by Clara Benson
‘These Americans set great store by the way one looks,’ she was saying. ‘One might be the most talented director in the world, but they won’t care about that if one’s tailoring is wrong.’
‘But I won’t be wearing this sort of thing on the set, my dear,’ said Neale. ‘I much prefer to be comfortable.’
‘No matter, when this is the photograph that will appear in all the press. There,’ she said, stepping back to regard her handiwork. ‘You look quite distinguished. I see I shall have to keep an eye on you when we get to America. The Hollywood studios are full of pretty young ladies, I understand.’
‘None so pretty as you, my sweet,’ he said, and they beamed fondly at one another.
Elsewhere in the room, Cora Drucker was in conversation with a middle-aged woman who, Freddy was soon given to understand, was to play the part of the maid which had originally been given to Birdie Kibble. Meanwhile, Ada Neale sat rigidly in a chair, watching proceedings and occasionally smoothing the folds of her pink satin dress.
‘Hallo,’ she said when she saw Freddy. ‘Have you come to see me having my photograph taken?’
‘I suppose I have,’ he replied. ‘Are you looking forward to the film?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I shall like it now. I wasn’t very excited about it when I thought I should have to work with Dorothy, but I like Augusta. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ said Freddy, and indeed Gussie was looking radiant that day. She was dressed in a pale blue evening-gown that suited her complexion perfectly, while her hair was brushed and gleaming, and looked more than ever like a fiery halo against her pale skin. At that moment she caught sight of Freddy, and jumped up to greet him.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I know one oughtn’t to crow, but I can’t help feeling triumphant at last. It’s awful of me, isn’t it?’
‘Life goes on,’ said Freddy.
‘Yes, it does,’ she said with a determined lift of the chin.
Eugene Penk came in just then, saw Freddy and gave him a nod, then went to talk to a man who had been standing at the side of the room in self-effacing fashion, watching proceedings.
‘That’s Oscar Hoffman,’ said Gussie. ‘He’s Henry Aston’s right-hand man, and he’s been sent over to keep an eye on things.’
‘Things?’
‘The money, I think. I gather it was touch and go as to whether Aston would withdraw after Dorothy died, but Eugene managed to persuade him the venture was sound. But he’s sent Mr. Hoffman over all the same, to make certain everything is as it should be.’
‘You mean to make certain nobody else dies unexpectedly?’ said Freddy.
Gussie gave him a look of alarm.
‘Oh, goodness,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope nothing like that happens. I don’t think anybody’s nerves could stand it.’
Seymour was now ready to begin shooting.
‘Gussie, you come over here and stand by the piano,’ he said. ‘We’ll have Kenrick in a moment, too.’
Gussie did as she was asked. Cora gave an exclamation and put her hand to her mouth.
‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘Dorothy! Don’t you remember, Seymour? She stood there too, just like that, in a dress the same colour.’
There was a little silence as everybody stared at Gussie, who looked down at her frock in dismay.
‘I’m so terribly sorry, Cora,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know. Should you like me to change it? I can send for another, if you like.’
‘No,’ said Cora. ‘It’s all right. It was just that, for a moment, I thought—’
She stopped, and Seymour broke in impatiently.
‘I won’t let you change,’ he said. ‘That one is perfect. Now, let’s start.’
He began to take pictures, and everyone gathered around to watch. Freddy made conversation with a group of film people he had never met before, then drifted away and towards the door to Dorothy Dacres’ old bedroom. Nobody was looking, so he opened the door quietly and went in. Signs of habitation indicated that someone else was staying in this room now—presumably Cora, Freddy thought. A dress had been thrown across a chair, and there were one or two bottles of scent on the dressing-table. The room was dim, for the heavy curtains were pulled almost closed across the double door to the second terrace, which was bolted from the inside. Freddy unbolted it and passed through. This terrace was much smaller than the main one—little more than a balcony, really—and gave out onto the street on which the hotel’s front entrance was located. While the big terrace was intended for large summer parties, this one was private and sheltered, with a little table and chairs for anyone who wished to breakfast outside. Here it was clear to see that the penthouse was at the very top of the building, for the terrace was formed from a sort of square recess cut out of the roof, which sloped upwards to his right and left. Freddy went across to the iron railing and stared down into the street. He was very high up. Then he turned and looked back at the building. Here, near the railing, the side wall was little more than waist high, and it would be a matter of seconds to jump up onto the sloping part of the roof. But first there was the question of the locked door which Corky had mentioned. How had Penk shut himself out here so his absence would not be discovered? Freddy’s eye fell on a broom standing in the corner next to the door, and he went across to pick it up. He pushed the double doors closed and slid the handle of the broom through the two door handles. It was a very tight fit, and when he attempted to pull the doors open, they barely moved. That seemed to answer that question, he thought.
Freddy returned to the wall by the railing and pulled himself up onto the roof. It was very easy. There had been a frost that morning and the roof tiles were damp and slippery in places, but Freddy held on to the vertical part of the terrace wall for balance and was soon on top of the building. This part of the roof was flat, and from here it took only seconds to run quietly across and look down over a decorative parapet onto the main terrace. Below was the area that led out from the living-room. As he was peeping over the edge he heard voices, and moved back out of sight as the door opened and someone came out.
‘It’s a glorious day,’ came Patience Neale’s voice below. ‘Is the sun too low in the sky to get a picture out here, do you suppose?’
Freddy moved along behind the parapet and looked down onto the section of terrace outside Cora’s old room, which was out of sight of the other area. According to Basil Kibble, this was where Dorothy had been standing on the night she died, waiting for someone. If Freddy’s theory was correct, Eugene Penk had crept across here that night. Had he crouched behind the parapet and watched from the same spot on which Freddy was now standing, awaiting the right moment? Freddy could see it in his mind’s eye: Dorothy, shivering in her thin evening-gown, talking to Basil Kibble, who had nipped outside for some fresh air. Basil had heard a muffled sneeze, he said—presumably Penk, as he waited for Basil to go indoors. Then what had happened after that? Penk must have swung himself down over the parapet—an easy enough task for a man who had been both a sportsman and a stunt-man in his time—then, perhaps before Dorothy had even seen him or had time to speak, had, in one swift, ruthless movement, picked her up and thrown her over the edge. Freddy suddenly remembered standing on the other side of the terrace that night and hearing a shriek of what he had thought was laughter. Had it been laughter? Or had it in fact been a scream of terror from Dorothy Dacres as she plummeted to her doom?
Freddy cast his eyes about. It would have been simple enough for Penk to jump down onto the terrace from here, but how had he got back up again? The answer was there below him. The table and chairs he had examined on the night of the party were standing next to an ornamental pillar. To hoist himself up from the table to the top of the pillar and thence to the roof would have been reasonably easy for a man in good condition. Freddy made a mental note to try and get a look at the
shoes Penk had been wearing that evening, since there was a good chance they would have been scraped in the climb—indeed, he could see one or two streaks on the parapet that might perhaps have been shoe-leather, although could the traces still be there after all this time?
He was starting to think he had been up here long enough, for his absence would surely be noticed soon. He went along to the other side of the terrace one last time, to try and judge how risky the venture would have been, given that several people—Freddy included—had been outside at the very moment Dorothy had been thrown over the railing, and saw that more members of the party had now come outside. Adorable Ada was standing by the railing, practising her smiles, as Seymour moved about, seeking the best angle from which to photograph her. Kenneth Neale and Eugene Penk looked out over the rooftops and murmured together, while Gussie lounged in a chair, smoking a cigarette and exchanging the occasional flirtatious glance with Seymour. Freddy was just about to turn away and return over the roof to the other terrace, when his foot knocked against a loose stone. Quickly he moved back, but it was too late, for Ada had looked up and seen him.
‘What are you doing up there?’ she said in surprise.
Everyone turned and stared, including Penk, who went very still for an instant but said nothing.
Freddy sat on the parapet and tried to look as though he had merely gone up there to enjoy the sunshine, and that sitting on roofs was quite a regular habit of his.
‘I say, there’s a splendid view from here,’ he said.
‘Come down from there, you idiot,’ said Gussie. ‘You’ll fall.’
Freddy hesitated, for he had just remembered that he had barred the door to the other terrace, and if he came down onto the main terrace then they would have to break it down to get outside again.
‘Just a second,’ he said. He ran back across the roof and made his way back carefully down to Dorothy’s balcony. He pulled the broom out from between the door handles with difficulty and opened the door, and at that very moment realized his mistake, as Eugene Penk stepped outside.
Freddy took a step back.
‘What were you doing up there?’ said Penk.
He picked up the broom and barred the door again. Although he must have been twice Freddy’s age and more, Freddy now saw how strong he looked, and did not much fancy his chances against him. Penk’s shoulders were wide and powerful, and he had the forearms of the boxer he had once been. Freddy knew he was trapped now, and decided he might as well make the most of it.
‘I was testing a theory,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I wanted to know whether I could see the Houses of Parliament from the roof. But in the end I got distracted and forgot to look. Perhaps you know the answer. Can you see them?’
‘Why are you asking me that? How should I know?’
‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t,’ said Freddy. ‘It was dark, wasn’t it?’
Penk regarded him without speaking for a moment.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said at last.
‘I think you do,’ said Freddy. ‘I think you’re very familiar with the route from this balcony to the terrace on the other side of the building.’
‘Is that so?’ said Penk. He had not taken his eyes off Freddy, and was staring at him much as a snake might stare at a mouse as it contemplated the best direction from which to strike.
Freddy continued, perhaps recklessly:
‘That’s how you did it, isn’t it? Killed your wife, I mean. Or perhaps you didn’t consider her your wife any more. After all, you’d been separated for long enough. But after all this time she was starting to become—what do they call it? A millstone around your neck. She was too demanding, and her demands were threatening the future of Aston-Penk and all the hard work you’d put into it to build it up. Henry Aston had got a sort of idée fixe about her, and was insisting on putting her in all your pictures in future. It was he who wanted her for the part of Helen Harper. But you knew she was no good for the rôle—just as everybody else knew it. Kenneth Neale didn’t want her, and wouldn’t have joined the film had he known she was going to get the part. You got him under false pretences and thought you’d be able to talk him round, but he was threatening lawyers. It was dreadfully important to you that this film did not fail. You were running out of money, and the only person you could go to for it was the very man who was unwittingly sabotaging the company by insisting on interfering. You spoke to Sir Aldridge about the possibility of his putting money into the venture, and thought he might agree, but he was keen on keeping the film British through and through, and Dorothy was an obstacle to that.’
‘Clever, aren’t you?’ said Penk.
‘On top of that, there was the question of Cora,’ went on Freddy. ‘I saw the two of you together the other day, and it was obvious there was something going on. Was Dorothy standing in the way of you both?’
‘Dorothy never could bear anyone to have anything of hers,’ said Penk. ‘Especially not Cora. She was a child in many respects. She’d had things all her own way for so long that she never learned how to share or play nice.’
‘So I understand,’ said Freddy.
He was eyeing the door, wondering whether he might take Penk by surprise and make a run at it. But the broom fitted stiffly through the door handles, and he knew he was unlikely to succeed. All he could do was to try and keep Penk talking until someone realized the two of them were missing, since he was very aware that behind him was a precipitous drop of six storeys. He went on:
‘At any rate, you wanted rid of her, so you took matters into your own hands. I don’t know how long you’d been planning it, but I’m sure you were watching events closely that evening in case the opportunity should arise—as it did. You encouraged Kenneth Neale to follow you onto the terrace here, and made sure you were both seen going that way. You talked, and then said something to calm him down and sent him back into the living-room, while you stayed here. This was to be your alibi, and you didn’t want someone coming out and finding you weren’t here, so you jammed the door shut and then climbed up onto the roof. You went across and saw Dorothy standing outside Cora’s room talking to Basil, and waited until he’d gone back indoors. Then you jumped down, threw her over the edge and hared back the way you had come. A few minutes later you made a great show of coming out into the living-room and calling for a drink, just as the manager of the hotel arrived to tell you that Dorothy had been found dead. It was a good alibi, but as you can see, I’ve just shown everyone how it can be broken. I should never have thought of it had I not been forced to scramble across a roof myself a few days ago. It’s just unlucky for you that it gave me the idea as to how you might have done it.’
Penk gave a short laugh.
‘I always knew you reporters were full of invention,’ he said. ‘Try getting that one past the police. They’ll never believe it. Where’s the proof?’
Freddy put his hand into his pocket and brought something out.
‘I found this up on the roof just now,’ he said. ‘It’s a button. It looks as though it’s fallen from an evening-suit. Have you examined yours lately? Any buttons missing?’
For the first time an expression of uncertainty passed across Penk’s face.
‘I shall give this to the police later,’ said Freddy. ‘Let’s see what they make of it. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go in. It’s getting a little chilly out here.’
‘You don’t think I’m going to let you back in, do you?’ said Penk. He moved slowly across towards Freddy, who was standing by the railing. Freddy glanced at the door with the broom handle shoved through it and made a dart for it, but Penk blocked his way. Slowly he advanced, driving Freddy back towards the railing. But Freddy had no intention of going without a fight. He stumbled, as though he had tripped over his own feet, and fell against the side wall. Penk hesitated just fo
r a second, and in that second Freddy scrambled around him and back towards the door on his hands and knees. It had been a clumsy move, and it failed; Penk grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet, but before he could get hold of Freddy’s arm, Freddy had wrenched himself free and made a dive for the terrace wall. In a trice he was up and climbing towards the flat part of the roof. If he could make it as far as there, he would surely be safe, since he was much younger and faster than Penk, and could run across and jump down onto the other terrace. But the roof tiles were still slippery, causing him to lose his footing several times, and he had barely reached the top when Penk caught up with him and brought him down. It was now that Freddy found out how physically powerful the other man was, as he felt a pair of strong hands around his neck, beginning to throttle him. Freddy flailed uselessly for a second, then remembered the fight with Seymour at the Maypole and, bringing his arm up, poked his fingers hard into Penk’s eyes. Penk growled in pain and loosened his hold, and Freddy immediately leapt up and made another bolt for it, giving a loud yell as he did so. He was hoping to bring someone to his aid, although he knew it was a forlorn hope, since who would be likely to climb up onto the roof after them? At any rate, he thought that someone might realize what was going on and call the police. He reached the parapet of the main terrace just as Penk caught up with him and seized him by the neck from behind. If Freddy had been hoping for help there he was disappointed, for everyone had gone in now. He was just in time to see Seymour carrying the last of his things back through the door to the living-room, his face set in its usual scowl, before Penk dragged him away from the parapet. Freddy gave a strangled shout but Seymour did not look up.
‘Shut up, will you?’ said Penk through gritted teeth.
He now had Freddy in a head-lock and was dragging him across to another part of the roof which sloped down steeply, with no protection, straight to the street. It was clear he intended to hurl Freddy over the edge.