Macdonald, considering Anne’s narrative about the person who had come downstairs on Monday night observed that there were plenty of places of concealment on the ground floor: the cloakroom, the bathroom, the drawing room, the study, and the basement stairs were all available.
Macdonald went into the drawing room. The glass cabinet stood at its farther end; it was a beautiful bow-fronted piece of eighteenth-century craftsmanship, almost worthy of a place in a museum. It had doubtless once stood in the dining room and been moved when the house was altered on account of its size. In it stood the glass of a past period: wide, flat champagne glasses, “balloon” glasses for brandy, tall, slender hock glasses, squat Georgian tumblers and “pony glasses,” ruby-red claret glasses, sherry and port glasses, a gleaming array of English cut glass. On the lower shelves were finger bowls and rose bowls, decanters and jugs. Standing considering this exhibit, Macdonald’s long, lean face looked slightly saturnine. He was thinking of Madge’s comment, “When Mother said dinner she meant dinner, with all the family silver.” Doubtless the family glass, too. Four or five glasses to each cover, to be washed up by Madge after dinner was cleared away. He remembered, too, Mrs. Pinks’ comment: “Her ma would never have let Paula have those sherry glasses.” Macdonald was disposed to believe this. The collection in the cabinet was much too valuable to be trusted to the twins.
One of the keys from the bedside box unlocked the glass cabinet, and while Macdonald stood pondering, Colonel Farrington came in. His face was weary and very grey, but he faced Macdonald with the same resolute quietness and courtesy he had shown throughout.
“I am ashamed to think of the impression my family must have made on you, Chief Inspector. I have realised for a long time that the twins were making poor use of their lives, but it never occurred to me that they would panic in the manner they have done. I have been deeply shocked by their irresponsible behaviour, and I can only suppose that they are affected by the wartime upheaval of their childhood.”
The formal, rather stilted utterance was quite unlike the friendly simplicity with which the old man had spoken to Macdonald that morning, but the latter replied without any sound of officialdom in his voice: “Any investigation of this kind is a strain on people’s nerves, sir. That is particularly true when they have something to conceal, and I think your twins have got quite a lot they are trying to conceal. Whatever they may be, their secrets have got to be uncovered. If their actions are not germane to any investigation by my department, they will not be entered as evidence. Bearing that in mind, would you be willing to “talk about the twins? it may be that we shall be able to clear away a few misunderstandings between us.”
Colonel Farrington’s face suddenly lightened. “Willing? I should be only too thankful, Chief Inspector. I have been nearly distracted by the thought of these two foolish children incriminating themselves by their own stupidity. I’m their father; I’m responsible for them. Ask anything you like about them. I w ill tell you the truth as far as lies in my power.”
CHAPTER X
“SO you see that’s the general outline of their lives,” said Colonel Farrington. “In 1930, when they were born, I was aged forty-eight, their mother forty-three, rather an elderly couple to have twin babies. As I have admitted, they were spoilt children, indulged and encouraged in everything. When war broke out in ’39, our one thought was to ensure their safety, and my wife sent them to this school in Wales.‘It wasn’t until years later that I fully realised the sort of freak establishment that school was: not so bad for Paula, perhaps, hut for Peter quite demoralising. When I was demobilised in ’45 I wanted to get Peter into a public school, but no headmaster would take him. We paid for extra coaching and finally sent him to a crammer’s—the boy was incredibly ignorant. It was when he was nearly eighteen that my wife realised what a mistake she had made about his education, and she did her best to rectify it. She put a stop to his painting and got him a job with John Swinson, a solicitor friend. I think Swinson kept him out of regard for Muriel, but it was no good. I always realised it was no good. Peter turned the job up about a month ago. Muriel never knew he had left.”
He broke off for a moment and then went on: “You may well think I was at fault in keeping this fact from my wife, but Peter came to me and begged to be allowed a chance to do the only thing he wanted to do—to paint. Paula had got him a job, designing stage sets, and she said, ‘If he can only make a success of it, Mother won’t mind. Let him have a month or so and see if he can do anything worth while.’ She actually gave him pocket money out of her own earnings, and I let him have what I could manage. I hoped he would pull up and begin to work hard—a thing he’d never previously done. But I’m afraid he got into bad company and worse habits. Only I’ll swear to this, Chief Inspector. The boy’s not fundamentally bad, he’s not vicious. He’s weak and foolish and cowardly, but not a bad lot. And Paula has been trying to fight his battles, lying for him. I admit with shame she has always lied for him.”
His voice broke off, and Macdonald said: “I think I can understand the problem, sir, so we’ll leave it at that. Now, did you know that Peter had got himself into financial difficulties?”
“No. I did not. I could tell from the way he avoided me, and the fellows I’ve seen him with, that he was deteriorating rather than improving, but I did not know he was in difficulties of that sort. I am responsible for him, Chief Inspector, and I’m not trying to shelve that responsibility. I’ll face up to it, whatever it is, so please tell me the plain facts.”
“I’m not in a position to do so, sir, but I will tell you one plain fact which has emerged from our investigation today. Two of Mrs. Farrington’s most valuable pieces of jewellery are missing, and my own belief is that Paula took them from her safe on Monday night.”
Colonel Farrington looked thunderstruck. “I can’t believe it! I won’t believe it!” he cried. “The child would never have dared. She would have known they would be missed almost at once. Besides, they were locked in the safe. My wife never parted with her keys, she was the most careful of women. By day she kept the keys in her bag, at night she put them in a box beside her bed, and she was a very light sleeper—”
His voice suddenly stopped, as though his sentence had been cut short as the implication of his words dawned on him. “You can’t believe that!” he cried. “You can’t!”
“I have got no farther than the fact that the jewels are missing, sir, and it seems to me that Paula might have made an opportunity to remove them from the safe,” said Macdonald. “Let us get things as plain as we can. How often would Mrs. Farrington have examined the contents of her safe?”
“Every morning,” replied the Colonel, “and Paula knew it from the time she was a little girl. My wife was most consistent and regular in all her ways. The things in the safe were so arranged that she could see at a glance if anything was missing. She liked to wear her rings in sequence; every evening, when she went to bed, she would take off the rings she had worn during the day and put them in the box by her bed. Every morning she opened the safe, put back some rings and took out others. She then locked the safe and put the key in her bag until the evening. I have never known her depart from that habit; she was the most orderly of women, tidy almost to a fault, and she was very systematic in putting her things away.”
“Thank you. That’s quite clear.” said Macdonald. “Now, on Monday evening Paula went to her mother’s room shortly before the doctor came.”
“Yes,” agreed Colonel Farrington. “She asked if she might have the key of the glass cabinet there. I was in my dressing room at the time and the door was ajar, and I heard perfectly clearly what was said.”
“Then will you tell me about it?”
“Certainly. Chief Inspector, certainly! If only the children had the common sense to answer your questions plainly and fully, what a lot of trouble we should have been spared. Paula said she was giving a small sherry party for a friend’s birthday and could she borrow some glasses from the cabinet b
ecause Madge would not let her have any from downstairs. That bit about Madge was a diplomatic touch, Chief Inspector, because Madge guards the household goods like a dragon, very wisely, too. Paula pleaded like the spoilt child she is, and her mother said, ‘If I let you have the key, you must promise you’ll only take the plain glasses from the top shelf, and be sure to wash them up again yourself and put them away, so as not to give Madge extra trouble.’ All perfectly sensible and thoughtful. Paula ran away to get ready for her party and I went back to my wife again.”
“Do you know when Paula replaced the key in the box by the bed?” asked Macdonald.
“She didn’t. I put it back there myself.” said Colonel Farrington. “I’ve only just heard there was any fuss or mystery about this key, and I’m afraid it was my fault. When Madge and I realised that my wife was dead on Tuesday morning, Madge took me down to the kitchen to give me a hot drink. I was cold and shaken. The key of the glass cabinet was lying on the kitchen table; it’s a peculiar-shaped key, and I suppose I happened to notice it, in the odd way you do notice trivial details when your mind is half stunned. I picked it up and put it in the pocket of my dressing gown without even noticing what I was doing, and when we went upstairs again—Madge and I—I must have put the key back in that box automatically. And after that, what with Scott’s visit and all the talk about a post-mortem, all thought of the key went right out of my head. I suppose I hadn’t registered what I was doing. Madge did ask me about the key, just casually, and I said I knew nothing about it. That wasn’t a lie, because I didn’t remember. What the deuce did it matter where the key was—a silly trivial matter, I thought it. It wasn’t until they told me they’d been having an argument about it that I began to think and remembered what I’d done.” With frowning face the Colonel leaned forward towards Macdonald. “You say these jewels have gone. I’m certain that Paula wouldn’t have taken them, but you wouldn’t have made a suggestion of that kind without good reasons, I know. Will you tell me what makes you think it was Paula? It’s possible we can clear it up between us. like this confusion about the key.”
“One of the reasons is that Paula came downstairs to see her guests out of the house, and according to Mrs. Strange, she was on this floor for a much longer time than was necessary.”
“Yes, yes. Anne has been telling me the taradiddle she produced about that point. Of course Paula came downstairs to let her friends out, and very quiet they must have been; I never heard a sound of them. And Paula and Anne both said that the young people came down in their stockinged feet. Now the visitors didn’t put on their shoes again until they were out in the porch, and Paula stayed with them there to make sure they didn’t chatter or giggle, because they were close to Muriel’s bedroom window, and she always slept with her window open at the top. Well, I suppose it takes a minute or two for young people to put on their shoes, what with the straps and buckles these girls fancy, and Anne just exaggerated the time because she was standing there in the dark, silly girl. That’s just a common-sense explanation from an old buffer like me, but I think there’s a point in it.”
‘Yes, it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” said Macdonald equably; “but there’s still a discrepancy in the two statements. Paula says that Peter did not come downstairs; Mrs. Strange says that he did.”
“I should be disposed to believe Paula on that point, Chief Inspector. Probabilities, you know. Peter’s a noisy, clumsy juggins. His sister would have told him to stay upstairs and not come down kicking up a row when she was trying to be quiet. And as for Anne’s story about hearing someone else come down, you’ve got to remember this. Anne’s a nervy, highly strung girl. I’m very fond of her, but I’m not blind to her small faults. Ever since my wife’s sudden death and Scott’s refusal to sign a certificate, everyone in this house has been living on their nerves. Everyone bar me. I belong to a period when nerves were kept in their place. Grief is one thing: it’s got to be lived through; but nerves are the devil. Anne has been brooding, imagining God knows what, and she went on brooding over the events of Monday night and began to tell her husband this story of thinking she heard someone else come downstairs when she probably heard the cat chasing a mouse. And Tony pinned her down to chapter and verse, devil take him.” The Colonel paused here with a deep snort of indignation. “Well, there it is, Chief Inspector. You know the relationships in this house. Tony’s not my son, and I don’t see eye to eye with him. Not by a long chalk. I’ve no doubt he’s an excellent chap in his way—but there it is.”
Macdonald was much more interested in this exposition than he wished the Colonel to realise, The old man was beginning to express his own opinions. Up till now he had been loyally and steadfastly whitewashing the whole family. Leisurely Macdonald produced his cigarette case, being pretty certain that after all the alarms and agitations of the morning the old man must be longing for a cigarette.
“Oh. thanks very much . . . very good of you,” murmured the Colonel. “I’m afraid I’m right out. Muriel used—But I’ve told you all that before. Thank you, Inspector.”
Leaning back easily in his chair, Macdonald began: “You mentioned the relationships in this house, sir, meaning blood relationships. What about social relationships? I imagine that with the best will in the world there are rubs and irritations when a number of diverse people live in fairly close association under one roof?”
“Well, we manage pretty well on the whole.” said the Colonel mildly. “I’m willing to admit there have been occasional difficulties, but that’s an old story. I used to imagine that when children are brought up together, almost from infancy, they’d be like any other brothers and sisters. But it didn’t work out that way. Take Madge and Tony. They never hit it off. Never. They never will. In my opinion it’s Tony’s fault. He’s a self-centred, conceited chap in some ways, though I respect him in many ways. Very businesslike, very competent, and he was devoted to his mother, absolutely devoted, the best son in the world. But he’s never been fair to Madge. Some childhood’s jealousy at the bottom of it, I dare say, resenting another child occupying his mother’s attention. Queer business. Never see much sense in all this psychology business myself. Original sin’s nearer the mark.”
“Mr. Strange was speaking of Miss Farrington to me just now,” put in Macdonald, and the Colonel snorted indignantly.
“Was he? He’d better have held his tongue. He doesn’t know anything about Madge. Never speaks to her. Don’t you set any value on anything Tony says about Madge, Chief Inspector. He’s very misleading.”
“I’m interested to hear you say that, sir. Mr. Strange put forward a theory that Miss Farrington was mentally unstable, quoting his mother as his authority.”
The Colonel’s jaw dropped, then his face became so suffused that Macdonald was almost alarmed. “By God!” he burst out. “Of all the infernal lies! The fellow deserves thrashing. I never heard such poisonous nonsense in my life. Madge unstable? I tell you she’s the sanest, most sensible person in this house. She’s run this house, managed for everybody, kept the accounts, worked as no domestic servant ever worked . . . and you say Tony quoted his mother to support this monstrous assertion? I deny it utterly. My wife confided all her thoughts to me, and if she had had the faintest fear that Madge was not normal she would have told me. I’ll see to it ‘that Tony withdraws that slander, Chief Inspector. I’ll go to him now—”
“I shouldn’t do anything of the kind, sir. What you have to say can be more profitably said to me. Now try to look this thing in the face quietly and sensibly, as you have faced the other problems. And if you want my opinion, it is that Miss Farrington is fully responsible, perfectly clearheaded, and has shown no sign of mental instability whatever.”
The Colonel took out his handkerchief and mopped his flushed face. “Thank you. Chief Inspector. You’re right. Getting excited isn’t going to help anybody, not anybody at all. We’ve had too much of it already. I apologise; but it’s a monstrous thing to have said. I know Tony was upset about
his mother s death, but he should have known better than to allow his own grief to get the better of his judgment in this way. And it’s a reflection on his mother’s memory, too. I can hardly believe he meant such a thing.”
“He not only meant it, sir. He produced very detailed evidence. He said that Mrs. Farrington kept a private journal detailing Miss Farrington’s mental symptoms.”
The Colonel took a deep breath and made obvious efforts to keep his own resolutions about not being overcome by excitement, but his hand was shaking as he stubbed his cigarette out, At last he said, “And has Tony showed you this alleged journal?”
“No, sir. He said I should find it in Mrs. Farrington’s bedroom. I have not done so.”
“For the very good reason that it never existed,” said the Colonel. “If it had existed, I should have known of it. There is only one explanation. Tony’s own mind has become temporarily unhinged by the shock of his mother’s death. But I find it hard to forgive him. A monstrous lie, monstrous.”
2
Macdonald led the old man away from the topic of Madge, getting him back to the subject of Monday evening. It was then that the Colonel produced a rather unexpected suggestion.
About this story of Anne’s, Chief Inspector. Of course you’ll be seeing the young people who came to Paula’s little party, I know that; but it just occurred to me that one of your point-duty men might have passed this way at the time. If so, he’d have noticed the young people on the steps and might be able to help us. I know it’s only an outside chance, but it might be worth asking. Paula’s a very noticeable child, and the street lamp outside the house does light up our steps quite clearly.”
Murder of a Martinet Page 12
