Death of a Gay Dog

by Anne Morice

  ‘I do hark and I consider that you have made a valid point. It has always seemed to me that when Christabel discovered that Sir Mad had unearthed her secret, she did the most practical thing in the world, which was to steal back the evidence he had collected and destroy it. Going around killing people and clumping people on the head was simply asking for trouble and a complete waste of effort. Now, I maintain that the individual we are looking for has to be someone who is emotionally twisted up and therefore given to rash and ill-considered gestures.’

  ‘There must be plenty of those about.’

  ‘But, luckily, we only have to consider five. Two Robinsons and three Harper Barringtons.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘Yes. Robin struck Anabel off, but she is older than she looks, you know. I think her mother may have deliberately kept her back, probably from jealousy. In fact, she is nearly seventeen, and who knows how many fantasies and frustrations are seething behind those vapid features?’

  ‘I suppose we can assume that a few are, but that’s hardly the point, and neither is her age. There are three things to eliminate her, in my opinion. One is that we were all in a position to see that she didn’t go near her Uncle Mad, after they had supplied him with that fearful concoction which quite understandably killed him. The second is lack of motive. The third, and most damning, from your point of view, is that she would have run up against the little problem of acquiring enough cyanide to kill three adults.’

  ‘I’ll take your points in order. In the first place, we couldn’t absolutely swear that she didn’t slide out for a moment, while that ghastly film was running. She’d obviously sat through it, doing her stunt with the tape recorder, dozens of times, and would have known exactly when it was safe to leave it for a second or two. Strictly speaking, there were only two people who could say with certainty whether she did or not; one was Uncle Maddox and the other was Christabel, and I find that highly significant. Point number two: so far we haven’t found a motive for anyone, unless you count Christabel’s, which I don’t, so she’s in the same boat as everyone else, as far as that goes. As for getting hold of supplies of cyanide, I can only say quite simply that I’m working on it.’

  ‘And I can only say quite simply that you’ll have your work cut out.’

  ‘I know it,’ I sighed, ‘but the same applies to all my lovely suspects. Whichever line I follow only leads straight into a brick wall. I had hopes of Roger, at one time. At least he seemed to have some kind of a motive, the way old Maddox was fooling around with his daughter; but now Robin tells me she isn’t his daughter at all, and one could hardly hope for a stepfather to feel so sensitive, could one? The case against Nancy is even more of a washout. I know that she had the best opportunity of all, but what possible reason could there be? She was dotty about him; and the idea of her going to such lengths to protect Anabel, even supposing she knew what was going on, is simply not credible. She could have found a million ways to put a stop to it.’

  ‘Unless she was in love with the old monster herself, and snuffed him in a fit of jealous rage.’

  ‘It’s not a bad idea, Toby, and I’ve toyed with it myself, but on the whole I’m beginning to feel that the Robinsons are our best bet.’

  ‘Singly, or together?’

  ‘I haven’t decided yet, but there’s something fishy about that set up. I’ve felt it all along. And, if it does turn out that there’s a connection between the murder and Robin’s art thefts, that shop of theirs would make an awfully good sorting house for the gang.’

  ‘Which art thefts?’

  ‘I wasn’t supposed to mention that, but I don’t suppose the ban is in operation now. He originally came down here because things pointed to a gang of thieves having their headquarters in this neighbourhood. So far as I know, he hasn’t got to first base with that idea, but it would be fun if we could tie it up for him and throw in a murderer, as well.’

  ‘The theory being that the Robinsons are part of the gang?’

  ‘And killed Sir Maddox because he was on to them; later moving on to Christabel, who was a witness to the deed. That’s logical, isn’t it?’

  Toby shook his head: ‘Not very. Christabel swore that she hadn’t seen anyone do anything.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t take much account of that. She might have had her own reasons for protecting the murderer.’

  ‘I quite agree, but whatever those reasons were they would have been just as valid three days later. The dilemma is this: if one of the Robinsons killed the old man and then heard Christabel categorically deny that she knew anything about it, they either believed her or they didn’t. If they did, they had no cause to change their minds. If not, and they deemed it necessary to silence her permanently, then they’d have done so straight away. There were dozens of opportunities for the quick strike when she was alone in her cottage. Why wait till they’d got her under lock and key at the hospital?’

  ‘Not very efficient locks and key, as it turned out.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it involved extra risks and made it forty times more difficult. I don’t mean to depress you, because I’m on your side, really.’

  ‘I know that, and you don’t depress me all that much, because I’m getting resigned to running into dead ends. Also I can point to a flaw in this particular argument. As I see it, the reason why Christabel was a danger after she got to the hospital, and not before, was because the word had got around that she was asking to see me. Until then, the murderer had been quite cosy in his fool’s paradise, but he concluded that she’d had a change of heart and was going to spill the beans. Of course, you and I know that wasn’t her intention at all. It was purely a private matter between me and her that she wanted to thrash out, but the murderer wasn’t to know that. So we’re left with this, Toby: the real murderer must be someone whom Sir Maddox had a hold over and who believed that Christabel possessed damning evidence against him – or her, come to that. Also, someone good at disguises.’

  ‘Oh, really? False moustaches, dark glasses and so on?’

  ‘Not to mention white coats and so on.’

  ‘I see! A bit of a daredevil, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and we must be, too. I mean to go on prodding, until one of them gives himself away, cost what it may.’

  ‘You’ll have to prod fast, old girl. I don’t think Robin has much intention of staying on here, once the inquest is in the bag.’

  ‘Yes, only twenty-four hours. There’s a lot to be done in the time, but first things first is my motto.’

  ‘A good one. What are they?’

  ‘A call on Mr Evans, followed by a nice cup of tea and a chat with O’Malley at the Mitre Hotel. Care to join us?’

  Seventeen

  ‘Dolores has been found,’ Robin announced, a few hours later.

  ‘And with a tale to unfold, to judge by your expression. Where?’

  ‘Newhaven. Hadn’t got very far, had she? But she had to wait around for a passage. It’s not too easy to get them on demand, at this time of year, and she’s a bit gormless.’

  ‘Well, there must be more to it than that; otherwise, why would you be looking like Aunt Moo when the patience comes out without any cheating?’

  ‘Oh yes, the patience has come out, with no cheating at all. Though only because the silly girl tried to travel on a false passport. Quite unnecessary, I need hardly say. She had a perfect right to leave the country whenever she chose, and once we’d established that she had no hand in the murder there weren’t any real grounds to detain her. However, she’s a bit dim and she probably thought the Harper Barringtons would raise a stink and have her forcibly brought back.’

  ‘Which they did, presumably?’

  ‘Oh no, they didn’t. We had a watch out for her at ports and so on, as a matter of routine. After all, when someone disappears from a house where a murder has just been committed, it’s bound to arouse a certain curiosity, isn’t it?’

  ‘But since you’ve said that she wasn’t involved?’


  ‘Aha! But that’s not the whole story. People don’t furnish themselves with false passports every time they cross the Channel, unless they’re up to something. It was a lucky break for us, because it gave us all the excuse we needed to haul her in.’

  ‘So what is the story? Come on, now, Robin! Oh, you can’t, by any chance, mean . . . ?’

  ‘Oh, but I can, my love. Our first little link in the art-theft chain. Isn’t that spiffing?’

  ‘It certainly is, and congratulations! All the same, it’s hard to see what earthly use Dolores would have been to them. Apart from being dim, she could hardly speak a word of English.’

  ‘She didn’t need to. This is quite a cosmopolitan setup, by the sound of it. Besides, she was only a tiny cog in their machine; one of several who were planted in the neighbourhood to seek out potential quarries. Her job was simply to report on which families were going abroad, what arrangements had been made about caretakers and so on. Maria, in her innocence, was a great help there. She’s been around these parts for ages and is well in with all the local domestics, particularly Dolly, who is a mine of information, all on her own.’

  ‘But Maria is a goodie?’

  ‘Oh yes; Dolores was vehement about that. It appears that she was completely taken in by Dolores and was very kind to her. Dolores had spun some hard-luck tale about a deserting husband, and Maria got her the job here by pretending that they came from the same village in Spain. That’s a favourite way of planting these agents; by sheltering them under the credentials of some honest and soft-hearted compatriot. In fact, Dolores had been fired from her previous job for petty pilfering, which made her excellent fodder for the organisation.’

  ‘So who was her contact? She must have been in touch with someone?’

  ‘Just a telephone number. She had to call in between six and seven, once a week, whether there was anything to report or not. It was a set of numbers which she could dial, so she had no means of telling where it was situated.’

  ‘And that was all she could tell you?’

  ‘It will be enough. We’ll get them now, all right; or some of them, at any rate. And, if she does know any more, Cole will soon shake it out of her. She’d popped a couple of Nancy’s brooches in her reticule, just to make everything doubly easy for us, and she’s scared silly, poor wretch,’ Robin said, not sounding very sorry about it.

  ‘And did she skip on instructions, or was that her own idea?’

  ‘Her own entirely. She got the wind up when the police came swarming round, lost her head and bolted; for which I shall always be extremely grateful.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be grateful to Christabel, as well?’ I suggested.

  He looked amused: ‘I hadn’t thought of it, but I suppose you’re right. She flushed out my first little bird for me. Incidentally, I hope your remark implies that you’re becoming reconciled to her guilt, because I’m afraid there’s not much doubt about how the inquest will go tomorrow. Cole will do his level best to keep the publicity down to a minimum, if that’s any consolation to you.’

  ‘Not much, but I’m truly glad that everything has turned out so well, from your point of view. I suppose, if things go out as you expect, you plan to go back to London straight away?’

  ‘May as well. There’s nothing more to be done at this end. How about you? I don’t suppose you’re desperately keen to stick around, after what’s happened?’

  ‘I am not sure that being in London would make me feel any more cheerful. And, after all, Robin, you did apply for a few days’ leave, which you’ve spent entirely on work. You’ve hardly had any time for your nice golfing.’

  Robin was visibly impressed by this reminder and he said thoughtfully:

  ‘Yes, that’s very true; and, on the whole, I’m pleased to find that you are not in a tearing hurry to leave.’

  ‘Are you, indeed? And why’s that?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘the fact is, the Coles have invited us to supper on Thursday evening. I turned it down, because I thought you’d hate it. Now I can tell him it’s on.’

  Eighteen

  At eleven the following morning, there was an inquest on Christabel’s death, immediately following a second one on Sir Maddox’s. Both verdicts turned out precisely as Robin had predicted and an atmosphere of suppressed jubilation swept through the households concerned.

  I do not think any of the inmates would have gone so far as to give a party to celebrate the outcome, but Anabel’s seventeenth birthday was made the excuse.

  Her mother, understandably, felt unequal to holding it at the Maltings, particularly as Dolores’ defection had left her shorthanded; but Guy, who was the moving spirit in this enterprise, said that Och weel, it was a shame the puir wee lahsie shouldna have a wee bit of fun on her bairthday and that he and Xenia would gie a wee gahthering over at their place.

  The highlight of this festivity was not to be a film show, but charades. Guy explained that this would help to start the ball rolling and to disperse any little constraints that might be hanging around, but I had not a doubt in the world that the main attraction was the chance to grab all the star rôles for himself.

  As before, I went ahead with Aunt Moo and Harbart and, as before, the door was opened to us by Maria, the Russian steam-roller having miraculously stampeded Nancy into lending her for the evening.

  The Robinsons’ place was a flat over the Treasure Trove, formerly inhabited by the Nicholls family, traces of whose tenancy still remained in the flickering electric logs in the sitting-room fireplace and the acid-green tiles which surrounded it. In other respects the room resembled nothing so much as an extension of the shop below, and was crammed from floor to ceiling with antique furniture and ornaments. Few of them served any useful purpose, most were rather dusty and some still had price tags attached. This was a paradise for Aunt Moo, who padded round, asking Xenia how much she had paid for everything and then telling her she had been done for.

  Our two contingents were the first to arrive and, with only six of us present, the room was already bursting at the seams. With the arrival, a few minutes afterwards, of two female Harper Barringtons, suffocation point was reached.

  Nancy informed all her dears that Roger was most frantically sorry, but he had been detained in London on business and would be unable to join us until after dinner. This news brought some relief, although even without him it was hard to see how space could be found for a game of tiddliwinks, let alone charades.

  I mentioned this to Guy and he explained that the spontaneous nature of the affair had only enabled him to clear one room and that the performances, as well as supper, would be held in the dining-room.

  ‘This ’ere,’ he continued, ‘being as what you might call the communal dressing-room. Costumes, etcetera being in that there oak chest, as what your ’ubby is at present reclining on. And nah, ladies and gents, seeing as we’re hall hassembled, ah baht a bit of a booze up?’

  Laughing hysterically, to show Anabel what a good time we were having at her party, we traipsed after him into the adjoining room. Sure enough, it was a desert, by comparison. Apart from a sofa, with its back to the fireplace and representing the auditorium, there was a kitchen chair, a small table and assorted cushions in the centre of the room, which was to be the stage, and a long narrow table against the wall nearest the door. This was spread with slabs of cold chicken and mountains of Russian salad, which I considered to be taking chauvinism too far, and the whole being described by Toby in a gloomy undertone as assiette angoisse. Nor was he noticeably cheered by the sight of twelve bottles of glorious Algerian wine.

  In contrast to all this, the glass and cutlery were of the highest order, having doubtless been borrowed from stock. There was crested Georgian silver and nine exquisite tumblers, each adorned with a gold laurel leaf encircling a different initial. Guy told me that they were part of a set of twenty-four, with the letters K and X left out. They had picked them up in a sale in Yorkshire, believing them to be French and very valuab
le, but had almost immediately decided that they could not bear to part with them. He said that they always brought them out for parties, where they made what he called a conversation piece. I could see that they also had a practical value, which had doubtless appealed to Xenia, in creating a one-man one-glass situation, throughout the evening and cutting the washing-up to a minimum.

  On this occasion, Xenia was given the Z, which was no doubt customary, and I had to make do with P for Price, since there were two of us whose first name began with T.

  At the conclusion of the glass ceremony, Guy took the floor again and outlined the programme for us. He said that we must divide into two teams and was immediately interrupted by Nancy, stipulating that it would be quite unfair if he and I were on the same side, and by Aunt Moo and Xenia, insisting in unison that they would take no active part, preferring to lend impartial support to each team in turn. This was a great relief to the rest of us, as one could well imagine them both talking far into the night, without ever bringing out the required syllable, or even getting around to a subject remotely related to it.

  These matters settled, Guy told us that each side would have one turn, after which there would be an interval for supper, followed by a return match. He added that this would give more chance for Roger to arrive while there was still something to eat.

  ‘Frightfully sweet of you, my dear,’ Nancy informed him, ‘but please don’t put yourself out. One does so hate to be a nuisance, and I’ve left just a tiny snack of oysters and champagne for him at home, so he won’t absolutely starve.’

  This inspired Aunt Moo to throw out a few remarks concerning her preference for stout with oysters, causing Nancy’s lip to curl, Xenia to announce that all beer was poison to the system, Anabel to dissolve into stifled giggles and Guy to clap his hands and call for order. We then picked sides, and he chose Anabel and Robin, while I got Nancy and Toby. I called Heads and lost and Guy, raring to go, led his party outside.