Murder of a Martinet

by E. C. R. Lorac

  It was after tea on Thursday that Macdonald ran to earth the first of the four young people who had been at the twins’ party on Monday evening. This was Isabel Brown, professionally styled Belle Barrington, whom the manager had described as the most sensible and reliable of the four. She lived in a small house just off the main road where the self-conscious superiority of Maida Vale becomes the native pewter of the Kilburn High Road. It was a humble but respectable house, and Belle lived with her parents. The girl opened the front door herself: she was a pretty youngster, neat and dainty, and she looked at Macdonald with puzzled blue eves. He explained that he was making routine inquiries about a possible theft at Windermere House, and the usual shadow of apprehension clouded the bright young face.

  ‘ But how awful! Paula’s mother only died a few days ago, didn’t she? It was dreadful for her, and just after she’d given us that lovely party. You’d better come in, hadn’t you? People do talk so.”

  She led Macdonald into the narrow passage and called out: “All right, Mums. Someone for me. Shan’t be a tick,” and opened a door on the right of the passage. Macdonald entered a small parlour which seemed to him the prototype of numberless other small parlours where duty had taken him. The girl was different from the majoritv whom he had interrogated: cleaner, fresher, more wholesome, as graceful as a wind-tossed spray, but the same fear was in her eyes.

  “It’s a very simple matter,” said Macdonald. “I want to know the times you reached and left Windermere House, and what you did, more or less, at the party.”

  “We got there about eight,” she replied. “Peter met us at the corner of the road and warned us to be quiet going upstairs because he didn’t want his mother to catch us and ask to be introduced and .ail that. I’d seen Mrs. Farrington before and I didn’t want to see her again—not all that—so we thought it was a good idea to be quiet on the stairs. Peter let us in with his latchkey and we crept up. Daphne tripped over her frock on the last flight and we got the giggles, and Peter’s elder sister came out and ticked us off. But it was O.K. after that.”

  ‘‘And then?” asked Macdonald.

  “Oh, Daphne and I went and left fur coats in Paula’s bedroom and then we went into Peter’s studio. It’s an attic, really, but he paints there. We had some drinks and then we danced. That’s all there was to it, really. It was fun, and Paula had got some lovely eats—we just took sandwiches and things as we felt like it, and if we wanted a change we went and sat on Paula’s bed and talked. And then we danced again. There’s nothing much to tell.”

  “Did any of you sit out on the landing or go downstairs?”

  “We didn’t sit on the landing; it was cold, for one thing, and we didn’t want to make a noise on the stairs. We did go down to the bathroom, but we were awfully quiet. I know nobody went right downstairs.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Well, the floor Mrs. Duncan’s flat is on used to be the nurseries and there’s still a gate across the stairs. It’s generally folded back, but Paula went and closed it after we got there, just to remind us not to go farther down if we forgot where the lav was. It’s got a sort of trick lock, and you can’t open it unless you know how. I know she said Peter was an awful gump because he doesn’t remember how the catch works, and certainly none of the rest of us did. So I’m quite sure none of us went right downstairs until we went home.”

  “Can you remember what time that was?”

  “It was about two. For the last hour we’d been sitting around telling stories—you know the game when somebody begins a story and breaks off at the most exciting part and somebody else has to go on. I was getting sleepy, and I persuaded the others we’d better go home. You see, Boris lives in Balham, and it’s an awful job getting back there at two in the morning. Daphne and Pat live at Willesden Green, but they generally manage to pick up a lorry.”

  “You’re all used to being out late?” put in Macdonald, and she smiled back at him quite naturally.

  “Oh, yes. It’s usually about one or two if we’ve been doing a cabaret show.”

  “Did the twins come downstairs with you to let you out?”

  “Paula did. She‘d got a torch, because she didn’t want to put the lights on. She made us all take off our shoes, so we shouldn’t wake people up. I suppose her mother’s awfully strict. We’d never have done that here. Mum and Dad never mind if we make a noise.”

  “Very sensible of them,” said Macdonald, smiling back at the blue-eyed youngster and thinking how pretty she was. “Didn’t Peter come downstairs, too?”

  “I don’t think so. Paula told Boris to shut Peter in his room. He was a bit droopy—you know. Peter gets like that ever so easily. But I couldn’t be sure because it was so dark, and it’s an enormous house, isn’t it? Paula went first with the torch, holding it down so we could see the stairs. Daphne and I came next, and I was terrified one of us might slip or something. Anyway, I didn’t see anything but the stairs, and they seemed to go on forever. It really was a bit grim when you didn’t know the house. But we got down all right, and when Paula opened the front door it was much better, because there’s a street light outside. And we sat on the doorstep and put our shoes on, and tried not to giggle. It all seemed so batty.”

  “Did Paula come outside with you?”

  “Yes, just for a minute. She was still afraid we’d make a row and waken her mother up. Then she whispered ‘Good night,’ and we all whispered, ‘Thanks ever so,’ and she went in and shut the door so you couldn’t hear a sound.”

  “While you were putting your shoes on did you notice anyone passing in the street?”

  “Only a car. Daphne waved to the driver, and Pat said. ‘Don’t be such a flat, we haven’t got any money.’ Not that it’d’ve mattered; Daff always gets away with it. But he didn’t stop, and we all walked together to Maida Vale. Boris turned towards Marble Arch, and Daff and Pat got a lorry man to take them, and I walked home. Lucky it wasn’t raining. I’d got my best shoes on and a long frock. Oh, I met the bobby at our corner—he knows me quite well, so I expect he could tell you what time I got back. It must have been about a quarter to three.”

  She looked at Macdonald with a question in her eyes. “Was that what you wanted to know?” she ended up.

  “I wasn’t really asking what time you got home,” replied Macdonald, “though I’m glad to know you’re friends with the bobby on the beat; they’re useful chaps to know, and often very helpful if you forget the latchkey.”

  She laughed outright at that. “Did he tell you? He gave me a leg up to the bathroom window one night, and a good lecture into the bargain.”

  “No. He didn’t tell me, and I don’t even know him,” said Macdonald. “But to get back to the Monday night. Can’t you remember if Peter came downstairs with you when you all left? I do want to know that.”

  She looked apprehensive again. “But can’t you ask him?”

  “No. He’s ill at the moment.”

  “Oh —” She broke off. “Paula didn’t tell me.”

  “When did you see her?”

  “On Wednesday—yesterday. She came and told me about her mother, but she didn’t say anything about Peter being ill.”

  “He was taken to hospital this morning,” replied Macdonald, “and his twin is very unhappy and upset, so I can’t really get much sense out of her. Have you known the twins for long?”

  “I’ve known Paula about a year. I like her. We all do. She’s different from us, because her people are rich and good class and all that, but she never behaves different, if you know what I mean. She’s ever so kind, she’d help anybody, and she’s a lovely dancer. That means work, you know. Nobody can dance like that without working hard.”

  “I know they can’t,” said Macdonald. “What you’re really saying is that you respect Paula, isn’t it? Not because her people live in a big house, but because she’s a good friend and a good dancer.”

  “Yes. That’s right,” said Belle eagerly. “I do respect her, There
’s a lot to her: she’s clever, and she’s lovely, too, isn’t she? But she never puts on side. If I was ever in trouble, I could go to Paula and ask her to help. She’s like that.”

  “That’s almost the nicest thing you can say about anybody, isn’t it?” said Macdonald quietly. “And didn’t Paula come to you yesterday and ask you to help her?”

  The girl was silent, but her startled eyes answered the question. Macdonald went on: “I’m a policeman, as you know, but I admire loyalty. I like people who want to help their friends. Please believe me when I tell you there’s only one way you can help Paula now, and that’s by telling the truth.”

  “But I haven’t said anything that wasn’t true.”

  “No. I don’t think you have. But you haven’t really answered my question. Did Peter come downstairs or not?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know,” she cried. “You think for yourself. It was dark, and we wanted to get downstairs quietly. There was only the one torch, and Paula held that down, so we could see the stairs. If you’re coming downstairs like that in a strange house, trying to be quiet, you don’t look to see who’s behind you, do you? And I didn’t like it very much, it was all a bit queer. I just wanted to get outside and get home.”

  “You say it was a bit queer,” said Macdonald; “but you’d had a good evening, hadn’t you? Didn’t you think it was ‘just part of the fun’ to creep out like that—or wasn’t it? Was there something else which made you feel it wasn’t so good?”

  “Well . . . I don’t know what it was. Everything was all right at first, and we all enjoyed it, and later on Paula seemed to be all het up.”

  “Why was that?” asked Macdonald. “Because of Peter?”

  “It might’ve been. He gets . . . squiffy . . . you know. Not drunk. Just dopey . . . It would have been better if we’d gone when I said, after the Light Programme shut down. It was all right up till then. After that it was—well, rather a washout. And I don’t really like that story game. It’s silly or else it’s nasty. The twins tell horrible stories, all creepy.”

  “Why didn’t you go home when you wanted to? Did the twins keep on asking you to stay?”

  “Well, you don’t like to break up a party, do you?” she asked, and then burst out: “Is it something awful? I mean someone like you wouldn’t come asking questions about missin’ teaspoons, would you? You’re not like our Robert on the beat.”

  “It’s some rings that are missing,” replied Macdonald.

  “And you think Peter took them? Is he really in hospital—”

  “Yes. He’s in hospital,” replied Macdonald. “Do you know him well?”

  “No. He’s a bit fancy, isn’t he? And I don’t like those pictures he does—the ones in the attics, I mean. I’d never seen them before.”

  “I don’t like them either,” said Macdonald. “Did Peter ever try to borrow money from you?”

  “He tried to from everybody. But Paula was quite fair about that. She told us not to lend him any. I haven’t got any, anyway. Oh, I know he’s a mess, but Paula isn’t. She’s straight, I know she is, over boys and money and everything. I’m sure she hasn’t done—anything.”

  “Not even for Peter?”

  “No. Not even—Oh. I don’t know.”

  She was very near tears now, hut Macdonald went on: “Paula came and asked you to say that Peter didn’t come downstairs on Monday night, didn’t she?”

  “Well, even if she did, I told her I didn’t know. It’s true I know Daphne was just behind me, but I don’t know about the others. I didn’t see Peter come downstairs.”

  “All right,” said Macdonald. “You’ve done your best, and don’t worry about it at all. Good-bye, and thank you very much for being so sensible.”

  3

  About the same time that Macdonald was talking to Belle, Anne Strange went and knocked on Joyce Duncan’s door. Joyce called, “Come in,” and Anne opened the door, saying: “Would you like to come down for a drink, Joyce? Eddie’s gone out, and Tony’s gone back to the office to work off arrears, and I’m longing for a drink, only it’s rather poor drinking by oneself. Is Philip in?”

  “No. God alone knows where he is, I don’t,” replied Joyce. “All right. I’ll come down for a quick one. We might as well talk about it as sit and think about it, but I warn you I’m not far off the stage when I shall start throwing things about.”

  “I think we’re all the same, Joyce, but don’t say so on the stairs. I believe that C.I.D. woman’s still snooping around.” They went down to Anne’s flat, and Anne shut the door of the sitting room and locked it and drew the heavy portiere curtain carefully across the door.

  “I do hate the feeling that somebody may be listening at the keyhole, like Paula did this morning,” she said. “If we sit by the fire, it ought to be all right; it’s a long way from the door. What’ll you have, gin or whisky?”

  “Whisky for me, and make it a good one,” said Joyce. “I’ve been feeling like death ever since that C.I.D. man sat looking at me this morning, but I haven’t dared go out because I was afraid they’d stop me or follow me or something. Anne, do you really think she was murdered?”

  “I suppose so. There’s no other explanation.”

  “Couldn’t it possibly have been Baring? He was an awful old muddler, and blind as a bat, and even Father said he wasn’t fit to be out. And he ran into a lamppost on the way home.”

  “I know. But you see, he left Muriel at quarter past seven, and she was still chattering at a quarter past nine. If he gave her insulin by mistake, she’d have been in a coma long before that. I don’t know anything about insulin myself, but I did get Madge to tell me that before that awful scene we had when Paula started screaming.”

  “And Madge knows all about it, doesn’t she? And she’s got a marvellous technique with a hypodermic. She injected me for my second go of anti-typhoid before Phil and I went abroad last year, and she was so slick I never even felt the needle go in. Quite different from that clumsy old fool, Baring. When he did it I nearly passed out.”

  “I don’t believe Madge did it, Joyce.”

  “Why not? She hated Mother. You couldn’t blame her, because Mother ruined her life for her, and she’d have gone on ruining it. I don’t pretend to like Madge. I think she’s a ghastly creature, always grousing and backbiting and looking down her nose, but I do admit that Mother exploited Madge for all she was worth. If someone put a dose of insulin into Mother, it seems obvious it was Madge.”

  “That’s just it,” said Anne wearily. “That’s why Madge didn’t do it. Whatever else she is, she’s not a fool. She wouldn’t have used the one method which was bound to bring suspicion on her.”

  “But she counted on Baring turning up to sign a death certificate for heart failure and hold everybody’s hands and tell us we must all be brave. She’d never have thought it would be Scott who’d come along at six o’clock in the morning.”

  “She’d have thought of everything, Joyce. Madge has a terrific sense of detail, and she was a frightfully good nurse before she crocked up. Madge could have worked out a dozen ways of killing anybody which could never be proved. I remember once when I first came here and Madge was still by way of being matey, I sat on the kitchen table and she told me half a dozen ways of bumping people off which could . never be proved. We were talking about detective stories and she said the only ones that interested her were the ones written by doctors or scientists who knew their stuff. If Madge had killed Muriel with insulin, she’d have remembered to bung in the equalising dose, or whatever you call it.”

  “The what?” demanded Joyce.

  “Oh, you know all this diabetic coma’s caused by the sugar content of the blood: you can still put in glucose or something after they’re dead so that the blood content is right.”

  “Hell! You seem to know a lot about it,” said Joyce.

  “Well, I read a fair bit, and listen to the radio. Anyway, if I know that an injection of glucose could make the insulin impo
ssible to detect, I’m certain Madge does.”

  “Well, I don’t know the first thing about it, and I jolly well don’t want to,” said Joyce. “Look here, if Eddie hadn’t said Mother was bright and chatty at nine o’clock, wouldn’t everybody have assumed that it was Baring’s fault?”

  “Yes, I suppose they would, but it’s not much help saying so.”

  “Couldn’t we get Eddie to say he’d got in a muddle, or something, that the wireless was on and he supposed she was listening to it, or he thought she spoke to him but it might have been the wireless?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Joyce. The only thing we can be quite certain of in this hell of a business is that Eddie will speak the. truth and stick to it.”

  “Even if it means landing Madge in the dock?”

  Anne shivered. “Don’t say such horrible things, Joyce.”

  “Somebody’s going to be landed there, my dear, so it’s no use going goopy over it. If it wasn’t Madge, who was it? The twins? I believe Peter’s bats enough for anything, and now they’ve hauled him off they may plump for him, poor kid. I know he loathed Mother; she’d been trying to convert him or something. Cosy little prayer meetings and heart-to-hearts. She simply shattered him: that’s why he’s gone to the pack.”

  “Weren’t you ever fond of her, Joyce? She was your mother.”

  “Oh, God, don’t start on that tack. I adored her when I was a kid, and then I suddenly got nauseated, when I was about seventeen, and began to go boymongering. But never mind all that. About Peter. He couldn’t have done it, you know. He hasn’t the nerve. I suppose Paula could have. She’s as hard as nails inside.”

  “You’re all as hard as nails inside. I think you’re frightful, every one of you.” burst out Anne.

  “Yes, we’re a nice family. I suppose we take after Mother. And now we’re all busy putting up defence mechanisms and trying to be more hard-boiled than we actually are. D’you realise we shall be in all the papers, Anne? They’ll have an inquest next, and then there’ll be reporters and press photographers raging round. If only Eddie hadn’t said she was talking to him at nine o’clock it would have been so simple. Can’t you talk to him about it. Anne?”