Watson's Choice

by Gladys Mitchell

  ‘Poor Miss Galbraith,’ said the vicar. ‘Such a lonely soul, I’m afraid, and so fond of that great creature. It would have broken her heart to have been parted from it. I used my good offices with our dear hostel matron, but I doubt whether they would have pre vailed had not that fortunate offer come along. Even then, Miss Galbraith needed some persuasion before she would part with the dog. I pointed out, however, that if the good matron was prepared to have the dog at nights, and one pound a day was being paid by the film people for its services, she should try to be content, but she missed the daily walk on the heath. She said she did not feel safe without its company. One can understand that, of course. But how long the matron can be required to have it at the house all day long is another matter.’

  ‘What about its twin?’ asked Laura bluntly, as they walked towards the south door.

  ‘Its twin? I’m afraid I have no idea. Miss Galbraith was given the dog by a publican in Pimlico, I believe. She lived there before she came out here. She rented a place in this village for some years, and brought the dog with her, but her little cottage had to be condemned, and there was nowhere else in the village for her to be. It was fortunate indeed that there was room for her in the hostel.’

  ‘Doesn’t help us,’ said Laura, as she and Mrs Bradley struck on to the path which led back across the heath to the Queen of the Circus. ‘What next? My burglarious entry into the fastness where the other dog is?’

  ‘Quite unnecessary. Miss Campbell was killed by a human being, not by a dog. The second dog is immaterial.’

  ‘Then why wouldn’t the woman let us see it? I’m going to get a squint at that dog, come what may. I have a hunch it is germane to the issue.’

  ‘I have a hunch that by the time we get back to the Queen of the Circus we shall be ready for tea and then can watch their television screen until cocktail-time, after which I will treat you to dinner,’ said Mrs Bradley. This simple, satisfactory programme was carried out, but as they were going into the cocktail bar, Laura leading, as usual (for she held a chivalrous theory that her employer should be protected, as far as possible, from the rude gaze of the road-house frequenters), an unexpected apparition waved a pleased hand in greeting. It was Toby Dance, who had left Sir Bohun’s house soon after the Sherlock Holmes party, leaving Brenda, he explained, to stay on for a bit, as there seemed some idea that Sir Bohun wanted someone to play chaperone.

  ‘Oh, hullo,’ he said when Laura came forward. ‘You still here?’

  ‘More or less,’ Laura replied. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’

  ‘Dry Martini. You can have it. I haven’t begun it. I’ll ask for another. The barman’s removed the doings, otherwise I could give you one.’

  ‘No, we’ll have sherry,’ said Laura. ‘You might shout for me. Pete’s in the other bar.’

  Mrs Bradley came forward.

  ‘Ah,’ she said, favouring Dance with a grin. ‘Chivalry, I perceive, is not dead. This would appear to be the gesture of a Galahad, a white man, a pukka sahib, would it not? The return of one who has the instincts of a gentleman and a sportsman!’

  Dance laughed and fingered his tie.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘SOS from my wife. As you say, a gentleman by instinct (if not by birth and breeding), I responded in the only possible way, and came along.’

  ‘I congratulate you. The police have not yet finished their interrogation, I believe. Your presence here should help to show that you, at least, are persuaded that Mrs Dance did not take the shortest cut to Sir Bohun’s bed and board.’

  Dance looked slightly taken aback at encountering this crude view of the situation. Then he laughed again, tossed off his drink, and took another which the barman pushed towards him. He recovered at once from what appeared to be a momentary shock, and raised his glass in mock salute.

  ‘I do like people to call a spade a damned shovel,’ he said. ‘It usually is, unless you can’t be bothered to dig up the past. You are quite right, of course. The police are bound to find out all sorts of little secrets which have the makings of shame in them, and I didn’t want my divorce proceedings to be one of them. I hadn’t filed my petition, as it happens, so when I got Brenda’s frantic note I telephoned Chantrey and was invited to come along. He’s a decent sort of chap in his way, and, between ourselves’ – he lowered his cheerful voice – ‘remarkably thankful to get that chap Grimston out of the house. You knew he had gone, I suppose?’

  ‘Sir Bohun dismissed him with a cheque in lieu of notice, I believe. I wonder what he will do?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll get another job all right, an intelligent fellow like that. Let’s all have another. I’ll have to be off pretty soon. Chantrey has very decently invited me to dinner and to put up there for a night or two. By the way, did you ever see any more of that chap Mildren? Quite a bright lad, I thought. I’ve always been interested in anybody on the stage.’

  ‘What was he like as an actor?’ asked Laura suddenly. Dance chuckled.

  ‘Pretty hot. Character parts, you know. Brenda could tell you better than I can, I should say. But I saw enough to know he was good. While you girls were changing your reach-me-downs for that Sherlock Holmes treasure hunt, old Mildren was taking off the various members of the house party. He did Chantrey and Bell, poor old Grimston, Lupez, you, Miss Laura, the fair Celia, you, Mrs Bradley, I’m afraid, the impudent hound – ’

  ‘Didn’t he do you?’ demanded Laura. Dance shook his head.

  ‘He said I was only a type, not a real character,’ he answered. ‘The same went for Gavin.’

  ‘Oh, did it!’ snorted Gavin’s fiancée.

  ‘I should like to have seen him,’ said Mrs Bradley sincerely.

  ‘That gives me an idea!’ exclaimed her secretary. Her apprehensive employer hastily ordered her another drink.

  They got back to the farm after a very early dinner at the road-house, and a little later Laura, finding that the coast was clear, decided to carry out her plan of getting a glimpse of the animal which, in spite of what Mrs Bradley had said, she felt sure had been substituted on the station for Miss Galbraith’s affectionate and amenable pet.

  She tied up her head in a dark silk scarf, wrapped up warmly, for there was a weather report of a freeze-up, put a small electric torch in her pocket, and slipped out. After a sharp walk she came to a narrow stone bridge over the river and walked into the thickish mist which covered the marshes. These swamps stretched for almost half a mile alongside the road. Opposite was a small copse and beyond that lay the gipsy encampment. One or two lights from the caravans penetrated the mist, and further on the mist thinned out again to disclose the house where the market-gardeners lived with their dog.

  She walked past it very slowly, listening hard. From behind the side gate she heard the dragging sound of a chain which proved that the dog was there.

  ‘Now or never!’ thought Laura. ‘He’s certain to bark as soon as I get close to him. One thing – as he’s chained up he can’t go for me!’

  There were no lights at the front of the house. She walked along past it and then switched on her torch to look at her watch. It was almost ten. It was too early to expect that the people would have gone to bed, and there had been no sound of the wireless. Perhaps they were out, although she doubted whether the woman she had seen on the previous visit was the type to patronize the Queen of the Circus. If so, she would soon be on her way home because of the licensing hours.

  ‘Here goes,’ thought Laura. Torch in hand, but switched off, she returned to the house and crept up to the side gate. A low growl and further dragging of a chain came from behind it. Laura switched on her torch, fumbled with the catch of the gate, pushed the gate open and shone her torch on to a small shaggy terrier who leapt the length of his chain to get at her, and fell back half-choked. By the time he was giving tongue Laura was outside the front garden gate and was walking briskly up the road. She felt rather a fool.

  ‘Never mind. There’s one thing I can do,’ she decided. ‘I can
check on Miss Galbraith. I’ll do it to-morrow morning, unless Mrs Croc. says no.’

  Mrs Bradley had no objection to the plan.

  ‘Do not ask leading questions,’ she said. ‘What we want is a description from the matron of the people who hired the dog. Of course, she may not have seen them, but, as she seems to act as doorkeeper, it is most likely that she did. I believe Miss Galbraith entirely, but confirmation of evidence is always valuable, so off with you early in the morning.’

  So, before the sun was up and while the ground was like iron with the frost, Laura stepped out along the road. The mist was not sufficient to slow her down, and it was a matter of minutes only before she found herself at the flight of steps which led up to the front door of the hostel. There was a dim light in the hall and one or two rooms were also lighted. Encouraged by these signs that the household was already stirring, Laura careered up the steps, and knocked at the door.

  A grille, like that on the outer door of a convent, was pushed aside, and two eyes glinted at Laura.

  ‘Who is it?’ demanded the official (although slightly nervous) voice of the matron.

  ‘Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley’s secretary,’ proclaimed Laura, rightly judging that this information would have the effect of an Open Sesame. So it proved. There was the sound of bolts being drawn and a chain being removed. Then the light – gaslight, obviously – was turned up, and the front door was held ajar.

  ‘It’s rather early for callers,’ said the matron, half apologetic and half accusing. ‘We were really not unlocked from last night.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Laura cheerfully. ‘There was just one point about Miss Galbraith and her dog. We met the vicar, you know, and he said something about a film.’

  ‘Certainly. Miss Galbraith was able – but won’t you come in, Miss – ’

  ‘Menzies. Spelt the Australian way but pronounced as in Scotland. Thanks.’

  She was ushered into the matron’s own room and was aware of more than one elderly head being craned over the banisters.

  ‘The vicar persuaded me, against my will, to accept the creature,’ went on the matron, when Laura was seated, ‘and it was a relief to me, I confess, when it was required by the film people. One of them, obviously a foreigner, called for it and took it away with him.’

  ‘Can you describe the man?’ asked Laura.

  ‘The most noticeable thing about him was his accent, which was guttural and foreign,’ replied the matron.

  In spite of the warning from Mrs Bradley against asking leading questions, Laura could not resist trying one of these.

  ‘Could he have been a Spaniard?’ she enquired.

  ‘I have really no idea. He was a middle-aged man, rather grizzled, and with his hair receding from the brow and cut extremely close.’

  ‘Not black-haired?’

  ‘Oh, dear me, no. Apart from the greyness, I should say he was a fair-haired man. He had grey-blue eyes, I think. Why, is there anything wrong?’

  ‘No. Mrs Bradley is making a psychological study of one or two film people, that’s all.’

  ‘But this man, and the young woman who came with him, were not film people. At least, I don’t think so. They came to hire the dog to go to a party. No, the film actor turned up at the beginning of this month and wanted the dog daily. Miss Galbraith let him go, but she was not altogether satisfied, for some reason, and found out where the young man was taking him. And where do you think they were filming?’

  ‘When I saw them,’ said Laura, ‘they were on location at that disused station just this side of the new estate at Dilcocks.’

  ‘Oh, of course, if Dame Beatrice is interested in them, you would know,’ said the matron, in a slightly disappointed tone.

  ‘How many times did Miss Galbraith go to the station?’ Laura asked.

  ‘Only the once. The young man who had come to hire the dog was there, and said that the cameras would be along at any time and that they couldn’t have people on the platform when they had begun work. She saw that point, of course, and had to be satisfied to come away if she wanted her money. And, really, she drinks and smokes so much, and pays so much for that animal’s food, that she needed the money very badly. Anyway, he made her promise faithfully not to go there again.’

  ‘And this young man? Can you describe him, too? Mrs Bradley is particularly interested in a dark, hard-faced, black-eyed man. Is that the one who came here at the beginning of the month?’

  ‘Oh, no, nor the second one, either. The film man who came had hazel eyes and dark-brown hair. Miss Galbraith said it was a toupée, but I only saw him with his hat on, and, in any case, I am not the one to question whether a person’s hair is really his own. But really dark – oh, no, I can be definite over that, and the first one who came was grey-haired but must have been fair.’

  Laura had one more question to ask.

  ‘The dog,’ she said. ‘He seemed a reasonable enough animal to me. Did you ever know him turn savage?’

  ‘Dear me, no! I wouldn’t have kept him a day if I thought him savage. He was, I must admit, a singularly docile animal.’

  ‘Miss Galbraith has gone to Scotland, I believe?’

  ‘A taxi came yesterday evening. I am not too happy about it. Miss Galbraith had retired from the stage. If she had not, I could not have taken her in. This house is not intended for people in active life. However Dame Beatrice rang up and arranged for the rent to be paid and I could hardly affront a D.B.E.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ agreed Laura. ‘There is only one point not clear. Apparently the dog was on daily hire to the film people. What exactly does that mean?’

  ‘Miss Galbraith had it back every night.’

  ‘The film people brought it back here? You said that Miss Galbraith had to promise not to go to the station while they were filming. How did it get itself returned?’

  ‘Dear me!’ said the matron. ‘I have no idea how it came back here each night. I should think, after the first time, it probably found its own way.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. It has nothing to do with Dame Beatrice’s psychological studies,’ said Laura carelessly.

  ‘Of course not. But little mysteries do nag at one so,’ remarked the matron sympathetically.

  CHAPTER 12

  OFFICIALDOM

  ‘Oh! think of all the happy days we have had together, before these terrible misfortunes came upon us … and you cannot leave us to bear them alone …’

  CHARLES DICKENS – Nicholas Nickleby

  *

  MANOEL SAT DOWN at the Superintendent’s invitation, crossed one shiny, black-trousered thigh over the other, and nodded.

  ‘You wish to know all that I can tell you of Linda Campbell’s death? Very well. Please to go ahead and ask questions. That, I believe, is the method.’

  ‘Did you call her by her Christian name, then, Mr Lupez?’

  ‘In my country it would not be proper, but in England it is the custom, when one has met a lady twice, to call her by her baptismal name, I think. One is not formal over here.’

  ‘It depends. Had she any enemies, as far as you know?’

  ‘Oh, yes. There was myself, also Mrs Dance, Grimston, Miss Laura Menzies – ’

  ‘Miss Laura Menzies? But she was a comparative stranger to Miss Campbell!’

  ‘But not to Chief Detective-Inspector Gavin,’ said Manoel, his face impassive.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was seen that Miss Campbell had cast eyes – you say that, I think? – towards Mr Gavin, and Miss Campbell was truly more favoured with beauty and with charm than is Miss Menzies. Me, I like not big, strong girls.’

  ‘That’s as you find them,’ said Collins. ‘I didn’t see Miss Campbell until after she was dead, so perhaps I’m no judge of their respective looks. I think we can forget Miss Menzies, you know.’

  ‘In Spain we should not dismiss from our calculations a woman with a lover to be stolen.’

  ‘Nev
er mind that for the moment, sir. Just now you mentioned yourself. I take it you were joking, and I’ve no time to spend on jokes.’

  ‘Joking? But no. As everyone will have told you by this time, I have expectations of money when Sir Bohun Chantrey dies. These expectations would be the horse that does not go if he should marry again and have sons. He was proposing to marry Miss Campbell. What more natural, therefore, than that I should say to myself that it would be better if there were no Miss Campbell at all? It seems to me logical, that.’

  ‘Quite so. I see what you mean. What about Mrs Dance?’

  ‘Mrs Dance will have told you about Mrs Dance. She is dangerous, that woman, and scruples not to obtain what she wants. I think she would be divorced and marry Sir Bohun for his money, if she could. And perhaps if I were a little older, I would ask her to marry me. But not if she is divorced! You see?’

  ‘It’s a theory, certainly, Mr Lupez. And Mr Grimston was jealous because Miss Campbell was engaged to Sir Bohun, eh? We’ve heard that one before, and there’s probably something in it. By the way, where were you on Thursday afternoon, January eleventh, and what were you doing?’

  ‘You think that was when Miss Linda Campbell was killed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was showing my natural father how we use the espada.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The sword we bull-fighters are using.’

  ‘So you and Sir Bohun were together?’

  ‘Of course. A loving father and a loving son – what else?’

  ‘Where was this sword-play going on?’

  ‘In my father’s library. The good Bell, who makes my father write letters, was on holiday, so we pushed away the big table and we took turns to be the bull – and to be the toreador, too, of course.’

  ‘I see. Thank you, Mr Lupez. I take it you’ll be staying on here for a bit? Not going back to your own country yet, I mean? We may need you again. You understand?’

  Manoel accepted this dismissal graciously, smiled, and walked quickly from the room. Collins gazed at the closed door speculatively for a moment, then crossed to the fire and warmed his hands.