“Peter, who do you think did it really?”
“Any of us, my dear—you, me, Mavis, Lucinda, Peterson—no, I don’t really think it was Peterson somehow—old Rush—or what about the bedridden wife—she mayn’t really have been bedridden at all, you know—Bobby, Miss Bingham—you pays your money and you takes your choice.”
“No, but really, Peter.”
“Oh, Miss Bingham without a doubt,” said Peter cheerfully.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The inquest took place at half past two on Friday afternoon. No adjournment was asked for by the police, and the jury arrived without difficulty at a verdict of wilful murder against Robert Foster. Indeed, after the evidence of the hall porter at the Ducks and Drakes, reluctantly corroborated by Mr. Peter Renshaw, and the very voluble testimony of the unfortunate Bobby’s landlady, Mrs. Nokes, and her husband, they could hardly have done anything else. The cigarette-case was produced and identified and the fingerprints sworn to. No young man could have done more to put a rope about his own neck. Three witnesses to swear to a threat to shoot Ross Craddock. Fingerprints on the banisters of Craddock House and on the door of the room in which the murdered man had been shot. His cigarette-case picked up in the hall. Absence from his room at the material time, between one-thirty and three in the morning. And, most damning of all, the strong motive of jealousy acting on a mind unbalanced by drink. A very neat case, the only thing lacking to complete it being the person of Robert Foster.
“That ass Bobby’s done a bunk,” said Peter in Lee’s ear after a brief interchange of words with the Inspector. “Old Lamb’s as sick as mud—says somebody must have tipped him the wink, and I rather gather that he thinks it was me. As I said to him, however much I wanted to, I couldn’t very well have given away what I didn’t know myself, and as no one told me that Bobby had been plastering the whole place with fingerprints and dropping cigarette-cases, I don’t very well see how I could have blown the gaff. I thought he was just in the same old boat as the rest of us on account of having let off a lot of hot air about Ross outside the Ducks and Drakes, but I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.”
“Ssh!” said Lee. “They’re going to begin.”
Peter’s heart warmed to Inspector Lamb when he found that Miss Lee Fenton was not to be called as a witness.
Miss Mavis Grey was called, but failed to answer to her name.
Lucy Craddock gave her evidence faintly but steadily.
Yes, she had seen someone come down the steps of Craddock House as she approached. The time would be about two-fifteen A.M. No, she could not say whether the figure she saw was that of a man or a woman. It was just a dark moving shadow. She was quite sure she had seen someone. She was quite sure that the street door was ajar when she came up to it. And so forth and so on, keeping steadily and exactly to her statement. She turned giddy once, and was given a glass of water which she kept clasped in her black-gloved hand, sipping at it from time to time, but her narrative remained clear and made a visible impression on the jury.
Miss Bingham enjoyed herself a little too obviously, and deprived her evidence of its full effect. Juries do not care for a biased witness.
If Mavis Grey had been in court, she would have profited to a considerable extent from the malice of Miss Bingham’s attack. A pretty girl and a spiteful old maid—the picture could hardly have failed of its effect. But Mavis Grey was not in court. Mavis Grey, a most material witness, was not in court. Mavis Grey was absent, and so was Bobby Foster. Mavis Grey and Robert Foster. Robert Foster and Mavis Grey. A verdict of wilful murder against Robert Foster. Warrants out against Robert Foster and Mavis Grey.
Peter and Lee took Lucy Craddock back to her own flat.
“Dear Phoebe is very kind, but I told her I must come home.”
She cried all the way back in the taxi, but her chief concern seemed to be for the presumably unchaperoned flight of Mavis and Bobby.
“And I suppose it will be quite impossible for them to arrange to get married if the police are looking for them. Oh, my dear, it is really all quite dreadful, and I can only feel thankful that poor Mary was spared.”
She continued to weep whilst Peter paid off the taxi, whilst Lee gently encouraged her into the lift and out of it again, and during all the preparations for tea. She took two lumps of sugar, and sipped and sobbed, and sobbed and sipped again.
“I can’t think why Mavis should have ran away,” she said between the sips and the sobs—“I really can’t. You see, she came to see me yesterday, and we had such a nice talk—at least you know what I mean, Peter dear. The subject couldn’t very well be nice, because of course we had to discuss poor Ross being shot—very distressing indeed, even if one wasn’t as fond of him as one would like to have been, but you can’t be fond of people just because they are going to be murdered—can you—even if you know beforehand, which of course you don’t.”
Peter patted her on the shoulder.
“Full stop and close the inverted commas. Now take a good long, deep breath and begin again. You had a nice conversation with Mavis, and it wasn’t the subject that was nice. What was it, then?”
“Dear Mavis quite opened her heart to me—A little more tea, Lee dear, and not quite so much milk—no, dear, not three lumps of sugar—two will do very nicely. How refreshing tea is. You see, Lee dear, she thought that you had shot poor Ross.”
Lee set down the teapot and gazed at her.
“Mavis thought that? Why?”
“Well, she saw you there, my dear. She sat down and burst into tears and told me everything. I am afraid she has been very foolish indeed, only—only—nothing really wrong, thank God. I don’t wish to speak evil of the dead, but poor Ross ought to have known better—his own cousin, and he couldn’t marry her because of Aggie Crouch all those years ago, and there wasn’t even a divorce.”
“Be calm, Lucinda—you’re getting tied up again.”
Lucy Craddock blew her nose on a handkerchief with a narrow black border.
“It wasn’t as if Mavis didn’t know he was married either, for I felt it a duty to let her know.”
Peter looked at Lee and saw how pale she was.
“Tell us what happened on Tuesday night,” he said firmly—“what Mavis told you. We know she threw over Bobby and went to the Ducks and Drakes with Ross, and then came back here with him, after which she biffed him with a decanter and swooned all over me.”
“Oh, my dear boy, she thought I was here—she did indeed.”
“I can’t think why she should. We all knew you were pushing off on Tuesday, but I suppose Mavis is mutt enough for anything. Now, Lucinda, the biffing and the swooning took place soon after one A.M. At three o’clock both Miss Bingham hanging over banisters and myself in hall of flat saw Mavis come in off the landing. She said she’d been picking up a bag. Police, self, and Miss Bingham all quite sure she had been back to Ross’s flat. Suspicion a good deal concentrated on Mavis until you made statement to the effect that you found Ross dead at a quarter past two. I suppose that’s why you made it.”
Lucy Craddock looked shocked.
“Oh, my dear boy, it was perfectly true.”
“Yes, but you made it to clear Mavis all the same. Now what did she tell you? I pushed her off into Mary’s bedroom at about twenty minutes past one. What happened between that and three o’clock?”
Lucy Craddock dabbed her eyes.
“Poor dear Mavis—she was very unhappy and very frightened, because, you know, Ernest and Gladys Grey are so very strict, and they thought she was with Isabel Young. She threw herself down on the bed just as she was and cried her eyes out. And she must have fallen asleep. She said she woke up very stiff and uncomfortable. She still had her dress on, but she thought she would take it off and go to bed properly. So she put on the light, and when she wanted the face-cream out of her bag the bag wasn’t there, and it came over her that she had left it in Ross’s flat. At least, what she hoped was that she had dropped it on the landing, b
ut when she went out and looked it wasn’t there.”
“Was the landing light on?” said Peter quickly.
“No, it was all dark, just like it was when I was there at a quarter past two. The switch is by Ross’s door, and she went over to put it on, and then she saw that Ross’s door was open, and the light on in the sitting-room.”
“Both doors open? Did you leave them like that, Lucinda?”
“Yes, I did. But I didn’t leave the light on. I couldn’t leave it shining down on him like that.”
“But Mavis found it on?” Lee said the words almost in a whisper.
“Yes, my dear, she found it on. And she came into the room, and there was Ross lying dead on the floor just as I had seen him—and oh, my dear, you were standing over him in your night-dress with that dreadful pistol in your hand.”
“She walks in her sleep,” said Peter quickly. “She didn’t remember anything about it afterwards, but her foot was stained, and her nightgown, and she’s been going through tortures ever since because she didn’t know what to think.” He took Lee’s hand and held it hard. “Darling, do stop looking like that! Lucinda found Ross dead a good half hour before you walked in on him, and old Lamb proved to you that you couldn’t have fired that revolver if you’d tried.”
Lucy Craddock nodded.
“But of course it was quite natural for poor dear Mavis to think what she did. You see, she saw you with the pistol in your hand, and she was too frightened to scream. She wanted to run away, but she simply couldn’t, and then she saw that you weren’t seeing her at all, and she realized that you were walking in your sleep. She said she didn’t know what to do, because she really did think you had killed Ross. And all at once you turned away and let the pistol fall out of your hand, and then you came walking past her and out of the flat. She heard you cross the landing and shut my door. Well, then she went over to Ross, and knelt down by him, and took his hand to see if he was really dead. And he was. Oh, my dear boy, she was braver than I was, for I couldn’t have brought myself to touch him. And when she was sure about that she said to herself, ‘Oh, I must find my bag, or they’ll think I did it.’ And it had slipped down between the cushion and the side of the chair. That is why I didn’t find it when I was there—only the powder compact, which had fallen off her lap and rolled. And when she got back to Mary’s flat—oh, my dear boy—there you were!”
Peter gave a short laugh.
“And there was Miss Bingham hanging over the banisters and fearing the worst.”
“I have never really liked her,” said Lucy Craddock. “She asks so many questions, and if you don’t tell her, she finds out just the same. And I’m afraid, my dear boy, you spoke very harshly to poor Mavis. She was dreadfully upset because her dress had got stained when she knelt down by Ross, and she was afraid that you would notice it. She cut out the stained piece and burned it—”
“Yes, and left the rest of the dress pushed in amongst Mary’s clothes for the police to find. You know, Lucinda, I honestly don’t think that Mavis has got a brain, or if she has, it is definitely sub-human.”
Lucy Craddock shook her head.
“A pretty girl like Mavis doesn’t need to have a brain, my dear. Gentlemen really prefer it.”
“And that brings us back to our starting-point,” said Peter. “The brainlessness of Mavis may be the reason why she has disappeared, but for the life of me I can’t see—”
“You don’t think she’s eloped with Bobby?” said Lee.
“Well, I don’t know. Up to Tuesday, when everyone would have liked her to get engaged to Bobby, Mavis wouldn’t look at him. Would a warrant for his arrest make her feel that she loved him passionately and must incontinently elope?”
“It might,” said Lee.
He looked at her, and she blushed.
“Meaning that if they arrest me, you will marry me at the gallows’ foot.”
“My dear boy!” said Lucy Craddock in a horrified voice.
Peter laughed.
“Well, I don’t think Mavis would. Anyhow, here are the facts. Bobby went off to his stockbroking office as usual on Thursday morning. Then he went out to lunch and never came back. By the time old Lamb had made up his mind to arrest him he wasn’t there to be arrested, and so far he hasn’t been traced. A ham-headed mutt, but I still don’t think he shot Ross. Now our cousin Mavis was all present and correct on Thursday. She had breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea in the Grey ménage, a good deal of the time being taken up with painful family scenes of the first magnitude. A happy English home!”
“It is no good being too strict with young people,” said Lucy Craddock. “And I am afraid it wasn’t a very happy home.”
“Well, she was still there on Friday morning. She had been served with a summons for the inquest, and Uncle Ernest and Aunt Gladys were preparing to support her through the ordeal. She went out for what Aunt Gladys described as a breath of air at about eleven o’clock, and nobody has seen her since. I can’t make that fit in with Bobby at all. I think she was fed up with Aunt Gladys and Uncle Ernest, and she lost her nerve and bolted.”
Fresh tears started from Lucy Craddock’s eyes.
“Oh, my dears—you don’t think she has done something dreadful!”
Peter’s eyebrows went up. He said in the voice she liked least,
“In plain English, has she committed suicide? Calm yourself, Lucinda. Mavis is a great deal too fond of Mavis to let her run the very slightest risk. She really does love her, you know, and I’m quite sure she will do her very best to look after her and keep her safe. She won’t be very clever about it, but you can’t blame the poor girl for that. She’ll do her best. Anyhow, she appears to have cashed a cheque for fifteen pounds before she left, and if she’d been going to jump into the river she wouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so thankful,” said Lucy Craddock. She dabbed with her handkerchief. “Lee dear, I could do with another cup of tea.”
Chapter Thirty
The funeral took place next day. Since Lucy Craddock insisted on attending, Lee could do no less. The utmost efforts to keep time and place from becoming known had not prevented a crowd from assembling. Lucy wept, Lee looked as if she was going to faint, and Peter wondered when they would all stop living in a nightmare and be able to return to the decencies of private life.
When it was over he went to see Inspector Lamb, and came back from the interview a good deal depressed in spirits.
“I thought I was on the ground floor, but there’s a basement, and old Lamb has just let me down into it with a bump.”
He cast himself down on the floor beside Lee and laid his head against her knee.
“You don’t feel as if you’d like to kiss me and say a few nice womanly things like ‘Darling, we’ve still got each other,’ and, ‘It is always darkest before the dawn’?”
Lee smiled a little wanly.
“Peter, if I kiss you I shall probably begin to cry, and that would be about the last straw, because Lucy never stops, does she?”
“I shall divorce you if you cry.”
“You can’t divorce me till we are married.”
Peter pulled down one of her hands and put his cheek against it.
“‘A Bride’s Cynicism, or Modern Outlook on Marriage,’ ” he remarked. “You know, if Lucinda heard you talk like that, she’d have a fit. You’ve got a lovely, soft, cool hand.”
“Have I? I’m glad. What did the Lamb say that cast you down into a basement?”
“He’d had a report from Birmingham—about Aggie, you know—and it’s no good. She’s got a room in quite a respectable sort of lodging-house—been there about a week—and the police and at least three people are prepared to swear that she was there on Tuesday night, because she was taken ill and waked the landlady up at two in the morning, and the husband—the landlady’s husband, not Aggie’s—went round and knocked up a chemist to get some stuff made up for her. Some kind of a heart attack, and she’d ran out of what
she takes for it.”
“That seems very convenient,” said Lee slowly.
Peter twisted round so that he could look at her.
“Do you think it’s too convenient?”
She drew a long breath.
“I don’t know, but—two in the morning is such a frightfully difficult time to have an alibi for. Why should Aggie have one? It—it—feels queer to me.”
He sat right up.
“Darling, your head’s going round. Aggie was in Birmingham on Tuesday night having a heart attack unless (a) her respectable landlady, (b) her respectable landlady’s respectable husband, and (c) one Mrs. Coltham, who had the room next door and helped minister to the afflicted, are all perjuring themselves black in the face, and really there’s no reason why they should, because none of them had so much as set eyes on her a week before. They weren’t very enthusiastic about her either. Miss La Fay—she’s stuck to her stage name by the bye—Miss La Fay gave a good deal of trouble. They had nothing against her, but theatrical ladies weren’t really in their line, they said. So there we are—Aggie Crouch alias Rosalie La Fay is a wash-out. I shall have to concentrate on Miss Bingham.”
“There isn’t any news about Bobby Foster, I suppose?”
“Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time—they’re bound to get him. Besides, if there’s anything stupid he can do he’ll probably do it, and so will Mavis. There’s no news of her either.”
“You know,” said Lee, “I think Bobby did it. I mean, he wouldn’t if he’d been sober, but if he was pretty far gone when you sent him home at twelve, he probably didn’t in the least know what he was doing by two in the morning. He seems to have gone on having one drink after another, and by the time he got round here—well, he mightn’t really have known what he was doing, and all those things he’d been saying about knocking Ross’s head off and shooting him—don’t you see, the idea might have taken charge. People who wouldn’t hurt a fly when they’re sober do horrible things when they’re drunk.”
There was a knock on the outer door. Peter got to his feet.
The Blind Side: An Ernest Lamb Mystery Page 16