Noose for a Lady

by Gerald Verner

  ‘I understand,’ said Simon Gale, sternly, ‘that you were willing to let a woman hang sooner than tell the truth?’

  ‘But she’s guilty — she must be guilty!’

  ‘She’s nothing of the kind … ’

  ‘But the glass was empty. Hallam had already drunk the poison. She must have been the one to give it him … ’

  ‘According to your story,’ said Gale.

  ‘It’s the truth … I give you my word it’s the truth.’

  ‘What proof have you that it’s the truth?’

  ‘She gave him the whisky and milk just before midnight,’ said Upcott eagerly.

  ‘Would he have let it get cold?’

  ‘There’s only your word for the time you got to Easton Knoll,’ Simon pointed out. ‘Supposing it was earlier than you say — much earlier?’

  ‘It wasn’t … it was half-past one.’

  ‘Well, supposing the poison wasn’t administered in the whisky and milk after all?’

  ‘But … ’

  ‘There was barbitone found in the dregs? Yes, I know. But you could have put that there, couldn’t you? After you’d poisoned Hallam some other way — so that suspicion would fall on Mrs. Hallam.’

  ‘You can’t twist things like that … you can’t,’ cried Upcott. ‘I’ve told you what happened — everything … ’

  ‘Not everything … Why were you so anxious to see Hallam?’

  ‘I wanted to — to talk something over with him.’

  ‘Hell’s bells!’ burst out Gale angrily. ‘Stop trying to hide things, Upcott! It’s too late for that. Hallam found out something about you, didn’t he? The same as he found out things about other people? Only in your case it was something really serious — something that frightened you into a panic. What did he know? What had you done?’

  ‘It was nothing — nothing very important … ’

  ‘Nothing very important?’ echoed Gale. ‘Do you take me for a half-wit, Upcott? Nothing very important that made you try and see him during the day, and, when he wouldn’t see you then, made you telephone and fix an appointment for half-past one in the morning … ’

  ‘I’ve told you all I’m going to,’ said Upcott with a sudden burst of feeble temper. ‘I won’t say any more … you hear, I won’t say any more.’

  ‘If you don’t say it now, you’ll say it in a witness-box.’

  ‘They can’t do anything to me … I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Can’t they?’ Gale laughed. ‘You’ll see what they can do. Are you going to tell me why you went to see Hallam that night?’

  ‘Let me alone!’ cried Upcott almost in tears. ‘Let me alone … I’m not feeling well … my nerves are all in rags … ’

  ‘Was it,’ said Gale, trying a shot in the dark. ‘Was it something that concerned — your wife?’

  The shot went home. He could see that by the expression of Upcott’s face, although he tried to hide it.

  ‘No, no … it wasn’t anything to do with her … How could it be?’

  ‘Your wife ran away and left you, didn’t she?’ said Gale. ‘She ran away with an unknown man, and you’ve never seen or heard from her since. That’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes — yes, that’s right … ’

  ‘Are you sure, Upcott?’

  ‘What do you mean — what do you mean,’ panted Upcott, and there was sheer panic in his eyes.

  ‘Are you sure you never knew who the man was?’

  To Gale’s surprise the panic faded. Relief took its place.

  ‘Yes … I never knew,’ said Upcott. ‘Please let me alone … I’m not in — in a fit state to answer any more questions.’

  ‘Do you think Mrs. Hallam was in a fit state to answer all the questions she had to?’ said Gale relentlessly. ‘How do you think she felt, standing in the dock and listening to all the evidence piling up against her? How do you think she felt when she was found guilty and the Judge pronounced her death sentence … ’

  ‘I can’t stand any more,’ cried Upcott, hysterically. ‘I tell you, I can’t stand any more.’

  ‘Then tell me the whole truth. What was it Hallam knew?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ Upcott began to sob wildly, uncontrollably. ‘I can’t tell you!’

  ‘It was something to do with your wife, wasn’t it? She left you and you’ve never seen her since — nobody’s seen or heard of her … ’

  A sudden thought struck him like the sudden flashing on of a light in a dark room.

  ‘Upcott — did she ever run away? Was there any man — known or unknown?’

  ‘Yes, yes — of course there was … I don’t know what you mean … ’

  ‘I mean,’ said Simon Gale, ‘did your wife ever leave this house?

  ‘Is that it, Upcott?’ said Simon Gale. ‘Was the story you told to account for the disappearance of your wife a lie?’

  ‘No … no … ’ moaned Upcott. ‘No … ’

  ‘What happened to your wife, Upcott?’ persisted Gale.

  ‘Nothing, I tell you … nothing … I don’t know what you mean … ’

  ‘Did you poison her too?’

  ‘No … ’ Upcott put his hands up to his head. ‘Oh, stop it … stop it, do you hear?’

  ‘Tell me the truth, Upcott.’

  ‘I didn’t … poison anybody … ’ Upcott was almost at breaking point. Gale felt reluctant to press him further but he forced himself to continue his verbal third degree. After all, Margaret’s life was at stake.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Leave me alone … leave me alone … ’ whispered Upcott. ‘I … I haven’t done anything … ’

  ‘All right,’ snapped Gale. ‘If you’d prefer that the police … ’

  He went over to the telephone.

  ‘No!’ Upcott gripped his arm with trembling fingers. ‘Stop … leave that telephone alone … I’ll … I’ll tell you … It was an accident … We — we quarrelled … I pushed her and … she fell … She struck her head … on the corner of the table … ’ He shuddered.

  ‘It killed her?’ asked Gale.

  ‘Yes … yes, she was dead.’ Upcott swallowed with difficulty. ‘I thought — I thought people would … say I’d done it … ’

  ‘So you hid the body and told everyone she’d run away?’ said Gale.

  ‘I was mad … I didn’t realize what I was doing … ’

  Gale eyed him keenly.

  ‘You’re quite sure you didn’t kill her?’ he said.

  ‘Yes … It was an accident … I swear it was an accident … ’

  ‘Hallam found out?’

  ‘He suspected … he didn’t know … he threatened to have inquiries made.’

  ‘And so,’ said Simon Gale, ‘you poisoned him to keep him quiet … ?’

  ‘No, no, no!’ screamed Upcott, a fleck of foam appearing on his lips. ‘You’re wrong — wrong — I … I … I … ’

  He choked, uttered a little groaning cry, and collapsed on the floor at Gale’s feet.

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ muttered Gale. He bent down, but Upcott was quite unconscious and breathing heavily. He looked very bad and Gale went quickly to the telephone.

  ‘Hello … ’he called and when the operator answered: ‘Get me Doctor Evershed … No, I don’t know the number, but it’s very urgent … yes, be quick please … ’

  ‘This is an eye-opener, an’ that’s a fact,’ declared Inspector Frost. It was half-an-hour later and he and Gale were sitting in Robert Upcott’s ornate drawing-room.

  ‘It is rather,’ said Simon. ‘When he collapsed in the fit, or whatever it was, I telephoned Evershed and then you. Evershed’s upstairs with him now.’

  Frost shook his head. ‘We never suspected anythin’ of the sort,’ he said. ‘But I don’t ‘ave to tell you that. Mind you, I always thought that Upcott knew more about ’is wife’s runnin’ away than ’e let on, but I thought it was just the name o’ the man ’e was concealin’ — I never dreamed there was anythin’ like this … ’<
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  ‘Apparently Hallam was wiser,’ said Gale.

  ‘Yes, sir, you’re right,’ agreed Frost. ‘Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Upcott never ’it it off — everybody knew that — but, well, you’d never think he was the kind of chap to do a thing like that … ’

  ‘I don’t agree with you there,’ said Gale. ‘I think he’s just the sort of chap to act exactly as he did. He’s neurotic, excitable, very liable to panic … oh, yes, I think he’d behave just like that … ’ ‘Do you believe ’is story, then? That ’is wife’s death was an accident?’ asked Frost.

  ‘Yes, I think it’s quite plausible,’ answered Simon. ‘Faced with that situation he’d do just what he says he did. He was scared. He thought he’d be accused of killing her. He had no proof to show it was an accident. Supposing he’d come to you — would you have believed him?’ The Inspector considered for a moment.

  ‘Well, no,’ he answered, at length, ‘it would have taken a bit of swallowin’, sir.’

  ‘There you are, you see?’ said Gale. ‘Nor would anybody else. He was right there. Even if he hadn’t been found guilty of murder, the suspicion would always have stuck. From his point of view he did the only thing possible … ’

  ‘Well, we shall have to find the body before we can take any action,’ said Frost.

  ‘He didn’t say what ’e’d done with … ?’

  ‘No, I’ve no more idea than you. That’ll have to wait until he recovers.’

  ‘It gives him a pretty strong motive for gettin’ ’Allam out of the way, sir,’ said Frost, after a pause.

  ‘Yes — I suppose it does,’ said Gale. ‘There’s not much doubt in my opinion, sir,’ went on the Inspector, ‘’E was there that night, we’ve got a witness for that, an’ if ’Allam suspected the truth about Mrs. Upcott — well, naturally Upcott ’ud want to stop ’im talkin’ … ’

  ‘And Rigg too,’ put in Gale, ‘don’t forget that, Inspector. The person who killed Hallam, killed Rigg … ’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ said Frost. ‘Rigg saw Upcott leavin’ Easton Knoll — the same as Agnes Potter did. That’s clear enough … ’

  ‘Is it clear enough to stop Mrs. Hallam being hanged on Friday morning?’ said Gale.

  ‘It ought to be,’ said Frost. ‘I shall get on to the Chief Constable first thing in the morning — I’ve got to report this other business anyway … ’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll find it’s so easy to get them to do anything about Mrs. Hallam, Frost,’ Gale shook his head. ‘There’s still no real evidence, you know … ’

  ‘Unless we can get a confession out of Upcott … ’ He stopped and looked round as Doctor Evershed came in. ‘Hello, doctor — ’ow is he?’

  ‘He’s still unconscious.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A stroke,’ said Evershed. He took out his case and lit a cigarette.

  ‘Will ’e recover?’ asked Frost.

  ‘He may,’ Evershed blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘He’ll need care. I shall have to arrange for a nurse, or get him to a hospital … ’

  ‘How long is it likely to be before he’s able to talk?’ said Frost.

  ‘I can’t tell. There’s a cerebral haemorrhage. Even if he recovers consciousness, he’ll have to be kept very quiet. Any kind of excitement might be fatal. What brought on the seizure?’

  ‘I was asking him some rather awkward questions,’ said Gale, ‘he got very worked up, and suddenly collapsed. I didn’t like the look of him, so I phoned for you … ’

  ‘I thought he’d had some kind of shock,’ Evershed nodded. ‘What was it — the Hallam business?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is he seriously involved?’

  ‘Yes, I think he is.’

  ‘It’s important that we should be able to take a statement from ’im as soon as possible, doctor,’ said Frost. ‘Mrs. ‘Allam’s life may depend on what ’e can tell us.’

  ‘Like that is it?’ Evershed inhaled deeply. ‘Well, I’ll do my best for you, but I can’t promise anything. At present it’s touch and go … ’

  There was a knock on the front door. ‘Who’s that?’ grunted Gale.

  ‘I don’t know. Some friend of Upcott’s, I suppose … ’ said Evershed.

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Frost.

  He hurried into the hall and opened the front door. Miss Ginch stood on the doorstep.

  ‘I was passing and I saw the light, so I thought … Oh … Inspector Frost … ’

  ‘Come in, Miss Ginch,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Miss Ginch, peering inquisitively about her. ‘I called to see Mr. Upcott. What are you doing here, Inspector? Oh, dear me, and Doctor Evershed and Mr. Gale — really, I don’t understand at all. Where is Mr. Upcott?’

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to see Mr. Upcott, Miss Ginch,’ said Gale.

  ‘Why not,’ said Miss Ginch. ‘Oh, do tell me what has happened? Surely he hasn’t been arrested?’

  ‘Why should you think that, miss?’ said Frost.

  ‘Well, you’re here, Inspector, and I was talking to Mrs. Potter a little while ago, and she said that her daughter, Agnes … ’

  ‘And you thought you’d come and see if there was any truth in what she said, is that it, Miss Ginch?’ said Gale.

  ‘Well, of course, one naturally takes an interest,’ said Miss Ginch. ‘I’m sure the whole village is only too eager to know what is going to happen to poor Margaret Hallam. So terrible for her, poor thing, and the time going by so quickly. Yes, indeed. There’s only tomorrow, isn’t there, and nothing really definite … ’

  ‘You can supply the whole village with a really definite piece of news, Miss Ginch,’ broke in Evershed sarcastically. ‘Upcott has had a stroke and is very seriously ill … ’

  ‘Oh, Doctor Evershed, how very, very shocking … ’ Miss Ginch’s eyes glistened with interest.

  ‘I’m quite sure any shock you may feel will be amply compensated by the supreme pleasure it will afford you to retail such a choice tit-bit, Miss Ginch,’ said Evershed.

  ‘Really — really, Doctor Evershed,’ said Miss Ginch. ‘That is a most unkind and unchristian thing to say. Anyone would imagine that I enjoyed such things … ’

  ‘It wouldn’t necessitate a very great effort of imagination,’ snapped Evershed.

  ‘Doctor Evershed,’ said Miss Ginch, her cheeks burning, ‘you’ve no right to speak to me like that … ’

  ‘Possibly I haven’t,’ he retorted, ‘but I detest cant and humbug … ’

  ‘Oh … ’

  ‘Before I came here, Miss Ginch,’ he went on, ‘I had a practice in Wimbourne. Perhaps that conveys something to you — it should do … ’

  Miss Ginch stared at him, her lips parted and her face blanched. ‘Wimbourne,’ she whispered in a voice that was slightly cracked.

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t know that?’ he went on ‘I think you did. I think that’s why you have always disliked me so much. I have a more tangible reason for disliking you … I’m going upstairs to look at my patient … ’

  He walked quickly and angrily to the door and went out.

  ‘Oh,’ said Miss Ginch, in a sudden flutter, ‘Oh, really, I can’t think what he can mean … oh, dear, I — I feel quite overcome … ’

  ‘Sit down here, Miss Ginch,’ said Gale. ‘Oh, thank you … Doctor Evershed is so brusque and ill-mannered … ’

  ‘Have you ever been to Wimbourne, Miss Ginch?’ asked Gale.

  ‘No — no indeed … never … ’

  ‘The mention of it conveys nothing to you, then?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ declared Miss Ginch.

  ‘Are you quite sure of that, Miss Ginch?’ said Gale.

  She looked at him with tight lips. ‘I am not in the habit of lying, Mr. Gale.’

  ‘Perhaps not as a habit,’ he said. ‘Would it be wrong to suggest that this is the exception?’

  ‘Really — I don’t know in the least what you are talking about … oh, de
ar,’ said Miss Ginch, plaintively, ‘I feel a little faint … ’

  ‘I’ll get you a glass of water, miss,’ said Frost.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but I think, perhaps, fresh air would be more beneficial,’ said Miss Ginch. ‘It really is very hot in here … ’ She got up and went over to the door. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. Please don’t trouble … I can let myself out.’

  They heard the front door open and shut, and looked at each other.

  ‘Well, sir, what do you think o’ that?’ said Frost. ‘Somethin’ shook ’er up, an’ that’s a fact.’

  ‘There’s no mystery about it,’ said Gale. ‘She knew what Doctor Evershed was alluding to when he mentioned Wimbourne, but I don’t think she was aware he knew until tonight. That’s what shook her.’

  ‘She’s always ’ad it in for the doctor — ever since ’e came here,’ said Frost, ‘I told you that, sir. Very spiteful about ’im.’

  ‘Murder’s a queer thing, Frost,’ said Simon Gale. ‘It’s like suddenly turning on a bright light in an old, damp cellar. All kinds of nasty, crawling things go scuttling away to their holes to get out of the glare.’

  ‘You’re right, sir. This place seems to ’ave more than a fair share … ’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Gale. ‘I think you’d find the same thing anywhere. Everybody’s got something to hide, but normally it remains hidden. It’s only when something like murder happens, and blows all the secret places wide open, that the skeletons come to life

  Evershed came in. ‘There’s no change,’ he said. ‘Upcott’s still unconscious.’ He looked round. ‘Has that Ginch woman gone?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gale. ‘What do you know about her, Evershed?’

  ‘I don’t know that I ought to tell you,’ said Evershed. ‘Normally I wouldn't tell you. Malicious gossip’s not in my line.’

  ‘It’s your duty to tell us anything you know, doctor,’ said Frost.

  ‘All right — but there’s no need to let it go any further,’ said Evershed. ‘Unless, of course, it’s absolutely necessary.’

  ‘I can promise you that, sir.’

  ‘Well, then, this is it. I was called out one night at Wimbourne — urgent call. A woman had tried to gas herself. She lived in one room in a slum — a filthy place with scarcely any furniture — and she owed a month’s rent. The landlady was turning her out. I was able to bring her round, though I think it would have been kinder to have let her die. She was half-starved and both lungs were badly tubercular — she couldn’t have lived long in any case. I got her into hospital, but she died three days later. Her name was — Ginch … ’