by Clara Benson
‘Do stop talking to yourself, Freddy, old chap. I’m trying to concentrate,’ said Jolliffe at the next desk.
‘Sorry,’ said Freddy, and stood up.
‘Now where are you going?’ said Jolliffe. ‘Old Featherstone’s coming for his tour of inspection at four, and you’ll be in trouble if you’re not here.’
‘I—er—just need to go and look something up in the archives,’ said Freddy. ‘I won’t be long.’
And off he hurried. He was most likely mistaken in what he had seen, but there was no harm in making sure.
FOR THE NEXT few days, Freddy was taken up with sending back the documents and personal effects he had abstracted from the house in Dorking to their rightful owners. This took no little time, for Ticky’s collection had been a large one, and it was not always immediately clear who the owners were. Far more often than he liked, Freddy was forced to read a document and take to himself a secret that another had paid good money to keep hidden, in order to find out who it belonged to, and by the end of the whole thing he felt somehow tainted by the experience, and wanted nothing more than to submerge himself in a hot bath and scrub himself clean of all the unpleasantness.
But there was more to do, for the hardest task still lay ahead of him. He had told Amelia Drinkwater that he did not intend to pass on the information about their friends to Scotland Yard, but without it the police were working partly in the dark, and since he did not wish them to fasten upon the wrong suspect for want of the proper information, he had decided to do a little investigating himself. Furthermore, after a night of wrestling with his conscience, he had reluctantly begun to reach the conclusion that it was only right that the murderer be caught, even though whoever it was had put two loathsome individuals out of the way and, by doing so, saved countless people from further misery. Although Freddy had few qualms about keeping secrets from the police if he considered it necessary, he was not comfortable with the idea of allowing a cold-blooded murderer to get away scot-free—for there was no getting around it: the murders had been carried out deliberately and with premeditation. He did not like the thought of handing over someone who had presumably been unhappy and desperate, but still, he knew it ought to be done.
But how to go about the investigation? He could not simply roll up to each suspect’s house and start demanding they produce alibis for the night of Weaver’s murder. It was a pity he had rather burned his bridges behind him with regard to the police, for he was certain that his attempts to cover his own and his mother’s traces had caused them to suspect him, and he was still by no means confident that they would not, sooner or later, find out the part he had played in getting Cynthia out of trouble. Even if the police had no proof at present, he thought it prudent not to irritate them unduly by turning up and asking questions. It was a pity; Sergeant Bird had seemed a friendly sort, and a useful acquaintance to have, and Freddy wished fervently that he might go and speak to him about various things he wanted to know. But that would be foolish, and so he rejected the idea almost as soon as it entered his head.
Then what ought his next move to be? His first instinct had been to hand all the incriminating documents back to their owners in person—for he certainly did not want to keep them in his possession for longer than necessary—and at the same time question them artfully about the murders. But would they be likely to give anything away to him if they had said nothing to the police? He did not think so.
‘What can I say to them?’ he said to himself. ‘“Here are your documents—oh, and by the way, you didn’t happen to murder Ticky, did you?” No, that’s no good at all.’
Which was the best way to approach the investigation, then? Through pure deduction, perhaps? If he studied the papers carefully enough, might they not point to the culprit? It did not seem likely. As he knew only too well, motive was not proof of anything. What he needed was concrete evidence—someone who had witnessed the poison being put in the flask, for example, or finger-prints on the knife that had been used to kill Weaver. But that sort of thing was the province of the police, and if they still did not know who had done it, then how was he to fare any better?
At the thought of the documents, he remembered his mother. He was fairly certain it was safe to return her papers to her, at least. She might be irritatingly obtuse on this particular subject, but he was almost sure she had not murdered anyone—and besides, even if she had, he was not about to give her away to the police, whatever he might be persuaded to do with regard to the rest of them. Accordingly, he took the first opportunity to return the record of Ticky’s blackmail to her. Cynthia was delighted when Freddy handed her the sheet of paper on which Ticky had kept a note of the sums she had paid him over the past two years.
‘Oh, how simply marvellous, darling!’ she said. ‘I knew you’d manage it somehow. Now your father need never know a thing about it. Goodness me! Did I really pay him all that money? That’s rather a lot, isn’t it?’
‘I hope this will be a lesson to you,’ said Freddy. ‘Gambling’s a fool’s game. You’ll never make a profit out of it.’
‘Of course you’re right,’ said Cynthia, ‘and I promise you I shall be good from now on. I mean, I know I lost a little the other night, but it was really only a little—barely enough even to count as a loss. It’s all a matter of knowing when to stop, I see that now.’
There was no use in arguing with her, so Freddy turned the subject to the one that really interested him.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve been thinking much about the murders at all?’
‘Which murders?’ said Cynthia in surprise.
‘Ticky and Weaver,’ said Freddy patiently.
‘Oh, those. No, I can’t say I have. Have they found out who did it yet?’
‘No. But I was wondering whether you might know.’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, darling,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that the police’s job?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Freddy. ‘But they don’t know about the blackmail—or at least, I don’t think they do—and I’m sure you’d rather they never found out. The trouble is that where there’s murder involved they’ll keep on digging until they unearth something, so if you don’t want them to discover what you’ve been trying to hide, then you’d better hope they arrest someone soon.’
‘Oh, but they can’t possibly care about my little problem with Ticky, can they?’ said Cynthia. ‘Why, you’ve just handed me the evidence he kept. I shall throw it on the fire, and then there’ll be nothing at all to worry about.’
‘Not for you, perhaps. But what about your friends? Didn’t you say they were all being blackmailed too?’
‘Did I?’ she said vaguely. ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Still, they’re safe now, aren’t they? I expect it was all rather a relief to them.’
Freddy opened his mouth to reply, but then he suddenly remembered what it was that had been eluding him.
‘Mother,’ he said, ‘did you see Ticky’s present before he was given it? I mean, did you know it was going to be a flask?’
‘Why, I don’t think I did,’ she said. ‘I thought Nancy had said she was going to buy him a pocket-watch, but she obviously changed her mind at the last minute. And then of course she left it at home anyway, and Ann had to send Larry in with it.’
Freddy looked at her in astonishment.
‘What?’ he said.
‘I said, she left it at home anyway—’
‘Yes, I heard you,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’
‘Didn’t I? I dare say I forgot. Is it important?’
‘It might be,’ he said. ‘Do the police know?’
‘Well, I don’t believe I told them,’ she said. ‘I suppose someone else might have—although I expect most of them didn’t notice, since he just came in and handed it to a waiter quickly without stopping at our table, and Ticky and I were the only ones facing the door. They’d been to the theatre, and didn’t want to stop. At least, that’s what N
ancy told me.’
Freddy was thinking very hard. So Larry had also had his hands on the flask, had he? Might he have found the opportunity to tamper with it? He pulled at his nose in irritation. The more he looked into the matter the more complicated it seemed to become.
‘Now, listen, Mother,’ he said at last, ‘I should like you to think very hard, as it might be important. Try and remember: which of the others at Babcock’s knew the present was going to be a flask rather than a pocket-watch?’
‘Must we really go over this again?’ said Cynthia, then, as Freddy looked at her sternly, sighed, and said, ‘All right, then, let me think. I’m fairly sure the Van Leeuwen woman didn’t know, as she and Captain Atherton were looking at it together, and I seem to recall their agreeing that the flask was a more appropriate choice. Yes—I remember it particularly, because she was taking every opportunity she could to flirt with him and brush her hand against his. Quite brazen, she was, as a matter of fact.’
‘Very well,’ said Freddy. ‘Who was next to Captain Atherton?’
‘Nancy. She knew, of course, but I can’t remember what she did with the flask. Then it was Sarah Bendish. I’ve no idea whether she knew, but she certainly didn’t think much of it, because she gave it half a glance and then passed it on almost immediately. I wasn’t looking at Denis, so I’ve no idea what he did with it.’
‘But presumably he knew it was going to be a flask rather than a watch?’
‘Yes, I expect so,’ said Cynthia.
‘And you don’t remember whether you told all this to the police?’
‘I may have done,’ she said. ‘Or did I? One has so many things on one’s mind that it’s terribly easy to get confused.’
Freddy raised his eyes to heaven.
‘Look—’ he began, but before he could go on, Cynthia glanced at him and gave him what was meant to be a reassuring smile.
‘Look, darling, the police have it all in hand, I’m sure, so I should stop worrying and leave them to it if I were you,’ she said.
And with that she went away, leaving Freddy in the usual state of exasperation she tended to provoke in him. Still, she had given him some useful information for once, but what was he to do next? None of it was proof of murder. He was beginning to think that the killer of Ticky and Weaver would never be caught—at least, not if his mother and her friends had anything to do with it, for they had all proved most unwilling to co-operate with the police investigation. It was almost as though they did not want the murderer to be found. Of course, he was still struggling with the question himself, and so he could hardly blame them if they preferred to breathe a quiet sigh of relief and pretend the whole thing had never happened. But he was now very curious to identify the culprit, and was determined to do a little more poking about, even if it turned out there was not enough evidence to bring a prosecution. He sat for a few moments, pondering his next move, then decided to pay a visit to the Beasleys.
DENIS WAS NOT at home when Freddy arrived at Charles Street, but Nancy was there and only too happy to receive him.
‘Hallo, Freddy, darling,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen you in an age. How’s Cynthia? I expect you’ve heard all the news—oh, yes, of course, I saw your piece about Ticky in the Clarion. I must say, you did a fine job of puffing him up and pretending he’ll be sorely missed.’
‘Thank you. It was the least I could do,’ said Freddy. ‘Hallo, Ann. Nancy’s working you hard, I see. I expect you’ll be glad to exchange this servitude for a different one once you’re married to Larry.’
‘Don’t be naughty,’ said Nancy. ‘Ann’s very happy here, aren’t you, Ann?’
‘Perfectly happy, thank you,’ said Ann. ‘Here’s your post. I’ve sorted it into piles for you. These ones here aren’t important, but you’d better have a quick look at these three, and I’ll reply to them if you’ll just give me a yes or a no. This one’s the invitation to Lady Featherstone’s Christmas ball.’
‘How splendid!’ said Nancy, clapping her hands delightedly. ‘Success at last! We’ll say yes to that one, of course.’
‘You’re fortunate to have such an efficient helper,’ observed Freddy, as Nancy glanced through the other letters. ‘Why, you hardly have to do a thing yourself.’
‘Oh, it’s true! I can’t think what I did before she came. When she arrived I was all at sixes and sevens because Father had just died, and I was distraught and couldn’t manage everything. But she had everything organized beautifully within two days, didn’t you, Ann?’
‘Well done,’ said Freddy. ‘I could do with someone like that myself.’
Nancy was looking at a letter in distaste.
‘Ugh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s from Aunt Alice. She’s threatening to visit next week. She wants to know all about our recent excitement, she says. Why must people be so ghoulish?’ She heaved a great sigh. ‘What a bore this whole thing is. The police are being tiresome, of course. They’re looking at blackmail as a motive now, and they actually asked me to my face whether I had secrets to hide.’
‘And do you?’ said Freddy.
‘Of course I do,’ said Nancy. ‘But I was hardly going to tell the police that, was I? Then Inspector Entwistle asked whether we keep any nicotine in the house—you know, for gardens and suchlike, so I pointed out that we don’t have a garden, and he had to go away. Silly man.’
‘He has to do his duty,’ said Freddy.
‘Well, he needn’t bother me while he’s doing it,’ said Nancy.
‘I gather they want to know how the poison got into the flask,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes. I told them I hadn’t the faintest idea. They seem to think one of us did it when it was being passed around the table, but really, that’s absurd. To do it in full view of everybody like that! Why, it’s nonsensical. It would have been the most awful risk.’
‘True, and I don’t see why it had to be one of you, either. Lots of people must have handled it before it got to Ticky.’
‘I know I did,’ said Ann.
‘And didn’t Larry, too?’ said Freddy. ‘My mother said he brought it in when you left it at home accidentally.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nancy. ‘So silly of me, after all the trouble I went to with it. It’s just lucky that Ann and Larry were out at the theatre across the road, and thought to bring it with them.’
‘Unlucky for Ticky, though,’ said Freddy.
‘Well, yes, that’s true enough,’ admitted Nancy.
‘I suppose it was already wrapped when you gave it to Larry?’ Freddy said to Ann casually. She was not fooled.
‘Are you suggesting he might have tampered with it on his way in?’ she said in amusement.
‘Not at all, not at all,’ said Freddy hurriedly. ‘I just meant to say that if it wasn’t wrapped, then it goes to show that anyone might have done it. He handed it to a waiter, didn’t he? And perhaps the waiter gave it to someone else, who gave it to someone else again. Who knows how many people handled it before it arrived at the table?’
‘I couldn’t tell you,’ said Ann. ‘But it was certainly wrapped, although not very tightly. I suppose it’s always possible that someone undid the paper and then wrapped it up again afterwards.’
‘There’s no reason it should have been any of us, or even anybody at Babcock’s,’ said Nancy. ‘It might even have come from the shop. The police ought to be asking at Harrods. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover they have a homicidal maniac working there.’
‘It would be lucky for you if they did,’ said Freddy. ‘Although I shouldn’t rely on the notion, if I were you.’
‘Where is Denis?’ said Nancy impatiently. ‘He said he’d be back by two, and it’s almost four now.’
‘There he is,’ said Ann, looking out of the window. ‘He’s just coming now. Oh, and there are the police. I wonder what they want.’
Freddy joined her at the window, and saw Inspector Entwistle and Sergeant Bird getting out of a police-car.
‘I say, they’re l
ooking rather serious,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’ve found something out.’
Denis stopped to speak to them for a moment, then the three of them turned and entered the house. Soon their footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and Freddy and Ann glanced at one another.
‘The police want a word with you, Nancy,’ said Denis, as he came into the living-room, followed by Entwistle and Bird.
‘Why, of course,’ said Nancy politely. ‘How may I help you, inspector? I hope you’re well.’
But Inspector Entwistle had no time for polite nothings. He was here to do his duty.
‘Mrs. Nancy Beasley,’ he said, ‘I am here to arrest you for the murders of Nicholas Maltravers and James Weaver. I must inform you that anything you say may be taken down and used as evidence.’
‘What?’ said Nancy in astonishment. ‘What on earth are you talking about? I haven’t murdered anybody. Tell him, Denis.’
‘Er—’ said Denis, who seemed as surprised as she.
Inspector Entwistle moved forward to apprehend Mrs. Beasley, and she took a step back.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. ‘You can’t arrest me. Where’s the proof?’
‘We have information that you purchased a quantity of nicotine from a chemist’s shop on Oxford Street on the twenty-seventh of last month,’ said Inspector Entwistle.
‘What? But I didn’t!’ exclaimed Nancy. ‘I’ve never bought the stuff in my life. I didn’t kill Ticky. And I didn’t kill his horrid servant either. Why, I couldn’t have! I was out with Lady Featherstone—and let me tell you, I shall very shortly be speaking to her husband, Sir Aldridge Featherstone. He owns the Clarion, and I’ve no doubt he’ll be most interested to hear the police have been making false accusations all over the place.’
‘Lady Featherstone says you left her at ten o’clock that night, but by your own account you didn’t arrive home until midnight,’ said Inspector Entwistle, unmoved by the threat of publicity.
‘Why, I—did she?’ said Nancy, taken aback. ‘But it was after eleven when we parted, I know it was after eleven. She must have made a mistake. Perhaps her watch was wrong. Go and ask her again. Denis, tell them I didn’t do it.’