The Shortest Way to Hades

by Sarah Caudwell

  “Looking round at our fellow guests,” said Julia, “one could not help feeling that they would have done well to do likewise. I refer in particular to those of the male sex. With the exception of our host—who was, I am relieved to say, more formally clad in a pair of black leather bathing trunks—with that exception they were all entirely naked; and they were, alas, well past the age at which a man may carelessly disrobe and be confident of being an object of desire and admiration.” Julia sighed. “To be naked with elegance, even for the most slender and graceful young man, is a severe test of deportment. The scene before us, therefore, despite a well-advised dimness of lighting, was one neither pleasing to the eye nor conducive towards desire.”

  “On the other hand,” said Selena, “the champagne was excellent.”

  Mindful of his duty as host to ensure their entertainment, Rupert had completed their introduction to the quasi-parlormaid: her name, it appeared, was Rowena, and she was the girl about whom, as Rupert put it, Selena had been so severe with him—that is to say, the girl from the typing agency whose visits had obliged Selena to revise her closing speech. Perhaps prejudiced on this account, Selena had not much cared for her; but she had seemed to Julia to be a pleasant, good-natured sort of girl—a conclusion drawn from the circumstance that she constantly filled their glasses. She also offered them some fudge, which she described as being “something rather special.”

  “I thought she meant,” said Julia, “that it was homemade.”

  “No doubt it was,” said Selena. “It also had—how shall I put it?—a decidedly North American flavor. I did suggest, Julia, that it would be better not to eat too much of it.”

  “As always, I would have done wisely to act on your advice; but it was rather delicious fudge, and I was quite hungry. You will be interested to hear, Hilary, that it had a most remarkable effect—even on Selena after a very modest quantity. She cast off all conventional restraints and devoted herself without shame to the pleasure of the moment.”

  I asked for particulars of this uncharacteristic conduct.

  “She took from her handbag a paperback edition of Pride and Prejudice and sat on the sofa reading it, declining all offers of conversation. I have never known you, Selena, so indifferent to the demands of social obligation. I, on the other hand, talked a good deal, though not as I recall with great lucidity: I was trying, for some reason which now escapes me, to explain to Rowena the effect of Section 478 of the Taxes Act; but I kept forgetting halfway through my sentences how they were meant to end, so I fear that I may have given her an imperfect understanding of these provisions. I also found that the fudge had made me thirsty, and in consequence of this I drank more freely of the champagne than I might otherwise have done.”

  “I don’t think,” I said, “that fudge and champagne mix well together, Julia.”

  “No,” said Julia sadly, “no, they don’t. A realization of this came suddenly upon me, obliging me to make my way in some haste to the bathroom. The bathroom, however, proved unsatisfactory. It was in many respects an admirable bathroom—marble walls, gold taps, and a bath the size of a paddling pool. It did not, however, afford the privacy which was my objective. The bath, you see, was full of people—I can’t say exactly how many, since they were rather tangled up together.”

  “How,” I asked, “did you resolve your difficulty?”

  “I said I was terribly sorry and withdrew, not knowing what to do next. But fortunately I found Rowena just outside the bathroom door: she told me that there was another one en suite with Rupert’s bedroom, and offered to conduct me there. I accepted with alacrity, and in due course emerged feeling much better. Rowena had waited for me in the bedroom, intending—or so I supposed—to escort me back to the center of the social whirl. She showed no inclination, however, to leave the bedroom: she said there were some very interesting things in Rupert’s wardrobe and that if I liked she would show them to me. I could hardly say that I wasn’t interested, could I?”

  To say so, I perceived, would have seemed to Julia a breach of the rules of polite conduct which had been impressed on her during her schooldays. I inquired the nature of the interesting objects.

  “Sundry items of leatherwear, various whips and things, one or two pairs of handcuffs—I found it difficult to know what comment was appropriate: such phrases as ‘Oh, how nice’ didn’t seem entirely suitable. What Rowena, for some reason, expected chiefly to interest me were various items of clothing, apparendy intended for some kind of dressing-up game. There was a nurse’s uniform, I remember, and also a navy blue gymslip. Rowena giggled a good deal about the gymslip, and said that it was the costume that Rupert liked her best in. It featured, evidently, in some kind of fantasy in which he undertook the role of schoolmaster. She seemed very anxious that I should try it on. The idea, to be candid, did not greatly appeal to me—I did not think it at all a becoming garment. She grew so insistent, however, that I could not politely refuse.”

  Ragwort, at this point, covered his eyes with his hand in a gesture of elegant despair.

  “I had accordingly put on the gymslip, and was trying to persuade Rowena that it really did not at all suit me, when the disturbance occurred. But Selena is in a better position than I am to tell you about that.”

  Selena, having concluded her dealings with her sole meunière, accepted the invitation to resume the narrative.

  “The party had increased in informality, with the encouragement, I suppose, of the fudge, not to speak of various other substances being smoked or sniffed by our fellow guests. Scenes similar to that noticed by Julia in the bathroom were now occurring in various parts of the drawing-room, and Rupert had begun leaping about with a flashlight camera taking photographs of everyone. He frequently interrupted his artistic activities, however, to urge me to take my clothes off and enjoy myself—this made it very difficult for me to concentrate on Pride and Prejudice. Isn’t it curious how intolerant some people are of other people’s pleasures? Was I pestering Rupert to put his clothes on and read Jane Austen? No, I wasn’t. Was he prepared to show me a corresponding indulgence? Not a bit of it. On the contrary, he became quite peevish and aggrieved—‘If you and your girlfriend,’ he said ‘are just going to sit there and not do anything, I think it’s a pretty poor show.’”

  “He was evidently under some misapprehension,” I remarked, “as to the nature of your friendship.”

  “Evidently—as I say, he’s a rather unsophisticated sort of person. But even if we had been on such terms as he supposed, it would still have been frightful cheek to expect us to make a public demonstration of it. I began to feel, in spite of the champagne, that it was time we were leaving. I was still waiting, however, for Julia to return from the bathroom, when, as she says, there was a disturbance—people banging loudly on the front door and shouting for admittance. Their precise words being ‘Open up there, this is the police.’” Selena paused, and thoughtfully sipped her Frascati.

  CHAPTER 5

  The words “Open up there, this is the police” tend to have a dampening effect on almost any social gathering. The initial response to them of Rupert’s guests had been a panic-stricken immobility, which held them frozen for several seconds in the attitudes in which the moment found them; then, disengaging with amazing rapidity from their various mutual entwinements, they had scrambled headlong for the doorway giving access to the roof, leaving their host to deal as he thought best with the unwelcome intrusion.

  “Rupert,” said Selena, “failed notably to behave like a respectable householder whose home is his castle and who does not suppose himself to be living in a police state. The proper course of action for such a person, when the police demand entry, is to ask politely by what authority they do so and to take steps, before opening the door, to verify their answer. This sensible precaution has the further advantage of enabling the householder, should he happen to be dressed only in a pair of black leather bathing trunks, to change into some more orthodox costume before confronting the forces
of law and order. Rupert, however, did not seem to think of this—the last of his guests had hardly disappeared from the drawing-room before he was opening his front door, with apologies for the delay, to admit his more recent visitors: two heavily bearded but quite personable young men, one tall, the other taller, wearing the distinctive uniform of the Metropolitan Police.”

  Making vague reference to “information received,” they had proceeded to search the drawing-room. Rupert, green-gilled and glassy-eyed with apprehension, had offered no protest; Selena, not being present in a professional capacity, felt that it would be officious to volunteer any on his behalf. She ventured to suggest, when they took possession of the flashlight camera, that they would wish to give Rupert a receipt for it, and something was rather grudgingly scribbled on a page of one of their notebooks; otherwise her role was that of disinterested spectator. It was not until they gave signs of proposing to search the other rooms in the flat that she began to feel serious disquiet.

  “I thought, you see, that if they went into the bathroom they would find Julia there, still perhaps feeling not quite well, and it might be upsetting for her.”

  “As it happens,” said Julia, “I was no longer in the bathroom, but on the balcony of Rupert’s bedroom—Rowena had thought it the best place to go when the disturbance started. Something rather curious happened while we were out there—there was a snow shower. Not an ordinary snow shower, you understand, falling alike on the just and unjust, but one confined to the balcony and falling exclusively on Rowena and myself. At least, so it seemed at the time; on closer investigation, we found that what was falling on us was not snow at all, but a quantity of little twists and packets of paper. It appeared that those on the roof, thinking it inadvisable to remain in possession of whatever they had been sniffing and smoking and putting in the fudge, were attempting to dispose of the evidence; but they evidently didn’t realize that the balcony extended some distance further than the roof, so obstructing the free passage of their dejectamenta to the safe anonymity of the public highway. Selena, of course, didn’t know about this at the time.”

  “No,” said Selena. “No, I didn’t. I thought, as I have said, that if the police searched the flat they would find you in the bathroom, perhaps feeling not quite well, and I felt anxious. If I had known that they would find you on the balcony, unconvincingly disguised as a schoolgirl and surrounded by little packets of illegal substances, I would not have felt less so.”

  She had accordingly thought it right to inquire casually whether their visitors happened to have a search warrant or anything of that kind. The taller one, who seemed to be the spokesman, admitted that they had not; but they supposed, he said, that if Mr. Galloway had nothing to hide he wouldn’t mind them taking a look round to see that everything was aboveboard. Ignoring anguished looks and attempted disclaimers from Rupert—who fortunately, however, seemed by this time incapable of coherent speech—she answered firmly that Mr. Galloway would mind very much indeed.

  “The taller one shrugged his shoulders and said that if that was our attitude they’d better go back to the station for further orders, and he hoped we wouldn’t blame them if it looked suspicious in their report. I assured him that we wouldn’t and they took their departure. Together, of course, with Rupert’s flashlight camera.”

  I heard in Selena’s voice a note of irony, and the upward curve of the corners of her mouth was a fraction more pronounced than usual. I began to think that things were not what they seemed.

  “While Rupert went up to the roof, to tell his guests that the forces of law and order had now retreated and they might safely return to the comfort of the drawing-room, I telephoned Mortlake police station. I told them that we had received a visit from a PC Golightly, that being the signature on the receipt for the camera, and a colleague of his whose name I did not know. They informed me that there was no one among their officers of that name, and that none of their force had been sent that evening to the address I mentioned.”

  “It just shows,” said Ragwort, “how careful one should always be to behave like a respectable house-holder. Even if one isn’t.”

  “Especially if one isn’t,” said Julia.

  “Thinking,” continued Selena, “that Rupert would be interested in this information, I followed him on to the roof. He became, on hearing my news, extremely indignant. Uttering various intemperate threats, he went to the parapet and looked over, in the hope of catching some glimpse of the impostors making their departure. I too, from curiosity rather than indignation, tried to look over the parapet. But it was too high for me to see anything nearer than the far bank of the river. So you do see, Hilary,” said Selena, leaning back and finishing her Frascati, in the manner of one who brings a well-rounded narrative to a logical and satisfactory conclusion, “you do see, don’t you, that it can’t have been an accident?”

  My curiosity about the spurious policemen had distracted my mind a little from the chief purpose of the narrative. Not allowing myself to be provoked into any precipitate inquiry as to its relevance, I refilled all our glasses with sufficient deliberation to permit myself time for thought.

  “I suppose,” I said eventually, “that you are—let me see, about five foot four, Selena?” She nodded. “The parapet then, if you could not see over it, must be of a similar height. And Deirdre—Deirdre, I seem to remember, was rather a small girl. Two or three inches shorter than you, I fancy?”

  “At least that,” said Selena.

  “And your suggestion is, I suppose, that a young woman who chooses to watch the Boat Race from a balcony some two inches higher than herself—”

  “Must be singularly indifferent,” said Julia, “to the outcome of the contest.”

  “While the notion of her leaning over it becomes, I agree, distinctly improbable. Are you quite sure, Selena, about the height of the parapet? It seems odd that it should be so high as to obstruct the view of the river.”

  “Quite sure,” said Selena. “I thought at the time what a pity it was. It does, however, prevent the roof terrace from being overlooked from the other blocks of flats in the neighborhood: it seems that the designer preferred privacy to prospect. And it would be more sheltered, I suppose, if one were sitting out there with a breeze blowing.”

  I asked Selena if it would be possible for her to draw for me a plan of Rupert’s flat. The product of her labors with ballpoint and table napkin, being possibly also of some interest to my readers, is reproduced below.

  I was still studying it when Cantrip arrived, showing no signs of weariness from his labors in Fleet Street. The waiters of Guido’s gathered round him with affectionate solicitude: it is their desire to encourage all their clients to a comfortable and prosperous plumpness, and Cantrip is an enduring challenge to them. The slenderness of Ragwort may be attributed to restraint; but Cantrip’s look of artistic semi-starvation survives any quantity of pasta or profiteroles.

  “They’ve kept you very late,” said Timothy. “Has the gossip columnist been sailing more than usually close to the wind?”

  “No,” said Cantrip. “No, it’s not that—I’ve been chatting up this bird. Hang on a minute while I order some food, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “No doubt,” said Ragwort, with weary distaste. “You generally do.”

  “All right then, I won’t,” said Cantrip. “What I thought was, if you were still trying to find out about Deirdre, you might all be quite interested. But if you’re not, I won’t bother.” Turning a shoulder towards Ragwort in a manner indicative of pique, he addressed himself to the nearest and most attentive waiter. “I’ll have a steak, please. You needn’t cook it much, I’m practically dying of hunger.”

  “Why?” said Selena. “Who was this girl, Cantrip?”

  “Oh, no one special.” Cantrip was elaborately casual. “Just a bird on the staff of the Scuttle. She covered the inquest on Deirdre. And I’ll have some mushrooms with it and lots of fried potatoes and some salad.”

  “Cantri
p, don’t tease,” said Julia. “Tell us what she said.”

  “Shan’t, so there,” said Cantrip with dignity. “Not until Ragwort takes back his malicious innuendo.”

  “A malicious innuendo? On my part? My dear Cantrip,” said Ragwort, “what can you mean?”

  “You know jolly well what I mean. What you innuended was that I kept boring you sick with unsavory stories about my success with birds, and I want a retraction and an apology. That means you’ve got to say it’s not true and you’re sorry you said it.”

  “My dear Cantrip,” said Ragwort, “of course it’s not true that you bore me with unsavory stories of your success with women. I find them quite entertaining. And if I’ve said anything which could be construed as implying otherwise, then I am very sorry.”

  Mollified by this graceful apology, Cantrip consented to tell us what he had learnt of the circumstances surrounding Deirdre’s death.

  “The whole lot of them were there—you know, all the ones who turned up for the trust bust. It’s a sort of family tradition for Rupert to give them all lunch on Boat Race day. Looks as if he mostly does it to please Camilla—the word is it’s quite important for him to stay on the right side of her. He fancies himself as some kind of financial whiz kid, but everything he does seems to come unstuck—mention his name near our City Desk and they start talking about bargepoles. So he’s probably in a rather dodgy position moneywise, and people think he’s counting on Camilla to do the grateful daughter bit when she comes in for the loot.”

  “There were no other guests,” I asked, “apart from members of the family?”

  “Old Tancred was there—you remember, our instructing solicitor. Not in a professional capacity—as an old family friend. Well, that’s what he told the Coroner. I expect he just slid under the door when he heard there was free booze going—you know what solicitors are like.”

  The attentive waiter now placed before Cantrip an enormous steak, surrounded by mushrooms and fried potatoes, murmuring as he did so a few coaxing words in Italian, as if fearing that without encouragement his customer would eat no more than a mouthful: Cantrip applied himself to dispelling these anxieties.