‘Are you sure of that?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ said Claudia, dropping the ear-ring on the floor and groping to pick it up.
‘You told me you had known him since 1917.’
‘Harry Lingfield? Yes.’
‘What happened in 1929, child?’
‘Yes,’ said Claudia, going to the mirror and replacing the ear-ring with great care but trembling fingers.
‘What do you mean—yes?’
‘We had a child.’
‘Ah!’
‘It died. Harry said I poisoned it.’
‘Did you?’
‘No.’
‘What name was it buried under?’
‘My married name is Vesper.’
‘Where was it buried?’
‘In Paris. We—it was born there, you see.’
‘Did he really believe you had poisoned it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I thought he had.’
‘Did you? Why?’
‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know what I had to go on. I felt quite certain at the time. I’ve been afraid of him ever since. I shan’t tell the inspector all this. I needn’t, need I?’
‘It depends how the conversation goes, child. You left Whiteledge fairly late at night….’
‘At half-past twelve.’
‘Went to the rendezvous in your own car….’
‘Yes, I hadn’t put it back in the garage. I got Sim to leave it in the woods. I told him my sister was very ill and that I was expecting a telephone call, and would not want to rouse the house with the sound of my car if I were suddenly called away.’
‘Yes, yes, I see. Was Sim surprised?’
‘He didn’t show it. Lady Catherine’s servants never do. He offered to drive me, but I said it wasn’t necessary.’
‘Where were you to meet Mr Lingfield?’
‘At the station.’
‘And what happened?’
‘He wasn’t there.’
‘You were surprised at that?’
‘Oh, no. I thought he had changed his mind. I was furiously angry, but not surprised in the least.’
‘Isn’t there anything else you’d like to tell me?’
‘No—no, there isn’t!’ said Claudia pleadingly. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you all this. I don’t know why I did. You won’t tell the inspector, will you? He’s such a—such an unsympathetic man.’
‘I’ll say nothing which will implicate you. I promise you that.’
‘There’s one thing you haven’t asked me,’ said Claudia, with a sudden cat-like smile.
‘I know,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But I know the answer to that. You did not attempt to put your car away. There is, however, one more question I would like to put, if I may.’
She grinned at Claudia’s terrified expression.
‘What else?—I don’t see what else you can possibly ask me if you don’t ask me….’
‘Whether the dead man, if he is not Mr Lingfield, is known to you?’ Mrs Bradley enquired. ‘Well, I can guess the answer, and will not press you. No, it is simply this: what was the real relationship between Mr Lingfield and yourself? … Don’t tell me if you would rather not, but I am a psychiatrist, as you know, and am accustomed to the recital of dark secrets.’
Claudia laughed in so relieved a fashion that Mrs Bradley looked at her in surprise as she answered lightly:
‘Oh, I’ve no objection in the least to telling you all about that. We were, in spite of all our quarrels and my fears, always completely in love.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I am glad you are honest about that. And at the present moment?’
‘If he came into this room at this moment I think I should die,’ said Claudia with tragic emphasis.
‘But you say you don’t believe he is dead?’
Claudia glanced at her in the fearful fascination of sheer terror.
‘You mustn’t ask me that!’ she said huskily.
‘Right,’ said Mrs Bradley briskly. ‘Then I shall telephone the inspector—’
‘No! You can’t do that!’
‘—and tell him that I will be responsible for your appearing at the inquest, and that he must save all his questions until after it is over, because you’re in no state to answer them now. It’s perfectly true. You’re not. Now let’s invite those two children out to lunch. It will do you good to have to pass policemen without blenching.’
Chapter Ten
‘Now let us sport us while we may …
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.’
ANDREW MARVELL, To His Coy Mistress
‘YOU WON’T FORGET your promise?’ said Roger.
‘No, I won’t forget. I’d love to see you play. What are the Seven-a-Sides? I’ve never been.’
‘Oh, what it says, actually. I mean, seven of us play instead of the usual fifteen; the pitch is the same, more or less—well, actually rather less—and the time is shorter, that’s all. It’s all run on the knock-out system. We’ve drawn a pretty hot lot for the first round, so I rather doubt whether we’ll survive.’
‘Oh, you’re sure to. I’m looking forward to it, awfully.’
‘Wish I could say the same. Actually, I’ve got cold feet. I’m playing wing three-quarter, and I don’t think I’m fast enough, really. Still, we’ve got a good man in the centre. I shall just have to sell the dummy if I can’t get rid of the pill, and hope for the best.’
‘And we get off at Richmond Station?’
‘Well, I think you’d better. Then you only have to push on to that bus that I told you of, and you’re practically on the spot. You can see the ground from the corner. Anyway, old Bob knows it, so he’ll see that you don’t get lost. I’m glad his ankle’s all right.’
Roger had returned to his lodgings. His landlady, he discovered, far from being upset by the unexpected appearance of Claudia Denbies in that haven of refuge and abode of peace, had been greatly flattered by the invasion because she had heard Claudia play ‘over the wireless.’
‘She could have stayed and welcome, Mr Hoskyn. There’s always the spare room, isn’t there?’ she said in hopeful tones.
Roger, who had several times tried in vain to book the spare room at week-ends for hearty and noisy male friends, could do nothing but gawp at her, speechless. He would never understand women, he decided. He had met Dorothy twice since Easter Saturday, once with Bob and once (at lunch in town) by herself. She had been very charming to him, but Roger was sensitive enough to realize that he was being kept at arm’s length, and honest enough to believe that he deserved it.
He was due to return to his post on the Wednesday following the Seven-a-Side Finals on Saturday, but had contrived to push this knowledge to the back of his mind. He did not want to think about that Wednesday because to do so involved thinking about the inquest on the previous day. He was to be called as a witness, and intensely disliked the idea.
Saturday came, however, with the threat of Tuesday to follow, and Roger went down to Twickenham to play in the sevens. In his Rugger shorts and close-fitting blue and white hooped jersey he looked taller and thinner than usual. He trotted modestly on to the field and then proceeded, in a manner that Dorothy found thrilling and surprising, to prove himself the fastest and most enterprising player in the game.
Until almost half-time he had no opportunity to score, but five minutes before the whistle sounded the ball flew loose from a pulled kick and he fled to it, took it in its flight, steadied himself, and kicked for touch. After the line-out he gathered a difficult pass and tore all out for the line.
It was a breath-taking, magnificent run. He concluded it by selling the dummy to the opposing back, and then, running round in almost a complete quarter-circle, he planted th
e ball between the posts.
There was a hush, as of death, whilst the full back came up to take the kick. The crowd watched the almost unpredictable flight of the ball. It soared, and then seemed to be dropping slightly short; then it suddenly flew at the cross-bar and fell over it like a high-jumper clearing six feet two or three.
The game improved about half-time, and the opposition had somewhat, but not much, the better of it. They scored a try rather far out which they did not convert, and then another chance came to Roger. He gathered a pass which was meant for one of the opposing forwards and galloped towards the goal-line with the ball held awkwardly. He saw the full back, a good deal more wary this time, cantering across to obstruct him, ducked under an outstretched arm, swerved, ran in, and then, to circumvent the full back, almost doubled on his tracks before going full-out for the line. A welter of the opposition fell on him, but he got the try, far out on the left of the goal posts. He got up, dizzy with the weight of three men who had flung themselves on him just as he went over the line, and then, as he got to his feet, he tripped and fell. He was aware of a sharp, thin pain which seared his right ankle like a hot iron run through the bone. He fell forward, and, at the moment he touched the ground, somebody kicked the back of his head, and he was down and out as the whistle went for time.
He came to in the dressing-room to find the captain of his seven sitting anxiously beside him.
‘Oh, Lord!’ said Roger. He put a hand to his head.
‘I wouldn’t touch it,’ said the captain. ‘You take it easy, old man.’
‘When’s the next round? I suppose we won?’
‘We won all right, but there’s no next round for you. We’ll have to play Bates, and hope for the best, that’s all. I shall shove him in with the forwards, and bring Ralledge out of the pack to outside three-quarter, and leave Serry there in the centre. It may work out all right.’
‘When’s the next round? Don’t be foxy.’ Roger sat up, winced at the pain in his head, put his feet to the ground, and then remembered his ankle. Cautiously he stood up. His head swam and he felt sick. ‘I want some fresh air,’ he said, ‘whether I play or not. My ankle’s all right. That’s what really worried me. I thought it might be broken. I suppose I just gave it a twist.’
At this point one of their late opponents came in.
‘Hey, you!’ he said, noting Roger. ‘What’s the idea?’
‘Air,’ said Roger, clinging to the captain’s shoulder. ‘Nice, clean, rain-washed air.’
‘What happened, exactly? It wasn’t our fellows, was it?’ asked the enemy. ‘Lean on me as well, old man. This is foul luck, after those two tries.’
‘Some damn fool of a spectator,’ said the captain, ‘sitting just inside the wooden barrier. Grabbed up the ball, took a drop kick, missed the ball, and landed on Hoskyn.’
‘I thought I picked up the ball myself,’ said Roger. ‘But I hardly remember what happened. After I got the try two or three of them got up off me, and that was all right, but then I felt my ankle go, and as I went down someone kicked me. Did we win, does anybody know?’
‘I’ve told you once that we did. You know, you ought not to be walking about. You’re concussed.’
‘I should think the fellow who kicked you got pretty well lynched by the crowd at that end of the ground,’ said the enemy. ‘One thing, you needn’t worry. You’ve got a sitter next round.’
‘Who?’ Roger looked at his captain.
‘An Old Boys’ team from somewhere off the map. We ought to eat ’em, so don’t you worry. Anyway, I shan’t play you. I refuse to have an inquest on my hands.’
‘Oh, Lord!’ said Roger with a groan. The other two looked at him anxiously. ‘How’s the time?’ he added.
‘Oh, we’ve got tons of time, I’m glad to say. There are four more first rounds to be worked off yet before we play our second,’ replied the captain.
‘Let’s go and see how they shape.’
‘I should think you’d better take it easy.’
‘Oh, no. I’d rather get some air. Come on. Support the weak.’
He walked on gingerly, supported by his two stalwarts, until they were encountered by another player who was just coming into the dressing-room.
‘Bad luck, Hoskyn,’ said this man. ‘I say, I don’t want to sound hysterical, but it looked to me as though that kick at your head was done a-purpose. Who have you been annoying of? Why should you get yourself disliked? Caggers and I made a bee-line for the fellow, but the crowd was a bit annoyed, too, and he was off before we could get near him.’
I don’t see why anyone should lay for me,’ said Roger. ‘I haven’t a quarrel with anyone, so far as I know. But it felt like a boot all right. I can tell you that. My skull feels horrid like jelly.’
‘Well, I’d like to have got the bloke by the neck,’ said the captain. ‘I’d have screwed it round for him, and that I do know.’
As soon as they came out by the side of the grandstand Dorothy came up and stood before them.
‘How is it?’ she asked. Roger grinned. Two players got up from a bench, the captain and the opponent melted away, and Roger and Dorothy sat down. ‘I suppose you won’t play any more?’
‘Oh, I think I shall be all right,’ he responded, putting a hand to the bandage. ‘And the ankle’s fine, so long as I don’t get a kick on it.’
‘Roger,’ said Dorothy, after a pause, ‘you don’t know a square, dark man with an astrakan coat-collar and a long, rather ragged moustache?’
‘Sounds like a moneylender. If it is, I’m not guilty. Don’t owe a sou to a soul.’
‘I’m serious. He’s the man who kicked you on the head.’
‘Oh, well, these things happen.’
‘Yes, but he did it deliberately, and as soon as he’d done it, and people began to surge round, he dived through the crowd and went off. We left our seats and ran round to the gate, but couldn’t see any sign of him. Bob would have killed him, I think, if we could have caught him.’
‘Bob’s always been an admirer of my beauty. No, honestly, I’m glad you didn’t find him. I know Bob in moods like that. But it couldn’t have been deliberate. No one would kick a bloke’s head in because he happened—more by luck than by judgment—to score a try. And if it wasn’t for scoring a fairly fluky try …’
‘It was a very good try. You needn’t be modest about it.’
‘I’m not. That remark was conceit.’
‘I thought it might be. Well, next time, you see that somebody else scores the try if he’s going to get his head kicked in for it.’
Roger laughed. Then he said soberly:
‘Tell you what, though. Ever since Mrs Denbies’ recital I’ve had an idea that someone has followed me about. Furthermore, I’ve a hunch I know who.’
‘How horrid. Who is it? Anybody I know?’
‘Sim, that chauffeur. Remember?’
‘Whatever makes you think that?’
‘Well, he keeps popping up. I found him near me in a pub one night in Guildford.’
‘Guildford isn’t so very many miles from Whiteledge.’
‘Then at the Dogs …’
‘Everybody goes to the Dogs.’
‘Again in Regent Street.’
‘Regent Street?’
‘Yes. By the way …’ He felt in his pockets. ‘Oh, damn! Of course, I’m in shorts. I’ve got something to show you. Remind me.’
‘Of course I shall. What?—Another poem?’
‘No,’ said Roger, blushing. ‘And you shut up!’
‘I’d better get back to Bob and Mrs Bradley.’
‘Good heavens! Is Mrs Bradley here?’
‘Oh, yes. I think she’s taken rather a fancy to Bob. They discuss the murder——’
‘And the inquest, I suppose. Have you fully realized that you and I may have to make a public appearance?’
‘You will. I shan’t. Do you think they suspect Mrs Denbies? The inspector and the sergeant, I mean.’
‘Wel
l, of course they suspect her! As far as is known, she was the last person to see the fellow Lingfield alive.’
‘Yes, as far as is known. I’ll never believe she had anything to do with it, though. She couldn’t have! She isn’t that kind of person.’
I agree, but why our certainty? Red-haired people are notorious for preferring to hand out the swift slosh rather than the word of admonition and remonstrance.’
‘Yes, but—his head!’
‘She was out on the night it was done—and in her car. She admits that to everybody now.’
Yes, but the car that was found abandoned and wrecked wasn’t hers.’
‘That was the only thing that saved her, I believe, from being arrested after the first inquest.’
‘Oh, well, that inquest was only formal, wasn’t it? I wonder whether she’ll stick to her story that the dead person wasn’t Mr Lingfield? Rather silly, I thought, to have said that at all.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. If she killed him, you see, it would work out best for her if she could throw doubt on the idea that he was dead. It was rather intelligent really.’
‘I don’t agree at all. And even if that’s true, it would only have been intelligent if she really had killed him, and I thought we were agreed that she didn’t do it. You don’t think she did it, do you?’
‘No, of course I don’t think she did it…. Only, you see, there’s no alibi, and … well … she did admit they quarrelled.’
‘A fine friend you are! I hope I never get mixed up in murder or crime!’
‘Murder or crime?’
‘Yes. They are not the same thing; not always, anyhow.’
‘It depends on the motive, doesn’t it?’
‘I thought it went badly against Mrs Denbies that Mr Lingfield appears to have left her a good deal of property.’
‘Oh, did he? I didn’t know that. Any money?’
‘I understand there wasn’t much money. Hadn’t he drawn most of it out?’
‘I don’t know, I tell you. How do you come to be so well-informed about all this?’
‘I don’t know. We were in Mrs Bradley’s drawing-room feeling rather aimless, and she came out with one or two things.’
‘The devil and all she did!’ said Roger, staring. ‘And when are the rest of us going to hear any news?’
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