Jumping Jenny

by Anthony Berkeley

  “Oh, Colin, you will be noble, surely.”

  “Don’t you try your wiles on me, Agatha. I’m proof against all that sort of thing.”

  “I’m afraid he is, Mr. Sheringham. What is it you want him to do?”

  “Only tell the truth.”

  “Well, that would be a nice change, for some of us,” said Mrs. Lefroy pleasantly. “I don’t think I’ve ever undertaken to tell so many lies in my life.”

  Roger looked at her eagerly. “You wouldn’t tell one more, would you?”

  “What would one more be among so many? I mean, what one in particular?”

  Roger hesitated. Mrs. Lefroy really knew nothing, what ever she might think. Was it wise to let her see how very serious things actually were?

  “Shut up, Roger, you ass.”

  Roger took his decision. He would have trusted very few women to this extent, but Mrs. Lefroy really was different.

  “Would you say that you’d wiped the back of a chair on the roof last night, and incidentally the finger-prints off it, Mrs. Lefroy, when you know perfectly-well that you never did anything of the kind?”

  “Ach, Roger, come now. You can’t ask her to do that. Do it yourself, man.”

  “Is it important, Mr. Sheringham?”

  “One might almost say that it’s vital.”

  “And Colin won’t?”

  “No.”

  “But I tell you there’s no need, Agatha. Roger can say it himself. There’s no necessity at all for me or you to put ourselves in hot water on his account.”

  “It isn’t on my account,” Roger snapped. “You know that perfectly well.”

  “Mr. Sheringham must have some good reason for not saying he did it, Colin.”

  “Of course I have, but Colin won’t see it. The police would be more suspicious than they are already. They’d know I would never destroy evidence like that without knowing what I was doing; and that would make them do just what I want to prevent them from doing, and that is ask themselves just what I was playing at. What I want is for someone to come forward and say he did it, who might never have realised what an important action it was. You understand that, surely? Because Colin doesn’t.”

  “Ach, yes, I do; but they wouldn’t believe that I didn’t know what I was doing, either. I did know, jolly well.”

  “Now you’re shifting your ground.”

  “Well, it’s true enough.”

  “Anyhow, don’t quarrel any more, you two,” said Mrs. Lefroy soothingly, “because I’ll say it. I can, quite conveniently, because I actually was on the roof last night soon after Ena had been found.”

  “You were?” Roger said in surprise. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yes, I was. I’m afraid I didn’t tell the inspector so last night, because it didn’t seem of the least importance; but as it happened, I wasn’t in the ballroom when Colin came down to keep us penned in. I was … Anyhow,” said Mrs. Lefroy, “I heard a lot of commotion on the stairs, so I went straight up to the roof. Osbert was there, and he told me what had happened.”

  “Osbert’s never mentioned that.”

  “I don’t expect,” said Mrs. Lefroy, “that he remembers very much about it. But he probably would if I reminded him.”

  “That’s excellent.”

  “Yes. So what exactly is it that I’m to confess to? Something about a chair, did you say?”

  “It’s like this, Mrs. Lefroy,” Roger explained rapidly. “You know there was a chair lying under the gallows, which Mrs. Stratton must have used. For a certain reason which I needn’t go into, Colin gave that chair a polishing with his handkerchief—thereby, incidentally, rubbing off any fingerprints that might have been on it, including Mrs. Stratton’s own. The police have discovered that the chair has been wiped, and are choosing to put a sinister interpretation on the fact. It’s essential that someone should own up to the wiping, laughing heartily and without the faintest notion that the act might be considered a serious one. That’s what I want you to do.”

  “Well, that seems quite easy,” Mrs. Lefroy said.

  “I do like a woman who doesn’t ask a lot of unnecessary questions,” said Roger with enthusiasm.

  “Yes, but there seems one rather necessary one. Why did I do such a thing?”

  “Why, indeed?” Roger said thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s essential to have a really good reason.”

  “And one that will bring in the seat, as well as the back,” added Colin.

  “Yes, the seat. I do wish—by Jove, I’ve just remembered something. That’s a bit of luck.”

  “What?”

  “Why, I was rather worried about that seat, wasn’t I? But it’s all right. I stood on it myself. So even if you did polish it a bit, that’s bound to show. And now I come to think of it, the polishing’s all to the good. It will have left the traces of slightly gritty feet; but it will have destroyed any awkward contrasts between flat heels and high ones. Yes, that is a bit of luck.”

  “I’m glad there was some use in what I did,” Colin said dryly.

  “Do you know that I’m absolutely dying to ask a thousand unnecessary questions, Mr. Sheringham?” said Mrs. Lefroy. “I should like you to know that, because I’m not going to ask a single one of them.”

  “I’ll tell Ronald what a magnificent woman you are,” Roger promised. “He may have some idea, but he can’t realise fully.”

  “Agatha’s a grand woman,” Colin agreed. “But why did she wipe that chair?”

  They looked at each other. It was very difficult to imagine why Mrs. Lefroy should have wiped the chair.

  “It couldn’t have had jam on it, or anything like that?” asked Mrs. Lefroy, not very hopefully.

  “A wee dicky-bird?” suggested Colin.

  Roger groaned.

  “You wiped it so thoroughly,” he said. “Why should anyone want to wipe a chair thoroughly on a roof?”

  “Because of smuts,” Mrs. Lefroy said promptly. “After all, my dress was white.”

  Roger looked at her with admiration. Then his face fell.

  “But you weren’t going to sit on it. For one thing, it was on its side. For another, you wouldn’t have been going to sit on that particular chair.”

  “Yes. I came over queer, and had to sit on the nearest chair.”

  “If you came over queer, you wouldn’t have bothered to wipe it. Besides, what did you wipe it with? The skirt of your white dress? Not very convincing, I’m afraid.”

  “Ach, Agatha never wiped it at all. Osbert wiped it for her, with his handkerchief. The man was as tight as a lord. He won’t know whether he wiped fifty chairs last night or not.”

  “Colin,” said Roger, “I believe you’ve hit it. But wait a minute. Did Osbert wipe it on its side? Hadn’t he the common politeness to pick it up?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Lefroy. “But I knocked it over again when I got up.”

  “Then why hasn’t it got Osbert’s prints on it?”

  “Oh! Well, I picked it up myself, before he wiped it. And it hasn’t got my prints on it because I was wearing my velvet gloves.”

  “So you were,” Roger said happily. “And you asked Osbert to wipe it because it made a smutty mark on your white velvet glove when you picked it up.”

  “Naturally I did. And I was just able to stand up, queer though I’d come over, till he’d done it. And all that fits beautifully, because there I was, actually on the roof with Osbert, while you and Ronald were with Ena downstairs. I’m afraid it was rather morbid of me to go and examine the gallows so soon, but there, I’m not ashamed of that.”

  “This,” said Roger, “looks to me like a very pretty piece of work. We’ll rehearse it once, just to make sure that the details are perfect, and then we’ll tell Osbert. Now, Mrs. Lefroy, you’re you, I’m Osbert, and Colin isn’t there. Here are the gallows, and this is the chair. We three have just gone down, and you’ve come up, to find Osbert in possession. He’s told you what has happened, and you’ve walked over to the gallows. Yes, her
e’s the rope, you see.”

  “How dreadful,” murmured Mrs. Lefroy. “Was she really— Oh, Osbert, I feel horribly faint. I must sit down.”

  She picked up the chair. “Oh, look at my glove. Have you got a handkerchief, Osbert? Just wipe the chair for me, will you?”

  Roger wiped the chair. “There you are.”

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Lefroy sat down. “Oh, dear. No, I’m all right, thanks. It will pass in a minute. Yes, I’m better now. But I think I’ll go down. Who’s going to tell the others? Oh, dear, I can’t think how they managed these skirts. I’ve knocked the chair over. Well, it doesn’t matter. We’d better go down, Osbert. I must see if I can do anything.”

  “Excellent,” Roger applauded. “Yes, that seems perfectly natural. Colin, do you think you could find Williamson and lure him here?”

  Colin nodded, and went off to do so.

  “Dear me,” said Mrs. Lefroy, “I suppose this is all quite unprincipled, isn’t it, Mr. Sheringham?”

  “Quite,” said Roger cheerfully.

  II

  Mr. Williamson looked bewildered.

  “What’s that? I’m upsetting the police? What do you mean? I haven’t upset any police. Eh? Have I?”

  “I may be wrong,” said Roger unctuously, “but I have an idea that you’ve worried them a little. By wiping that chair for Mrs. Lefroy last night, you know. I think you ought to tell them about it, in any case.”

  “Wiping a chair? What? I never wiped any chair for Agatha last night.”

  “Osbert!” exclaimed Mrs. Lefroy, much pained.

  “Well, when did I wipe a chair for you?”

  “Really, Osbert. When I joined you on the roof, after they’d taken Ena down. You must remember.”

  “Remember wiping a chair for you? I’m blest if I do. What’s it all about, eh? What do you mean?”

  “Well, you remember my coming up on the roof, don’t you?”

  “Did you? Yes, I believe you did. Yes, I remember.”

  “And you told me what had happened.”

  “Yes. Well?”

  “And I came over rather queer.”

  “Did you? Did you?”

  Mrs. Lefroy turned to Roger. “Well, it isn’t much good if Osbert doesn’t even remember what he did,” she said, with proper indignation.

  Roger looked serious. “Don’t you really remember, Williamson?”

  “I remember Agatha coming up on the roof, yes. At least, vaguely. But I don’t remember what I did. I mean—anyhow, what’s it matter?”

  Roger’s gravity deepened. “I’m afraid it may matter quite a lot. You see, you destroyed some rather important evidence.”

  “I did? How the dickens did I do that?” Mr. Williamson looked decidedly alarmed.

  Roger set about deepening the alarm. “Look here, this is rather awkward. You’d had one over the eight last night, you know.”

  “Two over the dozen, I should say,” suggested Mrs. Lefroy offensively.

  “I wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you mean,” Mr. Williamson demurred with indignation.

  “No,” Roger said with great emphasis. “You weren’t drunk. Whatever happens, the police mustn’t get the idea you were drunk. If they once get that notion into their heads, they’ll think we were all drunk. Then they’ll begin talking about drunken orgies, in the course of which a death occurs, and for all we know the whole lot of us may end up in the dock for manslaughter.”

  “The devil we might!” squeaked Mr. Williamson. “I say, Sheringham! I say, you don’t really think that, do you?”

  “I certainly do. So the best thing is for you to remember quite clearly what you did last night, and then own up to the police like a man. After all, it’s quite a simple thing, and I don’t suppose they’ll do more than give you a formal wigging. Perhaps not even that.”

  “But look here, what did I do?” asked Mr. Williamson desperately.

  Roger told him.

  “Now do you remember, Osbert?” asked Mrs. Lefroy.

  “Well, not altogether,” said Mr. Williamson unhappily. “Vaguely, you know. Tell me again, Agatha. You asked me if I’d got a handkerchief …”

  Mrs. Lefroy told him again.

  Then she told him a third time, to make sure.

  Then Roger told him all over again.

  In the end Mr. Williamson remembered it perfectly, for himself.

  III

  Roger paused for a few moments outside the ballroom door, and frankly eavesdropped. From inside came the sounds of a gruff voice, followed by Ronald’s lighter tones. Evidently an inquisition of some kind was in progress, but it was impossible to make out the words of question and answer.

  Roger opened the door and went into the room. After him sidled a sheepish Mr. Williamson. Besides Ronald and his interlocutor there stood, a little apart, Celia Stratton, looking distinctly worried, and Inspector Crane, looking apologetic.

  “Ah, here is Mr. Sheringham,” said Ronald in tones of unmistakable relief. “He’ll bear me out. Roger—”

  “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Stratton,” interrupted the owner of the gruff voice, a larger person running somewhat to girth, whom Roger instantly and correctly put down as the local superintendent of police, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ll ask the gentleman myself. Mr. Roger Sheringham?”

  “That’s me,” Roger said cheerfully. “And you, of course, are Superintendent—”

  “Jamieson is the name, sir. Pleased to meet you,” said the large man, without, however, very much enthusiasm. “I was asking Mr. Stratton about the quarrel which preceded Mrs. Stratton’s departure from this room. We have already learned from Miss Stratton,” said the superintendent sternly, with a glance at the obviously distressed Celia, “that such a quarrel took place. I should be glad to have your version of it.”

  “Celia exaggerated it,” Ronald said quickly to Roger. “I’ve told the superintendent—”

  “Mr. Stratton!” boomed the superintendent, so ferociously that Inspector Crane looked even more deprecatory than before. “Yes, Mr. Sheringham?”

  “But there was no quarrel,” Roger said blandly.

  The superintendent bent his formidable brows. “Then how do you account for the fact that Miss Stratton admits that there was a quarrel, Mr. Sheringham?”

  “I didn’t ‘admit,’” Celia said with spirit. “You speak as if I was in the witness-box. I told you perfectly willingly that—”

  “Please, miss!” The superintendent held up a hand like a bread-trencher. “Mr. Sheringham?”

  “I can’t quite see what the confusion is about,” Roger said pleasantly. “What happened was perfectly simple. There was no quarrel, and nothing approaching a quarrel. Mr. Stratton and Mr. David Stratton and Mrs. Stratton were indulging in a little horse-play, when Mrs. Stratton, without the slightest warning, lost her temper and banged out of the room in a fury. There was no time for a quarrel, or anything like that.”

  “Umph!” grunted the superintendent, in a disappointed kind of way. Obviously this information exactly coincided with what he had heard from another source, and his disappointment was due to his failure to make more importance of it. “Then why,” he asked, suddenly founding on Ronald, “did you deny that any unpleasantness had taken place at all?”

  “Damn it, Superintendent,” Ronald said hotly, “don’t be so beastly offensive. If you want me to answer your questions, kindly put them with ordinary politeness.”

  “Shut up, Ronald,” barked Roger, noticing with alarm the growing tinge of puce which was overspreading the superintendent’s already inflamed countenance.

  “I’ve a good mind to ring up Major Birkett and ask him to come along,” Ronald grumbled.

  Roger deduced that Major Birkett might be the Chief Constable.

  “Major Birkett has already been communicated with,” said the superintendent, with something of an ominous ring in his voice.

  “Yes, well, that’s really all that happened, Superintendent,” Roger said smoothly. “Mrs. Stratton f
lew into a raging fury over simply nothing at all, and almost threw herself out of the room. You can get confirmation of that from anyone who was in here. And of course, as you’ve seen, it’s a matter of considerable importance.”

  “What is a matter of considerable importance, Mr. Sheringham?”

  “Why, I mean the state of her mind when she went up on the roof. That’s very suggestive, isn’t it? But that’s not really my province,” added Roger cunningly, remembering his hints on this matter to Dr. Mitchell. “You must ask one of the doctors whether that would have been likely to influence her immediate actions.”

  “Thank you, sir,” returned the superintendent shortly, as one to say that he knew what he must ask the doctors and what he need not. Not a pleasant person Superintendent Jamieson, thought Roger, realising now who it was that had caused all the trouble.

  Roger considered it time to lead the conversation to his objective.

  He strolled over to the inspector. “By the way, Inspector,” he said in a casual voice, “you were interested this morning in the position of that chair right under the gallows. I’ve been amusing myself by tracing its history, if you’d still like to hear how that happened.”

  Roger had purposely addressed the inspector and not the superintendent, as if the matter of the chair and everything connected with it were far too insignificant to interest that august person; but behind him he could almost hear the superintendent creak as his large body stiffened into attention.

  “Indeed, sir?” said the inspector eagerly. “Yes, I should like to hear that.”

  “Well, Mrs. Lefroy’s skirt caught it when she got up from it, and knocked it over. You remember she was wearing one of those old-fashioned balloon-skirts.”

  “Mrs. Lefroy sat in that chair?” uttered a slightly stifled voice behind Roger. “She sat in it?”

  Roger turned round. “What? Oh, I see what you mean. The smuts, and her white dress. But of course she didn’t sit down till after the chair had been wiped.”

  “The—chair—had—been—wiped?” repeated the superintendent, spacing his words with pregnant blanks.

  Roger looked surprised. “You knew that, surely?” he said, in tones just scornful enough to stimulate without scourging. “Surely you knew that Mr. Williamson wiped the chair for Mrs. Lefroy?”