‘Can you wonder? It must be awful … awful.’
‘I told her not to worry — we’d soon have her out.’
Martin grunted.
‘I hope you’re right,’ he said doubtfully.
‘We’re going to — we’ve got to,’ said Gale. ‘Shelford told me that the local man who handled the inquiry before Scotland Yard was called in, is a person named Frost — Inspector Frost. What sort of man is he? What’s he like?’
‘Well, he’s middle-aged,’ said Jill, ‘rather on the stout side.’
‘Hell’s bells! I don’t want to know what he looks like,’ exclaimed Simon impatiently. ‘Is he one of these mutton-headed, officious chaps, with an exaggerated sense of his own importance?’
‘Oh, no — not a bit like that. He’s rather nice.’
‘Do you think he’ll be helpful?’
‘Yes, I think he would.’
‘Good — we may need him.’ said Gale. There was a tap on the door and the housekeeper, Mrs. Barrett came in. She was a pale-faced wisp of a woman, with reddish hair going rapidly white.
‘If there’s nothing more you’ll be wanting, Miss Jill,’ she said, ‘I’ll say good night.’
‘All right, Mrs. Barrett,’ said Jill.
The woman was going when Gale stopped her.
‘One moment,’ he said. ‘You know why we’re here, and what we are trying to do, don’t you?’
‘Miss Jill told me, sir.’
‘Do you believe that Mrs. Hallam is guilty?’
‘It’s not for me to express an opinion, sir.’
‘That’s the same thing as saying that you do, isn’t it?’
The woman hesitated.
‘Isn’t it?’ persisted Gale.
‘I don’t know how it could have been anyone else, sir,’ she answered, and then suddenly: ‘Mr. Hallam ought never to have married again … He brought it on himself.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Gale quickly.
‘There’s been nothing but trouble ever since that woman came here.’
‘That’s not fair, Mrs. Barrett,’ said Jill.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Jill, but it’s true — you know it’s true.’
‘It wasn’t all Margaret’s fault.’
‘It takes two to make a quarrel, doesn’t it?’ said the housekeeper. ‘Why did your father want to marry again? It was an insult to your mother’s memory. He had you — the living image of her — what more did he want? There was no call to bring another woman to Easton Knoll.’
‘Were you here with the first Mrs. Hallam, Mrs. Barrett?’ asked Gale.
‘She was my mother’s nurse,’ said Jill. ‘Oh, I see. So, naturally, you were very fond of her, Mrs. Barrett.’
The housekeeper’s face seemed to change. Her faded eyes lit up and a flush came faintly into her pale cheeks.
‘I loved her,’ she said. ‘I loved her … she was beautiful … the loveliest creature … like a flower … and so sweet and gentle…’ Her voice broke. ‘Poor darling — poor, poor little darling…’ Her frail body shook with sobs and she turned suddenly and ran from the room.
‘Poor old soul,’ said Martin. ‘You shouldn’t have upset her, Simon.’
‘She worshipped my mother,’ said Jill. ‘That’s obvious — very obvious,’ remarked Gale. ‘How old were you when your mother died?’
‘I was twelve.’ Jill looked surprised at the question.
‘How old are you now?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘So your mother died thirteen years ago?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me, Jill, how did your mother die?’ There was a silence and then Jill said, in a low voice: ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Because I want to know. I’m interested.’
‘It — it was an accident.’
‘What kind of an accident?’ he asked. ‘She fell … from one of the upstairs windows … There’s a stone-flagged path that runs along that side of the house.’
‘How dreadful,’ muttered Martin.
‘How did she come to fall from the window?’ asked Simon.
‘I don’t know — we never knew exactly,’ answered Jill. ‘She was leaning out — cutting back some creeper that was growing over the window … The sills are very low … I suppose she overbalanced.’
‘Where was Hallam when it happened?’
‘In his bedroom. He came rushing downstairs — he’d heard her scream — but she was dead — she died almost instantly.’
‘Why are you so interested, Simon?’ asked Martin.
‘Because of Mrs. Barrett,’ answered his brother slowly.
‘Mrs Barrett?’ said Jill, frowning. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I should have thought it was obvious. Mrs. Barrett was devoted to your mother
— even the lapse of thirteen years has made little difference to her feelings, judging from her behaviour just now. She idolized her in life and still idolizes her memory.’
‘I still don’t see…’
‘Hell’s bells, use your imagination, girl! We’re looking for someone with a motive for getting rid of Hallam, aren’t we? Well, we’ve found one person for a start.’
‘Mrs. Barrett?’ said Martin.
‘Of course. Mrs. Barrett worshipped the first Mrs. Hallam to such an extent that even after all this time the mere mention of her produces floods of emotion. People who feel like that about anybody are always potentially dangerous.’
‘Oh, no — no, it’s ridiculous,’ declared Jill.
‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ said Gale. ‘Listen. Supposing Mrs. Barrett, for some reason or other, gets the idea into her head that Hallam was responsible in some way for your mother’s death. Wouldn’t that give her a motive, eh? She doesn’t like Maggie, she resents her coming here in your mother’s place — so she kills two birds with one dose of poison.’
‘She wouldn’t … she couldn’t … ’
‘I’m not saying she did. I only put it up as an hypothesis to show you how erroneous it is to take even facts for granted. Accepting the basis of my theory as correct, you will see that Maggie was not the only person who could have poisoned that whisky and milk. Mrs. Barrett had an equal opportunity, provided that there was any sort of motive. I have supplied her with one — and quite a plausible one too.’
‘Very ingenious, Simon,’ said Martin with a grimace.
‘Naturally!’ said Gale.
‘I thought you were serious,’ said Jill.
‘Oh, don’t mistake me, I am,’ he said. ‘After all it might be the truth.’
‘I should think it was very unlikely,’ said Martin.
‘It’s just impossible,’ said Jill.
‘Well, we shall see,’ remarked Simon Gale. ‘Now let’s get down to the practical as against theorizing. I want to meet all the people who might be concerned in this and I want to meet ’em as quickly as possible. What do you suggest?’
They began to discuss ways and means.
*
The village of Wickham Green boasts a fine old church. It stands in a churchyard surrounded by clipped yews almost as ancient as the building itself. There are tombstones here from which time has erased the inscriptions and there is nothing to say whose bones lie beneath.
It was a fine Sunday morning. The buds were beginning to break stickily in the horse-chestnuts and the golden blossoms of the forsythias were like yellow wands. The sun was shining from a sky that was almost without a cloud and the twittering of the birds blended with the notes of the organ and the voices of the congregation filing out from inside the church.
Jill Hallam, Simon Gale and Martin, slipped quietly out of the church and stopped a few yards away from the porch.
‘I hope it didn’t look too bad, Simon,’ said the girl, ‘leaving before the service was over.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Gale. ‘Only a few people could have seen us. We were right at the back.’
‘They must have thought it rather strange, leaving in t
he middle of the last hymn,’ she said.
‘Well, it can’t be helped if they did,’ said Gale. ‘We don’t want to miss any of the people coming out. This was a brain wave of yours, Martin.’
‘It was the obvious thing to do,’ said his brother. ‘Nearly everybody in an English village goes to church on a Sunday morning. If you want to meet them all quickly, that’s the place to be.’
‘It’s going to save a lot of time,’ remarked Simon Gale, ‘and time’s precious.’
The hymn they could faintly hear came to an end.
‘It won’t be long before they start coming out now,’ said Jill.
Simon Gale looked towards the church porch. His eyes were narrowed slightly. ‘It’s interesting to think,’ he murmured, ‘that behind one of these faces we are going to see, may be hidden the mind of a murderer.’
‘I wish we could tell which one,’ said Jill.
‘It would save a lot of trouble, wouldn’t it? There should be signs, of course, but very subtle ones.’
‘I hope you can spot ’em,’ said Martin, ‘for Maggie’s sake.’
‘So do I,’ said Gale gravely, ‘and not only for Maggie’s sake — for others as well.’
Jill looked puzzled. ‘Others?’ she said.
‘The poisoner is a very dangerous person, Jill. He doesn’t stop at one murder as a rule. He nearly always kills a second time — and a third. It becomes a sort of obsession, you see, until finally it is done almost for pleasure.’
The deep notes of the organ began the voluntary and presently the chattering of voices heralded the exodus of the congregation. Almost the first people to appear in the porch were a large, imposing looking woman and a very pretty dark-haired girl whose beauty was marred by a supercilious twist to her mouth and a general expression of supreme boredom.
‘There’s Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys,’ whispered Jill. ‘She always manages to be the first one. The girl with her is her niece, Vanessa Lane.’
‘She looks a bit of a dragon,’ said Martin. ‘I don’t mean the niece — she looks rather nice.’
‘Pretty but a little dumb,’ said Jill cattily ‘Good morning, Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. Hello, Vanessa.’
‘Hello, Jill,’ greeted the dark-haired girl in a tired, drawling voice. ‘Were you in church? I didn’t see you.’
‘We were at the back,’ said Jill.
‘The sermon was too long,’ said Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys, ‘much too long…’
‘I can’t see that it mattered to you how long it was,’ drawled Vanessa. ‘You were asleep nearly all through it.’
‘I always make a point of sleeping through the sermon,’ declared Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. ‘What I complain of is that, when it’s too long, I invariably wake up before it’s over … Oh, dear, here comes that tiresome man, Robert Upcott. I did hope we should miss him this morning.’
‘I don’t see why,’ said Vanessa. ‘We’ve never succeeded in doing so yet.’
A stout, very carefully dressed, little man came mincing towards them. Gale saw with dislike that his flabby cheeks were slightly rouged.
‘Good morning, Miss Lane,’ he spoke with a slight stressing of his sibilants. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. Isn’t it a perfectly wonderful morning, Miss Hallam? Such a pleasure to be alive on a day like this, don’t you think?’
‘I always find it a pleasure to be alive, Mr. Upcott,’ declared Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys.
‘Of course, of course, dear lady,’ beamed Mr. Upcott, ‘but the spring, with everything so fresh and clean, just adds that soupçon of delight — that spice to existence. You agree, Miss Hallam — say that you agree?’
‘It’s my favourite time of the year, certainly,’ said Jill. She introduced Simon and Martin who were being favoured with curious stares from the new arrivals.
‘Gale?’ remarked Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. ‘The name seems very familiar.’
‘Are you staying at Easton Knoll?’ inquired Vanessa, but looked completely disinterested as to whether they were or not.
‘Yes, we came down last night,’ said Martin.
‘Simon Gale — why, of course!’ Mr. Upcott gave a little crow of delight.
‘You must be the portrait-painter, my dear sir.’
‘Quite right,’ said Gale. ‘I am.’
‘I remember now,’ remarked Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. ‘I saw something about you in one of the illustrated weeklies, Mr. Gale.’
‘Very possibly, Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys,’ he answered. ‘I frequently appear in the newspapers.’
‘My dear sir,’ lisped Robert Upcott in a transport of delight, ‘this is wonderful! Really a pleasure, a great pleasure to have such an acquisition to our little community. I am an artist myself.’
‘You paint?’ asked Gale.
The little man shook his head. ‘No, no, no — I’m afraid I cannot claim any of the creative talents. I meant I was an artist in the sense that I possess an unusual sensitivity to beauty. You will agree — I’m sure you will agree, that beauty is the only thing that makes life worth living…’
‘I’m not sure that I do agree,’ said Gale. ‘There’s a lot to be said for beer and tobacco.’
‘Oh, my dear Mr. Gale,’ Mr. Upcott looked very properly shocked.
‘Mr. Upcott collects china, don’t you, Mr. Upcott?’ drawled Vanessa maliciously.
‘Yes — I find it so aesthetically satisfying,’ said the little man. ‘You must come and see my treasures, Mr. Gale — you and your brother. I have some exquisite pieces — exquisite.’
‘That’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s so seldom one has the opportunity of discussing these things with someone who possesses a real appreciation of art,’ said Mr. Upcott. ‘What about this afternoon — come to tea. Could you? Say you could?’
To Martin’s surprise, who thought that Mr. Upcott was thoroughly unpleasant, Simon accepted. ‘We shall be delighted,’ he said.
Mr. Upcott was ecstatically pleased. ‘Oh, that’s really too kind,’ he said. ‘What about you, Miss Lane, and you, dear lady?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys to whom the invitation had been addressed. ‘I make it a rule never to go anywhere on a Sunday afternoon.’
‘I should like to come,’ said Vanessa. ‘Splendid,’ Mr. Upcott clapped his plump hands. ‘Shall we say three-thirty at my little house? I can offer you some really delicious tea — a special blend of souchong…’
‘We must be going,’ broke in Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. ‘Are you staying here long, Mr. Gale?’
‘That depends on how quickly we can achieve our object,’ answered Simon. ‘What is that?’ asked Vanessa.
‘Well, there’s no secret about it,’ he said. ‘We’ve come here to find the person who murdered John Hallam.’
There was a sudden and complete change in the atmosphere. The smile on Mr. Upcott’s round face became suddenly fixed so that he looked rather like a fat little wax doll. For an instant Vanessa Lane’s bored expression disappeared and she looked alert and uneasy. Mrs. Langdon-Humphrey’s mouth set and her eyes were suddenly hard.
‘You’ve … you’ve come to do what?’ stammered Robert Upcott.
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys regally. “I understood that the person had already been found.’
‘Wasn’t it Margaret after all, then?’ asked Vanessa.
‘No, we don’t think it was,’ said Simon Gale easily. ‘We’ve found one or two things that make it look as if there had been a mistake.’
‘I’m so glad — I always liked Margaret,’ said Vanessa.
‘What things?’ Upcott’s voice was tinged with uneasiness. ‘What have you found out?’
‘You can hardly expect me to divulge that, Mr. Upcott,’ said Gale.
‘Surely, Mr. Gale, if there is any reason to doubt Mrs. Hallam’s guilt,’ said Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys majestically, ‘it should be a matter for the proper authorities?’
‘They don’t wish to appear i
n it yet. The police will, of course, take over later.’
‘It seems to me very unusual,’ declared Mrs Langdon-Humphreys.
‘Probably,’ said Gale, ‘but there is a very good reason for it, I assure you.’ ‘Well, I hope you’ll be successful,’ said Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys. ‘I’m very sorry for Margaret Hallam. Whoever poisoned John Hallam did the world a great service, in my opinion … We really must go, Vanessa. There’s Miss Ginch coming and I will not stop here and talk to her. Detestable woman! Goodbye. Come along, Vanessa.’
*
The woman whom Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys appeared anxious to avoid came tripping towards them. She was thin, with slightly protruding upper teeth and a long, drooping nose. Along her upper lip lay a dark line of hair. It was not quite a moustache but very nearly. She was dressed in tweed with a severe, high-necked blouse with a turned down collar and tie. She greeted Jill Hallam in a high-pitched, rather dry voice that was distinctly irritating.
‘Good morning, Miss Hallam. Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys seemed in a great hurry this morning, did she not? How do you do, Mr. Upcott.’
Her small eyes darted inquisitively from Gale to his brother and back again.
‘Good morning, Miss Ginch,’ said Jill shortly.
‘Good morning, dear lady,’ said Mr. Upcott. ‘Busy as a bee, as usual, I perceive.’
‘Yes, I mustn’t stop a minute,’ she answered. ‘I’m just taking these to the Vicarage.’ She exhibited a parcel of books secured by a strap.
‘The dear vicar has so much to do. I’m sure that any little help one can give is most welcome.’
‘I’m sure you must be invaluable to Mr. Wake, Miss Ginch,’ said Jill. ‘This is Mr. Gale and his brother, Mr. Martin Gale.’
‘Oh, how do you do? I saw you in church and wondered who you could be. We see so few strangers, you know.’
‘The curiosity aroused by strangers in an English village is proverbial, Miss Ginch,’ said Simon.
‘Mr. Gale has come here to prove Mrs. Hallam’s innocence,’ put in Upcott, with his head on one side. ‘Incredible, isn’t it? Quite incredible.’
A startled expression appeared on the rather forbidding face of this unpleasant looking female.
Noose for a Lady Page 3
