by Leo Bruce
“Oh, just glasses. A cup and saucer. Ash-trays. But I usually leave those on a tray for Mrs Plum in the morning. It is more the books and newspapers which I looked after. Mrs Bomberger was very particular about those.”
“Were there glasses, cups and ash-trays in the big sitting-room that night?”
“Yes. No! No. None at all.”
Carolus sighed.
“You see what I mean? You’re determined not to tell me the truth. ‘Yes’, you said quite normally and of course truthfully. Six people had not spent three hours of an evening in a room without leaving them. ‘Yes’ was the truth. Then suddenly you remember something you have prepared yourself to say. Or been told to say. You shout ‘No!’ and now you’re going to stick to it.”
Miss Pink twirled and knotted herself desperately.
“There weren’t any glasses. Not one. Nor ash-trays. I don’t know why. Perhaps no one had smoked or had a drink or coffee. Perhaps they cleared up before they went to bed. There wasn’t one!”
“Let’s leave that. At last, at about midnight, having finished downstairs, you went up to your room?”
“Yes. It must have been.”
“And then?”
“I retired,” said Miss Pink bashfully.
“You didn’t go first to Mrs Bomberger’s room?”
“Just to the door. I heard her sleeping.”
“You mean she snored?”
“Frequently, yes. That night it was just a light stertoration.”
“So you didn’t go in?”
“No.”
“What next?”
“Well, nothing really. Sleep,” said Miss Pink, adding in a dubious melancholy voice, “the cool kindliness of sheets that soon smooths away trouble.”
“Bomberger?”
“No. Rupert Brooke.”
“What awoke you?”
“Me? When? Oh, it’s hard to say. I …”
“Come, Miss Pink. I’ve told you I won’t listen to a fairy tale about a beautiful night’s sleep ending at eleven next morning.”
“It was … I don’t know the time … I had taken a drop of my Bromaloid, of course. I can’t think …”
“Yes, you can. You’re thinking now of what answer you should give. What happened during the night?”
“During the night?”
“You needn’t sound as though the question was such an extraordinary one. After all, at some time during the night Mrs Bomberger, alive or dead, went or was taken from her bedroom to the beach. It isn’t very surprising that I should ask you, who slept in the next room, what you heard of it.”
“Oh that. Nothing, really. Mrs Bomberger could move very softly when she wished. I’ve always thought she left the house that night of her own volition.”
“You’re going to tell me you heard nothing?” asked Carolus savagely.
Miss Pink wilted, performed a couple of convolutions which a professional contortionist would have envied and seemed to think very hard.
“There was my dream, of course.”
“I do not want to hear dreams. There is nothing in the whole world so boring as an account of someone’s dream unless it’s a story of the intelligence of his dog. I want to know what you heard or saw.”
“It may not have been quite a dream,” said Miss Pink coyly.
“You mean, it happened?”
“You shall hear for yourself. I am not really altogether certain. I went to sleep for a while and then—I scarcely know if I was awake or asleep—then I seemed to hear a voice.”
“Whose?”
“Mrs Bomberger’s.”
“That must have been nice for you.”
“On the contrary. I had had the experience before. She was a very domineering person, as no doubt you have realized. More than once I had suffered from nightmares in which she was calling me insistently. On one or two occasions I went hastily to her room to see what she wanted. That made her most annoyed, because it was only my imagination and she wasn’t calling me at all. This time it was different.”
“In what way?”
“The call did not seem to come from her room.”
“Where did it come from?”
“It seemed to be on the wind. ‘A voice on the wind at even.’ ”
“Brooke?” said Carolus.
“No. Bomberger,” admitted Miss Pink.
“How do you mean, ‘on the wind’?”
“Out of the night, Mr Deene. ‘A voice whose sound was like the sea.’ That’s Wordsworth.”
“Was it like the sea?”
“It seemed to come from the sea. Or from near the sea. My window faced that way. It was a breezy night with no moonlight much. My window was open. ‘Alice!’ I seemed to hear. ‘Alice!’”
“Seemed to hear or heard?”
“I can’t quite draw the distinction. I am still not sure if I was asleep or awake. ‘Alice!’ it seemed to call in a sad, despairing way.”
“So what did you do?”
“I was never quite awake, I think. The Bromaloid, you know. I must have dropped off properly.”
“At what time did this happen? The voice, I mean?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly say. I’m not even sure there was a voice.”
“Then you slept till eleven and were woken by Mrs Plum saying the police were here? I’ve heard it all before.”
“No. Not that,” said Miss Pink confidentially. “As a matter of fact I did rather oversleep that morning. But I woke at ten. I looked at my watch and thought, I must get up quickly. Mrs Bomberger’s bell might ring at any moment, and I had not sorted her post or prepared her breakfast or anything. I dressed as quickly as I could and was just going downstairs when Mrs Plum announced the police.”
“It’s a small variation,” admitted Carolus.
“That’s all I can remember of that night.”
“What did you feel about Mrs Bomberger?”
“Feel about her? Oh. It’s very hard to answer that. She was such a dominant personality. In a way I was most attached to her. I had been with her for ten years. But she was so overbearing. She had no respect for other people’s feelings. She could treat one in the most humiliating way.”
Carolus nodded slowly and said no more.
“It was you who answered the door to Mr Stump that evening?”
As though relieved at escaping from other topics, Miss Pink answered eagerly.
“Yes. And it was I who took that phone call from an unknown man.”
Again Carolus was silent and again Miss Pink looked uncomfortable.
“Is that all you want to know?” she asked at last.
“No, Miss Pink, it is not. But it is all I have any intention of asking you. It is evidently not the slightest use expecting to hear the truth. ‘All I want to know?’ No. I want to know how Miss Stayer came to spoil a nearly new pair of black velvet shoes that night and why her sister lies about it. I want to know why the ash-trays and glasses were removed from the big sitting-room and cleaned at some time in the small hours. I want to know who took the key of the drinks cupboard from Mrs Bomberger’s room and who drank the whisky.”
Alice Pink gave a kind of convulsive jerk as each of Carolus’s points went home. It was evident that she was near hysterics.
“I want to know who cleaned Mrs Bomberger’s bath-chair and why? I want to know how Mrs Bomberger came to take that quantity of sleeping-pills and at what time she died. A great deal of this you could tell me, but you have decided not to. All right. I’ve warned all of you of the danger.”
“Danger?”
“The danger of not speaking the truth when it’s a matter of life and death. The danger of hoodwinking the police, who are the people responsible for your safety. The danger of concocting a wholly false and incomplete story and sticking to it through thick and thin. The danger of a conspiracy, Miss Pink. Of a conspiracy.”
Miss Pink had twisted herself so violently during these last words that Carolus was becoming quite alarmed. However, she found a s
afety-valve by bursting into tears and dashing from the room.
Carolus remained alone for a time, smoking and thinking. From the window he saw Primmley the gardener at work and remembered that he had to interview him and Graveston. But he felt disinclined to ask more questions at present. He was, as he had rather brutally told Miss Pink, tired of hearing lies.
However, he was not given a respite, for there was a tap at the door, followed by the entrance of Graveston.
Mrs Plum had described him as the oddest man she had ever seen, and it may well have been no exaggeration. Tall and lugubrious, he was dressed in a dark suit and wore a starched collar and black tie. The top of his head was bald but, as though ironically, hair grew with uncontrolled luxuriance elsewhere about him, his eyebrows beetled, his ears were the pink environments of tangled brush, his nostrils bristled, the backs of his hands were dark with wiry growth. From the depths of his long throat came a cavernous voice.
“I understand you want to question me, sir. I’m not at liberty to tell you much.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“I have my duty. I know what is right and what is wrong.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“I was strictly brought up. My father used to say, ‘Now you know the difference between Right and Wrong. Do Right.’ ”
“And did you?”
“I did, sir. I have no intention of doing other. That is why I say I am not at liberty to tell you everything you may wish to know.”
“I see. I suppose we start with the old grind about you going to bed at eleven and sleeping until eleven o’clock next morning?”
“That would be inaccurate, sir. I should not wish to say anything like that. What I say will be right. I did not reach the house till nearly one o’clock in the morning.”
Carolus sat up.
“Oh, you were out that evening?”
“I was, sir. It wouldn’t be right for me to say anything else.”
“May I ask where you were?”
“At a meeting of the Elders of the Mount Sion Revealed Persuasion and Band of Charity. We have our little meeting-place in Blessington. You may have noticed it? A redbrick building opposite the old fish market.”
“That kept you late?”
“I knew that the last bus left at ten, but I felt it was only right to stay to the end of the meeting. So I walked home.”
“Did you go straight to bed?”
“I felt I owed it to myself to make a cup of tea before doing so. I should not wish to deny that.”
“So it must have been half-past one before you were finally between the sheets?”
“I should not for a moment claim such accuracy. I cannot be sure just what time I went to bed and would not pretend to. But if I may guess I should say it was about then, about one-thirty.”
“Which way did you come home?”
Graveston appeared startled by the simple question.
“I hardly feel called upon …”he began.
But Carolus interrupted sharply.
“Nonsense. There are three ways you could have come from Blessington: along the sands, over the cliffs or inland by the road. Which did you take?”
Graveston did not move a muscle, yet Carolus felt that his inner writhings were no less than Miss Pink’s outward ones had been.
“It’s not for me …”
“Which one?”
“Along the sands. I wouldn’t tell you anything else.”
“You didn’t want to tell me at all. Why not?”
“I want to do right. I …”
“Oh, very well. Did you meet anyone as you came that way?”
“Several persons. Two courting couples I remember distinctly because I couldn’t approve of their attitudes.”
“No one you knew?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure you came by the sands, Graveston?”
“I certainly should not say so if I wasn’t. I should not feel it right to deceive you on any point, though there may be some questions I cannot answer.”
“So your shoes must have been sandy when you came in?”
“I had been walking on dry sand above high-water mark. This would not cling to boots at all.”
“No. That is what I was thinking. If any of your shoes were wet, salty or clogged with sand it must have been from another excursion that night?”
Graveston blinked, but remained silent.
“Did you go out again that night, Graveston?”
“I went to bed, sir. I can’t pretend I didn’t.”
“But did you get up again?”
“To answer a call of Nature—yes, sir.”
“You did not leave the house?”
“No.”
“You do not know whether anyone else did?”
“On such matters I cannot speak, sir. It would not be right for me to do so.”
“You sleep deeply?”
“No, sir. I cannot go so far as that. I slept fitfully.”
“When did you clean Mrs Bomberger’s bath-chair?”
“I am unable to say, sir. I cleaned it whenever it was necessary, that is all I can tell you.”
“You had recently formed a habit of taking Mrs Bomberger to the top of the cliffs?”
“It was the lady’s wish to go that way.”
“Did you ever think how easy it would be for you to let the bath-chair run over?”
“Such thoughts would never enter my head. I should not think it right to contemplate a possibility like that.”
“We can’t always control our thoughts. But we can be honest with ourselves about them. All right, Graveston. You have resolved not to tell me the truth. I shan’t ask you any more. But I warn you that if you have told the same lies to the police as you have to me you’re in danger of immediate arrest on a charge of murder.”
“Me, sir? That couldn’t possibly be. I had nothing whatever to do with it.”
“With what?” shouted Carolus.
“With the death of Mrs Bomberger. I understand the lady died from an over-dose of sleeping-pills.”
“Why did you clean that bath-chair in the small hours of that morning?”
“I did no such thing. I can say no more.”
Carolus sent him to ask Gracie and Babs Stayer and Miss Pink if they could see him and in a few moments the household was gathered. Carolus spoke very briefly.
“I have no more enquiries to make here,” he said, “and I am delighted that it is so. I do not know why you told my cousin you wanted me to investigate if you were not going to give me the facts. I feel it is only fair to warn you, and I hope you will pass the warning on to Mr and Mrs Cribb, that you all, and particularly one of you, that you all are in danger. Neither I nor the police can do anything for you while you persist in keeping us in the dark.”
“Danger? Of what?” asked Gracie.
“Death,” said Carolus and left them. He went quickly to his car and drove back to Blessington.
10
PRIGGLEY was waiting for him.
“I trust you’ll never again expect me to do anything quite so banal as that,” he said in a bored voice, apparently referring to the task given him yesterday. “Shadowing a man with a squint! Really, I might be Valentine Vox, or something. Won’t you ever grow up, sir?”
“You thoroughly enjoyed it,” said Carolus. “What’s more, you’ve probably done it extremely well. Let’s hear about it.”
“Are you giving me lunch? I’m beginning to find that the table d’hôte in the Grand Restaurant Romano-Ritz at the Royal Hydro, to say the least of it, palls”
“You’d better ask Mrs Stick.”
“Easy,” said Rupert and went out to the kitchen. In a few moments he returned in triumph. “Though she says ‘Mind you, if it had been one of them mixed up with this nasty business there wouldn’t have been, and I don’t mind if Mr Deene knows it.’ ”
Rupert poured out sherry for Carolus and himself, sniffing appreciatively over the glass
before almost gargling with the wine as he swallowed, in the manner of a professional taster. It was clear that he believed he had a good story and did not intend to be hurried.
“That’s a squalid character,” he said at last. “Insults-to-women stuff. You know, walks along, sees a decent woman out shopping or what-have-you, and just says something nasty to her as he passes. Walking behind him made me quite ill. Each time he passed a woman alone I would see him stoop towards her and then watch her colour up and hurry on.”
“It’s quite common,” said Carolus, “and very hard to deal with, because the women hate complaining, which entails repeating what the man has said. Very unpleasant. Go on.”
“He led me all over the town on this, and I was just going to let him go to hell and tell you to find someone else for the job when he looked at his watch. I guessed he had made a decision to go home, and I was right. He disappeared into Peep O’Day, Board Residence, Sorry We’re Full, Write Next Tear, 16 Windsor Terrace. I went and had a cup of tea at the café on the corner, from which I could see the entrance of his place. I was sure he had not had enough amusement for the day and waited for him to come out. It took about an hour and I was getting pretty bored with a rather dreary blonde behind the counter of my café before I saw him slope into the evening air. I waited till he was well out of sight, then went over to Peep O’Day and asked for the proprietress.
“ ‘We’re full up,’ said a bright little woman with a grey fringe. ‘I know. I’ll write next year,’ I told her. ‘I wanted to see you about something else.’ She seemed a bit doubtful, but eventually asked me into her kitchen. ‘What is it?’ she said; ‘because I’m so busy I haven’t time to turn round.’ I didn’t hedge. ‘It’s about that man who has just left,’ I said, ‘Squint. Gold teeth.’ I could see at once that she had had her own doubts about our man. ‘It’s a bit difficult to explain, Mrs …’ ‘Salter,’ she said. ‘Mrs Salter. I’m afraid it may take a few minutes.’ I’d got her curiosity thoroughly roused now. She wouldn’t have let me out of that room for a fortune. ‘Sit down,’ she said.
“I gave her the works. Strictly true except that I invented a sister of mine who had been insulted. I intended to give the man a good hiding. ‘Not in my house,’ she stipulated, and I agreed. My sister would not let me go to the police, but I was thinking of other people’s sisters, too, etcetera, etcetera. Mrs Salter came out with quite a lot. The man’s name is Poxton and he has been here three weeks. He now owes one week’s rent, but has promised the money tomorrow ‘for certain, as he is receiving a large sum’. He doesn’t come down to breakfast in the morning, though Mrs Salter doesn’t ‘do’ breakfasts up in bedrooms. ‘Well, I couldn’t do it. Not when we’re full up like this.’ He ‘lies in’, as she says, until just on lunch-time, then goes round to the Feathers, and comes in late for lunch, which makes it so awkward for everybody. ‘I’ve only got the one woman to help me and naturally we both want to get washed up.’ In the afternoon he goes out as he did today.