Sleep of Death

by Anne Morice

  “Nothing at all is the short answer. I lost my nerve. I stood outside the front door for two or three minutes, with the keys in my hand, trying to work up the courage to use them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. In the end I just slunk away, feeling more humiliated than ever before in my life.”

  “I think your instinct had told you right. After all, this might have been very close to the time when she was killed. The murderer might still have been on the premises and then you’d have been really up the creek. You didn’t see anyone, I suppose?”

  “See anyone?”

  “Going in or out of the building?”

  Noticing that he took time out to polish his glasses before denying it, I did not consider it worthwhile pursuing the subject and instead asked him what he had done with the keys.

  “Nothing. That word is beginning to sum up the story of my life. I fully intended to replace them at once. There was still time for it when I got back to the theatre and I’d planned to go along to Philip’s room and wish him luck. Once again, I’d got every move worked out in advance. I’d station myself just inside the room, with my back to a chair and drop the keys down into it while I was talking, but I never got the chance. Benjie grabbed me the minute I got in. We were running late, among other things, so it was no time to go galloping around, popping into people’s dressing rooms for friendly chats. And then, of course, the heat became more intense as the evening wore on. It came to the point where I forgot all about the damn keys until I got home that night and found them still in my pocket. Which is where they remained until they passed into the hands of my mugging friend.”

  “But, Oliver, that was on Wednesday and you weren’t mugged until Saturday. Three whole days! What on earth possessed you to hang on to them for all that time?”

  “I’m not sure that I can account for it, even to myself. I’d been tempted once or twice to throw them away, make a parcel of them and put them in the dustbin, but something always stopped me. Whether it was some superstitious idea that they might somehow be found and traced back to me, or whether simply that it went against the grain to treat someone else’s property in that way, I can’t tell. I suppose I just told myself that sooner or later there’d be a chance to put them back where they belonged. I couldn’t have foreseen where it would lead to, could I?”

  “And at least one puzzle is now solved.”

  “What puzzle?”

  “I understand now why you didn’t alert the police when you were mugged. And, of course, not having reported that incident would have prevented your giving an accurate account of the burglary as well. To put it plainly, you were afraid that, if by some unfortunate fluke they were able to catch the man and return your property, it just might lead to some embarrassing questions about Philip’s keys.”

  “Not a lot gets past you, does it, Tessa? I had no idea you had seen through my small evasion.”

  “Oh well, I fancy myself at being able to tell when people are lying, but it’s nothing to be proud of. I’m afraid it’s mainly because I do it so often myself that I can see it coming from a mile off. Anyway, that’s a comparatively minor point. The big mystery still remains.”

  “I am not sure if I understand you.”

  “Oh, come on, Oliver! You must have foreseen that I’d be wondering why you are telling me all this now? If not at the beginning, why is it necessary to take me into your confidence at all? Why, after two days has it become imperative to unburden yourself, so that you have to come tearing round here at ten o’clock at night?”

  “It was the first chance I had. I telephoned this morning and they told me you’d be home for dinner.”

  “And what had happened by the time you telephoned which made it so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “The post had arrived.”

  “Oh yes? And what did that bring?”

  “A package containing all my own keys, including car keys.”

  “But not Philip’s?”

  “Correct!”

  “Very disturbing for you, I do see that. And no money or credit cards, not to mention the clock and other trifles he helped himself to while you were getting the Sunday papers?”

  For the third time during this conversation Oliver removed his glasses, now staring down at them as though wondering who they belonged to, and I went on: “Or did you, by any chance, invent that story of the burglary? Was it perhaps not true that when I arrived with Mr. Barksfield the thief had just walked into the house and removed some of your possessions?”

  “I am ashamed to admit that it was only half true.”

  “Oh, I see! Well, how about telling me the other half?”

  “He did use my keys to open the front door and let himself in. It is not true that anything was stolen.”

  “But in that case, Oliver, how do you know he was there at all?”

  “Because, although nothing was missing, several items had been returned, including the two you’ve just mentioned, and something extra had been added.”

  “Something extra!”

  “A sheet of writing paper, with a line of typing on it.”

  “Saying what?”

  “Saying: Got You Where I Want You Now. Nothing else, no signature.”

  “Where was it?”

  “In my typewriter. He’d taken the cover off and left the paper on the roller. I was appalled, literally shaking, with rage as well as shock. Then almost immediately I heard you coming, so I whipped the cover back on and tried to pull myself together enough to produce some plausible story to account for my state of nerves. I realised that I couldn’t get away with the pretence that it was simply the after-effects of the mugging, specially since you’d brought the locksmith with you and, in theory, the worst of my troubles was over. So I invented a nice, neat burglary.”

  “Have you kept the note?”

  “No. When you’d gone, I nerved myself to go back for another look at it, half hoping, in the ridiculous way one does, that it wouldn’t be there, that it was just a bad dream; but of course, it was there right enough. Sitting up on the typewriter and mocking me, just as he’d intended. It was the insolence of it which maddened me as much as anything. I scrumpled it up and threw it into the waste paper basket, trying to push it out of my mind, to force myself to believe that it had never existed. In any case, there would have been no point in keeping it, since he’d used my own writing paper and typed it on my own machine.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Sometimes, if you study it long enough, even the most blatantly simple message can be found to contain more than first met the eye. And how about the package which arrived this morning? Any message with that?”

  “No, nothing. A real cat and mouse game, isn’t it? But I daresay the implication is clear enough. Blackmail would appear to be the name of this one. Presumably, the next communication will come over the telephone. It’s getting to the point where I feel panicky about answering it. That’s partly why I came out this evening. I knew, if it rang, that I’d have to pick it up and it was getting on my nerves, just sitting there and waiting for something to happen. Walking the streets was preferable to that.”

  “So you didn’t have it in mind to call here when you set out?”

  “I suppose it must have been at the back of my mind, because I found myself walking in this direction. I can’t really tell you why because I knew there wasn’t more than a chance in a million of finding you alone.”

  “So you wouldn’t have told me, if Robin had been in the room?”

  “Oh no, good heavens, no. I had my story prepared for that eventuality. I was going to ask you about Philip and how he had stood up to the funeral. Then I was going to drum up some excuse for not having gone to it. I ought to have been there, you see, and I did mean to go, I had every intention of it, but this thing in the post threw me completely and I couldn’t face it. I had visions of sitting there in the church, knowing that this man could very easily be there too, perhaps in the very same pew, watching and
gloating.”

  “I doubt that. They seemed to be nearly all local people. The only one of our lot who bothered to turn up was Anthony, who always does the correct thing, and I can’t see him playing a trick like this, can you? However, the important point is, Oliver, what will you do? What action do you propose to take? Or are you prepared just to sweat it out, shaking in your shoes every time the telephone rings, until the next bombshell lands in your lap?”

  “What else can I do? I was hoping you might have some suggestion.”

  “If this has been strictly for my ears alone, without even Robin to be told, I am afraid my advice would be unacceptable.”

  “Meaning that you would recommend me to pass it over to the police? No, I couldn’t do that. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but it would be too much of a gamble. The chances of being believed are so remote that I dare not risk it. At worst, I should be held on suspicion of murder; at best, they could do nothing more constructive than tell me to keep them informed of further developments. What use would that be?”

  “So what is the alternative?”

  “Sweat it out, as you say, and wait for the next move. I do feel somewhat calmer now that I’ve unburdened myself. It doesn’t any longer loom quite so menacingly and I’m grateful to you for listening. I’ll go now and leave you in peace, but I hope you’ll bear with me if I keep you in the know with what follows?”

  “Yes, do; and in the meantime I’ll do some brain-racking on your behalf and hope for an inspiration.”

  “That’s really most kind!” he said, sounding as relieved and grateful as though he genuinely believed that his problems were now half-way to being solved.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anthony Blewiston answered the telephone, throwing me off course and it flashed through my mind that I had dialled his number by mistake. However, as further reflection reminded me that I did not know Anthony’s number, I asked him what he was doing there.

  “Ministering to the sick. Who is that? Tessa?”

  “Yes. Do you mean Philip? What’s he sick of now?”

  “Food poisoning, by the sound of it. He’s in a bad way, poor fellow.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but I still don’t understand how you come to be there. I caught sight of you at the funeral, but then you vanished into the unknown.”

  “Yes, I had an appointment to see a man about a pony. I was on my way home from there when it occurred to me that it would be the civil thing to pay a call on the bereaved. Just as well I get these charitable urges occasionally. This one turned into an overnight stop.”

  “Good for you! How is he now?”

  “Better. Still groggy though. He’s had a rough time.”

  “Has the doctor been?”

  “Oh yes, I had to call him in. Couldn’t take the responsibility, you know. Chap called Macintosh. Very nice man.”

  “Yes, I know him of old. He’s often in poor health himself and Toby’s been diagnosing his ailments for years.”

  “Well, he impressed me, I don’t mind telling you. Left his dinner party to come speeding up here at nine o’clock and back again this morning, about half an hour ago. Pretty good service for nowadays.”

  “And he said it was food poisoning?”

  “Symptoms indicated that. He was muttering about salmonella at one point, but he’s thrown that idea out now.”

  “Well, thank God for something, but what I don’t understand is how he could have got it. He only had a few slices of ham and some salad for lunch. I know, because Mrs. Gale put it out for him while I was there.”

  “Ah well, there would appear to be a bit of a mystery there.”

  “What could be mysterious about cold ham and salad?”

  “It seems he took a whim to liven it up with a lump of pork pie which had been at the back of the refrigerator since who knows when. Probably had whiskers on it.”

  “He must have been raving mad.”

  “Yes, or perhaps he only imagined it. He was a bit delirious at one stage and apparently he didn’t say a word about it to the doctor.”

  “Too ashamed of himself, I should think. Can you stay tonight as well?”

  “If I have to. Shan’t know my fate for certain until Macintosh looks in again around tea time. I can’t say I relish the prospect, but one can’t exactly leave him here on his own, if he’s not fit to look after himself and the mere mention of a nursing home throws him into a panic.”

  “I know. It’s a pity because a week or two in one of those would solve all our problems. Still, perhaps he couldn’t afford it anyway. How about getting a nurse to come in for a few nights?”

  “That was mooted too, but it seems they’re also rather pricey and not easy to come by in these parts. He wasn’t dead keen on that idea either.”

  “I see. Well, listen, Anthony, will you call me again after the doctor’s been and let me know the verdict? I have to go out now, but I’ll be here this afternoon.”

  “Whatever you say. Might you be able to come to the rescue?”

  “If necessary, I suppose I could. The prospect doesn’t please me any more than it does you, but I feel responsible for the old codger, in a way. Oh dear, how tiresome of Dolly to get herself murdered without making proper provision for him! She is turning out to be just as much of a trial now she is dead as when she was alive.”

  Soon after five he called me back.

  “Good news, Tessa! No sacrifices from you will be needed. Not for the present anyway.”

  “You mean Philip’s better?”

  “Not noticeably, but other feet have stepped into the breach.”

  “Whose?”

  “Oliver’s. Isn’t that something? He telephoned soon after I spoke to you. Wanted to apologise to Philip for not turning up at the funeral or something, and when I’d outlined the plot he offered to come down this afternoon and stay for as long as he was needed. How about that, eh?”

  “Very noble!”

  “Ah well, that’s as maybe.”

  “Why is it?”

  “Not wishing to be snide, I had the impression he was pretty keen to get out of London, for some reason. Don’t blame him for that, of course, but he’s never struck me as the country-loving type. I suggested he might as well hold his horses until we’d had Dr. Macintosh’s report, but he said no, he’d be down anyway. Funny sort of cove, isn’t he?”

  “I hope Philip is suitably grateful?”

  “He was when he heard Oliver would be bringing his own provisions. Dry goods, alcohol, the lot! Cheered him up no end.”

  “Sounds as though he’s prepared for a siege.”

  “Rather what I thought. I told him I didn’t see the necessity for that, seeing that he was the one who was putting himself out, but he wouldn’t have it. On the contrary, he said, he’d be bringing some work down with him and it would be a good chance to get stuck into it, without incessant interruptions.”

  “He has got it organised, hasn’t he? Not proposing to install a couple of secretaries as well, by any chance?”

  “You’re not far off, believe it or not. He says, so long as Philip doesn’t object, he’d like to have Benjie over during the daytime. No problem about finding a bed for him because his parents are only twenty miles away and he can stay with them. He’s got it all worked out.”

  “Except for one thing.”

  “Oh? What’s he overlooked?”

  “It sounds to me as though he’s got so carried away that he’s lost sight of the original purpose. I doubt if Philip will have, though, and you don’t need me to tell you that the incessant interruptions he can create will make Oliver’s office seem like the Gobi desert by comparison.”

  “You never spoke a truer word, old girl, but I don’t think we should let it worry us. And, to be fair, he’s not causing much mayhem at the moment. Bit drowsy most of the time.”

  “Did the doctor give him a sedative?”

  “Yes. Tried to, that is, but Philip wasn’t having any of that nonsense. Said he’s got
cupboardfuls of sleeping pills in the house already and no need to go throwing money away on a fresh lot. Macintosh had a look at them and said they’d do, he’d prescribed them himself, in fact. So that’s all in order and I should say we could leave him and Oliver to fight it out between them. I’m just waiting for him to get here, so I can show him the ropes and then full speed for home. If you take my advice, you’ll stay out of it.”

  Sound advice, too, in my opinion, although I was not able to heed it for long. The next pebble to ruffle the waters was thrown in by Oliver, who telephoned at ten o’clock the following morning and, with uncharacteristic terseness, asked me to go immediately to The Old Rectory.

  “Philip’s had another bad go during the night and he wants to see you.”

  “Have you called the doctor?”

  “Yes, he came about an hour ago. Gave him something to stop the vomiting and it seems to be working.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “He won’t say. All I know is that when I went in to see him just now he said he was feeling better, but it was urgent that I should get hold of you at once and tell you to come down. I asked him if there wasn’t something I could do, which is, after all, what I’m supposed to be here for, but he said no, it had to be you and no-one else.”

  “And you’ve no idea what it’s about?”

  “None.”

  “Can’t you put him on the line, so that he can tell me himself?”

  “No, I suggested that too, but he says he doesn’t feel strong enough and that anyway it’s not a fit subject for discussion on the telephone. I hope you can manage to get here because I can see that I shan’t have a minute’s peace otherwise, and Benjie’s due very soon. We were planning to get down to some figures.”

  “Oh, very well, tell him I’ll try and be there in a couple of hours. But where will it all end, I’m beginning to ask myself.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I

  It was Mrs. Gale’s morning for doing the weekly shopping and Oliver let me in. He had taken over the morning room and the desk was covered with ledgers and files. He offered me a drink from his private hoard and gave me the latest bulletin on Philip’s health, which was now on the mend again.