by John Rhode
‘Why did you tell your uncle that you were going to stay with Mrs Capel?’
‘For a very good reason. Uncle Nahum was a great dear in many ways, but he was terribly narrow-minded, especially about people. If he liked them, I was expected to like them too. If he didn’t, he hated me to have anything to do with them. And he took a ridiculous dislike to these friends of mine from the first. He said they had foreign manners, which in his eyes was an unforgivable sin. There would have been awful ructions if I’d told him I was going to stay with them. So I practised a little harmless deception, that’s all.’
‘I see. Do I understand that Mrs Sulgrave went to Paris with you?’
‘Of course. She met me at Victoria on Monday morning. And she came back with me, too.’
‘Mrs Sulgrave told her maid that she had gone to look after a friend who had met with an accident in the north of England,’ said Hanslet severely.
‘I ought to know that, since I sent her the telegram myself,’ replied Betty Rissington, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. ‘We fixed all that up between us. Nobody would ever have known, if it hadn’t been for the accident to Uncle Nahum.’
‘A little deception was necessary in Mrs Sulgrave’s case as well, then?’
‘Only because men have to be treated like children. George doesn’t like these friends of hers, either. He thinks the husband is too fond of her. I’m sure he is, for that matter, but Irene is quite capable of looking after herself. Not that George’s objections would have stopped her. But she hates a scene, so she just didn’t tell him.’
‘When did you and Mrs Sulgrave arrange to go to Paris on Monday?’
‘Oh, long ago. We purposely fixed it for the time of the Motor Show, for then we knew that George would be staying in London, and wouldn’t have time to ask too many questions.’
‘You’ve got it now,’ murmured Mr Hardisen, from the depths of the chair. ‘What did I tell you? Pretty simple!’
Hanslet disregarded him. ‘You travelled up to London with your uncle on Monday morning, Miss Rissington,’ he said. ‘Did he tell you that he was going to the Motor Show?’
Again she smiled. ‘No, he didn’t,’ she replied. ‘He told me that he was going to the office.’
This struck Hanslet as peculiar. Yet she had every appearance of telling the truth. ‘Can you think of any reason which would have induced your uncle to visit Olympia?’ he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders slightly. ‘A good few thousand people find a sufficient reason for going to the Motor Show,’ she replied.
‘They are presumably interested in cars. Your uncle was not, I believe?’
‘He was sometimes interested in people, though. He may have gone to meet somebody there.’
‘He met Mr Hardisen there, as it happened,’ said Hanslet quietly.
‘Eh? What’s that?’ Hardisen exclaimed. ‘Didn’t go there to meet me. Rubbish! Didn’t even look at me. Told you that before.’
‘Yes, I remember you did,’ Hanslet replied. ‘By the way, Miss Rissington, did Mr Hardisen tell you that on Saturday evening he shot at your uncle and wounded him?’
‘Oh, yes, he told me that, just before you came. He and Uncle Nahum were a pair of idiots to behave like that. And I told Uncle Odin that if he’d really hurt him, I’d never have spoken to him again.’
‘Quite right!’ said Hardisen, with that irritating chuckle of his. ‘She told me off properly. Said I was a silly old fool. Perhaps I am. Wish I’d never done it now. Eh, Betty?’
‘You ought to be put in prison,’ said Betty Rissington severely. But her eyes told him that she forgave him.
Hanslet intercepted the glance, and realised that his attempt to drive a wedge between the allies had failed. ‘We’re getting away from the point,’ he said. ‘I have reason to believe that Mr Pershore did, in fact, go to Olympia to meet someone and that that person was Mr Sulgrave.’
‘Then why shouldn’t he have told me so?’ she replied. ‘I think it’s much more likely that he went there to meet Philip, to talk about something that he didn’t want to discuss in his office. How he could best annoy Uncle Odin, for instance.’
‘Was Mr Bryant at the Motor Show on Monday?’
‘I don’t know. Haven’t you thought of asking him? All I can tell you is that when Philip was dining here on Sunday evening he said he would go to the Show on Monday afternoon, if he could get away.’
‘That’s news to me,’ said Hardisen. ‘Remember what I said. Keep your eye on Philip. He was at the Show, was he? Queer, that.’
But Hanslet was not to be diverted to the subject of Philip Bryant. ‘It was a curious fact, in connection with your uncle’s death, Miss Rissington, that two previous attempts were made to poison him,’ he said.
‘Yes, I know. Uncle Odin has told me. I can scarcely believe it. It sounds impossible.’
‘Mr Hardisen seems to have had time to tell you a good deal,’ said Hanslet irritably. ‘What time did you meet him this morning, may I ask?’
‘I called for him at his hotel at half-past seven this morning, on my way from Victoria,’ she replied sweetly. ‘He asked me to do that when he wired me.’
Hanslet turned angrily upon the impassive Hardisen. ‘Why did you tell me last night that Miss Rissington would be here at ten o’clock this morning?’ he demanded.
‘Why not? Perfectly true. She was. You found her here. Wanted first innings. Put her wise. Never said I wouldn’t. Kept to my bargain. Can’t deny that.’
Before Hanslet could reply, Betty Rissington spoke. ‘Don’t let’s start another quarrel,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful to Uncle Odin. He told me of what had happened here, and warned me that you suspected me of trying to poison Uncle Nahum. I can only tell you, on my word of honour, that I didn’t, and that I knew nothing about it until this morning.’
‘Two definite attempts were made. A bottle of poisoned olives was placed in the cupboard of Mr Pershore’s study. A poisonous powder was substituted for the Hewart’s Inhalant in his bedroom. Do you mean to tell me that you knew nothing whatever of either of these attempts, Miss Rissington?’
‘I have just told you that I did not even hear of them until this morning,’ she replied firmly.
‘No good bullying the girl,’ growled Hardisen. ‘She’s innocent. Look at her!’
Hanslet was bound to admit to himself that she showed no trace of confusion. But he was not to be put off. ‘Mr Hardisen has told you, perhaps, of the provisions of your uncle’s will?’ he asked.
‘He has. But I knew them long ago, at least as far as they concerned me. He always told me that he hoped to leave me fifty thousand pounds when he died. I also knew that he meant to do something for Mrs Markle and the servants. But I knew nothing about the mortgage on George’s house. And I don’t think that George himself can have known that it was to be cancelled, or he’d have told Irene, and she’d have told me.’
‘May I ask what allowance your uncle made to you, Miss Rissington?’
‘He allowed me eight hundred a year. And if I couldn’t make that do, I had only to ask him for a cheque, and he gave it me at once.’
‘Since you know nothing about the olives and the inhalant, perhaps you can suggest somebody who does. Have you any reason to suspect Mrs Markle, or any of the domestic staff?’
‘That would be too utterly silly,’ she replied tranquilly. ‘Even sillier than your idea that I tried to murder Uncle Nahum for his money.’
Hardisen chuckled, but the superintendent affected not to notice him. ‘You had access to both the study and Mr Pershore’s bedroom?’ he asked.
‘If by that you mean that I could have gone into them when he was out, I had. But I certainly wasn’t in the study for at least ten days before he died. He hated anyone going in there, and the last time I went, he took me in himself, to show me some soot which had fallen down the chimney. Mrs Markle happened to be out, or he would have shown her. I sent Jessie in to sweep it up. He never spoke to the servants himself,
if he could help it.’
‘Did Mrs Sulgrave go into the study when she was here on Friday last?’
‘Irene? Why ever should she? I’m quite certain she didn’t, for she was with me all the time she was here.’
‘Somebody must have put those poisoned olives in the cupboard, Miss Rissington. Don’t you know of anybody who may have entered the study during the week preceding your uncle’s death?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know of anybody,’ she replied. ‘Only Philip. Uncle Nahum took him in there after lunch on Sunday.’
‘Philip?’ murmured Mr Hardisen. ‘Can’t get away from Philip. Dark horse. Very. Eh?’
This reiteration of Philip Bryant’s name was beginning to get on Hanslet’s nerves. Could there be anything in it? Sunday afternoon, after lunch. Bryant had gone into the study with his uncle. Mr Pershore might have dozed off in his chair. Or gone to the lavatory across the passage. Bryant might have seized the opportunity of putting the poisoned olives in the cupboard. But, on second thoughts, that wouldn’t do. Only one night had elapsed between then and Mr Pershore’s death. Unless he had departed from his usual habits, he would then only have eaten one olive. But the Home Office report suggested that he had eaten at least two, with an interval between them. He had not eaten an olive on Saturday night. Therefore the substitution must have been made on Friday, if not earlier.
‘When were you last in Mr Pershore’s bedroom, Miss Rissington?’ asked Hanslet, after a pause.
‘I really don’t remember. Not for ages. Not since I bought that vaporiser for him, and showed him how to use it. And that was a long time ago.’
Inquiries in this direction seemed utterly unprofitable. Hanslet was about to start upon a fresh subject, when Mrs Markle appeared, with a message that he was wanted on the telephone.
He went to the instrument, and was informed that Inspector Jarrold wished to speak to him. The inspector’s message was brief and to the point. ‘Thought you might like to know that Mrs Sulgrave came home to High Elms this morning.’
‘Thanks,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I’ll go on there when I’ve finished here.’ He returned to the drawing-room, feeling that the interruption had made it easier for him to broach a new subject. ‘I noticed two mourners at your uncle’s funeral yesterday, Miss Rissington. Mr and Mrs Chantley. Mrs Markle seemed rather surprised to see them there. Were they friends of Mr Pershore’s?’
Betty Rissington glanced at Mr Hardisen before she replied. ‘Mr Chantley was his friend at one time. They saw quite a lot of one another. I never liked him much, and I wasn’t sorry when he gave up coming here.’
‘Do you know why he gave up coming here?’
‘People had a way of giving up coming to see Uncle Nahum. He was apt to offend them, without really meaning to. He hated being contradicted, and if anybody persisted in sticking to their own opinions, he used to get cross and rude. I think that’s a fair way of putting it, isn’t it, Uncle Odin?’
‘Fair?’ repeated Hardisen. ‘Too mild, by half. Nahum wasn’t rude. He was damned offensive. Used shocking language. That’s the truth.’
‘And he offended Mr Chantley?’ Hanslet asked.
‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ Betty Rissington replied. ‘You’d better ask him. I don’t know anything about it, and I didn’t ask. I really wasn’t interested, as long as I wasn’t asked to be nice to Mr Chantley any longer.’
‘And Mrs Chantley? You were acquainted with her, of course?’
‘Oh, Sonia Chantley is one of those colourless people that one doesn’t miss. She’s not a bad sort in her way, but she’s completely under her husband’s thumb. She used to drift along here occasionally to see me. But since her husband and Uncle Nahum parted brass-rags I’ve never seen her. He told her she wasn’t to come, I suppose. And naturally, I have never taken the trouble to look her up.’
‘Who are these people, Miss Rissington?’
‘He’s in business of some kind. They’ve got quite a nice house in Surbiton. I fancy that they’re quite well off. I’m rather surprised that they turned up at the funeral, since we’ve seen nothing of them for so long.’
‘Nothing in that,’ said Hardisen. ‘Was there myself. Let bygones be bygones. Bury the hatchet in the grave. That’s what I thought. Same idea occurred to them.’
Hanslet thought this quite likely. It might be worth while having a word with Chantley. He might be able to throw some light on Pershore’s history and habits.
Meanwhile, here was Pershore’s niece, who was surely the best authority.
‘I’d like to get some idea of how your uncle spent his time, Miss Rissington,’ he said.
‘He used to go up to London three or four times a week. He would leave here about ten, and get back usually about six. Sometimes he would stay up and dine with friends, but not very often. He had an office in Lambeth, as no doubt you know.’
‘What did he do in the days that he did not go up to London?’
‘Oh, just pottered about. He hadn’t any regular hobby. He used to spend a lot of time in his study. In fact, this autumn, he has spent more time there than anywhere else in the house. I’ve no idea what he did with himself. Looked at the papers and dozed, I expect. He’d go in there directly after dinner, and not go to bed until after midnight, sometimes.’
‘Mr Hardisen told you of his adventure on Saturday evening. Did he mention the fact that there was a woman in the garden here when he arrived on the scene?’
‘He did. It’s no good asking me who it was, for I haven’t the slightest idea.’
‘You went to dine at High Elms that evening, did you not, Miss Rissington?’
‘Yes. Irene came and fetched me, and drove me home just before one o’clock in the morning. By that time everybody in the house had gone to bed. I never noticed anything wrong with Uncle Nahum on Sunday morning. And he told me nothing about having been shot at.’
‘He seems to have wished to keep that secret. What car did Mrs Sulgrave use when she fetched you and drove you home?’
‘Her own. It’s a small Comet saloon, of last year’s make.’
‘How did you spend the evening, Miss Rissington?’
‘We had dinner, and just as we finished, about half-past eight, some neighbours of Irene’s, the Fords, came in. We played bridge until about twelve o’clock.’
‘Did either you or Mrs Sulgrave leave High Elms in the course of the evening?’
‘Leave the house? No, why should we? Not until I left to come home.’
‘Soon after nine o’clock Mr Hardisen saw a small Comet saloon standing at the end of the lane at the bottom of the garden. Could this have been Mrs Sulgrave’s car?’
‘Not unless somebody took it out of the garage, and brought it back again. And that doesn’t seem altogether likely.’
There seemed to be no object in questioning her any further at the moment. ‘Thank you, Miss Rissington,’ said Hanslet. ‘I need not trouble you any further. But I should like to talk to Mr Hardisen before I go.’
‘Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to it.’ She got up and left the room, the superintendent holding the door open for her.
‘Good!’ said Hardisen. ‘Glad you’ve finished. Girl was telling the truth. Any fool could see that. What do you want with me?’
‘I want you to tell me about your correspondence with Mr Micah Pershore, Mr Hardisen.’
‘Not much to tell. We’ve corresponded for years. Every few months. Queer chap, Micah. Couldn’t abide his family. Don’t think that queer, though. Cleared out as soon as he could. His mother had left him money. Not much. Just enough to start on. Queer thing was this. Began to want news of his family. Sort of home-sickness. Blood’s thicker than water. Wouldn’t write to any of them. Wrote to me instead. Asked me to send him news. Used to do it. Told him when his half-sisters died. And their husbands. Now I’ll have to write again. Tell him Nahum’s gone. Poor old Nahum!’
‘When did you last hear from Micah Pershore?’
; ‘Some months back. Can’t say when, exactly. Nothing in his letter. Never wrote more than a few words. His letters merely acknowledged mine. Asked after Philip.’
‘What did he want to know about Mr Bryant?’
‘I’d told him about Philip. Long ago. When he became a lawyer. Micah asked after him in his letter. Wanted to know the name of his firm. And if he was Nahum’s man of business. Told him he was. Didn’t know about Judson.’
‘I gather that Mr Judson was only entrusted with the drawing up of Mr Pershore’s will. Mr Bryant acted for his uncle in everything else. Mr Micah Pershore never suggested that he might return to England, I suppose?’
‘Not he. Said once he never would. Not while the family lived. Might come back now. When he hears about Nahum. He was the last of them. Second generation don’t count. Micah never set eyes on them.’
‘You are certain that he is still in the Argentine?’
‘Suppose so. Was when I last heard. Said nothing about shifting. His business is there.’
‘Well, Mr Hardisen, I’m very grateful to you for having found Miss Rissington for me. I wonder if you’d be good enough to help me a second time?’
‘What do you want now?’ asked Hardisen suspiciously.
‘Just this. I’d like you to cable to Mr Micah Pershore, telling him of his half-brother’s death, and let me know what he replies.’
‘No harm in that. Good idea. I’ll do it for you. What’s the notion?’
‘I want to be quite sure that he is actually in the Argentine, and not in England.’
Hardisen looked puzzled for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I can guess what you’re after. Wrong tack, I’m afraid. Micah had nothing to do with it. What would he gain by it? Still, I’ll do it. Anything else?’
‘What time did you leave Olympia on Monday?’
‘About five o’clock. Went from Addison Road to Paddington. Had a drink there. Caught six o’clock to Wells.’
‘You didn’t by any chance see Mr Bryant at the Motor Show, did you?’
‘No, I didn’t. Had no idea he was there. Not till Betty said so. Queer thing, that. Philip keeps cropping up. At the Motor Show. In Nahum’s study. In his dressing-room, too. No doubt of that.’
