by Anne Morice
‘But the snag about all this, Tessa, as I’ve said before, is that she simply couldn’t have got away with it.’
‘My darling, she did get away with it. I don’t suggest that she tried to sell any of the paintings. She’d soon have got her comeuppance, if she had. But they were good enough and near enough to his style to fool the casual observer, even a knowledgeable one. The point is that money wasn’t her object.’
‘Just prestige?’
‘In a crackpot kind of way, yes; people deferring to her, asking her advice and so on. Even people like the Harper Barringtons, who would have despised her in the ordinary way, worshipped at the Mott shrine; and galleries and things made a great fuss of her. Naturally, whenever she did consent to lend them anything she made jolly certain it was the genuine article.’
‘Since she was so crafty about it, how did you manage to find her out?’
‘There were three pointers. One came from Christabel, herself, another from Sir Maddox and the last from Toby.’
‘Toby? What docs he know about it?’
‘Pretty well everything I’ve just told you, I imagine. I’ll come to him in a moment. Maddox was the first one to see through the sham, and that was at the bottom of his snide remarks to her at the party; not teasing her about Russia, as we thought, but about her fake paintings, two or three of which were already in his possession. I don’t know how he caught on, but that may not have been the first of his midnight swoops. Only, on the last occasion, he gave himself away by leaving his lighter behind.’
‘His lighter? How do you know? Is that what you went to the barn to look for?’
‘Oh no, Christabel had already found it. It had no significance for me at the time, but when you were out in the barn that morning she told me that you wouldn’t find any cigarette ends, because she knew for a fact that the burglar was a non-smoker.’
‘Rather a curious fact to base your premise on, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘I don’t at all, because the answer only came to me in an upside down kind of way. You see, when I had my little brush with Maddox, he told me that he never smoked, but he offered me a cigarette from a gold case which he always carried. It was part of the old-world gallantry act that he liked to put on. He also told me that he normally carried a lighter, as well. Now who but a non-smoker could lose his lighter and have no clear idea of where or when? It was what first gave me the idea that he had used it to light his way through the barn, put it down somewhere and, not being in the habit of retrieving it automatically, had walked off without it. Christabel found it and put two and two together.’
‘And promptly took counter measures, by breaking into the Court to steal back her own property?’
‘That’s my theory, yes. Not many people would have had the presence of mind to do such a thing within a few hours of his being murdered; but she was a bit fanatical on that subject. And really, you know, Robin, it was the best possible moment, with the master of the house safely dead and half the local constabulary gathered round the corpse. The snag was . . .’
‘That she could have set it up for herself in just that way? Killed him at the party and later removed the evidence of a motive. It’s not a bad idea.’
‘There! I knew you’d take that attitude.’
‘I haven’t taken any attitude, I promise you; but if all you’ve told me is true it certainly bears further investigation. On the other hand, we’d look a bit silly if it turned out that every single picture in the barn was a bona fide Mott.’
‘You’ll have trouble establishing that, one way or the other. Most of what’s left is in a frightful state. However, you could get an expert to examine the one you’ll find among Christabel’s belongings at the hospital. I only had time to snatch one, unfortunately.’
‘Oh, I see! So that’s what you were after?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Christabel caught you in the act and realised what you were up to?’
‘Yes, it was bad luck, but I suppose she’d nipped out to make sure that the fire had made a thorough job of it, before the insurance people got too nosey.’
‘And, afterwards, she deliberately hung onto your bag, containing the evidence you’d collected?’
‘You’ll go far, Robin.’
‘Not without your assistance, it seems. For instance, who set fire to the barn, and why? Or haven’t you wrapped that up yet?’
‘You wrapped it up, yourself. You said that Christabel did it, and you were right; only it wasn’t accidental.’
‘Not a very logical action, in view of all the trouble she’d been to.’
‘No, but it may have made her see how vulnerable she was. If Maddox saw through the trick, why shouldn’t someone else? On the other hand, she obviously didn’t intend to explode the myth; so, having retrieved the pictures from Haverford Court, she sent the whole shooting-match up in flames. She wasn’t a very efficient pyromaniac, though, and the fire must have spread much more quickly than she had anticipated. Obviously, she meant to rescue all the genuine Motts and leave the rest to burn. Unfortunately for her, she left it a little too late and got badly burnt herself.’
‘Well, all her belongings at the hospital will be with the police by now, so we may be able to prove something from the one you pinched. I’ll talk to Cole about it, as soon as we get to The Towers. One other thing, though.’
‘Yes?’
‘You mentioned Toby.’
‘Oh yes, he’s fiendish, isn’t he, the way he catches on, without even trying? He came into the library one morning, when I was fooling around with some Mott reproductions. He’s a much better draughtsman than I am, and he knocked off something which looked passably authentic in about two minutes. It showed me conclusively how easy it would be for a trained artist to make a first-rate job of it. I fancy he got the same idea, too, and that was one reason why he was in such a tearing hurry to be off.’
‘Before he became involved, I suppose?’
‘Specially as he’d given you such a graphic word-picture of Christabel as the murderer. That was a big joke, of course, when he was wound up and over-excited. I imagine it became a lot less funny when he found he’d uncovered a genuine motive. He was fond of Christabel, after all. He wouldn’t have wanted to get her into any trouble and he was probably terrified of coming out with something to put you on the right track.’
‘Curious standard of ethics obtaining in your family. I’ve noticed it before. I wonder if Aunt Moo is similarly affected?’
‘It begins to look as though they obtain more with her than anywhere else,’ I admitted sadly.
Fifteen
Toby came back for Christabel’s funeral, which was noble of him, though I doubt if he would have done so had he known more than the bare facts which I relayed on the telephone. Between that and his arrival the following day, Robin told me that an autopsy had been inevitable, since Christabel’s own doctor had not been in attendance. It proved to be a sensible precaution, because the results showed that she had died from a small dose of potassium cyanide.
‘So I am afraid your analysis was all too true, Tessa, and now I expect you’re kicking yourself for having told me. Try not to think of it in that way, though. She’s out of it now, and it’s better that the truth should be faced than have innocent people under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of their lives.’
‘Innocent, my foot!’ I said, endeavouring to control myself. ‘I’m damn sure that one of them isn’t. Am I to take it that you’re treating this as suicide, brought on by remorse?’
‘I’m afraid you are.’
‘The remorse part being for the murder of old Brand?’
‘Among other things. There’ll be an inquest, but I’d say the verdict is a foregone conclusion. The game was up and she knew it.’
‘That doesn’t sound a bit like Christabel. She was a fighter to the last ditch.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t only guilty conscience. There was also the fact that she’d been pretty badly injure
d. It was by no means certain that she’d have been able to paint again, or even look after herself properly.’
‘She never looked after herself properly,’ I retorted. ‘And, as for losing the use of her right arm, that doesn’t signify either. It may have escaped your notice, but she happens to have been left-handed.’
Robin looked distinctly shaken by this, and I rammed home the argument: ‘I’ll tell you another thing; if she had been planning suicide, why send out that urgent call for me? There wouldn’t be much point, if she intended to be dead by the time I got there.’
‘I think that can be explained. She was heavily sedated most of the time; probably forgot what she’d said two minutes afterwards. In that semi-hallucinatory state, she may easily have imagined that she’d confessed everything to you and the job was finished. Besides, Tessa, look at it this way: what else could it be? Nobody swallows cyanide by mistake. We went all through that with Brand. The third alternative is even more fantastic. You can’t seriously imagine a totally unauthorised person strolling into her room and handing her a dose of cyanide, which she obligingly drank?’
‘If she was as doped as you say, I don’t see why not. And it wouldn’t have to be a totally unauthorised person,’ I added, struck by another memory. ‘Incidentally, Robin, I take it there wasn’t a nurse in the room at the time?’
‘Well, no,’ he admitted uncomfortably. ‘Of course, there wasn’t. It was unlucky that she should have been left alone, I agree, but that hospital is wickedly understaffed, just like all the rest of them; and you could argue that there was really no need for a continuous watch. She’d been sleeping peacefully only fifteen minutes before.’
‘There’d been a fairly continuous watch the day before, as I happen to know.’
‘But that was mainly to prevent her doing another walk-out. The circumstances had altered. She was recovering remarkably well from her heart attack, but there wasn’t the faintest chance of her even being able to get out of bed without assistance.’
‘So the poison, wherever it was hidden, must have been within reach?’
‘Must have been.’
‘Have they found out where she might have kept it?’
‘The room was searched, naturally, but no more of the stuff came to light. That doesn’t prove anything.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘I do understand your feelings, honestly, Tessa. She was a friend of yours and it’s not a pleasant thing to learn about anyone; but I don’t think you should allow prejudice to blind you to the facts. It’s not like you.’
‘It’s just that I can’t stand the jaunty way you blame her for everything. I don’t mind about her taking her own life, if she felt it was best. She was old and alone and there was no one on earth who would have been harmed by her death; but, whether she did or not, it doesn’t automatically follow that she was a murderess as well. I’m surprised that you can’t see that and I think it’s you who are the blind one. You’re blindly toeing the line the real murderer has laid down for you, and thinking exactly as he intended you to.’
‘And who would he be?’
‘Oh, God knows. Anyone you like. I suppose Dolores is in the clear, because she’d bolted long before Christabel died, but she’s the only one. With Dolly broadcasting it around, everyone in the neighbourhood would have known that Christabel was asking for me, with urgent information to impart. What more likely than that the murderer assumed that she had some damning evidence against him, and wanted me to pass it on to you?’
‘Yes, that’s feasible, and it would be quite in the character of the average murderer, but the overwhelming objection remains. How could he have got into her room? This has been checked up hill and down dale and it’s an irrefutable fact that she wasn’t on her own for more than fifteen minutes. No visitors called during that period, except yourself. It was physically impossible, as I’ve said before, for any unauthorised person to have got within miles of her.’
‘Then I think it’s high time they checked on the authorised people, for a change. I’m sorry to be obstinate about this, Robin, but it’s all too pat and perfect. Furthermore, a lot more than this will be needed to persuade me that Christabel was capable of murder. I haven’t got many strong convictions, and I’m not going to be shaken out of the few I do have.’
Robin was looking thoughtful, and I began to hope that he was veering round to my point of view, but he said sombrely:
‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to shake you out of this one. I had hoped to convince you without it, because, God knows, I’ve no wish to spoil your memories of her; but there are strong indications that she was fully capable of murder. So much so that she was even prepared to have a go at you.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘We’ve had a closer look at those X-rays of yours. It was Cole’s idea. He doesn’t miss many tricks, and it struck him that there might be something not quite satisfactory about your injuries.’
‘How brilliant of him!’ I said. ‘Not quite satisfactory is exactly the phrase which covers it.’
‘In the sense that it might not have been an accident at all. When the radiologist showed us the photographs the first time, he was naturally only concerned to point out how the blows had missed this and that vital spot, so that your skull wasn’t fractured, and you wouldn’t be noticeably dottier than before. He wasn’t in the least curious, and neither were we at that stage, about what kind of implement had caused the damage.’
‘Implement?’
‘That’s right. As I say, it was Cole’s idea and it was a winner. There’s little doubt that what knocked you out in the first round was not falling bricks and masonry, but our old friend the blunt instrument. A bit of lead piping, or an iron bolt from one of the crates; something like that.’
‘I don’t believe it, Robin. Christabel would never do such a thing. Besides, she was unconscious when you found us. She couldn’t have faked that.’
‘No, but Cole’s theory is that either she, in lunging forward to strike you, or else you, in falling, set up some pretty formidable vibrations in that shaky structure. That’s what brought the bricks and rubble down, and they knocked her out, as well.’
‘And have you found this famous blunt instrument?’
‘Not to identify, no. As you can imagine, we weren’t too particular about inspecting each separate bit of debris, at the time. We were in quite a hurry to get you out and it got flung around in all directions. But we’ve since found a number of things in the vicinity which would have served the purpose. Unfortunately, Christabel’s hands were bandaged, so it would have been a waste of time to look for prints.’
‘The tiresome thing is,’ I said, ‘that I’m still so hazy about what happened between Christabel walking into the barn, looking like an Egyptian mummy, and waking up outside on the grass. Perhaps, if they gave me one of those fancy drugs, I might do a total recall.’
Robin shook his head: ‘I should drop that idea, if I were you. It might make things even worse for you. I’m sorry about this, truly, darling; but, you see, you’re the one who’s driven the last nail in her coffin, so to speak.’
‘I have? How? Did I say something when I was unconscious? You should know better than to take that seriously.’
‘Oh no, you were conscious all right; and you said it a minute ago. The thing is, we were a little bit troubled by the fact that Christabel’s right arm was too weak to swing anything heavier than a match stick. For some God knows what reason, Cole and I both assumed that a painter would be right-handed. Isn’t that weird? Anyway, you’ve now smoothed out that little snag for us.’
‘There must be some mistake,’ I muttered. ‘There simply has to be.’
I went on muttering it, at intervals, for the next two days. There had to be some mistake and, somehow or other, I had to find out what it was.
This would probably have been my mood, in any case, for it was a constant and disagreeable reminder that my own words had been used to wrap up
the case against Christabel. It presented me with the absolute duty not to give up until she was vindicated. The fact that the latest charge against her stemmed from Superintendent Cole merely clinched the matter.
Sixteen
‘One thing to do,’ I said, ‘is to try and recall every word and incident remotely connected with the murders.’
‘It sounds a fearful task and I don’t remember any of it being particularly scintillating even at the time.’
‘We are not here to amuse ourselves,’ I pointed out, ‘and it stands to reason that the guilty party must have given himself away, at one point, if only we could go back and find it.’
‘If you say so,’ Toby sighed.
Once more, I had enlisted him as my unwilling accomplice, and the unwillingness did not bother me particularly. The mere fact that, unlike Robin, he had reservations about Christabel’s guilt in the three little matters of murder, grievous bodily harm and suicide was all I needed. He had known her longer than any of us and his qualified opinion that she was not the violent type had given me real hope of proving that the police were barking up the wrong tree, but had been manoeuvred into the wrong part of the wood.
However, I was careful to inquire on what he based his judgement, lest it should turn out that the single circumstance in her favour was that everyone else believed her to be guilty.
‘I suppose it might have something to do with her being an artist,’ he had admitted. ‘I could be prejudiced, you know, but I have always found them to be more fundamentally balanced than most other people. For one thing, the world allows them a certain licence in non-conformity, which must be very healthy for the psyche, but there’s also this thing of being able to sink all their moods and passions in their work. I think this is specially true of painters and sculptors, who have to use all that physical, as well as mental, energy while they’re at it. Hark at me!’