‘But where was the body when you arrived at Blakeney Park?’
‘In the boot of the Wolseley. He’d put her there while he tried to decide what to do. I saw her face and remembered her immediately—she had the sort of face one does remember. It was the girl he’d taken up with all those years ago in London. I don’t know which gave me the bigger shock: the fact that he was married or the fact that he’d apparently killed her, but I can’t have been thinking straight or I never should have helped him.’
‘Was it you who disfigured her face?’ said Angela.
Miles winced and shook his head.
‘No,’ he said, ‘but I think it might have been my fault. You see, I said we should have to make sure that nobody could identify her if she was found. I meant that we ought to remove all possessions that could be easily traced, but Gil took it rather more literally than that and decided to—well, you know what he did. I’m afraid he took a golf club to her. He was dreadfully sick afterwards.’
‘This was on the Thursday, was it? That is, the day before we all arrived?’
‘Yes. He called me in the afternoon, and I went along and found him shivering on the ground by the car. He was in a bad way, as a matter of fact. I finally got him to calm down and tell me what had happened, and he opened the boot and showed me the body.’
‘But he couldn’t tell you how he’d killed her?’
‘No. He didn’t seem to know,’ said Miles.
‘How odd,’ said Angela, half to herself.
‘He just kept saying that there would be hell to pay when his mother and Lucy found out. The police appeared to be merely a secondary consideration. At any rate, once we’d established that we needed to get rid of Lita, we sat and waited until later, when darkness had fallen, and did the deed then.’
‘Was it your idea to hide her in the undergrowth?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was such a beautiful hiding-place. I thought no-one would ever find her there.’
‘But I did—the very next day, in fact,’ said Angela wryly, feeling once again as though she had been responsible for unleashing chaos where previously there had been order.
Freddy now spoke up.
‘It was just your bad luck that the darling of Scotland Yard happened to be passing, Miles,’ he said.
‘Freddy,’ said Angela reproachfully, and he looked a little ashamed of himself.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s a rotten affair, this whole thing, and I don’t mind telling you I’m not nearly so fond of this reporting business as I was. It’s all very well writing stories about the weddings of fatuous aristocrats one’s never met before and never shall again, but this—well, this feels all wrong. Old Bickerstaffe has sent me down here because of my close connection to the case, and he’s expecting me to get a nice, juicy story out of it, but it sticks in my throat to profit from the misery of friends, especially since it turns out that my own father knew about it all along. I never thought I’d find myself in this sort of position.’
‘You aren’t going to put what’s been said just now in the paper, I hope?’ said Angela, alarmed.
‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘But I shall have to produce something for them, since I’m on the inside, so to speak. However, at present the well of inspiration seems to have run dry. Really, it would be better for all concerned if Gil would do the decent thing and turn himself in. But where the devil can he be? Miles, are you sure you don’t have an idea?’
Miles sighed.
‘No, none at all,’ he said, ‘as I’ve already told the police several times. They seemed to think I might know where he went—as a matter of fact, it was touch and go as to whether or not they charged me with having helped him do the deed—but I assure you I haven’t the faintest idea. He might be in Bournemouth or Bulawayo as far as I know.’
‘I wonder, now,’ murmured Freddy. ‘Marguerite, might I use the telephone?’
‘Why, certainly,’ said Marguerite.
Freddy wandered out and was gone for a few minutes, then he returned and said that he was going into Littlechurch, to try and speak to the police.
‘Perhaps they will have something to tell me that’s tame enough for me to use and yet still worth publishing,’ he said glumly. ‘I’m sure I saw Corky Beckwith of the Herald on the road on my way down here. I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s stolen a march on me. I warn you all now—on no account must you speak to him if you happen to meet him, or if he comes here. He has the morals of a snake and the sting of a wasp, and he’ll leave you smarting for weeks if he decides to do a story on you. I shan’t be back for lunch, so do go ahead without me.’
He went out, looking more serious than Angela had ever seen him, and returned at about half-past two, having succeeded in speaking to Inspector Jameson for a short while.
‘Well? Have you found out anything new?’ said Angela.
Freddy grimaced.
‘It’s not looking good for old Gil, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘The police have been nosing around at Blakeney Park, and they seem to have come up with the goods, all right.’
‘Oh?’ said Angela.
‘Yes,’ went on Freddy. ‘I don’t suppose you know the estate well, but in the grounds there are three or four little cottages which were originally built to house faithful old retainers, gamekeepers, secret mistresses and suchlike. Most of them are inhabited by tenants, but one of them is presently vacant, and it was there that the police directed their search. You see, it occurred to them that in a grand house such as Blakeney, with its many servants, it would be rather difficult to poison a visitor with arsenic without drawing unwelcome and pointed attention from a passing abigail.’
‘That is very true,’ said Angela.
‘Their theory is that Lita wrote to Gil to tell him she was coming, and that he went to meet her at Hastings station on the Wednesday afternoon, and brought her back to Blakeney, but not to the great house—the idea being that he slipped her the poison and put her somewhere out of the way while it did its work. So, yesterday they went to this cottage, which is situated in some woods not far from the house, and searched it thoroughly. According to Jameson, the house has only two rooms and is small but smartly and comfortably furnished, and there is no reason why a guest of the Blakeneys might not be put up there for a night or two.’
He paused.
‘Go on,’ said Angela.
‘Well, the police did their stuff in the usual fashion and searched the place from top to bottom. The cottage was almost immaculate—but not quite. The linen on the bed was fresh, and the place had evidently been scrubbed clean fairly recently, so for a good while they thought they wouldn’t be able to find anything useful—or perhaps that there was nothing to find. However, when they examined the bed more closely, they discovered several blonde hairs with dark roots trapped in a crack in the wooden headboard.’
‘Did they, now?’ said Angela thoughtfully.
‘Now, those hairs may have a quite innocent explanation, but then there is the fact of the poison. I suppose you are aware that poisoning by arsenic tends to give one something of an upset stomach, to say the very least, so in theory, if Lita did indeed spend the night in that cottage as the police were assuming, then she ought to have left plenty of traces of it.’
‘And did she?’
‘It looks like it,’ said Freddy. ‘As I said, the place had been scrubbed clean, especially the floor around the bed, but whoever did the cleaning had evidently missed a section or two over by the door, and the police found unmistakable signs that someone had been very ill there.’
‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘And can they link all this to Lita?’
‘They are doing tests on the substances they have found, to see if they can find traces of arsenic,’ said Freddy. ‘If they do, I imagine all doubt will be at an end.’
‘Poor Lucy,’ said Angela. ‘If it looked bad for Gil before, it looks even worse for him now.’
‘Yes,’ said Freddy. ‘If I were he I’d have tried to
get away with it by claiming I killed her in a fit of passion, and then I’d have thrown myself upon the mercy of the jury. But arsenic is a cold, deliberate method of killing someone—you can’t claim you did it without thinking good and hard about it beforehand.’
‘I wonder why she came down here,’ said Angela. ‘Was it to blackmail him, do you think? Or do you suppose she had some idea of patching things up for the sake of the boy? I suppose it depends on whether or not she knew about Gil’s engagement to Lucy.’
‘There’s no reason she shouldn’t have known,’ said Freddy. ‘After all, the notice was in the papers—Lucy told us herself, don’t you remember?’
‘Perhaps that’s what spurred her on to come down here in the first place,’ said Angela. ‘Presumably Gil will be able to confirm whether or not that is the case, though—that is, assuming he is ever found, and that he is willing to talk when he is.’
‘Hmm,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s a mess, all right.’ He wandered over to the window and stared out into the garden. The day was grey and overcast, and it looked as though rain were threatening. ‘I say, Angela,’ he said suddenly. ‘I’m feeling cooped up and in need of a little fresh air. Why don’t we go out for a while?’
‘Out?’ said Angela. ‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said vaguely. ‘Perhaps we might take a little drive down to the coast. It’s quite nearby and I understand there are many natural beauties to be seen on the way.’
‘I didn’t know you were an admirer of nature, Freddy,’ said Angela in surprise.
‘Oh yes,’ he assured her. ‘There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, and a rapture on the lonely shore, and all that. I like nothing better than to feel the grass under my feet and hear the cry of the birds as they sing their joyful song. It brings a tear to my eye and a flutter to my jaded heart. We who live in the grim, grimy city would do well to think about what lies beyond its walls, and make room in our lives now and again for a little freshness and purity.’
‘I see,’ said Angela, who was not fooled for an instant. ‘I suppose I had better fetch my coat, then. And perhaps an umbrella, since it looks as though it might rain at any moment.’
‘What is a little rain, when set against the unalloyed ecstasy that can be felt only at the first glimpse of the unspoilt English countryside?’ said Freddy sententiously.
Angela saw that she should get no sense out of him, at least for the present, and went to fetch her outdoor things.
TWENTY-NINE
They sat in silence for a while as Freddy steered his little motor-car carefully through the narrow streets of Littlechurch, and out onto the open road. Here, the scenery was as stark as anything Angela had seen in the area, but there was a sort of desolate beauty to the flat, dull green landscape, which stretched for miles in every direction until it reached the point where the sky bent close to the earth and they merged into one.
It was cold, and Angela was glad of her warm coat and gloves. She pulled the fur collar of her coat more tightly about her and huddled down into her seat. There was a slight tang of salt in the air, and she guessed that they were not far from the sea, although there was little joy in the prospect given the dismal skies, which spoke of imminent rain.
‘Where are we going?’ she said at last to Freddy, who had been lost in his own thoughts.
‘Dungeness,’ he replied. ‘I have a fancy to see the place.’
‘No you don’t,’ said Angela. ‘You have some plan of your own, I can tell.’
‘Well, perhaps I do,’ he said. He fell silent for a few moments, then said, ‘I telephoned Father this morning. I thought he might be able to tell me where Gil had gone, since Miles was determined to give nothing away.’
‘Do you think Miles and your father know where he is, then?’ said Angela.
‘I think they have a jolly good idea,’ he said, ‘but of course they didn’t want to say. Poor Father is feeling rotten about the whole business—he’s not a bad old stick, you know—so I suspected he’d be easier to work on than Miles, and I was right. I laid the guilt on thick and he came up with the goods, as they say.’
‘How can you be so cool about it?’ said Angela curiously.
‘I’m not cool at all,’ said Freddy. ‘A murder has been committed and I want to see the man who did it brought to justice. It’s easier for me than it is for Father, that’s all, because Gil’s not a personal friend of mine. Somebody has to bite on the bullet and bring the chap in.’
‘So that’s where we’re going, is it?’ said Angela. ‘To find Gil? Can you be certain he is where your father said he’d be?’
‘No, not at all,’ said Freddy, ‘but we may as well give it a try. If he’s not there then there’s no harm done, is there?’
‘What is this place?’
‘It’s a fisherman’s cottage on the headland that the three of them used to visit years ago. Father said that Gil had run off and hidden there once or twice when he first came back from the war and needed time to think.’
‘And you think he might be there now? I suppose it’s possible. But if he is, how do you intend to persuade him to come back?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something, though.’ Despite his careless tone he was not as indifferent as he pretended to be, for once or twice Angela saw an uncertain look flicker across his face.
‘Don’t you think that perhaps you ought to have let Inspector Jameson know of your suspicions?’ said Angela. ‘After all, this is none of our business, really.’
‘Oh, come now,’ said Freddy. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not simply dying to see how it all turns out! Why, you were in at the very beginning—it was your corpse, so to speak. Surely you want to be in at the finish, too. Look at it this way—if he’s there and we find him, we can simply say we were out on a little jaunt and happened to run across him. If he’s not—well, then, we can just enjoy the day, can’t we?’
Angela opened her mouth to reply, but then shut it again. Freddy—damn his perspicacity—was right: she did want to be in at the finish. She had been the one to start this whole thing off with her unlucky plunge into the ditch, and now she felt it was her responsibility to make sure the thing ended properly. Quite apart from anything else, she had unwittingly caused an innocent man to be wrongly imprisoned and many people to be thrown out of work. Of course, none of that was her fault, as such, but she felt vaguely as though the matter must be resolved, and that she must be the one to do it. How their presence would help bring Gil back she did not know, but as Freddy said, there was no harm in trying it.
They came to a point where the road turned sharply left and curved back on itself and along the coast. Straight ahead of them was a narrow track that led seemingly to nowhere, for all that could be seen in the distance was a never-ending stretch of stone, shingle and sea-grass, dotted with a few battered and weather-beaten huts which could hardly be dignified with the name cottage, but which presumably belonged to local fishermen. Down this track Freddy guided the motor-car until the bumps became too much for it, and he jolted to a stop.
‘I think we’d better get out here,’ he said.
Angela stepped out and looked about her. The sky was more overcast than ever, and there was a fine, grey mist in the air that swirled around them and was almost as wet as rain. The only sound to be heard was the infrequent cry of a seagull and the rush of the wind and the distant waves. It was almost impossible to imagine a more bleak and desolate spot.
‘Do you really think he has come here?’ she said. ‘It’s not exactly hospitable, is it?’
‘Not in this weather,’ said Freddy, ‘although I understand it can be rather pleasant on a warm summer’s day, for those who want a little peace and quiet.’
They set off across the beach, walking at a brisk pace to keep warm. The shingle crunched under their feet as they went. It was so quiet that Angela felt as though they were the only people for miles around, although here and there a fisherman
must surely be sitting in his little hut, smoking his pipe and waiting for a favourable tide.
‘Where is the cottage?’ she said at last.
‘It’s that one, I think,’ said Freddy, pointing. Angela looked and saw a small, weather-beaten building that stood some way apart from the others. Perhaps it had once been painted in cheery colours, but the wind and the rain had long since stripped it of its greens and blues and rendered it a dull, stone-grey. ‘I gather it belongs to the Blakeneys,’ he said.
As they approached, Angela’s heart began to beat faster, and she pulled her coat more closely around her—for warmth, she told herself. She suddenly noticed that the sound of their footsteps seemed very loud in that barren place and her pace faltered. Freddy seemed to have realized the same thing, for he put his hand on her arm and then placed a finger across his lips. They walked, quietly and warily, up to the hut. It had a little window but no door on this side, and so they crept as silently as they could around to the front of the dwelling. Then they were brought up short.
‘You needn’t have bothered to be so sneaky about it,’ said Gilbert Blakeney. ‘I saw you coming from miles away.’
He was sitting on the wooden doorstep of the fisherman’s hut, smoking a cigarette and staring out to sea. His clothes were dirty, and damp from the drizzle, and he had several days’ growth of beard.
‘You look ghastly, old chap,’ said Freddy not unsympathetically. Gil turned a pair of red-rimmed eyes towards them and Angela was appalled at the change in him. His once round, jolly face was now sunken and hollow-cheeked, and he looked thin and exhausted.
‘Well, it’s not exactly the Ritz, this place, what?’ he replied with grim humour.
‘When did you last have anything to eat?’ said Angela in concern.
He shrugged.
‘A few days ago, I think,’ he said. ‘There’s not much to eat around here unless one has a boat and a fishing-net.’
‘We ought to have brought some food with us,’ said Angela, ‘but I didn’t think of it, I’m afraid.’
‘No matter,’ said Gil. He seemed perfectly unconcerned about their arrival and went on with his cigarette. ‘I found this on the beach over there,’ he said. ‘Somebody must have dropped it. I smoked my last one days ago, of course. Luckily, this one wasn’t too damp. I suppose the police are looking for me, are they?’
The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) Page 19
