“Not bad,” said Westy, shooting his cuffs.
She eyed his tight jacket admiringly and was so open about not caring to venture a comment that it was better than any compliment she could have paid him.
“I am so sorry to have to trouble you, but Uncle Tonker asked me to find his masks and see they don’t get lost, and although I know where they are I don’t quite see how to get hold of them. I wondered if I could trouble . . .?”
“No trouble at all,” said Westy. “Let’s go.”
She coloured and glanced back at the picture. “It’s awfully warm out,” she muttered at last, fighting with embarrassment. “And the masks are by the river. A man’s got them. I think he might be difficult. I say, I do hope you won’t be offended, but I should take it off.”
“My jacket?” The beautiful simplicity of the move came as a revelation to him and he unbuttoned it instantly.
Mary took it from him reverently and hung it over the back of a chair. It was a strange and beautiful experience, intuitive understanding at its fairest and best. Westy glowed under it.
“It’ll be safe there,” she said.
“I don’t care if it isn’t,” said Westy, free and young and uninhibited again in his clean white shirt. “Where is this guy who’s got the masks? Come on.”
On the lawn the scene was like a Shakespearian finale. Prune, her gleaming dress a focal point, her posy on her knee, was sitting on a high chair in the middle of the lawn, with Luke making a dark shadow behind her, and all about them the little groups of chattering folk in their gay party clothes were sitting about in the light of the moon, the glare from the boat house, and the soft yellow beams from the oil-lit house. Minnie and Tonker, with Fanny Genappe and Solly L., were holding court outside the drawing-room, and Mr. Campion and Amanda were chattering with old friends at the other end of the lawn. The river shone in the lights and the little balcony and the wherry bridge were brilliant against a glowing sky. Private jokes were going on everywhere. Two of the Augusts were playing a posthorn galop on the two best glübalübali, and Superintendent Fred South, who had never encountered anything so truly laughable in all his life before, was being supported by a somewhat scandalised Mr. Lugg.
Mary led Westy down the side of the house to a point of vantage on the top of the low wall skirting the room which had been Uncle William’s.
“Look,” she murmured. “There.”
Westy craned his neck and perceived the difficulty. The S.S.S. man and his alarming-looking friends had chosen with unerring instinct the best place. In the curious way peculiar to them, they had made themselves both comfortable and aloof in the very midst and forefront of an otherwise entirely communal scene. They had taken possession of the little platform which Minnie had built with her own hands for Uncle William’s summer bed, and had transformed it into a box at a music hall. They all had chairs and on the coffee table brought out from the drawing-room there were glasses, even an ice bucket, and the pile of masks. The group did not seem to be talking very much, except that two of the women were whispering, and the glow of the cigars alone showed where the men sat in the shadows. They were silent, waiting to be entertained.
In front of them the garden sloped sharply to the open stream. The young people were perched some little way behind them, and were far too experienced to intrude. Uncle Tonker’s rules were firm and like life’s own: if you made a mess of it once you were sunk.
The man with the squashed face had only to refuse point-blank to part with the trophies and there was nothing to be done about it. The only intelligent plan of campaign was to bide one’s time and to acquire them unobtrusively when he was otherwise engaged. At the moment this looked difficult.
Westy sat down on the wall to wait and helped Mary to get down beside him. She revealed the quality which George had lost so sensationally earlier in the day. There was no need to explain to her. Westy accepted the miracle and worried no more about it.
Meanwhile there was growing activity in the boat house. The Augusts, who had been dipping the obliging mermaids in the river, and had been frustrated from following the same course with an angry girl who did not know them, had begun to fool about with some coloured rockets. Mary watched them earnestly.
“When a red one goes up, George is to open the sluices,” she remarked, offering Westy half a bar of nut chocolate which she had taken out of her pocket.
He accepted the gift gratefully. “Who’s George?” he enquired with a twinge of jealousy.
“You know, the one who can’t stop talking. The silly one. He goes to school with you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s in no fit condition to open a sluice.” Westy was contemptuous. “Who fixed it?”
“One of these fishmongers. I happened to hear them talking. George went down to the fen with that big girl who giggles. They’re waiting down there near the Indian camp for the red rocket.”
Westy shrugged his shoulders. He had the masks to think of now. If George wanted to take over the sluices alone, there would be nothing to stop him.
By this time the Augusts were on the balcony. At least, two of them were, and the other three were attempting to climb up without using the stairs.
“You buy a horse.” The shrill north country tones of the true cross-talk comedian echoed over the moonlit garden and there was a faint movement from Uncle William’s platform and one of the cigars went out.
“Me buy a horse?”
“Yes, you buy a horse.”
“Why should I buy a horse?”
“Because you want to race a horse.”
“I don’t want to race a horse.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Why should I want to race a horse?”
“Because the horse will win.”
“How do I know the horse will win?”
“Because I say it will.”
“Oh, you say the horse will win?”
“Yes, I say the horse will win.”
There was an unnatural stillness on the platform ahead of Westy. He became aware of it despite the compelling quality of the repetitive nonsense on the balcony, which had a magic of its own, inexplicable and ancient.
“Why should I want the horse to win?”
“Because you’ll get a lot of money.”
“Oh, I’ll get a lot of money?”
“Yes, you’ll get a lot of money, because you paid for the horse.”
“How have I paid for the horse?”
“That’s a secret.”
“Oh, I’ve paid for the horse with a secret, have I?”
The shrill, asinine voices echoed over the garden, and one of the crime reporters, who was lying on the grass, turned over to speak to a confrère beside him.
“My God, do you hear this? They’re all here. Burt, Hare, Smith, and Genappe of all people, arrived home unexpectedly. This has put the lid on that little deal. This is pure murder. They’re giving the whole twist away. Who put them up to it?”
At the same time, on the other side of the lawn, Gilbert Whippet bent over Tonker, who was sitting happily in the darkness.
“You’re taking an undue risk, old boy,” he murmured. “They’ll get you for this.”
“Worth it,” said Tonker and chuckled into his glass.
Meanwhile, old Fanny Genappe, who was standing next to Minnie, put his hand on her arm.
“Have you ever heard of a man called Ben-Sabah, my dear?”
“Ben who? No, Fanny, I haven’t. Is he here? Shall I ask Tonker?”
“No, no, it was just an idle thought. I don’t think we’ll bother him. Very amusing, these fellows, aren’t they? They look so absurd. And their patter’s informative.”
The cross-talk act went on inexorably, high, nasal and moronic.
“What’s the horse’s name?”
“The horse’s name is Pontisbright.”
Someone pushed back a chair on the concrete platform near Westy and uttere
d a word which that young man hoped had passed over Mary’s head. The Augusts were working up to a climax, shouting and pretending to fall off the balcony. A red rocket went up behind them and Mary jumped.
“See that?”
Westy nodded in the darkness. “I’m watching.”
“The horse’s name is Pontisbright and I’ve paid for it with a secret!” bellowed an August.
“Yes, you’ve paid for it with a secret and the horse will run on my racecourse.”
“Oh, the horse will run on your racecourse?”
“Yes, the horse will run on my racecourse.”
“Why should the horse run on your racecourse?”
“Because,” shouted all the Augusts together, just as a ripple ran through the river and the wherry bridge which they had unfastened began to move, “because it’s got a bend in it!”
In the next five minutes all sorts of things happened. Down in the fen meadows a liberated George Meredith, from whom all shyness had dropped like a cloak, had opened the sluices as far as they would go. As the pent-up water began to race, a dark bundle escaped from the irises higher up the stream and began to move swiftly through the garden.
At the same time the wherry bridge moved rapidly, and the two Augusts upon it flung their glübalubali aside and leapt nimbly ashore at the last possible moment, so that nearly everybody on the lawn was drawn to his feet, and most people stepped instinctively towards the river’s brim.
Meanwhile, on Uncle William’s platform near Westy and Mary, some sort of crisis appeared to be taking place. Angry murmurs were mingled with violent movement, and the S.S.S. man snatched up the limp pile of masks just before the table went over. He had leapt down into the garden before the body went by, and was looking towards the river when it appeared.
The wax-white face staring up sightlessly at the stars, sailed down the whole length of the lawn, passed the boat house and passed the crowd. Somebody screamed, and a sibilant ripple trickled all the way down the line.
The S.S.S. man acted rapidly. Even Westy, who was standing on the wall trying to make out what on earth was happening, did not see what occurred. Smith threw the masks one after the other into the stream. Some fell one way and some another, but they all floated on the tide, so that within a matter of seconds another sightless white face bobbed down the dark pathway beside the lawn, to be followed by another and another, then two together, then one more.
“Masks!” “Only the masks!” “Masks!”
The cries went up all over the garden and laughter, much of it shocked but all of it relieved, broke out everywhere as the crowd receded and there was gaiety again.
Only Amanda, who was standing by her husband in the whispering garden, caught her breath.
“Albert, seven went by. There are only six. Get Luke quickly. Down to the fen.”
Chapter 17
MR. CAMPION EXERTS HIMSELF
MR. CAMPION CLOSED the drawer of Miss Pinkerton’s desk very softly although he knew he was alone in the house, and, pushing back the chair on which he had been sitting, stepped across the room and switched out the light. Then he drew back the heavy curtains and left the way he had come, which was, as on the day before, through the window.
The house without a back rose stark and silent behind him and he set off across the long slope down to the river with swinging strides. Away to his left the patch of brilliance which was The Beckoning Lady glowed like a fairground in the night. There were still several hours before dawn, and, judging from the faint roar blown towards him by the light wind, the proceedings had reawakened after the period of comparative quiet.
A little group awaited Mr. Campion under a tree by the river. Luke was there, South, and Amanda, and Old Harry who had guided them. He was sitting apart on a log, very solemn in his Sunday-and-Funeral suit, but sly-eyed and watchful in the moonlight.
“I doubt you had no luck, sir.” The Superintendent’s tone was difficult to place, but Mr. Campion felt that for once he was not actually grinning.
“It was hopeless,” said Luke. “It’s been destroyed.”
“Wait.” Mr. Campion spoke briskly as he came up beside them. “I hope this was not the actual tree where she was found, Superintendent? I don’t want to destroy any traces.”
“That’s all right, sir. That’s the tree over there where Buller says he saw her and thought she was sleeping. Some people ought to have their heads X-rayed, but we can’t go into that now. There’s an empty gin bottle there but we can’t see the bicycle. I have no doubt she hid it because she didn’t want to be spotted and in my opinion she probably wheeled it in the river. In that case it may have travelled. The whole stream is choked with rubbish this time of year. You never know, she may have pushed it on to something that looked as if it would keep it afloat and not spoil it. People do crazy things like that when they’re thinking of suicide. Well, we shall see. You’ve come back empty handed, sir, have you? I was afraid you might.”
“I don’t know.” Mr. Campion leant against the tree which was not the one under which Old Harry had seen Miss Pinkerton’s body in the dawn, and felt in his pocket. “I didn’t find the actual note, which, as I told you, I noticed yesterday on the mantelshelf under the one addressed to Mr. Smith. That note was for an R. Robinson Esquire, and I give you my solemn word that at that time I had no idea who the man was, and that the whole matter had slipped my mind as unimportant until we all stood up in the Indian camp half an hour ago and looked down at the body we had just taken from the stream. Then, as you know, I did remember it, and I asked you, Superintendent, if you’d ever heard of him.”
“And my reply gave us all the shock of our naturals,” interrupted South. He was brightening. “How were you to know that our local Coroner wasn’t a doctor? Don’t tell me you’ve found the letter, sir?”
“No.” Mr. Campion still sounded promising. “The note has gone, and I don’t think any of us can be very astounded by that. But I have found something. I don’t know what you’re all going to make of it and I don’t know if it will be considered acceptable as evidence, but here it is. I took this sheet from the drawer of her typing desk.”
He took a flimsy paper from his breast pocket and handed it up to them.
“Perhaps I ought to tell you first,” he said, “that just after the meal this evening Lugg came in to tell me that he had at last traced the chemist in Hadleigh who supplied Miss Pinkerton with dormital regularly on a London doctor’s prescription. She did not drink alcohol in the normal way, so presumably she felt it was quite safe.”
Luke produced a torch and both men bent over the letter, their faces hidden in the shadows.
“My God,” said Luke, “what do you know? A carbon!” He began to read aloud in his official voice, expressionless and ill punctuated.
“‘To R. Robinson Esquire, the Coroner,
Kepesake, June 23rd.
Dear Sir,
I am writing to inform you that I have decided to take my life. I do it of my own free will and am of sound judgement at this time. Yesterday afternoon I had a very terrible experience and the shock of it has unhinged my mind, I think. Without meaning to in the least, I have taken the life of a fellow-man and I see that I shall be found out, and even hanged if they still do that to a woman, and that nothing I shall be able to say will be of the least use in saving me, so I prefer to go in my own way. The man I must have killed was the person called Little Doom by Mrs. Cassands at The Beckoning Lady. I recognised him as soon as I saw his body but lost my head and pretended I thought he was a tramp. The accident happened on Thursday week last. I had gone down to The Beckoning Lady in the afternoon and, finding no one about, I went into the wretched sick room of the old man who was lingering there. He was quite incapable of talking to me and might quite as well have been dead. I spent some time tidying his room, during which time I accidentally upset some of his sleeping pills. Not wishing to leave him without any, I put some of my own which I always carry in my bag into his box, and at that moment looke
d up to see the person called Little Doom peering at me through the window. Not wishing to speak to the man I hurried out of the room, through the cloakroom and out of the house. But when I reached the stile in the meadows I discovered he had caught up with me and was speaking to me in a very unpleasant way. I hurried over the stile but the hindrance allowed him to catch up with me and he actually laid a hand upon me. I snatched up something from the ground and struck him with it in self-defence. Then I rushed on and was glad to find he had not followed. But a week afterwards on happening to cross the meadows again I was forced to look at the most disgusting sight. I have not slept since. I do not think I shall ever sleep again. I do not know what my employer will say when he hears this. So please be reticent.’”
His voice ceased abruptly and there was a long silence on the bank of the stream. Luke kept the torch beam on the paper and when Amanda stepped closer he held the sheet down for her to see.
“No signature, of course,” he said at last.
“How could there be?” An entirely new quality in Superintendent South’s voice impressed everybody. He was serious. The alarming quality of jocund innuendo had vanished from his personality. “You can’t have it all given to you,” he said virtuously. “Sometimes we’ve got to use our heads and sometimes we’ve got to be thankful. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. It was in my mind all day yesterday once we’d got the crime figured out. ‘It could have been quite unintentional’ I said to myself before I went to sleep last night. ‘Quite unintentional’—a man with a skull as thin as that.”
The placid effrontery of the statement struck a mundane and recognisable note in the half-lit magic of the summer night. Luke opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind, and Mr. Campion rose from his seat under the tree.
“Of course, a carbon copy does presuppose a fair one,” he said diffidently, “but I don’t know if the Coroner will accept . . .”
“Look sir.” The old Superintendent made no bones about interrupting him. “You’re a reputable witness. We’ve got your evidence that you saw a note addressed to Mr. Robinson in the deceased’s office yesterday afternoon. At that time you did not know that Mr. Robinson was the local Coroner. That’s one point. Then we have your evidence that subsequent to the discovery of the poor lady’s body, and after explaining what you were about to us, you went back to the office and failed to find the said note. But you did find this here copy. The lady was a secretary and was used, as we are in the Police, to taking a carbon copy of every letter she ever wrote. It was automatic with her, so that it’s not extraordinary that in a moment of stress habit asserted itself. That’s our case and it’s a very very strong one.”
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