Sleep of Death

by Anne Morice

  “Sheer, utter madness and I’m entirely to blame this time. I could kick myself now, but who would have dreamt it could happen so quickly?”

  “How long were you away?”

  “Oh, ten minutes. Not more than fifteen at the most. I just nipped down the road to get the Sunday papers. They close at twelve and I suppose the mere fact of knowing that help was on the way took me off my guard.”

  “And when you got back was there anyone in the yard?”

  “Not a soul. Just one or two parked cars, as usual. He must have been waiting and watching for his chance and I daresay he was in and out of the place before I’d got as far as the newsagents. I guessed immediately what had happened because I could see from twenty yards away that the front door was open.”

  “Are you sure you hadn’t gone so far off your guard that you forgot to shut it?”

  “Oh no, Tessa, someone was here all right, no question about it. The carriage clock has gone from this room and a rather nice little bronze, as well as my best bits of silver from the sideboard.”

  “So quite a discriminating thief?”

  “It would appear.”

  “Have you rung the police?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. They promised to send someone round immediately, but that’s still well below the average.”

  “Then you’d better make a complete list of what’s missing. That’s the first thing they’ll want.”

  “There’s nothing else, so far as I can tell,” he said, taking off his spectacles to give them a polish with his clean white handkerchief and so causing me to wonder why the advice should have embarrassed him.

  “And another thing they’ll want to know, Oliver, is everything you can tell them about the mugging, whether you can give any description of the man who attacked you.”

  “Not a chance. He came at me from behind and knocked me to the ground. I think I must have passed out for a minute or two, from shock or fright or something. When I came to, he’d gone and so had my money, keys and credit cards.”

  “And something else as well, presumably?”

  “Not that I know of. What makes you say so?”

  “Well, you must have been carrying something which had your address on it. Otherwise, how would he have known which front door the keys fitted?”

  “Yes . . . yes, you’re right, of course. How odd! I never thought of it. Thank you for reminding me. There must have been something and I’ll have to try and think what it could have been. A letter perhaps?”

  “Or did he know exactly who you were and where you lived?”

  “You mean some local chap who’s seen me going in and out? Yes, that’s a thought. Oh, do forgive me, Tessa! I’m not being very hospitable, am I? Listen, why don’t I ask your kind Mr. Barksfield to forget about the front door for the moment and apply his skills to opening up the cupboard for us?”

  “No, I think you should let him get on with the most important job and, anyway, I haven’t really time for a drink. We’re driving Philip to the country this afternoon.”

  “Oh, really? What time will you be leaving?”

  “After lunch. About three, I should think. We thought, if he had a decent lunch, he wouldn’t need to bother much about dinner.”

  “Dear Tessa, always so thoughtful!” Oliver remarked in an abstracted voice and not making it sound particularly complimentary.

  I was on the point of saying goodbye when he spoke again: “I was wondering . . . I’d hate to be a nuisance, but would it be all right if I were to look in for ten minutes later on, to say goodbye to the old boy?”

  “Yes, of course. Come to lunch, if you get through here in time.”

  “No, no, wouldn’t dream of it. You have taken on quite enough already. It’s just that I do feel I’ve been rather neglectful. I’ll come about half past two, if I may and just say a few words.”

  “Wouldn’t you call that pushing good manners to extravagant lengths?” I asked Robin, who had been keeping an eye on the roast lamb. “I can’t see that he’s been any more neglectful than anyone else. Rather less so, on the whole. He wrote Philip a marvellous letter. It was really beautifully expressed and quite uplifting. All written in his own immaculate hand, too. I hardly see why he feels it necessary to do more.”

  “In other words, he is up to something?”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh no, not me, but I’ve noticed that when someone behaves in a way which you personally find abnormal, you always say that it’s because they’re up to something.”

  “And experience has shown,” I replied, “that most of them are.”

  Chapter Ten

  I

  “And what is this one up to?” Toby asked at breakfast the next morning, Robin having set forth to London before either of us was awake.

  “I never discovered. He arrived, according to plan, soon after half past two, when Philip was upstairs finishing off his packing. Oliver said that, rather than hold us up, he would go and talk to him there. They were together for about ten minutes, also according to plan. Then Philip came down and said that Oliver would be bringing the suitcase, but that he’d found it necessary to go to the spare bathroom first. So I’m none the wiser.”

  “And you didn’t just happen to be passing the door and happen to hear raised voices from inside?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! In any case, I felt sure I could rely on Philip to pass on every word as soon as we were in the car.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “No. He either hadn’t listened to anything Oliver said, or he’d forgotten what it was by then.”

  “Or he’s up to something too?”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve scarcely known a time when he wasn’t.”

  “Though I suppose you wouldn’t go so far as to say he was up to murdering his wife?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s quite unprincipled, as you know. The main thing that puts me off that idea is that it was such a funny time to have done it; just hours before the preview.”

  “Also, as with all unprincipled people, myself included, self-interest is the guiding force and what possible advantage could her death have brought him? It is true that she was not a likeable woman, but they seemed to understand each other and get along well enough. Furthermore, not even you would deny that she was a dedicated and devoted wife, if you care for that sort of thing. I cannot see one single way in which he is going to be better off without her.”

  “I can, I can see several and the one which springs most readily to mind is that he’ll be a lot better off financially. She was the one with all the money and, whether she made a will or not, the bulk of it is bound to go to him.”

  “And since she managed her money very cleverly and never spent a penny that could be turned into twopence, what improvement will that make? So far as I can see, the only difference is that he will now have to sign the cheques.”

  “Which is all the difference in the world.”

  “Why? You surely don’t suggest that she was about to leave him and run off with someone else? I consider that most unlikely. Even if the man could be found to exist who would take her on, you can’t have forgotten how she revelled in being Lady Mickleton and basking in the reflection of such glory as still remained to him? I can’t see her giving all that up just for a man. And allow me to remind you that, with or without one, under the present law, Philip would have been entitled to at least a third of her income, which I feel sure he would have had no hesitation in claiming, and that would not have appealed to her at all.”

  “I agree with everything you say and I had never contemplated the possibility of her leaving him. Quite the other way round, in fact. It had occurred to me that he might have killed her for the simple reason that she was refusing to do so.”

  “I thought it was agreed that he had no reason for wishing her to?”

  “No, not quite. We’ve said what a dedicated and devoted wife she was, which is true, but I can well imagine that there we
re times when he found her a damn sight too dedicated for his comfort. She was extremely shrewish and domineering, you know, nagging him from morning till night about taking his pills and not having another drink, so that he could hardly call his soul his own. All for his own good, no doubt, but he must have found it irksome sometimes, specially when she bossed him about in public. And it was going to get worse, you know, Toby. He must have realised that jobs would be growing scarce from now on, so that little escape route would be sealed off, in addition to which he would become more and more dependent on her for money.”

  “Well, if you’re right, I personally consider he acted too hastily. I really cannot see that life without her is going to be much fun.”

  “The trouble is, you may underestimate him or at any rate underestimate his own opinion of himself. It would never surprise me if he had his eye on someone else.”

  “Now I know you’re joking. That is going too far.”

  “No, it isn’t. You find it ludicrous and I don’t blame you, but Philip is terribly vain and I have a suspicion that he still likes to see himself as the great lover and God’s gift to the female sex, specially now that he’ll have a fat income to offer, as well.”

  “Besides being so doddery that he can hardly crawl from one side of the stage to the other?”

  “And there,” I announced, “you have touched on a very interesting point.”

  “I am so glad. It is the kind of thing I am always hoping to touch on, but it is not one which you had overlooked, I suppose?”

  “Oh, indeed no, it’s about the first thing one associates with Philip these days; but, you know, the strange thing is, Toby, that he only started to go downhill like this quite recently, during the last five or six weeks, in fact. As actors go, he’s not all that old and he’d never have been engaged for such a demanding part if he’d projected the senile kind of image we’re getting now. You could argue perhaps, and many people do accept it as reasonable, that the strain of taking over at short notice and half-way through rehearsals has been too much for him, but I’m not one of them.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Partly because, if nothing else, he is at least very experienced and he must have realised exactly what he was taking on; but mainly because of what happened on the first night. I’m prepared to concede that his collapse then was genuine, but the curious thing is that when he was removed by ambulance to Beacon Square and we called our own doctor in, he told us there was no cause for alarm. He said that Philip was as sound in wind and limb as most men of his age and that he’d be as fit as a fiddle after a few days’ rest. All of which leads me to believe that he may have been faking some of this feebleness and that he’s actually about twice the man he would have us believe him to be. Do you wish to hear what I suspect his game might be?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Ignoring this, as he had known I would, I said; “In fact, Robin assures me that very little physical strength is needed to commit a murder of that kind. Providing you position yourself correctly, it’s no more trouble than tying up a parcel and, of course, it’s made simpler than ever if the victim has her back to you, best of all if she’s asleep. By the time she realised what was happening it would be too late to do anything about it. However, assuming that Philip had had no previous experience of that type of thing, he may have been unaware of how like falling off a log it would turn out to be. So my theory is that, having planned to murder Dolly, he would quite naturally have sought to eliminate any risk of becoming the prime suspect. Hence his slide downhill over the past few weeks. He had a good thing going for him, in so far as he and Dolly were known to be such a devoted couple and his intention was to consolidate his position by establishing in advance that he lacked the physical strength to carry out such a deed. Mind you, I’m not saying that this is a true picture of the facts, only that it’s feasible.”

  “And it will be interesting to see whether you are right. If so, I suppose we can look forward to a brisk rejuvenation setting in. He will once more be striding through life with an elastic step and a new little lady at his side.”

  II

  One little lady already at his side when I called at The Old Rectory a few hours later, to deliver some groceries which he had asked me to pick up in Storhampton, was Clarrie.

  This was unexpected, but a relief too, for I had been a shade worried when she did not keep her promise to telephone me early on Monday morning. Despite loud protestations to the contrary, I had been unable wholly to dismiss the possibility of Pete being a murderer and, from time to time, had been bothered by the thought of her spending the night alone with him in their isolated cottage. I had consoled myself to some extent with the reminder that few people in this world were better equipped to look after themselves than she was and that the most recent quarrel had now most likely burnt itself out and they had already reached a state of truce and redeployment of forces for the next one.

  Unhappily, this was not the case, as I discovered when she followed me into the kitchen, where I was unpacking the provisions, having put the bill in my pocket, on the remote chance that Philip would show some curiosity about it.

  I asked her what had brought her there and she replied: “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose there must be some tiny drop of Christian spirit still lurking in the wings, despite all my efforts to eradicate it. It occurred to me that it must be rather ghastly for the poor old knight, sitting here all alone while that grisly inquest was going on and everyone referring to her late ladyship as the cadaver and things like that. If I’d known you were coming, I’d probably have told the Christian spirit to take a running jump, but I didn’t and I thought the gallant and noble thing would be to sail over and take his mind off things for a bit.”

  “I bet you did that all right! But how did you get here, Clarrie? I didn’t see any car outside. Did Pete bring you and then go away again?”

  “Not Pete, the other one.”

  “Which other one?”

  “Old Redhead.”

  “Benjie, you mean?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Honestly, Clarrie, all this switching about! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No wonder you have such trouble remembering their names!”

  “It’s not exactly a trouble, but I’m apt to wander a bit sometimes and call them by the wrong one, which doesn’t go down very well.”

  “I suppose not, but tell me this: how does Benjie come to be driving you over here to see Philip this morning?”

  “Quite simple, dear. I rang him up and asked him to. I knew he was spending part of the weekend with his parents because before he got so tiresome and drunk at that terrible party he told me so and offered me a lift as far as the cottage.”

  “And so this morning you rang him up and commanded him to come all the way back to the cottage, in order to take you to call on Philip, which he obligingly did?”

  “You’re so quick on the uptake, Tessa, I do admire it. To be precise, he said it would suit him very well, because he was on the point of leaving anyway and, if I didn’t need to spend too long cheering Philip up, he’d loiter about at the pub for half an hour and then drive me on to London.”

  “I am the last one to jump to hasty conclusions, but it does begin to sound as though you hadn’t made up your quarrel with Pete yet?”

  “Not a chance. Unfortunately, it takes two to make up a quarrel.”

  “And he wasn’t co-operating?”

  “He wasn’t there. Not when I arrived, that is. I got an early train, you see, the ten fifty, which cost me a formidable effort, I might add, but I was feeling a touch remorseful, by then. Also I’d got to bed earlier than I’d expected and, one way and another, it seemed like a good idea. All the same, it was a fearful scramble and, by the time I’d finished talking to you, I realised that the only way I could ring him up and tell him what train I’d be on was by missing it, so I waited till I got to Dedley and guess what?”

  “No reply?”

  “You’re s
o quick! At that point I nearly rang you up and asked you to send Robin over to collect me, but I wasn’t sure I could rely on you to pass on the message. In the end I got a taxi up, which cost me about half last week’s salary, and when I got to the cottage he still wasn’t there.”

  “How terrible for you!”

  “Yes, it was. His car wasn’t there either, so I knew he hadn’t just gone for a walk or down to the village. I felt quite ill with frustration. Wouldn’t you have? All that effort and good intentions and then wham, bang, slap in the face. For two pins I’d have gone straight back to London, only I’d run out of money by that time and where do you cash a cheque on Sunday morning when you’re surrounded by nothing but trees?”

  “What time did he eventually get back?”

  “Around four, I suppose,” Clarrie replied, absent-mindedly removing the top of the gin bottle, which had been one of the items on Philip’s shopping list, and pouring herself a generous measure. “Refused to say where he’d been, to add insult to injury. I am very tolerant, as you know, but that was a bit too much for anyone. So I stated my case, which took an hour or two, owing to frequent interruptions and, as the sun most definitely had gone down on my wrath, I got up early and telephoned the red-head and here I am.”

  “And since you obviously won’t be here for long and the purpose of your visit was the altruistic one of cheering up Philip, maybe you ought to put in a few minutes on that, while I get all this stuff packed away?”

  “Whatever you say!” she replied and ambled away, still clutching the gin bottle.

  “Clarrie was looking well,” I remarked, more for something to say than from any deep interest in the subject.

  “Yes, very splendid. She’s a glorious creature, but rather wearing. Talks too much.”

  “Well, at least you didn’t have to endure it for long. As far as I can make out, she was only here for about twenty minutes and she spent ten of them wearing me out in the kitchen.”