overdose of sleeping draught right into your hands, as it were, when you were already in a state of such depression. I imagined you doing just what you say you did do—the others hadn’t thought of it, but then they didn’t know what I knew about you; at least Gregory didn’t, and it was she who suggested giving you the extra powders. As I’d got the key, I thought I would just slip into your room and see if you were all right; if you’d been awake I could have given you a second powder and put the rest away.…”
“I suppose I had taken the stuff by that time. I didn’t see you come in.”
“Yes, as soon as I got there I saw that I was too late; the packets were empty, unfolded on the table. I picked up the glass, more or less automatically, and looked at the dregs, and I suppose at the same time I must have put the key down on the table—that’s where it was found. I was just going to rush to the telephone for a doctor when suddenly I thought: ‘What’s the use?’ I thought that it would be too cruel to wake you up to face all the horror of a trial and—well, at best, prison and disgrace. I thought you had chosen your own way out and perhaps it was the best one, after all.”
“Victoria, you might have got into terrible trouble for leaving me like that?”
“She did,” said Rachel.
“I didn’t know about it, Toria. They didn’t tell me in the hospital.…”
“No, I know, my dear. It’s all right, don’t worry.”
“I couldn’t believe that anybody could be so—so generous and brave,” said Irene, tears in her eyes.
“It wasn’t really,” said Victoria, a little impatiently. “I didn’t think for a moment that anyone would find out I’d been in the room; when they did I thought for my owns sake I’d better stick it out and not admit it if I could possibly help it; but, of course, when I realized that you were still alive—well, then I was terrified. I couldn’t own up if I’d wanted to, because it would have meant explaining why I’d left you to die.”
“But she’s got to explain now, Irene,” said Rachel, coming and standing with Judy by the mantelpiece. “Victoria’s under suspicion for Doon’s murder, because they think she tried to kill you.”
“You wouldn’t want anybody to suffer for what you did, would you?” said Judy, anxiously. “Least of all Toria, when she’s been so marvellous.”
Irene was on her feet, staring at them with big blue eyes, her face white and terrified: “Of course not; of course … I didn’t know, I didn’t realize…. I’ll go to the police…. I’ll tell them it was me.…”
Judy turned away and buried her face in her hands. Victoria said, humbly: “It isn’t my fault, Irene. I wanted to go on with it, but Rachel and Judy think things have gone too far. They won’t keep silence any more. We thought we should warn you first and—and bring you this.…” She thrust a small white packet into Irene’s hand.
Irene looked down at it stupidly. “What is it?”
“Morphia,” said Victoria.
Irene smiled for the first time that evening; the despair seemed to have lifted from her and
she spoke quite coolly, handing the package back. “No, you keep it, darling. It’s all right, I’ll do what you mean me to do, but I won’t risk using anything of yours. The night that Doon died I went to a little chemist behind the shop and bought some oxalic acid and hid it away in case anything went wrong.…”
Judy looked up, startled. “Irene, you can’t do that. It’s the most ghastly death; you didn’t see her, but poor Doon …”
“Yes, exactly—poor Doon!” said Irene, still in her cool, quiet voice. “It’s only fair, isn’t it? You people go away and leave me now, and I’ll write it all out quietly, so that there can be no more mistakes, and to-morrow morning you can wake up knowing that all my troubles are over.” She added, smiling again: “The spirit said, ‘Take the rose.’ Do you think this is what he meant?”
“No,” said a voice, and Charlesworth stood at the door.
Fifteen
1
IRENE snatched at the packet in Victoria’s hand and, tearing it open, put her hand to her mouth. Charlesworth caught her wrist and forced it back.
“Mr. Charlesworth,” implored Victoria, “let her! Let her take it! It won’t hurt you and she can’t go through all this horror of trials and things.…” She put her hand on his arm and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Let her end it in her own way! I beg of you.…” And as he shook his head, she added desperately: “You told me you loved me—well, for my sake … don’t make her go through a trial, and—and be condemned and—and—hanged.…”
Irene was frightened again now, but she said, looking straight at Charlesworth and standing very still: “I killed Doon.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Charlesworth, cheerfully.
Irene stared at him. “But I did; for heaven’s sake don’t let’s have any more mistakes and misunderstandings; I did kill her; I poisoned her.”
“No, you didn’t,” repeated Charlesworth, smiling. “You’re a very foolish and naughty girl, and how we’re going to cover up your misdeeds goodness knows.” He looked at Bedd, who had sidled in and now stood quietly just inside the door. “Unless we can persuade the sergeant to enter into a conspiracy with us!”
“I’m ’ere to obey orders, sir,” said Sergeant Bedd, with a grin.
“As for you three,” said Charlesworth, beaming round upon the others as they stood in a bewildered row behind Irene, “I’m ashamed of you, conniving at suicides all over the place. And your detection is no better than your ethics; what about that forged confession? You haven’t worked that in yet, and you can’t leave a case with loose ends lying around.”
“But Irene says …” faltered Victoria.
“Irene knows nothing about it. Irene put a few crystals on Doon’s food, we know, but somebody else put a more than lethal dose.…”
“Then I didn’t—I really didn’t?…” Irene swayed and caught at the mantelpiece for support. “It wasn’t really I who caused Doon’s death?”
“You didn’t even contribute towards it,” said Charlesworth, looking with pitying eyes at her white face.
“I think I’d better put her to bed,” said Victoria, taking Irene’s arm. “She’s been through a terrible time and she really isn’t fit to stand any more.” As Charlesworth moved towards the door, she added: “I won’t be long. Don’t go away without me. I want to talk to you.”
“And I want to talk to you,” said Charlesworth. “Come on,” he said to Rachel and Judy, “we’ll wait for her outside.”
Toria tucked Irene up in bed and bade her a gentle good-night. “Don’t worry any more, my dear. It was a terrible thing to have done, and utterly unlike you, but it’s over now and God knows you’ve suffered enough. You’ll be going off to Deauville and life will start all over again. Judy and Rachel and I are the only people who know, and we won’t tell; you’ll be safe and happy in your new life and, even if things are never quite the same between us all, at least we can meet sometimes and still be friends.”
Irene sat up in bed. “Victoria, I couldn’t go to Deauville. I couldn’t benefit by Doon’s death! I didn’t mean to kill her, it’s true, and it seems now that I really didn’t, in the end; but I don’t see how I can …”
“The spirit said, ‘Take the rose!’” said Victoria and, smiling, closed the door.
2
Charlesworth was standing alone outside the flats. “I’ve sent the other two home with Bedd,” he said. “I wanted a word with you, so I’ll see you home and then I’ve got to meet Smithers and … well, make this arrest, you know.” He took her arm and they walked down the steps to his car. “There’s a guard watching the place, of course, and Smithers is doing a bit of final checking up, though I haven’t any doubt as to the results. I wanted to get one or two things straight first, and when I found Irene had left the hospital I was afraid of what might happen. I followed her to the séance—have you ever heard such rot as the Indian boy talked?—and then I followed you back here. Since then I’m afraid I must plead guilty to a spot of eavesdropping. I ought to have interfered sooner, but I thought she deserved a few bad moments before it was all cleared up for her.…”
“It isn’t cleared up for me, Mr. Charlesworth,” said Victoria, as she climbed into the little car. “Who?…”
“I don’t owe you any consideration at all, Victoria, after the dance you’ve led me, holding back vital clues, telling the most awful fibs.…”
“Yes, but Mr. Charlesworth, you must tell me. Who?…”
They came to Irene’s “corner” and followed the bus route south. “All right,” said Charlesworth, automatically correcting a small skid on the wet road, “you’ve asked for it and here it is: it was somebody who, on Wednesday morning of last week, was closeted in Bevan’s office, resisting his attempts to kiss her. It was you, Victoria.”
Victoria spoke before the full significance of what he said had dawned upon her. “That wasn’t me. That was Rachel.”
“But you said, ‘Not a sausage’ like Aileen does, and laughed like you always laugh when you copy her.”
“Ray copies her too. I remember on that very day Irene said she couldn’t tell us apart and that we soon shouldn’t be able to talk the King’s English ourselves.…”
“Then it was Rachel.”
“If you mean to suggest that it was Rachel who killed Doon, it certainly wasn’t,” said Toria, sharply. “Why should she, anyway?”
“Because Doon had been blackmailing her. I found a letter among Doon’s papers, a letter from Rachel threatening thunder and lightning and all sorts of things.” He pulled it out of his pocket.
“You found this among Doon’s papers? Good lord, this wasn’t written to Doon—it was to Bevan. It was never intended for anyone but Bevan.”
“Why was it ever written?”
“Because Rachel’s an idiot. She’s so impulsive and ready to fly off the handle, Mr. Charlesworth, but it doesn’t mean a thing, honestly it doesn’t. It all happened a long time ago; Bevan was rather keen on Rachel and she quite liked him until she found him out. She had dinner with him one evening and went back to his flat and—well, Mr. Charlesworth, Rachel’s a married woman and all that and Bevan’s quite an attractive sort of man, I suppose, when he’s on his best behaviour. I don’t say that anything very dreadful took place, but the point is that Rachel is in the thick of her divorce now, and it’s terribly important to her to get the custody of her child and what not, and she was terrified of anything leaking out. On the night that Doon died she got back to her flat and found that her husband had been there and had asked the kid questions about her and Bevan. She wrote a frantic note to Bevan, and posted it before midnight, asking him to see her about it next morning and—well, there it is, you can read it for yourself. It must have been in his pocket when he gave you the rest of the letters of Doon’s.”
“How do you know he gave them to me?” asked Charlesworth.
“He told us so himself,” said Victoria, laughing. “He said you led him up the garden path and let him make a fool of himself p
retending to look for the letters when he already had them, and you knew it. Poor old Doon used to write poetry and stuff; he thinks she must have destroyed it, because he couldn’t find it there, but he, rather decently, I think, didn’t want it found, for her sake.”
“I wondered at the time why he should have taken so much trouble for the letters,” said Charlesworth. “They were a bit lively, but they didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”
“Anyway, Mr. Charlesworth, the note had nothing to do with Doon. You didn’t really think Rachel had killed her?”
“Oh, no, not really,” said Charlesworth, still laughing. “I was just getting a little of my own back for all those awful lies you told me.”
“You devil—you terrified me! But now, do tell me, honestly …”
“Well, then, think for a moment. Lots of people had motives, but who had the most serious motive of all? Mrs. ’Arris had a grievance about fish, Mr. Cecil had lost his boy friend, Bevan was getting tired of his mistress, Judy had had a small tragedy, perhaps rather a big tragedy, but that was a long time before; Macaroni had had a little worry that you will never know anything about; but who was it who had lost Bevan to Doon’s superior charms? Who had lived with Bevan and loved Bevan and battened on Bevan before Doon took him away?”
“Gregory!” said Toria.
“Gregory had no mercenary claims on Bevan; but there was one person who, in losing him, lost everything. She got someone to make up for it afterwards; but perhaps she didn’t forget … perhaps she didn’t forgive!” He lifted his hands for a moment from the steering-wheel and waved them dramatically in the air.
Victoria regarded him in amazement: “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Charlesworth.”
“I’m talking about Aileen,” said Charlesworth, and now he was perfectly grave.
3
Victoria turned right round in her seat to stare at him. “Aileen! Aileen never lived with Bevan; she doesn’t care tuppence about him. She’s terribly proper and, anyway, she’s potty on Arthur.”
Death in High Heels Page 22
