The Catherine Wheel

by Patricia Wentworth

  Castell spread out his hands.

  “And with what reluctance she says it! That is part of the evidence, her reluctance, is it not? She does not wish to suggest a motive, to accuse, to say anything at all. I say to her, ‘It is your duty,’ and she shakes her head. I say, ‘I am your husband and I command you!’ She weeps. I say, ‘Have you no heart for John Higgins who is your nephew, and for Eily who looks already like an apparition from the tomb?’ Then she tells me.”

  Frank Abbott said in his languid voice,

  “All right, Castell, we’ve got the mise en scène. Just tell us what she said.”

  If Chief Inspector Lamb had been present he would at this point have had something to say. It was his considered opinion that the English language contained all the words required by any police officer who hadn’t got wind in the head. French words in particular had a highly inflammatory effect on his temper and his complexion. In his absence Frank could indulge himself with impunity.

  Castell became very animated indeed. He turned from one to the other, he waved his hands.

  “My wife Annie Castell, she says a name.”

  Crisp said sharply, “What name?”

  “I will not disguise it from you, Inspector-it is the name of Mrs. Duke.”

  “What does she say about Mrs. Duke?”

  “She weeps as she says it. If you could have seen her!”

  “Never mind about that! What did she say?”

  Castell spread out those fat hands.

  “She weeps, and she tells me. It is before we are married, you will understand, and my wife she is chef at the White Lion at Lenton. Never has the hotel done so much business. From all over the county they come-to lunch, to dine, to give supper parties, because of her cooking. And my poor Luke, he is the barman. She has known him a little all her life, you understand, because he is some sort of a cousin-on the wrong side of the blanket, as you say. One day he says to her, ‘I am going to get married, Cousin Annie.’ He calls her that because it vexes her, and he can be malicious that poor Luke. So then she says who is it he is marrying, and he says, ‘You would be surprised.’ And when he tells her it is her own cousin Florence Duke-”

  This time both Inspectors said, “What!” together.

  Castell smiled and nodded.

  “When he tells her that-well, she is surprised like you have been.”

  Frank Abbott said, “Florence Duke was married to Luke White?”

  “My wife says so. Florence, she was behind the bar at the George, which is the other hotel at Lenton. Annie knew she was there, and they had spoken once or twice, but they did not know each other well, as cousins should, because of the quarrel in the family. She was also young and gay. My wife Annie, you will understand, is very particular, very respectable.”

  Frank Abbott said, “Are you sure there was a marriage?”

  Castell nodded.

  “My wife Annie says so. She says it would be in ’31 or ’32- in July-at the register office in Lenton. And after that they went away, the two of them, to take a job together, and she did not see Luke again”-he shrugged and gestured-“not for many years. When he comes here she asks him, ‘What about your wife Florence?’ and he laughs and says, ‘It didn’t last long, and she has gone back to calling herself Florence Duke again.’ ”

  Crisp said, “Is that all?”

  Castell leaned forward, dropping his voice confidentially.

  “Shall I tell you what I think? I think that when Florence comes here she does not know at all that Luke is here. I think it gives her a great shock. She looks very bad after she has seen him. I think she comes down in the night to have a meeting with him. She says she was in the kitchen. Pfft! His room is opposite-I think she was there. I think they quarrel. He is very inconstant with women that poor Luke. He fascinates them, and goes away and forgets. What is it in the proverb-‘Hell hasn’t got anything so furious like a woman who is scorned’? It is not my business to say anything, but we all saw the blood on her hands.” He pushed back his chair. “That is all! I go to console my wife!”

  When they could no longer hear his footsteps going down the passage Crisp growled,

  “What do you make of that?”

  Frank cocked an eyebrow.

  “I think Annie Castell wouldn’t stand for putting it on John Higgins.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Inspector Crisp fussed off to use the telephone and set the Lenton registrar looking up July marriages in ’31 and ’32.

  When he had gone Frank Abbott remained draped against the fireplace. He contemplated Miss Silver, whose attention appeared to be absorbed by little Josephine’s bright blue dress, the completed skirt of which now lay spread out upon her lap. The gathered effect was very satisfactory-really very satisfactory indeed. The tight plain bodice which she was about to begin would be becoming and quaint. She decided that the measurements were just what they should be, picked up her needles, and set them clicking.

  The smile with which Frank was regarding her would not have been allowed to betray him if they had not been alone together. It expressed very faithfully the feelings with which she had now for many years inspired him. They were an odd mixture of affection, respect, amusement, and something very like reverence. It would have surprised a good many people to catch the expression which softened those cool blue eyes, though there was still a hint of sarcasm when he smiled. It was there as he said interrogatively,

  “Well?”

  She looked up at him with gravity.

  “What is it that you want to know?”

  “Your reaction to Castell’s volte-face. First he pushes John Higgins at us up hill, down dale, and across country, and then he bounds in all helpful-boy-scout, says his wife Annie forbids the banns, and offers us Florence Duke instead. What do you make of it?”

  She was knitting steadily.

  “What do you make of it yourself?”

  “What I said to Crisp. I think the bright idea was to frame John Higgins, shift the interest away from the Catherine-Wheel-I believe that’s fundamental-make a crime passionel of the murder. And Annie Castell wouldn’t stand for it-cut up rough-maybe threatened to spill the beans. She may, or may not, have any to spill, but if she has, I think she’s been threatening to spill them if Castell doesn’t lay off John Higgins. He’s her own nephew, and she may be fond of Eily.”

  Miss Silver inclined her head.

  “I think so.”

  “The bit about Eily, or the whole lot?”

  “I think the whole of it. But the scene described by Castell could not have occurred as he described it. There was not time for all that story about Luke White’s marriage to have been discussed by him and his wife in the interval between his leaving this room and returning to it, especially if Mrs. Castell was in the state of distress upon which he insists.”

  Frank said, “Yes-I agree. They had probably had a series of scenes about Higgins. When he came away from seeing us she presented an ultimatum-if he didn’t stop framing John, beans would be spilled. Castell got the wind up, came to terms, and bounded in to offer Florence Duke instead. What do you think about her?”

  She coughed in a meditative manner.

  “She had certainly had a shock.”

  “Do you mean before the murder?”

  “Oh, yes. I noticed her at once. I thought at first that she had had too much to drink, but I came to the conclusion that there was something more than that. When Miss Heron was telling me about all the Taverner cousins I asked her whether anything had happened to upset Mrs. Duke. She looked startled, and replied, ‘Yes, I think so, but I don’t know what it was.’ She then told me that she had met Mrs. Duke on the stairs just before dinner. Mrs. Duke asked if she was looking all right, and added that she had had ‘a most awful turn.’ Jane Heron asked if there was anything she could do, and Mrs. Duke said nobody could do anything. She then used these words-‘That’s the way when you are in a fix-you get yourself in, and you’ve got to get yourself out.’ ” Miss Silver paused
and coughed. “As a matter of fact Miss Heron reports her as putting it more strongly than that.”

  Frank Abbott laughed.

  “Let’s have it!”

  Miss Silver let him have it in a prim quoting voice.

  “ ‘You get yourself in, and you’ve damn well got to get yourself out-nobody can’t do it for you.’ After which she said, ‘Oh gosh-why did I have to come!’ I have questioned Miss Heron again about this scene, and she gave me exactly the same account of it. I should consider her a reliable witness.”

  Frank whistled.

  “Looks as if Castell was right, both as to the marriage and the supposition that Florence had no idea that she was going to encounter the fascinating Luke. It begins to look as if she might have had a brain-storm and done him in. There would be the Eily motive-”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “There is no evidence to show that she was aware that Luke White was paying attentions to Eily.”

  He frowned.

  “There is no evidence to show that she wasn’t aware of it. That sort of thing is supposed to be in the air, isn’t it? She may have seen the man look at her. Wouldn’t that be enough for a jealous woman? That’s a very thin story she put up about going out to the back premises to have a look at the dear old family kitchen. I think she went to have a meeting with Luke, and if they met they’d be likely enough to quarrel. He may have taunted her with Eily. I suppose there would be plenty of ways in which a hot-blooded woman could be worked up to the point of doing murder.”

  Miss Silver had been knitting placidly. She now gave a gentle cough.

  “When did she take the knife? If it was on her way to his room, then she already meant to kill him. It seems to me that that would be a little sudden after fifteen years or so of separation. If, on the other hand, she first quarreled with him in his room, and then after reaching a state of passionate anger went into the dining-room and took the knife, what was Luke White doing? Did he stand in the hall and wait for her? If so, he must have seen her come out of the dining-room with the knife in her hand. She was wearing a tight thin silk dress and could not possibly have concealed it. If he was killed where he was found, she must have been standing behind him on the bottom step. You will remember the medical evidence states that the thrust had a downward trend. If it was made by a woman, she must have been standing above him at the time. Can you imagine any circumstances which would have brought them into such relative positions-she on the bottom step with the knife in her hand, and he not more than eighteen inches away with his back to her.”

  Frank said, “They must have been coming down the stairs- there isn’t any other way it could have happened. Look here, we don’t have to take her story about going through to the back premises. Suppose she didn’t go to his room at all-suppose he came to hers. They quarrel. She follows him down the stairs and stabs him from the bottom step.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “And when did she get the knife? Are you presupposing that she took it up to bed with her?”

  He made a gesture of submission.

  “Reverend preceptress! I give it up-you’ll have to tell me. What did happen?”

  She gave him a glance of indulgent reproof and knitted thoughtfully for a few moments. Then she said,

  “I am unable to believe that he was killed where he was found. As you say, it could only have happened if he had been coming downstairs with the murderer a step behind him. This would imply premeditation, for the murderer must have had the knife ready. But who would plan to murder a man in so public a spot? At the sound of a cry, or of the fall, it was to be expected that the house would be roused. It would be very difficult for the murderer to retreat without being seen. I really am quite unable to believe that Luke White was killed in the hall. Then, if he was killed elsewhere, could Florence Duke have dragged him single-handed to the place where he was found? To say nothing of the fact that such a proceeding would almost certainly have left a trail of blood, can you give me any single reason why it should have been attempted?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “No, I can’t.”

  Miss Silver pursued the theme.

  “A jealous woman who has just stabbed a man in a fit of passion would be in no state to transfer the body from one place to another. Mrs. Duke is a strongly built woman-she might have been able to move the body. But what motive could she have for doing so? A woman in the frame of mind you have supposed would either have remained beside the body in a dazed state, or else got back to her room as quickly as possible.”

  Frank nodded.

  “Florence Duke was found beside the body in a dazed state,” he observed.

  Miss Silver coughed sharply.

  “She was not beside it when Eily came downstairs.”

  “She heard the girl coming and slipped into the dining-room. When Eily went into the lounge she thought she could get away up the stairs, but there wasn’t time. Eily came out again, and Florence was caught with the blood on her hands.”

  Miss Silver said in a mild, obstinate voice,

  “That still does not explain how he came to be in the place where he was found.”

  Crisp snapped the door open, came in from the lounge, and snapped it shut again. He looked alert and pleased as he came up to the table.

  “Well, Mrs. Castell was speaking the truth. Luke White married Florence Duke at Lenton register office on July 7th ’31. So now we’ll have her in and ask her what about it.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Florence Duke took the chair which faced Inspector Crisp and the cold light from the window. Frank Abbott’s cool cynical gaze dwelt upon her. A big strongly built woman. He thought she could have shifted the corpse all right if she had wanted to. But Maudie was quite right-why should she want to? But she was set on it that someone had shifted Luke White, and for the matter of that, why should anyone want to? There could be only one answer to that-he had been killed in a place which would have implicated the murderer. Suppose that place was Florence Duke’s room. The idea occurred, only to be rejected. Impossible to believe that she had dragged the corpse along the corridor and bumped it down the stairs without at least rousing Maudie who had cat’s ears and slept with one eye open when she was on a case. He remembered that Mrs. Duke’s room was next to hers, and the idea which had for the moment seemed quite bright went out like a quenched spark.

  His attention returned to Florence Duke. Crisp was reading over the original statement she had made, and he had leisure to observe her. She must have been a handsome girl of the type which coarsens young. He supposed her to be in the early forties. Good hair, good eyes, good teeth. Odd fleeting likeness to the magnificent Lady Marian, who wouldn’t have been at all pleased if her attention had been drawn to it. Colour in the cheeks probably a good strong red when things were going all right-a nasty bluish look about it now. Frightful clothes-too tight, too bright, too short, too everything. Short royal blue skirt, elaborate revealing knitted jumper which failed to match it by a couple of shades, a cheap paste brooch pinned on to the front of it.

  Crisp laid down the paper from which he had been reading.

  “That’s your statement, Mrs. Duke.”

  “What about it?”

  The words came in that slow way she had. Frank could imagine the voice having its attractions-the voice, and that slow way of speaking, and the really fine eyes. Might have been quite an alluring figure behind the bar of the George in ’31.

  Crisp tapped the table.

  “You call yourself Mrs. Duke. Is that your real name?”

  “It’s what I was born with.”

  “But you’re a married woman, aren’t you?”

  “Not now.”

  “Do you mean you are divorced?”

  “No-we separated.”

  “What is your legal name?”

  “That’s my business. He was a bad lot. I went back to my own name that I’d a right to.”

  Crisp tapped vigorously.

  “Is your leg
al name White?”

  Her colour drained away, then rushed back alarmingly.

  Crisp said sharply, “Did you marry Luke White at the register office at Lenton on July 7th 1931?”

  There was sweat on her forehead. She was flushed to the very roots of her hair. The colour receded slowly, leaving a hard fixed patch on either cheek. She said,

  “You’ve got it.”

  “The murdered man was your husband?”

  “We were married like you said. It didn’t last above six months. He was a bad lot.”

  Crisp frowned severely.

  “Well, this alters the position-you can see that, can’t you, Mrs. White?”

  She said sharply, “Don’t call me that!”

  He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders.

  “You can call yourself what you please. The fact that Luke White was your husband puts you in a very different position from the one you were in when all the information we had was that you and he were strangers. You can see that, I suppose. If he was a stranger, you hadn’t any motive for wanting him out of the way. If he was your husband, you might have quite a strong one. I’m going to take you over that statement of yours again, and I’ve got to tell you that your answers will be taken down and may be used in evidence.”

  Frank Abbott left his place by the fire and came forward to drop into the chair at the end of the table. He produced pencil and notebook and sat waiting.

  Miss Silver continued to knit, her hands low in her lap, her eyes on Florence Duke, who did not speak. The fine dark eyes looked at Inspector Crisp with something of defiance. Frank Abbott thought, “She’s got cold feet all right-but she’ll put up a show.”

  Crisp had the statement in his hand. He ran his eye down the page.

  “Here we are. You say you hadn’t undressed, and you give a number of reasons for why you hadn’t. You got thinking about old times-you were accustomed to sitting up late-you didn’t think you would sleep if you went to bed. Now wasn’t it the real reason that you were waiting for the house to be quiet before going down to see your husband?”