Nest of Vipers mb-55

by Gladys Mitchell

  ‘Dear me! What bizarre ideas appear to be current in the literary world!’

  ‘Oh, we’re all mad nor’ nor’ west, I expect,’ said Latimer, ‘and, of course, the Pans may not be criminals at all; just a collection of dim-witted freaks with a proselytising mission and no sense of humour.’

  ‘Oh, they make converts, do they?’

  ‘Not so’s you notice. At any rate they didn’t make a convert of me. I don’t know whether Shard ever went again, but I don’t suppose he did.’

  Another lynx-eyed member of the assemblage (not surprisingly in view of her disclosures) was Constance Kent, for although Elysée Barnes was not at the party, the lovely, doll-like, brilliant, tiny Sumatra was. Sumatra was like a butterfly, Dame Beatrice thought. She was flitting from one person or group to another, smiling, bowing, chattering.

  When he could manage it, the taciturn, scowling, black-avised, jealous Irelath, who had been watching her every movement, gathered her up at last and planted her on his knee where, without any self-consciousness, as contented as a child who knows she is loved, she snuggled up against him and only raised her head from his shoulder to be given sips out of his glass.

  ‘That relationship is at least normal,’ said Constance Kent.

  At seven-fifteen, as the party showed no sign whatever of breaking up and Cassie brought in more refreshments and Polly poured out more drinks, Dame Beatrice said goodnight and went to her room to change for dinner. There had been one slightly disconcerting moment at the party. Introduced to her at its beginning, Irelath Moore had stared, scowled, stared harder, smiled with infinite charm and then said:

  ‘Mrs Farintosh? Married again, have you?’

  Chapter Seven

  Personal Questions

  « ^ »

  (1)

  ‘IT may turn out to be rather a nuisance, George, if Mr Moore has recognised me,’ she said, as George waited on her at table that same evening. ‘I may have to take him into my confidence, and that is the last thing I want to do with anybody in that house, with the exception, I think, of Mr Evesham Evans.’

  ‘Would a face of brass and a policy of stout denial meet the case of Mr Moore, madam?’

  ‘I doubt it. He may be a poet in his own right, but he is also the son of a business man who went to Canada with almost nothing and now is a cattle baron. I do not think it would be easy to hoodwink him, and it might lead to unnecessary complications if I did.’

  As it chanced, she had no need to contact Irelath, for he tapped at her door on the following morning and said:

  ‘Excuse the early call, but I knew you were up. I saw you go down to the hall for your letters. You wouldn’t care to put me wise, would you?’

  ‘I think you had better come in, Mr Moore,’ said Dame Beatrice. When she had admitted him, she added, ‘As you appear to surmise, there are reasons why we should not converse upon landings. There is also a good reason for keeping our voices low and for our seating ourselves as far as possible from the door.’

  ‘I get you,’ said Irelath, relaxing his long frame in the armchair which she indicated and his habitual expression to a grin of tolerant understanding. ‘The eyes and ears of this place are four feet six in height and have a complex about spies. Right?’

  ‘Right. Well, now, ask your question. It was good of you not to elaborate upon it last night.’

  ‘Oh, it is nothing to do with me if you change your name. Most of the folk here have changed theirs and, like you, I am sure, for the best of reasons.’

  ‘I am Mrs Farintosh only while I live here. Does that convey anything to you?’

  ‘Well, at a guess, I’d say you were here to look into the matter of the old lady’s death. That means you’re not sure Chelion Piper did for her.’

  ‘I keep an open mind. What is your own opinion?’

  ‘The one I gave the police when they came rooting around and questioned us. That bloke didn’t hold any old lady under water and drown her. Still less did he bash her over the head afterwards.’

  ‘She is said to have written some anonymous letters. Such letters can be hurtful and even dangerous.’

  ‘Sure. I got one myself. One was sent to my baby, too, but as in the ordinary way she never gets any letters—’

  ‘Not even from her editor?’

  ‘Bless you, she hasn’t got an editor. I’m Sumatra, except for the photograph at the top of the page. Su can’t write a word of English. She just gives me the low-down and I write it up. Simple as that.’

  ‘So when this anonymous letter came?’

  ‘I opened it as usual and found out it was some more of this pernicious muck about our not being married. Well, we are married, to all intents and purposes. What do a few formal words said in front of witnesses and the scribble on a dirty little piece of paper matter? I shall always stick to Su and she will always stick to me. I don’t keep an eye on her, you know, only on the fellows who’d like to muscle in on my patch. I’ll kill if I have to. Simple as that.’

  ‘Simplicity appears to be your strong suit, Mr Moore.’

  ‘Sure. With Su and me it’s like the old song says: I know where I’m going, and I know who’s going with me.’

  ‘It goes on: I know whom I love, but the Dear knows whom I’ll marry!

  ‘I shall never marry except in one eventuality, so let the Dear look after his own.’

  ‘His own, perhaps – or one of them – being Miss Minnie’s murderer?’

  ‘You said it. Simple as that. You know, Dame – OK Mrs Farintosh – I don’t understand about that old lady’s death. She was a bit off-beat, maybe even a little loose from the neck up, but I’ll swear she was harmless.’

  ‘The anonymous letters?’

  ‘Phooee! I don’t believe she wrote nary a one of ’em.’

  ‘Have you any grounds for that belief?’

  Irelath grinned.

  ‘I haven’t the sort of proof a policeman would accept, but you might be willing to consider it. I guess that poor little runt Shard wrote them.’

  ‘There appears to be one, at least, which he did not write.’

  ‘Oh? Which would that be?’

  ‘The letter or, as I think, letters, which got Miss Kennett and Miss Barnes out of the house.’

  ‘Oh, you know about them, do you? That damned woman Constance Kent, I suppose, going all orthodox and righteous. Well, her heaven-made marriage doesn’t seem to go so very well. I suppose she couldn’t stand the sight of two people who could get on together. I suspect her of having had a go at Sumatra and me, but, although I tackled her, she denied it, and I could have been wrong.’

  ‘So what makes you think of Mr Shard?’

  ‘He’s a devious, listening-at-keyholes little bit of nonsense, and he’s got a permanent chip on his shoulder because of his lack of inches. But about poor old Minnie. Why should anybody kill her?’

  ‘The answer to that lies in what has been called “the psychology of the individual”.’

  ‘Well, that’s up your street rather than mine. Too bad, though, that Piper has to take the rap. Are you going to winkle him out of it?’

  ‘Your metaphors are deplorably mixed.’

  ‘It’s the Irish in me. Say, when you’re free, will you come to lunch with Su and me? She dishes up something pretty special in the way of a curry.’

  (2)

  ‘To sum up’ (wrote Dame Beatrice to Laura) ‘the consensus of opinion here is that Chelion Piper is innocent. So far, I have come upon no evidence to show that this majority verdict is either right or wrong, I went to lunch yesterday with Irelath and Sumatra, ate a fearful and wonderful meal prepared and cooked by the latter and had further speech with Irelath while she was doing the washing-up. It was he who gave me the general opinion, but, of course, he may be mistaken.

  ‘This morning I issued my own invitation to Cassie McHaig and Mr Hempseed for cocktails in the bungalow. George will act as barman. My invitation has been accepted, so I will let you know later if any developments ensu
e. I have yet to talk to these two privately and also I want to see Mr Evans when his wife is not present.

  ‘After that, it will be necessary to trace Miss Kennett and Miss Barnes. I have been given (by Irelath Moore) the name of the newspaper for which Miss Kennett works, so it should not be a difficult matter to find out her new address. Irelath recognised me, but has remained most discreet about my identity. It seems that he was among my audience at a lecture somewhere or other. He further informs me that if Sumatra becomes pregnant he will marry her at once in case his “old man cuts up rough and acts sticky” about his inheritance. This statement was followed by what appears to be his verbal signature (if there can be such a thing; you may prefer to call it his signature tune). This consists of the words: “It’s as simple as that.” He added that if I recollected our previous conversation he would like to add that any stick will do if one intends to beat a dog. So far, I am of his opinion that Chelion Piper has been what the criminal classes called “framed”.

  ‘Opinions about Miss Minnie, incidentally, vary, but that is to be expected. After I have talked with the inhabitants past and present of Weston Pipers I must find out more about her from those who were part of her life before she took up residence in the bungalow. When I have seen the rest of the tenants, and before I interview these “outsiders”, I shall talk with Miss Niobe Nutley. She strikes me as a formidable young woman who will want to know (in your own phrase) what the hell I am up to, as, of course, these probings of mine must reach a point where they will be regarded as something more significant than the idle curiosity of a nose-poking old woman.’

  (3)

  Apart from the satisfaction which comes from returning hospitality, Dame Beatrice gained little from entertaining Cassie McHaig and Polly Hempseed. For one thing, they had quarrelled and at first found it difficult to be even civil to one another. Apart from that, it soon became clear that neither believed Chelion Piper to be guilty and both thought Miss Minnie to have written the anonymous letters. These, both were convinced, were what had led to her death, although neither was prepared to name her murderer.

  ‘Stands to reason,’ said Hempseed, swallowing his drink and reaching out for another, ‘that the police have fixed on Piper. After all, we know nothing of his life before he took over Nest of Vipers – yes, it is still funny and I shall call it that, Cassie, if I choose – except that he had lived for a year in Paris. In Paris! Well, I ask you! I bet he collected enough of a past there to last him a lifetime and somehow or other the police guess that Minnie got to know about it. Suppose he wronged her daughter—’

  ‘Oh, keep your sob-stuff for your Answers to Correspondents!’ said Cassie.

  ‘Stranger things have happened than people wronging other people’s daughters. You should see some of the letters I get. Heartrending!’ said Hempseed, pulling a face at her.

  ‘Nonsense! Just like to see themselves in print, that’s all. I’ve no patience with people who make a parade of their troubles.’

  ‘Not a parade of their troubles. A safety-valve for their emotions, if you like.’

  ‘All right, so long as you think so,’ said Cassie. ‘I’ll tell you who could do with a safety-valve for her emotions and that’s Niobe. She frets for Chelion. She may look like a taller edition of Lola Sapola, but she’s a pushover where Chelion is concerned. That’s a sob-story if you like.’

  ‘If you ask me, it’s not Niobe’s emotions that need an outlet. I think she’s gone off her rocker,’ said Hempseed.

  ‘Oh, rubbish! She’s as sane as you are,’ snapped Cassie.

  ‘Then why has she taken to walking about at night disturbing and frightening people? She’s got this master-key, which means she can get in anywhere. I don’t like it.’

  ‘I wonder you don’t have bolts put on your doors,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘That surely, would be the answer if you don’t want nocturnal visitors.’

  ‘It would if she would allow it, but she won’t,’ said Hempseed. ‘Says it would spoil the beautiful woodwork.’

  ‘Perhaps she should be confronted with a fait accompli.’

  ‘Put bolts on the doors without asking permission?’ said Cassie. ‘The next thing would be our notice to quit.’

  ‘I wanted to put a chair against the door at night,’ said Hempseed, ‘but madam here said that at least Niobe moved around quietly, whereas the chair would make a row if she shoved against it trying to get in. But then Niobe’s walkabouts at night don’t wake madam up. It’s only poor old light-sleeper me who gets disturbed.’

  ‘How often does she pay these visits?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

  ‘I don’t know about other people, but she has opened our door twice in the past ten days.’

  ‘What can be her object, I wonder?’

  ‘Just restlessness, I guess,’ said Cassie, ‘and perhaps nosiness about people sleeping together. I would say she has a fairly nasty mind, but I’m very sorry for her.’

  ‘We share a bed,’ said Hempseed, ‘being married and all that. I know it’s old-fashioned nowadays, but we tied ourselves up without thinking.’

  ‘I thought,’ said Cassie. ‘I come of Presbyterian stock and have my prejudices. Of course nobody here knows that we’re married, so we’d be glad if you kept it dark. Evesham and Constance don’t mind being known as a married couple, but we think in the modern way.’

  ‘Did you receive any of the anonymous letters which appear to have been distributed to some of the residents?’

  ‘Yes, we had a couple – one each. Why?’

  ‘You have not kept them, of course?’

  ‘We did at first,’ said Cassie, ‘because we thought of going to the police, but when old Minnie was killed we knew that it would be unnecessary, so then we destroyed them.’

  ‘Were you so sure that Miss Minnie wrote them?’

  ‘Well, nobody has had one since she went. We always thought she wrote them, but when no more came it seemed like proof.’

  ‘When Miss Nutley entered your bedroom, what did she do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Hempseed. ‘When I sat up and switched on the light she murmured that she was sorry she’d mistaken the room. Very funny that she mistook it twice!’

  ‘You never wondered whether she and not Miss Minnie wrote the letters?’

  ‘We might have done,’ said Cassie, ‘but when she had one herself she asked every one of us except Latimer Targe, who doesn’t own a typewriter, to turn out a half-page of typing for us all to compare with the typing on her letter and on any which we had received.’

  ‘People made no secret of the fact that they had received these communications, then?’

  ‘Oh, no. Nobody here is particularly reticent about private matters except the two girls who have left. I believe everybody had at least one letter, except Evesham and Constance,’ said Hempseed.

  ‘And if we’d let it be known that we were married, instead of letting people think we are just living together, I don’t believe we would have had one,’ said Cassie. ‘That’s what I think. Minnie was just the kind of old party who would think cohabitation outside marriage was the blackest of sins. She worked for some peculiar religious group, you know.’

  ‘And did people co-operate by producing their specimens of typing?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

  ‘Everybody except Miss Minnie. There, according to Niobe, she met with a point-blank refusal. Latimer Targe even produced a page which his typist had done for him. Niobe had talked about bringing the police in, you see, so we all thought the sensible thing was to put ourselves in the clear.’

  ‘And the typings did not match with the typing of the anonymous letters?’

  ‘We even used a magnifying glass and they didn’t. Mind you, Chelion bought Niobe a new typewriter just about that time.’

  ‘But you assumed that Miss Minnie wrote the letters?’

  ‘She was the kind of queer old party who would,’ said Hempseed.

  ‘No mention was made at the inquest about a typewriter being found in t
he bungalow after Miss Minnie’s death,’ said Cassie, ‘but that proves nothing. She would have got rid of it as soon as there was talk about sending for the police. We made our intentions very clear, although we didn’t really mean to carry them out.’

  ‘Then they were hardly intentions. I have heard rumours of a ghostly visitant to some of the flats before Miss Minnie’s death. Was this another manifestation of Miss Nutley’s nocturnal wanderings?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Hempseed. ‘Niobe’s in-and-out-the-windows all happened after Chelion’s arrest, and were caused by that.’

  ‘So you didn’t have any night visitor while Miss Minnie was alive?’

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ replied Hempseed. ‘The ghost, so-called, seems to have intruded on Billie and Elysée and on Niobe herself. Otherwise it (or she) merely prowled up and down the stairs. I believe one or two people swore it had come into their rooms, but people will imagine anything when there’s a scare on.’

  ‘Was there really a scare?’

  The couple exchanged glances and then Cassie said, ‘I think two people found the anonymous letters a lot more frightening than the ghost, although I suppose everybody has some skeleton or other in the cupboard.’

  ‘But nobody except the two young women was sufficiently disturbed by the letters to give up living here.’

  ‘Well, it’s not all that easy to find a decent place you can rent, and, as I say, people talked about getting the letters and that took the sting out of them, of course. And, by the way, I was not referring to the girls. Billie was livid, not scared.’

  ‘Do you know where the girls went?’

  ‘No. Niobe wanted to find out and to make a fuss about their going, but I suppose the lawyers told her to drop it.’

  ‘And they left before Miss Minnie was drowned?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean they couldn’t have sneaked back and drowned her,’ said Hempseed. ‘Billie Kennett struck me as a girl who was capable of anything if her precious Elysée was threatened.’