Spider's Web

by Agatha Christie

  ‘Damn it, we can’t do that,’ Jeremy exclaimed. ‘It would be too unfair to Clarissa.’

  ‘But we’ll get her in a worse mess if we keep on with this,’ Hugo insisted. ‘How are we ever going to get the body away? The police will impound the fellow’s car.’

  ‘We could use mine,’ Jeremy suggested.

  ‘Well, I don’t like it,’ Hugo persisted. ‘I don’t like it at all. Damn it, I’m a local JP. I’ve got my reputation with the police here to consider.’ He turned to Sir Rowland. ‘What do you say, Roly? You’ve got a good level head.’

  Sir Rowland looked grave. ‘I admit I don’t like it,’ he replied, ‘but personally I am committed to the enterprise.’

  Hugo looked perplexed. ‘I don’t understand you,’ he told his friend.

  ‘Take it on trust, if you will, Hugo,’ said Sir Rowland. He looked gravely at both men, and continued, ‘We’re in a very bad jam, all of us. But if we stick together and have reasonable luck, I think there’s a chance we may be able to pull it off.’

  Jeremy looked as though he was about to say something, but Sir Rowland held up a hand, and went on, ‘Once the police are satisfied that Costello isn’t in this house, they’ll go off and look elsewhere. After all, there are plenty of reasons why he might have left his car and gone off on foot.’ He gestured towards them both and added, ‘We’re all respectable people–Hugo’s a JP, as he’s reminded us, and Henry Hailsham-Brown’s high up in the Foreign Office–’

  ‘Yes, yes, and you’ve had a blameless and even distinguished career, we know all that,’ Hugo intervened. ‘All right then, if you say so, we brazen it out.’

  Jeremy rose to his feet and nodded towards the recess. ‘Can’t we do something about that straightaway?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s no time now,’ Sir Rowland decreed, tersely. ‘They’ll be back any minute. He’s safer where he is.’

  Jeremy nodded in reluctant agreement. ‘I must say Clarissa’s a marvel,’ he observed. ‘She doesn’t turn a hair. She’s got that police inspector eating out of her hand.’

  The front door bell rang. ‘That’ll be Miss Peake, I expect,’ Sir Rowland announced. ‘Go and let her in, Warrender, would you?’

  As soon as Jeremy had left the room, Hugo beckoned to Sir Rowland.

  ‘What’s up, Roly?’ he asked in an urgent whisper. ‘What did Clarissa tell you when she got you to herself?’

  Sir Rowland began to speak, but, hearing the voices of Jeremy and Miss Peake exchanging greetings at the front door, he made a gesture indicating ‘Not now’.

  ‘I think you’d better come in here,’ Jeremy told Miss Peake as he slammed the front door shut. A moment later, the gardener preceded him into the drawing-room, looking as though she had dressed very hastily. She had a towel wrapped around her head.

  ‘What is all this?’ she wanted to know. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown was most mysterious on the phone. Has anything happened?’

  Sir Rowland addressed her with the utmost courtesy. ‘I’m so sorry you’ve been routed out like this, Miss Peake,’ he apologized. ‘Do sit down.’ He indicated a chair by the bridge table.

  Hugo pulled the chair out for Miss Peake, who thanked him. He then seated himself in a more comfortable easy chair, while Sir Rowland informed the gardener, ‘As a matter of fact, we’ve got the police here, and–’

  ‘The police?’ Miss Peake interrupted, looking startled. ‘Has there been a burglary?’

  ‘No, not a burglary, but–’

  He stopped speaking as Clarissa, the Inspector and the Constable came back into the room. Jeremy sat on the sofa, while Sir Rowland took up a position behind it.

  ‘Inspector,’ Clarissa announced, ‘this is Miss Peake.’

  The Inspector went across to the gardener. His ‘Good evening, Miss Peake’ was accompanied by a stiff little bow.

  ‘Good evening, Inspector,’ Miss Peake replied. ‘I was just asking Sir Rowland–has there been a robbery, or what?’

  The Inspector regarded her searchingly, allowed a moment or two to elapse, and then spoke. ‘We received a rather peculiar telephone call which brought us out here,’ he told her. ‘And we think that perhaps you might be able to clear up the matter for us.’

  Chapter 12

  The Inspector’s announcement was greeted by Miss Peake with a jolly laugh. ‘I say, this is mysterious. I am enjoying myself,’ she exclaimed delightedly.

  The Inspector frowned. ‘It concerns Mr Costello,’ he explained. ‘Mr Oliver Costello of 27, Morgan Mansions, London SW3. I believe that’s in the Chelsea area.’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ was Miss Peake’s robustly expressed response.

  ‘He was here this evening, visiting Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector reminded her, ‘and I believe you showed him out through the garden.’

  Miss Peake slapped her thigh. ‘Oh, that man,’ she recalled. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown did mention his name.’ She looked at the Inspector with a little more interest. ‘Yes, what do you want to know?’ she asked.

  ‘I should like to know,’ the Inspector told her, speaking slowly and deliberately, ‘exactly what happened, and when you last saw him.’

  Miss Peake thought for a moment before replying. ‘Let me see,’ she said. ‘We went out through the French window, and I told him there was a short cut if he wanted the bus, and he said no, he’d come in his car, and he’d left it round by the stables.’

  She beamed at the Inspector as though she expected to be praised for her succinct recollection of what had occurred, but he merely looked thoughtful as he commented, ‘Isn’t that rather an odd place to leave a car?’

  ‘That’s just what I thought,’ Miss Peake agreed, slapping the Inspector’s arm as she spoke. He looked surprised at this, but she continued, ‘You’d think he’d drive right up to the front door, wouldn’t you? But people are so odd. You never know what they’re going to do.’ She gave a hearty guffaw.

  ‘And then what happened?’ the Inspector asked.

  Miss Peake shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, he went off to his car, and I suppose he drove away,’ she replied.

  ‘You didn’t see him do so?’

  ‘No–I was putting my tools away,’ was the gardener’s reply.

  ‘And that’s the last you saw of him?’ the Inspector asked, with emphasis.

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Because his car is still here,’ the Inspector told her. Speaking slowly and emphatically, he continued, ‘A phone-call was put through to the police station at seven forty-nine, saying that a man had been murdered at Copplestone Court.’

  Miss Peake looked appalled. ‘Murdered?’ she exclaimed. ‘Here? Ridiculous!’

  ‘That’s what everybody seems to think,’ the Inspector observed drily, with a significant look at Sir Rowland.

  ‘Of course,’ Miss Peake went on, ‘I know there are all these maniacs about, attacking women–but you say a man was murdered–’

  The Inspector cut her short. ‘You didn’t hear another car this evening?’ he asked brusquely.

  ‘Only Mr Hailsham-Brown’s,’ she replied.

  ‘Mr Hailsham-Brown?’ the Inspector queried with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘I thought he wasn’t expected home till late.’

  His glance swung round to Clarissa, who hastened to explain. ‘My husband did come home, but he had to go out again almost immediately.’

  The Inspector assumed a deliberately patient expression. ‘Oh, is that so?’ he commented in a tone of studied politeness. ‘Exactly when did he come home?’

  ‘Let me see–’ Clarissa began to stammer. ‘It must have been about–’

  ‘It was about a quarter of an hour before I went off duty,’ Miss Peake interjected. ‘I work a lot of overtime, Inspector. I never stick to regulation hours,’ she explained. ‘Be keen on your job, that’s what I say,’ she continued, thumping the table as she spoke. ‘Yes, it must have been about a quarter past seven when Mr Hailsham-Brown got in.’

  ‘That would have been shortly aft
er Mr Costello left,’ the Inspector observed. He moved to the centre of the room, and his manner changed almost imperceptibly as he continued, ‘He and Mr Hailsham-Brown probably passed each other.’

  ‘You mean,’ Miss Peake said thoughtfully, ‘that he may have come back again to see Mr Hailsham-Brown.’

  ‘Oliver Costello definitely didn’t come back to the house,’ Clarissa cut in sharply.

  ‘But you can’t be sure of that, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the gardener contradicted her. ‘He might have got in by that window without your knowing anything about it.’ She paused, and then exclaimed, ‘Golly! You don’t think he murdered Mr Hailsham-Brown, do you? I say, I am sorry.’

  ‘Of course he didn’t murder Henry,’ Clarissa snapped irritably.

  ‘Where did your husband go when he left here?’ the Inspector asked her.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Clarissa replied shortly.

  ‘Doesn’t he usually tell you where he’s going?’ the Inspector persisted.

  ‘I never ask questions,’ Clarissa told him. ‘I think it must be so boring for a man if his wife is always asking questions.’

  Miss Peake gave a sudden squeal. ‘But how stupid of me,’ she shouted. ‘Of course, if that man’s car is still here, then he must be the one who’s been murdered.’ She roared with laughter.

  Sir Rowland rose to his feet. ‘We’ve no reason to believe anyone has been murdered, Miss Peake,’ he admonished her with dignity. ‘In fact, the Inspector believes it was all some silly hoax.’

  Miss Peake was clearly not of the same opinion. ‘But the car,’ she insisted. ‘I do think that car still being here is very suspicious.’ She got up and approached the Inspector. ‘Have you looked about for the body, Inspector?’ she asked him eagerly.

  ‘The Inspector has already searched the house,’ Sir Rowland answered before the police officer had a chance to speak. He was rewarded by a sharp glance from the Inspector, whom Miss Peake was now tapping on the shoulder as she continued to air her views.

  ‘I’m sure those Elgins have something to do with it–the butler and that wife of his who calls herself a cook,’ the gardener assured the Inspector confidently. ‘I’ve had my suspicions of them for quite some time. I saw a light in their bedroom window as I came along here just now. And that in itself is suspicious. It’s their night out, and they usually don’t return until well after eleven.’ She gripped the Inspector’s arm. ‘Have you searched their quarters?’ she asked him urgently.

  The Inspector opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him with another tap on the shoulder. ‘Now listen,’ she began. ‘Suppose this Mr Costello recognized Elgin as a man with a criminal record. Costello might have decided to come back and warn Mrs Hailsham-Brown about the man, and Elgin assaulted him.’

  Looking immensely pleased with herself, she flashed a glance around the room, and continued. ‘Then, of course, Elgin would have to hide the body somewhere quickly, so that he could dispose of it later in the night. Now, where would he hide it, I wonder?’ she asked rhetorically, warming to her thesis. With a gesture towards the French windows, she began, ‘Behind a curtain or–’

  She was cut short by Clarissa who interrupted angrily. ‘Oh, really, Miss Peake. There isn’t anybody hidden behind any of the curtains. And I’m sure Elgin would never murder anybody. It’s quite ridiculous.’

  Miss Peake turned. ‘You’re so trusting, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ she admonished her employer. ‘When you get to my age, you’ll realize how very often people are simply not quite what they seem.’ She laughed heartily as she turned back to the Inspector.

  When he opened his mouth to speak, she gave him yet another tap on the shoulder. ‘Now then,’ she continued, ‘where would a man like Elgin hide the body? There’s that cupboard place between here and the library. You’ve looked there, I suppose?’

  Sir Rowland intervened hastily. ‘Miss Peake, the Inspector has looked both here and in the library,’ he insisted.

  The Inspector, however, after a meaning look at Sir Rowland, turned to the gardener. ‘What exactly do you mean by “that cupboard place”, Miss Peake?’ he enquired.

  The others in the room all looked more than somewhat tense as Miss Peake replied, ‘Oh, it’s a wonderful place when you’re playing hide-and-seek. You’d really never dream it was there. Let me show it to you.’

  She walked over to the panel, followed by the Inspector. Jeremy got to his feet at the same moment that Clarissa exclaimed forcefully, ‘No.’

  The Inspector and Miss Peake both turned to look at her. ‘There’s nothing there now,’ Clarissa informed them. ‘I know because I went that way, through to the library, just now.’

  Her voice trailed off. Miss Peake, sounding disappointed, murmured, ‘Oh well, in that case, then–’ and turned away from the panel. The Inspector, however, called her back. ‘Just show me all the same, Miss Peake,’ he ordered. ‘I’d like to see.’

  Miss Peake went to the bookshelves. ‘It was a door originally,’ she explained. ‘It matched the one over there.’ She activated the lever, explaining as she did so, ‘You pull this catch back, and the door comes open. See?’

  The panel opened, and the body of Oliver Costello slumped down and fell forward. Miss Peake screamed.

  ‘So,’ the Inspector observed, looking grimly at Clarissa, ‘You were mistaken, Mrs Hailsham-Brown. It appears that there was a murder here tonight.’

  Miss Peake’s scream rose to a crescendo.

  Chapter 13

  Ten minutes later, things were somewhat quieter, for Miss Peake was no longer in the room. Nor, for that matter, were Hugo and Jeremy. The body of Oliver Costello, however, was still lying collapsed in the recess, the panel of which was open. Clarissa was stretched out on the sofa, with Sir Rowland sitting by her and holding a glass of brandy which he was attempting to make her sip. The Inspector was talking on the telephone, and Constable Jones continued to stand guard.

  ‘Yes, yes–’ the Inspector was saying. ‘What’s that?–Hit and run?–Where?–Oh, I see–Yes, well, send them along as soon as you can–Yes, we’ll want photographs–Yes, the whole bag of tricks.’

  He replaced the receiver, and went over to the Constable. ‘Everything comes at once,’ he complained to his colleague. ‘Weeks go by and nothing happens, and now the Divisional Surgeon’s out at a bad car accident–a smash on the London road. It’ll all mean quite a bit of delay. However, we’ll get on as well as we can until the M.O. arrives.’ He gestured towards the corpse. ‘We’d better not move him until they’ve taken the photographs,’ he suggested. ‘Not that it will tell us anything. He wasn’t killed there, he was put there afterwards.’

  ‘How can you be sure, sir?’ the Constable asked.

  The Inspector looked down at the carpet. ‘You can see where his feet have dragged,’ he pointed out, crouching down behind the sofa. The Constable knelt beside him.

  Sir Rowland peered over the back of the sofa, and then turned to Clarissa to ask, ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Better, thanks, Roly,’ she replied, faintly.

  The two police officers got to their feet. ‘It might be as well to close that book-case door,’ the Inspector instructed his colleague. ‘We don’t want any more hysterics.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ the Constable replied. He closed the panel so that the body could no longer be seen. As he did so, Sir Rowland rose from the sofa to address the Inspector. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown has had a bad shock,’ he told the policeman. ‘I think she ought to go to her room and lie down.’

  Politely, but with a certain reserve, the Inspector replied, ‘Certainly, sir, but not for a moment or two just yet. I’d like to ask her a few questions first.’

  Sir Rowland tried to persist. ‘She’s really not fit to be questioned at present.’

  ‘I’m all right, Roly,’ Clarissa interjected, faintly. ‘Really, I am.’

  Sir Rowland addressed her, adopting a warning tone. ‘It’s very brave of you, my dear,’ he said, ‘but I really think
it would be wiser of you to go and rest for a while.’

  ‘Dear Uncle Roly,’ Clarissa responded with a smile. To the Inspector she said, ‘I sometimes call him Uncle Roly, though he’s my guardian, not my uncle. But he’s so sweet to me always.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ was the dry response.

  ‘Do ask me anything you want to, Inspector,’ Clarissa continued graciously. ‘Though actually I don’t think I can help you very much, I’m afraid, because I just don’t know anything at all about any of this.’

  Sir Rowland sighed, shook his head slightly, and turned away.

  ‘We shan’t worry you for long, madam,’ the Inspector assured her. Going to the library door, he held it open, and turned to address Sir Rowland. ‘Will you join the other gentlemen in the library, sir?’ he suggested.

  ‘I think I’d better remain here, in case–’ Sir Rowland began, only to be interrupted by the Inspector whose tone had now become firmer. ‘I’ll call you if it should be necessary, sir. In the library, please.’

  After a short duel of eyes, Sir Rowland conceded defeat and went into the library. The Inspector closed the door after him, and indicated silently to the Constable that he should sit and take notes. Clarissa swung her feet off the sofa and sat up, as Jones got out his notebook and pencil.

  ‘Now, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector began, ‘if you’re ready, let’s make a start.’ He picked up the cigarette box from the table by the sofa, turned it over, opened it, and looked at the cigarettes in it.

  ‘Dear Uncle Roly, he always wants to spare me everything,’ Clarissa told the Inspector with an enchanting smile. Then, seeing him handling the cigarette box, she became anxious. ‘This isn’t going to be the third degree or anything, is it?’ she asked, trying to make her question sound like a joke.

  ‘Nothing of that kind, madam, I assure you,’ said the Inspector. ‘Just a few simple questions.’ He turned to the Constable. ‘Are you ready, Jones?’ he asked, as he pulled out a chair from the bridge table, turned it around, and sat facing Clarissa.