by Clara Benson
‘Oh, do you, now?’ said Bird.
Freddy brought out the clipping he had found in among Ticky’s papers and pushed it across the desk to the sergeant, who glanced at it curiously.
‘I expect you’ve deduced by now that Ticky Maltravers was a blackmailer,’ said Freddy. ‘He held secrets on all his friends, and extorted money from them in return for his silence.’
‘We did have an inkling of that nature, yes,’ said Bird cautiously.
‘Well, naturally, in view of that fact, you could hardly expect any of them to be particularly interested in whether you caught his murderer or not. Most of them said good riddance and were happy to wash their hands of him—and Weaver, who was intending to continue with the blackmail.’
‘Was he, now?’ said the sergeant. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because he told me so,’ said Freddy.
‘Was he blackmailing you?’
‘Not me, no, but a number of people of my acquaintance. Now, I’m not here to tell you everybody’s secrets, since they’re none of my business or yours. I mean to say, it’s a bit rich to have spent years paying to have one’s peccadillos kept quiet, only to find the police thundering about and asking pointed questions of one when the blackmailer gets his comeuppance—especially if one had nothing to do with his death, don’t you think?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ said Bird. ‘The law’s the law, and killing people’s against it.’
‘True enough. But the idea of a desperate and unhappy victim administering justice with his own hands, and then being punished for it, doesn’t sit well with me—or with you, I imagine. As a right-minded sort, I don’t suppose you’ve shed too many tears over Ticky either.’
‘Perhaps not, but it’s still my duty to find out who killed him. I hope you’re not about to ask us to turn a blind eye,’ said the sergeant, drawing himself up.
‘No, no, not at all,’ Freddy hastened to assure him. ‘Quite the contrary, in fact. Even though I think people ought to be entitled to be naughty in private without the police sticking their noses in, I do have the wit to understand that all these secrets may have a bearing on the murders.’
‘Clever, aren’t you?’
‘So they tell me,’ said Freddy. ‘But that’s beside the point. I don’t want anyone to suffer unnecessarily, so in the interests of clearing up all the confusion and seeing that justice is done, I’m here to tell you I think I may know who did it—and it wasn’t Mrs. Beasley.’
‘And you’ve come to turn him in, after all you said about desperate and unhappy people?’
‘Ah, now, there’s the thing. Like everyone else, I expect the murderer wasn’t too pleased about being blackmailed, but there’s much more to it than that. I think Ticky and Weaver were killed to put an end to their activities, but their murders were merely incidental to the real crime. As a matter of fact, I believe the person in question is planning another murder—a cold and deliberate one this time.’
Sergeant Bird glanced curiously at the clipping Freddy had given him, then looked up.
‘Go on,’ he said.
A HEAVY RAIN was falling over London when Freddy left Scotland Yard an hour or so later, thinking about his conversation with Sergeant Bird. The sergeant had listened to what he had to say, but had been discouraging, since, as he pointed out, a person’s past behaviour in an entirely different case could not be taken as evidence in the present one, and there was no proof that anything untoward was planned, only a supposition. There was nothing the police could do until they had more information. Still, he gave a cautious promise that they would look into it—and especially the alibis for the night of Weaver’s death, since it certainly looked as though it were a line worth investigating.
With that Freddy was forced to be content, and he left, hoping that something useful would come to light soon, for he had to admit the evidence was very slim. He returned to the office and put in several hours’ work, much to the surprise of his colleagues, and then went home, with the case still on his mind. The Clarion had reported that Nancy Beasley had been charged with the murders of Ticky and Weaver, so it looked as though the police were sticking to their own theory—and he could hardly blame them. But he was almost sure they had got it wrong, and he racked his brains, trying to think of a way to prove it, for he had very little to go on except a strong suspicion and a missing alibi, neither of which was likely to convince a jury.
After an hour or two of pacing up and down in his room, he gave it up and decided to go out, with half a thought of visiting Charles Street again. But just as he had reached this decision, the bell rang. He answered it and found Ann Chadwick standing there, very wet.
‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘What’s this? What happened to your umbrella?’
‘I came out in a hurry and forgot it,’ she said.
‘Then you’d better come in. The fire’s rather poor, I’m afraid, as I was just about to go out.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you,’ she said.
‘As a matter of fact, you’re the very person I was coming to see,’ said Freddy.
‘I?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter now. Would you like me to hang your coat and hat up to dry?’
‘No, thank you,’ she said. She seemed to be only half-listening. She moved towards the fire and held out her hands to it, then turned suddenly and said, ‘Larry says you accused him of murdering Ticky this morning.’
‘That’s not quite how I remember it,’ said Freddy. ‘As I recall, I merely inquired politely whether he had done it, since I’d just found out he had the opportunity.’
‘Well, he didn’t do it,’ she said. ‘And I think it was jolly rude of you to ask.’
‘It’s a touch impolite to put poison in someone’s brandy, too, don’t you think?’
‘Of course it is, but it’s none of your business. The police have it all in hand.’
‘But they’ve arrested Nancy,’ said Freddy. ‘Don’t tell me you think she’s guilty.’
She lowered her eyes.
‘I don’t know what to think,’ she said at last, and there was a tremble in her voice. ‘I should never have believed it for a second, but the bottle was there in her bag—you saw it yourself, and then the police said she signed the poison-book. And there were other things—but I won’t betray a confidence. Mrs. Beasley trusts me, and the most important thing now is to make sure she’s never found guilty.’
‘Oh, very good,’ said Freddy. ‘Yes, that’s very good. Well, I can’t speak for Nancy, but as things stand it certainly looks as though everything is going to be resolved to your satisfaction.’
She darted him a doubtful glance, but his expression was as bland as it could be.
‘And how is Denis taking it?’ he went on.
‘Not well, I think,’ she said. ‘He’s gone to stay at his club. He says he can’t bear to be at home while this is all going on.’
‘Still, I expect he’ll soon get over it all with your assistance.’
This time there was no mistaking his tone. She frowned.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.
‘Don’t you? Perhaps I’ve got it wrong, then. It’s just that I did hear a rumour that Denis is in love with you.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ she said sharply. ‘Who told you that?’
‘He did.’
‘Then he had no business to. There’s nothing between us. I’ve always kept him at arm’s length, in fact. In my sort of job errant husbands are a hazard one has to put up with.’
‘Yes, and you ought to know,’ said Freddy.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re not too particular about other women’s husbands, are you? At least, not from what I’ve read.’
A wary look had come into her eyes, but she said nothing.
‘That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?’ he continued. ‘It’s nothing to do with Larry or Nancy. You’ve been talking to Amelia. I ought t
o have warned her to keep quiet, but I didn’t think to mention it. I expect she told you about our little trip to Dorking, yes?’
Still she was silent, and her eyes never left his as he went on talking.
‘It seems Ticky was a busy man,’ he said. ‘He made quite a concern of it. Little wonder he could afford to dine as well as he did. I spent several days last week finding out a lot of people’s guilty secrets—and believe me, I’d rather not have, but I wanted Ticky’s victims to know they were free, and so in many cases it was unavoidable. At any rate, you may be interested to know that while I was looking through the papers we found, I saw a photograph of someone I recognized. She was a witness at the inquest into the death of a Mrs. Spencer in Bournemouth two years ago, and had been Mrs. Spencer’s secretary. Some rather pointed questions were asked at the inquest, it seems. The dead woman’s sister claimed that the secretary—a Miss Ann Wickham—had been carrying on an affair with Mr. Spencer, who had little money of his own, but became a rich man upon the death of his wife. Of course, people will talk, and there was some suspicion in this case that Mrs. Spencer’s death had been a little too convenient. However, death was ruled to have been of natural causes, and no arrests were made. One might have assumed that after a decent interval, Mr. Spencer and Miss Wickham would have made a match of it, but it appears they didn’t. I don’t know why. Perhaps because mud sticks, and it’s difficult to live down accusations of that sort. The case interested me, and so I made a telephone-call to the Bournemouth police, who told me—in confidence, naturally—that they were as sure as they could be that Mrs. Spencer had been helped on her way, as it were, although they couldn’t prove it. They also said Miss Wickham had left Bournemouth, and they had no idea where she was now. I might have told them that she’d gone to London, but I didn’t.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ she said, and to his surprise he saw tears glistening in her eyes. One began to roll down her cheek, and she dabbed at it with the back of her hand. ‘I don’t expect you to understand how difficult it’s been. For months and months I couldn’t walk down the street without hearing remarks or seeing people whispering behind their hands about me. People I thought were my friends began to cross the street to avoid speaking to me, and the worst of it was, there was nothing I could do about it. Mrs. Spencer’s sister was determined that everybody should think I was a scarlet woman and a home-wrecker and a murderer—oh, yes, I heard all those words and more, and could do nothing to defend myself, even though it was all a lie. There was nothing between Mr. Spencer and me, but he refused to speak in my favour. I was left out for the wolves, so what could I do but run away? I got the job with Mrs. Beasley, and then Larry and I got engaged, and I thought I should be happy at last.’
‘But then Ticky found out about you,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes. I don’t know how, but he did. He said if I didn’t give him money he’d tell Larry and the Beasleys all about me, so I had no choice but to pay up. You can’t imagine how frightened I was all those months. And then Ticky was murdered, and after that his manservant, and I was so relieved—I won’t deny it—and hoped so very much that I was free now. He had a newspaper clipping with my picture on it, and I was rather worried about it, but I hoped the police would be tactful enough not to tell everyone about it if they found it. And then Amelia said you and she had found a bundle of papers, and I thought about it and thought about it for days, wondering whether to come and ask you for the clipping, and in the end I decided you were a kind sort, so here I am.’
‘Poor you,’ said Freddy. ‘It sounds as though you’ve had a rough time of it.’
She looked up hopefully.
‘Or, at least, that’s what I should say if I believed a word of it,’ he went on. ‘But nothing doing, I’m afraid. You tell a pretty story, but I know an accomplished liar when I see one.’
She drew in her breath.
‘I thought you had a good heart,’ she said. ‘It seems I was wrong.’
‘I’m kindly enough disposed towards those who deserve it,’ he said. ‘But you seem to forget Nancy.’
‘Nancy?’
‘Yes. You remember? Nancy, your employer, who is currently languishing in gaol, waiting to find out whether they’re going to hang her. Rather unfortunate for her, don’t you think?’
‘I can’t help that. She was one of Ticky’s victims too, and decided to take justice into her own hands, just as any of us might have done. I’m sure plenty of people were desperate enough to try it.’
‘I’m sure they were, but that doesn’t mean they did it,’ said Freddy. ‘But I think Ticky’s murder was only a small part of a larger plan. Nancy’s a wealthy woman. Her father was a millionaire, and if she does hang, then Denis is going to be very rich. And he’s in love with you, which makes this a perfect opportunity. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, what? You didn’t quite pull it off with Mr. Spencer, but there’s no need to waste a perfectly good idea just because it didn’t work the first time.’
‘You’re quite mad,’ said Ann.
‘Am I? Let me tell you what I know or can guess: you came to Nancy shortly after her father died and left her lots of money. The Beasleys appeared in the gossip pages often enough, so you already knew about Denis’s little weakness, and set out to work on him and make him fall in love with you. Now, it would be no use at all if Nancy divorced Denis, since she was the one with the money and would have left him penniless if the marriage had ended in court. What you really needed was for her to die conveniently, so that Denis would inherit everything. I can’t prove it, of course, but I think you planned to kill Nancy sooner or later, leaving the way clear for you to land yourself a rich husband. I don’t know where Larry came in, but I think perhaps you were frightened that people would suspect funny business between you and Denis, and start talking, as they did in Bournemouth. After all, it’s talk that prevented you from marrying this Spencer chap, and you wanted to avoid the same thing happening again, so you accepted a handy proposal from a respectable young man to draw attention away from your real purpose while you worked on your plan.
‘Unfortunately for you, Ticky rather got in the way when he found out about your past and started blackmailing you. But you’re a clever girl, and came up with a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak: you decided to kill Ticky and pin the blame on Nancy—a much more ingenious scheme than simply murdering her would have been, since sudden deaths tend to arouse the interest of the police, and you’d already had trouble with that sort of thing. So you prepared the ground by buying a bottle of nicotine and signing your name as Nancy Beasley. After that you bought the flask, put a few drops of nicotine in it and wrapped it up. Then Nancy forgot it and nearly ruined the whole thing, and you had to send it into the restaurant after her. Of course, you had no way of knowing whether your plan would work, but you rightly thought that if Ticky did drink from the flask, then the police would concentrate on the people who were there at Babcock’s that night. After Ticky died, I expect you tried to get the clipping back. Weaver told me he’d had a few visitors, but that he’d sent them away and told them business would continue as normal. All you could do then was to wait for the opportunity to get into the house and kill him. I suppose he let you in when you told him you’d come to pay him?’
Ann said nothing, and Freddy continued:
‘After that, you searched the house, but found nothing, because Weaver had hidden the documents at his mother’s place. Then you waited for the police to find enough evidence to arrest Nancy. It was a good plan, by the way. I didn’t suspect you at all until I found that cutting, and even then I didn’t immediately assume that you’d done it, since all the article showed was that Ticky had been blackmailing you, and that you had a motive for killing him in the same way as everybody else. I dare say you won’t believe me, but I’ve been struggling with my conscience for the past week, wondering whether to let the matter lie, since I didn’t want the responsibility of reporting someone to the polic
e who had done the world a good turn by ridding it of someone very unpleasant. I don’t know what I’d have decided in the end, but you made up my mind for me when you tried to throw the blame on to Nancy. I was watching you when the police arrested her, and I saw your face. I’ve never seen such a look of triumph. It was almost indecent. You bought that poison and planted the bottle in her bag so the police would find it, didn’t you?’
‘I’ve never heard such a lot of nonsense,’ said Ann at last. ‘Of course it’s not true—and even if it were, you’ve no proof.’
‘No,’ said Freddy. ‘Although I do happen to know you have no alibi for the time of Weaver’s murder. Larry said you and he were out together that night, but he left you before ten and went home. Denis, meanwhile, says he got home at eleven and nobody was there, although one would have expected you to have come straight home after you left Larry. Where were you?’
‘I don’t remember,’ she said. She was beginning to sound a little rattled. ‘Don’t ask me that. I won’t give him away.’
‘Won’t give who away?’ he said. ‘Are you trying to make me believe this was all Denis’s idea? My word, you’ll seize any opportunity you can to get yourself out of trouble, won’t you? As a matter of fact, I did think at first that you might both be in on it, but then I spoke to Denis at his club last night, and heard a lot of things I expect he wouldn’t have dreamed of telling me had he been sober. In vino veritas, and all that. He’s pretty horrified at Nancy’s arrest, and suffering from what I can only describe as a fever of guilt. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he told me that he’s going to stand by Nancy, and has decided to end things with you. He wasn’t too worried about you, as he seems to think you’re sincere in your feelings for Larry and will be happy enough with him.’
At that she gave an angry little gasp, but quickly mastered herself and lifted her chin.
‘I can see you’re trying to provoke me into some sort of confession,’ she said. ‘But it won’t work, because you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t murder Ticky or Weaver, and I’m certainly not trying to blame Nancy for it. You’re just making wild accusations with no proof. If you’re so sure I did it, then why don’t you go to the police? Or have you already spoken to them?’