by Leo Bruce
“In fact the first thing that began to worry Babs was the behaviour of Alice Pink. The secretary was the only one who had felt, mixed with her fear and hatred of Mrs Bomberger, some kind of twisted affection for her. After her death Miss Pink became very peculiar in her manner and was caught helping herself to gin. She almost broke down under my cross-examination more than once, but Babs had drilled into her, I am sure, how dangerous was her situation as the one who had actually administered the poison, and she held out.
“Whether Babs knew that Alice Pink was coming to me next day to tell me all she knew, or whether she just took advantage of a misty night, we cannot know. I think the latter. I think she had persuaded Graveston to follow Alice on several occasions on these evening walks. Indeed Graveston almost admitted as much, contradicting Babs, who said he had once seen Alice Pink in the shelter. I think Babs had decided that the emotional Alice Pink who longed to tell the truth and knew that Mrs Bomberger had swallowed six sleeping-pills without realizing their certain effect, was too dangerous a person to live.
“It was very easy to kill her. A few of the morphine sleeping-tablets (kept from the first packet unused by Mrs Bomberger) dissolved in the contents of Miss Pink’s flask would be sufficient to kill or perhaps just render her unconscious. Babs ‘discovered’ her absence soon after she left, followed her up to the shelter on the plea of finding and looking after her, waited till the morphine had had its effect and rolled the dead or nearly dead body over the edge of the cliff. Then she returned and with all security sent out search-parties to look for her.
“If Mrs Plum’s story is true about a projected suicide by Alice Pink some days earlier, with a note left on her typewriter taken while she was out…”
“What do you mean ‘if it’s true’?” asked Mrs Plum indignantly. “If you had seen what I’ve seen in that house all you’d wonder is that it wasn’t worse. I wake up in the night all of a sweat and a shiver when I think of it, and you’d do the same if you knew the half of it. Of course it’s true.”
“Then it is possible that Babs kept that note as a sort of insurance. After all, she could appear to find it at any moment among the dead woman’s papers. It may even still be there. But it doesn’t matter much.
“At this point the case was clear in my mind. I had no proof—indeed I haven’t now any proof acceptable to a court of law—but I am sufficiently sure to count on evidence which can be obtained from Miss Gracie Stayer, from Graveston and from Mr and Mrs Cribb which will confirm the whole story.* I did not see how there could be proof unless Miss Gracie Stayer could be frightened or persuaded into giving evidence against her sister. That piece of investigation, on those lines, I was not prepared to undertake. It was work for the police, not for me. So I decided to throw in my hand.
“Before doing so, however, I let Babs Stayer know that I was aware of the truth. At an interview with the family I said, ‘Both murders were ingenious and lucky, and it may be that no charge will be brought until the police obtain a certain piece of evidence which I do not wish to obtain. Please don’t ask me what it is, for if I answered that I should be revealing more than I ought. I will say only that it can be obtained, that it almost certainly will be, but that it is not for me to obtain it.’ Moreover I told the members of the family that I should tell the police what I knew, if they needed it. Babs became perfectly aware that she was in mortal danger. It was too late now to try to close more mouths, or I haven’t the slightest doubt that she would have killed her sister. Instead of that she committed suicide. I have nothing more to say.”
In the buzz of awed chatter which succeeded this Mr Gorringer approached Whibley.
“Well, Inspector, what do you make of that? You won’t deny it was a brilliant exposition, I’m sure?”
“I won’t deny anything,” said Whibley with his usual good humour. “On the other hand, I can admit nothing, I’m afraid. The police cannot give ‘brilliant expositions’, as you term it. They work at a case like this without explaining to all and sundry what their conclusions may be. I cannot tell you with how much of what Mr Deene has said I agree or disagree or how much was known to me already. I will say that I was extremely interested.”
“Ah, that is a concession!” said Mr Gorringer, delighted. “Deene, my dear fellow, you deserve a drink. Oh, but I see you have one already.”
“You seem to find it all very cheering, headmaster,” said Carolus bitterly.
Mr Gorringer at once assumed an air of solemnity.
“It is a terrible affair, Deene. Terrible. Two murders and a suicide. I am appalled. My only consolation is that my publisher, Mr George Stump, is in no way involved, as I feared from your earlier, somewhat flippant, remarks he might be. That and the fact that through coming here at this time I have been able to replace Mrs Critchley, our school matron, so very appropriately. I have no doubt that Miss Ethel Pink will be a treasure. A treasure.”
Across the room Mr Stump was almost held in his chair by Otto Bomberger.
“But you can’t have forgotten, old man. It’s not a thing you can have forgotten, like that. Think of its importance to me. Now cast your mind back. What sort of sum …”
“It is a thousand pounds,” snapped George Stump in exasperation.
“Is it, by Jove? That’s not so bad. It might have been more, of course.”
“It might have been considerably less,” said Stump and at last got himself away.
It was Mrs Plum, however, who had the last word.
“It only shows, doesn’t it? She might have gone on one after another if she hadn’t decided to do for herself. It’s enough to turn anyone to drink and the horrors to think of it. And you’re going away, are you?” she asked Carolus. “Well, I suppose you can now you’ve told us all about it. I don’t suppose it’ll please her where you’ve been staying to know that her house has been mixed up in anything like this, but there you are. I’m glad if anything I’ve said has been of help, but I couldn’t have kept it to myself, not if you were to have offered me a fortune. I should never have been able to sleep at night.”
“That seems to have been a common complaint,” said Priggley. “You should try reading The Wayward …”
“Priggley,” said Carolus irritably and silenced him.
Within an hour Carolus, taking his cousin with him, had thankfully left the town.
“A beastly case,” was all he ever said about it.
* Carolus was right here. At his next interview with these persons Detective Inspector Whibley obtained the whole truth, which, with certain trifling differences, was as Carolus supposed.
THE END
