So far, the conversation had proceeded easily, Bobby pumping the lady without any camouflage, but she now displayed a sudden curiosity.
'But what is it you want to know about Mr Carstairs?' she asked.
'I really wanted his address,' explained Bobby. 'As you know, we act for him and we've just had a rather important cable from New York - you know, there's rather a serious fluctuation in the dollar just now -' Mrs Rivington nodded with desperate intelligence.
'And so,' continued Bobby rapidly, 'we wanted to get into touch with him - to get his instructions - and he hasn't left an address - and, having heard him mention he was a friend of yours, I thought you might possibly have news of him.' 'Oh, I see,' said Mrs Rivington, completely satisfied. 'What a pity. But he's always rather a vague man, I should think.' 'Oh, distinctly so,' said Bobby. 'Well,' he rose, 'I apologize for taking up so much of your time.' 'Oh, not at all,' said Mrs Rivington. 'And it's so interesting to know that Dolly Maltravers really did - as you say she did.' 'I said nothing at all,' said Bobby.
'Yes, but then lawyers are so discreet, aren't they?' said Mrs Rivington with a little gurgle of laughter.
'So that's all right,' thought Bobby, as he walked away down Tite Street. 'I seem to have taken Dolly Whatsemame's character away for good, but I daresay she deserves it, and that charming idiot of a woman will never wonder why, if I wanted Carstairs' address, I didn't simply ring up and ask for it!' Back in Brook Street he and Frankie discussed the matter from every angle.
'It looks as though it were really pure chance that took him to the Bassington-ffrenches,' said Frankie thoughtfully.
'I know. But evidently when he was down there some chance remark directed his attention to the Nicholsons.' 'So that, really, it is Nicholson who is at the heart of the mystery, not the Bassingtonffrenches?' Bobby looked at her.
'Still intent on whitewashing your hero,' he inquired coldly.
'My dear, I'm only pointing out what it looks like. It's the mention of Nicholson and his nursing home that excited Carstairs. Being taken down to the Bassington-ffrenches was a pure matter of chance. You must admit that.' 'It seems like it.' 'Why only "seems"?' 'Well, there is just one other possibility. In some way, Carstairs may have found out that the Rivingtons were going down to lunch with the Bassington-ffrenches. He may have overheard some chance remark in a restaurant - at the Savoy, perhaps. So he rings them up, very urgent to see them, and what he hopes may happen does happen. They're very booked up and they suggest his coming down with them - their friends won't mind and they do so want to see him. That is possible, Frankie.' 'It is possible, I suppose. But it seems a very roundabout method of doing things.' 'No more roundabout than your accident,' said Bobby.
'My accident was vigorous direct action,' said Frankie coldly.
Bobby removed Lord Marchington's clothes and replaced them where he had found them. Then he donned his chauffeur's uniform once more and they were soon speeding back to Staverley.
'If Roger has fallen for me,' said Frankie demurely, 'he'll be pleased I've come back so soon. He'll think I can't bear to be away from him for long.' 'I'm not sure that you can bear it, either,' said Bobby. 'I've always heard that really dangerous criminals were singularly attractive.' 'Somehow I can't believe he is a criminal.' 'So you remarked before.' 'Well, I feel like that.' 'You can't get over the photograph.' 'Damn the photograph!' said Frankie.
Bobby drove up the drive in silence. Frankie sprang out and went into the house without a backward glance. Bobby drove away.
The house seemed very silent. Frankie glanced at the clock.
It was half-past two.
'They don't expect me back for hours yet,' she thought. 'I wonder where they are?' She opened the door of the library and went in, stopping suddenly on the threshold.
Dr Nicholson was sitting on the sofa, holding both Sylvia Bassington-ffrench's hands in his.
Sylvia jumped to her feet and came across the room towards Frankie.
'He's been telling me,' she said.
Her voice was stifled. She put both hands to her face as though to hide it from view.
'It's too terrible,' she sobbed, and, brushing past Frankie, she ran out of the room.
Dr Nicholson had risen. Frankie advanced a step or two towards him. His eyes, watchful as ever, met hers.
'Poor lady,' he said suavely. 'It has been a great shock to her.' The muscles at the corner of his mouth twitched. For a moment or two Frankie fancied that he was amused. And then, quite suddenly, she realized that it was quite a different emotion.
The man was angry. He was holding himself in, hiding his anger behind a suave bland mask, but the emotion was there. It was all he could do to hold that emotion in.
There was a moment's pause.
'It was best that Mrs Bassington-ffrench should know the truth,' said the doctor. 'I want her to induce her husband to place himself in my hands.' 'I'm afraid,' said Frankie gently, 'that I interrupted you.' She paused. 'I came back sooner than I meant.'
CHAPTER 18 The Girl of the Photograph
On Bobby's return to the inn he was greeted with the information that someone was waiting to see him.
'It's a lady. You'll find her in Mr Askew's little sittingroom.' Bobby made his way there slightly puzzled. Unless she had flown there on wings he could not see how Frankie could possibly have got to the Anglers' Arms ahead of him, and that his visitor could be anyone else but Frankie never occurred to him.
He opened the door of the small room which Mr Askew kept as his private sitting-room. Sitting bolt upright in a chair was a slender figure dressed in black - the girl of the photograph.
Bobby was so astonished that for a moment or two he could not speak. Then he noticed that the girl was terribly nervous.
Her small hands were trembling and closed and unclosed themselves on the arm of the chair. She seemed too nervous even to speak, but her large eyes held a kind of terrified appeal.
'So it's you?' said Bobby at last. He shut the door behind him and came forward to the table.
Still the girl did not speak - still those large, terrified eyes looked into his. At last words came - a mere hoarse whisper.
'You said - you said - you'd help me. Perhaps I shouldn't have come ' Here Bobby broke in, finding words and assurance at the same time.
'Shouldn't have come? Nonsense. You did quite right to come. Of course, you should have come. And I'll do anything - anything in the world - to help you. Don't be frightened.
You're quite safe now.' The colour rose a little in the girl's face. She said abruptly: 'Who are you? You're - you're - not a chauffeur. I mean, you may be a chauffeur, but you're not one really.' Bobby understood her meaning in spite of the confused form of words in which she had cloaked them.
'One does all sorts of jobs nowadays,' he said. 'I used to be in the Navy. As a matter of fact, I'm not exactly a chauffeur but that doesn't matter now. But, anyway, I assure you you can trust me and - and tell me all about it.' Her flush had deepened.
'You must think me mad,' she murmured. 'You must think me quite mad.' 'No, no.' 'Yes - coming here like this. But I was so frightened - so terribly frightened -' Her voice died away. Her eyes widened as though they saw some vision of terror.
Bobby seized her hand firmly.
'Look here,' he said, 'it's quite all right. Everything's going to be all right. You're safe now - with - with a friend. Nothing shall happen to you.' He felt the answering pressure of her fingers.
'When you stepped out into the moonlight the other night,' she said in a low, hurried voice, 'it was - it was like a dream a dream of deliverance. I didn't know who you were or where you came from, but it gave me hope and I determined to come and find you - and - tell you.' 'That's right,' said Bobby encouragingly. 'Tell me. Tell me everything.' She drew her hand away suddenly.
'If I do, you'll think I'm mad - that I've gone wrong in my head from being in that place with those others.' 'No, I shan't. I shan't, really.' 'You will. It sounds mad.' 'I shall know it
isn't. Tell me. Please tell me.' She drew a little farther away from him, sitting very upright, her eyes staring Straight in front of her.
'It's just this,' she said. 'I'm afraid I'm going to be murdered.' Her voice was dry and hoarse. She was speaking with obvious self-restraint but her hands were trembling.
'Murdered?' 'Yes, that sounds mad, doesn't it? Like - what do they call it?
- persecution mania.' 'No,' said Bobby. 'You don't sound mad at all - just frightened. Tell me, who wants to murder you and why?' She was silent a minute or two, twisting and untwisting her hands. Then she said in a low voice: 'My husband.' 'Your husband?' Thoughts whirled round in Bobby's head: 'Who are you -' he said abruptly.
It was her turn to look surprised.
'Don't you know?' 'I haven't the least idea.' She said: 'I'm Moira Nicholson. My husband is Dr Nicholson.' • 'Then you're not a patient there?' 'A patient? Oh, no!' Her face darkened suddenly. 'I suppose you think I speak like one.' 'No, no, I didn't mean that at all.' He was at pains to reassure her. 'Honestly, I didn't mean it that way. I was only surprised at finding you married - and - all that. Now, go on with what you're telling me - about your husband wanting to murder you.' 'It sounds mad, I know. But it isn't - it isn't! I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. And queer things have happened accidents.'
'Accidents?' said Bobby sharply.
'Yes. Oh! I know it sounds hysterical and as though I was making it all up ' 'Not a bit,' said Bobby. 'It sounds perfectly reasonable. Go on. About these accidents.' 'They were just accidents. He backed the car not seeing I was there - I just jumped aside in time - and some stuff that was in the wrong bottle - oh, stupid things - and things that people would think quite all right, but they weren't - they were meant. I know it. And it's wearing me out - watching for them - being on my guard - trying to save my life.' She swallowed convulsively.
'Why does your husband want to do away with you?' asked Bobby.
Perhaps he hardly expected a definite answer - but the answer came promptly: 'Because he wants to marry Sylvia Bassingtonffrench.' 'What? But she's married already.' 'I know. But he's arranging for that.' 'How do you mean?' 'I don't know exactly. But I know that he's trying to get Mr Bassington-ffrench brought to the Grange as a patient.' And then?' 'I don't know, but I think something would happen.' She shuddered.
'He's got some hold over Mr Bassington-ffrench. I don't know what it is.' 'Bassington-ffrench takes morphia,' said Bobby.
'Is that it? Jasper gives it to him, I suppose.' 'It comes by post.' 'Perhaps Jasper doesn't do it directly - he's very cunning, Mr Bassington-ffrench mayn't know it comes from Jasper but I'm sure it does. And then Jasper would have him at the Grange and pretend to cure him - and once he was there ' She paused and shivered.
'All sorts of things happen at the Grange,' she said. 'Queer things. People come there to get better - and they don't get better - they get worse.' As she spoke, Bobby was aware of a glimpse into a strange, evil atmosphere. He felt something of the terror that had enveloped Moira Nicholson's life so long.
He said abruptly: 'You say your husband wants to marry Mrs Bassingtonffrench?'
Moira nodded.
'He's crazy about her.' 'And she?' «»'I don't know,' said Moira slowly. 'I can't make up my mind.
On the surface she seems fond of her husband and little boy and content and peaceful. She seems a very simple woman. But sometimes I fancy that she isn't so simple as she seems. I've even wondered sometimes whether she is an entirely different woman from what we all think she is... whether, perhaps, she isn't playing a part and playing it very well... But, really, I think, that's nonsense - foolish imagination on my part.
When you've lived at a place like the Grange your mind gets distorted and you do begin imagining things.' 'What about the brother Roger?' asked Bobby.
'I don't know much about him. He's nice, I think, but he's the sort of person who would be very easily deceived. He's quite taken in by Jasper, I know. Jasper is working on him to persuade Mr Bassington-ffrench to come to the Grange. I believe he thinks it's all his own idea.' She leaned forward suddenly and caught Bobby's sleeve. 'Don't let him come to the Grange,' she implored. 'If he does, something awful will happen. I know it will.' Bobby was silent a minute or two, turning over the amazing story in his mind.
'How long have you been married to Nicholson?' he said at last.
'Just over a year -' She shivered.
'Haven't you ever thought of leaving him?' 'How could I? I've nowhere to go. I've no money. If anyone took me in, what sort of story could I tell? A fantastic tale that my husband wanted to murder me? Who would believe me?' 'Well, I believe you,' said Bobby.
He paused a moment, as though making up his mind to a certain course of action. Then he went on: 'Look here,' he said bluntly. 'I'm going to ask you a question straight out. Did you know a man called Alan Carstairs?' He saw the colour come up in her cheeks.
'Why do you ask me that?' 'Because it's rather important that I should know. My idea is that you ^d know Alan Carstairs, that perhaps at some time or other you gave him your photograph.' She was silent a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she lifted her head and looked him in the face.
'That's quite true,' she said.
'You knew him before you were married?' 'Yes.' 'Has he been down here to see you since you were married?' She hesitated, then said: 'Yes, once.' 'About a month ago would that be?' 'Yes. I suppose it would be about a month.' 'He knew you were living down here?' 'I don't know how he knew - I hadn't told him. I had never even written to him since my marriage.' 'But he found out and came here to see you. Did your husband know that?' 'No.' 'You think not. But he might have known all the same?' 'I suppose he might, but he never said anything.' 'Did you discuss your husband at all with Carstairs? Did you tell him of your fears as to your safety?' She shook her head.
'I hadn't begun to suspect then.' 'But you were unhappy?' Yes.' 'And you told him so?' 'No. I tried not to show in any way that my marriage hadn't been a success.' 'But he might have guessed it all the same,' said Bobby gently.
'I suppose he might,' she admitted in a low voice.
'Do you think - I don't know how to put it - but do you think that he knew anything about your husband - that he suspected, for instance, that this nursing home place mightn't be quite what it seemed to be?' Her brows furrowed as she tried to think.
'It's possible,' she said at last. 'He asked one or two rather peculiar questions - but - no. I don't think he can really have known anything about it.' Bobby was silent again for a few minutes. Then he said: 'Would you call your husband a jealous man?' Rather to his surprise, she answered: 'Yes. Very jealous.' 'Jealous, for instance, of you.' 'You mean even though he doesn't care? But, yes, he would be jealous, just the same. I'm his property, you see. He's a queer man - a very queer man.' She shivered.
Then she asked suddenly: 'You're not connected with the police in any way, are you?' 'I? Oh, no!' 'I wondered, I mean ' Bobby looked down at his chauffeur's livery.
'It's rather a long story,' he said.
'You are Lady Frances Derwent's chauffeur, aren't you? So the landlord here said. I met her at dinner the other night.' 'I know.' He paused. 'We've got to get hold of her,' he said.
'And it's a bit difficult for me to do. Do you think you could ring up and ask to speak to her and then get her to come and meet you somewhere outdoors?' 'I suppose I could -' said Moira slowly.
'I know it must seem frightfully odd to you. But it won't when I've explained. We must get hold of Frankie as soon as possible. It's essential.' Moira rose.
'Very well,' she said.
With her hand on the door-handle she hesitated.
'Alan,' she said, 'Alan Carstairs. Did you say you'd seen him?' 'I have seen him,' said Bobby slowly. 'But not lately.' And he thought, with a shock: 'Of course - she doesn't know he's dead...' He said: 'Ring up Lady Frances. Then I'll tell you everything.'
CHAPTER 19 A Council of Three
Moira returned a few minutes later.
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'I got her,' she said. 'I've asked her to come and meet me at a little summer-house down near the river. She must have thought it very odd, but she said she'd come.' 'Good,' said Bobby. 'Now, just where is this place exactly?' Moira described it carefully, and the way to get to it.
'That's all right,' said Bobby. 'You go first. I'll follow on.' They adhered to this programme, Bobby lingering to have a word with Mr Askew.
'Odd thing,' he said casually, 'that lady, Mrs Nicholson, I used to work for an uncle of hers. Canadian gentleman.' Moira's visit to him might, he felt, give rise to gossip, and the last thing he wanted was for gossip of that kind to get about and possibly find its way to Dr Nicholson's ears.
Agatha Christie - Why Didn't They Ask Evans Page 11