“But you agreed?”
“Yes, I agreed…I didn’t feel—that I could very well refuse.”
“Why not, Mrs. Strange?”
But she was vague.
“One doesn’t like to be disobliging.”
“You were the injured party?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It was you who divorced your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Do you—excuse me—feel any rancour against him?”
“No—not at all.”
“You have a very forgiving nature, Mrs. Strange.”
She did not answer. He tried silence—but Audrey was not Kay, to be thus goaded into speech. She could remain silent without any hint of uneasiness. Battle acknowledged himself beaten.
“You are sure it was not your idea—this meeting?”
“Quite sure.”
“You are on friendly terms with the present Mrs. Strange?”
“I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“Do you like her?”
“Yes. I think she is very beautiful.”
“Well—thank you—I think that is all.”
She got up and walked towards the door. Then she hesitated and came back.
“I would just like to say—” she spoke nervously and quickly. “You think Nevile did this—that he killed her because of the money. I’m quite sure that isn’t so. Nevile has never cared much about money. I do know that. I was married to him for eight years, you know. I just can’t see him killing anyone like that for money—it—it—isn’t Nevile. I know my saying so isn’t of any value as evidence—but I do wish you could believe it.”
She turned and hurried out of the room.
“And what do you make of her?” asked Leach. “I’ve never seen anyone so—so devoid of emotion.”
“She didn’t show any,” said Battle. “But it’s there. Some very strong emotion. And I don’t know what it is….”
VIII
Thomas Royde came last. He sat, solemn and stiff, blinking a little like an owl.
He was home from Malaya—first time for eight years. Had been in the habit of staying at Gull’s Point ever since he was a boy. Mrs. Audrey Strange was a distant cousin—and had been brought up by his family from the age of nine. On the preceding night he had gone to bed just before eleven. Yes, he had heard Mr. Nevile Strange leave the house but had not seen him. Nevile had left at about twenty past ten or perhaps a little later. He himself had heard nothing during the night. He was up and in the garden when the discovery of Lady Tressilian’s body had been made. He was an early riser.
There was a pause.
“Miss Aldin has told us that there was a state of tension in the house. Did you notice this too?”
“I don’t think so. Don’t notice things much.”
“That’s a lie,” thought Battle to himself. “You notice a good deal, I should say—more than most.”
No, he didn’t think Nevile Strange had been short of money in any way. He certainly had not seemed so. But he knew very little about Mr. Strange’s affairs.
“How well did you know the second Mrs. Strange?”
“I met her here for the first time.”
Battle played his last card.
“You may know, Mr. Royde, that we’ve found Mr. Nevile Strange’s fingerprints on the weapon. And we’ve found blood on the sleeve of the coat he wore last night.”
He paused. Royde nodded.
“He was telling us,” he muttered.
“I’m asking you frankly: Do you think he did it?”
Thomas Royde never liked to be hurried. He waited for a minute—which is a very long time—before he answered:
“Don’t see why you ask me! Not my business. It’s yours. Should say myself—very unlikely.”
“Can you think of anyone who seems to you more likely?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Only person I think likely, can’t possibly have done it. So that’s that.”
“And who is that?”
But Royde shook his head more decidedly.
“Couldn’t possibly say. Only my private opinion.”
“It’s your duty to assist the police.”
“Tell you any facts. This isn’t facts. Just an idea. And it’s impossible, anyway.”
“We didn’t get much out of him,” said Leach when Royde had gone.
Battle agreed.
“No, we didn’t. He’s got something in his mind—something quite definite. I’d like to know what it is. This is a very peculiar sort of crime, Jim, my boy—”
The telephone rang before Leach could answer. He took up the receiver and spoke. After a minute or two of listening he said “Good,” and slammed it down.
“Blood on the coat sleeve is human,” he announced. “Same blood group as Lady T’s. Looks as though Nevile Strange is for it—”
Battle had walked over to the window and was looking out with considerable interest.
“A beautiful young man out there,” he remarked. “Quite beautiful and a definite wrong ’un, I should say. It’s a pity Mr. Latimer—for I feel that that’s Mr. Latimer—was over at Easterhead Bay last night. He’s the type that would smash in his own grandmother’s head if he thought he could get away with it and if he knew he’d make something out of it.”
“Well, there wasn’t anything in it for him,” said Leach. “Lady T’s death doesn’t benefit him in any way whatever.” The telephone bell rang again. “Damn this phone, what’s the matter now?”
He went to it.
“Hullo. Oh, it’s you, doctor. What? Come round, has she? What? What?”
He turned his head. “Uncle, just come and listen to this.”
Battle came over and took the phone. He listened, his face as usual showing no expression. He said to Leach:
“Get Nevile Strange, Jim.”
When Nevile came in, Battle was just replacing the phone on its hook.
Nevile, looking white and spent, stared curiously at the Scotland Yard superintendent, trying to read the emotion behind the wooden mask.
“Mr. Strange,” said Battle. “Do you know anyone who dislikes you very much?”
Nevile stared and shook his head.
“Sure?” Battle was impressive. “I mean, sir, someone who does more than dislike you—someone who—frankly—hates your guts?”
Nevile sat bolt upright.
“No. No, certainly not. Nothing of the kind.”
“Think, Mr. Strange. Is there no one you’ve injured in any way—?”
Nevile flushed.
“There’s only one person I can be said to have injured and she’s not the kind who bears rancour. That’s my first wife, when I left her for another woman. But I can assure you that she doesn’t hate me. She’s—she’s been an angel.”
The Superintendent leaned forward across the table.
“Let me tell you, Mr. Strange; you’re a very lucky man. I don’t say I liked the case against you—I didn’t. But it was a case! It would have stood up all right, and unless the jury happened to have liked your personality, it would have hanged you.”
“You speak,” said Nevile, “as though all that were past?”
“It is past,” said Battle. “You’ve been saved, Mr. Strange, by pure chance.”
Nevile still looked inquiringly at him.
“After you left her last night,” said Battle, “Lady Tressilian rang the bell for her maid.”
He watched whilst Nevile took it in.
“After. Then Barrett saw her—?”
“Yes. Alive and well. Barrett also saw you leave the house before she went in to her mistress.”
Nevile said:
“But the niblick—my fingerprints—”
“She wasn’t hit with that niblick. Dr. Lazenby didn’t like it at the time. I saw that. She was killed with something else. That niblick was put there deliberately to throw suspicion on you. It may be by someone who overheard the quarrel and so selected you as a suitable victim, or
it may be because—”
He paused, and then repeated his question:
“Who is there in this house that hates you, Mr. Strange?”
IX
“I’ve got a question for you, doctor,” said Battle.
They were in the doctor’s house after returning from the nursing home, where they had had a short interview with Jane Barrett.
Barrett was weak and exhausted but quite clear in her statement.
She had just been getting into bed after drinking her senna when Lady Tressilian’s bell had rung. She had glanced at the clock and seen the time—twenty-five minutes past ten.
She had put on her dressing gown and come down. She had heard a noise in the hall below and had looked over the banisters.
“It was Mr. Nevile just going out. He was taking his raincoat down from the hook.”
“What suit was he wearing?”
“His grey pinstripe. His face was very worried and unhappy-looking. He shoved his arms into his coat as though he didn’t care how he put it on. Then he went out and banged the front door behind him. I went on in to her ladyship. She was very drowsy, poor dear, and couldn’t remember why she had rung for me—she couldn’t always, poor lady. But I beat up her pillows and brought her a fresh glass of water and settled her comfortably.”
“She didn’t seem upset or afraid of anything?”
“Just tired, that’s all. I was tired myself. Yawning. I went up and went right off to sleep.”
That was Barrett’s story, and it seemed impossible to doubt her genuine grief and horror at the news of her mistress’s death.
They went back to Lazenby’s house and it was then that Battle announced that he had a question to ask.
“Ask away,” said Lazenby.
“What time do you think Lady Tressilian died?”
“I’ve told you. Between ten o’clock and midnight.”
“I know that’s what you said. But it wasn’t my question. I asked you what you, personally, thought.”
“Off the record, eh?”
“Yes.”
“All right. My guess would be in the neighbourhood of eleven o’clock.”
“That’s what I wanted you to say,” said Battle.
“Glad to oblige. Why?”
“Never did like the idea of her being killed before ten twenty. Take Barrett’s sleeping draught—it wouldn’t have got to work by then. That sleeping draught shows that the murder was meant to be committed a good deal later—during the night. I prefer midnight, myself.”
“Could be. Eleven is only a guess.”
“But it definitely couldn’t be later than midnight?”
“No.”
“It couldn’t be after two thirty?”
“Good heavens, no.”
“Well, that seems to let Strange out all right. I’ll just have to check up on his movements after he left the house. If he’s telling the truth he’s washed out and we can go on to our other suspects.”
“The other people who inherit money?” suggested Leach.
“Maybe,” said Battle. “But somehow, I don’t think so. Someone with a kink, I’m looking for.”
“A kink?”
“A nasty kink.”
When they left the doctor’s house they went on to the ferry. The ferry consisted of a rowing boat operated by two brothers, Will and George Barnes. The Barnes brothers knew everybody in Saltcreek by sight and most of the people who came over from Easterhead Bay. George said at once that Mr. Strange from Gull’s Point had gone across at ten thirty on the preceding night. No, he had not brought Mr. Strange back again. Last ferry had gone at one thirty from the Easterhead side and Mr. Strange wasn’t on it.
Battle asked him if he knew Mr. Latimer.
“Latimer? Latimer? Tall handsome young gentleman? Comes over from the Hotel up to Gull’s Point? Yes, I know him. Didn’t see him at all last night, though. He’s been over this morning. Went back last trip.”
They crossed on the ferry and went up to the Easterhead Bay Hotel.
Here they found Mr. Latimer newly returned from the other side. He had crossed on the ferry before theirs.
Mr. Latimer was very anxious to do all he could to help.
“Yes, old Nevile came over last night. Looked very blue over something. Told me he’d had a row with the old lady. I hear he’d fallen out with Kay too, but he didn’t tell me that, of course. Anyway, he was a bit down in the mouth. Seemed quite glad of my company for once in a way.”
“He wasn’t able to find you at once, I understand?”
Latimer said sharply:
“Don’t know why. I was sitting in the lounge. Strange said he looked in and didn’t see me, but he wasn’t in a state to concentrate. Or I may have strolled out into the gardens for five minutes or so. Always get out when I can. Beastly smell in this Hotel. Noticed it last night in the Bar. Drains, I think! Strange mentioned it too! We both smelt it. Nasty decayed smell. Might be a dead rat under the billiard room floor.”
“You played billiards, and after your game?”
“Oh we talked a bit, had another drink or two. Then Nevile said ‘Hullo, I’ve missed the ferry,’ so I said I’d get out my car and drive him back, which I did. We got there about two thirty.”
“And Mr. Strange was with you all the evening?”
“Oh yes. Ask anybody. They’ll tell you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Latimer. We have to be so careful.”
Leach said as they left the smiling, self-possessed young man: “What’s the idea of checking up so carefully on Nevile Strange?”
Battle smiled. Leach got it suddenly.
“Good lord, it’s the other one you’re checking up on. So that’s your idea.”
“It’s too soon to have ideas,” said Battle. “I’ve just got to know exactly where Mr. Ted Latimer was last night. We know that from quarter past eleven, say—to after midnight—he was with Nevile Strange. But where was he before that—when Strange arrived and couldn’t find him?”
They pursued their inquiries doggedly—with bar attendants, waiters, lift boys. Latimer had been seen in the lounge between nine and ten. He had been in the bar at a quarter past ten. But between that time and eleven twenty he seemed to have been singularly elusive. Then one of the maids was found who declared that Mr. Latimer had been “in one of the small writing rooms with Mrs. Beddoes—that’s the fat North Country lady.”
Pressed as to time, she said she thought it was about eleven o’clock.
“That tears it,” said Battle gloomily. “He was here all right. Just didn’t want attention drawn to his fat (and no doubt rich) lady friend. That throws us back on those others—the servants, Kay Strange, Audrey Strange, Mary Aldin and Thomas Royde. One of them killed the old lady, but which? If we could find the real weapon—”
He stopped, then slapped his thigh.
“Got it, Jim, my boy! I know now what made me think of Hercule Poirot. We’ll have a spot of lunch and go back to Gull’s Point and I’ll show you something.”
X
Mary Aldin was restless. She went in and out of the house, picked off a dead dahlia head here and there, went back into the drawing room and shifted flower vases in an unmeaning fashion.
From the library came a vague murmur of voices. Mr. Trelawny was in there with Nevile. Kay and Audrey were nowhere to be seen.
Mary went out in the garden again. Down by the wall she spied Thomas Royde placidly smoking. She went and joined him.
“Oh dear.” She sat down beside him with a deep perplexed sigh.
“Anything the matter?” Thomas asked.
Mary laughed with a slight note of hysteria in the laugh.
“Nobody but you would say a thing like that. A murder in the house and you just say ‘Is anything the matter?’”
Looking a little surprised, Thomas said:
“I meant anything fresh?”
“Oh, I know what you meant. It’s really a wonderful relief to find anyone so gloriously just-the-same-as-usual a
s you are!”
“Not much good, is it, getting all het up over things?”
“No, no. You’re eminently sensible. It’s how you manage to do it beats me.”
“Well, I suppose I’m an outsider.”
“That’s true, of course. You can’t feel the relief all the rest of us do that Nevile is cleared.”
“I’m very pleased he is, of course,” said Royde.
Mary shuddered.
“It was a very near thing. If Camilla hadn’t taken it into her head to ring the bell for Barrett after Nevile had left her—”
She left the sentence unfinished. Thomas finished it for her.
“Then old Nevile would have been for it all right.”
He spoke with a certain grim satisfaction, then shook his head with a slight smile, as he met Mary’s reproachful gaze.
“I’m not really heartless, but now that Nevile’s all right I can’t help being pleased he had a bit of a shaking up. He’s always so damned complacent.”
“He isn’t really, Thomas.”
“Perhaps not. It’s just his manner. Anyway he was looking scared as Hell this morning!”
“What a cruel streak you have!”
“Anyway it’s all right now. You know, Mary, even here Nevile has had the devil’s own luck. Some other poor beggar with all that evidence piled up against him mightn’t have had such a break.”
Mary shivered again. “Don’t say that. I like to think the innocent are—protected.”
“Do you, my dear?” His voice was gentle.
Mary burst out suddenly:
“Thomas, I’m worried. I’m frightfully worried.”
“Yes?”
“It’s about Mr. Treves.”
Thomas dropped his pipe on the stones. His voice changed as he bent to pick it up.
“What about Mr. Treves?”
“That night he was here—that story he told—about a little murderer! I’ve been wondering, Thomas…Was it just a story? Or did he tell it with a purpose?”
“You mean,” said Royde deliberately, “was it aimed at someone who was in the room?”
Mary whispered, “Yes.”
Thomas said quietly:
“I’ve been wondering, too. As a matter of fact that was what I was thinking about when you came along just now.”
Mary half closed her eyes.
“I’ve been trying to remember…He told it, you know, so very deliberately. He almost dragged it into the conversation. And he said he would recognize the person anywhere. He emphasized that. As though he had recognized him.”
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