(3) Doris Bing—parlour-maid since 1914, when footmen called up. Cousin of Tonks’ wife and like an open book. Typical snob upper servant who looks down on Soames, and is going to hand in her notice to-morrow, because she thinks Soames no class at all and doesn’t hold with places where they have murders.
(4) Mabel Fox—upper housemaid (36),—5 years here; London girl—no connection with neighbourhood—walking out with Tonks’ nephew, so beyond reproach.
(5) Irene Hay—second housemaid (23)—3 years here, perfect references and light of G.F.S.
(6) Lilias Vere (16); the scrubbiest, most half-witted little ’tweenie Tonks ever saw. Not allowed upstairs.
“There’s a list of outdoor servants too, but you needn’t bother with it. All of ’em home by six last night. Gardeners, chauffeurs and all collected with their wives at the chauffeur’s house to hear his new wireless. Except for gardener all fairly new to job and not from this neighbourhood. In short,” said Mack triumphantly, “just the sort of well-paid, inefficient, church-going pack of parasites you’d expect to find in one of these bloated Palaces. I wonder what St. Paul would have said of all of ’em! Any comments, Dick?”
“Tonks has omitted Soames altogether, sir.”
“No, but in view of your enquiries about him he’s a special comment. Here we are: Only six months in job. Not up to work and no class—that’s Doris—but good-natured and obliging as a rule. Cook speaks highly of him, and says she and Moira Kelly did their best to help him, because both felt ‘Our Boys’, who had fought for us, deserved every chance. Mrs. Broome owned that she had engaged him with a good deal of hesitation, as the Head of Evelake School had taken him without references, found him casual and unsatisfactory in his work, and admitted that there were suspicions about his honesty. Still nothing had been proved against him in the case of some missing articles of wear; no money or silver had ever been missing, and Soames had left of his own accord ‘to better himself’. He was not fit for his job at the Palace, she admitted candidly, but she had no other application from the Registries or advertisements—‘and what are you to do three miles from a town and these dreadful moving pictures they all rush for nowadays!’ … So you see,” concluded Mack, “he’s not a good character, and Scotland Yard may give us an even worse report of him, but what you’ve got to prove is that he had any sort of motive for doing away with Ulder. What’s your case against him?”
It didn’t come to much, Dick admitted. All he was convinced of was that the butler had something on his mind, but that might be his past record; that he had certainly tried to remove the tell-tale whisky glass from Ulder’s room, that he had been listening at keyholes and that he, from his pantry and adjoining bedroom, had free access to Ulder’s room at any hour of the night. “One thing I suspected him of was giving Ulder that glass of whisky when Ulder asked for it and being ashamed to own up. If we find there was morphia in the glass I suppose someone else was responsible. By that I mean I cannot see any motive for Soames to murder Ulder at present—we know nothing of his past life and some possible grudge, remember!”
“You can’t expect such a coincidence, my good man!”
“No, you can’t. But I do suspect him of making off with that bag when Ulder’s death was discovered. And a man’s got to be a pretty confirmed criminal to see the chance to pick up a pair of brushes and pyjamas five minutes after he’s discovered a corpse. No, I can’t prove he took the bag, but which of your other suspects would have done anything but remove the incriminating papers after they had given the fatal dose? The passages were full of people coming and going to all hours, and wouldn’t you stare at any one carrying a black hand-bag about with him at that hour of night, except a man servant? No one would notice if he were carrying luggage with him. But my chief reason for suspecting Soames is, I admit, that he’s the only man in the Palace I can conceive capable of such a crime.”
“Well, Dick, we’ve had that out.” Mack shook his head. “What did you get from Staples?”
Mr. Staples himself would have thought poorly of Dick’s tabloid version of his soul’s battlefield. He would have trembled indeed to hear Mack thump the table, declaring that an Irishman, a parson and a conchie was capable of any crime. But not even for the sake of dragging red herrings across the episcopal path could Dick ask Mack to believe Staples a possible murderer. “Not the guts or the morphia,” Dick concluded. “And this fellow, Ted Parsons, bears out his story. He’s that plump, rather bewildered-looking chap in a check change coat—a very decent sort—an ex-Guards man.”
Dick repeated Staples’ story and Parsons’ confirmation of it, omitting indeed Parsons’ forcible descriptions of Staples.
“No drugs on that floor either—Tonks searched at once! Well, I’ll put him through it later. Meanwhile, here’s a rough time-table made out, not that most of it is accurate!
8.30. Ulder arrives and collapses.
8.40. (or so) Dr. Lee arrives to visit patient Kelly. Ulder taken upstairs, put to bed, brought round by Dr. Lee with amyl nitrate; no morphia so far, notice. Dr. sees Kelly and leaves.
9 (or shortly after) while family in Chapel, Mrs. Broome finds Ulder in great pain. Gives him one tablet of morphia from bottle. Ulder demands visitors.
9.30 (or before Chapel over) Chancellor.
10 Bishop visits Ulder.
10.30 Canon Wye tries to give whisky but stopped by Mrs. Broome.
10.40 Mrs. Judith Mortimer, very short visit to Ulder and is dismissed by Mrs. Broome, when attempting to give him drink.
11 Mrs. Broome pays last visit to Ulder and leaves him out of pain and apparently sleepy.
11.30? (no idea) Bishop looks in but Ulder asleep. All this time, too, Soames was dancing about with trays or sweeping up glass and Staples pirouetting on the top stair. Anything to add?”
“Only Staples’ and Parsons’ curious tale that they heard steps much later—after twelve o’clock chimed, and thought they heard the swish of a gown on the floor,” said Dick slowly.
“A woman’s dress? No, might as well be a man’s dressing-gown or one of these tom-fool cassocks they sport here! Now, here are my lists:
“Well, there we are and you must add your views on Staples and Soames!”
“It’s a fine time-table and list,” said Dick slowly, “but, sir, do you think any coroner’s jury or high-court jury could conceivably give a verdict on this? Why—” He was about to follow up the remark, but decided to leave it to Mack to think over the affair by himself. “They won’t be prejudiced against the Church,” he ventured to add—“quite the contrary!”
“I know,” growled Mack, “twelve good and true Episcopals called by Coroner, I’ve no doubt. But they’ve got to face the fact that here in this Palace murder was done. What were you going to say?”
“Well, there’s another point. I know there’s not much possibility, even probability, that this can be an outside job, but I’d like to know who was responsible for locking up last night. I can count up six entrance doors apart from the back regions, and though some of the windows were shuttered last night any of us who aren’t accustomed to steam-heating might have left one open. The place is a hothouse by evening.”
“Too true,” growled Mack, tugging his collar. “But don’t let that worry you. I went into that with Mrs. Broome. As a matter of fact she told Doris to look round the old wing last night as Soames is notoriously careless. She found him herself at the drawing-room window about eleven, saying he wanted to make sure of the catch. Of course he should have done it long before—but, as she says, no method.” Dick started at the remark but repressed himself. No use to bring in another side-issue just now. He would get in a question when Soames was summoned.
“There’s the other point, sir! From first to last we’ve assumed that the morphia was in the possession of the person who administered it. Now there’s a chance, I suppose, that someone might have got hold of a drug, let’s say, from Mrs. Broome’s medicine cupboard—”
“No morphia ther
e! We searched it at her own request at once. A very sensible woman! And she helped Tonks to examine Moira’s room—not a trace!”
“Or even the Chancellor’s bottle. He may well have mentioned in the smoking-room that he had a patent paregoric and that might have suggested to someone—”
“Who do you mean?” asked Mack bluntly. “Are you accusing the Bishop now?”
“I was thinking of Soames, to tell the truth. He may merely have meant to give Ulder a specially good night and then cast an eye round his belongings. He’d feel safe to steal from Ulder, because no one would believe a word Ulder said!”
“You’ve got your knife into that man Soames. Well, let’s have him in. Tonks is outside, I think, so just send him to produce our friend. That’ll scare him to begin with!”
“There’s no trace of him, sir!” Mack and Dick were still brooding over their lists when Tonks returned three minutes later. “His assistant, my niece Mabel, informs me that he has gone out.”
“I warned him of your orders only an hour ago,” exclaimed Dick.
“You shouldn’t have let him out, Tonks.” said Mack sharply.
“Excuse me, sir!” Doris appeared, settling her cuffs, and alive with importance, just as Dick had explained Soames’ carefully arranged plan of action. “I thought I should just let you know that Soames must have gone off to the Hospital, for all he was ordered not to—for the flowers have gone—a beautiful sheaf of lilies he was giving, sir. Cook says to him, ‘What’s the hurry for Moira is too ill to care? Madam will likely let you go to-morrow, or one of us any way, her being so considerate,’ but he wasn’t to hold or to bind, and slipped out by the back way through the electric engine-house, which no one could watch as well as the hall, and all the back doors, without eyes all over their heads!”
“Well, that’s that! I’ll speak to him when I come to-morrow! You’re right, Dick, he’s a fishy customer.” Mack rose and went to the door at last. “Hullo, young lady, have you been disobeying orders too?” Mack crossed to the vestibule as he saw Sue swing open the door, but even he could not resist a more kindly note in his voice at the sight of Sue’s cheeks glowing and hair curling in the wind.
“Only to the lodge. I hope that wasn’t wrong! The light is so poor to-night, and Mother fears it may fail altogether. She asked Soames to give a message to our man this morning but I suppose he forgot.” At that remote date nearly every country house had its own electric light engine, kept in order, or out of order, by unskilled grooms or gardeners, and in the chronic uncertainty as to whether the engine or its manipulator were at fault, candles still remained a large item in every family’s budget.
“Better if it had failed last night and kept people in their own rooms,” said Mack grimly. “No, of course you may walk in your grounds, Miss Broome. I’m not such a tyrant as that! I don’t enjoy my unpleasant duties, you know.” (But there you lie, my impeccable Scotsman, thought Dick sardonically. You’ve enjoyed your day of cleric hunting more than any since you got down that royal, I’ll bet, though you mayn’t know it.) “Well, I’m off, Dick. Ring me up if you hear from your friend. I’m leaving Corn to keep a watch over the papers in there,” he added, pointing to the study, “and you keep your eyes open for them. And go on hunting for that missing bag you set such store by, if you like,” he called back over his shoulder as he and Tonks strode out through the vestibule to the car.
IX
THURSDAY EVENING
“Dick, you look dead tired!” Sue choked back the eager questions burning on her lips. She and her mother had agreed that Judith’s wild talk of Mack’s suspicions with regard to her father and herself were just Judith’s nonsense, that no one could dream of the Bishop being suspected for a moment, but the heavy cloud which hung over the house, and the going and coming of the police, were weighing heavily on their spirits. She had been longing to hear every thing from Dick when she could catch him, but poor Dick looked so weary and distracted that she could not worry him. “Come and have tea alone with Mummy and me in the drawing-room! Father’s got the Canon and Mr. Chailly in the library, and we’ve hardly seen them all day. Bobs doesn’t want tea, so we’ll be all alone, and I promise we won’t ask questions. Judith’s lying down so don’t be afraid of her!”
“You’re an angel, Sue!” said Dick gratefully. “I’m so tired of men, do you know? At Blacksea we specialize in services and clubs and classes for men only, and yet at the moment I feel that I never want to see anything in trousers or cassock again—just womanly women who’ll pet me and won’t ask questions! You are so nice to be with.”
“But that’s what I always say about you, Dick!” cried Mrs. Broome when Sue repeated the compliment laughingly. “Are you a celibate?”
“No, I’m not,” replied Dick stoutly. “I think a priest should be a whole man!”
“I’ve no right to ask you, of course,” apologized Mrs. Broome, “but you really will make a delightful husband some day.” Suddenly it struck her that her words fell into an odd conscious silence, and for almost the first time it occurred to her that Sue had really grown up in the years while Dick was away in the war. Her child hadn’t been here when Dick came to them for his examination, and, of course, now the mother came to think of it, they were a young man and young woman, not just childhood’s friends. In her embarrassment she forgot her earlier promise and rushed into a question.
“Dick, please tell us what the police are making of all this!”
“Oh, Mother, you promised not to ask!” Sue spoke reproachfully, but from her flushed cheeks her mother diagnosed that the interruption was welcome.
Dick looked round the room helplessly. Here in this gay, cosy little boudoir with its white panelled walls, many photos and bits of embroidery, and all the personal little relics of a happy life, it was even more impossible to tell of Mack’s dark suspicions than in the more formal Palace rooms. A miniature of the Bishop, rarefied and refined, a sketch of Judith, smiling radiantly from her presentation frock, of Sue, as a funny gay little girl on a pony, all gazed at him reproachfully across the tea-table. What was the use of troubling them to-night, when Mack had gone, and who could tell what the answers to all the various enquiries winging their way by telephone and telegram over the country might be? He had no idea whether Mrs. Broome even yet realized the dangerous position of her husband and step-daughter, though from her pale face and sunken eyes he suspected the worst. Anyhow, to-morrow perhaps he should warn them, and prepare them for new terrors, but he would evade enquiries to-night.
“We should see our way more clearly,” he temporized, “if we could get on the track of Ulder’s missing possessions. Sue thinks he arrived with a hand-bag as well as a suitcase and, as you know, Mrs. Broome, there was not a small bag in his room this morning. The police have been hunting all day without any result. Personally I suspect Soames: I think he’s a born pickpocket. Tell me what you know about him!”
For the first time in his life probably Soames was of use, anyhow. Mrs. Broome had nothing new to tell, but she found relief in telling her old story and Dick drew from her, without obvious emphasis, the episode of the drawing-room window. There still did not seem any sense in it, to be sure! If Soames had taken the bag and, surprised by Mrs. Broome, threw it out of the drawing-room window on to the jasmine bush, he would have had to retrieve it, for after a night in a snow-storm it would be soaked and valueless. How dared he steal the bag while Ulder was alive? Only on the supposition that he himself had already given Ulder a fatal dose. But it was not credible that any one should risk the gallows to obtain possession of an old hand-bag! Anyhow, blessed be Soames and hand-bags, for they distracted the two women’s thoughts.
“And I’ll come and help you to look in the box-rooms, Dick,” said Sue. “Do you remember our fine suite of attics running all over the old house into the Bridge wing? We went and rang all the bells there once, I remember, and the governess and Moira and the servants were so angry that we weren’t allowed there again! Come on, we’ll just get
a candle from the pantry in case the light fails.”
The pantry stood empty as the two set out on their quest, more light-heartedly than either would have imagined possible that morning. For those who have lived through a war escapism is indeed not a vice nor a fine art but a necessity.
“Soames’ lair,” said Dick, looking in. “Well, Tonks has been through all this.”
“That’s his real lair, his bedroom,” said Sue, crinkling her nose disgustedly as she pointed to an inner door. “I shouldn’t go in, Dick. I’m sure it’s repellent!”
“Can’t anyway, it’s locked! Oh well, I suppose that’s natural. Thieves are always suspicious!”
“Dick,” Sue interrupted, “I know you’ll think this dreadfully foolish but—but there was a woman fortune-teller Judith took me to who said I was psychic. I’m not, of course, except that I do always have the oddest feeling like Mummy when there’s someone else in the room—perhaps everyone does—though I can’t see anyone, and I feel that about that room there—” she pointed to Soames’ bedroom.
“Well, you’re wrong, angel! You heard the window rattling, I expect.” Dick knelt and listened intently. “I am Grimm’s fairy-tale man with long ears and could hear any one breathing. You’re getting goosey because the light is getting worse and worse. Well, I’ve got my torch, so let’s explore! And I’d like to begin with Moira’s room!”
“Oh, must we?” Dick understood Sue’s reluctance well, as they looked at the dreadful orderliness of the cold, dismal room. Moira had been so wasted by her disease that they could imagine the white counterpane was drawn over that frail worn body. Most of her possessions had gone with her, but on her bedside table lay a box decorated with cowrie-shells, a gift from Judith at Bognor long, long ago, photographs of the family and one or two books. Above them was a fretted wood cabinet, and Dick whistled as he opened it, and saw the rows of medicine bottles and ointment jars within.
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