by Clara Benson
‘Did you pay him a lot of money?’ said Ann. ‘I mean, you’re not in trouble, are you?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. I was running a little short of funds last year, but then poor Father died in the October, and things were all right again. Quite all right, in fact.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Ann. ‘Blackmail is an awful business.’
‘Anyway, you’d better not mention it to the police, or they might think I did it. And don’t tell Denis, either. He doesn’t know about the cocaine, and I’d rather it stayed that way—besides, things have been so much better between us since I threatened to divorce him if he didn’t give up that ghastly blonde with the cheap dresses, and I don’t want to give him an excuse to stray again.’
‘I shan’t say a word,’ promised Ann.
‘Splendid,’ said Nancy. ‘Then perhaps we’ll all get through this yet.’
BY WEDNESDAY FREDDY had spent two fruitless days trying to find his mother, to ask her whether she had taken the flask from Ticky’s pocket, and he was starting to think that she was deliberately avoiding him. When he went to Eaton Terrace, he was told she had gone down to Richmond, but when he followed her there, he found only his father, who had seen her briefly the day before but had no idea where she was now, although he supposed she was off gallivanting in London as usual—and what was all this about Ticky Maltravers dropping dead?
It was hardly a surprise, of course; Cynthia had an exceptional talent for shying away from uncomfortable truths, and since Freddy knew he was by now inextricably linked in her mind with the unpleasant events of last Thursday night, he supposed it was only natural to expect that she would want to avoid him for a while. But this was more than simply an uncomfortable truth, for the police would not be fooled forever, and the memory of the ridiculous escapade she had persuaded him into was fresh in Freddy’s mind. It would not do for the two of them to be arrested for a crime they had not committed—that he had not committed, at any rate—purely because she had panicked at the sight of a dead body.
For the present, however, there was nothing he could do except to loiter around Scotland Yard as much as he could, under the pretence of following the case for the Clarion. The story had got out now, and was all over the other papers, so at least he had a convincing excuse for it. To his surprise, he found that the police had already spoken to all the members of the party, including Cynthia, although Sergeant Bird would tell him little of what had been said, and seemed to have become much more wary. It was inevitable, now that it was known he was Cynthia’s son, but still it was an inconvenience, for he was nervous at being kept in the dark. If only he could have been absolutely certain that his mother had not killed Ticky, then he would have thought nothing of jumping in himself to help the police look for the murderer, but Cynthia’s behaviour since Ticky’s death had been so altogether suspicious that he was afraid the trail might lead back to her in the end, and exasperated as he was at her, he did not wish to see her arrested, so he hesitated, worried at what he might discover if he started poking about. Much to his disquiet, the police had now officially announced that Ticky had died of nicotine poisoning, and that they strongly suspected the poison to have been administered by means of some Cognac in a silver flask, which was now missing. But even though Cynthia was known to have been the last person to see Ticky alive, she had not yet been arrested, although Freddy was certain it could be only a matter of time. He wished to find her—first, to find out what she had done with the flask, and second, to give her a good shake at having caused so much trouble, but still she remained stubbornly elusive, and so he was forced to suppress his annoyance and do his best to ignore the digs from his fellow-reporters at the Clarion, who had no compunction in teasing him mercilessly about his mother’s connection with the case.
On Thursday an inquest was opened, and Freddy went along with his notebook, although he knew it was likely to be adjourned—and indeed, that proved to be the case. The police wanted more time to gather evidence, and so proceedings were swiftly brought to a close. Outside the coroner’s court Freddy was patting his pockets in search of a cigarette, when he spotted someone he recognized emerging from the building. It was Amelia Drinkwater, who was looking very pretty in a pink coat and a cunning hat, and who greeted him like an old friend.
‘Hallo,’ he said in surprise. ‘I didn’t notice you in there. I shouldn’t have thought this was your sort of place.’
‘It isn’t,’ she said. ‘I came here to find out what’s going on, although I might as well have saved myself the trouble for all the good it was. I thought there’d be a jury, and that we’d hear all the evidence, and then perhaps I’d have an idea of what Mummy is being so mysterious about. But instead there was a lot of deadly dull legal stuff and no conclusion at all!’
‘No, it’s not likely we’d have heard anything exciting today,’ said Freddy. ‘This hearing was just a formality, really.’
Amelia pouted.
‘Bother,’ she said. ‘I was hoping to play detective, but I shall just have to find something else to do instead.’
‘Why did you want to play detective?’ asked Freddy.
‘Why, because I want to know who murdered Ticky, of course!’ she said.
‘But the police are taking care of that.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe they’ll find out a thing. You know what our sort are like: they think they’re above everyone else, and that the rules don’t apply to them, and they don’t want people poking their noses into their private business, thank you very much. The police won’t get anything out of them, you’ll see. They’ll clam up and turn in on themselves, and we’ll never find out what happened.’
‘But don’t you think that might be best?’ said Freddy. ‘After all, one doesn’t like to think of one’s friends being arrested for murder.’
‘Well, you’re just as bad as them if you think that,’ said Amelia sternly. ‘Murder’s a horrid business, even if it was Ticky. I didn’t like him, but he didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Perhaps not to die, no,’ Freddy conceded unwillingly.
‘And I don’t like to think of Mummy being under suspicion for the rest of her life. She says she doesn’t care, but she’s been nervy and absent-minded ever since it happened, so I’m sure she doesn’t mean it—and besides, I know Andrew won’t exactly be thrilled at the thought of her being dragged into it. He’s my stepfather, and rather stiff about that sort of thing. He’s in Singapore at the moment, but I don’t suppose he’ll be any too pleased to find this hanging over Mummy’s head when he gets back.’
‘Does your mother have any idea what happened?’ said Freddy.
‘She didn’t see a thing, she says—she was too busy being dreadfully bored. But someone must have given him the poison, and I’m certain it wasn’t her. The police came the other day, you know, and asked her a lot of questions. They seemed very interested in a silver brandy flask that everybody bought for Ticky’s birthday present.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Freddy with interest. ‘What did they want to know?’
‘Well, they said it was missing, and they want to find it. Of course, they never like to give away what they’re thinking, but it was pretty obvious they believe the poison was in it. I dare say Ticky dropped it on the way home, and some passing tramp found it. I say,’ she said suddenly. ‘If someone picked it up then they might have drunk out of it. I wonder whether anyone else has dropped dead mysteriously in London in the past few days? If they have, then I’ll bet that’s where the flask got to.’
‘I don’t think anything like that has happened,’ said Freddy. ‘We tend to hear about these things pretty quickly at the paper, so if someone had died suddenly like that, you can be sure we’d know about it.’
‘Oh, yes, you’re a reporter, aren’t you?’ she said, looking at him with renewed interest. ‘Then you must want to know the truth, surely? Won’t you get showered with praise if you find the culprit?’
‘Well, I sup
pose there would be some benefit to it,’ he said cautiously.
‘Then that’s settled,’ she said. ‘You shall help me. We’ll solve the mystery together and present it to the police, then you’ll get a promotion and I shall have my picture in the paper.’
‘This is nothing to do with your mother really, is it?’ said Freddy. ‘You just want to have the fun of investigating a murder.’
‘We-ell, yes, perhaps just a little,’ she said, and she admitted it so mischievously and charmingly that he was caught. ‘But that’s truly not the only reason. I really am worried about Mummy—and Larry’s mother too, as I’m rather fond of her. She’s a sweet thing, and takes life terribly seriously. I’m sure she must be going through agonies at all these horrid press-men slithering about outside the house—oh, how rude of me,’ she said suddenly, putting a hand over her mouth. ‘Of course I didn’t mean you!’
‘I should jolly well hope not,’ said Freddy.
‘Look, come and see Mummy,’ she said. ‘You’re one of us, so I know she’ll say things to you that she wouldn’t tell the police.’
‘But why won’t she say anything to you? And why are you so sure she knows something?’
‘She won’t talk to me because she thinks I’m still a child,’ said Amelia. ‘But she must know something. I’ve read lots of detective-stories, and there’s always a witness who sees something vital but doesn’t realize at the time how important it is.’
‘Is there?’
‘Of course! And you’re a reporter, so you must have had plenty of practice at putting subtle questions to people so they don’t understand what’s really being asked of them. I’m sure you’ll think of something terribly clever to say.’
‘Oh—ah,’ said Freddy, whose facility for clever remarks seemed to have deserted him for the present. There was no doubting Amelia Drinkwater’s enthusiasm, but she appeared to have the queerest ideas of how investigators went about their business—and it was perfectly obvious that she knew nothing of Ticky’s nefarious activities, or their implications. Much as he would have liked to do as she said, that he might gaze at her all afternoon, he thought it only fair to give her a hint, at least. He did not want to be responsible for her finding out something about her mother that she would rather not have known.
‘Look here, Miss—’ he began.
‘It’s not Miss, it’s Amelia, silly,’ she said.
‘Er—yes, and I’m Freddy.’
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
‘I—’
She was regarding him innocently with her wide, blue eyes. Freddy gave it up.
‘Where does she live?’ he said.
She positively beamed.
‘Brook Street,’ she said. ‘If we go now, we’ll just catch her at home.’
The lady in question was indeed at home, and on the telephone, to judge by the female voice that came drifting down from upstairs as they arrived. Amelia led Freddy into an expansive sitting-room with high ceilings and large windows.
‘You’d better sit down,’ she said, directing him to a Spartan-looking chair in the modern style, which was precisely as comfortable as might have been expected from its appearance. Then she went out to fetch her mother, while Freddy looked about him. The apartment was furnished stylishly and fashionably, and spoke of having had much money spent on it in recent times. It did not seem to fit with what he had seen of Amelia Drinkwater up to now, and he wondered who had been responsible for it. He soon found out as Amelia returned, followed by another woman with golden hair. He jumped to his feet.
‘This is my mother, Blanche Van Leeuwen,’ said Amelia. ‘Mummy, this is Freddy Pilkington-Soames.’
‘Hallo, Freddy,’ purred Blanche.
Freddy took a sudden step backwards and let out a strangled exclamation which he just managed to turn into a cough.
‘Ah,’ he said, swallowing hard and looking from one to the other. ‘Er—hallo, Blanche.’
‘Oh, do you know each other?’ said Amelia. ‘I had no idea.’
‘A little,’ said Freddy carefully.
‘Of course we know each other, darling,’ said Blanche with a complacent smile. ‘We’re old friends, aren’t we, Freddy? Why, I must have known you since you were—eighteen, was it?’
‘Was it? I mean, was I? I don’t remember, exactly,’ said Freddy, darting a desperate glance at the door.
‘You were already quite a man in many respects, and yet still such a child in others that I couldn’t help but take you under my wing. How long ago it seems! And now look at you.’
‘Er—’ said Freddy. He was feeling uncomfortably hot, although it was a cold day, and was half-wondering how best to make his excuses and leave. Now that he thought back, he remembered Cynthia having said something about Mrs. Van Leeuwen being of the party that night, but he had been distracted by other things and the fact had not registered in his mind; nor had the idea that Amelia Drinkwater must be her daughter, although now that they were both standing before him, he could see the resemblance between them. This was all very awkward. With an enormous effort he managed to pull himself together and muster a semblance of good manners. ‘You’re looking very well too, Blanche,’ he said. ‘Not a day older than when I last saw you.’
‘One does one’s best,’ said Blanche vaguely. She went to a little box that stood on a mirrored table and took out a cigarette. Freddy hastened forward to light it for her, and she directed a charming smile at him and threw herself onto a comfortable sofa, where she curled up like a cat and regarded them both with mild interest.
‘So, then, am I to take it you wanted something?’ she inquired.
‘Yes,’ said Amelia, who, fortunately, had not noticed a thing. ‘Now, Mummy, Freddy’s come to talk to you about last Thursday night, and it’s terribly important that you answer his questions. His mother was there too, and we both quite agree that the murderer must be found before an innocent person is arrested.’
‘Must we talk about it?’ said Blanche, with a little moue of distaste. ‘So unpleasant. I should far rather forget the whole thing. What does Cynthia say? No doubt she has strong opinions that she can’t wait to bestow upon the public. Are we likely to read about it in that column of hers tomorrow?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Freddy, relieved to be brought to the matter at hand. ‘I haven’t seen much of her since last week. I expect she’ll have the sense not to mention it, though. I don’t suppose the police would be any too happy to read her thoughts—and anyway, the paper won’t let her publish anything that might affect a trial.’
‘Sensible of them,’ said Blanche. ‘Very well, what is it you want to know?’
‘The police seem to think the poison was in the silver flask you all gave him for his birthday,’ said Freddy.
‘Oh, that again,’ said Blanche. ‘I told them I didn’t see a thing. You know I never notice anything unless I’m particularly interested in it, darling.’
‘But you did examine the flask,’ said Freddy, ignoring the significant look she directed at him.
‘Yes, and what an ugly object it was. I should never have bought anything so tasteless, myself.’
‘Then it wasn’t you who chose it?’
‘Goodness, no! It was Nancy, I think. She agreed to see to it, and we all said we’d contribute. As a matter of fact, I was surprised when I saw it, because she’d mentioned something about getting him a pocket-watch. I should rather not have had anything to do with it, but one didn’t feel as though one could refuse—especially since your mother was there, watching us all with those beady eyes of hers. I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean to offend, but you know she and I don’t especially get along. At any rate, I only had the thing in my hand for about ten seconds, and then I passed it to Captain Atherton. Now he had a good look at it, I’m positive, because we’d both been expecting the pocket-watch, and he said he thought the flask was far more suitable for someone like Ticky, who was something of a drinker, it must be said.’
&nb
sp; ‘I see,’ said Freddy. ‘Do you remember what Atherton did with it?’
‘He passed it around the table. We all had a look at it.’
‘And nobody drank out of it?’
‘Certainly not,’ said Blanche, with a disgusted look. ‘What a dreadful idea! There’s no saying where it might have been. I shouldn’t have dreamt of putting it anywhere near my mouth.’
‘Then any one of the party might have put poison in the flask,’ said Freddy.
‘That’s what the police said,’ agreed Blanche. ‘And I dare say they’re right.’
‘It wasn’t you, though?’
She threw back her head and let out a peal of laughter.
‘Oh, darling, of course not! But how daring of you to ask me straight out. The police didn’t, naturally, although I’m sure they were dying to.’
‘Perhaps they didn’t bother because they knew you wouldn’t have admitted it even if you had done it,’ said Freddy.
‘That’s true enough.’
‘Who do you think killed him?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Blanche. ‘And to be perfectly honest, I don’t really care.’
‘Mummy!’ exclaimed Amelia.
‘Oh, don’t be so absurd, darling. You didn’t like him either, and it’s simply hypocritical to pretend you did.’
‘I’m not pretending I liked him,’ said Amelia, stung by the accusation. ‘But murdering someone is a beastly thing to do, and you can’t say it isn’t. You’re all under suspicion now, and while you might not care about your reputation, I do. I don’t like to think of people talking about you behind their hands, and saying, “There goes Blanche Van Leeuwen—you know, the woman who’s suspected of murdering Ticky Maltravers.” It would be dreadful.’
‘Oh, bother the man!’ exclaimed Blanche suddenly. ‘Why did he have to go and get himself murdered in the first place? Now the police are here, sneaking around, asking awkward questions of one, and there’s no saying what they might discover. Ticky was a worm, right enough, but at least things were contained as long as he was alive.’
