They Do It With Mirrors mm-6

by Agatha Christie

'They came to me out of the fog. Somewhere near the house.'

  Inspector Curry said gently: 'That would suggest that the murderer of Christian Gulbrandsen came from outside.'

  'Of course. Why not? You don't really suggest, do you, that he came from inside the house?'

  Still very gently Inspector Curry said: 'We have to think of everything.'

  'I suppose so,' said Alex Restarick generously. 'What a soul-destroying job yours must be, Inspector! The details, the times and places, the pettifogging pettiness of it. And in the end - what good is it all? Does it bring the wretched Christian Gulbrandsen back to life?'

  'There's quite a satisfaction in getting your man, Mr Restarick.'

  'The Wild Western touch!'

  'Did you know Mr Gulbrandsen well?'

  'Not well enough to murder him, Inspector. I had met him, off and on, since I lived here as a boy. He made brief appearances from time to time. One of our captains of industry. The type does not interest me. He has quite a collection, I believe, of Thorwaldsen's statuary -' Alex shuddered. 'That speaks for itself, does it not? My God, these rich men!'

  Inspector Curry eyed him meditatively. Then he said: 'Do you take any interest in poisons, Mr Restarick?'

  'In poisons? My dear man, he was surely not poisoned first and shot afterwards. That would be too madly detective story.'

  'He was not poisoned. But you haven't answered my question.'

  'Poison has a certain appeal… It has not the crudeness of the revolver bullet or the blunt weapon. I have no special knowledge of the subject, if that is what you me an. '

  'Have you ever had arsenic in your possession?'

  'In sandwiches - after the show? The idea has its allurements. You don't know Rose Glidon? These actresses who think they have a name! No I have never thought of arsenic. One extracts it from weed killer or flypapers, I believe.'

  'How often are you down here, Mr Restarick?'

  'It varies, Inspector. Sometimes not for several weeks. But I try to get down for weekends whenever I can. I always regard Stonygates as my true home.'

  'Mrs Serrocold has encouraged you to do so?'

  'What I owe Mrs Serrocold can never be repaid. Sympathy, understanding, affection '

  'And quite a lot of solid cash as well, I believe?'

  Alex looked faintly disgusted.

  'She treats me as a son, and she has belief in my work.'

  'Has she ever spoken to you about her will?'

  'Certainly. But may I ask what is the point of all these questions, Inspector? There is nothing wrong with Mrs Serroc01d.'

  'There had better not be,' said Inspector Curry grimly.

  'Now what can you possibly mean by that?'

  'If you don't know, so much the better,' said Inspector Curry. 'And if you do - I'm warning you.'

  When Alex had gone Sergeant Lake said: 'Pretty bogus, would you say?' Curry shook his head.

  'Difficult to say. He may have genuine creative talent.

  He may just like living soft and talking big. One doesn't know. Heard running footsteps, did he? I'd be prepared to bet he made that up.'

  'For any particular reason?'

  'Definitely for a particular reason. We haven't come to it yet, but we will.'

  'After all, sir, one of those smart lads may have got out of the College buildings unbeknownst. Probably a few cat burglars amongst them, and if so -'

  'That's what we're meant to think. Very convenient. But if that's so, Lake, I'll eat my new soft hat.'

  'I was at the piano,' said Stephen Restarick. 'I'd been strumming softly when the row blew up. Between Lewis and Edgar.'

  'What did you think of it?'

  'Well - to tell the truth I didn't really take it seriously.

  The poor beggar has these fits of venom. He's not really loopy, you know. All this nonsense is a kind of blowing off steam. The truth is, we all get under his skin particularly Gina, of course.'

  'Gina? You mean Mrs Hudd? Why does she get under his skin?'

  'Because she's a woman - and a very beautiful woman, and because she thinks he's funny! She's half Italian, you know, and the Italians have that unconscious vein of cruelty. They've no compassion for anyone who's old or ugly, or peculiar in any way. They point with their fingers and jeer. That's what Gina did, metaphorically speaking.

  She'd no use for young Edgar. He was ridiculous, pompous, and at bottom fundamentally unsure of himself.

  He wanted to impress, and he only succeeded in looking silly. It wouldn't mean anything to her that the poor fellow suffered a lot.'

  'Are you suggesting that Edgar Lawson is in love with Mrs Hudd?' asked Inspector Curry.

  Stephen replied cheerfully: 'Oh yes. As a matter of fact we all are, more or less! She likes us that way.'

  'Does her husband like it?'

  'He takes a dim view. He suffers, too, poor fellow. The thing can't last, you know. Their marriage, I mean. It will break up before long. It was just one of these war affairs.'

  'This is all very interesting,' said the Inspector. 'But we're getting away from our subject, which is the murder of Christian Gulbrandsen.'

  'Quite,' said Stephen. 'But I can't tell you anything about it. I sat at the piano, and I didn't leave the piano until dear Jolly came in with some rusty old keys and tried to fit one to the lock of the study door.'

  'You stayed at the piano. Did you continue to play the piano?'

  'A gentle obbligato to the life and death struggle in Lewis's study? No, I stopped playing when the tempo rose. Not that I had any doubts as to the outcome. Lewis has what I can only describe as a dynamic eye. He could easily break up Edgar just by looking at him.'

  'Yet Edgar Lawson fired two shots at him.' Stephen shook his head gently.

  'Just putting on an act, that was. Enjoying himself. My dear mother used to do it. She died or ran away with someone when I was four, but I remember her blazing off with a pistol if anything upset her. She did it at a night club once. Made a pattern on the wall. She was an excellent shot. Quite a bit of trouble she caused. She was a Russian dancer, you know.'

  'Indeed. Can you tell me, Mr Restarick, who left the Hall yesterday evening whilst you were there - during the relevant time?'

  'Wally - to fix the lights. Juliet Bellever to find a key to fit the study door. Nobody else, as far as I know.'

  'Would you have noticed if somebody did?' Stephen considered.

  'Probably not. That is, if they just tiptoed out and back again. It was so dark in the Hall - and there was the fight to which we were all listening avidly.'

  'Is there anyone you are sure was there the whole time?'

  'Mrs Serrocold - yes, and Gina. I'd swear to them.'

  'Thank you, Mr Restarick.' Stephen went towards the door. Then he hesitated and came back.

  'What's all this,' he said, 'about arsenic?'

  'Who mentioned arsenic to you?'

  'My brother.'

  'Ah - yes.' Stephen said: 'Has somebody been giving Mrs Serrocold arsenic?'

  'Why should you mention Mrs Serrocold?'

  'I've read of the symptoms of arsenical poisoning.

  Peripheral neuritis, isn't it? It would square more or less with what she's been suffering from lately. And then Lewis snatching away her tonic last night. Is that what's been going on here?'

  'The matter is under investigation,' said Inspector Curry in his most official manner.

  'Does she know about it herself?.'

  'Mr Serrocold was particularly anxious that she should not be - alarmed.'

  'Alarmed isn't the right word, Inspector. Mrs Serrocold is never alarmed… Is that what lies behind Christian Gulbrandsen's death? Did he find out she was being poisoned - but how could he find out? Anyway, the whole thing seems most improbable. It doesn't make sense.'

  'It surprises you very much, does it, Mr Restarick?'

  'Yes, indeed. When Alex spoke to me I could hardly believe it.'

  'Who, in your opinion, would be likely to administer arsenic to M
rs Serrocold?' For a moment a grin appeared upon Stephen Restarick's handsome face.

  'Not the usual person. You can wash out the husband. Lewis Serrocold's got nothing to gain. And also he worships that woman. He can't bear her to have an ache in her little finger.'

  'Who then? Have you any idea?'

  'Oh yes. I'd say it was a certainty.'

  'Explain, please.' Stephen shook his head.

  'It's a certainty psychologically speaking. Not in any other way. No evidence of any kind. And you probably wouldn't agree.' Stephen Restarick went out nonchalantly, and Inspector Curry drew cats on the sheet of paper in front of him.

  He was thinking three things. A, that Stephen Restarick thought a good deal of himself; B, that Stephen Restarick and his brother presented a united front; and C, that Stephen Restarick was a handsome man where Walter Hudd was a plain one.

  He wondered about two other things - what Stephen meant by 'psychologically speaking' and whether Stephen could possibly have seen Gina from his seat at the piano. He rather thought not.

  Into the Gothic gloom of the library, Gina brought an exotic glow. Even Inspector Curry blinked a little at the radiant young woman who sat down, leaned forward over the table and said expectantly, 'Well?' Inspector Curry, observing her scarlet shirt and dark green slacks, said drily: 'I see you're not wearing mourning, Mrs Hudd?'

  'I haven't got any,' said Gina. 'I know everyone is supposed to have a little black number and wear it with pearls. But I don't. I hate black. I think it's hideous, and only receptionists and housekeepers and people like that ought to wear it. Anyway Christian Gulbrandsen wasn't really a relation. He's my grandmother's stepson.'

  'And I suppose you didn't know him very well?' Gina shook her head.

  'He came here three or four times when I was a child, but then in the war I went to America, and I only came back here to live about six months ago.'

  'You have definitely come back here to live? You're not just on a visit?'

  'I haven't really thought,' said Gina.

  'You were in the Great Hall last night, when Mr Gulbrandsen went to his room?'

  'Yes. He said goodnight and went away. Grandam asked if he had everything he wanted and he said yes that Jolly had fixed him up fine. Not those words, but that kind of thing. He said he had letters to write.'

  'And then?' Gina described the scene between Lewis and Edgar Lawson. It was the same story that Inspector Curry had by now heard many times, but it took an added colour, a new gusto, under Gina's handling. It became drama.

  'It was Wally's revolver,' she said. 'Fancy Edgar's having the guts to go and pinch it out of his room. I'd never have believed he'd have the guts.'

  'Were you alarmed when they went into the study and Edgar Lawson locked the door?'

  'Oh no,' said Gina, opening her enormous brown eyes very wide. 'I loved it. It was so ham, you know, and so madly theatrical. Everything Edgar does is always ridiculous.

  One can't take him seriously for a moment.'

  'He did fire the revolver, though?'

  'Yes. We all thought then that he'd shot Lewis after'

  'And did you enjoy that?' Inspector Curry could not refrain from asking.

  'Oh no, I was terrified, then. Everyone was, except Grandam. She never turned a hair.'

  'That seems rather remarkable.'

  'Not really. She's that kind of person. Not quite in this world. She's the sort of person who never believes anything bad can happen. She's sweet.'

  'During all this scene, who was in the Hall?'

  'Oh we were all there. Except Uncle Christian, of course.'

  'Not all, Mrs Hudd. People went in and out.'

  'Did they?' asked Gina vaguely.

  'Your husband, for instance, went out to fix the lights.'

  'Yes. Wally's great at fixing things.'

  'During his absence, a shot was heard, I understand. A shot that you all thought came from the Park?'

  'I don't remember that… Oh yes, it was just after the lights had come on again and Wally had come back.'

  'Did anyone else leave the Hall?'

  'I don't think so. I don't remember.'

  'Where were you sitting, Mrs Hudd?'

  'Over by the window.'

  'Near the door to the library?'

  'Yes.'

  'Did you yourself leave the Hall at all?'

  'Leave? With all the excitement? Of course not.' Gina sounded scandalized by the idea.

  'Where were the others sitting?'

  'Mostly round the fireplace, I think. Aunt Mildred was knitting and so was Aunt Jane - Miss Marple, I mean. Grandam was just sitting.'

  'And Mr Stephen Restarick?'

  'Stephen? He was playing the piano to begin with. I don't know where he went later.'

  'And Miss Bellever?'

  'Fussing about, as usual. She practically never sits down. She was looking for keys or something.' She said suddenly: 'What's all this about Grandam's tonic? Did the chemist make a mistake in making it up or something?'

  'Why should you think that?'

  'Because the bottle's disappeared, and Jolly's been fussing round madly looking for it, in no end of a stew. Alex told her the police had taken it away. Did you?'

  Instead of replying to the question, Inspector Curry said: 'Miss Bellever was upset, you say?'

  'Oh! Jolly always fusses,' said Gina carelessly. 'She likes fussing. Sometimes I wonder how Grandam can stand it.'

  'Just one last question, Mrs Hudd. You've no ideas yourself as to who killed Christian Gulbrandsen and why?'

  'One of the queers did it, I should think. The thug ones are really quite sensible. I mean they only cosh people so as to rob a till or get money or jewellery - not just for fun.

  But one of the queers - you know, what they call mentally maladjusted - might do it for fun, don't you think?

  Because I can't see what other reason there could be for killing Uncle Christian except fun, do you? At least I don't mean fun, exactly - but '

  'You can't think of a motive?'

  'Yes, that's what I mean,' said Gina gratefully. 'He wasn't robbed or anything, was he?'

  'But you know, Mrs Hudd, the College buildings were locked and barred. Nobody could get out from there without a pass.'

  'Don't you believe it,' Gina laughed merrily. 'Those boys could get out from anywhere! They've taught me a lot of tricks.'

  'She's a lively one,' said Lake when Gina had departed. 'First time I've seen her close to. Lovely figure, hasn't she. Sort of a foreign figure, if you know what I mean.'

  Inspector Curry threw him a cold glance. Sergeant Lake said hastily that she was a merry one. 'Seems to have enjoyed it all, as you might say.'

  'Whether Stephen Restarick is right or not about her marriage breaking up, I notice that she went out of her way to mention that Walter Hudd was back in the Great Hall before that shot was heard.'

  'Which, according to everyone else, isn't so?'

  'Exactly.'

  'She didn't mention Miss Bellever leaving the Hall to look for keys, either.'

  'No,' said the Inspector thoughtfully, 'she didn't…'

  Chapter 14

  Mrs Strete fitted into the library very much better than Gina Hudd had done. There was nothing exotic about Mrs Strete. She wore black with an onyx brooch, and she wore a hairnet over carefully arranged grey hair.

  She looked, Inspector Curry reflected, exactly as the relict of a Canon of the Established Church should look - which was almost odd, because so few people ever did look like what they really were.

  Even the tight line of her lips had an ascetic ecclesias-tical flavour. She expressed Christian Endurance, and possibly Christian Fortitude. But not, Curry thought, Christian Charity.

  Moreover it was clear that Mrs Strete was offended.

  'I should have thought that you could have given me some idea of when you would want me, Inspector. I have been forced to sit around waiting all the morning.'

  It was, Curry judged, her sense of i
mportance that was hurt. He hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters.

  'I'm very sorry, Mrs Strete. Perhaps you don't quite know how we set about these things. We start, you know, with the less important evidence - get it out of the way, so to speak. It's valuable to keep to the last a person on whose judgment we can rely - a good observer - by whom we can check what has been told us up to date.'

  Mrs Strete softened visibly.

  'Oh I see. I hadn't quite realized…'

  'Now you're a woman of mature judgment, Mrs Strete. A woman of the world. And then this is your home - you're the daughter of the house, and you can tell me all about the people who are in it.'

  'I can certainly do that,' said Mildred Strete.

  'So you see that when we come to the question of who killed Christian Gulbrandsen, you can help us a great deal.'

  'But is there any question? Isn't it perfectly obvious who killed my brother?' Inspector Curry leant back in his chair. His hand stroked his small neat moustache.

  'Well - we have to be careful,' he said. 'You think it's obvious?'

  'Of course. That dreadful American husband of poor Gina's. He's the only stranger here. We know absolutely nothing about him. He's probably one of these dreadful American gangsters.'

  'But that wouldn't quite account for his killing Christian Gulbrandsen, would it? Why should he?'

  'Because Christian had found out something about him. That's what he came here for so soon after his last visit.'

  'Are you sure of that, Mrs Strete?'

  'Again it seems to me quite obvious. He let it be thought his visit was in connection with the Trust - but that's nonsense. He was here for that only a month ago.

  And nothing of importance has arisen since. So he must have come on some private business. He saw Walter on his last visit, and he may have recognized him - or perhaps made inquiries about him in the States naturally he has agents all over the world - and found out something really damaging. Gina is a very silly girl. She always has been. It is just like her to marry a man she knows nothing about - she's always been man mad! A man wanted by the police, perhaps, or a man who's already married, or some bad character in the underworld.

  But my brother Christian wasn't an easy man to deceive. He came here, I'm sure, to settle the whole business. Expose Walter and show him up for what he is.