‘I have asked that everyone be at the evening meal tonight,’ he said in his sombre warning tone. ‘And, assuming that Laura is restored to her normal self, they should all be there. That means that, although there is much to be done to prove the identity of the killer, there is not much doubt, in my mind, that the murderer is one of those who’ll be at the dinner table. I therefore ask you. No, I implore you, Freddie. Keep your eyes and ears open! So let’s go,’ he said, reassuringly clapping Freddie on the back, ‘let’s go and dine with the Devil!’
Chapter 10
DINE WITH THE DEVIL
It was Edgar’s wife, Sally, whose turn it was to tease the professor. ‘Come on, Giles, where is it?’ she said.
‘I’m sorry I don’t follow you!’
‘The black cap, silly! Where have you hidden it? You know, you look exactly like the hanging judge about to proclaim the ultimate sentence to the condemned, and placing the black cap on his head usually preceded that. So where is it?’
‘Good question, Sally, my dear!’
Edgar looked directly at Giles as he gave his wife verbal encouragement. ‘After all,’ he said, ‘you and Freddie were a long time in the library this afternoon. Did you, by any chance, come to any conclusion about which one of us is the guilty party? Or is she not in the room?’ His lips curled into a mocking smile as he turned to his wife for the proverbial pat on the back.
The Prof looked again at the empty chair across the table and was aware of Mabel sniggering. He’d been staring at that empty space since he’d sat down to dinner, conscious of the fact that Laura had yet to appear. All the others were there, including George and Doreen Gardner but despite the assurances given in the library about the wellbeing of Laura there was no sign of her.
He continued to sit in silence and wondered if she was too sore to come down. Judging by his own condition he was sure she felt awful. He ached like blazes and although she was much more accustomed to riding and the consequent falls, this particular accident, caused by a broken stirrup, was probably as dangerous as most falls that occurred in steeplechases.
It was Freddie who came to his rescue. Concluding that everyone seated at the table were waiting for a reply to Edgar’s question about the deliberations in the library, he calmly took command.
‘Giles and I talked a lot about the problems surrounding Mr. Ramsden’s fatal shooting and I think it fair to say that we both had to admit that the whole business is a confusing amalgam of ifs and buts. And yet,’ he continued with a self congratulatory smile, ‘I am confronted with just such a puzzle every time I try to pick the winner of one of those tightly framed handicaps at Royal Ascot or Glorious Goodwood!’
‘That’s all very well,’ said a sceptical Victor, ‘but in this case you’re not trying to choose a winner in a horse race, you’re attempting to name a loser in the most crucial game of all...Life! And, let me remind you, particularly you, Giles, that the outcome is not the possible profit or loss on a racecourse but the breaking up of a family who played together as kids!’
‘So! Answer Sally’s question!’ Edgar said between mouthfuls of roast pork and apple sauce. ‘Are you about to put on the black cap or not? Have you decided that one of us is guilty or are your deliberations much the same as they used to be? Daydreams!’
‘I know what you’re referring to. My childhood fascination with fingerprints.’
‘Yes, Giles, and remember, you were the one who always wanted to be the detective.’ Victor pointed his fork across the table. ‘So use your powers of detection and your knowledge of fingerprints and, most of all, use your head! The only fingerprints found on the rifle were those of my father. He, and only he, could have fired the gun!’
‘But surely that’s impossible!’ The softly spoken words of Isabella Ramsden were directed at her eldest son. ‘How could he shoot himself and, at the same time, prevent the gun from leaving the stand? Surely the recoil of the rifle would bring the whole contraption crashing down? And how did he collapse to the floor at the opposite end of the room from where the shot was fired?’
‘How the hell should I know? He was the magician! He was the one who could arrange the seemingly impossible! Why don’t you ask the one person, who’s not in this room, to tell us how Father did the trick with the gun?’
The stunned silence that followed Victor’s words as they tumbled out in a relentless stream was broken by a discreet cough and a splutter from family retainer “old” George Gardner.
‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Victor? You don’t mean Laura?’ he said.
‘No, I don’t mean Laura. I’m referring to the one person who can positively tell us how it was done...Father himself! So why don’t we ask him?’
The stupefying speechlessness of everyone as they fixed his or her attention on Victor was interrupted from the open doorway.
‘And what’s all this nonsense about asking Daddy to tell us how what was done?’
Laura, who was dressed in a black outfit that seemed to accentuate her pallor, stood silhouetted against the light from the hall.
Mrs. Gardner got up and went over to her. ‘Victor was implying that your father shot himself, Laura.’ she said putting her arms around Laura’s shoulders and leading her over to the empty seat at the table. ‘He suggested we should ask him how he performed his magic with the gun, but I fail to see how he intends to do that.’
‘Why, that’s simple, Mrs Gardner. We hold a séance!’
Victor’s announcement produced a squeal of delight from Mabel.
‘You’re not serious, Victor!’ said a tired looking Laura as she sat down rather gingerly. ‘After all don’t you require someone who is a medium before you can conduct a proper seance and, as there isn’t one here.’
Laura wasn’t allowed to finish as Conrad banged the table using the saltcellar as a gavel giving a fair imitation of the Chairman at a meeting of the Hunt Committee.
‘No problem!’ he said. ‘Why don’t we do what used to happen here when we were kids and guests came for the evening on those dark winter nights and we were all packed off to bed!’Doreen Gardner offered Laura a bowl of hot soup. ‘Yes, and didn’t I catch the lot of you young rascals sneaking downstairs and peeping into the lounge on more than one occasion?’ she said.
Laura looked up at cook and smiled. ‘That’s right!’ she said. ‘We were intrigued as to why the grown-ups wanted a pack of Lexicon Cards and an empty wine glass. You soon told us to mind our own business and sent us back to bed with a flea in our ears. But what do you expect to achieve, Victor? Daddy has been dead for fourteen years! You can’t mean you want to contact the dead!’
‘And why not, Sister dear? Didn’t you tell us, only a few hours ago, that you had done just that?’
The Prof watched Laura’s reaction to Victor’s words. Her eyes seemed hollow and her cheeks sunken; any artificial colour she had applied to her face had drained away and been replaced by fear. He leaned across the table and, in pretence of helping himself to more sauce, whispered in her ear. ‘You’re looking rather tired, my dear girl. Perhaps you’d feel better if you ate something.’
She nodded in reply and started to sip a little of the soup.
He watched her intently for some moments noticing the rapid rise and fall of her breathing beneath her black dress and was immediately reminded of that brief but explosive encounter in the stable box before her accident early that morning. Try as he might there was no mistaking the all-pervading feeling that was overwhelming him. Was he falling in love with her? If he was, he certainly couldn’t make up his mind about her role in the whole affair. If she was hiding some guilty secret and playing a game with him she had to be a magnificent actress and a leading contender for an Oscar. Or else she was.?
‘That’s settled then!’ Conrad said with boyish enthusiasm. ‘We can set things up in the lounge after dinner. That’s if we can find those blasted cards with the letters of the alphabet on them. It’s our turn to play the game this time, eh, Doreen? Whic
h reminds me, Professor, what was that other game all about? The one you played on us last night. All that mumbo jumbo about word association. Does it mean anything and are you any the wiser?’
‘All in good time, Conrad. I’ll put everyone in the picture later this evening. But to answer your question; yes, I do believe I am wiser. You see the whole idea was to find the first thing that came into your heads on hearing a specific word. It was an attempt to obtain an expression of the subconscious before any defence mechanism came into play!’
‘In other words, a sort of lie detector test without being wired up to a machine?’
‘I suppose you could say that, but it would be a rather crude attempt at arriving at the truth. You see the results are very much dependent on the spontaneity of the answers.’
’Are you implying that what we answered could incriminate us?’ Mabel asked with what sounded like humorous concern. ‘Like those posters during the war, you know, Careless Words Cost Lives!’
‘You’re much too young to remember that, my girl!’ said a motherly Mrs. Ramsden. ‘Anyway I rather think it was Careless Talk and not Words; but that is neither here nor there.’
‘I shouldn’t worry too much if I were you, Mabel!’ Conrad said, rising to bring another bottle of wine to the table. ‘If our fingerprint expert were eventually to point the finger of guilt in your direction you’d have no fears that your pretty neck would end up with the deep impressions left by the gallows’ noose; it’s been more than ten years since they hanged a woman in this country and, after last year’s move by the Government, I believe we’ve seen the end of hanging in Britain, once and for all. More wine anyone?’
‘Well thank you, Conrad, my sweet,’ Mabel said, moving her empty wine glass towards her husband for a refill, ‘your reassuring words are of immense comfort to all us girls.’
‘Which means,’ added a jocular Conrad, ‘that nice accommodating Mr.Pierrepoint won’t be calling on you to check your age and vital statistics before that 8am drop. More than likely he’ll be spending his time in his Manchester pub, or writing his memoirs!’
Victor reached for the wine bottle after Sally’s glass was filled. ‘A sordid business!’ he said. ‘The entire history of the ritual of being found guilty of murder and taken to a place of execution and hanged by the neck until dead has always had macabre undertones, particularly for the accused.’ He started to fill his glass. ‘Many stories have been told about the incompetence of so many hangmen in the early days and I believe that in one particular prison, on the night before a hanging, inmates would chorus the words of an 18th-century ditty: “The Hangman’s Drop Goes Plop, Plop, Plop!"
‘I’m sorry Victor, I really don’t know what the significance of that song was’, voiced Mabel, ‘though I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘Well Mabel the blunt facts are that in those good old days it often took at least three attempts before a hanging could be successfully completed...hence the Plop, Plop, Plop!’
Victor cast a satisfied glance around those who were expressing some mild horror at his tale before he continued.
’To be fair,’ he said, ‘the expertise of the executioner in 20th century Britain has been carried out in silence and secrecy and with speedy efficiency; a situation far removed from 14th century times when the condemned man, wearing a striped coat and white shoes and with a hood on his head, rode through the streets of London pinioned to a horse with the hangman riding behind him with the rope in his hand.’
He drained his glass.
‘Some years ago,’ he continued, ‘I was in conversation with a Professor of Medicine from Glasgow University. He had been a prison doctor in South Africa and one of his duties was to examine the body immediately after each execution whilst it was still on the rope. Before he could sign the death certificate he had to be sure that the victim was dead and he claimed that, in some cases, he had to wait half an hour before he could be absolutely certain, lending some credibility to stories of 18th century relatives tugging at the hanging person’s feet so that they should die more quickly and with less suffering! A gruesome end to a human life! But perhaps it was justifiable in some instances. Always assuming, of course, that you hanged the right person. So make sure, professor, that you do a thorough job as you examine the facts surrounding my father’s death. Even you would be disgusted if, through your bungling assertions, one of us had to spend the rest of his life rotting in prison!’
Victor’s mother glowered at her eldest son, her eyes telling him, in no uncertain language, that enough was enough. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and turned to address her daughter.
‘You’re looking rather subdued Laura, my dear. Are you feeling all right?’
‘Please don’t fuss, Mummy, I’ll be fine. I’ll get better as the evening goes on.’
‘Well I’m sure you know best. Victor’s exposition on hanging was hardly the topic to encourage improvement in someone feeling under the weather. I would much prefer to hear from our guest, Mr Oldsworth. Perhaps he could tell us about his visit to Stockton racecourse yesterday. Mr.Oldsworth?’
Freddie looked up from his plate where his attention was riveted on trying to balance the remainder of his garden peas on his knife.
’I do beg your pardon!’ he said rather sheepishly. ‘My mind was elsewhere.’
Throaty laughter from The Prof preceded an attempt by him to enlighten his friend of Isabella Ramsden’s request.
‘Our charming hostess was expressing a desire to hear all about your latest day at the races, Freddie. And you, my friend, were engrossed in a balancing act the equal of Blondin over Niagara Falls.’
‘Yes, I think we’d all like to hear more,’ Conrad said eagerly. ‘I, for one, could do with a little help in augmenting the family income. That’s if you can come up with some good advice. I’ll wager young Edgar would also welcome the chance to make a killing on the racecourse, wouldn’t you, Ed?’
‘A killing, did you say? Yes, Conrad, but not literally, you understand. I wouldn’t want our budding detective to get the wrong idea. You see I do believe that if Professor Dawson ever got it into his head that one of us caused the death of my late father he would pursue his suspect as relentlessly as the hounds at the local Hunt. And we wouldn’t want that! Now, would we?’
‘You’re quite right, Edgar! I won’t deny my dogged determination when it comes to solving an inexplicable problem. And, although we have just such a problem here, I believe I already know who killed your father!’
This last statement was a bombshell to Edgar who had been acting a little cockily. He was about to explode at The Prof’s confident assertion when Laura pushed her half-finished plate of soup to one side and rose unsteadily to her feet.
‘I have a suggestion to make,’ she said. ‘As we all seem to have finished eating, why don’t we retire to the lounge and continue our conversation over coffee and liqueurs? It’s more comfortable next door and there are one or two questions I’d like answered before Victor tries to get us involved in his seance.’
The log fire, which George had topped up, hissed and spat and threw animated shadows across the room to where Edgar was arranging the letters of the alphabet around an old well-worn oval table of highly polished mahogany.
Mrs.Gardner, who’d known where the Lexicon pack had been, after all those years, had already drawn the heavy curtains across the lounge windows, muffling the low rumble of faraway thunder, and was about to switch on a lamp when she was interrupted by Victor.
‘Let’s leave the lamps off Doreen, at least for the time being. Seances should be conducted in the dark but for our purposes that will not be possible. It is essential that we are able to watch the movement of the inverted glass but I’m certain that the light from George’s excellent fire will be more than adequate without detracting from the unique atmosphere that our assignation with the dead will surely guarantee!’
Victor, who had uttered the warning as he escorted his mother to her usual chair, had t
o put a comforting arm around her shoulders when the white-haired lady appeared to shiver as he delivered his closing words.
The housekeeper gave Victor a look that could kill before addressing the lady of the house.
‘Before you all get too involved with your game I’ll bring in the coffee and, with your permission, perhaps I can be excused for the rest of the evening?’ Her tone was frosty.
‘Splendid idea, Doreen,’ said Isabella, with a slight tremor in her voice, ‘but I’d prefer if you and George stayed afterwards for Victor’s experiment. I’m sure Giles would agree!’
Giles, assisting a visibly unsteady Laura to a fireside seat, squeezed her hand reassuringly and sat down beside her.
Victor produced glasses and liqueurs.
Isabella Ramsden raised her voice.
‘Don’t you agree, Giles?’
‘What?’
‘I was suggesting that Doreen and George should remain for the seance. Don’t you agree?’
‘Why, yes, of course!’ mumbled a vaguely bemused professor. ‘I suppose if we are going to try and recall what happened on that night fourteen years ago we should have everybody who was present then.’
Freddie arm-in-arm between Mabel and Sally, who were giggling like schoolgirls, advanced into the room as if dancing a sedate Dashing White Sergeant before breaking up to sit as a threesome on the expansive sofa.
Conrad, who’d been hiding behind the Sunday Express as he lounged in an armchair, looked up from the sports page and focused his attention on Freddie.
‘I wasn’t aware you were quite such a celebrity, squire! Your name is plastered all over the racing page. I think an explanation might be in order.’
The two girls moved closer to Freddie for an interested peek as Conrad passed the paper across to him.
Freddie looked slightly disappointed but relieved as he returned the article in question.
‘You had me worried for a moment. The Freddie headlined in the Dick Francis column relates to the Scottish trained steeplechaser and not me, but I suppose you know that? He’s been second in the last two Nationals and is about to start preparing for another tilt at the big race, but I suppose you already know that as well?’
The Statue of Three Lies Page 13
