"Look," he said, his pleasant, ugly face glowing with satisfaction. "That's more like it, isn't it?"
I stared at it. It was Julian's bottle of luminal tablets.
"And here's the key," he continued, producing it. "They were in there together. That's got the whole thing taped, I think."
I looked at the key curiously. It was a new one, a fellow to the pantry key I possessed.
"That's the evidence," McNaught said cheerfully. "That's just exactly what we want."
By this time Phoebus had ceased to protest. He was crouching on the floor shivering. His captor jerked him to his feet. He made no further attempt to accuse me, but his eyes never left my face, and I turned away before the fury in their depths.
McNaught ignored him. He glanced across the room to where a square, middle-aged detective inspector stood waiting impassively.
"You'll take over now, George," he said. "You know the charge?"
The inspector nodded briskly. "You can leave it to me, Mac. Attempted murder-accessory before-okay?"
"Attempted murder," I ejaculated. "But-"
McNaught took me firmly by the elbow and led me through the crowd, out of the room, and into the hall. Julian came with us, keeping close to my side, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the inspector bearing down on Phoebus.
"Attempted murder of the Colonel, of course," said McNaught when we were out of earshot. "That chap is an accessory before the fact, so they'll probably make it conspiracy. And now, Miss Brayton," he went on with sudden fierceness, "what the blazes do you think you were doing creeping down on us and almost wrecking the whole night's work? It didn't occur to you, I suppose, that if we hadn't caught him with the evidence, we shouldn't have had a thing against him."
"I came to look for the tray," I said.
"The tray?" His voice sharpened, and his big grey eyes regarded me curiously. "When did you think that one out?"
I was still puzzled and a little afraid. I glanced at Julian. "I don't understand," I said. "Do you? Who killed Rita?"
McNaught paused before us, his untidy teeth appearing in a ferocious smile. "You did, Miss Brayton," he said steadily, and added after an appreciable pause, "I think."
I felt Julian stiffen at my side, and at the same moment I saw the full depths of the tragedy.
They were going to prove that I had made a mistake and that in my wretched carelessness I had used tablets from a phial whose label I had not read. I was going to escape; but in that case, there never could be any real happiness for Julian and me. Whatever happened now, whatever we decided to do, wherever we decided to travel, Rita always would be there, dark and hard and beautiful, standing between us like a grim shadow.
I met Julian's eyes, and in their darkness I read my own thoughts echoed.
McNaught's deep voice cut into the silence. "If you've a fire going anywhere, we'll have a spell before it if you don't mind," he said. "It's turned remarkably cold. I don't know if you've noticed it."
We sat in the music room. The fire was almost out; but Rudkin, who looked particularly unlike his formal self in a dusty brown dressing gown and muffler, brought bundles of kindling and made a blaze that filled the warm dusk of the room with the smell of resin.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Munsen, fully dressed, fluttered about like a lean black bat, handing hot toddy on a silver tray. The two old servants had appeared the moment Julian needed them, like genii of the house. I was vividly aware that their anxiety was as sharp as mine; their fortunes were bound with Julian's, their happiness was dependent on his.
McNaught was as bright and dominant as he had been all day. The man was tireless. He sat in the-deep leather chair opposite us and sniffed his glass appreciatively. We remained looking at him warily.
It was some time before he spoke. I was not sure if he was deliberating or simply waiting for the old brother and sister to withdraw. They went at last, but I remembered what Mrs. Munsen had said about there being ways and means of hearing in this house, and I wondered if she was so very far away.
Finally the superintendent spoke, and his words turned our world over before us. "You've got to face it, Colonel Fayre, and it's not a pleasant fact. She was not your wife." He spread his feet out to the blaze and gave us time to take in the full meaning of the astounding statement.
I glanced nervously at Julian. He was sitting up stiffly in his wing chair, the skin drawn tightly over the fine bones of his face and his eyes narrow and incredulous. "Not my wife?"
McNaught's pleasant, ugly face was unexpectedly sympathetic. "No, sir. She was not your wife. I can understand this is going to be a considerable shock to you, but it's one of those things that can't be put too plainly. She was Mrs. Henri Phoebus."
I felt I was going to laugh. I don't know why, but it was as though some unbearable bond had snapped and set me free. My hand found Julian's, and he held it very tight.
"I did not know that," he said.
"No sir. I don't suppose you did."
McNaught's voice was still unwontedly gentle. "But I hope you'll forgive me if I say I think you're well out of it. I want to put the whole thing to you straight. It's one of those simple stories that look complicated from the middle, but if you start at the beginning, it ravels out like a skein."
I was still in the dark. The way McNaught was speaking suggested that there was still some ray of hope for us: but the one overwhelming and dreadful fact remained, and it obsessed me.
"But you said I killed her," I murmured huskily.
He turned to peer at me where I sat on a fireside stool between Julian and the hearth. His eyes were kindly, but there was no weakening there. "You did, miss," he insisted gravely, and added after the same pause, "I think."
I closed my eyes so as not to see him, but I heard Julian stir as he leaned forward toward the man. "Were they crooks, Superintendent?" he said softly.
McNaught met his gaze with a flicker of appreciation. "Yes, sir," he said quietly. "Two of the cleverer kind."
"But that's not possible," I burst out. "I knew Rita at school, and-"
McNaught shook his head at me. "It's been years since she was at school," he said. "It doesn't take that long to step off the white line. Maybe I'd better let you have the story as I know it. I've had several good men at work to get this information in the time, but I've checked it and it's accurate. I'm going to write my report when I leave here, so perhaps I'll give you a little resume. It'll help me as well as you."
Julian motioned to him to continue. He was paler than I ever had seen any man, and his eyes were grim.
"Well," McNaught settled himself, "These are the facts as far as we've been able to trace them. Ten years ago, when Rita Raven left her boarding school, she went abroad to live with her mother, who had parted from her husband. The mother was a reckless type, a hopeless gambler, and when her daughter picked up with Henri Phoebus and married him, she does not seem to have raised much objection. Mother and daughter parted then." He paused, choosing his words, as if he already were writing his report, "At that time," he went on presently. "Phoebus was a small con man in Paris. He was nothing to look at but he was attractive to women, although Rita Ravea seems to have beem the only one to make any real impression on him. They struck up a partnership, and with her help he blossomed out into bigger things."
"You had seen him before," I put in, as the inspiration came to me. "You recognised him when he came into the studio this afternoon."
"Ah, you noticed that, did you?" He eyed me approvingly.
"Yes, I recognised him, but not immediately. I don't forget faces, though-that's part of my success. When I first saw Phoebus, I was in Monaco, working with the Surete on the Le Grand case, and a French inspector pointed him out to me as we sat in a café. He said he was one of their more interesting criminals. As soon as I caught sight of him today, I knew his face was familiar, but I couldn't place him until you said he called himself Mrs. Fayre's entrepreneur."
"How do you mean? I don't understand that." Julian s
poke sharply, and I realised what an intolerable experience this revelation must be to him.
"It was the word the man from the Surete used," Mc-Naught explained. "He was describing the racket Phoebus and his wife were suspected of running. It was a curious business, I remember. She was quite a clever painter in her way, and she used to produce some rather questionable modern pictures, which in turn attracted a questionable type of crowd to the select little shows they gave. I was all very expensive and affected, and yet rather nasty. I needn't put it clearer than that, need I?"
Julian shook his head, and we listened in fascinated silence as the deep voice rumbled on.
"When the woman had attracted the likely birds, Henri Phoebus picked his victims. His method was quite simple. He presented himself as a special type of psychoanalyst and gradually collected a small and wealthy clientele. His manner was charming, and he ingratiated himself easily with a certain type of rich, silly, and slightly vicious elderly woman. They abound in certain European capitals. They went to him to talk about themselves, and it was all very private and confidential to begin with. Phoebus learned many secrets. After that-" He shrugged. "It was just straight blackmail. Vienna, Monte Carlo, and Madrid were all too hot to hold them at one time. They certainly got around."
Julian moved in his chair, and I was desperately sorry for him. Even McNaught cleared his throat, the first sign of embarrassment I had noticed in him.
"Early in the war they came to London," he began slowly, then added abruptly, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, sir, but it's now my duty to put a delicate matter to you as frankly as I can."
"You're being the soul of kindness to me, Superintendent," Julian murmured, and the edge of his tone was not hidden from me, although McNaught missed it. "Please go on."
"Well, sir, I have to remind you that when you first met this-er-lady, you were a young Commando officer just off overseas. You were a wealthy man and an attractive youngster, if I may say so, but, quite frankly, at that time your chances of coming back alive were not particularly bright Isn't that so?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. That's true enough." Julian let the words fall absently. He was making up his mind to say something he found difficult I knew him so well that I could feel him hesitate, struggling to master his reluctance. "McNaught," he said at last. "This isn't very easy to say, and I'm afraid I may not make myself clear. But I wonder if you'll understand if I tell you that I knew Rita was several years older than I was and that it was one of the reasons why I-"
"Went through a form of marriage with her."
"Why I thought I had married her." Julian made the correction very gently. "I did not think I should come back, Superintendent."
To my surprise, McNaught seemed to understand him much better than I did. He raised his head, and his expression was deeply sympathetic. "I can understand a young chap's being wonderfully worried about who was going to look after his home, and the pack of good old servants his mother had died and left him with," he said unexpectedly, "especially if he'd known them from his childhood. I was in the last dust-up myself, and I know how one's got to go off and leave it. A fellow does the daftest things to try to keep it safe while he's away."
Julian met his eyes and grimaced wryly. "You're very shrewd," he said.
"It's my job to be so, sir." McNaught was happily sententious again. It was impossible not to like him. "Well," he said, "as I see it, Mrs. Phoebus saw her way to 'marrying' a young officer, to whom she had presented herself as an intelligent, responsible woman. Just the person to take care of his old dependents, and almost immediately after the ceremony he went overseas."
"Leaving her in complete charge," said Julian drily.
"Not quite, sir," McNaught corrected him quickly. "Don't underestimate your attorney. The Phoebuses might have stripped you but for him. He summed up Mrs. Rita very early on, and he forced her to keep the staff and the house going. She did herself as well as she could, I don't doubt, and Phoebus flourished likewise, but they couldn't do any real harm. He took care of that."
"I'm eternally grateful to him," said Julian fervently, "but I don't understand why they continued with this entrepreneur business. After all, they had all the money they needed."
"Very likely, but they hadn't the friends," McNaught explained. "Rita Phoebus was a woman who had to live in a crowd. Parties were the breath of life to her. So Phoebus carried on with his old tricks and drew a congenial set about them in no time. All was plain sailing until you came home. You were a sick man, but you were recovering rapidly. The rackety crowd began to avoid the house. Things weren't so good."
"And so they thought of killing me," said Julian bluntly.
"Yes," McNaught said shortly, and we sat in silence for a moment. Despite the fire blazing at my side, I felt the room had grown icy cold. Rita had so nearly succeeded.
"All the same," McNaught went on, "all the same, it was a considerable undertaking for them. They were confidence tricksters and blackmailers, but murder was something they hadn't attempted. To be honest, I think the woman got the idea only when she discovered the morphia where old Harriet had hidden it in the cupboard under the bookcase. Mrs. Rita must have found it the day she replaced the old lady's china with her cocktail paraphernalia. They tell me in the kitchen that she did that with her own hands."
"But how did she know it was morphia? It wasn't on the label," I put in.
"Oh, I'm open to bet that Phoebus knows morphia when he sees it," he said dourly. "It was remarkably like the luminal and came from the same dispensary in the same kind of bottle. She noticed that, and she realised how simple it would be to make a mistake."
"Why didn't she do it herself?" It was my question again.
McNaught turned to me, his eyes wide. "She knew she never could stand up to the enquiry, miss," he said promptly. "She knew there was bound to be a great deal of investigation, followed by an inquest. That was inevitable, and once the police started going into her motives, there was bound to be the very devil to pay. No, that wouldn't do at all."
"So she got hold of Gillie to My God, Superintendent, that's horrible!" Julian was bending forward in his chair, the knuckles of his clenched hands white.
"Yes, sir," said McNaught quietly. "She got hold of Miss Brayton. In fact, she did what ladies often do when there's dirty work to be done-she got a girl in. She was very clever, though; she found just the right girl. She chose an obviously innocent youngster who had no relatives to make a bother afterward, and one, moreover, who had a reputation already for being a little absent-minded. Just the type of girl, in fact, who would appeal to a coroner as one likely to make a silly mistake." He paused and grinned at me. "The staff at Totham Abbey was very helpful. I sent a man down there this morning after the doctor had told me his little bit."
"Oh," I said, my mouth dry.
"The doctor played into her hands all along," he observed. "He's an honest old chap, but not overburdened with brains. His brother seems to have held the practice together. She fooled him completely; he was all ready to believe anything she told him. He was certain you had made a mistake and confused the bottles, whereas, of course, what really happened was that someone confused the trays or the cups."
"But I didn't do that," I said.
"Didn't you?" He eyed me, his head on one side. "Maybe you didn't. Maybe Rudkin did. He tells me he's colour-blind, and I don't see why I should disbelieve him. The two shades are confusing by artificial light, anyway. That's what you discovered this afternoon, didn't you?
"Yes," I said. "I didn't notice it last night, though."
"Perhaps not," he agreed. "Let's say Rudkin confused the trays, or that you, since you were crying, did not notice on which tray was the cup you put the tablets in. Besides, suppose you had noticed it, would it have mattered?"
"I don't understand," I said woodenly.
He looked at me curiously. "It was only a question of a sedative, wasn't it?" he said. "The sedative would hardly have hurt Mrs. Fayre after an exhibition of temper th
at, by all accounts, was something sensational." He sighed contentedly and lay back in the chair. "It's all fairly clear to you now, isn't it? The Phoebuses had had their plan made for some time, but Mrs. Rita did not put it into execution until you forced her hand."
"By telling her I was going?"
"Exactly. You took her by surprise, and with typical recklessness she decided to work at once. She had not much to do, but it needed a certain ruthless courage. Her idea was to open the pantry door with a second key, which she had had made for the purpose, change the tablet bottle, tamper with the light, and then wait. I wondered at first if the woman Mitzi had helped her there, but I'm inclined to doubt it. Mitzi had been with her for years; but, all the same, I don't think Mrs. Rita would have trusted her to that extent. At any rate, the Austrian didn't know where the cupboard was. She's been looking for something all day."
I was frowning. A small point was bothering me. "How could any coroner have thought I'd confuse the bottles if there was only the morphia there?"
"Good girl," he applauded me. "You see, she intended to go back. I'm certain of it. She intended to return to the pantry during the night to restore the light and the luminal. She dared not leave it there in the first place, in case you noticed there were two bottles instead of one. In that case, you'd have read the labels, chosen the right one, and enquired about the other. Wouldn't you?"
"Yes, naturally."
"Of course. She knew that. So she intended to put it back afterward." He was very happy unravelling all the knots. "Then, when the police arrived next morning, she could swear blithely that the two bottles had been there all these weeks," he continued triumphantly. "She could even afford to be frank, admitting openly that she had found the morphia herself and, not knowing what it was, had put it in the pantry long before you arrived here at all or even the Colonel came home."
"I should have denied that."
"Of course," he said. "But who would have believed you? You would have looked like a frightened schoolgirl who was trying to conceal her carelessness. There would have been a very unpleasant inquest."
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