‘Lithopone.’ The voice was loud, and Agatha realized that Kurt Farrar was crossing the room towards them. ‘That’s what you’re all on about, isn’t it?’
‘Mr. Farrar.’ Mr. Tyndall got to his feet. ‘Frau Adler, allow me to introduce Mr. Kurt Farrar. Another guest here…’ He glanced at Mr. Farrar, then fell silent.
Kurt Farrar gave a deep bow.
Lillian Adler acknowledged him with a turn of her head, but her face was set, and her eyes narrowed as he shook her hand.
‘Mr. Farrar also knows something of the camoufleurs, don’t you?’ Mr. Tyndall’s voice was clipped.
‘I served in the Somme,’ Mr. Farrar said. ‘I was aware of their work. Magical stuff. All those battleships undetected. All those tanks, creeping up to enemy lines –’ He threw Frau Adler a charming smile.
‘Hardly tanks, Mr. Farrar,’ Mr. Tyndall said.
‘Ahead of the game, we British,’ Mr. Farrar went on, as if he hadn’t heard. ‘Sending our boys into battle but keeping them hidden. Camouflage, see? You either obscure things, or you disguise them. A metaphor for life, wouldn’t you say, Mrs. Christie?’ Again, a mirthless laugh. He pulled up a chair, as if they’d invited him to join them. ‘And then it turns out they were here, the artists, down the road here, beavering away, perfecting their techniques. Pointillism, Cubism, anything to create a false version of the truth.’
‘Down the road?’ Agatha asked.
‘Oh yes. Towards the village there. Ince Hall. Empty now, of course. A mere ruin. But at the start of the war, a hive of activity. All those chaps. A power house of creativity, wasn’t it, Mr. Tyndall?’ He turned to Robin Tyndall, bright-eyed, expecting affirmation.
Mr. Tyndall glanced at Lillian, then at Agatha. ‘Dr. Adler was enlisted to help,’ he said, as if in explanation. ‘His expertise in pigment was invaluable.’
‘It should have all gone in the book,’ Kurt said. He looked across at Mrs. Collyer, as if he’d only just noticed her. ‘Too late now, I suppose.’ The colour had drained from his face, and his voice quietened. ‘Too late,’ he repeated, with an air of melancholy. Agatha once again wondered at the theatricality of his utterances.
Mrs. Collyer had lowered her gaze, and was staring, unseeing, at the table, the cake stand with its tiers of untouched pastries. Lillian lent across and laid her right hand over Mrs. Collyer’s left.
The piano playing stopped, mid-phrase. The conversation around them hushed. In the doorway, a uniformed police officer had appeared, and now uttered a few words to Mr. Finch, who was also standing by the door. Finch gave a brief nod, then turned to the room.
‘Ladies, Gentlemen. My apologies for the interruption. But if you have all finished your tea, the Detective Inspector would like everyone to assemble in the lounge.’
There were murmurs of acquiescence, some of complaint. Hats were taken up, bags gathered, and the party trooped through the door, down the red carpeted corridor, to the hotel lounge.
Chapter Six
The lounge was huge and high ceilinged, all red and gold, with sufficient settees and chairs to seat the assembled party. Mrs. Winters took one of the generous sofas, with Sophie on one side and Sebastian on the other. Frau Adler took one of the smaller ones, and patted the seat next to her for Nora Collyer. Robin Tyndall tucked himself into a corner, and Agatha took a small seat next to the window. The velvet drapes framed the square of garden in the late afternoon sunlight, the pink-sparkled ribbon of sea beyond.
Mr. Finch had assembled the staff, all of whom stood in a neat, starched line by his side. Young Oliver Hughes had the place next to him. Agatha noticed the boy catch the eye of Sophie Winters and a small smile passed between them.
In the middle of the room sat the Detective Inspector and another official looking man. Neither were in uniform. They both got to their feet. There was an air of calm, as the older man began to speak.
‘Ladies, Gentlemen, thank you for your time this afternoon. I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Detective Inspector Reginald Olds, and this is Detective Sergeant Brierley. We are members of the Cornwall Constabulary, and we’ve been brought in today because of the very unfortunate events of this morning.’ He glanced towards Mrs. Collyer. She sat, eyes lowered, her hands in her lap.
‘I’ll try not to detain you for long,’ he went on. ‘I’d like to furnish you with the facts. So, this is what we know. At something before six this morning, Mr. Collyer rose and said he was going to play tennis. Mrs. Collyer was perfectly accepting of this, as it gets light very early at the moment. Her husband directed himself to the tennis courts. Now, we know two things. One, is that he had been invited for that game of tennis by Mr. Kurt Farrar. So Mrs. Collyer tells us.’ He looked around the room, but Mr. Farrar was nowhere to be seen. Agatha noticed Mrs. Winters flicking nervous glances towards the door. Mr. Farrar must have slipped away when they were all trooping into the lounge, she thought.
The detective was speaking again. ‘The second thing we know, is that that game never took place. Before any balls were struck, Mr. Collyer was dead, on the court out there. The single shot was heard by the staff, who then ran out to the court, saw what had happened, and sent for my team.’ He paused, surveyed the room, then continued. ‘The third point is that the weapon we assume to be the murder weapon, a revolver, was left at the scene of the crime and is being examined by our forensic team. Now, there are two possibilities. One, is that poor Mr. Collyer’s killer had arrived here in secret, drawn his murder weapon, carried out his evil deed and then fled. The alternative –’ His gaze settled on the company in front of him – ‘is that no one fled at all. That the culprit shot his victim, dropped the pistol, and then calmly returned to the hotel. In which case, he or she is amongst you still.’
He paused and took a sip from the glass of water by his side. ‘Now, the staff here have been exceedingly helpful to me and my boys. So, this is what we know. The only people up and about at the time of the killing were the staff, and Mr. Kurt Farrar.’ He looked towards Mrs. Winters, to the empty chair at her side. He went on, ‘Mr. Collyer had no enemies. He had lived a quiet and uneventful life as a chemist, and had recently embarked, in his retirement, on this work of biography, the subject of which was Dr. Adler, who lived in the village here, with you, Frau Adler, his wife.’
Lillian Adler tilted her head in acknowledgement.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Collyer had taken to staying here for some weeks of each year to pursue his researches. This was your third visit, I believe, Mrs. Collyer?’
Mrs. Collyer looked up. She nodded. Even in her state of shock, she looked poised and softly elegant.
‘The family of Dr. Adler had become friends, had they not?’
Again, a small nod from Mrs. Collyer.
‘So even there,’ the policeman went on, ‘there is nothing to suggest the kind of enmity that would result in such a grievously harmful act. Dr. Adler was an eminent man in his field, a specialist in pigment. Despite his origins, he was very much an Englishman, and he’d helped our boys with the war effort in the application of camouflage in the field. He had settled in this area with his wife and lived a quiet life until his death, two years ago, at the age of eighty-two.’ Detective Inspector Olds sighed. ‘Well, that is all that there is to be said. We will continue our investigations, of course –’
He was interrupted by a loud swish as the lounge door swung open and Kurt Farrar strode into the room. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘All here, I see.’ He scanned the gathering with a mirthless smile. ‘And there’s even a chair for me. How kind.’ He flung himself into the chair at Mrs. Winter’s side, and then sat back, as if waiting for a show to start. ‘Well, here I am.’
The room seemed to shift around him, Agatha noticed. In particular, Blanche’s pale bejewelled fingers were signalling to him, as she mouthed something, some kind of warning, it seemed. And Mr. Tyndall, too, sat upright and apprehensive, his hands smoothing his trousers.
Kurt gave his empty smile again. ‘Well – don’t let me i
nterrupt,’ he said.
Blanche’s finger went to her lips, but he seemed not to see this, and continued to speak. ‘Are we hearing the story of the tragic untimely death of Mr. Collyer? Do go on.’
Detective Inspector Olds stood tall and calm. He fixed Kurt with a steady gaze. ‘I’m afraid I’ve said all there is to say,’ he said. ‘So far,’ he added.
‘Have you told them about the tennis shoes?’ Kurt said to him. ‘That I was seen, that morning, wearing tennis shoes?’
The Detective showed a faint twitch of annoyance. Kurt went on, ‘I’d invited the deceased to a game of tennis. Did you tell them that? Pre-breakfast tennis.’ He laughed. ‘But it never happened. I came down a bit late, typical I’m afraid. No sign of him. Went to look for him inside. Heard the shot. Came out. There he was. Poor b – poor soul,’ he corrected himself.
Blanche’s fingers fluttered their distress.
The policeman still had his gaze fixed on him, but said nothing.
‘Gunshot, you see.’ Kurt surveyed the room. ‘It has a particular sound.’ He paused, as if for effect. ‘Close range. The blood … and the smell … warm blood. Fresh … Never forget it … At that range, y’see … blasted apart … scarlet, the blood … before it goes crimson …’
Blanche’s signalling had become frantic waving, but Kurt didn’t look at her.
The policeman now spoke. ‘So you agree, Mr. Farrar, that you were first on the scene?’
Kurt Farrar raised his head, as if seeing Inspector Olds for the first time. His voice was thin. ‘So it seems.’
The Inspector spoke again. ‘From what we can gather from the staff, you were there when they ran outside, having heard the gunshot. They found you, right in the middle of the tennis court.’
Kurt gave a brief nod. ‘That’s quite likely,’ he said. ‘I was due to give the poor man a tennis lesson.’
Blanche was now gesturing to Mr. Tyndall, who cleared his throat. ‘I think that’s quite enough for now,’ he said.
‘On the contrary –’ Kurt’s voice was loud, as he threw Blanche an empty grin. ‘Our poor policeman here has hardly started. But he’s asking the wrong questions. The biography,’ Kurt said. ‘That’s the clue. Secrets to be revealed.’
Mr. Tyndall flashed a glance at Frau Adler.
‘Oh, we all have secrets,’ Kurt went on. ‘Why, look at this room. Every single one of us is hiding something. It’s the human condition. Detective Inspector, if you were to ask each person here to confess to a secret, even just one each – you’d have days and days of work to keep your chaps busy.’ He laughed, loudly.
Blanche signalled again to Mr. Tyndall, who got to his feet. ‘I think this interview is over now,’ he said. ‘Unless there is anything further we can help you with, Inspector?’
The Detective Inspector looked at Kurt Farrar, and then seemed to reach a decision. ‘Nothing at this stage, thank you, Sir. Oh, just one other thing – until we find out the perpetrator of this terrible deed, you are all … well, not to put too fine a point on it, you are all …’
Kurt gave his loud, empty laugh. ‘Suspects? Is that the word you’re after, Inspector?’
‘I simply meant, Sir, that I’d prefer it if all the people who were guests in this hotel at the time of the crime, if they could all continue to stay here.’
‘Under house arrest,’ Kurt said, to a loud ‘Shhh’ from Blanche.
The Detective looked at him levelly. ‘All I meant, Sir, was, that a sudden flight might be seen as suspicious. And now we’ll bid you a good evening.’
He crossed to the door, followed by his Sergeant, who scuttled out behind him with a breath of relief.
Mr. Tyndall was at Mrs. Collyer’s side. He offered her his arm. ‘Allow me, Madam.’
She looked up, surprise and relief on her face. She rose to her feet and allowed him to lead her from the room. The others got to their feet.
Kurt was still spread across his chair. ‘Oh,’ he said, amused. ‘Is that it, then?’
Blanche had taken the chair next to him. ‘You promised.’ Her voice was low, almost a whisper. ‘No more drinking.’
‘Half a glass of decent brandy,’ he said. ‘Medicinal, when a man’s had a shock.’
‘No more,’ she said. ‘You promised my husband, no more drink …’
‘Promises, Madam. Not worth the paper they’re written on …’
She shook her head, then looked around for Sophie, who had stayed where she was, her eyes on the staff.
Mr. Finch was tidying the room, rearranging the chairs. In the corner, Frau Adler was still seated, with young Oliver Hughes at her side. They appeared to be deep in conversation, her hand on his arm in a gesture of affection.
Blanche now took Sophie by the hand and they headed for the door. A glance passed between Sophie and Oliver as mother and daughter left the room.
Frau Adler patted the boy’s arm, got to her feet. The boy went to Finch and began to help him load a tray with cups.
In the doorway there stood a man. He was angular, expressionless, with smooth black hair and a pale cashmere jumper, which sat oddly against his stiff formality. ‘Frau Adler,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought the car round to the front.’
‘Oh, Quentin, dear, how very thoughtful of you.’
As she walked towards him, the man caught sight of Kurt Farrar. The look between them cut through the room. Kurt sat, frozen, his gaze locked with that of the other man. The other man’s face softened with a flicker of recognition. Then he turned, gave a small bow, and left the room, with Frau Adler at his side.
Agatha too, got to her feet, and headed for the door. When she looked back, Kurt Farrar was still sitting, his gaze fixed on the doorway.
Chapter Seven
There was a silence about the hotel, as afternoon faded into evening. Agatha ordered a cold supper, which she ate in her room. It was as if after the shock of the events, every inhabitant of the hotel had hidden away. The sky clouded over with the last of the day, and the windows rattled with a sharp sea breeze.
After her supper, Agatha ventured downstairs again. The lounge was deserted. The dining room too was deathly quiet, apart from the occasional gust of wind across the terrace outside. She was aware of music, distant notes floating across the hushed space. She followed its direction and came out into the Palm Court. The tables were bare, the chairs empty. But from the piano came a Chopin prelude. And at the piano sat Nora Collyer.
The melancholy notes filled the space, which had a sombre light from the stormy sunset. After a few moments, the piece came to an end, the last notes settling sweetly. Then Nora looked up and saw Agatha standing there.
‘He didn’t mention the papers.’ The voice was soft, the words direct.
Agatha wondered what to say.
‘The Inspector,’ Mrs. Collyer went on. ‘He must have known that Frau Adler had requested that my husband return the papers.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t want to embarrass you,’ Agatha said. ‘Or her.’
‘Perhaps.’ Nora hesitated. ‘Though it’s no embarrassment to me. I always felt that she would be within her rights not to let my husband intrude on her privacy like that. She knows that’s how I feel. I wasn’t at all surprised when we heard that there might be a problem.’
‘How did you find out?’ Agatha took a few steps towards the piano.
‘Mr. Tyndall mentioned it to us. Only a couple of days ago, in fact. He said he’d heard that Frau Adler was becoming nervous about some of the papers, the more recent correspondence, and things from the war … She’d asked for them back. It made my husband rather angry.’
‘And did he return them?’
She shook her head. ‘Mr. Tyndall was telling him he had to. And then yesterday, they had quite an argument, I’m afraid to say. Well, you saw what my husband was like. He could be rather – abrupt, shall we say, when roused. Mr. Tyndall surprised us in the corridor out there, after my husband’s afternoon stroll. It was as if he’d been lying in wait for our return
. Rather out of character too, I thought at the time. Mr. Tyndall has always been a gentleman. But really, he was so very definite about the need to have the papers back, and voices were raised. It really was rather odd. “Dire consequences,” that was the phrase that Mr. Tyndall used. “Dire consequences”.’
Agatha considered this. Mrs. Collyer went on, ‘I’m sure Frederick intended to return them, but he’s very stubborn, my husband. Was,’ she added, as if, once again, struck by the finality of his death. Her eyes welled with tears. She bowed her head, sitting there with her hands in her lap.
‘He was still my husband,’ she said. ‘A wife … a wife has to love her husband, hasn’t she? That’s what my mother said …’
Agatha drew up a chair and sat down next to the piano stool.
‘They’re all still up there, the papers,’ Nora went on, ‘a big box of them. I suppose I should tell that policeman. I was going to give them back to Lillian, but then this happened, and then I didn’t know what to say, in case they’re evidence or something. Do you think I should tell that nice Detective?’
In her mind, Agatha saw Frau Adler’s insistence about the papers again, the ‘not wanting to bother the police with all that …’ She turned to Mrs. Collyer. ‘I think, perhaps, you should.’
Mrs. Collyer sniffed, nodded.
‘You play very well,’ Agatha said.
Nora touched the piano keys with her fine fingers. ‘I learned as a child. But it’s been a while …’ she murmured.
‘You must practice a lot,’ Agatha said.
Nora shook her head. ‘No, no. My husband doesn’t … didn’t … he didn’t like it. I play when I visit my brother Peter and his family, they have a lovely instrument there, I can spend hours on it. I do it to amuse the children too …’ She gave a brief, luminous smile. ‘My brother’s old friend James teases me, he makes me sing as well. He says I have the voice of an angel …’ The smile died. ‘But my husband has to work you see, he doesn’t like noise in the house, he needs to concentrate … Needed to concentrate,’ she corrected herself. ‘“No extraneous noise”, he used to say.’ She shook her head, dabbed at her eyes. After a moment, she said, ‘You have a husband, don’t you?’
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