“Ricky, shut up.” Johnny spoke quietly, but there was tremendous authority in his voice.
“I shan’t. I’ve been accused, and I shall have my say. Gwenda’s always . . .”
Johnny got up and went over to him.
“I’ll break your neck, Ricky,” he said.
“Do,” said Ricky recklessly. “You’ve got like everybody else since this blasted war. You’re like the animals I have to spend my time with. I’m having hell, I tell you, absolute hell.”
It dawned on Mr. Campion that he was probably speaking the truth. The life of a man like Ricky Silva as a conscript private in the British Army did not bear consideration. Something of the same idea had evidently occurred to Carados; he dropped his arms and his shoulders sagged a little. He looked old for his years, and weary, and once again Campion was aware of some far greater trouble than the one which appeared on the surface.
“Where are you lunching, Ricky?” said Johnny.
“I was going to old Carrie Larradine’s. She’s got some glorious dresses which belonged to her great-grandmother, and we were going to have them out and discuss them. She wants my advice. She promised me ages ago.”
“I see. Well, would you like to go?”
Ricky looked at his wrist-watch. He was trembling so violently that he could scarcely see the time, but his objection was as sulky as a child.
“I shall be fearfully early. Besides, I want to look at these scraps of mine. This is the only opportunity I have to study my own job. I don’t care if you are all against me; I tell you I’ve got used to that. You’ve no idea what I have to put up with, but I’ve learnt to be callous, I . . .”
“My dear chap, get out, will you?”
“All right, if you’re in that mood. I think you’re being very silly, Johnny. You think you can trust all these people, but you can’t. Every single one of them was in London when this woman must have died. I know, because I saw them. Oh yes, I was here too, but I can prove what I was doing. They’ve all been on leave longer than you think.”
He was moving as he talked, and the last words brought him to the doorway.
“This war’s made people awfully reckless and—coarse,” he said, and went out.
In the silence which followed his departure, Captain Gold began to laugh. He had a deep-throated chuckle like a very old dog beginning to growl.
“Poor Ricky,” he said, “if this army is anything like the last he must be in purgatory.”
Onyer, who appeared to feel some sort of responsibility for his Service, nodded. “Frightful,” he said. “They keep him clerking, I suppose? He’s a ghastly little cat, though. Gwenda and I have been in Town since Friday, by the way, Johnny; I got leave earlier than I expected and we stayed at the Dorchester over the week-end. I didn’t mention it because it didn’t arise.”
“I came up on Saturday myself,” said Gold. “I’m not explaining where I’ve been. Does it matter?”
“And I’ve been here the whole time,” said Dolly Chivers briskly. “I . . .” Her hearty voice ceased abruptly as the door opened. Ricky had come back. He wandered in with the studied nonchalance of the naughty child, a square parcel in his hands.
“I found this in the hall, Johnny,” he said. “It’s another wedding present, I suppose. You’ll have to send them all back. What a pity, isn’t it?”
He spoke quite seriously and stepped back to await the unwrapping. His curiosity was so frank and innocent that Campion saw for the first time a reason why Carados had ever liked him sufficiently to allow him to live in the house. There was an honesty about his faults which was engaging.
The interruption was welcome; no one in the room was comfortable after his little confession, and Johnny plucked at the knots with nervous relief.
“Oh, cut it,” said Ricky, drawing a little penknife from his blouse. “I’ll do it, shall I?”
As he watched the operation Mr. Campion was struck by something unexpected about the box and its wrapping, but he did not identify the impression immediately. Carados pulled off the brown paper, lifted the lid of the stout cardboard box within, and turned its contents on to the table.
“Mainly paper,” he said, and paused. Something in the rigidity of his pose caught the general attention. As they watched the angry colour poured into his face. “What the hell’s the meaning of this?” he said furiously.
Lying amid the crumpled tissue was a battered, artificial rose around the stem of which was wound a string of unconvincing pearls. It was a curious trophy, possibly in bad taste, but by far the most interesting thing about it was its effect upon Johnny Carados. The man was outraged, he was so angry that it occurred to Campion that he must be also startled.
“What a damn silly trick, Ricky,” he said. “Who put you up to it?”
“Me? I haven’t done anything. I only saw it in the hall and brought it in to you.”
There was no mistaking the genuineness of the squeal of protest and Carados turned from him impatiently.
“Where did it come from?” he demanded. He was in command of himself again, but his eyes were wary and there was no longer any hint of a smile on his mouth. They all looked at him blankly. The Onyers appeared puzzled. Gold uncomfortable, and Dolly Chivers slightly amused.
“I found it in the hall,” Ricky repeated.
Carados turned on Onyer. “Was it there when you came in?”
“I really don’t remember, do you, Campion?”
“I didn’t notice it. It may have been.”
“Well, where did it come from?” Carados had raised his voice and for the first time he seemed aware of the unexpectedness of his own reaction. “I’d like to know,” he said more normally. “Do you make anything of it, Campion?”
The man in the horn-rimmed spectacles turned over the wrapping. “It’s old stuff,” he said, “that’s what struck me when Silva brought it in. It’s a Welby & Smith parcel, the sort of thing they sent out before the war. There’s no packing like this these days. This is out of someone’s junk cupboard, I should think.”
“I believe I’ve seen that rose before,” said Gwenda. “I don’t know why you’re getting so excited, Johnny. Isn’t it out of the dressing-up box, Dolly?”
“Yes, of course it is.” Miss Chivers smiled to find a prosaic explanation. “There’s any amount of rubbish in there, and the brown paper’s kept there too. It’s probably some sort of joke.”
The big man took up the dilapidated yellow flower, and carried it over to Gwenda. “Are you sure you recognize it?” he said. “Come here, Dolly. Has this been in the house before?”
The two women glanced at each other.
“I think so,” said Miss Chivers at last. “I’ll go and look in a minute; there may be some more like it. We had a lot of this sort of thing for that musical comedy party in ’thirty-eight. Do you remember? I don’t see the point of it though. Does it matter?”
Johnny hesitated. “It matters quite a bit if it came from outside,” he said. “If it came from inside—well, I’m not particularly amused.”
The threat was unmistakable, and once again they all looked at him. In the silence the door burst open, and Admiral Dickon came in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
UNTIL THAT MOMENT, Mr. Campion had stupidly supposed all great sailors to be uniformly small men, square and irascible, with shining skins and sky-blue eyes. The Admiral was a disappointment to him. Susan’s father was a vast, red Drake of a man, with a head like a Saint Bernard and the same dog’s air of rigidly controlled energy. Everything about him was large and the glance he gave the room was comprehensive and sweeping. Carados, who was a powerful figure himself, looked small beside him.
“I’ve got him,” said the Admiral. “We’re having lunch with him at the Saladin Club. I don’t know if he can do much, but we’ve hooked him anyway.”
He was clearly pleased, and stood waiting, expecting no doubt the lunching party to set out forthwith.
Meanwhile, Johnny was looking at Onyer and a silent a
rgument was taking place between them. Finally Johnny shrugged his shoulders.
“Wait a bit, sir,” he said slowly. “I’m afraid there’s been a development. The unfortunate woman was murdered; at least, that seems to be the police idea.”
The Admiral looked down at him for some time.
“Oh,” he said.
An uncomfortable silence followed, during which it seemed to Campion that the full seriousness of the situation came home at last to everyone. Hitherto the little company had been considering its own personal positions, but this exuberant giant was essentially a normal man with normal reactions, and they saw the story for an instant as it must appear in his eyes. A woman had been killed, the unforgivable crime committed; somebody was going to be hanged.
“It puts a rather different colour on the tale,” he said at last.
“I’m afraid so,” Carados agreed.
His hands were behind his back and he twirled the battered yellow rose between his fingers.
The Admiral squared his shoulders. “Well, we’ve got to see the thing through, don’t you know,” he said. “This feller I’ve got hold of can only put a little gunpowder behind the police, and wake ’em up and spur ’em on. A thing like this mustn’t be allowed to stand about. We want it cleared up and put right, and the criminal punished. That’s a job for the police. This man can put them on their toes and keep them there. We’d better go and see him.”
Mr. Campion thought of Oates and Superintendent Yeo, and sighed for them, and it occurred to him that if Yeo and the Admiral ever met on equal terms, which now seemed unlikely, they would certainly take an enormous fancy to each other. Meanwhile the old man was continuing.
“All the same,” he was saying, “it’s up to us to play scrupulously fair with this feller, naturally, so I’m going to ask you a direct question, Carados. I won’t put it to you here, perhaps you’ll come in another room with me.”
There was nothing subtle about the Admiral; his meaning was obvious, and in that sophisticated company his naïveté and directness struck a slightly alarming note. Johnny appeared amazed.
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re after, sir,” he said.
The Admiral, who was already advancing upon the doorway, swung round again.
“That’s what I wanted to know, and it’s the answer I expected, my boy,” he said. “You can give me your word on it, can you? It’s all I want.”
“I give you my word I did not kill her,” repeated Johnny, looking as if he felt profoundly foolish.
“Good enough,” said the Admiral. “Just one more thing. Do you know who did? No need to give names.”
Johnny hesitated. It was the slightest pause imaginable, but it did occur.
“No,” he said, a little too quickly, “no, I have no idea.”
“On your word?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. On my word.”
“Splendid. Well, if you’ll change, we’ll go.”
The tension had slackened a little, but it was still in existence and the gathering split into little groups. Johnny went off to get his tunic, and the Admiral, who, it transpired, had known Mr. Campion’s father, was graciously disposed to congratulate him both on that fact and on his recent work abroad. The Onyers were talking together anxiously, and as soon as Carados returned Gwenda appealed to him.
“Johnny, what about Edna and the police? Won’t they be coming here? I mean, oughtn’t we to wait?”
Carados looked harassed.
“My mother was very definite when I saw her,” he said. “She never has liked interference, and if the police want us, I imagine they’ll find us.”
“Good Lord, yes. We can’t wait about for the police.” The Admiral was amused. “If they’re not smartly on to their duty now I think you’ll find they’ll pipe a different tune after this evening. Come along, Carados, we can’t keep this man waiting.”
“You see no reason why Gwenda and I shouldn’t keep our luncheon engagement?” said Onyer, following the warriors into the hall. Apparently they reassured him, for he came back relieved on that point, but still dubious. “I suppose Johnny knows what he’s doing,” he observed to the room in general. “He says carry on in a perfectly normal way. Perhaps we ought to go over and see Edna first, Gwenda. What do you say?”
“My dear, we must. I know she doesn’t like interference, but you know what she is. She may do anything.”
“We’ll go then,” said Onyer, and glanced at Mr. Campion, whose presence had become a responsibility to him. “I feel I got you here on false pretences,” he said uncomfortably, “I didn’t know they knew about it being so serious. Honestly, I don’t like the look of things now, do you? That old boy means well, and will certainly stir up the police, but do we really want that?”
He looked so serious that Campion smiled. “It will add to the excitement,” he suggested.
“I know.” Onyer’s gloom increased. “Not that anyone here has much to fear, naturally, unless . . . Look here, Campion, I don’t know much about these things, but isn’t there a very good charge against Edna already? I mean, you can’t go moving bodies about like that, can you?”
“It could be thought over-enthusiastic,” said Mr. Campion.
“You don’t think they might have arrested her already?”
“My dear chap, don’t ask me.”
“Good heavens.” Onyer was visibly paler. “What a hell of a family this is to look after,” he said bitterly. “I’d better go over right away. You—er—you won’t feel like coming, will you?”
As an invitation it was not pressing, and Mr. Campion declined gracefully. Ricky and Captain Gold had disappeared, and when the Onyers went off together he found himself alone with Miss Chivers, who was busy with a telephone directory.
“It’s all got to be cancelled, you see,” she said. “Would you believe it? I’ve been working on this wedding for three weeks and now I’ve got to undo everything at speed. Peter Onyer’s right, it’s a hell of a family to look after.”
It was clear that she was very busy, but Campion did not move. He sat for a time watching her jot down telephone numbers, her big, well-modelled head bent over her work.
“Did that rose come from the house?” he enquired suddenly.
She closed the book, and looked at him across the small table at which she was working.
“The rose?” she repeated vaguely. “Oh, that. My dear man, don’t take any notice of that. That’s nothing.”
“I thought it odd,” said Mr. Campion.
“Did you?” She was laughing. “Hang around here for a bit, and you’ll see odder things than that.”
He did not move, and presently she seemed to take pity on him. Her broad, open face was alight with amusement.
“They’re all cuckoo, always have been,” she said indulgently. “Of course the rose came from the junk cupboard downstairs; Gwenda sent it, I should think.”
“Mrs. Onyer? Why?”
“I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything in this outfit? Perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps she put Ricky up to it, or perhaps he thought it out himself. They’re like that, don’t take any notice of them. It didn’t mean a thing.”
Still he sat looking at her. She was so strong and intelligent-looking that her statements carried conviction in spite of their unexpectedness.
“It didn’t look like a joke,” he objected after a pause.
“Perhaps it wasn’t one,” said Dolly Chivers dryly.
“What would you say it was?” he persisted.
“I? I shouldn’t mention it or even notice it.” She glanced down at her work and then back at him, her fine, hard eyes suddenly determined. “You don’t understand at all, do you?” she said, with a vehemence which surprised him. “I don’t know if I can explain, or even if I ought to, but you can take it from me that when you get a clever, hypersensitive crowd like this all living together round one big personality, little jealousies and little affections do take on enormous proportions. No one liked John
ny marrying, you know. For some of them it must have seemed like the end of the world.”
“Especially for Mrs. Onyer?”
“Yes, I suppose it hit her as much as anybody. She was always the mistress of the house here, you see.”
“You think she sent the parcel?”
“I don’t know anything about it, my dear,” said Miss Chivers cheerfully. “All I say is, she probably did, and that therefore it meant exactly nothing. She stayed here last night and could have done it, but then Ricky’s been prowling round the place since dawn, and Gee-gee Gold and I have had the same opportunity. Any of us might have done it, and it doesn’t matter. I’ve told you, they’re all nuts. They’re always playing little dramatic tricks on each other. Let’s hope they stick to roses.”
“It must have meant something to Johnny.”
“Probably it did,” said Miss Chivers. “Possibly it reminded him of something nice and sentimental. Don’t worry about it, leave that to him. Things like that happened every half-hour in the old days. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must get on. How does one address a bishop in a telegram?”
“You blow the extra pence,” said Mr. Campion, “otherwise it goes to the Borough Council.”
He waved her good-bye and went from the room and down the staircase, intending to let himself out. Since no one else appeared anxious to wait for the police he saw no earthly reason why he should. He was crossing the hall when a door on his right opened suddenly, and Susan Shering, looking prettier and if possible younger, peered out at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it might be my father. Has he gone?”
Mr. Campion paused. “I’m afraid he has,” he said. “He went out with Johnny about fifteen minutes ago. They were going to lunch, I think.”
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