by Bruce, Leo
Christine was the next to go. She kissed her aunt and and gave Carolus her hand. “No offence? “she said.
“No offence,” said Carolus. “Take care of yourself, Christine. I mean that. You can laugh at anything you like about me, but not my warning to you.”
Christine smiled. “When will you realize that women are not absolute fools?” she said. “Why should you think I can’t take care of myself?”
“I believe you can; otherwise I shouldn’t be sitting here. But …”
“Good night, Carolus,” said Christine, and walked out of the room.
Miss Godwin looked up from her needlework and said archly: “I wonder why you are so concerned for Miss Derosse, Mr Deene. She seems a most self-reliant young person.”
“I dare say she is,” said Carolus.
“Mrs Derosse is quite happy about her, I’m sure,” went on Miss Grey, “or she would not let her stay here.”
Mrs Derosse seemed a little embarrassed by this, but managed to smile.
It was Helena Gort who spoke most frankly. “You’re all in a state of nerves tonight,” she said. “I’ve noticed it throughout the evening. I must say I feel somewhat uncomfortable myself. What is it in the air, Carolus? My imagination or the weather?”
“A little of each,” said Carolus absently.
“Now, Carolus, you weren’t listening. Will you please tell me what is wrong?”
Carolus stood up, and turned to Mrs Derosse. “It’s too late to ask Jerrison,” he said. “May I help myself to a Scotch?”
“Of course,” said Mrs Derosse, and handed him the key of Jerrison’s little bar under the stairs. “I think we should all like one. Mrs Gort?”
The three of them, the two elderly women and Carolus, drank. Of the three, Carolus seemed the most on edge. Usually a restful person, given to sitting quite still without fidgeting, he moved about the room in the most uncharacteristic way. Nearly half an hour passed but none of them seemed inclined to go up to bed. It was as though they awaited something.
Interruption when it came was violent. There was a thunder of steps on the stairs and the bishop burst into the room. His face was distorted with fear and horror. “Mrs Derosse—your niece!”
Mrs Derosse rose.
“I saw her go,” shouted the bishop. “The door was open. The balcony!”
Carolus had already dashed from the room and, before the bishop had finished speaking, was at the top of the staircase. He made straight for the room in the tower, taking the second staircase in a few strides. There was no one in the room. The lights were full on, the windows to the balcony wide open, but no one was there. He went out to the balcony, peered over the edge for several moments. His arm went out in an uncharacteristically pathetic gesture, as though he could reclaim from the night what it had taken. He then re-entered the room, looked in the few places where a human being could hide, then closed the door and locked it. As he reached the landing, he saw that several guests had appeared there.
“I heard a scream!” said Miss Godwin.
“What has happened?” asked Esmée.
Carolus said something about an accident and went downstairs. Jerrison was in the hall, and Mrs Derosse spoke to him a little hysterically.
“Go down! “she said. “Christine—from the room in the tower. Like the other one. Please go down at once, Jerrison!”
“I will, Mrs Derosse,” said Jerrison. “111 wake Smithers and go down. We shall need to be two.”
From behind Mrs Derosse the bishop suddenly spoke in his bass voice. “It’s high tide,” he said.
“As if that made any difference, from that height!” said Mrs Derosse hysterically. “You know the water scarcely covers the rocks. Not a hope!”
“I’m afraid not,” said Bishop Grissell. “I meant only that Jerrison may not be able …”
“Jerrison will get there,” said Mrs Derosse. “But there’s no hope. No hope.”
Then she turned to Carolus. “It has happened? “she said.
“Yes,” said Carolus grimly. “It has happened.”
He seemed almost to fall into a chair. It was perhaps unfortunate that it was at this moment that Phiz Grissell appeared, wearing a fur coat over her dressing-gown and looking monumentally wrathful. “You see what comes of it?” she said viciously to Carolus. “You see what comes of your amateur snooping? Another murder! I suppose you mean to see us all thrown over that balcony one after another, while you go nosing into things that don’t concern you!”
“Phiz, my dear,” said the bishop.
More of the guests now appeared. Mallister looked lost and unwell, the Natterleys frankly inquisitive.
“I thought I heard a scream,” Mallister said.
“You did, Mr Mallister,” said Miss Grissell wildly. “Miss Derosse has been murdered as Sonia Reid was.”
Carolus’s voice cut icily through these hysterics. “Bishop Grissell, would you mind telling us exactly what happened?”
Miss Godwin and Miss Grey had joined the rest of them, well wrapped in dun-coloured garments. Mrs Jerrison interrupted by saying: “You oughtn’t to have sent my husband out. Not with his lungs.”
“There was no one else to go,” said Mrs Derosse, fighting back tears.
“I should have thought Mr Deene …” said Miss Grissell, but Carolus interrupted her. “Now, Bishop?” he said curtly.
There was a curious lull. It seemed that everyone in the room waited on the bishop’s words, though some of them could hardly have guessed the importance of his testimony. “I was under the necessity of leaving my room,” began the bishop, “and going to the bathroom. Mine is almost the only guest’s room in this house unprovided with … however, we will let that pass.”
He seemed genuinely bewildered, as though he did not know where to start his story.
“At first the house seemed quite silent. I thought it was rather early for everyone to have retired. The rain, perhaps. But as I approached the foot of the small staircase running up to the room in the tower I thought I heard voices.”
“Voices?” Carolus repeated to keep him on this point.
“Yes. Not loud. As though two people were speaking. Or someone talking to himself. The voices seemed to come from the room in the tower. I cannot be very sure or very clear about this. Perhaps I should just say that as I approached the foot of the staircase I heard, or thought I heard, someone speaking.” The bishop showed distress.
“Go on,” said Carolus.
“I looked upwards. Up the little staircase, I mean. The door at the top was open. I was sure the voices came from there. I don’t know what went through my mind; perhaps something connected with the … other occasion. I started to mount the stairs and as I did so I saw Miss Derosse sitting on the balcony, exactly as …”
The bishop was overcome for a moment.
“But, the rain?” queried Carolus prosaically.
“The balcony roof covers it pretty well,” put in Mrs Jerrison.
“I can only say what I saw,” went on the bishop. “Miss Derosse sat there, just as we were told … Then suddenly she seemed to topple backwards and … disappeared.”
“You heard her scream?”
The bishop stared at Carolus in a bewildered way. I heard her scream, yes,” he said.
“You seem doubtful about it.”
“It’s just that … she seemed to scream as she fell. It is all a little confused in my mind. I ran downstairs …”
“You didn’t go up to the balcony?”
“No. I came to raise the alarm.”
“I should have thought that would have been an instinctive reaction. To look over from where she fell.”
“I think it crossed my mind. One scarcely knows what one is doing in such a moment. I could have seen nothing, of course. The night is inky-black. I came to raise the alarm.”
“Have the police been called?” asked his sister.
There was some consternation, as it seemed that the police had not been called. Miss Grissell
undertook this and strode out to the telephone.
Mrs Jerrison, in spite of her little outburst about her husband, seemed chiefly concerned for Mrs Derosse, and sat beside her in an attempt to be comforting.
But Miss Grissell had not done with Carolus yet. “You realize what this means? “she asked furiously. “More questioning by the police. Another inquest. All because you like playing at detectives. I don’t know how you can sit there asking questions. This is your fault, Mr Deene. Your fault!”
“I’m afraid it is,” said Carolus wretchedly.
Esmée Welton was not interested in these recriminations. “James ought to be in bed,” she said. “He’s not well.”
“It’s all right, my dear,” said Mallister. “I think we should all wait for the police,” said Carolus.
Though no one agreed verbally, they had all found seats and the ugly minutes began to pass.
“Only one of us is absent,” remarked Miss Godwin unexpectedly. “Mr Lawson is not here.”
Just then the front door slammed and Steve Lawson lurched in. “What’s all this?” he asked at once.
Nobody answered him directly, but Miss Grissell said to Carolus: “You like asking questions. You consider yourself privileged to question everyone. Ask him where he has been!”
“The police will do that,” said Carolus wearily. “I’ll ask no more questions tonight.”
From his appearance and behaviour it did not seem this time that Steve Lawson had ‘had a few’ or was ‘a little high’. It was difficult to doubt that he was drunk. He sank into a chair and closed his eyes.
Carolus stood up. “May I open the window a little, Mrs Derosse?” he asked. “It’s terribly stuffy in here.”
He pulled the curtains back and opened one of the large Victorian windows, but, although there was scarcely any wind, the wet, dark night seemed to blow into the room.
“Shut it!” said Miss Grissell.
Carolus obeyed, but omitted to draw the heavy curtains, so that the rain was audible on the panes.
Suddenly Mallister, who was facing the windows, half rose in his chair and gave an ear-splitting screech. A shrill sound coming suddenly from a man is always rather horrible, and this was quite bloodcurdling. He turned white and it seemed he would faint.
“Brandy!” said Carolus and rushed out for the bottle. “Delayed shock,” he explained as he poured some between Mallister’s lips.
The colour came back slowly and Mallister began to speak in a low voice as though he was hypnotized. “I saw her,” he said. “She’s not dead. She was at the window.”
Carolus whispered: “Who?”
“Not Lydia. Not the other one. She’s not dead.”
“Christine?” asked Carolus.
Mallister nodded.
“Ridiculous!” said Phiz Grissell. “My brother saw her go. Certain death.”
“She was there,” said Mallister obstinately.
Miss Grey caught her breath. “An apparition! “she said. “I’ve read of such things after a violent death.”
“No. She was there,” said Mallister. “I saw her distinctly.”
Steve Lawson had fallen sideways in his chair. Mrs Jerrison was breathing heavily, as though her heart threatened to stop beating. Only Miss Grissell and Miss Godwin, both upright, seemed almost unmoved, their faces set in hard lines. Then, quite distinctly, there was a sharp tapping at the window and this time everyone turned to look.
Hazily visible behind the streaming window-panes, dishevelled and white, Christine Derosse stood watching them. There was an impression of blood and of seaweed, a gruesome spectacle.
There was a thud in the room. This time James Mallister had fainted. Esmée rushed to him. Bishop Grissell with wild distended eyes had perspiration on his forehead. Miss Grey covered her face. Steve Lawson had entirely collapsed. But no one spoke for some moments.
19
NEARLY an hour later Detective Inspector Brizzard, Mrs Derosse, Mrs Gort, the Natterleys, the Jerrisons and Carolus were sitting with Christine, who looked perfectly composed and unharmed. Whether the rest of the guests were sleeping it would be hard to say, but with one exception, they had gone to their rooms after being assured that Christine’s appearance had nothing supernatural about it. The one exception was already at Belstock Police Station.
“I’m afraid you have no alternative, Inspector, but to hear it from me,” said Carolus.
The Inspector had started by questioning Mrs Derosse, Christine and Mrs Jerrison, but as all had referred him to Carolus he seemed resigned to listening.
“Make it short then, Mr Deene,” he said.
“That’s not easy,” said Carolus. “There’s a lot of dead wood to clear away in this case, and it is not even now what it appears to be.
“Let’s start with tonight. What you all forgot, and I include the murderer, was something you perfectly well knew, and which I learned from Mrs Gort when I came into the case. Mrs Derosse was once a famous circus artiste and Christine is one of the few who have starred at both Harringay and Olympia. She has been called the Queen of the Trapeze. When Miss Godwin noticed strange workmen in the house this afternoon, she might, if she had been a little more experienced in circus ways, have realized that these were no ordinary painters and decorators. They were, in fact, two of the staff of the circus which will open this winter and in which, I am happy to say, Christine will star. Their normal work is setting up the framework of the net which, the circus proprietor insists, should be under Christine during her breathtaking act. Tonight, while we were at dinner, they were putting it, by a very ingenious piece of adaptation, under the balcony of the room in the tower, that is to say outwards from the balcony of Mrs Derosse’s window. That explains Christine’s survival. She learned how to fall into a net as a little girl and to her it is as easy as—falling off a log. Her appearance at the window of this room looking, we hoped, rather ghastly, was a little part of the scheme which did not quite come off. We thought that, on seeing her, the person who had flung her to what seemed certain death might conveniently break down and confess the crime. But there is quite enough evidence without that, as I am sure Detective Inspector Brizzard will recognize, when—if ever—I have finished.”
“You’ve said it, not me,” said Brizzard. “Please get on with it, Mr Deene.”
“It is not easy to know where to start,” admitted Carolus. “I was very fortunate when I first came here in being given details by someone as observant as Mrs Gort …”
He was again interrupted by the appearance of Jerrison, accompanied by two youngish men.
“Your husband did not have to go down to the foot of the cliffs tonight, Mrs Jerrison,” explained Carolus. “He was in the secret. But Mrs Derosse had to appear to send him. Fred and Ray have been bringing in the net. When I looked over the edge of the balcony, Ray, as agreed, gave me a wave, and I responded. This was a signal that Christine was all right. My words to Mrs Derosse, ‘It has happened’, were prearranged to tell her that her niece was safe and sound. However, to get back to the story.
“I was so sure that Sonia Reid had been murdered that I used this as a working hypothesis. Moreover, it was fairly certain that she was murdered for information which she had, and for the contents of the sealed envelope. When I knew that she had made a replica of this, so that her bag contained two apparently identical envelopes, I could not doubt it.
“She knew that the murderer was anxious to get possession of whatever one of them held. But what she didn’t know—and perhaps the murderer did not know it, either—was the length the murderer might go to obtain it. Her room had been searched for it unsuccessfully, but she never dreamed of any danger to herself.
“She was prepared to part with it for money, as a conversation between her and Steve Lawson, overheard by Mrs Gort, plainly showed. It was a ‘thing of value to one person’ she said, when she complained that her room had been searched.
“She was very sure of herself but, when she had made an appointment in her o
wn room with the person she was blackmailing, she decided not to be in possession of the actual document at the time. She asked Mrs Gort and Christine to look after it, but both refused. She thought of the Natterleys because, although she was not Osgood terms with them, she could appeal to their self-importance.”
“There’s no need to be offensive, Deene,” said the Major.
“Here she was successful. She left the envelope and went up to her room to await her victim. The appointment, suitably enough, was at midnight. Her victim came and an argument began.
“It was something said by Mrs Tukes, Sonia’s foster-mother, which led me to see how the actual murder was carried out. She reported Sonia as boasting of her intelligence and saying: ‘They’ll have to come crawling on their knees before I give in. And then it won’t be for nothing.’ That’s exactly what the murderer did. Pleaded literally on the knees for possession of the envelope. Sonia was sitting calmly on the stone-work of her balcony smoking a cigarette, entirely mistress of the situation, making her terms. That is why the Grimburns watching from their boat swore that she was alone at the time. Her victim and murderer pleaded, then perhaps, as Sonia mockingly refused to part with the document—putting it perhaps inside her dress—in a moment of exasperation, fury, fear or sheer madness, the murderer gripped her ankles and threw her to her death.”
“How can you know that?” asked Brizzard quietly.
“I was pretty sure of it from the Grimburns’ description of how she ‘dived’ over. That would be exactly consistent with her being propelled by the feet unexpectedly. But there is a better reason. The murderer, as you shall hear, repeated the performance.
“The interesting thing to me is that I am fairly sure that, in going to Sonia’s room that night, the murderer had no idea of doing this. If ever there was a crime committed on an almost irresistible impulse, this was it.
“As soon as it was done, the envelope had to be recovered. Locking the door of Sonia’s room and taking the key, the murderer hurried downstairs and, walking on tip-toe, as Mrs Jerrison heard …”
