'Oh come now, Miss Brewster, wasn't there a little trouble about eleven or twelve years ago?'
'Oh that.' Lola waved it away. 'I was terribly nervy and distraught, and Rob and I had been having the most frightful quarrels. We were neither of us normal at the moment. Marina just fell wildly in love with him and rushed him off his feet, the poor pet.'
'And you minded very much?'
'Well, I thought I did, Inspector. Of course I see now it was one of the best things that ever happened for me. I was really worried about the children, you know. Breaking up our home. I'm afraid I'd already realized that Rob and I were incompatible. I expect you know I got married to Eddie Groves as soon as the divorce went through? I think really I'd been in love with him for a long time, but of course I didn't want to break up my marriage, because of the children. It's so important, isn't it, that children should have a home?'
'Yet people say that actually you were terribly upset.'
'Oh, people always say things,' said Lola vaguely.
'You said quite a lot, didn't you, Miss Brewster? You went about threatening to shoot Marina Gregg, or so I understand.'
'I've told you one says things. One's supposed to say things like that. Of course I wouldn't really shoot anyone.'
'In spite of taking a pot-shot at Eddie Groves some few years later?'
'Oh, that was because we'd had an argument,' said Lola. 'I lost my temper.'
'I have it on very good authority, Miss Brewster, that you said – and these are your exact words or so I'm told,' (he read from a note-book) – 'That bitch needn't think she'll get away with it. If I don't shoot her now I'll wait and get her in some other way. I don't care how long I wait, years if need be, but I'll get even with her in the end.'
'Oh, I'm sure I never said anything of the kind,' Lola laughed.
'I'm sure, Miss Brewster, that you did.'
'People exaggerate so.' A charming smile broke over her face. 'I was just mad at the moment, you know,' she murmured confidentially. 'One says all sorts of things when one's mad with people. But you don't really think I'd wait fourteen years and come across to England, and look up Marina and drop some deadly poison into her cocktail glass within three minutes of seeing her again?'
Dermot Craddock didn't really think so. It seemed to him wildly improbable. He merely said:
'I'm only pointing out to you, Miss Brewster, that there had been threats in the past and that Marina Gregg was certainly startled and frightened to see someone who came up the stairs that day. Naturally one feels that that someone must have been you.'
'But darling Marina was delighted to see me! She kissed me and exclaimed how wonderful it was. Oh really, Inspector, I do think you're being very, very silly.'
'In fact, you were all one big happy family?'
'Well, that's really much more true than all the things you've been thinking.'
'And you've no ideas that could help us in any way? No ideas who might have killed her?'
'I tell you nobody would have wanted to kill Marina. She's a very silly woman anyway. Always making terrible fusses about her health, and changing her mind and wanting this, that and the other, and when she's got it being dissatisfied with it! I can't think why people are as fond of her as they are. Jason's always been absolutely mad about her. What that man has to put up with! But there it is. Everybody puts up with Marina, puts themselves out for her. Then she gives them a sad, sweet and thanks them! And apparently that makes them feel that all the trouble is worthwhile. I really don't know how she does it. You'd better put the idea that somebody wanted to kill right out of your head.'
'I should like to,' said Dermot Craddock. 'Unfortunately I can't put it out of my head because you see, it happened.'
'What do you mean, it happened, nobody has killed Marina, have they?'
'No. But the attempt was made.'
'I don't believe it for a moment! I expect whoever it was meant to kill the other woman all the time – the one who was killed. I expect someone comes into money when she dies.'
'She hadn't any money, Miss Brewster.'
'Oh well, there was some other reason. Anyway, I shouldn't worry about Marina if I were you. Marina is always all right!'
'Is she? She doesn't look a very happy woman to me.'
'Oh, that's because she makes such a song and dance about everything. Unhappy love affairs. Not being able to have any children.'
'She adopted some children, didn't she?' said Dermot with a lively remembrance of Miss Marple's urgent voice.
'I believe she did once. It wasn't a great success I believe. She does these impulsive things and then wishes she hadn't.'
'What happened to the children she adopted?'
'I've no idea. They just sort of vanished after a bit. She got tired of them, I suppose, like everything else.'
'I see,' said Dermot Craddock.
IV
Next – the Dorchester. Suite 190.
'Well, Chief-Inspector -' Ardwyck Fenn looked down at the card in his hand.
'Craddock.'
'What can I do for you?'
'I hope you won't mind if I ask you a few questions.'
'Not at all. It's this business at Much Benham. No – what's the actual name, St Mary Mead?'
'Yes. That's right. Gossington Hall.'
'Can't think what Jason Rudd wanted to buy a place like that for. Plenty of good Georgian houses in England – or even Queen Anne. Gossington Hall is a purely Victorian mansion. Where's the attraction in that, I wonder?'
'Oh, there's some attraction – for some people, that is, in Victorian stability.'
'Stability? Well, perhaps you've got something there. Marina, I suppose, had a feeling for stability. It's a thing she never had herself, poor girl, so I suppose that's why she always covets it. Perhaps this place will satisfy her for a bit.'
'You know her well, Mr Fenn?'
Ardwyck Fern shrugged his shoulders.
'Well? I don't know that I'd say that. I've known her over a long period of years. Known her off and on, that is to say.'
Craddock looked at him appraisingly. A dark man, heavily built, shrewd eyes behind thick glasses, heavy jowl and chin, Ardwyck Fenn went on:
'The idea is, I gather, from what I read in the newspapers, that this Mrs Whatever-her-name-was, was poisoned by mistake. That the dose was intended for Marina. Is that right?'
'Yes. That's it. The dose was in Marina Gregg's cocktail. Mrs Badcock spilt hers and Marina handed over her drink to her.'
'Well that seems pretty conclusive. I really can't think, though, who would want to poison Marina. Especially as Lynette Brown wasn't there.'
'Lynette Brown?' Craddock looked slightly at sea.
Ardwyck Fenn smiled. 'If Marina breaks this contract, throws up the part – Lynette will get it and it would mean a good deal to Lynette to get it. But for all that, I don't imagine she'd send some emissary along with poison. Much too melodramatic an idea.'
'It seems a little far-fetched,' said Dermot dryly.
'Ah, you'd be surprised what women will do when they're ambitious,' said Ardwyck Fenn. 'Mind you, death mayn't have been intended. It may have been just to give her a fright – Enough to knock her out but not to finish her.'
Craddock shook his head. 'It wasn't a borderline dose,' he said.
'People make mistakes in doses, quite big ones.'
'Is this really your theory?'
'Oh no, it isn't. It was only a suggestion. I've no theory. I was only an innocent bystander.'
'Was Marina Gregg very surprised to see you?'
'Yes, it was a complete surprise to her.' He laughed amusedly. 'Just couldn't believe her eyes when she saw me coming up the stairs. She gave me a very nice welcome, I must say.'
'You hadn't seen her for a long time?'
'Not for four or five years, I should say.'
'And some years before that there was a time when you and she were very close friends, I believe?'
There was very little change
in the voice but there was something there that had not been there before. A hint of steel, of menace. Dermot felt suddenly that this man would be a very ruthless opponent.
'It would be as well, I think,' said Ardwyck Fenn, 'that you said exactly what you do mean.'
"I'm quite prepared to do so, Mr Fern. I have to inquire into the past relations of everyone who was there on that day with Marina Gregg. It seems to have been a matter of common gossip that at the time I have just referred to, you were wildly in love with Marina Gregg.'
Ardwyck Fenn shrugged his shoulders.
'One has these infatuations, Inspector. Fortunately, they pass.'
'It is said that she encouraged you and that later she turned you down and that you resented the fact.'
'It is said – it is said! I suppose you read all that in Confidential?'
'It has been told me by quite well informed and sensible people.'
Ardwyck Fern threw back his head, showing the bull-like line of his neck.
'I had a yen for her at one time, yes,' he admitted. 'She was a beautiful and attractive woman and still is. To say that I ever threatened her is going a little too far. I'm never pleased to be thwarted, Chief-Inspector, and most people who thwart me tend to be sorry that they have done so. But that principle applies mainly in my business life.'
'You did, I believe, use your influence to have her dropped from a picture that she was making?'
Fenn shrugged his shoulders.
'She was unsuitable for the role. There was conflict between her and the director. I had money in that picture and I had no intention of jeopardizing it. It was, I assure you, purely a business transaction.'
'But perhaps Marina Gregg did not think so?'
'Oh, naturally she did not think so. She would always think that anything like that was personal.'
'She actually told certain friends of hers that she was afraid of you, I believe?'
'Did she? How childish. I expect she enjoyed the sensation.'
'You think there was no need for her to be afraid of you?'
'Of course not. Whatever personal disappointment I might have had, I soon put it behind me. I've always gone on the principle that where women are concerned there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.'
'A very satisfactory way to go through life, Mr Fenn.'
'Yes, I think it is.'
'You have a wide knowledge of the moving picture world?'
'I have financial interests in it.'
'And therefore you are bound to know a lot about it?'
'Perhaps.'
'You are a man whose judgement would be worth listening to. Can you suggest to me any person who is likely to have such a deep grudge against Marina Gregg that they would be willing to do away with her?'
'Probably a dozen,' said Ardwyck Fern, 'that is to say, if they hadn't got to do anything about it personally. If it was mere matter of pressing a button in a wall, I dare say there'd be a lot of willing fingers.'
'You were there that day. You saw her and talked to her. Do you think that amongst any of the people who were around you in that brief space of time – from when you arrived to the moment when Heather Badcock died – do you think that amongst them you can suggest – only suggest, mind you, I'm asking you for nothing more than a guess – anyone who might poison Marina Gregg?'
'I wouldn't like to say,' said Ardwyck Fenn.
'That means that you have some idea?'
'It means that I have nothing to say on that subject. And that, Chief-Inspector Craddock, is all you'll get out of me.'
Chapter 15
Dermot Craddock looked down at the last name and address he had written down in his note-book. The telephone number had been rung twice for him but there had been no response. He tried it now once more. He shrugged his shoulders, got up and decided to go and see for himself.
Margot Bence's studio was in a cul-de-sac off the Tottenharn Court Road. Beyond the name on a plate on the side of a door, there was little to identify it, and certainly no form of advertising. Craddock groped his way to the first floor. There was a large notice here painted in black on a white board 'Margot Bence, Personality Photographer. Please enter.'
Craddock entered. There was a small waiting-room but nobody in charge of it. He stood there hesitating, then cleared his throat in a loud and theatrical manner. Since that drew no attention he raised his voice.
'Anybody here?'
He heard a flap of slippers behind a velvet curtain, the curtain was pushed aside and a young man with exuberant hair and a pink and white face, peered round it.
'Terribly sorry, my dear,' he said. 'I didn't hear you. I had an absolutely new idea and I was just trying it out.'
He pushed the velvet curtain farther aside and Craddock followed him into an inner room. This proved to be unexpectedly large. It was clearly the working studio. There were cameras, lights, arc-lights, piles of drapery, screens on wheels.
'Such a mess,' said the young man, who was almost as willowy as Hailey Preston. 'But one finds it very hard to work, I think, unless one does get into a mess. Now what were you wanting to see us about?'
'I wanted to see Miss Margot Bence.'
'Ah, Margot. Now what a pity. If you'd been half an hour earlier you'd have found her here. She's gone off to produce some photographs of models for Fashion Dream. You should have rung up, you know, to make an appointment. Margot's terribly busy these days.'
'I did ring up. There was no reply.'
'Of course,' said the young man. 'We took the receiver off. I remember now. It disturbed us.' He smoothed down a kind of lilac smock that he was wearing. 'Can I do anything for you? Make an appointment? I do a lot of Margot's business arrangements for her. You wanted to arrange for some photography somewhere? Private or business?'
'From that point of view, neither,' said Dermot Craddock. He handed his card to the young man.
'How perfectly rapturous,' said the young man. 'C.I.D.! I believe, you know, I've seen pictures of you. Are you one of the Big Four or the Big Five, or is it perhaps the Big Six nowadays? There's so much crime about, they'd have to increase the numbers, wouldn't they? Oh dear, is that disrespectful? I'm afraid it is. I didn't mean to be disrespectful at all. Now, what do you want Margot for – not to arrest her, I hope.'
'I just wanted to ask her one or two questions.'
'She doesn't do indecent photographs or anything like that,' said the young man anxiously. 'I hope nobody's been telling you any stories of that kind because it isn't true. Margot's very artistic. She does a lot of stage work and studio work. But her studies are terribly, terribly pure – almost prudish, I'd say.'
'I can tell you quite simply why I want to speak to Miss Bence,' said Dermot. 'She was recently an eye-witness of a crime that took place near Much Benham, at a village called St Mary Mead.'
'Oh, my dear, of course! I know about that. Margot came back and told me all about it. Hemlock in the cocktails, wasn't it? Something of that kind. So bleak it sounded! But all mixed up with the St John Ambulance which doesn't seem so bleak, does it? But haven't you already asked Margot questions about that – or was it somebody else?'
'One always finds there are more questions, as the case goes on,' said Dermot.
'You mean it develops. Yes, I can quite see that. Murder develops. Yes, like a photograph, isn't it?'
'It's very much like photography really,' said Dermot. 'Quite a good comparison of yours.'
'Well, it's very nice of you to say so, I'm sure. Now about Margot. Would you like to get hold of her right away?'
'If you can help me to do so, yes.'
'Well, at the moment,' said the young man, consulting his watch, 'at the moment she'll be outside Keats' house at Hampstead Heath. My car's outside. Shall I run you up there?'
'That would be very kind of you, Mr -'
'Jethroe,' said the young man, 'Johnny Jethroe.'
As they went down the stairs Dermot asked: 'Why Keats' house?'
'Well, you k
now we don't pose fashion photographs in the studio any more. We like them to seem natural, blown about by the wind. And if possible some rather unlikely background. You know, an Ascot frock against Wandsworth Prison, or a frivolous suit outside a poet's house.'
Mr Jethroe drove rapidly but skilfully up Tottenham Court Road, through Camden Town and finally to the neighbourhood of Hampstead Heath. On the pavement near Keats' house a pretty little scene was being enacted. A slim girl, wearing diaphanous organdie, was standing clutching an immense black hat. On her knees, a little way behind her, a second girl was holding the first girl's skirt well pulled back so that it clung around her knees and legs. In a deep hoarse voice a girl with a camera was directing operations.
'For goodness' sake, Jane, get your behind down. It's showing behind her right knee. Get down flatter. That's it. No, more to the left. That's right. Now you're masked by the bush. That'll do. Hold it. We'll have one more. Both hands on the back of the hat this time. Head up. Good – now turn round, Elsie. Bend over. More. Bend! Bend, you've got to pick up that cigarette case. That's right. That's heaven! Got it! Now move over to the left. Same pose, only just turn your head over your shoulder. So.'
'I can't see what you want to go taking photographs of my behind for,' said the girl called Elsie rather sulkily.
'It's a lovely behind, dear. It looks smashing,' said the photographer. 'And when you turn your head your chin comes up like the rising moon over a mountain. I don't think we need bother with any more.'
'Hi – Margot,' said Mr Jethroe.
She turned her head. 'Oh, it's you. What are you doing here?'
'I brought someone along to see you. Chief-Inspector Craddock, C.I.D.'
The girl's eyes turned swiftly on to Dermot. He thought they had a wary, searching look but that, as he well knew, was nothing extraordinary. It was a fairly common reaction to detective-inspectors. She was a thin girl, all elbows and angles, but was an interesting shape for all that. A heavy curtain of black hair fell down either side of her face. She looked dirty as well as sallow and not particularly prepossessing, to his eyes. But he acknowledged that there was character there. She raised her eyebrows which were slightly raised by art already and remarked:
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