There were just a few things left to do, and I had cleared up, washed and put my pyjamas on, before I remembered Bob’s coat again. It was a disreputable garment, the lining torn and two buttons missing from the front. Two buttons? A cold tremor ran through me, and I sat clasping the coat feeling strangely helpless. Yesterday I had held two buttons in my hand, when we were searching the Francis’ flat. Bob had dismissed them contemptuously as probably belonging to John, and not thinking I’d slipped them in my pocket. Unwillingly I got up and went to the wardrobe. Yes, they were still in the pocket of my dress. My hand shaking, I compared them with the buttons on Bob’s raincoat. They matched perfectly!
I sank down on the bed, my brain whirling. Piece by piece the evidence against him was growing. The blue matchbox, the man at the club who thought he’d seen him there a week ago. The swift assumption that Les Roberts was involved; and now this.
I must have sat there a long time, but at last wearily I took the raincoat back into the living room, and carefully sewed the missing buttons into position. Then I went upstairs to Bob’s; flat, and hung it on the doorknocker!
In my room I tried to work things out. That Bob was involved in some way with the murders, I had now no doubt, but that he had actually committed them? No. My brain rejected the idea furiously. Bob was not a murderer. I would never believe it of him. Somewhere there was an explanation, if I could only see it.
But I couldn’t see it. Over and over the details pounded in my head, until in desperation I flung myself down on the bed and beat at the pillow with my fists.
Not Bob — not Bob — it mustn’t be.
Why not, a voice kept whispering. Why not? And at last, at long last I faced the truth. I wouldn’t believe him guilty, because I didn’t want to. Deep in my heart, behind all our arguing and quarrelling lay the truth unrealized till now. I was in love with Bob. I would fight desperately to save him.
Wave after wave of joy and exhilaration broke over me. In the midst of all the terror and doubt, I was suddenly wildly happy. Stephen and all I hoped to mean to him faded as if he never existed. There was no one in the world but Bob. It was Bob who had reached me first, that terrible night when I discovered Mary’s body, and the comfort and safety of his arms had been indescribable. I remembered his words. “You’re safe now, darling. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you,” and again the fierce rush of joy shook me. All through these terrible days he had been beside me, helping and reassuring. But after a few minutes, the doubts came back again, and I lay worrying far into the night.
CHAPTER VII
FEARFUL DISCOVERY
The postman left two letters the next morning. One from Stephen saying he would not be able to see me over the weekend, as his Mother had booked seats for a show, and one from the office. A polite communication enclosing my pay slip and a frigid note to the effect, that they hoped I was better but my presence on Monday would naturally be expected.
Both left me quite cold. Stephen no longer occupied my thoughts. He seemed so unreal, and apart from the life I had been leading, and as for the office — I appreciated the money of course, but the sentiments were decidedly chilling!
Elly knocked a little later. “Oh you’re dressed,” she said in some surprise.
I laughed. My habits had become quite Bohemian during the last few days, and I felt rather ashamed. “I must try to get back in training. It’s work next week, you know. Are you going out so early?”
She sat down, carefully smoothing her skirt. “I’m off to see my cousin at Pinner.”
“Again? You were there yesterday, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s a nuisance really. But she phoned up this morning and said her little boy was ill, and could I possibly come over for a bit.”
“And you said “yes,” of course,” I scolded. “Honestly Elly, people are inclined to take advantage of your kind heart. Don’t you ever think of yourself?”
Elly chuckled. “Oh, get along with you. There’ll be time enough for that when I’m an old woman.”
“You never will be at this rate,” I nagged. But I might as well have talked to the armchairs. It was a waste of breath. When Elly hears of anyone in trouble, she always is the first on the doorstep.
We chatted a bit longer. “Bob was in very late last night,” she said crossly. “He woke me up slamming his door. I don’t know what’s the matter with him lately. He seems a changed man, worried and short-tempered. No time for anyone. The Inspector noticed it too.”
I drew a quick breath and said guardedly: “Inspector Nevil?”
“Yes. You know he came round the other night. The night you two were out playing detectives. We kept going over things and he said Bob was acting strangely. I think he put it down to the fact that he was on the spot each time the murders were committed. He stressed the point repeatedly.”
I broke in quickly. “Well, that’s nothing — we were all there.”
“That’s what I said, but he seemed more concerned about Bob, than you or I. Oh, it’s all a lot of nonsense. I do believe that Inspector’s trying to set us against one another. I don’t know why I’m talking about it now, I should be on the bus by this time.” She gave me a parting kiss and hurried off downstairs.
I sat anxiously going over what she had said. Last night I had resolved to forget my suspicions, but Inspector Nevil was suspicious too. Things looked bad. Everything was mounting against Bob, and I could do nothing.
The details banged in my head, condemning him, but I thrust them aside angrily, refusing to listen.
A shout from the passage made my heart jump. It was Bob. A wild thrill of delight ran through me and gripping the table to steady myself, I called out as casually as I could manage, “Coming.”
I was afraid to meet his eyes when I opened the door. Afraid that he would see, mirrored in them, the feelings I was fighting to control. The sight of him, the unruly black hair, the twinkling eyes, sent my blood racing gaily, and I wanted to shout my love aloud so that everyone should know. Instead with an effort, I managed to say calmly: “Good morning, Bob. How was the party?”
He grinned excitedly. “Very interesting, my poppet. You should have come along.” I restrained myself from pointing out that neither he, nor that wretched Freda, had invited me and produced a sisterly smile.
“I came to thank you for mending my raincoat. It was very sweet of you. I think you’re getting the motherly instinct at last!”
“How did you know it was me?” I stammered.
He laughed. “Now let me think. I saw that it was mended. I examined the work closely, and asked myself a question. Who among my large circle of girlfriends, would sew on grey buttons with pink cotton? Quick as a flash I got the answer. Rosie posie!”
“Oh, Bob!”
“Thank you all the same honey. It’s the thought what counts! By the way I don’t remember leaving my raincoat in your flat.”
“You didn’t,” I said carefully. “Elly found it on her chair, and gave it to me.”
“And didn’t mend it? For shame! I shall have to speak to Elly, she’s getting careless!”
My heart was beating fast now. “She didn’t know where the buttons were.”
“Oh,” he said in a humouring sort of voice. “Where were they, under the bed?”
“They were in the Francis’ flat.”
He stopped smiling then, and looked at me in surprise. “In the flat? What do you mean?”
Desperately, I went on. I had to know, to find out the truth. “You remember, Bob, I found them that day we searched for evidence. You thought they were John’s.”
He whistled softly. “Did you by George!” I stood silent. Praying for him to say something that would explain and clear away the whole horrid episode. But he just whistled again and said rather thoughtfully. “That’s damned funny.”
We were both silent for a minute and then Bob began to chuckle. “You’re a very naughty girl, you know. You should have taken those buttons straight round to In
spector Nevil. He’ll say it’s another case of withholding evidence.”
I remained silent. He gave me a long enquiring look. “Why didn’t you, Rosie?” Still I kept quiet, but the colour rose in my cheeks. Bob watched me closely and his voice was strangely loud as he repeated the question. “Why didn’t you?” I took a deep breath and managed to get out:
“I thought it might implicate you.”
“Implicate me?”
I could stand no more. My nerves already stretched to breaking point, snapped, and a torrent of words tumbled from my lips. “He suspects you Bob! I’m sure of it. Elly let something slip this morning. You must get away, they’ll trap you — ” My voice rose hysterically and I broke off, shivering and trembling.
He gripped my arms tightly and glanced along the passage, pushed me into the room, kicking the door shut, behind us. I collapsed into a chair and buried my face in my hands, vainly trying to pull myself together.
Bob stood a little back from me. For a few seconds he said nothing, then quickly he began to talk, his voice soothing. “Now listen to me, Rosemary, you’ve reached the state when everything seems to be piling up. You’re nervy and unstrung. It’s understandable after all you’ve been through. But there isn’t a scrap of evidence against me,” his voice sharpened. “Good God! You don’t think I killed them do you?”
I opened my mouth to tell him about the matchbox, the man at the club, all the little things that I had compiled so painfully, but something stopped me, and I just shook my head.
He gave me a worried glance, and coming over stroked my hair. “Don’t worry me any more, my sweet. There’s some explanation for those wretched buttons. I tell you what. When I get home tonight, we’ll talk the whole thing over and try to put your mind at rest. I’ve got to go now. I’m late already. Are you alright now?”
“Yes, Bob. I was silly.”
“I’ll see you later then, about half past seven.”
I cleared up the breakfast things, put on my hat and coat and went out. To have stayed alone in my flat doing nothing would have driven me crazy. It was a miserable day. Cold and misty, but I shopped and talked to people, deliberately spinning out the time. The gossip about John and Mary seemed to have died down, and I was thankful for that at least.
By twelve o’clock, my acquaintances had all disappeared. I had no further excuse for shopping, so in desperation, I went to the cafe for lunch. The meal finished, I sat over my coffee for as long as I dared, but the increasing queue of people, waiting to be served, finally drove me out.
There was nothing else to do. I had to go back. Feeling utterly wretched, I walked along towards the flats. As I turned the corner, I was surprised to see a large car, standing outside. Curiously I quickened my pace, and pushing through the swing door, was brought to a sudden standstill. A man and woman were just coming out of the Francis’ flat.
For a second, the three of us stood staring at each other. Then the woman came across the hall towards me, smiling pleasantly. She was fair-haired, very slight and wore a pretty grey coat belted tightly at the waist.
“I wonder if you can help us,” she began. “My name is Morely, Mrs. Catherine Morely, and this is my brother. The police gave us permission to come and collect poor Mary’s things. Mrs. Francis was my cousin. Perhaps you have heard her talk of me?”
I remembered the name. Mary had often mentioned her cousins, I believe she had said they lived in the country. I hastened to reply and asked if there was anything I could do.
“Thank you, we should be glad of your assistance. Oh, by the way, the police gave us a signed authority. Would you like to see it?” she queried, and produced a slip of paper from her pocket. I glanced at it quickly and saw that it was in order.
“What is it you want?” I asked.
“Well, we’ve brought a couple of cases along, but there’s so much to clear, that they’re quite full already. We’re only halfway through too. If you have any boxes or carrier bags, anything like that, it would be such a help. It’s not a very pleasant task, but as we’re her only relations — anyway we’d rather not come back again. It’s all very difficult.”
I could understand her feelings and after promising to see what I had in my flat, I hurried upstairs. A prolonged search revealed one carrier bag and an old shoebox, neither of which would be of much help. I was sorting through the kitchen cupboard again, when a sudden thought struck me. Elly always hoarded paper and boxes in the firm belief that they would always come in handy some time. If only she was in — I had the key to her flat somewhere. Months ago when she had caught a bad dose of influenza, I had been given a spare key, so that I could pop in and out without disturbing her. It was in the table drawer, tucked in paper. I felt sure Elly would not mind if I looked around her place. She was always the first to offer assistance, so I let myself in and started searching.
Sure enough, I found a whole selection of boxes, papers and carriers, neatly stored behind a curtain.
I staggered downstairs with the loot and Mrs. Morely clapped her hands. “Oh, that’s splendid. How very kind of you. Miss — ” she smiled enquiringly. “I don’t know your name, do I?”
“Miss Lennox. Rosemary Lennox.”
She nodded. “Lennox. It seems familiar somehow — Oh my dear, you’re the girl who found Mary.”
I shivered involuntarily and said yes, I was the girl. We didn’t say much more, and I went back upstairs half sad, half relieved to think that now there would be nothing. Memories are not so easily forgotten.
The time passed slowly; I tidied up and put away the shopping. The grocer had been very generous. Tucked away among my purchases were two tins of steak, and on a sudden wave of energy, I started cooking. With complete recklessness, I opened both tins and made two large pies. Bob would need something to eat if he came straight home and Elly could have the other one. It was a change for me to cook her a dinner, but I knew she’d be pleased after being out all day. They came out of the oven nicely browned and quite professional and I was delighted with my efforts. By the time I had finished it was gone six.
Picking up Elly’s key, I let myself into her flat again, gingerly carrying the pie. I couldn’t decide whether to leave it in the kitchen or on the living room table, and while I was deliberating, my eye caught by the half open bedroom door. The bed was unmade.
Elly must have left in a real hurry. She hated having her home untidy. “I’ll make it up for her,” 1 muttered and switching on the light went in. The curtains too were still closed, an unbelievable laxity in one so precise as Elly.
I turned my attention to the bed, stripping it and plumping up the pillows, and as I reached for the blanket, I twisted, knocking something off the dressing table. Straightening up, I examined my find curiously.
It was a long glistening earring, fashioned from tiny pearls. I couldn’t resist a smile as I laid it beside its fellow, somehow I had never associated Elly with glamorous jewellery. But apparently that was a mistake, for there was quite a lot of it heaped on the little gilt tray.
Wonderingly I dangled a jade necklet and its matching clip. They were lovely and vaguely, yes, vaguely familiar. Somewhere, not so long ago, I had seen this jade set. I shut my eyes and thought hard, trying to remember back. Gradually it came.
A girl in a gold dress. A girl who smiled at me from the foot of the stairs. The hall light had shone highlighting the necklet and her long blonde hair against the dark background. Long hair, that shimmered and fell in a golden cascade to her shoulders — The jade set fell to the ground with a clatter as my fingers went suddenly numb. Horrified I recoiled from that dressing table. It was Mary Francis’ jewellery!
For a second, I couldn’t realize what it meant. Stupidly I gazed round the room. It all looked so ordinary. Elly’s dressing gown lay on the chair, warm and old-fashioned. On the rug, her cosy rather shabby slippers. The big wardrobe and chest of drawers. Everything so familiar and comforting. Yet there, on the dressing table was Mary’s stolen jewellery.
&
nbsp; My knees gave way abruptly, and I sank down on to the bed, trying to think clearly, Was I going mad or something? This morning I had suspected Bob. Now it was Elly. Elly whom I knew and loved so well. I must be out of my mind.
The jewellery had been missed immediately. Elly herself had seized on it as the reason for the murder. I remember her angry voice saying how foolish the police were not to follow it up more quickly. Yet while they had searched and sent out descriptions, all the time she had known it was here. A swift vision of her, sitting at the dressing table, playing with the jewels, crossed my mind, and I felt a sudden chill.
On impulse I got up and opened her wardrobe door. Mary’s lace housecoat was also missing. If the jewels were here, the housecoat should be too. Unwillingly, I pushed among the sturdy tweeds and woollens, until my hand touched something soft at the very back. I pulled it out. It was the pink lace housecoat. The sleeves were torn and the seams gaped, as if someone too big had tried to squeeze into it.
I knew then. Whatever Elly might say, whatever explanation she could give, I knew, as surely as if I had been in the room with them, that it was she who had strangled Mary.
Standing by the big wardrobe, the housecoat clutched nervously in my hands, I faced the terrifying realization. To think that I of all people should make this fearful discovery. Elly and I had been so close. She had mothered and spoiled me in everything; I relied on her. Yet for the past week, with no sign, no alteration in her manner, she had kept her dreadful secret hidden.
Engrossed in my thoughts I stood motionless lost to the outer world. My dazed brain groping in darkness, knowing, but scarcely crediting what it must face. How long I stood there, I don’t know, but a slight sound, the merest whisper of noise, suddenly froze my heart. With a terror that no words can describe, I realized that someone else was in the room with me! I turned my head slowly. There in the doorway, a strange smile playing about her lips, stood Elly.
CHAPTER VIII
JEALOUSY
Lonely Road Murder Page 8