Mrs Pargeter 01; A Nice Class of Corpse mp-1

by Simon Brett

  She quickly identified the speakers as Miss Naismith and Mr Holland. The solicitor was resorting to bluster, the customary weapon of a weak man trying to get his point across.

  “…and I don’t see how we can possibly keep it quiet any longer,” he was saying. “Our agreement was that we should only suppress the information for twenty-four hours, anyway. That time has passed, more than passed. And now, under these new circumstances, I think the police just have to be told.”

  “I would really rather we kept the matter confidential.” Miss Naismith’s voice was frosted with authority. “The police are here to conduct an enquiry into the death of Mrs Mendlingham. I’m sure they will not wish to be confused by information about another possible crime.”

  “Miss Naismith, I don’t think we can any longer pretend we are talking about a ‘possible’ crime. My client’s jewellery disappeared on the night after her death, and there has been no sign of it since. That sounds to me like a classic definition of a robbery, and I have a nasty feeling that the longer we leave the robbery uninvestigated, the less chance we have of ever seeing the missing property again.”

  “Surely the jewellery was insured?”

  But Mr Holland was not to be side-tracked by this irrelevance. “That is even more reason why the theft should be reported. No insurance company is going to pay up unless the crime has been reported to the police within a very short period. They are not charitable institutions, you know.”

  “I still find the idea of accusing my guests of theft acutely distasteful.”

  In the Hall, Mrs Pargeter smiled grimly.

  “You realise what will happen?” Miss Naismith’s voice continued. “All my residents’ bedrooms will be searched, they will be questioned about their movements at certain relevant periods, they may even have their backgrounds investigated…”

  “That sounds an excellent idea to me,” said Mr Holland, belatedly assertive. “Then perhaps we will stand a chance of recovering the stolen property.” With surprising self-knowledge, he added, “I was extremely weak-willed not to insist on that course immediately after the theft was discovered.”

  “As I say, I’m sure these gentlemen from the police will not be interested. They probably represent a different department.”

  “I’m sure they will be interested. They’re bound to want to get as full a background as possible when they’re investigating a suspicious death.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t refer to it as that.” Miss Naismith sounded pained.

  “I know no other way to refer to it. That is what it is. And I am absolutely convinced that we should tell the police about the robbery of Mrs Selsby’s jewels.”

  Miss Naismith might have been expected also to object to the unadorned use of the word ‘robbery’, but her resistance was at an end. She capitulated. “Very well. The police shall be told.”

  “Shall I tell them?”

  “Certainly not!” she snapped at Mr Holland. “I am the proprietress of the Devereux, and this responsibility – however distasteful – is mine.”

  She was not going to better that as an exit line. Mrs Pargeter moved with discreet speed to the Seaview Lounge and the door had closed behind her, before Miss Naismith emerged, like a galleon in full sail, from the Office.

  ♦

  The police clearly shared Mr Holland’s view that the theft of Mrs Selsby’s jewellery was an important matter. Miss Naismith’s discreet (but none the less shameful) announcement had come just at the moment when they had more or less decided that Mrs Mendlingham’s death had been an accident, and the prospect of something new to investigate was warmly welcomed by both detectives.

  All the hotel’s residents and staff were immediately requested to assemble in the Seaview Lounge, where the news of the robbery was broken to them by Miss Naismith, flanked by the two detectives. Though she did her best to make it sound like a minor inconvenience, she could not disguise the fact that there had been a serious breach of the hotel’s security. And it did not take long for any of those present to realise the implied slur on the character of one of their number.

  The robbery was, as Miss Naismith had realised it would be, a much greater shock to the residents than either of the deaths. (That was the reason why she had tried for so long to keep it from them.) Even if Mrs Selsby’s or Mrs Mendlingham’s deaths had been proved to be murder (and that idea had not been entertained by anyone except Mrs Pargeter – and, of course, the diarist), the knowledge would not have constituted such a blow to the values of the Devereux.

  Theft was such a shameful, lower-class crime. In the mind of Colonel Wicksteed, who probably represented, as much as anyone, the average standards of the residents, theft was a shabby business, on a par with bouncing cheques or not paying gambling debts. It was certainly a resignation issue and, indeed, the Colonel rather regretted the passing of the days when a chap found guilty of stealing would be pointedly told that there was a revolver in the desk drawer and left on his own for an hour or so.

  “Under these unfortunate circumstances,” announced Detective-Sergeant Mitford, “I am afraid we will have to search the premises. I apologise for the inconvenience, but I would be grateful if you could all stay down here while we do that.”

  “I regret,” said Miss Naismith, trying to make up for the diminution of her stature caused by the news of the burglary, “that that will interfere considerably with the preparations for luncheon.”

  When it was explained that Mrs Ayling, that day’s cook, could not possibly have been on the premises when the theft occurred, she was allowed to return to the kitchen, so at least the gastronomic routine of the residents would not be disrupted.

  It was also conceded that, since Miss Naismith had work to do in the Office, and Newth had the lunch tables to lay, they might fulfil these duties, on the strict understanding that they did not attempt to go to their rooms.

  Miss Naismith, realising that this condition meant she too was on the list of suspects, made a considerable production out of her martyred exit from the Seaview Lounge.

  But that was nothing to the production Eulalie Vance made of her reactions to recent events when the surviving residents were left on their own.

  “My God!” she cried, wafting across the room in a blur of shawls. “My God! My God!” She came to rest, with one hand winsomely to her temple. “Was there ever a day like this? First, the tragic news of poor, dear Mrs Mendlingham’s death, and then, while we’re still reeling – but reeling – from that, suddenly we’re all accused of being jewel thieves!”

  “Hardly all accused,” said Lady Ridgleigh tartly. “I hope no one is suggesting that I might have had anything to do with such a thing.”

  Mr Dawlish giggled. “I’m afraid that’s just what they are suggesting.”

  “What?” she snapped, her eyes wide with horror at the suggestion.

  “No, no, dear lady.” Colonel Wicksteed came in soothingly to mend the fences his friend had broken. “I fear once again it’s the clumsiness of the British Police Force we have to blame. Fine body of men, I’ve never questioned, but, as ever, tact is not their most striking characteristic.”

  “No,” Lady Ridgleigh agreed, a little mollified.

  “A frightful, frightful thing to happen, though,” Eulalie Vance emoted emptily.

  “Oh, shut up!” said Miss Wardstone, whose toleration level of Eulalie was low at the best of times. “What we should be doing is thinking who might have stolen the jewels.”

  “Work it out for ourselves, you mean? Be our own Sherlock Holmeses?” asked Mr Dawlish enthusiastically.

  “I say, capital idea!” said the Colonel. Then, affecting a rather strange voice, he misquoted, “‘Apply my methods, Watson.’ Eh?”

  Mr Dawlish rubbed his hands together. He was relishing the game. “Well, since theft is a lower-class crime, perhaps that’s where we ought to look first.”

  Colonel Wicksteed couldn’t keep up with the speed of his friend’s intellect. “Sorry. Not with you.”
>
  “I believe, in detective stories, it’s traditional first to suspect the servants.”

  Lady Ridgleigh quickly ruled out this idea. “But not at the Devereux. We are talking about Newth and Loxton, remember. If there were anything lax in the morality of either, Miss Naismith would not have engaged them.”

  Though the logic of this assertion might, under objective scrutiny, be open to question, they all accepted it. Mr Dawlish seemed to have had the wind taken out of his sails. “Hmm. That rules out the lower-class idea.”

  There was a long silence. Mrs Pargeter looked rigidly out at the sea, and suppressed a giggle. She knew that the eyes of everyone in the room had just flickered towards her. From Miss Naismith that snobbishness and its assumptions had enraged her; from the residents, it was merely amusing.

  “Ye-es.” Colonel Wicksteed made a long punctuation out of the word. “Yes. Another approach, of course, would be to think who might have had a motive for stealing the jewels.”

  “That would be impertinent and in very poor taste!” Lady Ridgleigh snapped down the lid on that idea, too.

  “Of course, another thing to do would be to find out who’s got a criminal record.” Mr Dawlish giggled at the incongruity of his suggestion, incidentally rescuing the Colonel from Lady Ridgleigh’s displeasure in the same way that his friend had earlier rescued him.

  “Yes,” agreed Colonel Wicksteed. “Yes. Damned funny idea.”

  Once again there was silence while they thought about this. Once again, still staring out to sea in amusement, Mrs Pargeter felt their eyes on her.

  Oh no, she thought. You may inadvertently have got nearer the truth than you realise, but there’s no criminal record. The late Mr Pargeter was far too careful, and Arnold Justiman far too skilful, for that to have happened.

  ∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧

  25

  The police search of the Devereux for Mrs Selsby’s jewels revealed nothing. Nor did questioning the hotel’s staff and residents give them any clue as to where the stolen property might be. Eventually, in the afternoon, they left to file their reports on the two incidents.

  Though the official decision on Mrs Mendlingham’s death would have to await a full post-mortem and the findings of a coroner, the police who had gone to the hotel were in no doubt that it had been an unfortunate accident. Miss Naismith might perhaps be reprimanded for the carelessness of leaving a full bottle of sleeping draught within reach of an old lady on the edge of senility, but there was no question in their minds of any criminal activity.

  With regard to the other case, as well, the police were critical of Miss Naismith. By delaying the announcement of the theft (for whatever delicate reasons), she had made their investigation of the incident doubly difficult. The sooner the police can be on the scene of a crime, the greater their chances of solving it. In this instance, the thief had had two days to remove the booty from the premises, which was bound to be his or her first priority, considering the value of the property involved. Since the detailed search of the hotel had revealed nothing, it was reasonable to assume that the jewellery was now in some other safe hiding place.

  ♦

  Mrs Pargeter did not agree with this conclusion. She felt fairly confident that the stolen property was still in the Devereux.

  But then of course she knew considerably more about Mrs Selsby’s jewellery than the police did.

  During the rest of the day she thought about the theft. Though she was convinced that Mrs Mendlingham’s death had been a second murder, that crime took a lower priority in her scheme of investigation.

  The second murder had been an inevitable consequence of the first. Mrs Pargeter could have kicked herself for her stupidity; she had not interpreted Mrs Mendlingham’s ramblings correctly. When the old lady had appeared upset by what she had seen ‘on the landing’, Mrs Pargeter had read that as the expression of a guilty conscience. She had assumed that Mrs Mendlingham was making an oblique confession to having been the one who pushed Mrs Selsby down the stairs.

  Whereas now, as her own murder had shown, what had really been upsetting the old lady had been the fact that she had witnessed someone else pushing Mrs Selsby down the stairs. It was this that had prompted the anguished comments in her notebook. Unfortunately, she had somehow communicated what she had seen to Mrs Selsby’s murderer and, of course, from that moment, had signed her own death warrant.

  So, although Mrs Pargeter wanted to identify Mrs Mendlingham’s murderer, she concentrated on Mrs Selsby’s death. Even though she did not yet understand the motivation for the crime, she felt certain that the theft of the jewellery was in some way relevant.

  ♦

  The excitements of the morning had taken their toll on the residents of the Devereux, and there was a general feeling that the afternoon should be a time for private recuperation, so that they could all meet for tea in a better state to maintain the polite fiction that nothing had happened. Displays of emotion (except for the vacuous posturings of Eulalie Vance, which everyone ignored) were as little welcomed in the Devereux as midday baths, so an upheaval of the kind they had all experienced must inevitably be followed by a period of solitary rehabilitation.

  The residents approached this task in different ways. Colonel Wicksteed swept Mr Dawlish off for a ‘brisk walk’ with the irrelevant misquotation that ‘the rolling drunken Englishman made the English rolling road’. Lady Ridgleigh and Miss Wardstone went up to their rooms for a ‘lie-down’, and Eulalie Vance, as Mrs Pargeter discovered when she went in there round half-past three, snored gently in her armchair in the Seaview Lounge.

  ♦

  Mrs Pargeter looked out at the relentlessly grey sea and focused her mind on the theft of Mrs Selsby’s jewels. The timing of the crime was interesting and, along with other factors, seemed to rule out a financial motive. If someone in the Devereux had wished to steal the jewellery merely to sell it, then they would have done better to commit the theft at any other time. Mrs Selsby’s room would frequently have been left unlocked and, given her age and short sight, it was possible that the loss of the jewellery would not have been discovered straight away. The thief would have had time to dispose of it as and when he or she thought fit.

  But committing the crime the night after her death meant that it was bound to be quickly discovered. Only a fool would make such a theft then for the conventional profit motive; and Mrs Pargeter was increasingly certain that she was not dealing with a fool.

  Which meant that the motive for the theft could not be simply financial.

  In her mind she went round the hotel, room by room. The police, in their search, had concentrated on places where valuables might be safely hidden, but that wasn’t at all what Mrs Pargeter was looking for in her mental tour of the premises.

  From somewhere in the depths of the hotel came a faint scraping noise. Newth raking out the boiler. Mrs Pargeter was beginning to recognise the background sounds of the Devereux, the rhythms of the hotel’s life, the ticking of the grandfather clock, all the creaks and judders of the old building. She could understand how, in time, these noises could prove very soothing, very peaceful for a long-term resident.

  Eulalie Vance woke with a little snort and looked around her in bewilderment. “Oh, dear me,” she said. “Couldn’t think where I was for a moment. Thought it was morning.”

  Mrs Pargeter smiled benignly at the former actress. How kind, you’ve given me just the lead I need, she thought, as the door of the Seaview Lounge opened and the surviving residents started to assemble for afternoon tea.

  ∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧

  26

  She was getting quite used to nocturnal expeditions, and rather welcomed them. She found they brought back some of the excitements of the life she had shared with the late Mr Pargeter.

  In the course of her marriage she had had to train herself to wake at a given hour in the night, do whatever was necessary, then return to bed and go straight back to sleep. It was a useful skill.

&n
bsp; That night she woke obediently at three, and lay still for a few moments, thinking what she had to do. Eulalie had given her the clue by thinking it was morning when she awoke. Had Mrs Pargeter been longer at the Devereux, she too would have become aware of the regularity with which Newth raked out the boiler every morning, and she too would have got into the habit of waking to that distant scraping sound.

  It followed that for Newth to be cleaning out the boiler in the middle of the afternoon was unusual, and in an institution as bound by routine as the Devereux, there must be a reason for anything unusual.

  The police would not have looked in the boiler for the jewels. Only in a moment of panic would a conventional thief have put them there, and between the announcement of the theft and the end of the search there had been no opportunity for the thief, however panicked, to attempt to destroy the evidence.

  But, as Mrs Pargeter had recognised, she was not dealing with a conventional thief or a conventional theft.

  She knew she could not go down the main staircase. The pressure pads in the Hall would activate the alarms. But in her investigation of the hotel’s security system she had observed that there were no pressure pads at the back of the ground floor. There, presumably so that there was no danger of Newth’s triggering the system when he started his early morning routine, the burglar alarms were linked just to contact breakers on the exterior doors. This meant that Mrs Pargeter could go safely down the back stairs towards the kitchen, and, although she had not been down to check, she was assuming that she would be equally safe on the next flight down to the basement.

  She put her dressing gown on over her nightdress and donned soft sheepskin slippers. She had contemplated more suitable clothes for investigation of the boiler room, but decided that their advantages were outweighed by the problems of explanation that might be caused if she were interrupted in her mission. An old lady wandering around at three a.m. in her night clothes could be put down to the aberrations of age; an old lady in a dark sweater and trousers might raise more searching questions.