‘If drugs were behind it, these were the alternatives: either Betty was murdered to prevent her revealing something dangerous to the murderer – probably that he trafficked in drugs, or to prevent her contaminating someone else with the drug-habit. You agree so far?’
Georgia cocked her head on one side, considering. ‘Yes, I think so. And you can cut out the second alternative straight away.’
‘Oh?’
‘The only possible victims she could have in the house – victims who couldn’t defend themselves, so to speak – were the children. Everyone tells us she was devoted to them, and we know she warned them against accepting cigarettes or candies. Obviously she was scared stiff of someone else doing it.’
‘Unless her potential victim was someone not in the house party at all.’
‘We can’t start worrying about that now. It’s up to Blount.’
‘O.K. Then she was murdered because she knew something dangerous to the murderer. Who does that give us?’
‘It gives us a drug-trafficker,’ replied Georgia. ‘Maybe the person, probably, who threatened to corrupt the children if Betty didn’t keep her mouth shut. A person with some sort of hold over her, other than the drug-habit, or Betty would have exposed him before – as soon as she decided to try and get cured of the habit.’
‘Yes. Another thing suggesting this person had some hold over her is that she warned the children in such general terms. Otherwise, why not tell them “Don’t take any cigarettes from X”? Why not, in fact, blow the gaff to Hereward and have X turned out of the house? The next question is, why did X murder her when he did? What had just happened to make it urgently imperative?’
‘It was the night you reconstructed the Scribbles episode. Apart from the maid and the murderer, Bogan was the last person to see her alive. He was in her room just before dinner.’
‘Suggesting that something came out, either during my reconstruction or Bogan’s visit to her room, which decided X to kill her? It’s possible. But it doesn’t give X much time to have worked out the crime and cut off a length of rope, does it? Remember, they were all under each other’s eye from dinner-time till the party broke up for the evening.’
Georgia, lying back in her chair, pressed her fingers against her eyes. ‘I’m trying to remember,’ she said. ‘No, I can’t think of anything that happened at your séance which could have – unless it somehow gave away to X that you’re a detective.’
‘He waits till a detective is in the house before committing his murder?’
‘Yes. That won’t do. Forget it. Could she have been murdered because she took drugs, then, and X had just discovered it?’
‘That would point to Hereward or Andrew? To save the family name from dishonour? No, I don’t think that’s possible. Andrew doesn’t worry about the family name. Hereward does, but the scandal of her death, even if it had been accepted as suicide, would seem to him just as bad as the scandal of drug-taking.’
‘I agree. That brings us back to the first idea. X killed her to prevent her giving away their complicity over drugs. Is there any one of the house party who could have been her supplier?’
‘Eunice or Bogan. Dykes very unlikely. Hereward or Charlotte more unlikely still. Andrew impossible – he was out of the country when she started the habit.’
‘Take Eunice, then.’
‘Blount is checking up on her. He should be able to find out whether she’s a purveyor of the stuff. But I doubt if she’d have the resolution for a murder of this sort. And she’d not have enough to lose by exposure – she’s no special reputation, for instance. Besides, why should Betty want to give her away to the police? If Eunice had been supplying her, and Betty was now being cured of the habit, she’d just say: “No thanks, I don’t want any more of the stuff.” If Eunice then threatened to corrupt the children, Betty could have her chucked out of the house. No, Eunice wouldn’t risk being hung, just to stop Betty’s mouth. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘So we come back to Bogan?’
‘Now he’s a much sounder proposition. He’s got a tremendous reputation to preserve, and his large income depends on that reputation. It’s easy to construct a hypothetical case against him. Betty goes to him to be cured of the cocaine habit. He falls in love with her. She rejects his advances. He then turns on the heat. Several levers he could use against her. Threaten to expose her addiction to Dykes or her family; threaten the children; and, of course, if he’s devilish enough, he could have used the hypnosis treatment for the opposite of what it was intended for, or pretend he had done so – yes, that would explain his remark, “I’ve got you body and soul now, for ever.” And it’d explain the look of disgust your cousin noticed on her face.’
‘But why couldn’t Betty just refuse to have anything more to do with him, when he’d come out in his true colours?’
‘It mightn’t be so easy. Maybe she had to fight against the influence of the hypnosis. And there’s no doubt she was terrified by his threats against the children. It’d be no good just breaking off with him, if he’s as bad as we’re painting him, he’d bide his time and get the children later. So she’d need time to collect evidence damning enough to render him absolutely powerless. This is all very much on the line of Andrew’s theory, by the way. Now supposing she’d got her evidence and confronted him with it, a man in his position couldn’t afford to let her live, not an unstable character like Betty who might blow up on him at any moment.’
‘Well then,’ said Georgia. ‘It looks like Bogan if drugs were behind the murder, and Andrew if it was a sex crime. The Restoricks come in a bad third on the money motif.’
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
‘I’m not. I’m sure there’s a hopeless flaw in all this, something we’ve missed. I can’t see Andrew murdering his sister, in spite of all the plausible arguments we’ve trotted out in its favour. Can you?’
‘It’s difficult, certainly. What about Bogan, then?’
‘I wonder. He’s so correct, and impressive, and essentially colourless. We ought to know more about him. If he’s really our X, then he qualifies for Andrew’s description of a person who is absolutely evil. But –’
‘Funny. Those are just my reactions, too,’ Nigel interrupted. ‘I mean, his odd colourlessness. Opacity. Like a jelly fish. He’s obviously extremely able. He has personality, when he cares to switch it on. But what you remember about him is –’
‘He’s like a mansion with a caretaker in it. The caretaker shows you over. You see the family treasures, the portraits, the public rooms, and perhaps some of the private ones. Everything is spotlessly kept, in perfect order. But your attention wanders. You become insatiably curious about the family who inhabit it. The mansion gives you no clues to them –’
‘And then you hear the sound of wheels on the gravel drive, and you look out of a window and see seven devils rolling up in a barouche.’
Georgia laughed, a little uncertainly. Nigel went on:
‘But all these similitudes don’t tell us whether Bogan committed the crime. You were going to say –?’
‘Three things. If Bogan did it, why did he do it like that? Why not a more professional touch? He’s a doctor, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. That’s been worrying me too.’
‘Second, if he did it, how did the burnt papers come to be in his grate? You suggest Andrew planted them there, meaning us to think they were the written evidence against Bogan for which he killed Betty. O.K. But if Andrew planted them there, it implies he knew Bogan had done the murder. Why didn’t he just simply denounce Bogan?’
‘No. It doesn’t imply he knew Bogan had done the murder. Not necessarily. It could mean simply that he hated Bogan, knew Bogan had things he might wish to conceal, and wanted him arrested for the murder.’
‘All right. I give you that. My third point is this – if Bogan is the devil Andrew wants us to think he is, his diabolic career doesn’t begin and end with Elizabeth. The link between him and Betty – the
only one we’re certain of – is cocaine. Look for other cocaine links, find some of the other people he’s treated –’
Nigel, snapping his fingers, jumped to his feet, went to the telephone and looked up a number.
‘I’ve just remembered,’ he said. ‘Eunice mentioned a girl who went to him for a cure and was worse than ever in a few months. Hallo. Can I speak to Miss Eunice Ainsley? This is Mr Nigel Strangeways. Good evening, I wonder could you tell me the name and address of …’
A short conversation followed. Nigel put down the receiver, turned, made a face at Georgia.
‘Did you get it?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Oh yes, I got it.’
‘Don’t tell me she’s been murdered too.’
‘No. But Eunice says Blount asked her for the same information several days ago.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘Be a physician, Faustus: heap up gold,
And be eternis’d for some wondrous cure.’
MARLOWE
IT WAS NOT till a week later that Nigel heard the result of Blount’s investigations. During this period, he gave his mind a vacation from the case, he was convinced that the next step forward could not be taken till more evidence had been accumulated about Dr Bogan and Elizabeth, and he himself would only be wasting time on investigations for which Blount had far better facilities. A telephone conversation with the inspector assured him that the police were steadily raking over Elizabeth’s associations and Bogan’s practice.
Then, one morning when Georgia had just gone out to work on her refugees committee and Nigel was writing up his war diary, the telephone bell rang. It was Inspector Blount. He. wanted Nigel to invite Andrew Restorick and Will Dykes to dinner that evening – he himself would turn up later.
‘So I’m to be your stool pigeon,’ said Nigel. ‘Your decoy duck. Your stalking horse. Do I get expenses from the C.I.D.?’
‘I just thought it’d be – e’eh – cosier at your flat,’ said Blount and, laconic as ever, rang off.
Dykes and Andrew were both free that night, so Nigel was able to give Blount the all-clear. At 7.30 Andrew Restorick turned up. A few minutes later, an altercation in the street below announced the arrival of Will Dykes.
‘These damned popinjays!’ he exclaimed, after greeting the three of them. ‘How they love the war!’
‘Been getting into trouble with the police again?’ asked Nigel.
‘A special. I just shone my torch on the door to see if I’d got the right number, and some young busybody in uniform as good as told me I was Hitler in person. “Young man,” I said to him, “I was an anti-Fascist,” I said, “when you were cutting your wisdom teeth, if any, which I very much doubt.’”
Georgia giggled. ‘That didn’t go down too well, I expect.’
‘He said he was only doing his duty. I told him straight, “You can do your duty without losing your manners, my young cock,” I said. But there it is, give a petty bourgeois a little power and the next thing he’s throwing his weight about as if he was Goering. Yes, thank you, I don’t mind a glass of sherry. It’s bitter cold outside still.’
‘You’ll have another brush with the police soon,’ said Nigel. ‘Inspector Blount’s coming round after dinner.’
‘Oh, him. I don’t mind him. Getting used to the chap. We’ve been seeing quite a lot of each other lately.’
‘Have you? Did he tell you anything? How’s he getting on?’ asked Andrew.
‘He doesn’t give away information, he asks for it. Wanted a list of all the people I’d met in Betty’s company – that sort of thing. Well, I admire a chap that’s good at his job. Blount’s all right. But I wish he’d make up his mind to arrest me or call it off. It’s not nice having plain-clothes men hanging around your house. The neighbours talk, you see.’
Andrew’s eyes twinkled. ‘That’s a highly petty-bourgeois reaction on your part, Will.’
The novelist’s under-lip jutted out pugnaciously. His alert, intelligent eyes fastened upon Andrew. ‘Time you learnt the facts of life, Restorick,’ he said, ‘and one of them is that you need a lot of money before you can afford not to be respectable.’
‘That’s one in the plexus for me.’
‘Where I come from, the moral code’s simple enough – crude, I daresay, you’d call it – but it’s bound up integrally with the kind of life we have to live; it’s not artificially imposed and just formally accepted, like yours.’
‘If any, which I very much doubt,’ murmured Andrew.
‘There you are, you see? You can afford to be flippant at its expense. I don’t blame you. In a way you’re lucky. What I’m saying is, where I come from, you can keep the moral code or you can break it, but you can’t afford to laugh at it. Either you’re a wrong ’un or you’re not. And respectability’s a thing you fight to keep because you’ve had to fight to achieve it. But I’m afraid I’m talking too much,’ he said, with a pleasant grin at Georgia. He got up and walked over to the bookcases. ‘Some lovely books you’ve got here. Hallo, what’s this? Henry James’ prefaces. Can I borrow it?’
‘Of course. You admire James?’
‘Yes, I suppose I do. Like a Tyneside dockie might admire the Taj Mahal. He’d hardly believe anything so elaborate could be real. All those elaborate states of mind and superfine relationships James describes – well, to me, it’s like conjuring drama out of thin air. Yes, I respect him for that. He makes so much out of such tenuous material. I like a chap who knows his job.’
At dinner, the talk was of books and the war. They kept off the subject of Elizabeth Restorick, but, as the meal was ending, Dykes’ growing distraitness and a sort of controlled excitement which made Andrew’s voice even quieter and his movements more leisurely, showed how important to them was Blount’s coming visit.
The inspector, when he arrived, was at his most genial. He smacked his lips over Nigel’s brandy, patted his bald head vigorously, warmed his ample bottom at the fire, and in general gave a lively representation of Father Christmas in mufti, which was, under the circumstances, a little sinister.
‘Aha. Brandy. Noble liquor, noble liquor. H’mm’ff! What bouquet! Eh, well. I hope my men have not been giving you any trouble, Mr Dykes.’
‘He’s just been telling us they’ve ruined his reputation with his neighbours,’ said Georgia.
‘Och, that’s too bad, too bad. Have to tell ’em to go away. Must look after all you good people, though.’
‘D’you mean you expect the murderer will have a shot at one of us?’ asked Andrew.
Will Dykes laughed harshly. ‘When he says “look after”, he means “keep an eye on!”’
‘Oh, well now. Not always. An innocent man doesn’t mind a little inconvenience of that sort. Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, as the old tag has it.’
Nigel ostentatiously removed the brandy bottle from Blount’s reach. ‘When you start quoting the classics, it’s generally time to break up the party. I suppose you didn’t come here just to soak my brandy?’
‘No, indeed. Scandalous suggestion. I thought you’d be interested maybe to hear what we’ve been doing. Quite a lot of information came in this last week. By Mr Dykes’ good offices, and Miss Ainsley’s, I’ve been able to get in touch with most of Miss Restorick’s friends. We’ve also made inquiries into Dr Bogan’s affairs.’ Blount took off his pince-nez, polished them, gazed keenly round the company, and resumed. ‘I’ve asked for Mr Restorick and Mr Dykes to be here to-night, because they were both closely involved with the – e’eh – with Miss Restorick. I may need their co-operation later. You all realize, of course, that what I’m going to tell you is for your ears alone. And you mustn’t assume that it’s necessarily relevant to the murder.’
They all nodded seriously. Will Dykes was fidgeting with a cigarette-rolling gadget. Andrew sat in the quivering, intent trance of a terrier watching a rat-hole. Puffing noisily at one of Nigel’s cigars, Blount took up his tale. He first mentioned that Hereward’s own account of the Restorick f
inances had, after tactful inquiry elsewhere, been proved correct. A considerable percentage of Charlotte’s capital had been sunk in Polish holdings, so the invasion of that country had struck them very hard. Hereward’s own income, apart from the increased drain of income-tax upon it, had suffered little; but the estate, owing to his generosity rather than any inefficiency as a landlord, had been run at a loss for some time.
‘Your brother and sister-in-law had no objection, I should add, to my making these affairs public, Mr Restorick.’
Possibly not, thought Nigel, but why come out with the information now, in front of us all?
‘You didn’t seriously think Hereward and Charlotte could have killed Betty? For her bit of income?’ asked Andrew.
‘We have to explore every avenue. And there’s your money, too.’
‘My money?’
‘Well, someone tried to poison you, you’ll not be denying that, Mr Restorick?’
The blandness of Blount’s tone brought Nigel to attention. So that’s why –
‘It can’t be denied they had a strong motive for getting rid of you and your sister. We also know that Hereward went to your sister’s room the night she was murdered. And further, they had an opportunity for poisoning the milk, and the poison used belonged to your brother.’
Andrew’s thin, bronzed face took on a horrified expression.
‘My dear Inspector,’ he began, ‘surely you don’t really suppose my brother –’
‘You’re a light sleeper, Mr Restorick.’
‘I don’t see –’
‘Most people are who’ve knocked about the world and lived in dangerous places. I verified that, of course. I’ve also verified your own statement that you were out of England at the time when your sister began to develop the cocaine habit. What I’m getting at is this – how did it happen that a light sleeper like yourself wasn’t awakened by the sound of Mr Restorick knocking at his sister’s door and calling her name? Even suppose you had gone to sleep at all – it was only half an hour after you went to bed.’
The Case of the Abominable Snowman Page 16
