‘A load of old rubbish, that’s all. But he had other irons in the fire, so ’tis said.’
‘I heard he used to work at the local cinema.’
‘Oh, that was only very part-time. No, there used to be cars parked in this road after the shop was shut – big cars, some of them – and ladies in evening dress. We reckon he used to run a gambling place. The police came once or twice, but it seems they never found anything that shouldn’t have been there, and there was never noise or anything to complain of. Perhaps he was licensed or something, and the police couldn’t touch him.’
‘The police have been there again, I suppose, if he was murdered.’
‘Oh, yes.’
They discussed the gory details with relish.
‘Somebody who owed him gambling money. I wouldn’t wonder,’ said the woman. ‘Debts of honour they call them, and you can’t be made to pay, I don’t believe, but still no need to murder him, was there?’
‘Did nobody but women in evening dress get out of the cars? Were there no escorts?’
‘Now and again there would be gentlemen. There was one little tiny fellow I saw a couple of times. I only noticed him because he was so very small. Like a little doll he was. Of course it wasn’t the same lot come every evening. It was as if they all had their special times. I suppose there wasn’t much room for them all to come at once.’
‘Were any of the women noticeably tall?’
‘Tall? Oh, yes, a couple of them were, but the pretty one only came during the day. She was a good deal younger than the other. They never came together, not so far as I’m aware, and I haven’t seen the older one for weeks.’
‘Did you ever see a much older woman go that way in the mornings?’
‘Well, not very recent I haven’t. She used to come along some mornings – not every morning it wasn’t – and I reckon she used to go to the shop to do a bit of cleaning. Hurrying and scurrying she used to be, and with her head down as though she didn’t want to be noticed or to stop and speak to anybody. Her clothes was quite good, but sort of old-fashioned, as though she was poor but respectable and as if she’d known better days. Perhaps she hurried along because she felt that doing a cleaning job kind of demeaned her, though what I always say is that honest work is honest work and don’t demean anybody, not if they was the richest in the land.’
‘This, you say, was on certain mornings. You never saw her in the evenings, I suppose?’
‘Oh, well, yes, but it would have been months ago. That’s when I see her with the older one of them two tall ladies. They come together in one of the cars I mentioned, but I only see them once or twice, though there might have been times when I didn’t see ’em. Them times I did see ’em, the old one was still dressed the same, that’s how I recognised her. She was acting more like a chaperone, I suppose, though that do seem a bit out of date these days, don’t it? But it was mostly in the mornings I see ’em, and not together then they wasn’t, the tall one in the same car, which she left a bit beyond my front windows but still in this street, and the old one on her own, like I said, scurrying along on foot. But I haven’t seen anything of her for quite a week or two lately, so I reckon either she give up the cleaning job or else he sacked her.’
‘But you can’t be sure that either she or the tall younger woman visited the antique-dealer’s shop, can you?’
‘Well, being as you ask me, dear, yes, as it happens, I can be sure. Mind you, most times I only see one or other of ’em by accident, like as I might be cleaning my front windows or doing a bit of dusting in there, but sometimes I would have my hat and coat on to do my shopping early, and I walked up the street instead of down it and had to come past the shop and then there’s a flagged alley, a bit further along, which takes you down to the shops along the front.’
‘And you actually saw one or other of them go into the shop?’
‘I did that and with my own eyes. The time I saw the young tall lady, she was carrying a bundle, so I reckon she had tooken something to try and sell. The old one always carried a bag, but I reckon that was only her working overall.’
‘But once she wasn’t carrying anything, and another young lady came after her with it, but did not catch up with her.’
‘Now how do you know that?’ asked the woman, wide-eyed.
‘Only because that particular young lady was resident at Weston Pipers, and to that extent I became acquainted with her.’ Dame Beatrice did not say that she and Elysée had not been resident at the same time, but the woman asked no awkward questions and they parted with mutual expressions of goodwill.
‘Heaven bless the uneventful lives of home-based women,’ said Laura, when she had heard the story. ‘They notice everything, they remember everything and they often add up correctly. So you didn’t see the milkman?’
‘There was no point, since he is the wrong milkman. In any case, I do not think the one the police interviewed can be of any further help. All the same, I think this kindly and unsuspecting soul I visited has advanced the enquiry a little. She may have established a definite connection between Niobe Nutley and Miss Minnie. This, I imagine, would have been when Niobe made the excuse of coming to the town to bathe from the beach here. Were there any telephone calls?’
‘Yes, there was one from Billie Kennett. She rather wanted to know what we were up to, I think, although she didn’t put it as baldly as that. She did say that, although she and the Barnes girl have teamed up again pro tem she doesn’t think it will last. Reading between the lines as an experienced woman of the world and the mother of a newly-married daughter, it sounded to me as though she believes Chelion Piper has got his eye on our Miss Barnes. At any rate, he seems to have gone to the length of plugging Polly Hempseed in the eye and, knowing what we do know, I would call that rather significant, wouldn’t you?’
‘It is easy enough to read too much into such incidents. I am not an upholder of private vengeance,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘But there are occasions on which it has my full sympathy.’
‘Is this one of them?’ Laura enquired.
‘No. I am speaking my thoughts aloud.’
‘I wonder what the police are doing about those two murders? From what we know now, they must be connected in some way.’
‘Only in one way, of course.’
‘Two ways, I would have thought. There is the Satanist angle and also there is the point that both Minnie and this Black Art leader must have been killed by the same person.’
‘I admit your first contention. Your second is much less certain.’
‘You don’t think the same person klled them both?’
‘People who kill more than once are apt to repeat their methods. Poisoners continue to poison, stabbers to stab. The two deaths we are considering have nothing in common except death itself.’
‘Couldn’t it be that the murderer used whatever means happened to be at his or her disposal?’
‘Yes, it could be so, of course. Well, I must have a word with the Superintendent. No doubt he will be interested to hear an account of my activities and the conclusions I have drawn from them.’
‘May one ask what conclusions you have drawn from them?’
‘Well,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘one of the conclusions I have drawn is that I think I may be inclined to keep the eleventh Commandment.’
‘Which is?’
‘Oh, come now! You, who must have been in hot water times out of number at school and you who, as I remember it, were not always a model student at Carteret College of Education, should not need to ask me that!’
‘No, honestly, I don’t get you. Is there an eleventh Commandment? If so, how come?’
‘Certainly there is an eleventh Commandment. Its place of origin, I believe, was Eton College, the pious foundation of King Henry the Sixth.’
‘Oh!’ said Laura, suddenly enlightened. ‘Tell a lie, tell a good ’un, and stick to it. Somehow, though, I shouldn’t have thought that kind of thing culd be in your line.’
‘In the ordinary course of events it would not, but circumstances, to quote a trite saying, do alter cases. With what are we confronted?’
‘Two murders.’
‘Of two infamous characters of whom the world is well rid.’
‘Do you mean you know who the murderer is, and that you’re going to cover up for him or her?’
‘I mean only that I think I know the identity of both murderers, and I think that one is male, the other female. If I am right – but I still can find objections to my conclusions – for the first I need provide no cover. For the second, well, we shall see what transpires. Edna St Vincent Millay was not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in a prison cell.’
‘I am fogged and bewildered.’
‘I may be wrong in my conclusions, of course, as I say. We must see what impression they make on the police. Of course those milk bottles may prove to present me with a problem. The Superintendent is anything but a fool.’
‘But you can’t take the law into your own hands!’
‘Perhaps I would need to love it before I did that. As it is, perhaps I have decided to ignore it.’
‘What have milk bottles to do with your decision?’
‘With my decision, nothing, but I doubt whether the Superintendent will be content to ignore them.’
‘If you’re so concerned about the milk bottles, why didn’t you shove them into the fridge while you had the chance?’
‘They were important evidence on two counts. They gave a pretty clear indication of the day, although not the time of day, on which the antique-dealer died. Apart from that, I had not formulated any theory, when we found the man’s body, as to the identity of his killer. I do not know now, for certain, who that was, but I have my suspicions.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s of no use to ask any more questions. Do we go and see the Superintendent again, or shall I ring him up?’
‘I will go alone to see him. You, as a policeman’s wife, might be wiser to stay out of all future proceedings.’
‘If you’re going to cook the books, I better had, but you know, Dame B., dear, I’m beginning to wonder whether you and I are on the same wave-length over all this. We are talking about Chelion pasting Polly in the eye, I suppose, and the possible implications of that action?’
‘You may be. I am not.’
‘And I’m to stay out of all the fun from now on?’
‘That would be expecting too much of you.’
‘I’ll tell you what I’d love to do, then; I’d like to pay Niobe a visit. I’d like to find out how much she knows about Barnes and Chelion Piper.’
‘A delicate subject and one far better left alone at present. Pay her a visit by all means, but take your friend the yataghan with you and be wary.’
Chapter Fourteen
The Yataghan
« ^ »
IT was an errand altogether to Laura’s liking.
‘Hope I shan’t be arrested for carrying an offensive weapon,’ she said blithely. ‘I’d better stick it in the boot of the car.’
Dame Beatrice had never described Niobe’s physical appearance, so that Laura, who had had nothing to go on except the story of Niobe’s almost incessant weeping, was somewhat taken aback when, the all-efficient charwoman having announced her, she was confronted by the chatelaine of Weston Pipers.
Laura, herself an Amazon, taking in Niobe’s size, thews and general aspect, thought, ‘If it came to a scrap, I don’t know that I’d fancy my chances!’
‘Mrs Gavin?’ said Niobe. ‘Do take a seat. I’ll look up the books and see what we have. Will you be alone? I don’t take children, of course.’
‘Mine are grown up and live with me no longer.’ Laura, who perceived the misunderstanding, was not going to let pass any chance of seeing something of Weston Pipers while she was there. She added: ‘My husband works in London, so is not at home all the time.’
‘All the same, no doubt you would want something suitable for two. Excuse me.’ Niobe opened a ledger and ran her finger down a closely-written page. ‘Ah, yes. If you would care to come this way.’
‘Before we begin a tour of inspection, I should like to know something about terms,’ said Laura.
‘Oh, they vary from flat to flat, but the most expensive flats are already let, I’m afraid. Do put down your parcel. It looks rather heavy. It will be quite safe here in my office.’
Laura laid the yataghan, which was wrapped in brown paper, across the corner of Niobe’s desk.
‘A present for my son,’ she said. ‘He is a collector. I picked this thing up in a little junk shop in that town on the other side of the bay.’ She waved towards the creek which was visible from the office window. ‘Are those the only grounds to the house? The lawn seems small for a house of this size and that bungalow takes up a lot of room.’
‘Oh, that lawn is nothing, except for the view of the sea. The park and gardens, with some ornamental water – a lake, no less – are at the front. Whichever flat you choose will give you an excellent look-out.’ Niobe closed the office door behind the two of them and led the way up the beautiful staircase.
‘Well,’ said Laura when she had been shown the rooms previously occupied by Billie and Elysée and recently vacated by Dame Beatrice and had also seen the two flats which so far (although Niobe did not mention this), had never been let, ‘I don’t think this is exactly what I’m looking for. The place seems (if you’ll forgive the expression) rather a rabbit warren.’
‘What!’ said Niobe, and to Laura’s concealed delight she burst into tears. ‘Oh, Mrs Gavin! What a horrid thing to say!’ She ran down the stairs to the hall and banged tempestuously at a door. It opened, and a tall, querulous young man stood there. ‘Good Lord, Niobe,’ he said, ‘what’s all the racket?’
‘Oh, Chelion! Will you take Mrs Gavin into my office to collect a parcel she has left there? She doesn’t want a place here. She calls it – she calls it a rabbit warren.’
‘No, it’s a nest of vipers,’ said the young man, with a sour smile. ‘Well, if she doesn’t like the house, show her the bungalow, and for goodness sake don’t interrupt me again. You know I’m writing my prison story for the Sunday papers. How am I to get on with it if you come crashing in every second moment?’
He slammed the door in Niobe’s face. She turned her tear-stained countenance to Laura and asked humbly:
‘Would you care to look over the bungalow? You would be quite on your own there.’
‘Oh, well, as I’ve come all this way, I may as well see everything, I suppose,’ said Laura off-handedly. ‘Did I hear you call that man Chelion? It’s an unusual name. I seem to have seen it somewhere, and recently, too.’
‘Oh, really? Yes, I suppose it is an unusual name. I believe it comes from the Bible, only he spells it Chelion, not Chilion.’
‘Ah, yes. Chilion was one of the sons of Naomi, I believe,’ said Laura, who had looked it up as soon as she had heard Piper’s name. Niobe said how clever it was to know these things. She had regained her composure very quickly, Laura thought. She now led the way into her office and Laura picked up the parcel containing the yataghan. She had taken the precaution of leaving the car outside the gates of the mansion in case any of the inhabitants of Weston Pipers, particularly Niobe herself, should recognise it as that which had brought Dame Beatrice to the house. For the same reason, she had been her own driver and had left George behind.
‘You mentioned a junk shop in the town,’ said Niobe, as they walked across to the bungalow.
‘Yes, a rather wretched little place up one of those streets which go uphill away from the front. I picked this thing up and they also had a rather nice set of fire-irons which they said came from this house.’
‘From Weston Pipers? They couldn’t have done! We have no coal fires here.’
‘Perhaps, before it was converted into flats—’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, perhaps. I suppose
you noticed that all the fireplaces have been blocked up.’ She produced the right key and opened the bungalow door. ‘Well, this is it. Look round all you want. I’ll wait in here.’
Nothing loth, for, like many people, she was possessed of a certain amount of curiosity concerning places where murder is known to have been committed, Laura went on a tour of inspection. There was not much to see. The place was sparsely but just sufficiently furnished, the bed (presumably the one in which George had slept) was new, and there was no sign of any of the pails in which Miss Minnie’s sea water had been collected and in one of which, according to Dame Beatrice’s theory, she had been drowned.
Laura returned to Niobe, who had stayed just inside the front door and shook her head. She spread out two shapely palms in a gesture of apology and said sadly:
‘Not quite what I’m looking for, I’m afraid.’
‘No, I thought it wouldn’t be,’ said Niobe calmly. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘It was suggested to me by a friend, who happened to be with me when I bought this.’ She unwrapped the yataghan, drew it from its sheath and flourished the cleaned and polished blade. ‘She thought it might have come from here.’
Niobe drew back in the face of the slightly curved, gleaming, menacing weapon.
‘Good heavens! Put that thing away!’ she said. ‘Of course it didn’t come from here.’
‘But the fire-irons did,’ said Laura, lowering but not sheathing her weapon. ‘I suppose you sold them to that shop when you had all the electric fires put in and the ordinary grates blocked up.’
‘People in flats don’t want to be bothered with coal fires. Anyway, what fire-irons are you talking about?’ But there was no doubt that Niobe was both astonished and alarmed.
‘Oh, a set which the shopkeeper was so anxious to get rid of that he threw them in for nothing when I bought the yataghan.’
‘The what?’
‘This thing.’ Laura made a pass with it, swishing it through the air. ‘There was another thing in the shop which was rather interesting, but the man wouldn’t part with it. It was a picture. It looked like – you haven’t got a bit of paper on you, by any chance?’
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