“Here it is, Blackitt! Look!”
“Let me look too,” exclaimed Lady Bell-Clinton, and insisted on being the next to go up the ladder. She gasped. “It’s here.” Ingeniously fastened, with its muzzle pointing at the heart of anyone sitting in the chair at the head of the table, was a revolver.
“But how could it have gone off by itself?” asked Ivy Bell-Clinton as she stepped gingerly down the ladder and made way for the polite but impatient Inspector. “That’s easy,” said Blackitt, as he examined it carefully with a flash-lamp. “There’s a broken contact here. It must have been fixed so that the first stroke of the division bell that night at nine o’clock released the contact and pulled the trigger. Damned ingenious, but, my God, why did we never think of pulling out this grating, when we tapped every panel in the place?”
Lord Dalbeattie went up to have a look. “Ingenious as you say, Blackitt, and all the merit of simplicity. I suppose I must have seen this grating every time I have come back to look round this room, and it never occurred to me that it could hold anything but the bell.”
“By Jove, Blackitt,” said West excitedly, “that’s what the man in the corridor was here for. The policeman had been drugged so that some one could get that revolver away. And if they’d managed it we should have been done.”
“It’s a good thing that we kept a guard on this room,” Blackitt replied. “Else whoever put it there would have been able to make a complete getaway.”
“And who did put it there? Not…?” Lady Bell-Clinton looked at Annette, but could not frame the name. The telephone rang. Blackitt picked up the receiver. “What, not in the House?… And his car there in the yard… but he must be here… Search everywhere… you can’t have done. Well, keep a watch on every exit.” The Inspector replaced the receiver and looked at Annette. She might have been a statue with her dead white face, and the heavy satin moulding her limbs like drapery in stone.
Blackitt said nothing to her. He hurried from the room.
Lord Dalbeattie turned to Sancroft and Grace. “Now perhaps you will tell us what has happened, but a glass of wine before you begin——” Grace waved away the proffered glass, which Sancroft cheerfully accepted. “It’s just like Inspector Blackitt to go off on his duty, when he should be here to get all the praise,” she said. “He really is splendid. I’ve done nothing except under his orders.”
“But what have you done, what has happened?” asked Lady Bell-Clinton impatiently.
Grace stiffened. She had a score to settle with her lively antagonist. Lord Dalbeattie patted his friend’s hand warningly, and encouraged Grace with a look to proceed.
“Well,” she said coldly, the eager enthusiasm gone from her voice, “when Bob, I mean Mr West, asked me to find out what I could, I had a talk with Inspector Blackitt first.”
“Sensible girl,” commented Lord Dalbeattie. “Most women would have wanted to do the thing on their own.”
Under this encouragement Grace lost a little of her stiffness. “He asked me to talk specially to one of the cleaners whose daughter was keeping company with Cedric—that’s the waiter for Room J.”
“Cedric! How romantic!” gurgled Lady Bell-Clinton.
Grace ignored the interruption, but Lord Dalbeattie felt that the tide between the two women was rising rapidly.
“And then?” he asked with a smile.
“I soon found it would be hopeless to talk to her in the House or near it. All the kitchen staff are furious about the whole affair. They think it reflects on them, and the police have put their backs up to such an extent that they will say nothing themselves and keep a sharp look-out to see if anyone is prowling round asking questions.”
“Shielding some one?” This from Sir George Gleeson.
“No, I don’t think so. It was just their clannishness and the feeling that the service has been let down. Well, I thought of an idea to get this woman talking without her suspecting anything. I couldn’t have her in my rooms—I am in digs—so I asked her to come to Mr Sancroft’s rooms this evening to dust all his books. I told her I arranged this sort of thing for him.”
“And do you?” cooed Lady Bell-Clinton.
Grace’s eyes flashed. Dalbeattie came again to the rescue. “Ivy, you simply must not interrupt. Go on, please, Miss Richards.”
Grace turned her shoulder to Lady Bell-Clinton and addressed herself with burning cheeks exclusively to Lord Dalbeattie. “We got her talking while she dusted the books. Blackitt had told me that they could find nothing against the daughter. She wasn’t spending more money or anything suspicious like that. But while the mother was gossiping away quite unsuspectingly she happened to mention that when Cedric married her daughter he was going to leave the House of Commons and set up as an electrician. Mr Sancroft asked if he knew anything about electricity, and she said: ‘Oh, yes. He’s a dab hand at anything with wires.’ Well, that seemed to be a new slant on him. So, as soon as we decently could, we left her to go on with the work and came down here to meet Mr Blackitt.”
“And was that a clue?” asked Sir George.
“Blackitt and I had discussed the theory of a concealed revolver,” Sancroft took up the story. “The difficulty was where, and who could do it. This information gave the clue that Blackitt wanted. He had been suspecting Kinnaird for some time, but had kept it to himself. He told me that when I gave him some news about Kinnaird’s finances.”
No one dared look at Annette except Ivy Bell-Clinton, who went and stood near her in a protecting attitude as though to defy the entire police force of Britain to touch her friend. “And what next?” asked Dalbeattie when the moment’s silence had become more than anyone could bear.
“We waited in the manager’s room until Cedric had finished serving your dinner,” continued Sancroft. “Then Blackitt sent for him. This dinner had simply broken his nerve. He must have had a nerve like iron to keep going so long. But as soon as he saw us he guessed all was up. Blackitt just said quietly: ‘How much did Mr Kinnaird give you to fix things,’ and he broke down completely and cried like a child.”
“It was awful, Lord Dalbeattie,” said Grace. “I don’t think he meant any harm, but Mr Kinnaird got hold of him… I mean… oh, I’m sorry,” looking at Annette.
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe Philip would do such a thing,” said Lady Bell-Clinton stoutly. “You can’t take a waiter’s word against Philip’s. It is monstrous… all these Socialists too. You don’t believe it, Dick.”
“Do be quiet, Ivy,” said Lord Dalbeattie. “How has he been able to stick to his job all this time? One would have thought he would have tried to get away.”
“He couldn’t,” said Sancroft. “Blackitt has all along been convinced he knew something. Though the police hadn’t a shred of evidence against him, they’ve never let him out of their sight. His one hope of safety lay in keeping his head, sticking to his story, and trying to brave it out. Cedric had no producible evidence against Kinnaird—it was all the other way. He tried once to come to you, Bob tells me, but Blackitt was with you.”
“Then he was the man in my doorway,” said West excitedly. “I knew there was something familiar about the cut of his jib. Was he the man whose boot I saw in the corridor?”
“No, that was Kinnaird, I gather. But Blackitt has got all that out of him. Cedric was in the kitchen at the time, and got Kinnaird away. You were probably pretty near death yourself that night, Bob.”
“But you have only the waiter’s word for all this,” persisted Lady Bell-Clinton. “And you admit that the waiter has no evidence against Mr Kinnaird. Besides, how could he persuade the waiter to do such a thing?”
“He got the waiter his job here—oh, no, nothing to do with this—two years ago. He was giving him another chance. Cedric would have been serving a pretty stiff prison sentence if it had not been for Kinnaird,” said Sancroft, “but that is not the only evidence Blackitt
has against Kinnaird.” Sancroft was utterly indifferent to the feelings of Annette, who had sat through all this like a statue. Every one else, even Grace, felt that the situation was becoming intolerable.
There was a feeling of relief when further revelations were interrupted by the return of Inspector Blackitt. His face was set and stern. He walked to where Annette was sitting and stood looking down at her. Annette did not move even an eyelid. Robert found himself staring fixedly at the curve of her breast. He was near to tears. What did it matter about Kinnaird? But she—was she to be mixed up in this… was Blackitt going to arrest her? Blackitt had known more than he had told him then. “Annette, Annette.” He felt that they must all hear the beating of his heart. He wanted to choke Blackitt before the Inspector could say what he had come to say.
“Miss Oissel,” said the Inspector grimly, “this building has been searched from end to end, and Mr Kinnaird is not in it. Have you any idea where he is?”
“Not the slightest,” said Annette. She moved no other muscle than her lips.
“And of course she would not tell you if she had,” said Lady Bell-Clinton indignantly. “I never heard of such a thing.”
Inspector Blackitt looked at Lord Dalbeattie. It was obviously impossible to continue any cross-examination of Miss Oissel while the gallant Ivy was in the room. “Ivy,” said Lord Dalbeattie very gently, “I think if you took Miss Richards with you and gave her some dinner… and perhaps Mr Sancroft would like a bite too… they have been working hard and haven’t had any, you know… then we can just have a talk with Annette and see if there is any way we can help.”
“Help Annette!” snorted Lady Bell-Clinton. “You want me to leave the poor girl with all you men while you put her through a third degree about the man she is in love with.” The indignant lady remembered all the speeches she had ever made about the justice of having a woman present when the police took evidence. Was she to be beaten off the ground just when she could help her friend? Lord Dalbeattie, who could read her like a book, and whose influence over her was immense, went to her and put his arm on her shoulder. “Ivy,” he said very gently, “you must trust me. I will see that Annette isn’t bullied, but it is better that you go now, and take Miss Richards with you.”
It was useless to protest further. Lady Bell-Clinton swept from the room, and Grace and Sancroft followed her. She left them in the corridor without a word. “All the same, she would be good stuff to have beside one in a scrap,” said Sancroft as he watched her pass swiftly down the corridor. Grace was almost in tears. To see Robert West lost in utter adoration of Annette Oissel had been hard. Sancroft suddenly realized what was the matter. Without another word he slipped his arm through hers. “Sandwiches, my dear. Let’s go to the bar.”
Inside Room J Robert was thanking his stars that he had not been ordered out too. He felt that he would have raised a riot rather than have left Annette, but of course… he couldn’t. His helplessness made him feel faint. Would Annette’s self-control last out?
Now that he was no longer irritated by Lady Bell-Clinton, Inspector Blackitt’s tone was more kindly. “Mr Kinnaird is your fiancé, isn’t he, Miss Oissel?”
“He is my husband,” Annette answered. “I understand that English law relieves me of the necessity of answering further questions about him.”
There was dead silence. Each man could hear his own breathing. West, Gleeson, and Dalbeattie had almost unconsciously drawn together. Blackitt still stood slightly bending over Annette, a symbol of the dreaded Law.
Annette rose and faced them all. Was her amazing control breaking? Her lower lip trembled a little. “But yes, I will tell you,” she said suddenly. “You shall hear the other side before you hear more evidence against him. I have loved Philip ever since I left school. There have been other men… but it was always Philip I really loved. At first he was a friend of my grandfather and I just a girl. But he began to love me… I made him… and then when he wanted to marry me my grandfather hated him. He had always wanted me to marry that wretched marquis. But Grandpère knew he couldn’t break me. He didn’t try—not directly. He was never unkind to me… but he thought he could break me through Philip. He pretended to be reconciled to the idea of our marriage. That did not deceive me—I knew him too well. He never changed. I warned Philip, but he would not believe me. Grandpère helped him to make his fortune… and then when he had got his confidence thoroughly——” She stopped. No one spoke. “Grandpère broke him,” she said.
Robert felt dizzy. Those three words spoken like that sounded like an execution. Annette continued slowly: “Philip was desperate, but he thought it was his own fault. No one was so clever as Grandpère. He led him on. No one is so reckless as Philip. Then my grandfather got him into the position where he forged securities, and Grandpère got them into his own hand. Oh, I know he shouldn’t have done it—Philip, I mean—but he was just desperate. He felt he dare not tell me. If only he had, I could have dealt with my grandfather in my own way.”
Annette paused again. Lord Dalbeattie put his arm round her shoulders and gently forced her back into her chair. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly, “why did he not come to me?”
“Why didn’t he—but it was me he should have told. I was never afraid of Grandpère. But you know Philip. He is as proud as Lucifer. And Grandpère told him that he would tell me that unless I married that wretched marquis he would denounce him and he would have to go to prison.”
“But if you were already married to Kinnaird——?” Sir George Gleeson’s tone implied his amazement.
“Yes, but I was a minor when we married, and Philip thought that if he was in prison and I knew the worst, I would be made to consent to a divorce and would have a terrible time with my grandfather when he knew we had married without his consent.”
“Well, I suppose you would have had a bad time,” said Sir George sympathetically, feeling that English fathers were really much the best, after all.
“Nonsense,” said Annette impatiently. “I tell you I was never afraid of my grandfather. Every one thought him an ogre, but he never said an unkind word to me in his life. He was bluffing. If only I had known, if only Philip had given me the least idea, I would have called that bluff quickly enough, and he would have had to put things right for Philip.”
“Then why didn’t you tell him of your marriage yourself?” asked Lord Dalbeattie.
“Because I was a silly romantic fool. Because I loved the adventure of playing round with other men, and having that secret all the time. But I only loved Philip, though he used to get so jealous.”
“I begin to be very sorry for Philip between your grandfather and yourself. He must have had the devil of a time,” said Dalbeattie.
Annette’s lovely eyes filled with tears. “I realize that now. Between us, we pushed him over the edge. He loved me to desperation, and I played with that love. I maddened him at times. And all the time there was Grandpère pressing him and threatening him. He relied on Philip’s shame to prevent him telling me… as it did, until too late. Grandpère pressed just too much. Philip decided that there was no hope for him or me unless he could get hold of that evidence against him. He knew that the papers were kept at the flat—the papers that would incriminate him. He had to steal them. It was he who arranged for the burglary at the flat, but he hadn’t intended Jenks to be shot. He was very upset about that.”
“But why murder Mr Oissel? Couldn’t he just have stolen the papers?” asked Sir George.
“But then, of course, my grandfather would have said what the papers were that had been stolen, and suspicion would have fallen on Philip at once. I think Grandpère would have been glad if Philip had done that. It would have put things right with me as far as he was concerned. Philip realized that. He was crazy with rage and fear… and started drinking heavily. If only I had had the slightest idea what was worrying him… but he told me nothing… He came less and less to Clarges
Street… he had been practically living there, of course, as much as he dared without Grandpère suspecting us. And I thought there must be another woman… and set out to make him jealous. It was dreadful… and Grandpère watching and waiting… Oh, Philip…”
Sir George Gleeson, standing in the shadow against the wall, dug his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. Utterly cold and efficient civil servant as he thought himself to be, at that moment he wanted that old devil to be alive again that he might smash him with his own fists.
Robert’s eyes were fixed on the large tears that still hung on Annette’s lashes. Would they fall? Would she break? He could cheerfully have shot all his companions at that moment just for a second to comfort her. He felt no jealousy against Philip Kinnaird. He understood dimly something of the torture he had been through.
“Did you know anything about the… er… plot, before your grandfather was murdered?” asked Inspector Blackitt, who resented the emotional atmosphere this woman was creating, and wanted to get at the stark truth.
“Oh, of course not. How I wish I had! I didn’t see Philip that night… I was at a dance. He had phoned. The police were waiting when I got back. He knew they would be and did not want to compromise me… I mean by his being there at all. I phoned him the next morning, and asked him to go with me to the Home Office. He did not know what I was going to say. He dared not say anything when I raged in the car at the impertinence of the police for daring to say that my grandfather had committed suicide. And he knew that his only hope was that the death should look like suicide. He had planned it for that. And he was driving with me to the Home Office to wreck his plan, for all he knew. And he did not say a word. Oh, Philip, Philip——” Annette’s voice had sunk to a moan. Robert looked desperately at Dalbeattie. “Need this vivisection go on?” he said in a low tone.
The Division Bell Mystery Page 21
