by Eric Brown
He took a draught of Scotch. ‘You left the study, locking it behind you with a copy of your father’s key, returned to Threepenny Cottage and met Maria and me there around noon. Although, had we been unable to accept your invitation, no doubt you would have established an alibi by being seen, at the time your father was “murdered”, in St Austell or elsewhere. After dropping us back at your cottage around five o’clock, you set off across the bay to the jetty, ascended to the study, let yourself in and cut the wire leading through the trapdoor, leaving just a short garrotte with loops at each end. You removed the chocks, rolled back the rug to cover the trapdoor and left the study, locking it behind you and hurrying back down to your boat.’
He finished his whisky and stared at the empty glass for a while, then went on, ‘At some point you planted Wilson Royce’s glove in the brazier and allowed the investigation to take its course, knowing that the chances were we’d discover Royce’s theft and his blackmailing of your father. You would then have taken great satisfaction in seeing Royce hanged for the crime you committed.’
In a faltering voice, Annabelle said, ‘Do you have any idea, Langham, what it was like for me … to have been controlled all my life by someone like my father – and then to find myself in the clutches of a worthless, scheming petty criminal like Royce?’ She shook her head. ‘He deserved,’ she finished in a whisper, ‘everything that was coming to him—’
She was interrupted by the sound of a car engine and the crunch of its wheels on the gravel. Langham looked up to see Jeff Mallory’s Humber pull up in the drive and its owner climb out.
Annabelle hung her head, her fists clenched in her lap, as the door opened and Mallory appeared on the threshold.
The detective inspector took in the scene and Annabelle’s posture, and his expression crumpled. ‘Don?’
Bracing himself, Langham stood and crossed the room to his friend.
EPILOGUE
The weather was kind to Charles Elder’s annual garden party.
The sun shone from a cloudless sky and forty guests milled around the lawned garden of his Pimlico agency, enjoying drinks and nibbles and the kind of eclectic conversation generated by gathering together the great and the good of the London literary world – and, Langham thought, the not so great and good. He’d spotted at least half a dozen spongers along for the booze, writers down on their luck whom Charles, being the kind-hearted man he was, could not bring himself to eject. ‘The more the merrier!’ he’d trilled when Albert pointed out that a couple of hacks had been seen dipping pint glasses into the punchbowl.
Langham sat in the shade of the summer house and watched Jeff Mallory at the far end of the lawn, absorbed in conversation with their actress friend, Caroline Dequincy.
‘They seem to be getting along very well,’ Maria commented, sipping her drink.
‘I thought it’d be a good idea to introduce them,’ he said. ‘In my humble opinion, they’re made for each other.’
‘Well, let’s see what happens.’
He sighed. ‘Do you know something, old girl, I can’t help thinking about Annabelle Connaught.’
She regarded him. ‘I thought you’ve been rather quiet. What is it?’
‘Well … that last conversation with her in the drawing room at Connaught House. Do you know, I expected her to claim that she killed her father out of compassion, but I don’t think that sentiment ever entered into her reasoning. She was her father’s daughter, all right, in that she inherited his egotism – she saw a way of killing two birds with one stone, and nothing was going to stop her. The thing is …’
He lapsed into silence, and Maria touched his shoe with the toe of her high-heel. ‘Go on. The thing is?’
‘The thing is, I had her down, in my naivety, as a decent type. Perhaps I was blinded by her beauty, and the fact that she was a doctor.’
Maria smiled at him. ‘Do you know, Mr Langham, you are a little naive, but that’s because you’re also a good person.’
He looked up. ‘What did you think of her?’
She hunched her shoulders, considering. ‘I liked her, but even so – and this isn’t the wisdom of hindsight – I thought that there was more to her than she was giving away. It struck me that she’d been damaged by her father.’
He shook his head. ‘What a terrible legacy he left behind, Maria. I wonder how many people he hurt down the years?’
‘My guess is many, my love, but no one more so than Annabelle.’
In a bid to change the subject, Langham pointed across the garden to Charles. ‘It’s lovely to see him so happy, isn’t it?’
‘He’s like a child on Christmas day,’ Maria said.
Charles looked across at Albert, who paused in the act of pouring wine for a guest. The young man caught Charles’s eye and gave a dazzling smile.
‘And it’s nice to see that Albert’s settled in so well,’ he said.
A little later Charles and Albert retreated to the summer house and joined Langham and Maria.
‘That’s all the food and drink out,’ Albert said, ‘and now I can put me feet up. Blimey, but your friends can’t half put it away, Charles. I thought the regulars at the Boy and Barrel could sup, but this lot’d win a drinking contest hands down.’
‘There is something about the literary mentality,’ said Charles, ‘which predisposes it to alcohol.’
‘In other words, scribblers like their booze!’ Albert laughed. ‘And look, Don’s glass is empty. Can I get you a refill, Donald?’
‘Do you know, I think I’ll pace myself. The afternoon’s yet young.’
Jeff Mallory joined them, pint glass in hand. He was beaming from ear to ear.
‘I think you made a hit there, old boy,’ Langham said.
‘She’s a corker, Don. Thanks for the intro. She had to dash off – meeting a director at the Ritz. Did you know that she’s started acting again?’
‘That’s news to me,’ Langham said. ‘Did you get her number before she flew?’
‘Even better, I’m taking her out to dinner next week.’
‘Attaboy.’
‘You certainly don’t waste any time,’ Maria laughed.
Talk, inevitably, returned to the events at Connaught House. ‘Word among the legal bods,’ Mallory said, ‘is that Annabelle Connaught will get off with a charge of manslaughter. Her defence is claiming diminished responsibility, the result of her father’s adverse psychological influence. They’re confident she’ll get ten to twelve years and will be out in seven or eight. She was a beautiful woman in the clutches of an ogre of a father – her counsel will play that for all it’s worth.’
Maria asked, ‘And will the prosecution bring up the fact that she tried to implicate Wilson Royce?’
Mallory shook her head. ‘Can’t be proven,’ he said. ‘We know she wanted him to swing, but it’s pretty circumstantial. Anyway, I just want to forget the bloody case, pardon my French.’
‘You and me both,’ Langham agreed.
He looked up as the gate at the far end of the garden swung open and Ralph Ryland sauntered in. He was dressed in a new navy blue pin-striped suit, a trilby set on the back of his head, and looked for all the world like an East End spiv on the make.
‘But who is he with?’ Maria sounded surprised. ‘That’s not Annie, is it?’
Langham stared. ‘No, it certainly isn’t.’
The slim blonde girl in a yellow summer frock and floppy sun hat looked young enough to be Ryland’s daughter.
Ryland saw him, waved, and steered the young woman across the lawn.
He gave Langham a wink and said, ‘Told you I had a surprise or two in store, didn’t I, Don?’
‘You did, but I must admit I thought it was business related.’
Ryland chortled. ‘It is. Don, everyone … meet Pamela Baker, Ryland and Langham’s new secretary-cum-receptionist. Pam, this old reprobate here is the famous scribbler Donald Langham, and his wife, Maria.’
‘Delighted to meet you both,’ Pame
la said, beaming at them. ‘Ralph’s told me all about you.’
Maria took her hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, Pamela. But let me get you a drink. Pimm’s?’
‘Ooh, please,’ she said. ‘I’ve never had a Pimm’s.’
The girls went off together, and Langham said, ‘Well, I can’t say that I saw that one coming.’
‘She’s one in a million, Don. Worked for that con man Harker over in Belsize Park, and I promised her a job when Harker got hauled in. She’ll save us a lot of paperwork.’
‘I’m all for that. But you said a “surprise or two”?’
‘And so I did,’ Ryland said. ‘I’ve given notice on the dump in Wandsworth.’
Langham lowered his drink. ‘You what?’
‘That’s right,’ Ryland said. ‘No more fish ’n’ chip smells and punters turning their nose up at the décor. We’re moving to a two-room office in Earl’s Court from next week. I get the keys on Wednesday, and I’ll give you a tour of the place that afternoon if you like.’
‘You sure we can afford it?’
Ryland grinned. ‘Been over the figures three times running with Annie,’ he said. ‘The rent’s only two guineas a month more than the old place, and Pamela’s happy with ten quid a week. The way we’re raking it in at the moment, we could afford a four-room place and two receptionists!’
‘Don’t get too carried away, Ralph.’ Langham laughed.
Maria and Pamela returned bearing drinks, and Langham relayed the news.
‘I think,’ Charles declared, ‘that this deserves a toast. Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses, if you please, to the Ryland and Langham Detective Agency, to its new premises and staff – and to the future!’
Langham caught Maria’s eye and winked. ‘To the future!’ he said.
