see you.”
“You’ll be even less delighted when I tell you why I’m here.”
“All right, tell me. But I shall make some tea whilst you do.”
Percy left the room, collected a carrier bag which he had put down by the front door, and went into the kitchen. He put the kettle on and then unloaded the contents of the bag: two lobsters, some cream, a lettuce and a French loaf. Anna had followed him and was watching.
“Well?” said Percy.
“Oh, yes; why I’m here. I was looking for evidence of blackmail, robbery, murder...”
“Intriguing,” said Percy in a non-committal voice. “Do go on. Did you find what you wanted?”
“On the first two counts, yes. The letter you stole out of Elizabeth Gurney’s bag along with all those French francs which must have come in handy on your holiday. And Susan Furnival’s ring.”
Percy was kneeling by the fridge, putting the cream in and taking out a bottle of Chablis, which he proceeded to open. He then took two glasses out of a cupboard, holding one towards Anna in a gesture of invitation.
“Yes, please,” she said.
He filled the glass and she took it.
“And who’s to say that the ring and the letter did not enter the house with you?”
“Toby saw the letter.”
“Ah, yes. But failed to identify the origins. Well, Warren or Philip might have dropped it whilst they were here. Who can say? What does the letter prove?”
“Well to me,” said Anna, sitting herself on one of the high stools and putting her elbows on the breakfast bar which ran along one side of the room, “it proved to be the key to all the odd little things that were going on amongst your close-knit group of friends. Warren borrowing money, all those cases of petty theft that went by unnoticed until you took Susan’s diamond necklace.”
“And......?”
“And...as soon as I realised that the Evelyn of the letter Toby picked up was not some secret love of yours, but the lover of Elizabeth Gurney, I knew that you must be the thief. How else could you have come by the letter but by riffling through Elizabeth’s bag? But why would you want the letter? That is where poor Warren Parry’s borrowing comes into it. You were at university with Philip and Toby when Amanda tried to kill herself and Warren was so terribly upset. That was when her husband had an affair with his secretary. What would she do when she found out that he was having an affair with her own sister? And you, knowing that Warren was so fond of his mother, blackmailed him. I don’t suppose it caused you so much as a qualm of conscience because, unless I’m very much mistaken, you had been helping yourself to the money of your wealthy friends ever since you were in college together. And they, naive, good-hearted souls that they are, never thought to suspect a friend.”
“Admirably deduced, Anna. But can you prove it?”
“Well, I have the ring. But are you not going to deny my accusations? Are you not going to laugh at me for being over-fanciful?”
Percy regarded her with his arrogant, piercing blue eyes. “Deny it? No. I think you’ve done rather well. But are you going to judge me so very harshly? Do you not recall Philip’s own argument about poverty justifying theft; so long as you left no one in need? Is Warren in need? Does Lady Furnival suffer from the loss of one necklace when she had so many others? I think not. Is not Toby so grotesquely overburdened with the wealth that he inherited that half the time he doesn’t even miss the money I take from him?”
“I don’t deny that Toby is very fortunate, but you do not seem to be so very poverty stricken. I cannot see that he, or any of the others, owe you a living.”
“Can you not? I thought you, at least, might. Well, Anna, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. You are honoured! I am very sparing with my confidences. I have always loved things of beauty, fine things; beautiful buildings, wine, a garden in full bloom. You will understand that, you who can love a rose garden, you who loved the genteel life you led at Quartermain House. So our tastes are alike. But not everyone appreciates the things we do. And it is not always those who appreciate them that are given them. That is one of the tricks of Fate. I grew up, not in actual poverty, but surrounded by a poverty of the spirit; people who drudged at tedious jobs to make a moderate living. Do you blame me for wanting more? I know a little about you too. You were a student when Toby’s father met you. He offered you a life that you could not have had as Anna Whoever; but as Viscountess Quartermain...I do not begrudge you that. Your appreciation of that life is justification enough. My work, Anna, is the preservation of old and lovely things. For that I am paid a pittance. Toby has inherited a beautiful house full of lovely treasures, and time – if he chose to take it – to enjoy it all, as you did. But it is wasted, completely wasted, on him. I think that the little I have taken from him or his socialite mother, or any of their sort, is no more than a fair share. It is well used. You married for the sort of life you wanted; are my methods so much more immoral? I could have married Lady Caroline for her money; her family’s money. But to sacrifice my privacy, my independence, for her...”
Anna was silent. There was enough truth in what he said to make her pause for thought, to consider the harsh and horrible fact that she had married, if not for money, at least for what money could buy.
Percy laughed, “This flat,” he gestured with his elegant hand, “this has been paid for by Warren! As he pays for his father’s indiscretions, so I pay for this. And no one is any the worse off! The poor ass has been here, admired it, never once imagining...”
“Oh, no – Percy! You are actually proud of what you have done! And you assume my complicity. You assume that I married in the same arrogant, calculating spirit in which you have deceived, robbed and blackmailed your friends. Well, you are quite wrong. I may not have married for love, but neither did Andrew. There was no deceit.”
“I think, my dear Anna, that you are not being quite honest with yourself. But we will let that pass. I thought we were like-spirits.”
“Like-spirits! God help me if we are. I know what you did, Percy! Whilst Philip and his friends were having a drink, you went off to change your clothes. On the way to the bathroom, or on the way back, you just popped into the study to see if there was anything worth taking. You didn’t see Harold Gurney. He was sitting in that chair, poor man, looking over those letters. No one knew he was there because he was mourning silently over his wife’s infidelity. And you didn’t see him. You were intent on looking though the desk. Perhaps you helped yourself to something. And all the time he was watching you. When you saw him – well, I do believe that you panicked! Or perhaps you made a quick, cool calculation and decided that it was better to kill him than to take the risk of having him call the police. If they searched here, they would have found the ring and perhaps other things as well. Anyway, only you know what Gurney said, and only you know what went through your mind. But the fact is that you throttled the poor man. I don’t believe he even put up much resistance. No one heard a sound. You then put the things back – or perhaps you took them, because in your callous arrogance you believed that no one would ever suspect you. When you had killed him, you rejoined your friends, you chatted to Philip and flirted with me, quite unruffled, quite unmoved, by the dreadful thing you had done.”
Percy stood up, went to the fridge and took out the wine. He poured himself another glass but Anna put her hand over hers.
“Very neat,” he said. “Except where’s the proof? And if I could have killed him whilst the others were in the house, so could Warren or Toby. And, anyway, Evelyn Parry had the perfect motive, as well as the opportunity. Your little case, as you’ve just presented it, won’t stand against that.”
“EveIyn Parry might have had the motive and opportunity, but he did not kill Harold Gurney. I was watching the house. I watched him come out. I watched him wipe his windscreen. I also watched the door close behind him. He did not pull it shut. Harold was there to close it!”
“Yet the police are holding him.”
&n
bsp; “I have not told them that I was watching.”
Percy narrowed his eyes as he thought. "You break into my flat, you watch the house in which Harold is murdered, you withhold information from the police. If I claim that you tried to plant that ring on me, I don’t think they will believe you.”
“I’m prepared to take that risk.”
“It will be a battle of wits between you and me. An interesting challenge. Almost worth it.”
Anna glanced surreptitiously at the clock. It had almost gone a quarter past...“Are you denying that you killed Harold Gurney?”
“Oh, no! Why deny it when you have so cleverly detected my crime! But I did not panic. He was going to call the police, so I stopped him. In fact, I probably did the chap a favour! You were quite right, he didn’t put up a fight. No, I don’t deny that I killed him. I merely challenge the fact that you can do anything about it. At best it will be my word against yours!”
“Not just my word,” said Anna, with the merest hint of a smile.
Percy looked at her sharply. There was a note of triumph in her voice. His eyes moved swiftly to her bag.
“Give me that!”
He made a swift move to grab the bag, but Anna twisted out of his reach. Percy, however, was a cricketer. He was agile and his wits quick; before she had reached the kitchen door, a strong hand had
The Wellington Bureau: A Quartermain Mystery Page 23