Whilst we were changing, Falcon drove up to the door. But Bell took him up to his room, while Carson took charge of his car.
“Have I time for a bath, Bell?”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll turn it on before I lay out your clothes.”
“I’ve no dress-clothes with me.”
“The mistress said you were not to think about that.”
That was as much as I heard, but Falcon was very quick and came in, looking very nice, as cocktails were served.
We naturally asked no questions, and he never mentioned his business till dinner was over and done. And then, in the library, Falcon opened his mouth.
“I know that you’ll keep my counsel, so, if you would like to hear, I’m going to tell you what I’ve been doing today. It’s a great relief to me to be able to talk.”
Jenny spoke for us all.
“It’s very nice of you to put it that way.”
I glanced at the open windows and got to my feet.
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Falcon.
Before I could ring –
“Oakham, darling,” said Jenny, “will be even better than Bell.”
“So he will,” I said.
Jenny led Oakham to the windows.
“Guard the terrace, Oakham: and growl if anyone comes.”
The great dog nosed her hand and then lay down on the sill.
Falcon looked at me.
“Wainscot Hall, Mr Chandos. You know the place?”
“Three miles from Ne’er-do-well. I know it by sight. It used to belong to the Barhams. Then a convent bought it and made it a nursing-home.”
“A very exceptional Home?”
“I’ve heard so and I can believe it. A nun’s interpretation of duty is usually very fine.”
“I imagine it’s hard to get into.”
“So I’m told.”
“Did you know Lord St Amant was there?”
I shook my head.
St Amant was a fine fellow, and very popular. Born in 1919, he first, so to speak, hit the headlines in 1941. He had been reported killed in the retirement on Dunkirk. He should have been listed as ‘missing, believed killed’; but a gunner, later killed on the beaches, had declared that he died in his arms, and such was the prevailing confusion that the wrong report was made. Fourteen months later, he had walked into the British Embassy at Lisbon. So he rose from the dead. He was at that time the Hon. Joris Eyot, his father’s only son. He had succeeded to the title in 1945. As Lord St Amant, horses made up his life. He had won four Classic races and had ridden in the National twice. A personal friend of Royalty, a very good-looking man, his invariably debonair manner delighted the public’s heart. He was a bachelor.
“I know him slightly,” said Mansel. “He’s a most exceptional man. The very mould of good form.”
“Was,” said Falcon. “He was found dead this morning at six o’clock. An operation was performed on his jaw exactly a week ago. He was in excellent health and recovering fast. In these circumstances, the House Surgeon naturally declined to give a death-certificate. More. As a result of a communication which he felt it was his duty to make to the police, the Chief Constable saw the wisdom of calling us in at once: and I arrived at the Home at eleven o’clock today.
“As you will believe, the position is delicate. The dead man is not only a peer, but an eminent sportsman and a favourite with high and low. The Home is a Convent Home and above reproach. The inevitable publicity will be for the Sisterhood a dreadful ordeal. But the Law must take its course, and if we can do it, Justice has got to be done.”
Mansel drew in his breath.
“I don’t envy you, Falcon,” he said. “You’re on a shocking bad wicket, and that’s the truth.”
“I realize that,” said Falcon. “The atmosphere alone puts you off your game. It’s so embarrassing. I feel I’m a trespasser – as of course I am. I belong not only to the world which these holy women have renounced, but to a part of that world which women who are not nuns are taught to avoid. I’m not going to say they’re hostile: but I have to keep my distance. And that doesn’t help a policeman to get at the truth.
“I saw the House Surgeon first. He was there to meet me, when I got out of the car. He was summoned at six o’clock from his house in the grounds. By St Amant’s night-sister. He arrived in ten minutes’ time. The peer had been dead for two hours, but not more than four. He had seen him the evening before at eight o’clock. He was then in excellent form and looking forward to leaving in two days’ time.
“‘I’m told,’ said I, ‘that you think his lordship was poisoned.’
“The fellow looked rather worried.
“‘I knew that was coming,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I spoke out of turn.’
“‘I don’t agree,’ said I. ‘But why do you think he was poisoned?’
“‘Well,’ he said, ‘of course I examined the body without delay. No marks at all. But – well, there was something about his expression which was not natural. When you see it,’ he added, ‘you’ll see what I mean.’
“‘Heart?’ said I.
“‘Sound as a bell. He was one of the fittest men I’ve ever seen.’
“‘The room’s under guard?’
“‘Yes, there’s a constable there.’
“‘It was you that rang up the police?’
“‘Yes. The police-surgeon came along soon after eight. While he was here, orders came through to touch nothing until you arrived.’
“We’d been talking on the steps. As we entered the hall, a nun came out of a lodge.
“The doctor said who I was, and the nun just lowered her head and turned away.
“As we moved to a corridor –
“‘Will you take me to see the Mother Superior first?’
“The man hesitated. Then –
“‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Will you come this way?’
“My reception was very cold. However, I said my piece and gave what assurances I could. She heard me out in silence. Then–
“‘I’m told,’ she said, ‘that an Inquest will be held.’
“‘I’m afraid that’s so.’
“‘Understand this. I cannot and will not allow any sister here to attend.’
“‘Madam,’ said I, ‘that is not a matter for me. The Coroner will summon whom he wishes to come to his Court.’
“‘But he’ll listen to you, Superintendent.’
“I saw my chance and jumped in.
“‘His word is law, madam: but he will decide whom to summon upon the report of the police. The more help the police are given the more help they are happy to give. I can’t say more than that.’
“‘You will please recommend that none of the sisters are called.’
“‘I can’t promise that. I think his lordship’s night-sister will certainly have to appear.’
“‘And if I refuse to release her?’
“‘That, madam, will be a matter for the Coroner. But if it is publicity which you desire to avoid, I can only tell you that such a refusal would treble the publicity which such a case must receive.’ The woman’s temper was rising: for all her icy calm, I knew that one of her feet was tapping the floor. So I thought it best to speak out. ‘And now please let me say this. So grave a matter as this cannot be hushed up. Lord St Amant has died a mysterious death. I am here to find out who or what caused that death. You will receive from me the utmost consideration: but that I should not swerve from my duty is as much to your interest as mine, for it must never be thought that your House has something to hide.’ That brought her up to her feet: so I went on at once. ‘And now, by your leave, the doctor will show me the room.’
“With that, I bowed and left her, and the House Surgeon followed me out.
“As we came to the door of the room –
“‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I ought to tell you this. First, to the Mother Superior the utter seclusion of her flock means more than life itself. Secondly, several of the sisters used to
bear well-known names. The night-sister in question was a famous society beauty some years ago.’
“‘Oh, dear,’ said I. ‘Do patients recognize her?’
“‘That, I can’t say.’
“Then he unlocked the door, and we entered the room. French windows, which were wide open, gave to a terrace exactly as these do here, and a constable, standing outside, looked round to see who it was. He had been warned to expect me, so all was well.
“I’ll give you the layout now.
“Six rooms in a row, all giving on to a terrace rather wider than yours. Broad steps, like yours, leading down into meadows, and, four hundred yards away, a country road. At either end of the terrace a wing of the house, so that the terrace is sheltered, except from the South. These rooms are reserved for male patients. In the recent, hot weather the windows have stood wide open, day and night.
“When I looked at the dead man’s face, I saw at once what Dr Paterson meant. It wore a look of something more than surprise. It looked as though he had felt some strange sensation for which he could not account – and in that moment had died. His arms were bent and his hands were drawn up, palm downward upon the bed, as though he’d meant to raise himself up. But he hadn’t had time.
“I looked at Paterson.
“‘He was asleep and woke to find his life ebbing.’
“‘That’s the impression I have.’
“I went over the room. It was easy enough to inspect, as you will believe. Very simple, very clean. On the table beside the bed were a bell-push, a novel, a box of cigarettes, a lighter, a glass half full of water, and a dessert-spoon.
“I asked the doctor what the spoon was for.
“‘Probably,’ he said, ‘for tablets. Of the nature of aspirin. No patient is given the bottle, but two or three tablets would be placed in the bowl of the spoon.’
“‘Was he taking tablets?’ I said.
“‘Yes. He still had pain, and it used to wake him up.’
“‘I see. Was the pain severe?’
“‘Oh, no. But enough to keep him awake, unless relieved.’
“‘Was the bone diseased?’
“‘No, it was perfectly healthy. For no apparent reason a cyst had formed. That had to be cut out, or, sooner or later, the jaw would have broken in two. Spontaneous fracture, we call it. If it’s properly done, the bone soon grows again.’
“‘Please tell me about these tablets you said he might have.’
“‘They’re the latest thing, and they’re called japonica. We use them all the time. They’re harmless and swift in action. They have no ill effects.’
“‘Could a number be fatal?’
“‘Perhaps, if you took about thirty and had a weak heart. But the sister will only give them every two hours.’
“‘Any possibility of mistake?’
“‘None. All dangerous drugs are locked in a plate-glass case of which I have the key.’
“I sent the constable off to bring the photographers in: and when they had done, all the stuff on the table was treated for fingerprints.
“While this was being done, the House Surgeon went away. He had things to attend to, of course, and patients to see.
“I walked out on to the terrace and, presently, down the steps. I stood there looking all round, for you never know. And then I saw a tablet, lying to the right of the steps. I was very lucky to see it, for the grass was three inches long: but the tablet had lodged halfway through. I sought high and low for another, without success. That tablet’s in London now. I can’t believe it will yield any finger-marks, but at least tomorrow morning I shall be told what it is.”
“That’s one of the tablets,” said I, “which the night-sister put in the spoon?”
“I think so. They were taken away, and others were put in their place. Whether anyone saw me find it, I do not know. I’ve mentioned it to Rogers, but nobody else.
“Soon after that, the local superintendent arrived, and the police-surgeon with him. They had an ambulance with them. Paterson returned, and the body was taken away. (The two did the post-mortem together this afternoon. Portions of certain organs are being analysed now.)
“There was a built-in wardrobe. Inside were the dead man’s clothes and other personal effects. A chequebook, a note-case, a gold wrist-watch, a small bunch of keys.
“I turned to Paterson.
“‘By your leave,’ I said, ‘I shall take charge of these. And if the clothes can be packed, I’ll take them with me when I go.’
“‘I’ll see to that, Superintendent. By the way, he was wearing a ring.’
“‘I know. Please take it off this afternoon.’
“Then I asked about the night-sister.
“‘She’s resting now,’ said Paterson. ‘She should be asleep.’
“‘What time does she come on duty?’
“‘At eight o’clock.’
“‘Can I see her at three?’
“‘I can’t say yes, Superintendent. The Mother Superior can.’
“‘I understand. Now, of the six rooms here, I see this is Number Four. Who is in Three and Five?’
“‘The patient in Number Three is in a very bad way. He’s kept under morphia most of the time.’
“‘I see. And Five?’
“‘He’s quite fit to be seen. A highly intelligent fellow. Rather sardonic humour. Man of the world.’
“‘May I know what he’s here for?’
“‘Operation on his knee. Delayed result of a car smash a year or two back.’
“‘Capable of walking?’
“‘Oh, no.’
“‘Lord St Amant could walk?’
“‘Oh, yes. I know that he strolled on the terrace yesterday afternoon. I believe he went in and saw Dallas.’
“‘Dallas is Number Five?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Can I see him in five minutes’ time?’
“‘I’ll arrange that at once.’
“I gave certain instructions to Rogers and asked the local superintendent to police both gates, for I knew that by then the Press would be on the way. And I asked him to let them know that I’d see them at half past six.”
“You always do that,” said Mansel.
“I find it pays.
“Then I walked up to the windows of Dallas’ room.
“‘At last,’ he said. ‘Superintendent Falcon, I think. Kenelm Dallas, at your service. I’ve awaited your arrival with impatience. Pray sit down in that very uncomfortable chair. Austerity is the watchword in convents today. It was not always so. If we may believe – but I stray from the matter in hand.’
“I sat down in the chair and accepted a cigarette.
“‘With impatience?’ I said.
“‘Oh, don’t let me raise your hopes. I have but a button to put in the offertory bag. I fear that’s a solecism. Offertory is a noun.’
“‘I don’t despise buttons,’ I said.
“‘All in good time. And now please question me.’
“‘You knew that Lord St Amant was in the room next to you?’
“‘Not until yesterday. But he was ‘walking wounded’, which I am not. And as he was passing those windows, I called to him. And so he came in and sat down. A very pleasant fellow – I wish I’d met him before. He promised to look me up next time he visited Paris. I live in France, you know. The service is more expensive, but just as good as it was. And if the money is there, the French are far too shrewd to toy with Egalité.’
“‘Who told you that he was dead?’
“‘Paterson. A steady, dutiful man, as no doubt you’ve observed. Tea is always brought to me round about six o’clock.’
“‘By the night-sister?’
“‘Yes. This morning it didn’t appear. Instead, I heard goings and comings, and those, in haste. Then somebody must have felt faint, for Paterson spoke from the terrace – ‘Let her sit on the steps and see that she holds her head down.’
“‘I rang then and at last a strange
sister appeared. I desired to see Paterson at once. After two or three minutes he came and told me St Amant was dead. ‘What of?’ said I. ‘I don’t know.’ And then he was gone.
“‘Well, that gave me food for thought. It meant, of course, an Inquest, and there was a kettle of fish. Great pressure would be put upon Paterson – to which, I was perfectly sure, he would never yield – to sign a certificate. Dracona would kick with cold fury against the pricks. Sister Helena would be distraught. That’s the night-sister – a very attractive girl, as you will agree.’
“‘I haven’t seen her yet.’
“‘A pleasure to come. She’s going to be your star turn. At the Inquest, I mean. My God, what a film this would make! Well, the day-sister brought my breakfast, which is the night-sister’s job. She’s older and level headed. Not even a hydrogen bomb would throw her out of her stride. Sister Geneviève. I looked at her and smiled. ‘Is Sister Helena better?’ She looked at me very hard. Then, ‘I think so. She’s lying down.’ ‘I’m very sorry,’ I said, ‘about everything.’ ‘Pray for us all,’ she said: and with that, she was gone. Then the local police arrived – I saw them upon the terrace: they came that way. So I had fresh food for thought.’
“‘What did you think about?’
“‘Murder,’ said Dallas. ‘Till then, the question of murder had never entered my head. And so I began to cast back…
“‘I nearly always wake about four o’clock. The pain seems to call me then. So I take two japonica tablets, and after a little I go to sleep again. St Amant told me it was the same with him. This particular spot must receive some broadcast of Nature’s about that time. Say rosy-fingered dawn is taking her bath. Last night I woke as usual, but when I switched on my light, I saw it was a quarter to two. Well, I didn’t think much about it, but I took my tablets and went to sleep again.’
“‘Pain?’
“‘Nothing to speak of. But I thought that if I took them, I might not wake again. Nor I did – till nearly six.
“‘Well, there’s my button, Superintendent. Something woke me up at a quarter to two. A footfall, perhaps. I don’t know.’
“‘Windows wide open?’
“‘Yes. Often enough the sisters come in that way.’
“‘And that is all you remember?’
“‘All I remember – yes. But I have a definite feeling that there was something else. Some impression that I received. But I cannot recapture it.’
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