by Clara Benson
‘But what now?’ said Lady Bendish. ‘As it seems you know, none of it is rightfully ours, anyway. Because of what I am.’
Her tone was bitter.
‘You’re my dear, sweet mother,’ said Larry, ‘and I won’t let anyone say differently.’
‘But the law doesn’t care how dear or sweet I am,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t legally married to your father and that’s all there is to it.’
‘You acted in good faith. You thought your first husband was dead.’
‘I did,’ she said. ‘Everybody did. He disappeared for years, and I thought myself free to marry again. But when I found out he was still alive your father was already dead, so it was impossible to put things right. Then Eduardo died too, and I thought I was safe, since we’d married in Argentina. I thought nobody in England would ever find out.’
‘But Ticky did, didn’t he?’
Lady Bendish lowered her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘How much did he get out of you?’
She waved a hand in a gesture of what might have been desperation.
‘I don’t know, I never counted. I just paid him whatever he asked. Anything to make him go away. But it wasn’t so much the money—I’d have paid him it gladly in return for his silence. It was the taunts I couldn’t stand—the constant mocking. I don’t believe the money meant a thing to him. I think he just enjoyed having power over people. He took pleasure in the knowledge that his position in society was all thanks to the misery of others.’
‘Then he deserved everything he got,’ said Larry. ‘Good riddance to the man. And to his contemptible servant, too. They’re both out of the way now, and you don’t have to worry about them any more. I only wish you’d confided in me sooner.’
‘Why? What could you have done?’
‘I don’t know. But I should have thought of something. The man was nothing but a foul parasite—a blood-sucker, feasting on others’ misfortune. People of that sort don’t deserve to live.’
He sounded so furious that Lady Bendish regarded him in alarm.
‘You are just talking out of anger, aren’t you, darling?’ she said. ‘I mean, you didn’t—you didn’t actually do anything?’
‘No, but I wish I had,’ said Larry, setting his jaw. ‘I should like to find whoever did it and shake him by the hand.’
She gave a little bleat of protest.
‘Well, what of it?’ he demanded. ‘He’s done you the most enormous good turn.’
‘I wish I could believe it,’ she said. ‘But the police are no doubt searching the house at this moment, and I’m frightened of what they will find.’
‘I don’t believe they’ll find anything,’ said Larry. ‘I think Ticky was far too wily to leave anything compromising lying around the house. I expect it’s well hidden. And with any luck it will never turn up.’
‘I do hope you’re right,’ she said.
DENIS BEASLEY WINCED as the door slammed behind his wife, then turned to Ann Chadwick.
‘I don’t seem to be able to say anything to her at the moment,’ he said. ‘Every time I try to start a perfectly normal conversation she flies off the handle. What was it this time? I only said I suppose we can expect another visit from the police now.’
‘I think this whole thing has made her nervous,’ said Ann. ‘She doesn’t like to be reminded of it.’
‘Well, there’s no need for her to take it out on me,’ said Denis. ‘And why is she nervous? Don’t tell me Ticky had got to her too. Good Lord—that’s it, isn’t it? He was blackmailing her. What was it? The cocaine, I suppose. I’m sure she thinks I don’t know about it, but I’m not stupid. It was perfectly obvious what she was doing.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Ann untruthfully. ‘She’s never said anything to me, and I’ve no reason to suppose she was one of his victims.’
‘And you wouldn’t tell me even if you did know, would you? You can keep a secret. That’s why I tell you all mine. I don’t mind you knowing everything about me because I’m certain I can trust you. But one never knows what you’re thinking. What are your secrets, Ann? You must have some of your own, surely?’
Ann smiled, but said nothing.
‘No, you won’t give them away,’ he said. ‘Ticky would have had a hard time of it to find something on you.’
He walked over to the window and looked out.
‘There she goes,’ he said. ‘I expect we won’t see her until this evening now, and I’ll be at a loose end for the rest of the day.’
‘Why don’t you go to your club?’ suggested Ann.
‘I’m too restless with all this murder business. I’ll pace up and down and all the old boys will glare at me. I’d be better off going for walk. Will you come with me?’
‘No, thank you. I have some letters to write. You go.’
Denis regarded her in silence for a moment as she prepared her writing things.
‘I wish I’d kept well away from Natalia,’ he said at last. ‘I ended things with her after Nancy threatened me with divorce, but I was bored with her anyway.’ He paused. ‘You know I only took up with her again to make you jealous, don’t you?’
‘Hush,’ said Ann. ‘There’s no sense in talking like that.’
‘And then Maltravers found out about her and started demanding money,’ said Denis, ignoring her. ‘I’d have told him to go to the devil had it not been for you, but Nancy would have thrown me out, and then I’d never have seen you again.’
Ann glanced at him but said nothing.
‘You know how I feel about you, Ann,’ he said quietly. ‘Won’t you say yes? It would make me so terribly happy.’
‘How can I?’ she said. ‘You’re married to Nancy. And you seem to forget I’m marrying Larry.’
‘Larry doesn’t care for you as much as I do,’ said Denis.
‘Yes, he does—and more so.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Of course I do,’ she said, without looking at him.
‘A bird in the hand, eh?’
‘Your words, not mine,’ she said sharply. ‘But I won’t be your plaything. I have too much respect for myself.’
‘That’s true enough. But if you think I’m playing games with you, you’re very wrong. It’s not like that. You may not believe me, but my intentions are entirely honourable and above the board. I’d like you to be my wife. I’d see to it you weren’t cited in the divorce.’
‘I don’t want you to divorce Nancy,’ said Ann. ‘That won’t do at all. And I don’t think you quite realize what you’d be giving up if you did get divorced.’
‘Because she’s the one with the money, you mean? I don’t care about that any more. They’ve dangled their wealth in front of me all these years—her father did, anyway—and threatened me with penury if I didn’t behave myself. But what sort of a feeble wretch must I have been, to have allowed myself to become a slave to my wife in that fashion? I’m disgusted at myself, and I won’t stand for it any more. I don’t want her money, and I don’t want her. I want to be free again.’
‘If you think that by divorcing her you’ll win me you’re very wrong,’ said Ann. ‘I won’t be associated with anything of the sort.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ he said. ‘I can’t ask you to be a party to that kind of scandal. And why should you want to marry a middle-aged divorcé with no money and no prospects? You deserve more than that. You oughtn’t to be a poor man’s wife.’ He began pacing restlessly about the room. ‘If only things had been different,’ he said suddenly. ‘If only I weren’t already married.’
‘But you are,’ said Ann.
‘If I could snap my fingers now and somehow make Nancy disappear, believe me, I’d do it. I only wish there were a way.’
‘Things are never as easy as all that,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But I shall find a way somehow. I must have you. I’ve never felt like this before. It’s something quite new to me. Of course, you know I’ve misbehaved
in the past, but none of it meant anything. If only you’ll say yes, I’ll be a perfect angel from now on.’
‘Perhaps you ought to be saying that to your wife,’ said Ann.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she went over and put a gentle hand to his cheek. He took it and kissed it, then held it in his.
‘You’ve been cooped up indoors too long,’ she said after a moment. ‘Go for a walk. You’ll feel better for it, I promise. And now I really must get on.’
She freed her hand, then sat down at the writing-desk and turned her back to him.
‘I see—you’re giving me my dismissal, are you?’ he said. ‘Very well, I’ll leave you to it for now, but don’t forget what I said. Once this is all over I shall ask you again, and this time you’d better say yes, because I won’t take no for an answer.’
So saying, he went out. After the door had closed, Ann let out a little sigh of relief and shook her head. Then she bent to her task, the merest hint of a smile on her face.
FREDDY HAD HEARD all about Weaver’s murder, of course, but after his adventure with the flask he had judged it best to give the police a wide berth for a little while, just until he could be sure that they had fallen for Bert Evans’s story, and were not about to haul up Bert, himself and Cynthia on a charge of tampering with the evidence. So it was that his fellow-reporter Jolliffe was given the job of reporting on this latest development in the Maltravers case for the Clarion, while Freddy accepted a lesser story about a collision on Shaftesbury Avenue between an omnibus and a wagon carrying several hundredweight of turnips. When he returned to Fleet Street, he found a scrawled message on his desk to the effect that a Miss Sang Jackamo had been asking for him, and would wait for him at the Lyons until two o’clock. Freddy glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly ten minutes to, and so with a hurried excuse he ran out again, promising to be back in time to hand in his piece for the early evening edition.
Valentina Sangiacomo was sitting at a corner table by herself, eating a large slice of cream cake with great relish. She nodded as Freddy came in, and pointed at the seat opposite her, then proceeded to polish off the rest of the cake with great efficiency.
‘Don’t they feed you, these artist chaps?’ said Freddy, as she dabbed at her mouth and took a sip of tea.
‘Not much,’ she said. ‘They don’t think about that kind of thing. Art before everything else, don’t you know? Never mind that the model’s starving to death.’
‘I can’t imagine you ever dying of hunger,’ said Freddy. ‘You’re far too good at taking care of yourself.’
She shot him an amused glance.
‘I won’t say you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to have anything?’
‘I’ve already eaten, thanks,’ he said, then, as she showed no sign of introducing the matter at hand: ‘was this a purely social summons, or do you have something to tell me?’
‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘But I’d like to discuss terms first.’
‘Before we do, I think you ought to know something.’
‘He’s dead. Yes, I know that, of course. Someone stuck a knife in him, and I can’t say I blame them, if he really was what you say.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘I can read the papers as well as you can, Mister Pilkington-Soames,’ she said.
‘Then presumably whatever you have to tell me occurred on Friday afternoon or Saturday.’
She said nothing, but looked at him expectantly. He sighed, and handed over ten shillings, which she tucked into her dress.
‘I hope this is worth it,’ he said.
‘It’s not for me to say.’
‘You managed to follow him, then?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘On Saturday. All the way to Dorking and back.’
‘Dorking? What’s in Dorking?’
‘His mother, I think,’ replied Valentina. ‘From what I could see through the window, she looked like him, only a hundred years older and ten times uglier.’
‘I see,’ said Freddy. The fear was stealing over him that the blackmail business had already been passed on to a third generation of owners. ‘So he was visiting his mother like a good boy, yes? Was he—er—carrying anything with him?’
‘Not as far as I could tell,’ she said. ‘He got on the train and sat looking out of the window all the way there, then got off and walked straight to where he was going. It’s a little cottage just off the Westcott Road. She keeps chickens and a goat.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘What do you take me for?’ she said. ‘I know how to hide myself. Once he’d gone into the house I crept up and peeked through the window. She was all tucked up in blankets and he was serving her tea. I waited, and after a while he came out, so I hid quickly behind the hen-house. I thought he was going to leave, but he only went into the coal-cellar, then back inside. Then it started to get dark, and it was raining a bit, and I thought maybe he was going to stay the night. I didn’t much fancy sleeping with the chickens, so I thought I’d go, but then I suddenly remembered the coal-scuttle.’
‘Which coal-scuttle?’
‘The one by the fire. I saw it when I looked through the window. It was full.’
‘So?’
‘So why did he go into the coal-cellar?’ said Valentina.
‘Oh,’ said Freddy, in sudden understanding. ‘You think he went in for some other reason?’
‘Stands to sense, doesn’t it?’ she said. ‘At any rate, that’s what I thought, so I sneaked over to have a look inside, but it was locked. A shiny new padlock it was, too. If I’d had something suitable with me I’d have had a go at it, but I didn’t.’
‘What do you mean, something suitable?’
She looked at him pityingly.
‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you’re in the habit of carrying a set of lock-picks with you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘If I was I’d have been able to get in. Anyway, I waited a while longer, and eventually he came out and set off back to the station. I didn’t hang about myself, since I couldn’t get into the coal-cellar, so I came back to London.’
‘That’s bad luck about the padlock,’ said Freddy regretfully. ‘How are we supposed to find out what’s in there if we can’t get in?’
‘Can you pick a lock?’ said Valentina.
‘It’s not the sort of thing they teach at Eton,’ said Freddy. ‘Pity—it would be much more useful than all that Latin nonsense.’
‘I thought you’d say that,’ she said. ‘Never mind—I can show you how to do it.’
And to his surprise she produced from her pocket a padlock and a metal ring, from which hung a number of odd-looking hooks.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So these are what you forgot to take with you on Saturday.’
‘Exactly,’ she said, and proceeded to show him how to open the padlock. After a few tries Freddy succeeded in doing it himself, much to his excitement. She made him keep practising until he could do it every time, and then gave a satisfied nod.
‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘Now you can get in yourself. I don’t fancy going down to Dorking again. It’s too countrified for my tastes. Now, what do you say? I reckon that ought to be worth another ten.’
‘You’re an expensive young woman, Miss Sangiacomo,’ said Freddy, as he handed her another note and put the lock-picks in his pocket. ‘Tell me, what other services do you offer? Tours of the escape-routes of London? Practical lessons in how to make a useful garotte?’
‘There’s no need for impudence,’ she said without offence.
‘Sorry. I’m awfully grateful to you, really I am,’ he said. ‘Blackmail’s a filthy business, and I want to find whatever it is Weaver was keeping before the police get hold of it, and start tramping about, asking awkward questions and causing everyone inconvenience.’
‘What’ll you do with it if you find it?’ she said.
‘I haven’t quite decided. I suppose one ought to burn it all without rea
ding it, but then the victims won’t know they’re safe. I may have to send it back to them instead.’
‘You don’t mind that the murderer won’t get caught?’ she said curiously.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I mean to say, I’m all in favour of the notion that killing ought to be discouraged in general, but in this case whoever it was seems to have done a number of people a good turn by ridding the world of two individuals who were taking up far too much space in it.’
‘Amen to that!’ she said, and stood up. ‘I’d better be off. Good luck, and don’t forget to keep a steady hand.’
‘I won’t,’ he promised, and she went out, leaving him to pay the bill. He watched her leave, and reflected on how many strange and wonderful people there were in London. It seemed to him that she was a very useful person to know, but too late he realized that he did not know how to find her should he ever want to speak to her again. Still, that was not important at present. His main concern now was to get into that coal-cellar in Dorking. But when to do it? He could not go now, as he was wanted at the office. Perhaps it would be better to go this evening—yes, that would be the best idea, since it would be dark, and nobody would see him. He would go alone, in order to avoid attracting too much attention, pick the lock, get whatever it was out of the cellar, and be home by midnight. After that, all would be plain sailing: he would hand over any incriminating information he found to its rightful owners, then let the police go about the business of investigating the murders of Ticky and Weaver without being unduly influenced by motive—for surely there must be enough physical evidence to show who had done it, without their needing to be burdened by the additional knowledge of all the suspects’ sins? At any rate, the investigation was now back on course, everything was where it ought to be, and Freddy was feeling more cheerful now than he had for days. He would go back to the office, finish his work, retrieve the information at his leisure, and then stop meddling in the case once and for all.
‘THERE YOU ARE, Freddy,’ said Amelia Drinkwater, jumping up from a chair as he entered through the grand arched doors of the Clarion building. ‘They said you’d be back soon.’