I Could Murder Her
Page 17
“But what was the noise outside—or did I dream that, too?” asked Madge. “It was like a bomb-”
“Now, don’t you get worrying your pore ’ead about bombs, Miss Madge. That there row was somebody a-falling downstairs—most likely that other chap, the chatty one. Calls ’im-self a detective, making an un’oly row like that.” She turned to Macdonald. “And if you takes my advice, you’ll go and pick im up and tell ’im orf proper, frightening decent people out of their skins like that.”
“All right. I’ll go and see about him,” said Macdonald cheerfully. He saw Madge’s black eyes fixed on him in sheer horror, and he spoke to her very gently: “Don’t worry, Miss Farrington. You were walking in your sleep. You passed me on the landing without even seeing me, You sit there and have a cup of tea. The noise which woke you up gave you a shock.”
He turned away and went out into the passage, shutting the kitchen door behind him. The light was on in the passage, and Reeves was bending over a man’s body. He glanced up at Macdonald.
“It’s Strange. The silly chump tripped over that torn carpet and took a header. He’s not dead, only knocked out. I’m just checking up on his legs and arms.” He was straightening Tony Strange’s limbs, running a practised hand over him, and he added: “I’ve bolted that door at the top of the stairs. Didn’t want the whole boiling of ’em down here. That Madge was sleepwalking. I saw her face when she crossed the hall. What’s the other old girl doing here?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d better leave them alone a bit. Madge Farrington’s nearly over the edge, and the old lady can do more for her at the moment than anybody else, I’ll go up and see the others,” replied Macdonald.
He went up the evil stairs, noting the rent where the stair carpet had been torn away when Tony Strange caught his foot in it and went headlong. Unbolting the door into the hall, Macdonald found Colonel Farrington, Anne Strange, and Joyce Duncan standing in a huddle, consternation on all their faces.
“I’m sorry you’ve been disturbed,” said Macdonald, “Mr. Strange went downstairs in the dark and tripped over the carpet. We don’t think he’s badly hurt, and Reeves and I will look after him. Will you all please go back to bed. or at any rate go to your rooms.”
“Has anybody been killed?” asked Joyce Duncan. She was shivering and her voice quavered. With her face devoid of make-up and her hair in a net she looked completely unlike the woman Macdonald had talked to the previous morning. Macdonald had seen old Mrs. Farrington’s body, and he realised that Joyce now looked exactly like her mother. All the youthful curves had gone out of her face and it looked old and rigid.
“Nobody has been killed, and there's nothing for you to worry about,” said Macdonald.
Colonel Farrington put a shaking hand on the Chief Inspector’s arm and uttered one word: “Madge?”
“Madge is in the kitchen. She’s not hurt, only upset by the unexpected noise,” replied Macdonald. “Now, once again, will you all please go back to your rooms.”
Anne Strange spoke suddenly. “Did Tony try to kill her? I’ve got to know. I’ve got to know.” Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned and fled upstairs, and Joyce followed her, saying: “Don’t be such a fool. Anne. You must be mad. . . .”
The old man looked at Macdonald despairingly and then threw up his hands. “My little Madge,” he groaned, “my little Madge. . . .” And then he, too, went back to the little dressing room where he had been sleeping since Mrs. Farrington’s death.
5
Macdonald went back to Reeves. “What d’you make of him?” he inquired, looking down at Tony Strange, who was now lying quite straight on the floor, with Reeves’ coat rolled into a pillow beneath his head and a baize tablecloth doing duty as a blanket, tucked neatly round him.
“He’ll do. Concussed a bit,” said Reeves. “I’m surprised he didn't break his neck. These stairs are hell’s own outfit. What about getting him up and putting him on the drawing-room sofa? It might save trouble if we remove him before he begins creating. I’ll keep him quiet while you have a word with Mrs. Thing.”
“That’s about it,” said Macdonald. “Let’s heave him up.”
Between them, both well accustomed to moving casualties and corpses, they got Tony Strange up the stairs which Reeves had called “hell’s own,” and laid him on the sofa in the drawing room, adding a chair for an extension and covering him with some additional coats borrowed from the hall. "
“He won’t come to for a bit,” said Macdonald, feeling the contused head with experienced fingers. “Go along upstairs and tell Maddox to be ready to come down if we want her. She’s been spending the night in Peter’s room.”
“I bet she’s not in Peter’s room now,” said Reeves, “or we should have had that other twin down here adding to the picnic. O.K. I’ll go and tell her. She’s a competent female, Maddox is.”
Macdonald stood in the hall until Reeves came down again, and then the Chief Inspector returned to the basement and opened the kitchen door.
Mrs. Pinks, closely buttoned in a large and shapeless coat, was sitting in the Windsor chair finishing a cup of tea. Madge was sitting in a chair by the table. Her head was sunk forward on her chest and her eyes were shut. Mrs. Pinks raised an admonitory finger. “Don't you wake her,” she .whispered. “She's fust gone off again. Me second was like that. Walked in ’er sleep reg’lar.”
Macdonald stood and looked at Madge. Her face was still pallid, but not with the shocking greenish pallor it had shown when she had stared at him a short while ago. Her breathing was quiet and regular. Standing there, watching her closely. Macdonald thought Mrs. Pinks was probably right. Madge was simply fast asleep.
He turned to the charwoman again and she whispered: “She’ll just put her head down on the table in two-twos and go on sleeping like that. Don't you wake her. She’s had about enough.”
Macdonald nodded. “I don’t want to wake her,” he murmured; “but I’ve got to talk to you.”
“O.K. Come in the scullery. I can ’ear if she moves then; an’ you might as well bolt that kitchen door while you’re about it.”
“No need. Reeves won’t let anyone come down here,” said Macdonald.
“Reeves? Oh—’im. I like ’im. Then you just come in ’ere and we can talk quiet, see?”
FOURTEEN
IN THE SCULLERY MACDONALD SAID: “You’d better tell me just why you’re here, Mrs. Pinks. Sit down. You’re tired, aren’t you?”
She nodded, her lined face more seamed than ever with weariness and distress, and sat down on a backless chair which she pulled from under the sink.
‘‘Reckon we’ve all ’ad about enough,” she said; “but grumbling don’t ’elp. I came back because of Miss Madge. I guessed what it was. It was yesterday I noticed it. Them drawers in the dresser, very neat she keeps ’em. One of ’em ’as ’er papers and tradesmen’s books and money in. She keeps the key inside the big tureen; nobody knows where it is but *er and me. She’s always trusted me, and not lost nothing by it neither, as she’d tell you ’erself. Well, yesterday she says to me, ‘Get the money for the baker out of my purse.’ ’Er purse is in that drawer, and I got the key out of the tureen. Well, ’er purse was there all right, and the money in it, so it wasn’t that Peter, but the drawer was all in a fair muddle as you never did see. and ’er cookery book she’s so careful of was all torn to ribbons.” Mrs. Pinks paused and then went on: “Well, it gave me a proper turn. I didn't say nothing, not wanting to upset ’er. I just got the money out and locked up the drawer and put the key aside till I ’ad a chance to tidy it up. When she went upstairs for a jiff I started putting the drawer straight. An’ in the middle of the muddle there was her passport she got when she thought of going away. She’d shown it to me, see. because ’er photo was such an ’oot. Always kept that locked away upstairs in ’er room, I know that. And there it was, all among the torn bits and that, proper crazy. What would you’ve made of it yourself?” she asked.
“I don
’t know,” said Macdonald. “You see, I don’t know her as well as you do.”
“Well, I do know er. She’s the tidiest creature going, and the most sensible. And look at it. all in a blooming fiddle-faddle. She must ’a done it ’erself. see. because of that there passport. An’ then I remember ’ow she told me as a kid she used to walk in ’er sleep, and my Liza does ditto. No end to the rum things that kid’ll do in ’er sleep if I don’t catch ’er at it. That’s it, I sez. She’s been walkin’ in ’er sleep, 'er being worried about the old lady’s death and that, so I’ll just slip back tonight and watch out. And ’ere I am, an’ a good thing too. if you asks me.”
“How did you get in?” asked Macdonald, and she looked him straight in the face.
“Latchkey. I got one for the back door. She cave it me herself.”
“Don’t they ever put the bolts on in this house?” asked Macdonald.
“Can't answer for upstairs, because I don’t know, but Miss Madge don’t shoot the bolts down here till she goes to bed. And I was here before then. Sat in the cupboard under the stairs so’s she shouldn’t see me. So now you know.”
“How long have you had the key to this house, Mrs. Pinks?”
“Nearly a year, now. And I knows all about what you’re thinking, so you needn’t bother to tell me.” She looked round quickly at the kitchen. “She’s moving. Goin’ upstairs agin. Let me go after 'er, just in case.”
“All right.”
She went into the kitchen, and over her shoulder Macdonald saw Madge walk to the kitchen door like an automaton. He suddenly remembered that the door at the top of the basement stairs was locked, and slipped out into the passage and blew cautiously into the speaking tube of the service lift.
“Reeves? Unbolt that door, quickly. Let her go up.”
He heard the bolt slip back a second later, and Madge went on slowly up the basement stairs with Mrs. Pinks behind her. Macdonald knew that Reeves would be on the alert, and the reliable Maddox was upstairs, so the Chief Inspector went back into the kitchen, found the key of the dresser drawer in the big tureen, and opened the drawer. It was as tidy as a drawer could be, with account books, ration books, bill file, purse, notecase, all arranged neatly on the smooth lining paper of the drawer. He was still thus employed when Mrs. Pinks reappeared and sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
“She went straight back to bed agin,” she said. “If this sort of thing goes on, she’s for it. No woman can stand too much. The time comes you just crack up. Don’t feel far orf it meself when all’s said and done.”
“Look here, Mrs. Pinks,” said Macdonald, “I wish you’d take your courage in both hands and give me a few straight answers, even though it does seem to go against the grain. What was the real situation between Mrs. Farrington and her stepdaughter? Was Mrs. Farrington fond of her at all?”
Mrs. Pinks sat and thought for a while. “All right,” she said.
“I’ll trust you. I may be doin’ the wrong thing, I don't know, but I’ll trust you. I reckon you’ve got more sense than most, and you been pretty decent so far. The old lady hated Madge. Hated her, see? And for why? Because she was jealous. The Colonel’s always been special fond of Madge and she of ’im, and it just made the old lady so mad there wasn’t nothing she wouldn’t’ve done to make trouble between ’em. As the Colonel got older ’e sorter turned to Madge, more an’ more. She understood ’im, and that’s more’n ’is wife ever done. Not that Mrs. F. wanted to get rid o’ Madge. Not much. Lazy as sin, Mrs. F. was, and smart with it. She knew she’d never get no one to run this ruddy ’ouse like Madge runs it. Cook and clean and everything smooth as clockwork. But Mrs. F. was always trying to show the Colonel what a mean, spiteful daughter ’e’d got. It’s got so’s Madge wouldn't never ’ardly put ’er nose abovestairs, there was always something if she did.’’
Macdonald nodded. “Yes. I understand all that. The stepdaughter-stepmother relationship has always been difficult. But you say that Mrs. Farrington tried to show that Madge was mean and spiteful. Wasn’t there more to it than that?’’
The old woman sighed. “All right, ’ave it your own way. Been talking to Tony, ’aven’t you? Mrs. F. wanted to make out Madge was crackers. To keep ’er under ’er thumb, see? She must never go away. Always got to be watched.”
“Yes. I see.” said Macdonald. “And now about Madge herself. You told me just now I’d got some common sense. So have you, so you might as well go on.”
“Suppose I might.” she said wearily. “Madge hated her back. Who wouldn’t? And she was afraid of ’er in a way. knowing what she was at. But Mrs. F. was much more afraid of Madge in some ways. Madge mustn’t never go into ’er bedroom. Never pass ’er on the stairs. Never be alone with ’er. I seen it. I know. You see, Mrs. F. knew Madge wasn’t crackers, knew it quite well. And she knew as ‘ow Madge saw through ’er, wiv ’er darling Madgie one minute and I’ll just ring up Dr. Baring about ’er the next. There it was, something shocking, and the pore old Colonel always pretending everything was O.K.”
There was silence for a moment, broken only by Mrs. Pinks’ slow, heavy breathing. At last she spoke again. “If Madge ’ad been queer in the ’ead, no matter ’ow little, I should ’a known it. I worked with ’er every day for three years. She talked to me. I am the only person in this ’ouse, bar the Colonel, she ever talks to. Eve never ’card ’er say or do one thing that wasn't sensible, never. She’s got a tongue, I’ll not deny it, and she’s ticked off them lot upstairs time and again, but she’s never said an ’ard word to me. If she’s crackers, so’s you, and me, and everyone else. The only thing I ever known ’er do that was queer was muckin’ up that drawer. An’ she did that in ’er sleep. You saw ’er tonight.”
“Yes. I saw her. Did she ever come to see you at home, Mrs. Pinks?”
She stared at him. “I thought that was coming,” she replied. “Yes. She used to come and see my old man. Cooked ’im things ’e could eat. Spent ’er own money on birthday presents for the kids, and she’s not got much.” She broke off and gave another great sigh. “You might as well know. ’E died. My old man. This morning it was, while I was ’ere. Just went off in ’is sleep, same’s the old lady.”
“I’m sorry,” said Macdonald, and she sniffed back her tears.
“Oh, ’e ’adn’t ’ad much to live for, not this last year or two. Something else wrong besides that there. They took ’im to the mortuary. We’ve only got the two rooms. Gave the other to a young married couple. So ’e ’ad to go. That’s why I managed to pop along ’ere tonight. Nothing I ’ad to do at ‘ome.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed again.
“Now let’s get this straight,” she said. “Maybe you’re goin’ to say as ’ow Madge pinched that stuff from the lot I got for me old man from the National ’Ealth. Maybe you’ll say, that’s why ’e died, ’im not ’aving the right doses, seeing some ’ad been pinched. I’m not such a fool as I look. I reckoned you’d work that one out, and I did, too, quite as quick as you did. And I tell you it ain’t true. I giv’im the stuff meself, an’ ’e ’ad it according. An’ if you’re thinking of pulling that one over Miss Madge, I tell you it won't work. I’ll say I giv’ it to the old lady meself, see? I could ’a, too; I was here that evening, wasn’t I? So that’s that. An’ if you want to run me in, you get on wiv it. Me sister’ll look after the kids. Down in the country, she is. But you leave Miss Madge alone. I reckon I’ve ’ad a better life than she ’as; ’ard though it’s been some ways, I’ve ’ad me fun, and it’s more’n you can say of her. So what abaht it?”
“I think you’d better go home and look after those kids,” said Macdonald, “and leave me to sort things out here. So off you go.”
“And ’ow d’you know I didn’t do it?” she asked truculently.
“I don't know, Mrs. Pinks. But I’m not going to oblige by arresting you until I’ve got the evidence. Thanks very much all the same.”
She stood, arms akimbo. “An* ’ow d’vou know I won’t bolt?”
“Call yerself a cop,” she said with withering scorn. “You’re too much like an ’uman being. All right. I’ll be going. But remember. I warned you.”
“More than I did to you,” replied Macdonald.
2
When Macdonald had seen Mrs. Pinks out of the house, he bolted the basement door and went up to Reeves, who was hovering by the drawing-room door, alternately keeping an eye on the hall and on Tony Strange, who was beginning to stir a little.
“Well, we seem to be getting quite a series of reactions,” murmured Reeves. “I reckon Madge was sleepwalking all right. Mind diseased, what?’’
“Not diseased in the accepted sense. Reeves. She’s as sane as you or I. but her mind’s in a turmoil of fear and distress, and the reason’s not far to guess. I’ve been talking to Mrs. Pinks. Her husband died today—probably diabetic coma. She had argued out for herself the implications of that one.”
“Had she. by heck,” said Reeves. “I reckoned she could follow out what you would call a logical sequence of events. She's made like that, looks things straight in the face.”
“She does that all right,” said Macdonald, “to the very end. She told me that if I thought of arresting Madge, she—Mrs. Pinks—would say she’d killed Mrs. Farrington herself, and reminded me that she was here on the Monday night.”
“She’s a game old scout,” said Reeves; “but we can’t have her doing that. She’ll mack up the doings properly. Madge must have been damned good to the old soul to make her feel like that about it.”
‘‘I think she has been good to her,” said Macdonald. “Hallo, your patient’s showing signs of animation. You’d better go and keep him quiet and persuade him that he’s better off on the sofa than anywhere else. I don’t think things’ll be improved by sending him up to his wife at the moment.”