“Two fruitful days,” said Mansel. “Honestly, Falcon, I don’t think you can complain.”
“Indeed, I can’t, Colonel Mansel. I think I’ve been very lucky. The pieces of the puzzle are mounting as I never thought they would. And I hope to hear tomorrow that Sister Josephine has opened her mouth.”
“I imagine you’ll show that letter to no one at all.”
“To no one,” said Falcon. “Not even to Paterson. That is the sort of letter one keeps very close.”
There was a little silence.
Then –
“Superintendent,” said Jenny, “I don’t want to speak out of turn.”
“You can never do that, Mrs Chandos. Please say whatever you please.”
“Well, I met Rosemary Vernon in 1938.”
“That,” said Falcon, “is just what I wanted to know. I gave you her name, because Berryman brought it out. And so I was not committing a breach of confidence. But I purposely left it there, for I am not here as a policeman, but as a guest. But now you have broached the matter. Will you be so kind as to tell me what you remember of Lady Rosemary Vernon, now Sister Helena?”
“Richard was away,” said Jenny. “Abroad with Jonathan. And I had gone to Buckram to stay for ten days with the Baldrics – they’re terribly nice. And while I was there, Rosemary came with her sister for two or three days. She was only sixteen then, although she looked older than that. And she was simply lovely and awfully sweet. She and I were together most of the time – they used to call us ‘the children’ – I’ve just remembered that. Rosemary was simply mad about horses and dogs. She said she hoped to be presented in 1939. She asked me all about Richard and how we lived. And then I remember her saying, ‘That’s the life. A quiet home in the country with a husband you really love.’ I said, ‘I think so, too: but you’ll have to go about.’ Then she said, ‘You don’t look as if you’d done that, Jenny Chandos.’ So I told her how Richard had found me and carried me off.
“I can’t remember very much more; but when she left, she kissed me and said, ‘We shall meet again. I’m coming to Maintenance one day, whether you ask me or not.’ But she never did, and I never saw her again.
“It was some time during the War that Natalie told me that she had become a nun. I simply couldn’t believe it, but Natalie swore it was true. ‘Just went religious,’ she said. ‘It’s been done before.’
“That’s all, I’m afraid, Superintendent.”
“It’s quite a lot,” said Falcon. “I was going to search the files of a paper or two. But I shouldn’t have found an appreciation like that. I’m very grateful, Mrs Chandos. You’ve helped me more than you know.”
It was getting late by then, so after a very few minutes we went upstairs and bade one another goodnight.
When Jenny and I were alone –
“Darling,” she said, “why did Rosemary take the veil?”
“Because,” I said, “she was disappointed in love.”
“There!” said Jenny, and kissed me. “That’s what I’ve always felt. Are you going to tell Mr Falcon?”
“No, I’m not, my sweet – because Falcon thinks so, too.”
On the following afternoon, Falcon was back for lunch, as he had said he should be. When coffee had been served on the terrace, he glanced at his watch.
“Plenty of time,” he said. “I needn’t leave here before three.” He looked round pleasedly. “If I could do as I liked, I shouldn’t leave here at all. A quiet weekend with you would suit me down to the ground.”
“I wish you could stay,” said Jenny. “I think you must be tired.”
“When it’s over, perhaps, Mrs Chandos.”
“We’ll hold you to that,” said I.
“You won’t have to hold me,” said Falcon. “And now, if you’d like to hear, I’ll tell you what happened this morning.”
“If you please.”
“I’ll cut out the routine work and pass direct to the Home.
“The Mother Superior received me at half past ten. She smiled very pleasantly and asked me to take a seat. Then she went straight to the point.
“‘I have seen Sister Josephine. We were perfectly right, Superintendent. She has confessed with tears what it was she failed to divulge. I’m afraid it’s not very important, but whether or no it is, is for you to judge.
“‘You will remember that you asked her what visits she had had: and that she replied that she had been visited by the House Surgeon and by Sister Helena. And when you said ‘Anyone else?’, she replied ‘Sister Therèse.’ Well, that meant that she was fencing, as both of us saw. So again you asked the same question, and she said no.’
“‘I remember perfectly, madam.’
“‘Well, now I must make a confession. I think I will put it like this. As no doubt you have already surmised, I visit the patients myself. I usually pay my visits between five and six in the evening: sometimes I go in the morning, if I have time to spare. I can’t visit every patient every day, because I have too much to do: but daily Dr Paterson renders me written reports. So, though I may not have seen them, I know how they’re all going on. And if any patient is seriously ill, I may visit him or her twice, or more often than that.
“‘As I think you know, Superintendent, the patient in Number Three is very seriously ill. I visited him in the morning, but on Tuesday I had no time to pay him a second visit between five and six.
“‘At half past nine that evening, my day was nearly done. I had some letters to deal with, but that was all. I was writing my second letter, when it suddenly came to me that I had failed to revisit Number Three. So I rose and paid my visit there and then.
“‘Mine was the visit, Superintendent, which Sister Josephine failed to disclose.
“‘I don’t know that she can be blamed. Had she been alone with you, she might or might not have disclosed it. But since you saw her in my presence, she felt that it was not for her to declare that I had been in.
“‘So you see, Superintendent, the fault was mine. I fear I am growing forgetful – I’m not as young as I was. On Tuesday I nearly forgot to visit Number Three: and on Thursday I forgot that I had done so. I used not to do things like that.’
“‘Madam,’ I said, ‘you have many things to think of.’
“‘Yes, I have. Still, one shouldn’t forget. I’m glad to have cleared up the matter. I’m only sorry, Superintendent, that I should have been to blame.’
“‘With respect, madam,’ I said, ‘I don’t admit that you were. I can certainly see Sister Josephine’s point of view. But a more sophisticated sister would have reminded you of the visit you paid.’
“‘Of course she would. Almost any other sister would have done so. But, if you remember, I said that Sister Josephine was afraid to think for herself.’
“‘Indeed, I remember, madam. I’m only so glad you’ve been able to clear it up. I’m always worried by something I can’t understand.’
“‘Of course you are. And now tell me this, Superintendent. Is it a fact that you’re leaving the district today?’
“‘It is, madam. I must go to London and then to Curfew Place.’
“‘I hope you won’t be away long.’
“‘On Wednesday or Thursday, madam, I shall be back. Before then, if I’m summoned, of course. But I don’t expect that. Chief Inspector Rogers will still be here. He is at your disposal. If you should wish to see him, you’ve only to ring up the police.’
“‘Thank you.’ She hesitated. Then, ‘I hope that you’re making progress.’
“‘I think I can say that the case is not standing still. I can’t pretend it’s straightforward. In nine cases out of ten the police have something to go on. But this is the tenth. I’ve got to find something to go on, before I can start. It’s always there, you know, if you’ve eyes to see. But this is one of those cases in which one needs very keen sight.’
“‘I fancy that’s why you were sent.’ She sighed. ‘Our lives are very different: but I think we both do
our duty with all our might. That is all that matters, Superintendent. The words Success and Failure are not written in the Book of Life.’
“‘I shall try to remember that, madam: because it is so true.’ I got to my feet. ‘And now I must take my leave.’
“‘Till Wednesday or Thursday, then. And thank you for all you’ve done.’
“‘That’s very gracious, madam.’
“‘And more than you expected the first time we met.’
“She was smiling and I smiled back.
“‘Frankly, yes, madam.’
“‘You must thank yourself,’ she said.
“I bowed and withdrew.”
Falcon looked at me.
“So, you see, you were right, Mr Chandos. My hunch was wrong. Poor Sister Josephine. Her hesitation was natural. With the Mother Superior there, it needed more courage than she possessed to disclose a fact which the Mother Superior did not see fit to reveal.
“Then I saw Paterson and gave him the analysts’ report. He read it carefully. Then he looked at me.
“‘Mafra,’ he said. ‘I’ve never heard of Mafra. It must be extremely rare. And swift. Thirty to fifty seconds. He probably took it at four. I think he said that he used to wake up about then. Or it may have been Dallas. I’ve probably got it down in my reports.’
“‘May I see those reports some time?’
“‘Of course. I make them out every day. The original sheets go to the Mother Superior: the copies stay in the book. Will it do, when you come back?’
“‘Oh, yes. There’s no hurry at all.’
“‘You must come to my house. Then you can go through them there.’
“‘That’s an engagement,’ I said. ‘And now I must be going. Don’t forget that Chief Inspector Rogers is staying here. You’ve only got to ring up and he’ll be along.’
“‘Thanks very much. I’ll be glad to see you back. I can’t get over that poison. Mafra. While you’re away, I must do a little research.’
“I drove back to Ne’er-do-well, where I saw the Chief Constable and the local police. I spent some time with them – one’s got to be fair. Then I went through the papers. Sensational stuff, of course: but it might have been worse. Nothing that one could object to. Then I saw Rogers and told him to keep me informed.
“I think that’s all.
“I’m afraid I forgot to say that I brought my driver with me. I handed him over to Bell. You must forgive me for that.”
Jenny smiled.
“You’re forgiven, Superintendent. You’ve got so much to think of.”
For a moment Falcon sat silent, with his eyes on the middle distance. Then –
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have.”
It was natural enough that that evening we should review the case.
“Falcon,” said Mansel, “is a most exceptional man. He has met with no end of success, as all of us know, and I’m sure that’s due, partly to his very fine instinct, and partly to a remarkable ability to read the nature of man. His instinct, of course, is a gift; he was born with that. But he has taught himself to read the nature of man. And now he’s a very great expert. Whenever he questions someone who might have been involved in some crime, he sets less store by their answers than by the impression they give. In other words, he is trying to capture their outlook. Some natures are as easy to read as an open book: others are most hard to decipher. Dallas’ nature, for instance, is clearly most hard to read. And so is Paterson’s. And don’t forget this – that a clever, guilty man will always do his best to suppress those pages of his outlook which he doesn’t want Falcon to read. And then, of course, it comes to a battle of brains.”
“Is that what he meant,” said Jenny, “when he said he was looking for a needle in a bottle of hay?”
“Yes, my sweet. The motive was the needle, and the outlooks made up the hay. As a rule, the motive is apparent; and then you’re halfway home. Only halfway, of course. A man is found robbed and murdered: well, the motive was clearly gain. Take the famous case of Oxen, whose wife had disappeared. It was perfectly clear that Oxen wished to be rid of his wife. But the murder was three months old, and no one but Falcon, I think, would have brought it home. But here the motive is hidden. Who on earth would wish or would dare to murder such a man as St Amant? A man whose charm was such that he could make such a Mother Superior laugh. Men like that are not murdered – in the ordinary way. Then again, whoever did it must have known that all the resources of the Law would be drawn on to find him out.”
“I agree,” said I. “Falcon’s terribly good, but he’s up against something here. Madame de Porphyry looks very promising; and if she drives a grey car, she’s going to be in a spot. But she may have an alibi. And, frankly, I can’t see a woman going to work in such a methodical way. You or I would make a reconnaissance first, as a matter of course. But I find it hard to believe that a woman would.”
“What about Berryman?”
“He’s well in the running,” said I. “He sounds a spiteful brute and he may very well have been nursing some bitter grudge.”
“Consider it this way,” said Mansel. “By the finding of Mafra, Sir William has given this case a very new look. The possession of such a poison is going to be most terribly hard to prove. And it’s got to be proved, William. That Madame de Porphyry had it is highly probable. That’s why she leads the field. But who’s going to find the physician who sold it to her – when even the Sûreté can’t trace transactions like that? If, say, she’d been seen on the terrace on Tuesday night, that fact would be so suspicious that her actual possession of Mafra might be assumed. Might. And the one japonica tablet which Falcon found might send her down. But she wasn’t seen on the terrace.”
Jenny put in her oar.
“Supposing she gave it to Dallas.”
“Paterson says that Dallas can’t put his foot to the ground.”
“I suppose,” said Jenny slowly, “it couldn’t have been a mistake. That somebody meant to murder Dallas, and went into Number Four, instead of Number Five.”
“That,” said Mansel, “is humanly possible. And if every other line fails, Falcon may follow that up. But it’s most unlikely, because the centre of the terrace lies between Three and Four. One can conceive a stranger confusing Three with Four: but Five is too far to one side. Besides, that’s just the mistake against which a determined stranger would be on his guard.”
There was a little silence.
Then –
“There’s just one point,” I said, “which Falcon didn’t make and we never raised.”
“I know, teacher,” said Mansel.
“I’m sure you do.”
“What is the point, darling?”
“This, my sweet. If Berryman recognized Lady Rosemary, it’s Lombard Street to an orange that Lord St Amant did, too.”
“That’s right,” said Mansel. “It’s rather dramatic, really; though much the same sort of thing must have happened many a time during the first great war. In fact, I know it did. You found yourself being nursed by a girl that you had danced with two years before. Not quite the same, of course.”
“Oh, no. Not the same,” said Jenny. “Because they weren’t nuns. I mean, that would make it so awkward. What ever would they do?”
“I imagine he’d leave it to her. If she chose to recall their acquaintance, well and good.”
“I should have,” said Jenny.
“Of course you would, my sweet. You’d have had a glorious time. But then you would have forgotten that you were a nun.”
“I think it’s all wrong,” said Jenny. “It simply isn’t natural. And it isn’t what Rosemary wanted. She wanted to be like us. I suppose they got hold of her.”
“I’ve heard they do that,” said Mansel. “You see, it’s their belief that the girl who renounces the world becomes, as Falcon said, the Bride of Christ. And a higher honour than that no man can conceive.”
“It isn’t natural,” said Jenny. “And what isn’t natural is
wrong.”
I confess I agreed with her.
The fine weather broke on Sunday, and we had much wind and rain for the next two days. But Wednesday morning was clear, and as the day wore on, it grew very hot.
We had persuaded Mansel not to be gone.
“If for no other reason, you must see this out,” I said.
“Well, I must go next Monday,” he said. “And I can’t believe that it will be over by then.”
“Once he gets a break,” said I, “it may very well go very fast.”
“That’s true. Did anything strike you, William, before Falcon went?”
“Just at the last,” I said, “I thought he seemed rather thoughtful.”
“I thought so, too,” said Mansel. “Well, we shall see.”
“Paterson?”
“Now why d’you say that?” said Mansel.
“Well, as we agreed just now, Falcon seemed rather thoughtful on Saturday afternoon. Well, that suggests that something had occurred that morning to make him think. Whom had he seen – not counting the Station crowd? The Mother Superior and Paterson. I know we can rule no one out, but if you’re going to tell me that the Mother Superior did it – well, then, I withdraw.”
“No,” said Mansel, laughing, “I’m not going to tell you that.”
“Well, that leaves Paterson. I’ll lay Falcon watched him closely, while he was reading the report. You see, he could easily have done it. He was on the spot and he knew the ways of the Home. He knew the habits of the patients – he’s said as much. And, as a doctor, he could have procured the poison. Finally, who would suspect the House Surgeon himself?”
“Very true, William,” said Mansel. “Your strongest card is the poison. Wash Madame de Porphyry out – and I don’t fancy her – and who could have obtained Mafra…at any time? It’s been known for fifteen years – but not to the world. Sir William, a physician, knew it. He had been shown it in France. But he had been shown it, as a doctor. Well, Paterson may have been shown it – years ago…and he may have been given two tablets, under seal. ‘May I take these?’ ‘Yes, go on.’ Between physicians, you know. But his motive is not apparent.”
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