The Beast Must Die

by Nicholas Blake

  Felix turned to Georgia. ‘This must be all very cryptic to you. The reference is to an occasion when I tried to push George over the edge of a quarry, but at the last moment he failed to come up to scratch. Pity, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble.’

  His levity jarred on Georgia. But poor chap, she thought, his nerves are raw, he can’t help it. She remembered too vividly how she herself had once stood in the same predicament, and Nigel had got her out of it. Nigel would save Felix, too, if anyone could. She glanced at her husband; he was staring down his nose in the rather boiled manner that meant his brain was working at extra pressure. Darling Nigel, she said to herself, darling, darling Nigel.

  ‘Do you know anything about old Mrs Rattery’s husband?’ Nigel asked Felix.

  ‘No. Except he was a soldier. Killed in the South African War. A merciful release from Ethel Rattery, I should say.’

  ‘Quite. I wonder where I could find out about him. I haven’t got any acquaintance in retired military circles. I say, what about that friend of yours? – you mentioned him early in your diary – Chippenham, Shrivellem, Shrivenham – that’s it, General Shrivenham.’

  ‘That’s like, “Oh, you come from Australia? Have you met a friend of mine called Brown over there?”’ jeered Felix. ‘I shouldn’t think for a moment that Shrivenham would know anything about Cyril Rattery.’

  ‘Still it might be worth trying.’

  ‘But why? I don’t see what’s the point?’

  ‘I’ve a queer feeling that it’d be worth going into the history of the Rattery family. I’d like to know why old Mrs R. got all seized up when I asked her a harmless question about her husband this afternoon.’

  ‘The nose you have for skeletons in family cupboards is really too indecent,’ said Georgia. ‘I might have married a blackmailer.’

  ‘Look here,’ said Felix thoughtfully, ‘if you want to get information, I know a chap in the War Office who’d look up the records for you.’

  Nigel’s reply to this kindly offer was ungrateful, to say the least. In the friendliest, but most serious tones possible he said,

  ‘Why don’t you want me to meet General Shrivenham, Felix?’

  ‘I – you’re being absolutely ridiculous. I haven’t the least objection to your meeting him. I was merely suggesting a more practical way of getting the information you want.’

  ‘All right. Sorry. No umbrage taken, I hope, where none meant.’

  There was an awkward pause. Nigel was quite obviously unconvinced, and knew that Felix knew it. After a moment Felix smiled.

  ‘I’m afraid that wasn’t quite true. The fact of the matter is, I’m rather fond of the old boy. I suppose I was unconsciously fighting against the idea of his finding out the sort of person I really am.’ Felix laughed bitterly. ‘A murderer who can’t even pull it off.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid it will become public sooner or later,’ said Nigel reasonably. ‘But, if you don’t want Shrivenham to know about it yet, I can easily ask him about Cyril Rattery without dragging you into it. If you’ll just give me an introduction to him.’

  ‘All right. When were you thinking of going over there?’

  ‘Tomorrow some time, I expect.’

  There was another long silence – the uneasy silence that weights the air when a thunderstorm has threatened and passed over without breaking, but is already on its way back again. Georgia could see Felix trembling all over. At last, flushing painfully, his voice burst out unnaturally loud as though he were a lover who had at last screwed up his courage to declare his love.

  He said, ‘Blount. Is he going to arrest me? I can’t stand this suspense much longer.’ His fingers curled and uncurled, hanging down on either side of his chair. ‘I’ll start confessing soon, just to get it over.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ said Nigel ruminatively. ‘You confess and, as you didn’t do it, Blount’ll be able to pull your confession to pieces, and thus convince himself you’re not the murderer.’

  ‘Nigel, for God’s sake don’t be so cold-blooded!’ exclaimed Georgia sharply.

  ‘It’s just a game to him. Like spillikins.’ Felix grinned. He seemed to have recovered his composure. Nigel felt rather ashamed; he must cure himself of this habit of thinking out loud.

  He said, ‘I don’t think Blount has any idea of arrest yet. He’s very painstaking and likes to be sure of his ground. You’ve got to remember, a policeman’s not allowed to forget it if he arrests the wrong man – it doesn’t do him any good at all, at all.’

  ‘Well, I hope when he does make up his mind, you’ll send up a Very light or something, and then I can shave off my beard and put on a limp and slip through the police cordon and take a boat for South America – that’s where escaping criminals all go in detective novels.’

  Georgia felt tears pricking her eyes. There was something intolerably pathetic in the way Felix tried to joke about his predicament. Yet it was embarrassing too. He had courage, but not the kind of gallantry needed to carry off a joke like that. It was too near the bone, and he showed that he felt it. He was obviously in dreadful need of reassurance; why didn’t Nigel give it to him? It wouldn’t cost very much. An association of thought made Georgia say, ‘Felix, why don’t you ask Lena to come up this evening. I was talking to her – today. She believes in you, you know. She loves you, and she’s simply wearing herself away wanting to help you.’

  ‘I can’t have anything to do with her while I’m under suspicion of murder. It’s not fair to her,’ said Felix, obstinately and a little aloofly.

  ‘But surely it’s her job to decide what’s fair on her. She wouldn’t care a hoot even if you had killed Rattery, she just wants to be with you, and – honestly – you’re hurting her horribly. She doesn’t want your chivalry, she wants you.’

  While she was speaking, Felix’s head twisted from side to side, as though his body was bound fast to the chair and her words were stones flung in his face. But he would not admit how they hurt him. He withdrew into himself, saying stiffly, ‘I’m afraid I can’t talk about that.’

  Georgia shot an imploring glance at Nigel. But just then there was the sound of feet on the gravel drive, and all three looked up, secretly relieved by the interruption. Inspector Blount, with Phil at his side, was walking up the drive.

  Georgia thought, Thank goodness here’s Phil; he’s the David to charm the surly mood of our Saul here.

  Nigel thought, Why has Blount brought Phil? Violet Rattery was going to. Does this mean that Blount has found out something about Violet?

  Felix thought, Phil – what’s the policeman doing with him? God! he can’t have arrested Phil? Of course he hasn’t, don’t be absurd, he wouldn’t be bringing him here if he had. But the mere sight of those two together – I shall go mad if this lasts much longer.

  14

  ‘I HAD A very interesting talk with Mrs Rattery,’ said Blount when he and Nigel were alone.

  ‘Violet? What did she say?’

  ‘Well, I asked her first about this quarrel she had with her husband. She was quite open about it – at least, that was the impression I got. They quarrelled, apparently, on the subject of Mrs Carfax.’

  Blount paused for dramatic emphasis. Nigel examined attentively the end of his cigarette.

  ‘Mrs Rattery asked her husband to give up his liaison – or whatever it was – with Rhoda Carfax. According to her account of it, she stressed not her own personal feelings, but the harm it was doing to Phil, who – it seems – knew what was going on, though no doubt he couldn’t understand it all. Rattery then asked her point-blank if she wanted a divorce. Now Violet Rattery, so she says, had just been reading a book, a novel about two children whose parents were divorced – she’s a woman, I’d say, who took fiction very seriously; there are people like that, aren’t there? Anyway, the children – these two children in the book I’m referring to – suffered a great deal of mental torture as a result of their parents’ divorce; one of them was a wee boy, who reminded her
of Phil. So she told her husband that on no account would she consent to a divorce.’

  Blount took a deep breath. Nigel waited patiently. He was only too well aware that Blount, being a Scotsman, would leave nothing to the imagination in his narrative.

  ‘This attitude of Mrs Rattery’s made her husband become exceedingly violent. Particularly about Phil. He resented, no doubt, the way the boy’s affections were all given to Violet. But I think he resented even more the fact that Phil was so different from himself – of finer clay, if I may put it that way. He wanted to hit at Violet, and he knew he could hit at her best through Phil. So he suddenly said he’d decided not to send Phil to a public school, but to put him into the garage as soon as his legal period of education had expired. Whether Rattery meant this seriously, I don’t know but his wife took it seriously, and that was where the real quarrel began. At one point she said she’d see him dead before she let him spoil Phil’s chances in life – and this, no doubt, is what old Mrs Rattery overheard. At any rate, there was a fearful dust-up and in the end Rattery lost his temper altogether and began to beat his wife. Phil heard her crying out, and rushed into the room and tried to stop his father. There were terrible ructions. Uh-huh,’ Blount concluded unemotionally.

  ‘So Violet is still in the running?’

  ‘Well, no, I’d say not. You see, it’s like this. After that scene, she appealed to old Mrs Rattery to persuade George not to go through with this scheme of putting the wee boy into the garage. The old lady is a bit of a snob, as I daresay you’ve noticed, so for once she was of the same mind as Violet. I asked her about it, and she says she got George to promise to let Phil continue with his education. So that motive for Violet’s killing her husband no longer holds good.’

  ‘And it wasn’t likely to have been jealousy of Mrs Carfax for, if so, she’d have poisoned her, surely, and not George?’

  ‘That is reasonable, though of course it’s only theory.’ Blount continued on his ponderous progress. ‘In the course of my interview with Violet Rattery another piece of information came to hand. I was asking her about Saturday afternoon. Apparently, after his talk with old Mrs Rattery, Carfax had a few words with Violet, and she saw him off the premises. So he had no opportunity of poisoning Rattery’s tonic just then.’

  ‘But why did he tell us an unnecessary lie, in that case, about his having gone straight out of the house?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t exactly. You remember, he said, “If you mean, did I make a detour on the way, for the purpose of putting strychnine into Rattery’s medicine, the answer is in the negative.”’

  ‘But that’s a quibble.’

  ‘Oh yes, I agree. But I think it more than likely he quibbled because he didn’t want his little conversation with Violet Rattery to be brought up.’

  Nigel pricked up his ears. Now they were getting somewhere.

  ‘And what was this conversation about?’ he asked.

  Blount paused impressively before replying. Then, his face grave as a judge’s, he said, ‘Infant Welfare.’

  ‘You mean, Phil’s welfare?’ said Nigel, puzzled.

  ‘No, I mean Infant Welfare. Just that.’ Blount’s eyes twinkled. He did not get many openings to pull Nigel’s leg, and when he did get one, he liked to make the most elaborate possible use of it. ‘According to Violet Rattery – and I see no reason to disbelieve her – there are plans for starting an Infant Welfare centre here. The local authorities are giving a grant towards it, and the rest of the money will be raised through private subscriptions. Mrs Rattery is on the committee formed for the purpose of getting these subscriptions, and Mr Carfax came in to tell her that he wished to give a considerable sum, anonymously. He’s the kind of man whose left hand is not allowed to know what his right hand is doing. That’s why he kept dark about his little conversation with Violet Rattery.’

  ‘Dear me. “The sweet converse of an innocent mind.” So Carfax is out. Or could he have slipped into the dining room on his way to old Mrs Rattery?’

  ‘That possibility has been eliminated too. I had a word with the wee boy on the way up here. As it happens, he was in the dining room when Mr Carfax entered the house. The door was open, and he saw Carfax go through the hall and straight upstairs.’

  ‘So it boils down to old Mrs Rattery, then,’ said Nigel.

  They were pacing up and down the waterfront of the hotel garden. On their left, a dozen or so yards in front, was a small shrubbery of laurels. Nigel idly noticed a slight stir of the bushes, unusual on so windless an evening; a dog in there, probably, he thought. Had he gone to investigate that movement, it is just possible that the course of several people’s lives might have been profoundly altered. But he did not.

  Blount was saying, his voice raised a little argumentatively, ‘You’re stubborn, Mr Strangeways. But you’ll not convince me that all the evidence so far doesn’t point at Felix Cairnes. There’s a case to be made out against old Mrs Rattery, I’ll admit, but it’s too theoretical, far too fanciful.’

  ‘You’re going to arrest Felix, then?’ said Nigel. They had turned and were walking past the shrubbery again.

  ‘I see no other alternative. He had the opportunity; he had a far stronger motive than Ethel Rattery; he has practically convicted himself out of his own mouth. Of course, there’s still a certain amount of routine work to be done – I’ve not lost hope that someone may have seen him taking some of the vermin-killer from the garage, or we may yet find microscopic traces of it in his room at the Ratterys’, though admittedly we’ve not been able to so far. The fragments of the bottle may yield fingerprints – though, again, that’s unlikely after its exposure in the gutter, and besides a detective writer would be the last person to leave fingerprints. So I shall not be arresting Cairnes at once, but he will be watched, and – as you know very well – it’s after the murder, not before, that a criminal often makes his worst mistake.’

  ‘Well, that’s that, I suppose. But tomorrow I’m going to see a chap called General Shrivenham. And I shouldn’t be at all surprised if I didn’t return bringing my sheaves with me. You had better start reconciling yourself to the idea of being foiled again, Chief Inspector Blount. You know, I’m convinced that the solution of this problem can be found in Felix Cairnes’ diary, if we only knew where and how to look for it. I believe it’s been staring us in the face all the time. That’s why I want to find out more about the Rattery family history; I’ve a notion it’ll throw a spotlight on to something in the diary that we hadn’t noticed before.’

  15

  THE SAME NIGHT, Georgia had gone to bed. She knew better than to fuss Nigel when he was in one of his intense, abstracted moods and stared through her as though she was a bit of glass. But I wish to God, she thought, he’d not come down here at all, he’s tired out, and he’ll be in for a nervous breakdown if he’s not careful.

  Nigel was sitting at a desk in the hotel writing room. It was one of his more remarkable eccentricities that his brain functioned quite efficiently in the writing rooms of hotels. There were several sheets of notepaper in front of him. He began slowly to write …

  Lena Lawson

  Opportunity to obtain poison?

  Yes.

  Opportunity to poison tonic?

  Yes.

  Motive for murder?

  (a) Affection for Violet and Phil: to remove George Rattery who was ruining their lives. Inadequate. (b) Personal hatred of G. R. Result of previous liaison with him and/or shock of manslaughter of Martin Cairnes. No, ridiculous. Lena was quite happy with Felix. (c) Money. But G. R. left his money to his wife and his mother in equal shares, and he hadn’t much to leave anyway. L. L. is definitely out.

  Violet Rattery

  Opportunity to obtain poison?

  Yes.

  Opportunity to poison tonic?

  Yes.

  Motive for murder?

  Fed up with George (a) because of Rhoda, (b) because of Phil. But the Phil business had been smoothed over, and V. had put up with G.
for fifteen years, so why should she suddenly break out like this? If jealousy of Rhoda was motive, she’d have poisoned her, not G. V. R. is out.

  James Harrison Carfax

  Opportunity to obtain poison?

  Yes. (Far more opportunity than any of the others.)

  Opportunity to poison tonic?

  Apparently none. Went straight up to Ethel Rattery’s room on Saturday, evidence of Phil. Came down from there to talk to Violet, who saw him off the premises, evidence of Violet. Has sound alibi from then onwards, viz. Colesby’s investigations.

  Motive for murder?

  Jealousy. But, as he pointed out to us, if he had wanted to stop affair between G. and Rhoda, he could have done so by threatening to end partnership with G., over whom he had the whip hand financially. C. seems to be eliminated.

  Ethel Rattery

  Opportunity to obtain poison?

  Yes. (Though she was very much less often in the garage than the others.)

  Opportunity to poison tonic?

  Yes.

  Motive for murder?

  Insane family pride. Anything to end scandal of George–Rhoda affair, and particularly to prevent scandal of divorce. She begs Carfax to put his foot down, but C. tells her he is determined to divorce Rhoda if Rhoda wishes it. Her behaviour towards Violet and Phil shows that she can be completely ruthless, the autocrat for whom might is right.

  Nigel looked over each sheet of paper carefully, then tore them up into very small pieces. An idea had struck him. He took another sheet and began to write …

  Have we possibly missed a tie-up between Violet and Carfax? It’s interesting that, to a certain degree, they give each other alibis – both factual and psychological. Carfax could, most easily of all four, have abstracted the vermin-killer; Violet could have put it in the tonic. It’s not inconceivable that each of them, disillusioned by the behaviour of his own mate, may have turned to the other. But why not simply go off together? Why anything so drastic as poisoning George?