Ne'er Do Well

by Dornford Yates

  “It arrived at four o’clock – and a great disappointment it was.

  “First, except for her visit to the USA, 1939–1945, Madame Ste. Hermine had not been out of France since 1935.

  “Secondly, her mother, the Comtesse de Jeige, had died in 1949 and her dossier had been destroyed.

  “In some impatience, I sent another request: this for Madame de Jeige’s maiden name. At least, they must be able to furnish that. Meanwhile, I had to get on. If France couldn’t help me, I’d got to help myself. I enlisted the help of ‘Records’.

  “I spoke to the AC first and told him that the search to be made might keep them up half the night.

  “‘That doesn’t matter, Falcon. I’ll speak to Burwash, myself.’

  “Burwash was ready for me. But when I gave him the slip, he bit his lip.

  The Countess de Jeige. British Subject by birth. French by marriage. Presumably resident in France. Maiden name, not known. Died 1949.

  INFORMATION REQUIRED: What visits, if any, were paid by the above to the British Isles between 1935 and 1949. Details.

  “‘We must work back,’ Burwash said. ‘I’m afraid it may take some time. If she came in between 1938 and 1946, Ewing will have her down.

  “‘That means that, between those dates, she was vouched for?’

  “‘Yes – with or without her knowledge.’

  “‘That’s what I want.’

  “‘We’ll get on to it at once.’”

  Falcon looked round.

  “This urgency may surprise you. You may be wondering why it was so very important that I should receive this information as soon as ever I could. The answer is this. I dared not postpone my return to Ne’er-do-well. On Thursday morning at latest, I must be back. For I had people to see – and irons grow cold. Now when I went back, things might move very fast – as, in fact, they did. But unless I knew that the woman could have had Mafra, I should not dare act. And if I was held up like that – well, I don’t say that things get out, but danger has a scent of its own. Quite a lot of people can smell it. I’m sure that both of you will bear out what I say.”

  “I will, indeed,” said Mansel. “I think it’s instinct, Falcon. More than once that instinct has saved my life.”

  Falcon nodded.

  “In a guilty person, that instinct can be very strong. Because their senses are tuned to the particular wavelength on which the whisper of danger can be heard.

  “Well, I went back to my room. There I sat down, read through all my reports and made a very full note. In this I set down every tiny detail that could be construed as bearing out my belief that the Mother Superior had taken St Amant’s life. Of course, there were serious gaps. Whether those would be closed, I could not tell.

  “At half past seven I went back to talk to Burwash…

  “Ewing and Burwash found it at a quarter past eight. Exactly what I wanted – much more than I had hoped.

  28th June 1940. Entry at Liverpool. Victoria Mary, Countess de Jeige. French by marriage, British Subject by birth. References: – Sir Evelyn Scrope, Fennings, Broadway, Friend: The Mother Superior, The Nursing Home, Ne’er-do-well, Sister.

  “I caught the AC as he was leaving his room.

  “‘Evelyn Scrope,’ he said. ‘Yes, he’s all right. I think Lady Scrope is dead. He’s getting on: he must be nearly eighty. A very nice, gentle, man. Are you going to ring him up?’

  “‘I want to,’ I said. ‘I want to ask him to see me tomorrow at ten o’clock.’

  “‘I’ll do it for you, Falcon.’

  “‘It’s very good of you, sir.’

  “Twenty minutes later my telephone rang.

  “‘AC speaking, Falcon. Scrope will be happy to see you, between eleven and twelve.’

  “‘I shall be at his gates, sir, sharp at eleven o’clock.’

  “‘I thought you would. Some things won’t wait. And then you’ll go on to Wiltshire. Well, here’s the best of luck.’

  “‘Thank you, sir.’

  “‘Goodbye.’

  “I enjoyed the ride down to Broadway. In a police car, it doesn’t take so long.

  “Sir Evelyn was perfectly charming.

  “‘You may command me, Superintendent. Ask whatever you please. I knew Lord St Amant’s father very well.’

  “‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And now I’ll go straight to the point. I want some information about the Comtesse de Jeige.’

  “He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  “‘About Vicky?’ he said. ‘You couldn’t help liking Vicky. You know she’s dead?’

  “‘In 1949.’

  “‘’48 or ’49. You’re probably right. She was a very old friend – at school with my wife. I must have met her first in the early nineteen-twenties.’

  “‘I assume that she lived in Paris.’

  “‘That’s quite right. I think it was in Paris that I met her first. But she was often in England. You know, of course, that she was an English girl.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “He smiled.

  “‘The strange thing is that no one would ever have dreamed that she wasn’t clean-bred French. I heard a Lord Chancellor once congratulate her on her beautiful English. She gave him a bewitching look. Then she broke into Cockney. You ought to have seen his face.’

  “We laughed together.

  “‘It’s clear,’ said I, ‘that she was full of fun.’

  “‘She was, indeed. And very, very pretty. Altogether most attractive and excellent company. But she was very French.’

  “‘What exactly d’you mean by that?’

  “‘Oh, nothing to her discredit. But she had that careless elegance of manner which only the well-bred Frenchwoman seems to possess. Then, again, she was a realist.’

  “‘You knew her well, Sir Evelyn.’

  “‘Oh, yes, very well. She stayed with us more than once. I never cared for her husband. I thought him rather spineless. But I was wrong.’

  “‘Why d’you say that?’

  “‘When France surrendered, he forced her out of the country against her will. He drove her to port after port, to get her on board some ship – without success. At last he got to, I think, St Jean-de-Luz. And there he found a ship: and on that, being British by birth, she was taken aboard. Then he turned round, dismissed his chauffeur and drove back the way he had come. He was never heard of again. I think he knew how to die.’

  “‘Did you see her when she arrived?’

  “‘She came straight to us – and stayed for three or four months. She arrived in some General’s car. That was Vicky. Landed at Liverpool. Nothing but what she stood up in, and not one penny in her purse. But a General’s car. How she did it, I’ve no idea. She was well over fifty then, but she had this amazing charm.’

  “‘How did she react to the fall of France?’

  “‘She was greatly upset, of course. She’d never expected France to go as she did. But she’d always been sure they’d be beaten. And she was entirely convinced that England would be overwhelmed. She knew we should never surrender, but she was perfectly certain that Hitler would have his way. She had poison all ready to take, when the Germans arrived. She pressed some upon my wife: but she only laughed and told her to wait and see.’”

  There was a little silence.

  Then Falcon went on.

  “‘You say that she stayed with you for three or four months.’

  “‘Yes. Then she took a flat in London – Hampstead, I think. You see, her father was rich, and all her private fortune was in the hands of Trustees – in England, of course.’

  “‘I see. Did you see her again?’

  “‘Oh, yes. Several times. She used to come down for a week. But she had a lot of friends.’

  “‘Did she go to see her sister?’

  “‘At Ne’er-do-well? Not very often, I think. They had very little in common. I know she went once. That was soon after she got here.’

  “‘While she was staying with you.’

&n
bsp; “‘Yes. Some time in July, 1940. Petrol was difficult, but we managed to get her there. I think she felt it was her duty. You see, she was then convinced that the German onslaught was only a matter of days, and she felt that, once it had come, she would never see her sister again.’

  “‘I don’t suppose you went with her.’

  “‘As a matter of fact, I did. I didn’t go in, of course. I sat in the car outside.’

  “‘She wasn’t long.’

  “‘Not very long. Three quarters of an hour, perhaps. I think, you know, she was glad to get it over. I remember that when we were leaving, she heaved a sigh of relief. En voilà pour un an ! she said. If we are still alive. At least, I have done my duty. That was her way, you know. She would leap between English and French in a most attractive way.’

  “‘No love lost there.’

  “‘I don’t think there was. Her sister was older than her by five or six years. I remember her saying once, ‘Blood may be thicker than water, mais elle n’a pas de sang dans les veines. She has one use for my visits – and only one. She loves to air her French.’

  “‘Did you ever meet her sister?’

  “Sir Evelyn shook his head.

  “‘No.’ He got to his feet, moved to one of the windows and stood looking out. ‘My dear wife died in that home. A major operation. I don’t think she could have survived. She was there because she and Vicky had been such very close friends. And she had known the sister, when she was young. The sister, the Mother Superior, never came near her once. If she had been herself, she would have laughed it off. But, being so ill, she felt it. It was unkind, you know.’

  “‘It was brutal,’ I said.

  “‘That’s how I saw it. Ah, well. It’s all over now.’

  “‘She knew who she was.’

  “‘Oh, yes. I’d written to her. We didn’t expect special treatment, but it was such a smack in the face. Only a harsh and unconscionable woman could have done such an unkind thing.’

  “After a moment or two, he turned and came back to his seat.

  “‘Tell me this, Sir Evelyn. Why was Madame de Jeige so sure that the Germans would win?’

  “He shrugged his shoulders.

  “‘She’d adopted the French outlook. She felt that nothing could stand against the mighty machine which Hitler had made. She’d a good deal to go on, you know. If they could have crossed The Channel, it wouldn’t have been too good.’

  “‘And she had poison all ready?’

  “‘Yes, indeed. She didn’t trust the Boche.’

  “‘But where had she got it from?’

  “‘Some doctor in Paris, I believe. He supplied it for that very purpose. I imagine he picked his patients – I hope he did. She assured my wife it was painless and very swift.’

  “‘She didn’t say what it was called.’

  “‘I don’t think so. My wife was rather shocked at her having such stuff. And she begged her to keep it locked up. I remember her telling me that.’

  “I left the matter there – as well I might. To my great relief, he gave no sign of connecting the questions I’d asked with St Amant’s death. But he’s getting on, of course: and he is so quiet and gentle that I can well believe that murder is one of those things upon which he dislikes to dwell. So I guided him on to his friendship with Lord St Amant’s father.

  “‘I knew him well,’ he said. ‘We used to fish together. His wife was a very sweet woman. I had a lodge in Scotland, and they used to come to stay. Neither got over the shock of Joris’ death. The tragedy being, of course, that he wasn’t dead. He got back in time to see them, but the damage was done. Lady St Amant was failing, and he was aged. But for that, I think he’d have been alive now. Still, he’s been spared this tragedy.’ He sighed. ‘It’s beyond me, Superintendent. To my mind, only a maniac could have desired to put such a man to death. But I mustn’t interfere. It’s nothing to do with me. And I’m perfectly sure that you’ll see that justice is done. Sir George spoke so nicely of you. He said I should enjoy our meeting – and he was perfectly right. I do hope you’ll stay to luncheon.’

  “‘That’s very kind of you sir; but I’ve got to get on.’

  “‘Very well. I’m not going to press you. You know your business best. A glass of sherry and a biscuit, before you go.’

  “‘Thank you. I should like that.’

  “‘I didn’t really want it: but I felt that I couldn’t refuse…

  “As we shook hands –

  “‘I know you’ll forgive me, Sir Evelyn, for saying this. What has passed between us is secret. I’m sure I can count upon you.’

  “‘Indeed, you can. Not a word of what has been said will pass my lips.’

  “I should have liked to lunch at The Lygon Arms. But I couldn’t do that: so I stopped at a wayside inn about ten miles off. After a little persuasion, they gave me something to eat.

  “And then I drove on here.

  “As I went, I surveyed the position.

  “The most formidable jump had been cleared. Fortune, for some strange reason, had played clean into my hands. She had given me full measure – far more than I had dreamed that I should ever receive.”

  “You went out and got it, Falcon.”

  “I followed a line, Colonel Mansel. The moment I learned that Madame St Hermine was the Mother Superior’s niece, I was sure that it was her mother that passed the stuff. And when I found that she’d entered just after the fall of France…

  “I felt very badly about keeping you in the dark. But I wasn’t ready to disclose the terribly sinister path down which I was being led. I felt I must tread it alone. I didn’t even tell Rogers. To tell you the truth, I was most deeply shocked. And I think perhaps you’ll agree that I had no right to talk, until I could prove what I said.”

  “When you say you felt badly,” I said, “I feel ashamed. If ever it helped you to talk, well and very good. But we respected your silence. It’s very handsome of you to tell us now.”

  “So long as you understand…

  “Well, I wasn’t home yet. A very great deal was depending on Sister Geneviève. What had Sister Josephine told her? And then – worst of all – I must see Sister Helena. I truly dreaded that: but it had to be done. On what I learned from those two, was depending the completion of my case. And I wanted to see the reports which Paterson made: for they had a certain importance. All the same, things seemed to be working out.

  “Well, I got back here, as you know on Wednesday afternoon. And that evening I told you of Curfew and Berryman.

  “The next day I went to the Home at eleven o’clock. (From this time on, I shall cut out the routine stuff.) Before I did anything else, I went to see the Mother Superior.

  “The woman was very cordial. I hope I may be forgiven for playing up.

  “‘I’m glad to see you back, Superintendent.’

  “‘Thank you, madam. I hope you haven’t been bothered, while I was away.’

  “‘In no way. I trust your visit to London was not paid in vain.’

  “‘Not altogether, madam. But a case like this takes time. So many exhaustive inquiries have to be made. And I have a request to make.’

  “‘Pray make it, Superintendent.’

  “‘You have, of course, a record of the patients who enter this home. I should very much like to see it.’

  “‘Of course. Ask Dr Paterson. The porteress has one, too. But his is the record to which I always refer.’”

  Falcon stopped there and looked round.

  “Pure camouflage, of course. But it was of the greatest importance that she should get no ideas.

  “We talked for a few minutes more, and I took my leave.

  “Then I found Paterson.

  “‘What would be a good time,’ I said, ‘for me to visit your house?’

  “‘Between four and five, Superintendent. I’m seldom wanted then. Will you come this afternoon?’

  “‘Yes, if you please. I’ll be with you soon after four.’

&
nbsp; “‘Very well. I’ll give you tea.’

  “‘That’s very kind of you.’

  “Then I went in search of Sister Geneviève.

  “I encountered her in the corridor. As soon as she saw me, she gave me her charming smile.

  “‘I’d very much like to have a few words with you. What time would you suggest?’

  “‘I’m off between two and four. What about half past three – in B consulting-room?’

  “‘I shall be there,’ I said.

  “And so I was.

  “‘Well, Sister Geneviève, did you see Sister Josephine?’

  “She nodded.

  “‘Poor girl,’ she said, ‘she didn’t know what to do. She said you’d spoken so nicely and begged her so earnestly not to keep anything back. And yet she did. I’m afraid it’s of no importance, because, you see, it happened on Monday night. But you had begged her not to keep anything back. But she didn’t like to tell you, with the Mother Superior there. You asked about the visits she’d had. And she told you as best she could. But she didn’t mention the Mother Superior’s visit. She felt it was for the Mother Superior to tell you that.’

  “I smiled.

  “‘I think that was very natural.’

  “‘I was sure you’d understand. The Mother Superior came in on Monday night.’

  “‘I don’t think I asked about Monday.’

  “‘No, but you said “everything”. And that was enough for Sister Josephine. Just about half past eleven, on Monday night, the window curtains parted and the Mother Superior came in. She didn’t speak. She looked at the patient and then at the patient’s chart. Then she knelt and prayed for a moment, and then she rose and went out.’

  “‘One of her routine visits.’

  “‘Yes. I don’t do night duty now, but it used to be one of her ways of keeping us up to the mark.’

  “‘You never knew when to expect her.’

  “‘That’s right. But, as I say, it was Monday – not Tuesday night.’

  “‘Exactly. Had it been Tuesday, the Mother Superior would naturally have told me herself.’

  “‘Of course.’