Spider's Web

by Agatha Christie

  The Inspector now looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘When you were talking to us about the late Mr Sellon,’ Sir Rowland reminded him, ‘you mentioned that the Narcotics Squad took an interest in him. Isn’t there a possible link there? Drugs–Sellon–Sellon’s house?’

  He paused but, receiving no reaction from the Inspector, continued, ‘Costello has been here once before, I understand, ostensibly to look at Sellon’s antiques. Supposing Oliver Costello wanted something in this house. In that desk, perhaps.’

  The Inspector glanced at the desk, and Sir Rowland expanded on his theory. ‘There is the curious incident of a man who came here and offered an exorbitant price for that desk. Supposing it was that desk that Oliver Costello wanted to examine–wanted to search, if you like. Supposing that he was followed here by someone. And that that someone struck him down, there by the desk.’

  The Inspector did not seem impressed. ‘There’s a good deal of supposition–’ he began, only to be interrupted by Sir Rowland who insisted, ‘It’s a very reasonable hypothesis.’

  ‘The hypothesis being,’ the Inspector queried, ‘that this somebody put the body in the recess?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That would have to be somebody who knew about the recess,’ the Inspector observed.

  ‘It could be someone who knew the house in Sellon’s time,’ Sir Rowland pointed out.

  ‘Yes, that’s all very well, sir,’ the Inspector replied impatiently, ‘but it still doesn’t explain one thing–’

  ‘What is that?’ asked Sir Rowland.

  The Inspector looked at him steadily. ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown knew the body was in that recess. She tried to prevent us looking there.’

  Sir Rowland opened his mouth to speak, but the Inspector held up a hand and continued, ‘It’s no good trying to convince me otherwise. She knew.’

  For a few moments, a tense silence prevailed. Then Sir Rowland said, ‘Inspector, will you allow me to speak to my ward?’

  ‘Only in my presence, sir,’ was the prompt reply.

  ‘That will do.’

  The Inspector nodded. ‘Jones!’ The Constable, understanding what was required, left the room.

  ‘We are very much in your hands, Inspector,’ Sir Rowland told the police officer. ‘I will ask you to make what allowances you can.’

  ‘My one concern is to get at the truth, sir, and to find out who killed Oliver Costello,’ the Inspector replied.

  Chapter 17

  The Constable came back into the room, holding the door open for Clarissa.

  ‘Come in here, please, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector called. As Clarissa entered, Sir Rowland went over to her. He spoke very solemnly. ‘Clarissa, my dear,’ he said. ‘Will you do what I ask you? I want you to tell the Inspector the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’ Clarissa echoed, sounding very doubtful.

  ‘The truth,’ Sir Rowland repeated with emphasis. ‘It’s the only thing to do. I mean it. Seriously.’ He looked at her steadily and indeed seriously for a moment, and then left the room. The Constable closed the door after him and resumed his seat for note-taking.

  ‘Do sit down, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector invited her, this time indicating the sofa.

  Clarissa smiled at him, but the look he returned was a stern one. She moved slowly to the sofa, sat, and waited for a moment before speaking. Then, ‘I’m sorry,’ she told him. ‘I’m terribly sorry I told you all those lies. I didn’t mean to.’ She did indeed sound rueful as she continued, ‘One gets into things, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘I can’t say that I do know,’ the Inspector replied coldly. ‘Now, please just give me the facts.’

  ‘Well, it’s really all quite simple,’ she explained, ticking off the facts on her fingers as she spoke. ‘First, Oliver Costello left. Then, Henry came home. Then, I saw him off again in the car. Then, I came in here with the sandwiches.’

  ‘Sandwiches?’ the Inspector queried.

  ‘Yes. You see, my husband is bringing home a very important delegate from abroad.’

  The Inspector looked interested. ‘Oh, who is this delegate?’

  ‘A Mr Jones,’ Clarissa told him.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Inspector, with a look at Constable Jones.

  ‘Mr Jones. That’s not his real name, but that’s what we have to call him. It’s all very hush-hush.’ Clarissa went on speaking. ‘They were going to have the sandwiches while they talked, and I was going to have mousse in the schoolroom.’

  The Inspector was looking perplexed. ‘Mousse in the–yes, I see,’ he murmured, sounding as though he did not see at all.

  ‘I put the sandwiches down there,’ Clarissa told him, pointing to the stool, ‘and then I began tidying up, and I went to put a book back on the bookshelf and–then–and then I practically fell over it.’

  ‘You fell over the body?’ the Inspector asked.

  ‘Yes. It was here, behind the sofa. And I looked to see if it–if he was dead, and he was. It was Oliver Costello, and I didn’t know what to do. In the end, I rang up the golf club, and I asked Sir Rowland, Mr Birch and Jeremy Warrender to come back right away.’

  Leaning over the sofa, the Inspector asked coldly, ‘It didn’t occur to you to ring up the police?’

  ‘Well, it occurred to me, yes,’ Clarissa answered, ‘but then–well–’ She smiled at him again. ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ the Inspector murmured to himself. He walked away, looked at the Constable, lifted his hands despairingly, and then turned back to face Clarissa. ‘Why didn’t you ring the police?’ he asked her.

  Clarissa was prepared for this. ‘Well, I didn’t think it would be nice for my husband,’ she replied. ‘I don’t know whether you know many people in the Foreign Office, Inspector, but they’re frightfully unassuming. They like everything very quiet, not noticeable. You must admit that murders are rather noticeable.’

  ‘Quite so,’ was all that the Inspector could think of in response to this.

  ‘I’m so glad you understand,’ Clarissa told him warmly and almost gushingly. She went on with her story, but her delivery became more and more unconvincing as she began to feel that she was not making headway. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘he was quite dead, because I felt his pulse, so we couldn’t do anything for him.’

  The Inspector walked about, without replying. Following him with her eyes, Clarissa continued, ‘What I mean is, he might just as well be dead in Marsden Wood as in our drawing-room.’

  The Inspector turned sharply to face her. ‘Marsden Wood?’ he asked abruptly. ‘How does Marsden Wood come into it?’

  ‘That’s where I was thinking of putting him,’ Clarissa replied.

  The Inspector put a hand to the back of his head, and looked at the floor as though seeking inspiration there. Then, shaking his head to clear it, he said firmly, ‘Mrs Hailsham-Brown, have you never heard that a dead body, if there’s any suggestion of foul play, should never be moved?’

  ‘Of course I know that,’ Clarissa retorted. ‘It says so in all the detective stories. But, you see, this is real life.’

  The Inspector lifted his hands in despair.

  ‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘real life’s quite different.’

  The Inspector looked at Clarissa in incredulous silence for a moment, before asking her, ‘Do you realize the seriousness of what you’re saying?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she replied, ‘and I’m telling you the truth. So, you see, in the end, I rang up the club and they all came back here.’

  ‘And you persuaded them to hide the body in that recess.’

  ‘No,’ Clarissa corrected him. ‘That came later. My plan, as I told you, was that they should take Oliver’s body away in his car and leave the car in Marsden Wood.’

  ‘And they agreed?’ The Inspector’s tone was distinctly unbelieving.

  ‘Yes, they agreed,’ said Clarissa, smiling at him.

  ‘Fra
nkly, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector told her brusquely, ‘I don’t believe a word of it. I don’t believe that three responsible men would agree to obstruct the course of justice in such a manner for such a paltry cause.’

  Clarissa rose to her feet. Walking away from the Inspector, she said more to herself than to him, ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.’ She turned to face him. ‘What do you believe, then?’ she asked him.

  Watching Clarissa closely as he spoke, the Inspector replied, ‘I can see only one reason why those three men should agree to lie.’

  ‘Oh? What do you mean? What other reason would they have?’

  ‘They would agree to lie,’ the Inspector continued, ‘if they believed, or, even more so, if they actually knew–that you had killed him.’

  Clarissa stared at him. ‘But I had no reason for killing him,’ she protested. ‘Absolutely no reason.’ She flung away from him. ‘Oh, I knew you’d react like this,’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s why–’

  She broke off suddenly, and the Inspector turned to her. ‘That’s why what?’ he asked abruptly.

  Clarissa stood thinking. Some moments passed, and then her manner appeared to change. She began to speak more convincingly. ‘All right, then,’ she announced, with the air of one who is making a clean breast of things. ‘I’ll tell you why.’

  ‘I think that would be wiser,’ the Inspector said.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, turning to face him squarely. ‘I suppose I’d better tell you the truth.’ She emphasized the word.

  The Inspector smiled. ‘I can assure you,’ he advised her, ‘that telling the police a pack of lies will do you very little good, Mrs Hailsham-Brown. You’d better tell me the real story. And from the beginning.’

  ‘I will,’ Clarissa promised. She sat down in a chair by the bridge table. ‘Oh dear,’ she sighed, ‘I thought I was being so clever.’

  ‘It’s much better not to try to be clever,’ the Inspector told her. He seated himself facing Clarissa. ‘Now then,’ he asked, ‘what really did happen this evening?’

  Chapter 18

  Clarissa was silent for a few moments. Then, looking the Inspector steadily in the eye, she began to speak. ‘It all started as I’ve already explained to you. I said good-bye to Oliver Costello, and he’d gone off with Miss Peake. I had no idea he would come back again, and I still can’t understand why he did.’

  She paused, and seemed to be trying to recall what had happened next. ‘Oh, yes,’ she continued. ‘Then my husband came home, explaining that he would have to go out again immediately. He went off in the car, and it was just after I had shut the front door, and made sure that it was latched and bolted, that I suddenly began to feel nervous.’

  ‘Nervous?’ asked the Inspector, looking puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I’m not usually nervous,’ she told him, speaking with great feeling, ‘but it occurred to me that I’d never been alone in the house at night.’

  She paused. ‘Yes, go on,’ the Inspector encouraged her.

  ‘I told myself not to be so silly. I said to myself, “You’ve got the phone, haven’t you? You can always ring for help.” I said to myself, “Burglars don’t come at this time of the evening. They come in the middle of the night.” But I still kept thinking I heard a door shutting somewhere, or footsteps up in my bedroom. So I thought I’d better do something.’

  She paused again, and again the Inspector prompted her. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I went into the kitchen,’ Clarissa said, ‘and made the sandwiches for Henry and Mr Jones to have when they got back. I got them all ready on a plate, with a napkin around them to keep them soft, and I was just coming across the hall to put them in here, when–’ she paused dramatically–‘I really heard something.’

  ‘Where?’ the Inspector asked.

  ‘In this room,’ she told him. ‘I knew that, this time, I wasn’t imagining it. I heard drawers being pulled open and shut, and then I suddenly remembered that the French windows in here weren’t locked. We never do lock them. Somebody had come in that way.’

  Again she paused. ‘Go on, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ said the Inspector impassively.

  Clarissa made a gesture of helplessness. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I was petrified. Then I thought, “What if I’m just being a fool? What if it’s Henry come back for something–or even Sir Rowland or one of the others? A nice fool you’ll look if you go upstairs and ring the police on the extension.” So then I thought of a plan.’

  She paused once more, and the Inspector’s ‘Yes?’ this time sounded a trifle impatient.

  ‘I went to the hall stand,’ Clarissa said slowly, ‘and I took the heaviest stick I could find. Then I went into the library. I didn’t turn the light on. I felt my way across the room to that recess. I opened it very gently and slipped inside. I thought I could ease the door into here and see who it was.’ She pointed to the panel. ‘Unless anyone knew about it, you’d never dream there was a door just there.’

  ‘No,’ the Inspector agreed, ‘you certainly wouldn’t.’

  Clarissa seemed now to be almost enjoying her narrative. ‘I eased the catch open,’ she continued, ‘and then my fingers slipped, and the door swung right open and hit against a chair. A man who was standing by the desk straightened up. I saw something bright and shining in his hand. I thought it was a revolver. I was terrified. I thought he was going to shoot me. I hit out at him with the stick with all my might, and he fell.’

  She collapsed and leant on the table with her face in her hands. ‘Could I–could I have a little brandy, please?’ she asked the Inspector.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The Inspector got to his feet. ‘Jones!’ he called. The Constable poured some brandy into a glass and handed it to the Inspector. Clarissa had lifted her face, but quickly covered it with her hands again and held out her hand as the Inspector brought her the brandy. She drank, coughed, and returned the glass. Constable Jones replaced it on a table and resumed his seat and his note-taking.

  The Inspector looked at Clarissa. ‘Do you feel able to continue, Mrs Hailsham-Brown?’ he asked sympathetically.

  ‘Yes,’ Clarissa replied, glancing up at him. ‘You’re very kind.’ She took a breath and continued her story. ‘The man just lay there. He didn’t move. I switched on the light and I saw then that it was Oliver Costello. He was dead. It was terrible. I–I couldn’t understand it.’

  She gestured towards the desk. ‘I couldn’t understand what he was doing there, tampering with the desk. It was all like some ghastly nightmare. I was so frightened that I rang the golf club. I wanted my guardian to be with me. They all came over. I begged them to help me, to take the body away–somewhere.’

  The Inspector stared at her intently. ‘But why?’ he asked.

  Clarissa turned away from him. ‘Because I was a coward,’ she said. ‘A miserable coward. I was frightened of the publicity, of having to go to a police court. And it would be so bad for my husband and for his career.’

  She turned back to the Inspector. ‘If it had really been a burglar, perhaps I could have gone through with it, but being someone we actually knew, someone who is married to Henry’s first wife–Oh, I just felt I couldn’t go through with it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ the Inspector suggested, ‘because the dead man had, a short while before, attempted to blackmail you?’

  ‘Blackmail me? Oh, that’s nonsense!’ Clarissa replied with complete confidence. ‘That’s just silly. There’s nothing anyone could blackmail me about.’

  ‘Elgin, your butler, overheard a mention of blackmail,’ the Inspector told her.

  ‘I don’t believe he heard anything of the kind,’ replied Clarissa. ‘He couldn’t. If you ask me, he’s making the whole thing up.’

  ‘Come now, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ the Inspector insisted, ‘are you deliberately telling me that the word blackmail was never mentioned? Why would your butler make it up?’

  ‘I swear there was no mention of blackmail,’ Clarissa exclaimed, b
anging the table with her hand. ‘I assure you–’ Her hand stopped in mid-air, and she suddenly laughed. ‘Oh, how silly. Of course. That was it.’

  ‘You’ve remembered?’ the Inspector asked calmly.

  ‘It was nothing, really,’ Clarissa assured him. ‘It was just that Oliver was saying something about the rent of furnished houses being absurdly high, and I said we’d been amazingly lucky and were only paying four guineas a week for this. And he said, “I can hardly believe it, Clarissa. What’s your pull? It must be blackmail.” And I laughed and said, “That’s it. Blackmail.”’

  She laughed now, apparently recalling the exchange. ‘Just a silly, joking way of talking. Why, I didn’t even remember it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hailsham-Brown,’ said the Inspector, ‘but I really can’t believe that.’

  Clarissa looked astonished. ‘Can’t believe what?’

  ‘That you’re only paying four guineas a week for this house, furnished.’

  ‘Honestly! You really are the most unbelieving man I’ve ever met,’ Clarissa told him as she rose and went to the desk. ‘You don’t seem to believe a single thing I’ve said to you this evening. Most things I can’t prove, but this one I can. And this time I’m going to show you.’

  She opened a drawer of the desk and searched through the papers in it. ‘Here it is,’ she exclaimed. ‘No, it isn’t. Ah! Here we are.’ She took a document from the drawer and showed it to the Inspector. ‘Here’s the agreement for our tenancy of this house, furnished. It’s made out by a firm of solicitors acting for the executors and, look–four guineas per week.’

  The Inspector looked jolted. ‘Well, I’m blessed! It’s extraordinary. Quite extraordinary. I’d have thought it was worth much more than that.’

  Clarissa gave him one of her most charming smiles. ‘Don’t you think, Inspector, that you ought to beg my pardon?’ she suggested.