Cyril stuck his hands in his pockets, whistled a few bars from “Only Fancy Me,” and drifted over to the glass door leading to the garden. Standing there, he remarked conversationally,
“Nasty business all this. But I must say I think Ina might pull herself together. Shutting herself up like this. I mean, it’s the sort of thing that puts ideas into people’s heads-the police, you know. I mean, it’s not as if she even liked the girl. Other girls didn’t. And no need to go locking herself in her room and behaving as if she’d lost her dearest friend. Not reasonable, I mean-is it? Look here, if you get a chance you might put that to Marian. She’ll listen to you, and there’s an odd chance Ina will listen to her. You put in a word and see what you can do about it. I mean, there’s no sense in putting ideas into people’s heads, is there?”
Richard observed him with interest. A young man with one idea, and that one Cyril Felton. Most people were selfish, but there was quite often a blend of other interests. In this case the mind appeared to have but a single thought.
They heard the running feet on the stairs again. Marian came back into the room with a little packet of folded notes in her hand. She gave them to Cyril and stepped back to avoid his casual embrace. She had a little more colour. It looked as if her patience with Cyril had worn very thin indeed. He kissed his hand to her, said, “Wish me luck with the police!” and wandered out of the room as if he had all the time in the world and nothing special to do with it.
When he had gone Marian made an exasperated movement.
“What am I to do? He’ll come back without a penny, and we shan’t even know whether there was an audition or not. This is the first time it’s been mentioned. If he really had one, why didn’t he say so before? I think he just wants to get away from all the unpleasantness.”
“I shouldn’t wonder.” Richard’s tone was dry.
She turned round to him with both her hands out.
“And you come into it when you needn’t-when there isn’t the slightest obligation. We shan’t ever forget that.”
He took the hands, held them strongly for a moment, and let them go again. It would be easy to go too far and spoil everything. What she needed just now was friendship and stability-the feeling that there was someone who wouldn’t fail her. At least that stiff control had broken. He said lightly, but with an underlying seriousness,
“Well, here I am, and here I’m going to stay. You’ll have to make use of me.”
The look she turned on him was full of trouble.
“Richard-you shouldn’t! There are things-you don’t know.”
“Suppose you tell me what they are.”
“I don’t think I can.”
He put a hand on her shoulder.
“You can tell me anything. Don’t you know that? I believe you do.” He withdrew his hand, but went on speaking in the same low, intimate tone. “There isn’t anything you can’t tell me, and very little that needs putting into words. Where most people have walls between them, you and I have windows. I knew that when I walked down the corridor of that train. I only saw your face for a moment, and I don’t think you saw me at all-you didn’t look as if you did. But just in that moment I knew more about you than I do about people I’ve known all my life. It’s something like being on the same wave-length, and there’s just nothing you can do about it, my dear. So now are you going to tell me what’s bothering you and let me do what I can to help you?”
She went on looking at him. The trouble darkened her eyes. He saw how beautiful they were like that, wide and deep, but they tore his heart. He said,
“If it’s anything that touches you, it touches me. If it touches Ina too, I’ll go as far as you will. And now will you tell me what’s on your mind?”
At the almost imperceptible movement which meant, “Yes,” he said,
“Very well then. Now come and sit down. And just remember nothing is ever quite so bad as you think it is.”
They sat down on Martin Brand’s comfortable, shabby old couch with its wide seat and deep padded back. Marian leaned against the cushions and thought how wonderful it was to have someone who wanted to help, and how easy to let him do it.
“What is it? If it’s the raincoat, you don’t suppose Mrs. Woolley held her tongue about it, do you?”
“Oh!” It was just an involuntary catch of the breath. Her hands took hold of one another, but she was able to manage her voice.
“What did she say?”
“That your raincoat was found hanging over the back of the seat on the terrace from which Helen Adrian fell. You didn’t put it there, I take it.”
She shook her head. Her eyes were clear on his face.
“Or Ina?”
There was a pause before she said, “No.”
“Was it left down on the beach after the picnic? You were sitting on something of the sort, weren’t you?”
She thought, “He notices everything.” Then, aloud, “No, it wasn’t left out. You brought it in yourself.”
He said, “So I did!” and for an odd intimate moment they smiled at one another. Then he laughed. “I brought it in, and I hung it up in that bit of passage where the door goes through to the other house. That’s where you keep it, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone could take it from there.”
She said, “The door was locked.”
“You mean, Helen Adrian couldn’t have taken it?”
She said again,
“The door was bolted. There are bolts on our side. We keep them shut.”
“You mean, someone from this side must have taken your coat?”
“The police will say so.”
He said, “I should think they would be too busy suspecting Felix Brand.”
She shook her head.
“The sergeant asked me about the coat-he wanted to know how it got there. He asked us all, and we all said we didn’t know.”
Richard said in a reasonable tone,
“Well, I should say offhand that if anyone is lying it would be Cyril.”
She said, “Why should he take my coat?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone should, but somebody did. It may have been just accidental, or there may have been a motive behind it.”
“What do you mean, Richard?”
“I mean, someone may have taken your coat because they wanted one and yours was handy. Or they may have taken it because it was yours, to turn suspicion towards you-away from someone else.”
“That’s-horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Richard, there’s something more.”
“I knew that. What is it?”
She said, speaking slowly with pauses between every few words,
“I have-a blue and yellow scarf-a square to tie over the head. There’s so much wind here-it blows my hair. I got it in Farne-the day after we came down-it’s rather pretty and bright. It was hanging in the passage-with my coat. The sergeant wanted to see-where I kept the coat-so I showed him. The scarf was there-hanging on the peg-so he took it down and looked at it. He asked-if it was mine. I said it was. Then he held it out-for me to see.” A long shudder went over her. She said, “It was-stained-”
“Blood?”
“Yes.”
He sat quite still for a moment, frowning and intent, his mind working, emotion shut off. Then he said,
“Your scarf-stained and put back. That’s proof that someone wants to bring you into it.”
Her lips just moved. He barely caught the words they formed.
“Unless-they didn’t know-”
“You mean, the person who was wearing the scarf might have put it back without knowing it was stained. What sort of stain was it-slight?”
“No-dreadful.”
“Then whoever handled it must have known.”
“I don’t see how they could help it.”
He got up and walked to the glass door. It stood open. A bee blundered by, heavy with pollen, a scent of flowers was distille
d upon the sunny air-the sort of day one calls heavenly. And things moving in some perverted mind-sick, evil things reaching out to injure and befoul. He had a moment of awareness that set every nerve tingling. He turned and came back.
“Marian-”
She looked up, startled.
“What is it?”
“There’s something deliberate about this. I can see no motive for bringing that stained scarf back into this house except the damnable one of trying to involve you in the murder. But look here, my dear, that lifts your worst fear. You needn’t tell me what it is, for I know. You’ve been afraid about Ina. But you needn’t be. The worst of this kind of shock is that it puts your thinking out of action and hands you over to your emotions. Now just pull yourself together and think! Yesterday afternoon Cyril was having the kind of casual flirtation with that young woman which I suppose he, and she, would have with every second person they met. That is so, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Do you really think it upset Ina so much that she contrived to lure Helen Adrian down to the beach in the middle of the night and murder her there?”
Marian’s colour came back in a rush. She said,
“No-no-of course I don’t.”
He went on ruthlessly.
“And if you did manage to believe that, could you believe that she would wear your raincoat and your scarf, leave one on the scene of the crime, and bring back the other all messed up with Helen Adrian’s blood and hang it in the hall for the police to find? Now, Marian, get your brain to work! It was done to incriminate you. Would Ina do that?”
She put up her hand to her head.
“No-no-of course not. Richard-please.”
“I’m putting it bluntly, but that’s what you’ve been letting yourself be afraid of. Isn’t it? Once it’s put into words, you can see that it’s all nonsense. Get it into words to Ina. Go up now and ask her if she took your raincoat or your scarf. The Inspector may ask for you at any moment, and we’ve got to know where you stand.”
He saw relief flash over her face. She ran upstairs. After a moment’s hesitation he followed, to find her at Ina’s door, her head bent, one hand on the jamb. She called softly,
“Ina-it’s Marian. Let me in.”
There was no answer.
“Ina, we shall have to see the Inspector. I must see you first. If you don’t let me in, I shall have to climb from the bathroom, and if you shut the window I shall break the glass.”
This was a Marian whom he hadn’t seen. Something inflexible in her bearing, in her voice, but all very quiet.
Before he had time to wonder what would happen there was the sound of the key turning in the lock and the door opened. Ina stood there with the back of her hand to her eyes as if she was shielding them. When Marian put an arm around her the hand came down and caught at her. She looked dazed, and she was wearing the dress she had worn the night before. He wondered whether she had undressed or slept.
She said, “Where’s Cyril?” and Richard answered her.
“He said he had an audition. He is seeing the Inspector about going up to town.”
“Will they let him go?”
“I don’t see why not.”
She showed no surprise at his presence, no embarrassment. Her voice was gentle and a little dull. He thought, “She’s had a bad shock.” He began to wonder about Cyril Felton.
Chapter 22
It was no more than five mintues later that a constable came through to say that the Inspector would be glad if they would step along to the drawing-room next door and answer a few questions.
The two girls were in Ina’s bedroom with the door shut, but Richard went to it and knocked. They came out at once. A resourceful woman can do a good deal in five minutes. He had heard water splashing in the basin, and guessed at a vigorous sponging of Ina’s drawn face and tired eyes. She certainly looked a good deal more alive. Powder had been applied, and a very little rouge-not enough to stand out from the pallor beneath, but enough to mitigate it. The dark curls had been combed and the crumpled dress replaced by a skirt and jumper.
They went down the stairs, along the passage where the raincoat and scarf had hung, and through to the drawing-room of the next house.
The dust-sheets had been removed from the furniture, and the scene had a kind of caricature resemblance to one of the more ghastly forms of tea-party. Mrs. Brand and Miss Remington sat side by side on a gilded sofa between the windows. Cyril, in his town suit, was standing beside the piano looking like any guest who wishes he had not come and is counting the moments till he can get away. Penny, in a dark skirt and the old white sweater, sat stiffly on a small gilt chair, her hands in her lap, her eyes never lifting from them. There was even a tea-table, a gimcrack inlaid affair, but instead of a tea-tray it was laid out with writing materials, and behind it, to dispense not hospitality but justice, sat Inspector Crisp, stocky, wiry, efficient, and very much concerned with getting to the top of his own particular tree. To do this it was necessary that he should get to the bottom of this and every other case which came his way. From the set of his head with its harsh dark hair, his bristling eyebrows, and quick frown, to the way in which he handled the papers before him and kept his feet firmly planted upon a rather anaemic rose wreath in the Brussels carpet, everything about him declared that he was a man who would stand no nonsense. The young constable who sat on the piano-stool with pencil and notebook ready kept a wary eye cocked in his direction, and was obviously ready to spring to it at the mere flick of an eyelash.
Marian and Ina sat down together on a second small sofa. Richard pulled up a chair beside them.
Eliza Cotton stalked in with an air of extreme disapproval and went to stand behind Penny with a hand on the back of her chair.
The door to the garden was open and a soft air came in, but the room had a chill.
Inspector Crisp looked them all up and down and rapped upon the table.
“Everyone here who slept in either of the two houses last night?” he said in a barking voice.
Richard was just thinking that he reminded him of a terrier-the whole air of him, and the eyebrows bristling out over the small bright eyes when they were suddenly turned on himself.
“Who are you, sir? Were you here last night? I haven’t got you down. Who are you?”
“Richard Cunningham. I am a friend of Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton. I didn’t sleep in the house, but I was here all day.”
“When did you leave?”
“About half past ten.”
Crisp stared at him for a moment, said, “Very well, you may stay,” and rapped again. “I would like everyone to give me their attention. I have here a list of the bedrooms in both houses which look out towards the sea. I am going to check up on them.”
He picked up a sheet of paper and read from it.
“In this house:-
Attic bedroom, occupied by Miss Halliday-box-room next door.
Next floor:-
Two bedrooms-Miss Remington and Miss Adrian.”
Cassy Remington made a fidgeting movement.
“Of course, Inspector, it’s really my niece Penny’s room- Miss Halliday. Only she isn’t actually my niece but rather a distant cousin, though she has always called us Aunt.”
She wore her lilac cardigan and a long chain of gold links and amethysts. Her fingers played with it continually. Her blue eyes dwelt on the Inspector and sustained his frown.
“That is beside the point. You are not suggesting that Miss Halliday did not occupy the attic room last night?”
“Oh, no, Inspector.”
“Or that Miss Adrian was not occupying the bedroom next to yours?”
She darted a little edged glance at him.
“Not really next, because the bathroom is in between. It used to be a dressing-room, you know, but Mr. Brand’s father had baths put in on both sides of the house.”
Mrs. Brand’s colour had been deepening alarmingly. She said, “Really, Cassy!” in an exas
perated voice.
Crisp said sharply,
“Miss Remington, I must ask you not to speak unless you have something relevant to say. You and Miss Adrian were occupying the two bedrooms above us now, and they both look out towards the sea. Mrs. Brand and Mr. Felix Brand have the rooms which look towards the road?”
Miss Cassy fiddled with her chain.
“Oh, yes, Inspector. My sister finds this side of the house too bright, but I like all the sun I can get.”
Crisp opened his mouth, closed it again with something uncommonly like a snap, and returned to the paper he was holding.
“In the next house, which is on exactly the same plan, Miss Eliza Cotton has the attic bedroom, Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton the two rooms looking towards the sea on the bedroom floor. One of the rooms looking towards the road was empty, and Mr. Felton was in the other. That is correct?”
Cassy Remington twisted the links of her chain.
“Oh, quite,” she said brightly. “Except that you’ve forgotten the bathroom. But it’s just the same as the one on this side. It was the dressing-room of the best bedroom, you see, so it is between Miss Brand’s room and her sister’s.”
Crisp said, “Yes, yes, we’ve had all that! Now, if you please, I want to know whether anyone heard Miss Adrian cry, or call out. I want to know whether anyone heard any unusual sound of any kind. I want to know whether anyone heard her come downstairs or leave the house. This glass door into the garden was found open this morning by Mrs. Bell. It may have been opened by Miss Adrian, or by Mr. Felix Brand, who is missing. I want to know whether anyone heard it opened. You, Miss Remington-your room is immediately over it. Did you hear the door being opened?”
She put her head on one side and gave him a bright, birdlike attention. Anyone who knew her well would have known that she was enjoying herself. Eliza Cotton eyed her with disapproval. People hadn’t any business to enjoy themselves when there had just been a murder in the house.
“The door? This door? Oh, no. But then if I was asleep I don’t think I should. All our doors and windows open very quietly-none of them creak.”
“Did you hear any cry?”
“Well, there you put me in a difficulty, Inspector. I must absolutely refuse to swear to it.”
Through The Wall Page 13
