The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks

by James Anderson

  Dorothy looked distressed. 'You shouldn't say things like that, Aggie.'

  'I don't see why not. It's a relief from servitude, petal.'

  'I don't feel it like that.' She looked at Gerry. 'I'm sure you, and everybody else, got a very bad impression of Mother yesterday. And I'm not going to pretend she was always easy. But she'd had a very difficult life. I'm sure she loved Daddy and then to lose him like that so soon after the marriage was a terrible thing for her. And she was left with us: two little girls whom she'd really hardly got to know. She could have washed her hands of us. She had no real obligation. She could have sent us to grandmother—'

  'Wish she damn well had,' put in Agatha.

  Dorothy ploughed on. 'She could have sent us to a home. But no, she took us on. She brought us up on her own. She sent us to good schools. She protected us. Money was always tight but she worked very hard. I didn't like all the things she did. But she did them because she had to and we never went short. Yes, she did become embittered, but I think she had cause. And I'll always be grateful to her.'

  Gerry felt a surge of guilt for all the uncharitable thoughts she had harboured about Clara. Someone who could engender such loyalty could not have been all bad. It made her more determined than ever to solve the case.

  'I think that's wonderful,' she said. 'So there's certainly no doubt that you want this murderer caught, even though he or she might well be a relation?'

  'Well, of course there isn't.' Dorothy looked quite shocked.

  'And don't get me wrong,' Agatha added. 'I didn't feel so well-disposed to our stepmother as Dorry did, but she didn't deserve to be murdered. So I don't want the bastard to get away with it.' She bit her lip. 'Sorry.'

  Gerry grinned. 'Don't apologise. I've heard much worse. The reason I asked was that it occurred to me that if Clara had given any sort of hint that she knew something bad about one of the others, you might have been reluctant to tell Chief Inspector Wilkins about it. I'd be the same myself. I'd hate to make the police suspicious of someone, just on the basis of a casual word. But if there was anything, you could safely tell me. I'd promise not to pass it on to Wilkins, until I could find something additional to back it up. But it might just be the lead I'm looking for.'

  'Gerry,' Agatha said, 'if there was anything, we'd tell you like a shot. But she certainly said nothing at all to me.'

  'Nor to me,' Dorothy said. 'She was interested to know who the other beneficiaries were - we all were. And we discussed them. But all Mother said was things like Timothy was obviously very well off and it was a waste to leave him anything, and that Gregory probably wasn't short of cash either and she'd be interested in seeing what Stella was like. Things like that. And naturally we speculated on what we might get.'

  'I told Wilkins what I thought,' Agatha said. 'You were both there. Mother was bluffing. Only purely by chance, with somebody there she hit home. He believed the threat was genuine. And that meant Mother had to die.'

  * * *

  Next, Gerry went in search of Gregory. She eventually tracked him down in the billiard room, where he was knocking balls around the table in an aimless manner. He glanced up as she entered and put down his cue.

  'Looks pretty heartless, I expect,' he said.

  'Not at all. We've all got to take our minds off things somehow.'

  'Just wish it worked.'

  'Must be getting you down,'

  'Being chief suspect?'

  'Oh, not chief suspect - just one of half a dozen.'

  'I'm under no illusions. Looking at the others, I've got to admit that I'd probably think I'd done it - if I didn't know I hadn't.'

  'Well, it's good you can joke about it.'

  'Must maintain the old stiff upper lip. Sure you feel safe being alone in a room with me? Don't think the other girls do. Stella was as nice as pie yesterday, but she's decidedly keeping her distance today.'

  Gerry didn't think it tactful to explain that, from what Stella had said to her, it was not the fear that Gregory was a murderer that was influencing Stella. She hoisted herself up onto the table. Gregory offered her a cigarette and lit it for her.

  'Yes,' she said. 'It must be very nasty.'

  'I don't honestly believe they're going to try and pin it on me. But if Wilkins doesn't clear this up in a day or two, they're going to keep digging and digging - talking to my friends and colleagues, local party members, and so on. What I dread is that they'll never get proof and it'll just be left as an unsolved crime. The details are bound to leak out, and if just a few hundred people in my constituency decide I did it, my political career will be over come the next general election.'

  Gerry drew on her cigarette thoughtfully. 'The only consolation I can offer is that, for all appearances to the contrary, Chief Inspector Wilkins is very smart. I'm sure he'll get to the truth. That is, if I don't first.'

  'Doing a bit of private detective work, are you?'

  'Trying to.'

  'I didn't realise this was what they call a grilling.'

  'Oh, don't think of it like that. I am speaking to everybody, but I don't expect anybody to break down and confess, or slip up and give themselves away. I'm just trying to find out what people are thinking, or anything they might know. So if there's anything at all that you know that you didn't mention to Wilkins, you could tell me in strict confidence.'

  Gregory crossed to the mantelpiece, collected an ashtray, came back and put it on the edge of the table. 'What sort of thing?'

  'Any strange or odd behaviour, even if it apparently had nothing to do with the crime.'

  'Well, to be frank, just a few minutes ago I did see your father burying some small items outside, each side of the porch. Nothing to do with me, of course, but seemed rather, er, unusual.'

  It was all Gerry could do not to over-react. Somehow she managed to give a little smile. 'Oh, that. Yes, it must have seemed odd. I can't explain now, but I assure you it's absolutely nothing to do with the murder. Feel free to tell Wilkins, if you like.'

  'No, no, take your word for it, of course. Anyway, neither you nor your parents are suspects.'

  'So did you see any of the suspects acting suspiciously?'

  Gregory flicked some ash off his cigarette and carefully smoothed off the remaining loose ash against the inside of the ashtray. 'Oh yes,' he said.

  Gerry gave a start. 'You did?'

  'Most decidedly.'

  'What? Who?'

  'I can't tell you.'

  'But why—'

  'Because I have absolutely no confirmation, no witnesses. It would be just this person's word against mine. And if I was to tell the police about it, the person could quite easily claim to have seen me acting suspiciously.'

  'Yes, but if you got your story in first, you'd have the advantage. If this other person did invent something about you, Wilkins would ask why they hadn't mentioned it before. They'd have a job to explain that.'

  'Not really. They could easily put it down to a reluctance to, er, sneak, as we used to call it as kids.'

  'Yes, I can see that, but I wasn't suggesting you tell the police at this stage: just tell me. I give you my word—'

  'Naturally, I accept that without question, but I just cannot tell you, Geraldine. I'm sorry.'

  'As you wish. But this thing, whatever it was, it does give you definite grounds for suspecting someone?'

  'No.'

  'But you just said—'

  'Not grounds for suspicion. Knowledge. I know who killed Clara, Geraldine, know beyond all reasonable doubt. And as things stand at present, there's not a damn thing I can do about it.'

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Gerry found Timothy in the library. He was sitting extremely tidily, feet together, hands folded, reading a very thick book. He closed it when she approached and started to rise.

  'Please don't get up,' Gerry said. She sat in a chair opposite him, seeing with slight surprise that the book was one she had never seen before on ancient folklore and superstitions. He noticed her glancing
at it. 'It was on the table,' he explained. 'Just caught my eye. Quite interesting. Amazing what they believed in those days. Still do, apparently.'

  'Oh, there are some strange old customs still practised around here.'

  She realised as she said it that it was not the best form of words, given their present circumstances. 'And I don't just mean murder,' she added, making it worse.

  He smiled frostily.

  'I realise what a terrible situation for you this is,' she said.

  'It is not pleasant. One must hope that it doesn't continue too long. And although I know that Wilkins is an experienced officer, his manner does not inspire confidence.'

  'You shouldn't take too much notice of that. He's good. He does seem to be pretty baffled this time, though, I must admit.'

  'An alarming fact.'

  'Not for the murderer, though.'

  'No, indeed. The thought that he might get away with it is truly horrifying.' Then he flushed slightly. 'Oh, I realise you may think I am in fact hoping that the murderer does escape; in other words that I am myself he. And assuring you that I am not would plainly be quite pointless. Obviously, I am one of the chief suspects. Believe it or not, I have even found myself considering which of my fellow-counsel I might brief to defend me, if the worst should come to the worst.'

  'Did you choose somebody?'

  'I could think of no one as capable as myself.'

  On the surface, the words suggested a breathtaking arrogance. But in fact they came across as a balanced, impassionate judgement.

  'However,' he continued, 'I cannot really believe it will come to that. In fact, to me it is truly bizarre that anyone could even imagine me capable of murder.'

  Gerry decided on shock tactics. 'I can imagine it,' she said calmly.

  There was no immediate display of indignation. Only his eyelid twitched rapidly three times. 'Really? I admit to feeling disappointment. Under what circumstances, may I ask?'

  'To protect Penny.'

  'Oh, I see. Well, yes, perhaps. I suppose most parents would kill to save their child's life.'

  'Or even perhaps to protect her reputation.'

  'Ah, I understand which way your mind is working: that it was Penelope who had some guilty secret, which Clara was going to expose.'

  'No, my mind's not working that way at all. I'm just trying to think how a policeman's mind might work.'

  'I cannot conceive of any police officer believing she could be guilty of anything which would make such a course necessary.'

  'Again, I can - just. A road accident, perhaps. Say she knocked down and killed someone. It may not have been her fault, but she panicked, and drove on.'

  'She doesn't own a car.'

  'She could have borrowed one. Suppose the accident was seen by someone who recognised her, and who also knew about Clara's little enterprise, and passed it on to her. Penny could go to prison for quite a long time. You would be desperate to prevent that.'

  'I would certainly do all in my power legitimately to prevent it. But most decidedly not murder.'

  Gerry gazed at him. 'No,' she said at last, 'I don't believe you would.'

  'Perhaps you think the less of me for it - consider that I should be prepared to kill in those circumstances.'

  'Not to kill just anybody. But perhaps to kill a person like that in such a situation might be legitimate.'

  'I cannot agree with you. However, we seem to have moved a long way from reality. Unless you believe some such course of events did actually take place.'

  'Good lord, no. I'm just pointing out how to someone like Chief Inspector Wilkins, with his experience, almost anything is possible.'

  'I take your point and I can see the logic of what you say. Nonetheless, I simply should not be a suspect. You see, I know—' He stopped.

  'Know what?'

  'It's nothing.'

  Suddenly Gerry knew what had been on his lips. 'You were going to say you know who did kill Clara, weren't you?'

  For the first time since she had met him, she saw him really startled. 'What - what - ?' he began, then took a deep breath. He obviously realised it was too late to deny it. 'How did you know?'

  Gerry couldn't answer this. Had it been intuition? Telepathy? Or merely the more prosaic fact that Gregory had said almost exactly the same thing? Resisting the temptation to reply 'I have my methods,' she just gave an enigmatic little smile. 'Do you want to tell me about it — in confidence?'

  'I'd like nothing better than to tell somebody, but I can't.'

  'Because you have no evidence.'

  'Yes.'

  'And if you were to say what you know, the person you accuse might well fabricate a story about you.'

  He stared at her. "Ibis is remarkable. I can almost believe you have psychic powers.'

  'Nothing like that. It's simply logic. But you could tell me - not the police - and be sure it wouldn't get back to that person. It might just help me to get to the bottom of this affair.'

  He shook his head firmly. 'If I tell anybody, it will be the police. I might have to do so eventually. But in the meantime it would be unfair to burden you with knowledge which you were honour bound to keep to yourself.'

  There was obviously no point in arguing with him. 'OK. Don't forget, though, that if this person has killed once, they'll have no compunction about killing again. Having this knowledge, you yourself could well be in danger.'

  'That had not occurred to me, I must admit. But thank you. I shall be on my guard now. And I think you know I am well able to take care of myself.'

  * * *

  Gerry's brain had been in a whirl after she left Gregory; it was in a positive turmoil after she left Timothy. That they should both have come up with almost identical stories was incredible. Was one of them lying? Were they both lying? It was hardly possible to imagine that each had seen the other behaving suspiciously. So had they both independently seen a third person doing so?

  Her cogitations were interrupted by Tommy. He wasted no time in preliminaries. 'Something else to report.'

  She felt a stab of alarm. 'What?'

  'Nothing much, this time. He was just walking round the courtyard, tying knots in a piece of string, lots of them.'

  'When was this?'

  'About twenty minutes ago. I saw him out of my window. And he seemed to be talking to himself. At least, his lips were moving. I couldn't hear anything. He could have been singing, I suppose.'

  'If Daddy's walking round the courtyard, singing to himself, when we've just had another murder in the house, things are really serious.'

  'Perhaps he was singing a hymn. You know, sort of private requiem, in memory of Clara.'

  'I'd much rather he was talking to himself,' Gerry said.

  * * *

  'You didn't make me look too good in front of Geraldine, you know,' Agatha said.

  Dorothy stared at her. 'What do you mean?'

  'Well, here I've been telling everybody how badly she treated you, and then you come out with all that about how grateful you are to her, and how much you'll miss her. Makes me seem a pretty unfeeling bitch.'

  'Oh, Aggie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just that when someone dies you've got to think of their good points, haven't you? And she did have some.'

  'How you can say that the way she treated you, I just can't understand. If she did have some good points, they weren't very obvious to me.'

  'But there's no need to come out with it. Not here. It's just not the done thing.'

  'Well, I've never been the one for doing the done thing, as you know. I believe in honesty.'

  'Absolutely agree with you,' said a cheerful voice.

  They both looked up sharply. It was Tommy, who'd approached without their being aware of him. 'Sorry. Wasn't eavesdropping. Couldn't help hearing what you said about honesty, though, and about not doing the done thing. I'm dead against doing the done thing. Positively an undone thing chap.'

  He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. 'I just wanted to say one thi
ng. Pretty pointless, really, sort of thing everybody'd say, but just wanted you to know, er, I didn't do it. Honestly.'

  'Never thought you did,' Agatha said, gruffly.

  'Dunno why. Could have done.'

  'Anyone can see at first glance you could never be a killer.'

  'Really?' Tommy looked a little disappointed. 'Bit too wishy- washy, eh?'

  Agatha hastened to reassure him. 'Oh, I don't say you couldn't kill if it was necessary, in a war, say. But I can't imagine your murdering a woman.'

  'Ah.' He seemed happier. 'No, no, jolly well couldn't. Anyway, we all know who did it, don't we?'

  'I don't,' Agatha said. 'I only got here today and I hardly know the others, so I'm not prepared to speculate.'

  'I am. Well, it's a process of elimination. Couldn't possibly be either of the girls or old Mackenzie. Timothy's far too cautious. No, it's got to be Gregory the Great. He's absolutely the type. Can't you just see him creeping into the room at night—'

  'YOU INSUFFERABLE YOUNG BOUNDER!'

  Tommy gave a start and spun round. Gregory was standing about eight feet away. His face was crimson and he was quivering with rage. 'How dare you! How dare you blacken my name like that! I'll sue! I'll take every penny of that inheritance of yours. I'll ruin you. But first I'm going to thrash the living daylights out of you.' He tore off his jacket and advanced on Tommy, his fists clenched.

  Dorothy gave a scream and Agatha jumped to her feet. Tommy backed hastily away. His face had gone the colour of partly melted snow. He stammered.

  'I say, frightfully sorry and all that. Only joking, you know.'

  'Joking? You can joke about a thing like this?' He continued to advance and Tommy continued to retreat, holding his hands up in front of him.

  'Stop backing away, you young coward. Stop and fight like a man.'

  Tommy started to babble something, but nobody heard him because at that moment there was a further intervention. A small blue, pink and gold blur appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and flung itself on Gregory. It was Penny. Like an avenging fury, she beat at his chest with both fists and tried to scratch his face. 'Leave him alone, you beast!' she screamed.