by Clara Benson
‘Of course you didn’t do it,’ said Denis. ‘Why, I might have done it myself, for that matter—I got back at eleven, but I can’t prove it, since nobody was at home. I didn’t do it, of course,’ he went on hurriedly, ‘but just because a person doesn’t have an alibi doesn’t mean they’re guilty of murder.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Entwistle. ‘That will be for a court to decide.’
Nancy gave a little scream.
‘A court? It won’t come to that, will it? But I swear I didn’t do it! Denis!’
She turned appealing eyes to her husband.
‘Hush, now,’ said Denis. ‘The police have got it wrong, that’s all. Listen, old girl, it’s probably best to go to the station with them now, and answer their questions, while I give Sanderson a call. Don’t worry, he’ll come along and get you out in no time.’
‘I’m not going with them,’ said Nancy, who was becoming increasingly agitated. ‘You can’t make me. I won’t be arrested as though I were some sort of criminal. Oh! I’m feeling faint,’ she said, and put a hand to her head. She had gone very white and was breathing rapidly.
‘I’ll get your smelling-salts,’ said Ann in concern. ‘Where’s your handbag?’
She looked about, spotted the little bag on a chair, and hurried to pick it up, but in her haste tipped most of its contents onto the floor.
‘Just a moment,’ said Inspector Entwistle, placing a firm hand on Ann’s arm to hold her back as she bent to retrieve the fallen articles. ‘What’s this?’
He stooped and picked something up. Even from where Freddy stood at the other side of the room there was no mistaking the little bottle, with the word ‘POISON’ printed in large letters on its label. Nancy screamed again.
‘Oh! What is it?’ she cried.
‘Nicotine,’ said Entwistle, showing Bird the bottle.
‘Nancy!’ said Denis, as his wife swayed where she stood. ‘Quick, give her the salts!’
There was a loud thud. Nancy had fainted.
‘Too late!’ said Ann, the smelling-salts still in her hand, as the police rushed forward.
LATER THAT EVENING, once the fuss had died down a little, Freddy went back to his rooms and set himself to think properly about the Ticky Maltravers case. Now that Nancy Beasley had been arrested, it was clear to him that the mystery must be solved, and quickly, lest the wrong person be hanged, for he was almost certain she had not done it, although he could not quite say why. So it was that he brought out his notebook and wrote down everything he knew about the events surrounding Ticky’s death, and about the suspects and their motives, and anything else he could think of. After that, he thought about the evening at Babcock’s, and what he had been told about it, hoping in this way to eliminate at least some of the suspects.
First there was his mother. Freddy did not spend more than a minute thinking about her, for he would not believe she had done it (moreover, what he would do if it turned out that she was the culprit, and that Mrs. Beasley was in real danger of being found guilty in her stead, was something he did not wish to think about at that moment).
Very well, then; leaving Cynthia aside, who was next? Blanche Van Leeuwen had been the first to take the flask when it had been passed around the table. However, it looked as though she could not have put the poison in it, for according to Cynthia she and Captain Atherton had pored over it together. If that were true—and Blanche herself had said something about having watched Atherton while he had the flask—then that let both of them out. Of course, there was always the possibility that the two of them had been in it together, but since Cynthia had been watching them and had noticed nothing suspicious, Freddy could only assume they had not. Furthermore, they had both been expecting the gift to be a pocket-watch. This, although not conclusive evidence, was an important point, for all the signs showed that Ticky’s murder had been premeditated, meaning that the killer must have had good reason to believe that he or she would find the opportunity to administer the poison at some time during the evening. But neither of them had known about the flask, and if Blanche in particular were the guilty party, then in that case surely she would have put the poison in his dinner or his wine much earlier, before the gift was presented? After all, she had been sitting next to Ticky and it would have been easy enough for her to do.
The next person to take it had been Nancy, who had, of course, been the one to arrange the purchase. Cynthia had been unable to say what Nancy had done with the flask—but that did not matter, for she had had every opportunity to put the nicotine in it long before they had got to the restaurant. The same was true of Denis Beasley, of course. If either of them were the guilty party, then it made no sense for them to have done it at Babcock’s and risk being seen. No; they would have done it at home, naturally, before it was wrapped up. That left Lady Bendish, who, according to Cynthia, had held the flask for only a second or two before passing it on to Denis. It rather looked, therefore, as though she had not had the time to do it either.
On reflection, it seemed to Freddy that the whole theory of someone’s having put poison in the flask in a crowded restaurant, in full view of everyone, was fraught with difficulties—not least because half the party had had no idea what the gift was going to be, and so why should they have been carrying around a bottle of nicotine on the off-chance that they would have the opportunity to use it? But if the flask had not been poisoned at Babcock’s, then it must have happened either at the Beasleys’ house, or on the way to the restaurant. Nancy might well have done it, of course—the police certainly thought so, and the evidence all seemed to point that way, since the nicotine had actually been found in her possession. But set against that was the fact that on the night of this supposedly premeditated murder, she had accidentally left the murder weapon at home, and someone had had to send it in after her. That was an inefficient way of going about things, to say the least, and from what Freddy knew of Nancy, was just like her. Conclusive as the evidence looked, he did not really believe she had the intelligence to plan and carry out such a thing. What about Denis, then? He might easily have done it and planted the poison among his wife’s possessions, although Sergeant Bird had told Freddy that the name on the poison-book was Nancy’s, which indicated that a woman had made the purchase. But if Denis had gone to all the bother of paying hush-money to Ticky in order to prevent Nancy from divorcing him, then why would he try and pin the blame on her for murder? Presumably because he would then inherit her money if she were hanged. It seemed an unduly complicated way of getting rid of one’s wife, but Freddy supposed stranger things had happened.
The only other two people who were known to have handled the flask were Larry and Ann. Ann had bought the thing, of course, and had sent it into Babcock’s, whereas Larry had had it in his hand for only a few minutes—and in those few minutes would have had to unwrap it, put the stuff in it, and make up the parcel again somewhere in the street, in full view of the public. But did Larry have a motive? He certainly did if he knew his mother’s secret, and the fact that she was being blackmailed for it. He was fond of his mother, and hot-headed enough to have done it if he thought she were in trouble. Freddy wondered whether Larry had an alibi for Weaver’s murder—or whether any of them did, in fact.
He glanced at his watch. It was half past nine. He decided to go back to Charles Street and see if he could speak to Denis, under the pretence of offering his support now that Nancy had been taken away by the police. Perhaps he could introduce the subject of alibis without being too obvious about it. But when he got there a servant informed him that Mr. Beasley was at his club, and Miss Chadwick had already retired for the night. Freddy was momentarily surprised that anyone should think of going to bed before midnight, but accepted his dismissal without protest. After hesitating a minute or two on the pavement outside, he decided that since he was out, he might as well pursue Denis to his club and speak to him there.
‘Hallo, old chap,’ said Denis, when Freddy finally ran him to earth. ‘Have you come to
help me drown my sorrows? Bring me another, Jarvis, and one for my friend here.’
His face was blotched and his speech was slurred, and he was evidently in drink. The waiter brought whisky, and Freddy sat down and regarded Denis sympathetically.
‘How’s Nancy?’ he said.
Denis shrugged.
‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘The solicitor has been down there, and he says she’s doing as well as can be expected. I dare say she’ll survive.’
‘Have they charged her with murder?’
‘Not yet,’ said Denis. ‘But I expect it’s only a matter of time. Funny, isn’t it?’ he went on. ‘Two days ago I was all set to tell her I wanted a divorce, but I can’t do that to the old girl now, can I? I mean to say, it would look churlish, to say the least, in the circumstances. Rats deserting a sinking ship, and all that, what?’
‘You wanted a divorce?’ said Freddy, pricking up his ears. ‘On what grounds, if you don’t mind my asking? Did you have evidence that she—er—’
Denis shook his head resolutely, as though he wanted to make quite sure it was still attached to his shoulders.
‘No. No,’ he said firmly. ‘She wouldn’t do anything like that, I’m certain of it. She’s a good girl, my Nancy. Far too good to do that to me, even though she’d have had every right, given the behaviour she’s had to put up with from me over the years. But I’ve had enough of all that, now. None of them mattered a jot, you know, but what’s a man to do when his wife has all the money?’
‘Did she lord it over you, then?’
‘Not she, so much,’ said Denis. ‘I’ll give her that. She never rubbed it in. But her father, now—he was a different matter altogether. You see, she’d go to him whenever I misbehaved. Can’t say I blame her—I was pretty incorrigible, and she always knew he’d be sympathetic and take her part. And did he! The number of times I was summoned to that ghastly old mausoleum of theirs down in Hampshire for a carpeting. He kept her short deliberately—as a kind of punishment to me, I think. He said he wasn’t going to give his daughter money only for it to be thrown away on fur coats for whores and chorus-girls. And he was right, too, as that’s what I’d have spent it on. But no more. I’m done with that, now—ashamed of it, in fact. Funny how one’s life can change in only a few months, isn’t it? If you’d told me this time last year that I was about to fall in love and resolve to give up all my old ways, I should have laughed at you. I’ve never been the sort to lose my head over a woman, but I suppose the madness can strike at any age. Have you ever been in love?’
‘Once or twice,’ said Freddy.
‘Ghastly, isn’t it? It makes one do all kinds of things one wouldn’t normally dream of doing.’
‘Such as asking one’s wife for a divorce, do you mean?’
Denis heaved a sigh.
‘Well, it’s too late for all that. It’s just lucky she never agreed to anything, because I can’t go through with it now.’ He regarded the contents of his glass and nodded slowly, with the air of a man thinking profound thoughts. ‘I must be fonder of the old girl than I thought,’ he said. ‘I should never have believed it of myself, but I’m rather worried about what might happen to her now the police have got their hands on her. Stupid of me, what?’
‘She’s your wife,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course you’re worried.’
‘And yet only the other day I was saying that if I could snap my fingers and have her disappear, I’d do it. But I never dreamt anything like this would happen. That’s not what I wanted at all. I didn’t want her hurt; I just wanted her—I don’t know—gone, I suppose. I can’t have her, can I?’ he said suddenly. ‘I promised her the earth, but it can’t be done. I must stand by the wife I have. It’s the right thing to do. It was idiotic of me ever to think I could start afresh and pretend the past had never happened. The law and society don’t look kindly upon that sort of thing.’
‘No,’ said Freddy.
Denis drew himself up in an attempt at dignity.
‘Listen to me, Freddy, and bear me witness. I won’t let Nancy hang. They can’t possibly hang her—why, what sort of jury would be convinced by one little bottle? No, I shall bring her home as soon as may be, and then I shall be a good husband to her, I swear it. I may be breaking my word to another, but I promise you this is the last time. From now on I shall be an honourable man.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Freddy. ‘But what if this other of whom you speak won’t go away quietly?’
‘She will,’ said Denis. ‘She has another iron in the fire—a far more suitable one. She won’t miss me for a moment.’
His head was nodding and his words were becoming increasingly slurred, and he showed signs of wanting to doze off in his chair. Freddy decided to leave him to it. He stood up and left the club, thinking hard. He had had some difficulty in distinguishing one woman from another in Denis’s speech, but the conversation had given him much food for thought, and perhaps a slight sense of relief. He decided to go home and consider his next move carefully. He had intended to keep away from the police while he investigated, but now they had made an arrest it was becoming obvious to him that he would have to speak to them and tell them what he knew—or at least suspected, for he had no proof of anything, and could only make suppositions. He hoped fervently that they would be prepared to listen to him—for if they were not, then who knew what might happen next? The case had begun with two murders, but he did not wish to see it continue with a third.
THE NEXT MORNING Freddy went to call upon Larry Bendish.
‘Hallo, old chap,’ said Larry. ‘Oughtn’t you to be at work?’
‘I am,’ said Freddy. ‘I was just on my way to somewhere else, but I thought I’d better come and see you first.’
‘I say, you look rather serious,’ said Larry. ‘Has something happened?’
‘They’ve arrested Nancy Beasley on suspicion of murdering Ticky Maltravers,’ said Freddy.
‘Good God!’ said Larry in astonishment. ‘Nancy? She didn’t do it, did she?’
‘That’s what I’d like to find out,’ said Freddy. ‘I think probably not, but the police found a bottle of nicotine in her bag, and her name written in the poison-book of a chemist’s shop on Oxford Street.’
‘But that’s hardly conclusive, is it? I mean to say, she might have bought it for quite innocent reasons.’
‘True, but unfortunately she’d already told the police she’d never bought the stuff in her life.’
‘Oh,’ said Larry. ‘I wonder how it got there, then.’
‘So do I,’ said Freddy. ‘Listen, I’d like to ask you something. It’s a silly question, but I’d just like to be sure.’
‘Go on.’
‘You didn’t kill Ticky, did you?’
‘I?’ said Larry. ‘Of course not. Whatever makes you think I did?’
‘I don’t know that I do. But I do know you took the flask into Babcock’s that night, so you had the opportunity to put the poison into it, just as everybody else did.’
‘Perhaps. But why should I want to kill him? I had no reason to.’
‘Didn’t you?’ said Freddy, then, as Larry did not reply, went on, ‘I know what Ticky was, and I know pretty much everybody had a reason to kill him.’
Larry regarded him silently.
‘All right, then,’ he said at length. ‘I’ll come clean. I wish I had killed him, and I envy the murderer for getting there first, because I can’t promise I wouldn’t have done it if I’d ever had the chance. But I wouldn’t have poisoned him—that’s a coward’s way of doing things. I’d have shot him, or perhaps even strangled him with my bare hands, just to see the look on his face when he finally realized he was getting his just deserts.’
‘I say, that’s rather bloodthirsty,’ said Freddy.
‘If you know what he was then you’ll know why I hated him so much,’ said Larry.
‘What about Weaver?’
‘Who? Oh, the manservant, you mean?’
‘Yes. He was pr
oposing to take over the business after Ticky died. I suppose you didn’t have anything to do with his death either?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Did the police ask you for an alibi?’
‘No, but they asked Mother for hers, which just happens to be me. I’d been out with Ann, but she went home early, and when I got back my mother was there. That was at about ten, and they were interested in the time between then and one o’clock. So we both give each other an alibi—unless you think we both did it.’
‘No, I don’t think you did,’ said Freddy. There was a look on his face that might have been sympathy.
‘Kind of you,’ said Larry. ‘Was there anything else? Any other murders you’d like to pin on me while you’re here?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Freddy. ‘I think I’d better be going.’
Larry followed him out to the front door, slightly bemused at the visit.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said.
‘Perhaps,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘For the blunt questions—and other things.’
‘You’re being very cryptic.’
Freddy said nothing, but gave him an odd look and left. Twenty minutes later he walked into Scotland Yard and asked to speak to Inspector Entwistle. The inspector was not in, but Sergeant Bird would see him. Freddy had been hoping for this, and was slightly relieved that he would not have to hand his evidence to the stern inspector.
‘Hallo,’ said Sergeant Bird as Freddy entered. ‘Come to tell me another tall story, have you? Don’t think I don’t know what you did with that flask. I can’t prove it yet, but I will one of these days, just you wait.’
‘Look here, sergeant,’ said Freddy seriously. ‘I’d like to call a truce, if you will. I’ve done my best not to ruin your investigation. It’s just that sometimes one accidentally—er—gets in the way, so to speak. But I’ve something important to tell you, and I think you ought to listen to it.’