“What a pity,” continued Kathryn, still with her eye on the ceiling, “what a pity Colin hasn’t got the use of his legs. But I hear he’s a rare hand with a shotgun. And, since his bedroom windows face the main road –”
She paused, significantly musing, as Kirstie MacTavish flung open the door.
“Colin Campbell wants tae see you,” she announced in her soft, sweet voice.
Swan changed color.
“He wants to see who?”
“He wants tae see all o’ you.”
“But he isn’t allowed visitors, is he?” cried Kathryn.
“I dinna ken. He’s drinkin’ whusky in bed, annahoo.”
“Well, Mr Swan,” said Kathryn, folding her arms, “after giving us a solemn promise, which you promptly broke and intended to break; after accepting hospitality here under false pretenses; after being handed on a plate probably the only good story you ever got in your life; and hoping to get some more – have you the courage to go up and face Colin now?”
“But you’ve got to look at my side of it, Miss Campbell!”
“Oh?”
“Colin Campbell’ll understand! He’s a good egg! He . . .” As an idea evidently occurred to him, Swan turned to the maid. “Look. He’s not pickled, is he?”
“Wha’?”
“Pickled. Soused,” said Swan apprehensively, “cockeyed. Plastered. Full.”
Kirstie was enlightened. She assured him that Colin was not full. Though the effectiveness of this assurance was somewhat modified by Kirstie’s experienced belief that no man is full until he can fall down two successive flights of stairs without injury, Swan did not know this and it served its purpose.
“I’ll put it up to him,” Swan argued with great earnestness. “And in the meantime I’ll put it up to both of you. I come up here; and what happens to me?”
“Not a patch,” said Kathryn, “on what’s going to happen. But go on.”
Swan did not hear her.
“I get chased along a road,” he continued, “and get a serious injury that might have given me blood-poisoning. All right. I come round the next day, in a brand-new suit that cost ten guineas at Austin Reed’s, and that mad woman empties two buckets of water over me. Not one bucket, mind you. Two.”
“Alan Campbell,” said Kathryn fiercely, “do you find anything so very funny in this?”
Alan could not help himself. He was leaning back and roaring.
“Alan Campbell!”
“I can’t help it,” protested Alan, wiping the tears out of his eyes. “It just occurs to me that you’ll have to marry me after all.”
“Can I announce that?” asked Swan instantly.
“Alan Campbell, what on earth do you mean? I’ll do no such thing! The idea!”
“You can’t help yourself, my wench. It’s the only solution to our difficulties. I have not yet read the Daily Floodlight, but I have my suspicions as to the nature of the hints that will have appeared there.”
Swan seized on this.
“I knew you wouldn’t be sore,” he said, his face lighting up. “There’s nothing anybody could object to, I swear! I never said a word about your always going to bawdy-houses. That’s really libelous anyway –”
“What this,” inquired Kathryn, breaking off with some quickness, “about you going to bawdy houses?”
“I’m sorry I said that,” interposed Swan, with equal quickness. “I wouldn’t have said it for the world in front of you, Miss Campbell, only it slipped out. It probably isn’t true anyway, so just forget it. All I wanted to say was that I’ve got to play the game straight both with you and the public.”
“Are ye comin’?” asked Kirstie, still waiting patiently in the doorway.
Swan straightened his tie.
“Yes, we are. And I know Colin Campbell, who’s as good an egg as ever walked, will understand my position.”
“I hope he does,” breathed Kathryn. “Oh, good heavens, I hope he does! You did say he’d got some whisky up there, didn’t you, Kirstie?”
It was, in a sense, unnecessary to answer this question. As the three of them followed Kirstie up the stairs, and along the hall to the back of the house, it was answered by Colin himself. The doors at Shira were good thick doors, and very little in the nature of noise could penetrate far through them. The voice they heard, therefore, was not very loud. But it carried distinctly to the head of the stairs.
“I love a lassie, a boh-ny, boh-ny lassie;
She’s as puir as the li-ly in the dell!
She’s as sweet as the heather, the boh-ny pur-ple heath-er –”
The singing stopped abruptly as Kirstie opened the door. In a spacious back bedroom with oak furniture, Colin Campbell lay on what should have been, and undoubtedly was, a bed of pain. But you would never have guessed this from the demeanor of the tough old sinner.
His body was bandaged from the waist down, one leg supported a little above the level of the bed by a portable iron framework and supports. But his back was hunched into pillows in such a way that he could just raise his head.
Though his hair, beard, and mustache had been trimmed, he managed to look shaggier than ever. Out of this, fiercely affable eyes peered from a flushed face. The airless room smelled like a distillery.
Colin had insisted, as an invalid, on having plenty of light, and the chandelier glowed with bulbs. They illuminated his truculent grin, his gaudy pajama tops, and the untidy litter of articles on the bedside table. His bed was drawn up by one blacked-out window.
“Come in!” he shouted. “Come in, and keep the old crock company. Filthy position to be in. Kirstie, go and fetch three more glasses and another decanter. You! The rest of you! Pull up your chairs. Here, where I can see you. I’ve got nothing to do but this.”
He was dividing his attention between the decanter, somewhat depleted, and a very light 20-bore shotgun, which he was attempting to clean and oil.
18
“Kitty-kat my dear, it’s a pleasure to see your face,” he continued, holding up the gun so that he could look at her through one of the barrels. “What have you been up to now? I say. Would you like to point out something to me, so that I could have a shot at it?”
Swan took one look at him, turned round, and made a beeline for the door.
Kathryn instantly turned the key in the lock, and held tightly to it as she backed away.
“Indeed I would, Uncle Colin,” said Kathryn sweetly.
“That’s my Kitty-kat. And how are you, Alan? And you, Horace Greeley: how are you? I’m filthy, I don’t mind telling you. Swaddled up like a blooming Chinese woman, though they’ve got more of me than just my feet. God’s wounds! If they’d only give me a chair, I could at least move about.”
He reflected.
Snapping shut the breech of the shotgun, he lowered it to stand against the side of the bed.
“I’m happy,” he added abruptly. “Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am. You’ve heard, haven’t you, about what happened to me? Artificial ice. Same as Angus. It was murder, after all. It’s a pity about poor old Alec Forbes, though. I never did dislike the fellow. Stop a bit. Where’s Fell? Why isn’t Fell here? What have you done with Fell?”
Kathryn was grimly determined.
“He’s out with the Home Guard, Uncle Colin. Listen. There’s something we’ve got to tell you. This wretch of a reporter, after promising –”
“What the devil does he want to go joining the Home Guard for, at his age and weight? They may not pot him for a parachutist; but if they see him against the skyline they’ll ruddy well pot him for a parachute. It’s crazy. It’s worse than that: it’s downright dangerous.”
“Uncle Colin, will you listen to me, please?”
“Yes, my dear, of course. Joining the Home Guard! Never heard such nonsense in my life!”
“This reporter –”
“He didn’t say anything about it when he was in here awhile ago. All he wanted to do was ask a lot of questions about poor old Rabbie; a
nd what we’d all been saying up in the tower room on Monday. Besides, how could he get into the Home Guard in Scotland? Are you pulling my leg?”
Kathryn’s expression was by this time so desperate that even Colin noticed it. He broke off, peering shaggily at her.
“Nothing wrong, is there, Kitty-kat?”
“Yes, there is. That is, if you’d just listen to me for a moment! Do you remember that Mr Swan promised not to say a word about anything that happened here, if we let him get what stories he wanted?”
Colin’s eyebrows drew together.
“God’s wounds! You didn’t print in that rag of yours that we stuck you in the seat of the pants with a claymore?”
“No, so help me I didn’t!” returned Swan, instantly and with patent truth. “I didn’t say a word about it. I’ve got the paper, and I can prove it.”
“Then what’s biting you, Kitty-kat?”
“He’s said, or intimated, dreadful things about Alan and me. I don’t know exactly what; and Alan doesn’t even seem to care; but it’s something about Alan and me being immoral together –”
Colin stared at her. Then he leaned back and bellowed with laughter. The mirth brought tears into his eyes.
“Well, aren’t you?”
“No! Just because of a dreadful accident, just because we had to spend the night in the same compartment on the train from London –”
“You didn’t have to spend the night in the same room here on Monday,” Colin pointed out. “But you ruddy well did. Eh?”
“They spent the night in the same room here?” Swan demanded quickly.
“Of course they did,” roared Colin. “Come on, Kitty-kat! Be a man! I mean, be a woman! Admit it! Have the courage of your convictions. What were you doing, then, if you weren’t improving your time? Nonsense!”
“You see, Miss Campbell,” pleaded Swan, “I had to get the sex-angle into the story somehow, and that was the only way to do it. He understands. Your boy-friend understands. There’s nothing at all to worry about, not the least little thing.”
Kathryn looked from one to the other of them. An expression of hopeless despair went over her pink face. Tears came into her eyes, and she sat down in a chair and put her face in her hands.
“Here! Easy!” said Alan. “I’ve just been pointing out to her, Colin, that her reputation is hopelessly compromised unless she marries me now. I asked her to marry me –”
“You never did.”
“Well, I do so now, in front of witnesses. Miss Campbell: will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Kathryn raised a tearstained face of exasperation.
“Of course I will, you idiot!” she stormed at him. “But why couldn’t you do it decently, as I’ve given you a hundred opportunities to, instead of blackmailing me into it? Or saying I blackmailed you into it?”
Colin’s eyes opened wide.
“Do you mean,” he bellowed delightedly, “there’s going to be a wedding?”
“Can I print that?”
“Yes to both questions,” replied Alan.
“My dear Kitty-kat! My dear fellow! By George!” said Colin, rubbing his hands. “This calls for such a celebration as these walls haven’t seen since the night Elspat’s virtue fell in 1900. Where’s Kirstie with that decanter? God’s wounds! I wonder if there are any bagpipes in the house? I haven’t tried ‘em for years, but what I could do once would warm the cockles of your heart.”
“You’re not mad at me?” asked Swan anxiously.
“At you? Great Scott, no! Why should I be? Come over here, old chap, and sit down!”
“Then what,” persisted Swan, “did you want that toy shotgun for?”
“‘Toy’ shotgun, is it? ‘Toy’ shotgun?” Colin snatched up the 20-bore. “Do you know it takes a devil of a lot more skill and accuracy to use this than it does a 12-bore? Don’t believe that, eh? Like me to show you?”
“No, no, no. I’ll take your word for it!”
“That’s better. Come and have a drink. No, we haven’t got any glasses. Where’s Kirstie? And Elspat! We’ve got to have Elspat here. Elspat!”
Kathryn was compelled to unlock the door. Swan, with an expiring sigh of relief, sat down and stretched his legs like one completely at home. He sprang up again with deep suspicion when Elspat appeared.
Elspat, however, ignored him with such icy pointedness that he backed away. Elspat gave them each in turn, except Swan, an unfathomable glance. Her eyelids were puffed and reddish, and her mouth was a straight line. Alan tried to see in her some resemblance to the handsome woman of the old photograph; but it was gone, all gone.
“Look here, old girl,” said Colin. He stretched out his hand to her. “I’ve got great news. Glorious news. These two” – he pointed –” are going to get married.”
Elspat did not say anything. Her eyes rested on Alan, studying him. Then they moved to Kathryn, studying her for a long time. She went over to Kathryn, and quickly kissed her on the cheek. Two tears, amazing tears, overflowed Elspat’s eyes.
“Here, I say!” Colin stirred uncomfortably. Then he glared. “It’s the same old family custom,” he complained in a querulous voice. “Always turn on the waterworks when there’s going to be a wedding. This is a happy occasion, hang it! Stop that!”
Elspat still remained motionless. Her face worked.
“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to throw something,” yelled Colin. “Can’t you say, ‘Congratulations,’ or anything like that? Have we got any pipes in the house, by the way?”
“Ye’ll hae no godless merriment here, Colin Campbell,” snapped Elspat, choking out the words despite her working face. She fought back by instinct, while Alan’s discomfort increased.
“Aye, I’ll gie ye ma blessin’,” she said, looking first at Kathryn and then at Alan. “If the blessin’ of an auld snaggletooth body’s worth a groat tae ye.”
“Well, then,” said Colin sulkily, “we can at least have the whisky. You’ll drink their health, I hope?”
“Aye. I caud du wi’ that tonight. The de’il’s walkin’ on ma grave.” She shivered.
“I never saw such a lot of killjoys in all my born days,” grumbled Colin. But he brightened as Kirstie brought in the glasses and a decanter.
“One more glass, my wench. Stop a bit. Maybe we’d better have a third decanter, eh?”
“Just a moment!” said Alan. He looked round at them and, in some uneasiness, at the shotgun. “You’re not proposing another binge tonight, are you?”
“Binge! Nonsense!” said Colin, pouring himself a short one evidently to give him strength to pour for the others, and gulping it down. “Who said anything about a binge? We’re drinking health and happiness to the bride, that’s all. You can’t object to that, can you?”
“I can’t,” smiled Kathryn.
“Nor me,” observed Swan. “I feel grand!” Swan added. “I forgive everybody. I even forgive madam,” – he hesitated, for he was clearly frightened of Elspat – “for ruining a suit that cost me ten guineas.”
Colin spoke persuasively.
“See here, Elspat. I’m sorry about Angus. But there it is. And it’s turned out for the best. If he had to die, I don’t mind admitting it’s got me out of a bad financial hole.
“Do you know what I’m going to do? No more doctoring in Manchester, for the moment. I’m going to get a ketch and go for a cruise in the South Seas. And you, Elspat. You can get a dozen big pictures painted of Angus, and look at ‘em all day. Or you can go to London and see the jitterbugs. You’re safe, old girl.”
Elspat’s face was white.
“Aye,” she blazed at him. “And d’ye ken why we’re safe?”
“Steady!” cried Alan.
Even in his mist of good will and exhilaration, he knew what was coming. Kathryn knew too. They both made a move toward Elspat, but she paid no attention.
“I’ll have ma conscience nae mair damned wi’ lees. D’ye ken why we’re safe?”
She whirl
ed round to Swan. Addressing him for the first time, she announced calmly that Angus had killed himself; she poured out the entire story, with her reasons for believing it. And every word of it was true.
“Now that’s very interesting, ma’am,” said Swan, who had taken one glass of whisky and was holding out his tumbler for a second. He appeared flattered by her attention. “Then you’re not mad at me any longer either?”
Elspat stared at him.
“Mad at ye? Hoots! D’ye hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am,” Swan replied soothingly. “And of course I understand how this thing has upset you –”
“Mon, dinna ye believe me?”
Swan threw back his head and laughed.
“I hate to contradict a lady, ma’am. But if you’ll just have a word with the police, or with Dr Fell, or with these people here, you’ll see that either somebody has been kidding you or you’ve been kidding yourself. I ought to know, oughtn’t I? Hasn’t anybody told you that Alec Forbes killed himself, and left a note admitting he killed Mr Campbell?”
Elspat drew in her breath. Her face wrinkled up. She turned and looked at Colin, who nodded.
“It’s true, Elspat. Come abreast of the times! Where have you been all day?”
It stabbed Alan to the heart to see her. She groped over to a chair and sat down. A human being, a sentient, living, hurt human being, emerged from behind the angry clay in which Elspat set her face to the world.
“Ye’re no’ deceivin’ me?” she insisted. “Ye swear to the Guid Man – !”
Then she began to swing back and forth in the rocking chair. She began to laugh, showing that she had fine teeth; and it kindled and illumined her face. Her whole being seemed to breathe a prayer.
Angus had not died in the sin of suicide. He had not gone to the bad place. And Elspat, this Elspat whose real surname nobody knew, rocked back and forth and laughed and was happy.
Colin Campbell, serenely missing all this, was still acting as barman.
“You understand,” he beamed, “neither Fell nor I ever for a minute thought it was suicide. Still, it’s just as well to get the whole thing tidied up. I never for a second thought you didn’t know, or I’d have crawled off this bed to tell you. Now be a good sport. I know this is still officially a house of mourning. But, under the circumstances, what about getting me those pipes?”
The Case of the Constant Suicides Page 16