Three Inquisitive People

by Dennis Wheatley

  It had been a silent and unhappy drive. Rex’s stay in England was nearly over, orders had come from the big chief, his father, on the other side, and he was sailing for the States in the coming week.

  Rex knew what was in Felicity’s mind well enough, but he was stubborn about it, endeavouring to evade the issue, and he would not give her a lead.

  Felicity, dreading the possible blow to her pride, did not wish to open the subject herself, and had been hoping for days that he would do so of his own accord. It had, in fact, been with that particular object in view that she had, with some difficulty, lured him away from his office to come upon this drive. But by the time they had passed through Goldaming, she had decided that he was determined not to help her, and that if she wished to discuss the matter she must broach it herself.

  All the way up the long hill she was keying herself up, and at last, just as they passed the Sailor’s Stone, she said it.

  “Rex why won’t you marry me?”

  Rex shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Here it was at last—just what he’d been expecting, ever since he’d broken the news about going home. “I never said I wouldn’t,” he parried clumsily.

  “Isn’t that rather cowardly?” said Felicity. “If you’d wanted to, you’d have asked me weeks ago.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m just terribly fond of you honey, but I don’t want to marry.”

  “Why not Rex? You love me, don’t you? I believe you do, but don’t lie to me, tell me the truth. Do you love me, or are you tired?”

  “I love you, sweet. Honest I do, and I’m just hating the thought of how I’ll miss you when I get back home.”

  “Then why not, Rex? I know it sounds terribly old-fashioned and all that, but one must settle some time. Surely you have had enough gadding about, or is it the awful truth that I have made myself too cheap?”

  “No, darling, no,” he protested quickly. “Don’t say that. It’s horrid and it’s not true. But be honest, Felicity; there wasn’t any question of marriage when it all started months ago, was there? We met, and well—we liked each other terribly—I reckon we just did what most people in our set do, that’s all.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Felicity said softly. She was driving very slowly down the Liphook road. “I’m not complaining, darling, but hasn’t our friendship grown into something more than just one more affair?”

  Rex squirmed. “Oh, sure, darling! You know it has. It’s been different, different altogether, but all the same we’d be fools to marry. All marriage is a mess these days, you’ve only got to look around.”

  “Not all, Rex. There are people who pull it off. Why not let’s try? After all, we’ve got everything in our favour; all our friends would be delighted. Mother would simply faint with joy at my netting an American millionaire’s son, and I hardly imagine your people would be exactly sniffy at having a Duke’s grand-daughter in the family. We could afford to do up Glanely and live there for the hunting, and have a little house in London; you could run the English business for your father; or, if need be, I wouldn’t mind living in the States.”

  “That’s just the rub, sweet. It’s too darned easy. We’d have nothing to fight, too much money, and too much time; that’s how all our kind go on the rocks. If you do find a happy break in marriage, you may bet it’s because the people are hard up, and with lots of worries; then they’ve just got to stick together. We’d be like all the rest, divorced in a couple of years.”

  “I don’t believe it, Rex. That’s only because people are weak and don’t know what they want. We could go straight if we meant to from the start; it’s having one’s eyes open that matters, and when it comes to marriage, that’s the only kind I’d ever try. I could go straight with you, my dear, that’s why I’m being such a bore.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Rex hung his head unhappily, “why will you hurt yourself and me? I know you mean it now, and I feel that way myself. But I’m older than you, and I’ve seen such a packet of it. If we got married we’d be just asking for trouble.”

  Felicity felt that he was weakening, and decided to play her last card.

  “Rex,” she said softly.

  “Yes, sweet?”

  “Guess what I’ve got in my bag?”

  “How’d I know, honey?”

  “I’ve got a seven-day licence that I took out last week, and a hundred pounds; we could use that licence tomorrow and go a long way on the hundred pounds. Let’s go off into the blue, darling. Just leave everything and love each other. I promise you, Rex, I promise you whatever happens afterwards, I won’t complain.”

  Rex was sorely tempted—after all, why not? Get married tomorrow and cut out all the fuss, just a couple of telegrams, “Married this morning, off for long honeymoon, love to all, Rex and Felicity.” Ship the little car over to France. He could easily get passports and more money in a day or two. Then he’d be with Felicity always, for weeks on end, seeing all sorts of mysterious places together up and down Europe. No nonsense about her having to go home each night. What fun! What gorgeous fun…. But then Rex had been spoilt by women ever since he was a likely lad. He’d been fond of so many and adored by them. Not quite as fond as he was of Felicity, perhaps, but nearly, and always, always, there had come the little casualnesses, the tiny irritations, the tension, and then at last the staleness and the rotten going on together; waiting, seeking, generally on both sides, for a decent excuse to break. Felicity was very young, she would get over him sure enough, as he would her; she’d be bitter for a bit perhaps, and as far as that went, he wouldn’t feel like making love to anyone for a long time to come. He’d miss her terribly; but all his reason and experience told him that the wisest thing to do was to break.

  “Can’t be done, sweet,” he said solemnly at last. And then with a sudden foolish impulse to save her pride whatever it might cost him in her estimation, he added: “Not that I don’t want to, but I’ve got a wife in the States, though even the Old Man doesn’t know.”

  Felicity sat back from her wheel as though she had been stung. “What!” she gasped, and turning her small fair head, her eyes blazed at him; then she looked back quickly to her wheel and, swerving the car, just managed to avoid the ditch.

  “Steady,” said Rex.

  She laughed, jamming her small foot upon the accelerator; the car leapt forward. “Oh, I didn’t ask for marriage,” she cried scornfully, “not till today, but at least I expected truth. You utter beast, how could you? I shall never, never be clean again!”

  “Felicity!” he pleaded. “Felicity!”

  The car sped on. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she stormed. “If you had had an unhappy marriage, do you think I should have cared—if you had told me—but to live a lie…. Oh, how ashamed I am to think that I should have cared for anything like you.”

  They flew round the corner at terrific speed. Rex tried to seize the wheel. “Felicity!” he cried. “You’ll crash us, sure!”

  “I see!”—she flung at him—“It only needed that—you’re just a funk as well!”

  Rex was not a coward, he was as brave as most men and had, on occasion, performed certain definite feats of personal courage, but the sneer stung him badly, as it was meant to do. He shrugged his big shoulders and for one second took his hand off the wheel. At that moment they were going downhill with a left-hand bend ahead, and his reaction to the taunt proved fatal. Felicity, with set teeth and dead white face, seized the opportunity to switch the wheel the other way, with head thrown back and a gasping laugh, she charged the bank at fifty miles an hour.

  3

  It was the Duke who saw them first. He had turned to the window in an endeavour to avoid Miss Eaton’s panic-stricken eyes. He had felt certain for many months that she had a hand in the murder, and his interest in psychology had tempted him into this visit. He wanted to see just how well a woman who had committed a murder without being found out stood the test of success, and thinking that it would interest Aron, he had brought him
too. But the Duke was no moralist, and now he was ashamed and unhappy at having shattered this poor lady’s quiet and peaceful life.

  “Dear me!” he exclaimed. “What’s this?”

  The others turned to see a great dark hulk of a man, his face smeared with blood, stooping and staggering across the lawn. In his arms he carried something slim and white. At the second glance it could be seen that a pair of long silk-stockinged legs swung aimlessly on one side of him, and on the other wobbled slackly a fair, girlish head.

  With a common movement the group within the cottage made for the garden door. The man lurched nearer, and as Simon ran forward he saw a great crimson splash upon the body of the girl. At every step the man took splashes of crimson fell from his hands upon the sunlit lawn.

  With a final lurch he came to a halt before the porch, shaking his head dumbly as Simon proffered his arms to relieve him of his burden.

  “We crashed,” he said simply, in a weak, husky voice.

  “Rex!” exclaimed the Duke and Simon almost simultaneously, but De Richleau lost no time. He seized Miss Eaton by the arm, every sign of his recent distress had passed completely from him.

  “A bed, woman!” he said. “Quick—which way?”

  Simon had disappeared almost before the Duke had spoken. With an agility surprising in so unathletic a figure, he was pelting down the lane. The Duke’s car—a doctor—were the immediate ideas which animated Mr. Aron’s legs. After that, Harley Street—best man—who? How far to London? How long there and back? Then he came up against the tragic fact that able brains can never function best when their attendant body is moving at any speed. So ill-conditioned are the bodies of mankind that all his blood had left his head and rushed to the support of his thumping chest and aching legs. Nevertheless, even as a drowning man has the sense to cease struggling with the problem of getting anywhere, and reserves his strength to keep afloat, so, he abandoned thought, drew a long breath, and yelled: “The Duke’s car! Doctor wanted! Start her up!”

  The drowsing chauffeur jerked himself erect, and as Simon Aron touched down on the running board, the car leapt forward to Liphook and skilled help.

  In the meantime Miss Eaton had led the way. Under the Duke’s urging her limbs regaining their animation. She turned down her own bed, and ran with quick, frightened footsteps for hot water, brandy, bandages.

  Rex laid the inert body on the bed. With quick fingers the Duke rummaged Miss Eaton’s work-basket, he seized the scissors and flung the other contents on the floor.

  “She’s mine,” said Rex huskily. “Nobody’s to touch her ‘cept me.”

  De Richleau gave him one look only, a long, commanding look. “You will sit down, my son,” he said, “and leave this to me.”

  Rex sank into a chair and the Duke turned his back upon him. With rapid snips and tears he stripped Felicity of her thin summer garments. With the practised hands of one long since trained to tend wounds, he felt her limbs gently and then rolled the sheets above her thighs. Her face and head were dead white, yet scatheless, so also were her lower limbs, but between her little breasts there was an ugly jagged hole that continually welled blood. Without compunction De Richleau rummaged in the chest of drawers, made a pad of Miss Eaton’s best handkerchiefs, and tore a petticoat into strips to tie it on.

  “Steering-wheel?” he demanded of Rex tersely, when he had tucked the sheets under Felicity’s chin.

  “Yes,” Rex nodded drunkenly. “Damn’ car turned over on us. Thank God it didn’t burn.”

  Footsteps upon the stairs, a murmur of voices, Simon and the local doctor, a fresh-faced, youngish man. Miss Eaton with a bowl of steaming water, and wide-eyed Hetty with bandages gripped in her clumsy hands.

  De Richleau turned to Aron as to an older man. “Take him away,” he said nodding in the direction of Rex. “He’s no use here.”

  “I’m not going,” said Rex thickly, but Simon got him out.

  “Come on, old chap,” he said softly, taking the big man by the arm. “I’m Simon—I understand.”

  Rex heaved himself up, and allowed himself to be led away.

  4

  Later, out upon the lawn in the stillness of the early summer evening, the Duke talked to the doctor.

  “The spine. Yes, I feared as much, and the loss of blood must have been frightful. Poor child—so young—beautiful. Have you told the boy?”

  “No.” The doctor shook his head.

  “Then I think we’ll leave that for a little. How did you find him—much hurt?”

  “Nothing serious, a nasty cut above the eye, and a twisted ankle, his hands are badly damaged. He must have literally torn that car to pieces to get her out. I’ve patched him up and he’s with her now.”

  “I see,” the Duke nodded. “Then there’s not much more we can do. You must remain, I think, to spare her all the pain you can.”

  They walked on in heavy silence, unheeding the perfume in the twilight, down the border of sweet peas.

  It was just about this time that Felicity regained consciousness.

  “Darling,” she murmured when she saw Rex sitting beside her bed, then she gave a little moan of pain.

  “Felicity, sweetheart.” He took both her hands in his. “It wasn’t true, Felicity, it wasn’t true—’bout me being married, I mean.”

  She smiled faintly. “Wasn’t it? Oh, I’m so glad about that. Are you hurt, Rex?—Much?”

  “No, honey, I’m all right. It’s you we’re worried for.”

  “I’ve got an awful pain in my chest, every time I breathe—and Rex….”

  “Yes, sweet?”

  “I can’t feel my legs, Rex … I—I believe—I’ve done myself in.”

  “No, you’ll be all right, sweet—and listen, Felicity. Yesterday when—what a fool I am—I mean, this afternoon, when we weretalking ‘bout getting married … You were right all the time, I was just a big piker, scared of getting tied up. When I was trying to get you from under that car I saw it all, clear as can be. God, how scared I was! I thought you were dead, and I’d lost you for keeps!”

  She patted his hand fondly. “I’m afraid we must forget all that now, Rex.”

  “And why?” he demanded. “I stuffed that bag of yours in my pocket. We’ve got the licence, we can get married any time—now if you like.”

  “You foolish darling, it’s after three o’clock, and we couldn’t use the licence till tomorrow, anyway.”

  “All right, let’s make tomorrow the big day.”

  She considered for a space, frowning a little, then she said slowly: “If you really want to, Rex, marry me tonight, the licence will be all right after midnight.”

  “Marvellous!” he grinned. “Will you be all right here for a bit? I’m just crazy to get busy on it. I’ll send somebody right up.”

  “Yes.” She coughed and a spasm of pain crossed her face. “I feel awfully tired,” she said.

  As soon as Rex launched this astounding news upon the people downstairs, Simon brightened up at once. He had been hanging about with his head well down and his hands in his pockets, utterly miserable at having nothing to do.

  “Look here,” he said, “if you’ll leave it to me, I’ll—er—fix it all up for you. Love to, no trouble. Ner—Just give me the licence.” He turned to the Duke.

  “Don’t mind if I take the car, do you? Like to slip up to town, after I’ve been to the village—I’ll be back before ten.”

  “Of course, my dear fellow, by all means,” De Richleau agreed. And five minutes later Simon had gone off in the Hispano.

  The doctor went with him as far as the village, to pick up some drugs that might be needed, while Rex went back to Felicity’s bedside.

  5

  For the first time Miss Eaton and the Duke were left alone. He found her looking at him curiously.

  “What do you mean to do with me?” she asked him suddenly.

  The Duke was thinking of other things. “Do?” he repeated slowly. “Ah, yes, of course. But, my dear Mis
s Eaton, there is nothing to be done, only to express my very great regret at having disturbed your tranquillity here.”

  “You mean—you’re not going to give me up to the police?”

  He placed his hand upon her arm and led her to a chair. “Indeed, no. Why in the world should I do that?”

  “And the young Jewish gentleman—won’t he say anything?”

  “Most certainly not. And, let me take this opportunity to reassure you with regard to others who might have their suspicions that you knew more of that matter than you declared at the time. British justice is such that, Sir Gideon having paid the penalty, the affair is over and done with. Even if you confessed to the police, they could not try the case again.”

  Winifred Eaton let a little sigh escape her and she relaxed in her chair. After a moment she looked curiously at him and asked: “Then what made you come down here? Or had your car really broken down?”

  “No, I fear I deceived you there,” De Richleau confessed. “I came deliberately, but if I were to tell you the reason, I should have to speak plainly, and I might hurt you by so doing.”

  “I think,” she said slowly, “that I’d like to know.”

  “As you will,” he smiled slightly. “Then you must understand that I have been convinced for many months that you were at least partly responsible for Lady Shoesmith’s death. I was filled with a great curiosity to see you and to establish for myself whether, having committed a successful murder, without having attracted a shadow of suspicion to yourself, you were a prey to suffering and remorse, or if you were living happy and untroubled upon the proceeds of the crime?”

  “Elinor was a hard woman,” said Miss Eaton softly, “and it was she who prevented my brother from providing for me independently in his will. I’d always lived with them and she found me too useful to let me have my freedom.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “The lot of a poor relation in a rich household is not always a happy one. I was astonished that the police did not appreciate that motive at the time. They were, of course, too certain that it was Richard Eaton, to investigate other possibilities very closely.”

  “I—I wouldn’t have let anything happen to Richard,” she said. “I would have given myself up.”