“Not without she ’ad some sweets or somethink in ’er office, she didn’t. Tea she did not ’ave, that I do know. She was took bad before it went round.”
“But she ate her lunch all right?”
“No, she did not, never being a one for curried rabbit and complaining Monday it was worse than ever.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“Nothink that I could see, but she was always one to make a fuss. ‘I can’t eat this ’ere,’ she says, ‘worse than usual it is,’ she says. ‘What’s for sweet, Mrs. ’Arris?’ she says. ‘Jelly, Miss,’ I says. ‘Good lord,’ she says, ‘what are we comin’ to? Well, bring me mine, Mrs. ’Arris,’ she says, ‘and take this muck away.”
“And did you give her a jelly?”
“Yes, cook give me a jelly through the ’atch, and I takes and gives it to Miss Doon. ‘There you are, Miss,’ I says. ‘And cook says you can ’ave another ’elping if you want it, being as ’ow Miss Gregory’s out and won’t want ’ers.’”
“What happened to the rest of her meat?”
“Well, there wasn’t much left. After all ’er grumbling she seemed to ’ave got through most of it. Put it all in the dustbin, I did. D’you think it was orf?”
“Well, something did upset Miss Doon, didn’t it? I suppose the dustbins have been emptied long ago?”
“Yes, the sergeant arst me that first thing this morning. Emptied before I got ’ere they was. I wonder if there was somethink wrong with that rabbit? Come to think of it, I ’ad terrible pains in the night, meself?”
“What, last night? After the rabbit?”
“That’s right, chronic they were. I says to my ’usband, ‘George,’ I says, ‘my stomach’s terrible agen,’ I says.…”
“Oh, then you’ve had these pains before? They weren’t something new?”
“Bless you, no. I ’as them nearly every night. Wot I suffer nobody knows, not without it’s my husband. ‘George,’ I says to ’im …”
“But under the circumstances, you don’t think it need necessarily have been the rabbit?”
“Well, you never know, do you? Still, the other young ladies ’asn’t complained, not without it was Miss Rose from the workroom, but that was a needle what she she got in ’er finger from the sewing-machine.…”
“Thank you, thanks awfully, Mrs. Harris. You see it was all nothing to worry about, was it? And you’ve been very helpful.”
“Well, it was the brooch, atcherly, sir, that I ’ad at the back of me mind. Miss Doon she lorst ’er brooch, see? and Miss Gregory she would ’ave it that I’d got something to do with it, and they kept on going at me, and worriting that poor little Macaroni about it too, and ’er as innercent as the babe unborn, and that fond of Miss Doon she would do nothink to ’arm ’er, let alone steal ’er brooch. Then all the time it turns up in the lining of Miss Doon’s coat when she was being took. That Gregory I’d like to scrag ’er. You won’t take no notice of anythink she tells you, will you, sir?”
“Not as far as the brooch is concerned. Don’t you worry, Mrs. Harris, that’s all right with me; and the fish too.…”
Mrs. ’Arris thanked him with tears in her eyes and drifted out, still muttering.
If Mrs. ’Arris provided the savoury, Miss Gregory certainly started off as the sorbet. She greeted Charlesworth frigidly, and totally ignored the sergeant, who felt himself, most unreasonably, getting pink and uncomfortable. She was a tall, rather angular girl, growing a little heavy at the hips, and with a small oval lump, probably of thyroid origin, prominent in her slender throat. She was dressed with meticulous care and made up heavily but with an inexpert hand. Charlesworth turned his head uneasily from the stare of her cold, grey eyes, but started off briskly enough with his questionnaire.
“Miss Gregory, I understand that you didn’t go into the room where the young ladies were using this oxalic acid which is suspected of having killed Miss Doon?”
“No, I did not. I was standing behind Mr. Bevan, and I could see it lying on the floor. He picked some of it up in his hand and turned to show it to me, but he threw it down’ again and I sent the charwoman to brush it all up. It was perfectly disgraceful that the stuff should have been lying about the place. The salesgirls are very nice people and so on, but they are completely irresponsible. Mr. Bevan’s always saying so to me.”
“She means she’s always saying so to Mr. Bevan,” thought Charlesworth, disgusted. He asked the usual question as to her personal relations with the dead girl.
Gregory’s expression grew guarded. “At one time I was rather friendly with her; I found I didn’t like the sort of people she went about with and I stopped seeing her.”
“About this luncheon business—we think she may possibly have taken some poison by accident then. You didn’t help in the dishing out, I understand?”
“No, I did not. That’s the charwoman’s job and I consider that it’s quite unnecessary that the girls should do it for her. It only spoils these people and they begin to take advantage of it… she should dish out the food and put the plates in the hot-cupboards and let the girls help themselves as they come down. However——”
“Anyway, you didn’t assist.”
“No, I was upstairs in Mr. Bevan’s office. I came down after they were all at the table, to tell Miss Doon that her luncheon appointment with Mr. Bevan was off. He had been thinking of sending her to the new branch which he is opening in Deauville and he had arranged to take her out and discuss the matter and make arrangements and so on; but that morning he came round to see me and told me he had decided to send me instead, so of course he had to cancel his date with her—or rather, I’m afraid, he forgot all about it, and he asked me to come out for a little celebration.”
Charlesworth looked at her triumphant, gloating face and hated her. “This is the perfect poisoner,” he thought. “She’s cruel and treacherous and selfish as hell. I must check up on this female most carefully.” He changed the course of his questions a little. “Mrs. Best was in the running for the job, I believe?”
“Irene Best? Did she tell you so? Well, that really is rather pathetic. There was a slight chance for her, I suppose, if Mr. Bevan hadn’t been able to spare either Miss Doon or myself; and she had a certain amount of experience and had managed the showroom here—under Mr. Cecil—for quite a long time. But as I pointed out to Mr. Bevan, she was quite impossible for the post: I didn’t like doing it, of course, but it was my duty to show him that she really wouldn’t have done. Poor little thing, she has no personality, you see, and after all it is rather important in a position like that to have presence and a certain amount of charm, if you see what I mean, and after all, poor little Mrs. Best is even quite—well, you can see for yourself.…”
“What the devil is she gassing about?” thought Bedd, as Gregory’s voice grew lower and more confidential. “I believe she’s taken quite a fancy to our Charles. What a hope she’s got, with all these daisies flying about! Better do some rescue work ’ere, I think. “Well, now, Mr. Charlesworth, sir,” he announced, with much preliminary clearing of his throat, “there’s one more witness for us to see, Miss Doon’s seckerterry; and then we’ll be finished, sir.” “’Igh time too,” he added inwardly, glancing at his watch. “Does she think we’ve got all night to spend listening to ’er running down ’er girl friends?”
“Good work, stout Cortez,” said Charlesworth, as soon as they were alone. “I was getting quite frightened. She came so close that I thought she was going to eat my face. Ye gods, what’s this?” he added, as Macaroni came wailing up the stairs.
Kindness, sternness, terrorism, nothing could abate Macaroni’s sobs. Charlesworth was quite impressed by the magnitude of her grief. “To think that I should have carried the poison to her myself!” howled Macaroni, and would not be comforted. They gave it up at last and contented themselves with extracting their information through her tears.
“You took the packet from Mrs. Gay and put it in your pocket. What happened n
ext?”
“Mr. Bevan came in,” sobbed Macaroni, with a fresh outburst of weeping at the memory of this awful contretemps.
“And what did you do then?”
“I ran downstairs and I gave the powder to Miss Doon and she put it in the left-hand drawer of her desk, because she keeps that locked, you see, and then she locked the drawer and I don’t know anything more about it.”
The sergeant went down to fetch it. “Is this all there was?” asked Charlesworth, holding the packet out before her.
“Yes, that’s all.”
“Well, now, look carefully. We don’t want any mistakes. Is this the way the paper was screwed up?”
Macaroni gazed at it with tearful eyes. “Yes, just like that.”
“You don’t think it’s been touched since Miss Doon put it in her drawer?”
“I don’t think so,” said Macaroni, lugubriously.
Charlesworth opened the paper and displayed a small quantity of powdered crystals within. “Would you say that this was the exact amount you were given? Think very carefully before you answer.”
This second admonition was too much for Macaroni. She burst into tears again and all that could be heard was that it was too, too dreadful to think that she should have been the means of poisoning her dear Miss Doon.
“But, my child, you say that none of the poison has gone; so it can’t have been any of the lot that you took down to her.”
“There might be a few grains less.”
“A few grains less wouldn’t make the slightest difference as far as you’re concerned. A few grains wouldn’t kill a person. What you mean is, not that you think there are a few grains less, but that if there were, you couldn’t be sure of telling; isn’t that right?”
“Well, yes.”
“And you’re quite certain that there isn’t any substantial difference between the packet as you gave it to her and as it is now?”
“Well, no.”
“Then at least you needn’t feel any blame, need you? Now, could anyone have gone to the packet—could they, perhaps, have taken some out and filled it up again?”
“But how could they? I had the key all the time.”
“Well, that’s just what I’m asking you. Could they have? And you say, no. All right, then—does that mean that you’ve had the key of the drawer ever since?”
“Yes. When poor Miss Doon—when they took her away in the ambulance, she gave me all her keys and I—I thought I’d better keep them like I keep my own,” choked Macaroni, quite overcome by her memories. “She always used to take them home with her at night.”
“That was very wise of you,” said Charlesworth, kindly. “Now, do you think that there’s any possibility of there being another key?”
“Oh, no, because there were only two and I’ve got the duplicate. It’s quite a new desk. I used to take one lot home with me and Miss Doon used to take the others and then, you see, if she was late or didn’t come in or was—was ill, or anything—or if I was ill, then at least one of us would be able to open the desk.”
“This is very interesting, Bedd, isn’t it?” said Charlesworth, leaning back in his chair, and forgetting Macaroni’s presence entirely. “You see the child says that the poison was untouched; and if she took the keys home with her, Miss Doon’s as well as her own, I don’t see how anyone else can have got at it. That’s definitely the only supply of poison Doon can have got from upstairs; it does seem to cut out accident and suicide, doesn’t it? It begins to look as if your something fishy was something very fishy after all. Equally, if this is a case of murder it must have been unpremeditated, because nobody can possibly have known that the stuff was going to be brought into the place—there were too many people concerned in the suggestion that it should be bought; and in that case there won’t have been time to juggle about with extra keys and things to have got any out of the desk; you might check up on that, will you? and see that none have been lost or anything funny; but it looks to me as if we can leave out that one teaspoonful of poison altogether. They had about four times that amount, and I suppose they must have used at least one teaspoonful to clean the hat … that leaves two spoonsful unaccounted for, including what was spilt when they first brought it into the place, and what they spilt later on … oh, my poor little faggot,” he cried, coming out of his reverie at the sound of Macaroni’s accelerated weeping. “I’d entirely forgotten you. Now, don’t upset yourself all over again! Murder and suicide are very ugly words, we know, but we want to find out all we can and prove that it wasn’t either of them, but just a very sad accident. You trot back to your work, now, and try to forget all about it—and God grant that she does forget,” he added piously, as Macaroni went wailing down the stairs again. “What an ass I was to blurt it all out in front of her. Fortunately, I don’t think she’s too bright in the upper storey, Bedd, do you? I shouldn’t think she’ll have taken much of it in.”
4
They left the shop and went at once to Judy’s address. Charlesworth was surprised to find it, in sharp contrast to Doon’s lodgings, a tall, comfortable house in a fashionable square. A parlourmaid showed them into the drawing-room where, after a moment, Judy’s mother joined them, a pretty, pleasant little woman, a tiny bit flustered at this intrusion of the law but still able to meet it with grace and charm. She gave an impression of trying to hide some pleasurable excitement beneath an appearance of suitable regret at their unhappy mission. He introduced himself and asked if it were possible to see her daughter.
“Oh, yes, of course—well, that is, I don’t know. She’s supposed to be ill; oh dear, I don’t know—how can I explain … well, you see, the truth is, Inspector, that I didn’t want my daughter to go to the shop this morning so I rang up and told Miss Gregory that she was not well.”
“Isn’t she ill at all, then?”
“Oh, Inspector, you won’t say anything to Mr. Bevan, will you? Judy will be so cross with me if you do. The girls aren’t very busy there just now, it being August and so forth, and I really didn’t think it would matter for once if she didn’t go; I ought to explain to you perhaps, Inspector, that my daughter doesn’t really need to work; she likes to have a job and be what she imagines is independent, but it isn’t as if it mattered very much to her, and I’m afraid, when anything else crops up—well, I do feel that she can take a day off if she wants to.…”
“And what cropped up to-day, Mrs. Carol, if you’ll forgive my asking?”
She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, and then said, laughing, that what had cropped up was a young man. “He used to be a great friend of my daughter’s,” she explained, “and now he’s turned up again. She—she happened to ring him up last night, and as it was too late for him to call round then, he came along first thing this morning. He’s a very great friend, Inspector, and though Judy was quite prepared to go off to work after she’d had a few words with him, I really couldn’t bear that, and I took it upon myself to ring Miss Gregory. Judy was quite horrified at first, but she soon reconciled herself to the deception!” She laughed again.
“Is your daughter in? Can I see her now?”
“Yes, of course, if you won’t be cross with her about the not being well part of it. I’ll tell her to come in here to you.” She went off beaming.
Judy was Sergeant Bedd’s favourite all through the case. He liked her frank, round face with its halo of deep-gold hair, her downright speech and her general air of health and cheerfulness. “Gimme a bit of a figger, sir,” he would argue when Charlesworth raved about the ethereal charms of Victoria. “That Miss Judy’s the one I like, a nice, straightforward English girl, comes from the North I shouldn’t wonder… Yorkshire or something like that.”
Judy shook hands with them both in her pleasant way: “I’m sorry to have dragged you round here. I ought to have gone to the shop but Mummy rang up and told Gregory some tarradiddles about me, so I thought I might as well stay at home.”
“You were there yesterday?”
&
nbsp; “Oh, yes. Yes, I was.” She looked at them a little anxiously.
Once more Charlesworth outlined his mission. “You weren’t concerned in bringing this oxalic acid into the shop, were you?”
“Well, no, I wasn’t,” said Judy, almost as though she would have liked to own up that she had been. “I went and talked to the girls while they were cleaning a hat with it, but I didn’t actually have any of it.”
“I believe that at lunch-time you went downstairs and helped to serve out the vegetables on to the different plates; is that so?”
“Yes, Inspector, I did, though I don’t see what—well, anyway, I did do a few plates, because Rachel, Mrs. Gay, that is, was talking to Cissie, and we wanted to get on with our lunch.”
“Were you very friendly with Miss Doon?”
“Good lord, no, I loathed her,” said Judy, with a sort of cheerful abandon that was quite a relief after the guarded answers so many of the others had given. “I didn’t see anything of her outside the shop, of course, and I never had anything to do with her while I was there, if I could possibly help it.”
“Your staying away to-day had nothing to do with her death?”
“No, how could it?”
“It’s rather a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Well, it isn’t at all, actually. You see, last night, when Doon was so ill I thought—I thought a friend of hers ought to know, so I rang him up and told him about it in case he might want to go to the hospital or anything, especially as the doctor had made it pretty clear that Doon might be going to die. I thought this—this person that I rang up was still a great friend of Doon’s, but, as it turned out, he wasn’t any longer; well, then,” said Judy, getting deeper and deeper into the mire, “he said—well, I ought to explain to you that he used to be a friend of mine—and he said he would come round and see me, but as it was a bit late then, my mother said he had better come to-day; well, his idea of to-day was before breakfast this morning, so you see my mother rang up Christophe’s … oh dear,” cried Judy, breaking down completely and starting to laugh, “I suppose I’d better be done with it and tell you that this morning, at the unearthly hour of eight o’clock, I got engaged to him.”
Death in High Heels Page 5