by Clara Benson
‘But we know she wasn’t,’ said Angela.
‘No,’ agreed Freddy. He glanced at the notebook. ‘At any rate, these are the events of that day as told to me. As far as I can tell, it was a normal Sunday like any other. All the family were at home, including Valencourt, who had been on leave for a few days and was preparing to return to duty on the Tuesday. The only guests were Henry Lacey—who was there so often that he was practically a permanent resident—and his friend, Oliver Harrington, who was convalescing after receiving a shrapnel wound to the leg, and had come to visit at Lacey’s invitation. According to this Harrington fellow, he spent most of the weekend feeling out of place and unwelcome, since the de Lisles were pretty frosty as a rule. He’d only come at all because Lacey was an old school pal of his and they hadn’t seen one another for years.
‘It appears that Selina had taken her husband’s return as an opportunity to make something of a nuisance of herself. The servants obviously didn’t like to say too much, but the police understood from what they did say that she was a capricious sort at the best of times, and throughout the weekend in question had been behaving in a most high-handed manner and ordering everyone around as though she owned the place.’
‘Really?’ said Angela. ‘I can’t imagine Roger putting up with that sort of thing. By all accounts he liked to rule the roost himself.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t notice it,’ said Freddy. ‘Anyway, as I said, not much happened until the Sunday afternoon, when Valencourt and Selina had a quarrel. They were overheard by Godfrey and Victorine, who couldn’t say what it was about, since apparently it wasn’t a raised-voice sort of row but more of a cross-look-and-pointed-remark thing.’
‘I wonder whether they were eavesdropping, in that case,’ said Angela. ‘It seems a bit odd to overhear an argument without hearing at least some of what was said.’
‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised,’ agreed Freddy. ‘Anyway, this all happened at half-past four or so. Shortly after that, Selina came into the drawing-room in an obvious huff, complained to Victorine that she was feeling unwell, and said she was going upstairs to lie down. According to Valencourt, he followed her shortly afterwards and begged her pardon, and they made it up. He then went outside to the stables, where he was seen by one of the grooms, and spent some time with the horses. At five o’clock, Evelyn de Lisle sent her maid up to Selina’s room to see if she wanted anything. The maid reported that Selina was feeling better, but was a little tired, and had decided to rest a while. Nothing more was seen or heard of her until a quarter past six, when another servant came to tell Evelyn that Selina was still indisposed and would spend the rest of the evening in her room, and that she did not wish to be disturbed. Valencourt said he knocked on his wife’s door at about seven o’clock as he went up to dress for dinner, and again when he went up to bed, but there was no reply and the door was locked on both occasions, so he assumed she was asleep.’
‘What time did he go to bed?’
Freddy glanced at his notebook.
‘Shortly before eleven,’ he said. ‘That was earlier than his usual hour, which the police took as suspicious, as they assumed he went to prepare for his trip outside to dispose of Selina’s body. His story was that he was very tired and wanted an early night. He was seen knocking on Selina’s door on his way up to bed, but nobody saw him knocking earlier in the evening, when he went to dress for dinner. Between twenty-five past seven and the time he went to bed he was always in view of someone or other, so he certainly didn’t do it during that period.’
‘I take it the police assumed he did it when he went to dress for dinner, then,’ said Angela.
‘They did,’ said Freddy. ‘She was found in the early afternoon the next day, but it wasn’t until four o’clock that she was examined by a doctor, who said that she had died at least eighteen hours previously and perhaps as much as twenty-four.’
‘That means she must have died between about four o’clock and ten o’clock on the Sunday,’ said Angela, thinking. ‘And since a servant spoke to her at—what time was it?—quarter past six, we know she was alive then. So, then, the police thought Valencourt did it between a quarter past six and twenty-five past seven.’
‘Between seven and twenty-five past, in fact,’ said Freddy. ‘He was at the stables with the groom until five to seven, then glanced at his watch and left quickly, as he’d realized he was going to be late for dinner if he didn’t hurry. His story was that he was grubby after working with the horses, so he had a quick bath first, then went downstairs.’
‘If he had a bath, that can’t have left him much time,’ observed Angela.
‘No,’ said Freddy, ‘but he might have been lying about that.’
‘Still, though,’ said Angela. ‘Even if he was, that still leaves only twenty-five minutes in which to dress, strangle Selina and hide her body. He must have worked pretty quickly. I suppose it might just be possible, but it doesn’t leave much room for anything else. What led up to the killing, for example? One would expect there to have been an argument, at least. I don’t suppose he just went into her room and killed her without anything being said first.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Freddy. ‘We may never find out. At any rate, we know he had plenty of opportunity to get rid of her body during the night, since it had been hidden there in the cupboard in his bedroom.’
‘What did he say about that?’
‘Oh, he denied it absolutely, of course. Said he’d been very tired and had slept like a top without waking up once. He said he never went anywhere near the cupboard. But it was easy enough for him to lie about that.’
‘True,’ said Angela. ‘Well, that all seems to point fairly conclusively to his guilt. But since I’m supposed to be looking for evidence of his innocence, I suppose we’d better look at other possibilities. Who else might have done it? What were all the others doing while Valencourt was supposedly merrily killing his wife and hiding her body? Let’s assume he was telling the truth and had nothing to do with it. What then?’
Freddy consulted his notebook.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘If he didn’t do it, and assuming he really did knock on Selina’s door at seven o’clock and pass on without going in, that means we have a period of nearly four hours, between a quarter past six and ten o’clock, in which someone else might have killed her.’
‘But who? Did the police investigate the alibis of everyone in the house? Four hours is a long time, and surely they can’t all have been in sight of one another for the whole evening.’
‘I should imagine not,’ said Freddy. ‘I don’t know the answer, though. If the police did take down everybody’s movements that evening I expect they put the information away in a file somewhere once they’d found the evidence in the cupboard and decided they had their man. My sergeant said he’d told me everything he knew, however, so perhaps they didn’t look into alibis too closely.’
‘What did the servant who spoke to her at a quarter past six say?’ said Angela, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Did Selina seem normal? Was there anything amiss?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Freddy. ‘The sergeant didn’t say anything about it—only that the woman had been sent downstairs to pass on the message, and that nobody had thought any more about it.’
‘Then she must have been the last person to see Selina alive,’ said Angela. ‘Apart from her killer, I mean. I wonder whether she knew anything or saw anything.’
‘If she’d seen the murder, then presumably she would have said so.’
‘Still, I’d like to talk to her. Perhaps she remembers something that didn’t seem important at the time.’
‘Well, I don’t seem to have her name here,’ said Freddy. ‘What makes you think she knew something?’
‘Nothing in particular,’ said Angela. ‘Only I was speaking to Colonel Dempster this morning and he seemed to think that if anybody knew what had really happened it was the servants—although he’s of the opinion that they knew Valencourt
really did do it, which of course is no good for our present purposes.’
They fell silent for a few moments. Angela was thinking.
‘I can’t help feeling that what happened on that day must have something to do with Selina’s personality,’ she said at last. ‘From everything I’ve heard about her she was very out of place in that house, where everybody conformed. It sounds as though she liked to stand out and be noticed.’
‘I’d hardly call Valencourt a conformist,’ said Freddy.
‘No, I suppose not,’ admitted Angela. ‘I wonder how he and his father got along before it all happened. I gather there’d been a disagreement between them about Valencourt’s going into the family business. Perhaps that rebelliousness is why he and Selina were drawn together. They had that in common, at least. But don’t you think it’s odd that Roger permitted the marriage at all? With all his concern for the family fortunes I’d have expected him to forbid it, but it seems he was quite in favour of it.’
‘According to my sergeant, who knew the Laceys slightly, it was Roger himself who introduced her to the family after he met her uncle, who was an agent or an importer or something of the kind,’ said Freddy.
‘He must have thought there was some benefit to the de Lisles from it, then,’ said Angela. ‘Perhaps some business interest. Still, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that we seem to have reached a dead end. We’ve spoken to Godfrey de Lisle—to little purpose—but apart from the housekeeper the other day we haven’t seen anybody else who was in the house at the time of the murder. We really ought to speak to Henry Lacey and his friend if at all possible. Perhaps Mr. Gilverson will be able to help me with that. I might go up to London this afternoon.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Freddy. ‘I promised to see a chap later about something.’
Angela agreed, although she suspected that Freddy’s real purpose in accompanying her was to keep an eye on her, for he evidently did not trust Charles Gilverson or his motives in recruiting her to investigate Selina de Lisle’s murder. Angela was not certain she trusted him herself, but she comforted herself with the thought that if Gilverson could give her no further information then she would be perfectly justified in withdrawing from the case.
WHEN THEY ARRIVED in London, Angela went straight to Mr. Gilverson’s office, which was situated in a small side-street off Chancery Lane, and was admitted. Mr. Gilverson greeted her with every appearance of pleasure, and invited her to sit.
‘The sea air seems to have done you some good,’ he said. ‘You have a little more colour in your cheeks than when I last saw you.’
‘Have I?’ said Angela. ‘I’m certainly finding it bracing, at any rate—almost to the point of numbness, in fact.’
Mr. Gilverson laughed.
‘I understand your visit to Greystone Chase passed off successfully,’ he said.
Angela agreed that it had, and told him what she had found out so far. She also mentioned her conversation with Colonel Dempster and his belief that the servants knew for certain that Valencourt had killed Selina. Mr. Gilverson frowned.
‘Ah, yes, Colonel Dempster,’ he said. ‘He was an old admirer of Evelyn’s. Is he still living in Denborough?’
‘Yes,’ said Angela. ‘He admitted that he used to be in love with her. To be perfectly honest, from what I’ve heard of Roger de Lisle I’m surprised he allowed the colonel in the house.’
‘Evelyn was never interested in the colonel, so I expect Roger didn’t see him as a serious threat,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘But you’re right—had he suspected anything at all he’d have had no hesitation in barring him from Greystone immediately. He tended to do that with her friends if he thought she was getting too fond of them.’
‘I’m glad I never met him,’ said Angela. ‘I think I should have been frightened of him. It sounds as though he ruled over the place with an iron rod.’
‘Oh, he certainly did that,’ said Mr. Gilverson.
Angela remembered what Gilverson had said about his having fallen out with Roger and being no longer welcome at Greystone. Evidently he had been subject to Roger’s will just as everyone else had. She wanted to ask the solicitor what had happened but something about his manner prevented her, and so she went on:
‘We spoke to Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper, who was there at the time of the murder, but she didn’t give me the impression that she knew anything and was hiding it. Not that that means anything, of course.’
‘I beg your pardon—“we?”’ said Mr. Gilverson.
Angela realized that he knew nothing about Freddy, and hastened to explain that a friend was helping her.
‘He is a reporter, and very useful for this sort of thing,’ she said. ‘He can ask questions of people that I can’t. He spoke to the Kent police this morning, for example, and found out a lot of information that I shouldn’t have been able to get myself, including the times of the various events on the evening in question. One thing I have discovered in Mr. de Lisle’s favour is that there wasn’t much of an opportunity for him to commit the crime. If he did do it, then it must have been in the twenty-five minutes between seven and twenty-five past, in which he was also supposed to be washing and changing for dinner. That doesn’t leave him much time to strangle his wife and hide her body.’
‘No,’ agreed Mr. Gilverson.
‘And if he didn’t do it, then there seems to have been a period of four hours in which she could have been killed by someone else. The only problem, of course, is the cupboard. If Selina was hidden there then how did the murderer get her out while Mr. de Lisle was asleep?’
‘Yes, that is a problem,’ said Gilverson.
‘I understand Mr. de Lisle claimed to have felt unusually tired that night, and to have slept soundly,’ continued Angela. ‘It did occur to me that he might have been drugged to allow whoever it was to come and fetch Selina in the night without waking him up.’
‘That is exactly what my nephew suspected, as a matter of fact,’ said Mr. Gilverson, nodding, ‘but the police were not interested.’
‘But then of course that leads to the question of why Selina’s body was put in the cupboard at all? If Mr. de Lisle did it himself, then it was awfully stupid of him. But if he didn’t, then that leads to the inescapable conclusion that someone did it deliberately to throw the blame onto him.’
‘Yes, it does rather, doesn’t it?’ said the solicitor.
‘Did Mr. de Lisle have any enemies?’ said Angela.
‘That is the question,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘Yes, that is very much the question.’
Angela looked at him curiously, but he did not elaborate.
‘There’s not much more I can do in Kent,’ she said at last. ‘I’ve been to Greystone Chase and talked to Godfrey de Lisle, but I wasn’t able to bring the subject up. I should very much like to have had more time in which to speak to him.’
‘Yes, I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘I’m wondering whether I mightn’t be able to persuade Godfrey to invite you to dinner, with a view to buttering you up as a possible buyer of his house. I certainly think you ought to meet Victorine. She’s a most intriguing woman, and if she’s in the mood she might have something useful to say.’
‘I should certainly like to meet them both in their domestic surroundings, so to speak,’ said Angela. ‘A few minutes is not enough to bring the conversation around to the murder, but an evening might do it.’
‘Then I shall telephone him today,’ said Mr. Gilverson.
‘You’d better tell them to invite Freddy too,’ said Angela. She coughed. ‘For one reason and another, most of the people of Denborough are under the impression that he is my son and the one with the money.’
‘Indeed?’ said Mr. Gilverson, raising his eyebrows in some amusement.
‘I assure you it wasn’t my idea,’ said Angela. ‘Anyway, aside from another visit to Greystone there are one or two other leads I’d like to pursue. One is the alibis of all the people who were in the
house that night, but I’d also like to speak to Henry Lacey, Selina’s brother. Do you know where we might find him?’
‘I’m afraid it will not be possible to speak to him,’ said the solicitor. ‘Henry Lacey died about a year after his sister.’
‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘How?’
‘He was something of a heavy drinker,’ said Mr. Gilverson. ‘And, as it turned out, an habitual user of morphine. It appears he died from a combination of the two.’
‘But wasn’t he very young?’ said Angela.
‘Not more than twenty-five, I think,’ said Gilverson. ‘I understand he began taking morphine after an injury to his arm during the war. The arm was left more or less useless for fighting purposes and he was invalided out of the army, which is why he was at Greystone at the time of Selina’s death.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘I’m sorry for him, of course, but it’s rather inconvenient for our purposes too. What about his friend Oliver Harrington? Do you have any idea where he might be found?’
‘I don’t have an address,’ said the solicitor, ‘but I understand he was from Canterbury, like the Laceys. You might be able to find him in the telephone directory.’
‘I expect Freddy will be able to find it out for me,’ said Angela. She rose to leave. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you about whether I am to go to Greystone again.’
‘I shall let you know as soon as I can,’ said Gilverson. ‘Are you going back to Denborough?’
‘No. I think there’s little I can do there at present,’ she replied. ‘I shall be in London if you require me.’
