by Clara Benson
‘No,’ said Kenrick.
‘And yet you were on the terrace for some time after half past ten.’
‘Was I? Yes, I suppose I was.’
‘At what time did you go out there?’
‘I—I don’t know. I wasn’t particularly paying attention.’
‘Was it after Miss Dacres made the announcement, or before?’
‘Why, I—after, I think it must have been. Yes, it was. She mentioned me in her speech, I remember.’
‘Did you go outside immediately after she’d finished speaking?’
‘I spoke to a few people, I think. They wanted to congratulate me on getting the part in the film, so of course one had to go along with things and seem pleased, although I didn’t feel much like it.’
‘What did you do on the terrace?’
‘Nothing. Sarah wouldn’t speak to me and I was feeling pretty down and didn’t want to talk to anybody, so I suppose I looked out at the view and smoked.’
‘You didn’t think of going home?’
‘No, I didn’t, although I expect I ought to have. But I was there as the leading man, and I didn’t want to offend anybody.’
‘I see,’ said Entwistle. ‘Then you stood there on the terrace the whole time. Did you stay in one place?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t go around the corner to the other side of the terrace at any time?’
‘No.’
‘Did you speak to anybody or see anybody?’
‘Not at first. Cora came out after a while, and we talked for a minute or two, but she was a little distracted and seemed to be waiting for somebody.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Augusta, I think. She fairly ran over to her when she and her chap came outside. Then I realized how cold it was and went back indoors.’
‘You went inside before Miss Drucker?’
‘Yes.’
‘At what time was that?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps Cora or Augusta will remember. I left the three of them on the terrace.’
‘And what did you do after that?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Kenrick. ‘Talked to one or two people, I think.’
‘You didn’t go back out onto the terrace at all? Perhaps through Miss Drucker’s bedroom?’
‘Certainly not. I’d got cold and wanted to stay where it was warm.’
‘When did you realize Miss Dacres was dead?’
‘Not until I heard the commotion and Penk started charging around, yelling at people to get off the terrace. A lot of people had rushed outside because they thought there’d been a motor accident, and Penk shouted at them to get back in. Then everybody started whispering that it wasn’t a car crash after all—that Dorothy had fallen from the terrace. After that the police arrived, and it was obvious we were in the way, so we gave our names to the constable on the door and I took Sarah home. That was an uncomfortable journey, I can tell you. Now every time I telephone, her mother answers and won’t let me speak to her.’
‘Poor old chap,’ said Basil. ‘Give it another day or two and I’m sure she’ll come round.’
Kenrick said nothing, but looked glum. Entwistle turned to Basil Kibble.
‘I don’t suppose you remember what you were doing during the half-hour in question?’ he said.
‘Oh, Birdie and I were on duty, inspector,’ replied Basil. ‘In every house you’ll always find us at the piano. I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in finding people to confirm that.’
‘Very well,’ said Entwistle. ‘I think that will be all.’
‘Tell me, do you have an inkling of what happened that night?’ said Basil. ‘I gather from others you’ve been bustling about asking people to give alibis. But what if it was an accident?’
‘Then we still need alibis to prove that,’ said the inspector. ‘If nobody was with her at the time, then everyone is cleared of suspicion, and we can safely say she died by her own hand one way or another.’
‘In that case, I have no more to say,’ said Basil. ‘I wish you the best of luck—and all the more so, because I think you’re going to need it.’
‘Are we sure it wasn’t an accident?’ said Sergeant Bird, once they were out in the street.
‘No, we’re not,’ said Inspector Entwistle. ‘But there’s no reason in the world I can see that Dorothy Dacres should have climbed up onto the railing and fallen over. She was reasonably sober by all accounts, and certainly had no reason to throw herself over deliberately.’
‘Horseplay?’
‘That’s always possible, but then surely somebody must have been there with her. Why would she have been fooling about by herself?’
‘True,’ said Bird. ‘So, then, who do you fancy? This Robert Kenrick doesn’t seem to have much of an alibi.’
‘No—he was on the terrace alone for some of the time in question—or so he says—and it sounds as though he had a motive, too. He didn’t want to make too much of it, but it’s obvious Dorothy Dacres had been pestering him, and perhaps threatening him. He’s at the beginning of his career, and she was a powerful woman with some influence. Perhaps he decided to put her out of the way to make her stop bothering him. Still, at the moment we don’t have enough evidence to arrest him, as there’s nothing to connect him with the crime, or the accident, or whatever it was.’
‘No, it’s all pretty flimsy,’ agreed Bird. ‘Not a jury in the land would convict him on the strength of a missing alibi—he’s far too good-looking. Now, who’s next on our list?’
Entwistle looked at his watch.
‘The super wants to see me at two and it’s getting late, so I think we’d better split up. I’m going to go and speak to Seymour Cosgrove. You can go and try Sarah Rowland. She was sitting down for most of the evening, and there’s nothing like a scorned woman for watching the former object of her affections like a hawk. If anybody can tell us what Robert Kenrick was doing during that half an hour, she can.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the sergeant.
‘And she lives with her mother, too, who I gather is a bit of a tartar. You’re better at worming your way around that sort than I am. Go and see if Miss Rowland is at home, and I’ll see you back at the Yard later.’
So they parted, and Sergeant Bird headed for Bayswater, where Robert Kenrick’s fiancée lived with her mother. Sarah Rowland had given her profession as teacher, so Bird hardly expected her to be at home, and was therefore not surprised when the door was answered by a woman of fifty or so, who on inquiry proved to be Miss Rowland’s mother. Bird had been expecting a dragon, but she was very small and smartly dressed, with iron-grey hair and a determined chin.
‘Oh, police,’ she said, when Sergeant Bird introduced himself. ‘Yes, Sarah is at home.’
‘Who is it?’ said a voice behind her, and a young woman appeared. She was small, like her mother, and delicately pretty, with a pale face.
‘I’d like to ask you some more questions about the party at the Abingdon Hotel last week, if you don’t mind,’ said Bird.
Sarah Rowland glanced at her mother, who folded her lips.
‘Very well, you’d better come in,’ she said.
They went through to a small parlour furnished in the style of a few years ago. On a table by a wall, papers and exercise books were spread out.
‘It’s a field day today,’ said Miss Rowland, by way of explanation. ‘I’m not wanted so I stayed at home to do a little extra work.’
Mrs. Rowland seemed inclined to hover.
‘Don’t worry—I shall be quite all right,’ said Sarah, and after a brief glance at Sergeant Bird, the older woman left the room. ‘Mother is rather protective,’ said Sarah. ‘She means well, but sometimes she goes a little too far.’
‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Bird. ‘And she’s been doing her job well
, according to Mr. Kenrick.’
Sarah Rowland stuck out her chin, and at that moment looked very like her mother.
‘Have you come to plead his case?’ she said.
Sergeant Bird might have pointed out that he was a Scotland Yard detective, not a match-maker, but he did not.
‘No, not at all,’ he said. ‘I’m here as part of our inquiry into the death of Miss Dorothy Dacres.’
‘Was she killed deliberately?’ said Sarah.
‘That’s what we’d like to find out.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised if she had been,’ she said.
‘Oh? Why is that?’
Because from what I’ve heard of her, she was the sort to trample over everybody who stood in her way—a sort of bully, I suppose. And sometimes bullies can go too far, and one day they find that those they have tormented won’t stand for it any more.’
‘Do you think that’s what happened?’ said the sergeant. ‘You think she was killed by somebody she’d offended?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sarah hesitantly. She seemed suddenly to have realized the implications of what she was saying.
‘Do you think she was bullying Mr. Kenrick?’ said Bird.
‘No—that is—’
‘Miss Rowland, I wanted to speak to you particularly because I understand you were sitting down for much of the evening, and in a position to observe everything that happened. Now, we don’t know whether Miss Dacres died accidentally or whether she was killed deliberately, and the only way we are likely to find out is by ascertaining what each of the guests was doing at the time of her death.’
‘You think Bob did it, don’t you?’ said Sarah suddenly.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he was out on the terrace just before she died.’
It looked as though Inspector Entwistle had been right in his supposition that Miss Rowland had been watching Robert Kenrick carefully all evening.
‘He has admitted he was there, yes,’ said Bird.
‘He can admit it all he wants, but I can tell you now that he didn’t kill her, because he’s simply incapable.’
‘Can you be quite sure of that?’ said the sergeant gently.
‘Of course I can. I won’t deny I’m angry with him, but it’s not for the reason you might think. I know perfectly well there was nothing between Bob and Dorothy Dacres. I could see the kind of woman she was as soon as I met her, but I’d suspected it even before that, from some of the things Bob said. She was all out for herself, and woe betide anybody who got in her way.’
‘I see,’ said Bird. ‘And you are angry with Mr. Kenrick because he didn’t stand up to her, is that it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah. ‘It was positively exasperating to see it. I know what he’s like, sergeant. He is the sweetest-tempered man you could ever hope to meet, and I love him for it, but it does mean that he is terribly easily taken advantage of. He’s supposed to be going to Hollywood soon, and I fear for him. He has the talent, but I’m so very afraid the studios will crush him.’
‘Perhaps he needs you to protect him,’ said Bird.
‘Perhaps. But I’m dreadfully cross with him at the moment for allowing himself to be put in such a difficult position. And now it’s become even more difficult, because everybody thinks he killed Dorothy.’
‘Suppose you tell me what else you saw that evening,’ said the sergeant. ‘It may be that you can help prove he had nothing to do with it.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Where were you when Miss Dacres made the announcement that she’d been given the part of Helen Harper? Were you still sitting down?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where was your chair, exactly?’
‘Near the wall, behind the piano and to one side.’
‘Then you must have had a good view of everything that was going on.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’
‘Can you tell me what you remember about the period after Miss Dacres made her announcement? What did you see?’
Miss Rowland thought for a moment.
‘Well, there was a lot of cheering and clapping when she said she’d got the part, although one or two people didn’t seem too pleased about it. The director—Kenneth Neale, I think his name is—looked particularly surprised and annoyed. But I’ve found out since then that he was expecting Augusta Laing to get the part.’
‘How did Miss Laing look? Do you remember?’
‘I wasn’t watching her, so I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Dorothy grabbed Mr. Penk by the arm and did a sort of tour of the room so that people could congratulate her.’
‘Where was Mr. Kenrick then?’
‘Oh, he was receiving congratulations too, as she’d announced him as the leading man. He’d been grumpy all evening after we fell out, but that cheered him up a bit. Then he came across to me, but I’m afraid I turned away from him and wouldn’t speak to him, so he stalked off in a huff. Then I saw him go out onto the terrace.’
‘At what time was that?’
‘About a quarter to eleven, I think. Yes—it must have been then, because I remember glancing at my watch and wondering whether I should get home before midnight.’
‘When did he come back in?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. Perhaps just after eleven.’
‘What did he do after that?’
‘I don’t know. There was a little crowd of people standing between us for a moment, and when they dispersed I couldn’t see him any more. I didn’t see him again until all the shrieking began.’
‘So for a good while Mr. Kenrick was not in view. What did you do while he was absent?’
‘Watched everybody else, I suppose.’
‘Tell me what you saw. Where did Miss Dacres go, for example?’
‘Why, I don’t quite know. She was awfully full of herself, of course, and sailed around the room with Mr. Penk for a while as though she owned the place. Then Kenneth Neale came and took Mr. Penk away from her, and the two of them went through a door—I think into Dorothy’s bedroom. I got the impression they wanted to talk in private. Then—I’m not sure—I remember Miss Drucker caught hold of Dorothy and whispered something to her, which seemed to make her puff up even more, but I don’t know where she went after that.’
‘Did she go somewhere with Miss Drucker?’
‘Oh, no. They only talked for a second, in passing.’
‘You say Mr. Penk and Mr. Neale went into Dorothy’s room. At what time did they come out?’
Sarah frowned.
‘Mr. Neale came out at about eleven,’ she said at last.
‘Can you be sure of that?’ said Bird.
‘Yes, I can,’ she said, ‘because he came out and spoke to his wife and mentioned going home, and I looked at my watch again.’
‘And what about Mr. Penk?’
‘He came out just as the man from the hotel arrived,’ she said. ‘Then he started charging about and ordering people off the terrace.’
‘He didn’t come out at all before that?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I’d have seen him. I was practically facing the door to Dorothy’s room, you see.’
‘Very good,’ said Sergeant Bird. ‘Now, do you remember anything else? Did you see anybody else go out onto the terrace, for example?’
‘Miss Drucker went out,’ said Miss Rowland. ‘She’d been wandering around, talking to people and looking tense about something. I think she was looking for someone.’
‘This was after you saw her speak to Miss Dacres, yes?’
‘Yes. First she followed Mr. Penk and Mr. Neale into Dorothy’s room, but she came out almost immediately and went outside. She must have seen Bob on the terrace—you can ask
her about that. A few minutes after that Augusta Laing and her friend went out too. Then Bob came in again, and the other three followed shortly afterwards. It wasn’t long after that that all the fuss began.’
Sergeant Bird made a note. Sarah Rowland was a useful witness, for she was in a position to confirm what they had already heard from other people. It seemed that Eugene Penk and Cora Drucker had been telling the truth about their movements, which made it difficult—if not impossible—for either of them to have done it, since Penk had been on the smaller terrace during the period in question, while Cora had been in view of one person or another for the whole time.
‘What about Seymour Cosgrove?’ he said. ‘Did you see him at all?’
‘Seymour Cosgrove? He’s the photographer, isn’t he? I saw him earlier in the evening, looking cross. He and Augusta Laing are meant to be rather close, according to Bob, but it looked as though they’d had a quarrel, as she came to the party with someone else—Freddy, I think his name was. At one point Seymour came over to speak to her, but she stared at him down her nose and squashed him all right. Every time I saw him after that he was glowering at her or Freddy.’
‘Did you see him after Miss Dacres made her announcement?’
‘Not that I recall,’ she replied after a moment. ‘He turned up just as everybody was rushing out onto the terrace to stare down into the street, but I don’t know where he was before that.’
‘What about Miss Laing?’
‘I don’t think I saw her either,’ said Sarah. ‘At least, not until she went out onto the terrace with Freddy.’