'No. However, I am very much obliged to you for saving my life.'
'When did I do that?'
'Well, as I said before, but for a long and fascinating study of your swashbuckling, romantic nature, I should never have envisaged the possibilities of that squint. Enough of that. Let us proceed. I realised, of course, that if Rosamund really needed psychiatric treatment, the atmosphere in a houseful of guests was the last which I would choose. I suggested to Romilly, therefore, that I should remove Rosamund to my own house and continue the treatment there. To my astonishment he consented, making no conditions and placing no obstacles in my way. I was suspicious of his attitude, I must confess. On the other hand, it hardly coincides with Rosamund's complaint that she was never allowed to leave Galliard Hall.'
'All the same, he did his best to persuade you not to take her to Swanage that first day.'
'I have thought about that, too. His concern for my safety may have been genuine.'
'But you had George with you.'
'Romilly does not know George as well as we do. Besides, a young woman who was prepared to murder me, would have no scruples about making sure that my chauffeur did not live to tell the tale. In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Against a determined gunman, even the most resourceful and courageous of the unarmed are at a serious disadvantage.'
'But she didn't have a gun?'
'Oh, yes, she had a gun, child, but then, you see, so had I. The difference was that hers was an old flint-lock pistol-part of her costume, she assured me-and mine was a modern automatic.'
'So, in the country of the one-eyed, the two-eyed man was king. Well, all I can say is that, for my own sake, I'm glad I didn't know about this at the time. All the same, you can't mean that it was Rosamund who shot at you through the squint? Why should she, anyway?-not that I'm sticking up for her, of course.'
'The bullet came from a .22 rifle, so I keep an open mind. However, I was not sorry when the time seemed ripe for me to leave Galliard Hall.'
'I should think not, indeed! Of course, Rosamund could have had the horse-pistol merely for show, or to protect herself against Romilly and Judith, I suppose, and an old horse-pistol isn't a rifle.'
'One does not need to exaggerate the significance, if any, of the horse-pistol, and I did not do so. The next point of interest relates to Rosamund and the child, but, so far, the evidence we have is so conflicting that perhaps this is not yet the time to consider it.'
'Do you think there was a child?'
'If there was, it might account for Rosamund's conduct as reported by Romilly.'
'Conduct which she denies.'
'And if there was a child, it might be important to find out the identity of the father.'
'You mean it might have been the illegitimate baby mentioned by the Reverend Hubert?'
'Well, Rosamund lived in the same hotel for some years as Willoughby did, and Willoughby has been murdered. I thought at first that it was because Willoughby would have been able to certify that Romilly was an imposter, but, now we can be reasonably certain that Willoughby could not have known this, the picture alters. We have realised that.'
'That's if Hubert was telling the truth. As he's a clergyman, we're inclined to believe him without further proof.'
'Therefore, if we believe Hubert, Romilly was in no danger from Willoughby. Why, then, was not Willoughby invited to Galliard Hall along with the others? That is still the question to which we must find the answer.'
'Perhaps he was, and decided not to go.'
'If so, why did Luke lie about the number of letters he posted? On the other hand, if we suppose (merely for the sake of argument) that Judith was telling the truth when she said that Rosamund, and not Romilly, sent out the invitations, then Rosamund may have had a very good reason for excluding Willoughby.'
'You mean he may have been the father of her baby, and she hadn't forgiven him for seducing her?'
'We might entertain that as one theory, I think, but there could be others.'
'Meaning there is something you've guessed, and I haven't. Oh, well, that's nothing new. Are you going to tell me what it is? You don't think it was Judith who abstracted those two letters?'
'I know nothing now which you do not know. Did anything strike you about the remark made by the manager of the Carlisle hotel?'
'About the other girl, the little friend (as the French have it) of Felix Napoleon? What an old rip he must have been!'
'Yes, about the other girl. I wonder what has happened to her? It might be interesting to find out.'
'I suppose, when Felix Napoleon died, there was nothing for her to do but to fade out. Incidentally, what about the tale Rosamund told about Hubert's officiating at the funeral?'
'I do not suppose she envisaged the possibility of our approaching Hubert to ask whether it was true.'
'Any good confronting her with him?'
'It will not be necessary.'
'Well, what do we do now?'
'That will depend upon whether the magistrates decide in favour of Romilly (we must continue to call him that, I am afraid, although he has no right to the name) or against him. So far, the police have very little evidence for a committal.'
'There's the sword.'
'His prints would be on it in any case, since he picked it up from where it was lying in the grass.'
'That's his story-that he found it lying in the grass.'
'Judith is his witness.'
'Hopelessly biased in his favour, of course.'
'The fact that he reported having seen the body lying out on Dancing Ledge will also be in his favour. I really see no reason why the justices should commit him.'
Kirkby, however, was obstinately hopeful of a conviction.
'The evidence offered by the weapon is significant, in my opinion, ma'am. I know he says he picked it up on the cliff-top, but the coastguards to whom he reported spotting the body didn't see him with it. It wasn't until I visited Galliard Hall that he produced it and told us this tale about finding it above Dancing Ledge. Says he concluded the death was due to an accidental fall on to the rocks and that the sword had no connection with it. Affected to be quite astounded when he heard that the deceased had died of a stab wound. Then, if his prints (and he, and other members of the household, certainly let us take as many as we liked and made no objection), if his prints, I was saying, had been superimposed on any others, we might be disposed to believe his version, but his prints are the only ones on the hilt of the sword. Of course the defence will be that the murderer had wiped the weapon clean before Mr Romilly handled it, but the prints, taken in conjunction with the fact that he may have reported finding the body as a means of putting up a sort of screen, seem to me quite enough to justify a committal. Besides, there's no real evidence to show that Mr Willoughby could not have exposed Mr Romilly for the imposter he is. The clergyman, Mr Hubert, no doubt spoke in good faith when he told you that neither he nor his brother had ever met the real Mr Romilly, but he could only speak out of his own knowledge, and that may not be sufficient. I think we shall find that the magistrates decide there is a case to answer. I shall be very much surprised if they don't. There's the cook's evidence that the sword belonged to Mr Romilly, although he denies it.'
'I noticed that, at the interview in which you produced the sword, you pressed Rosamund very hard. Do you suspect her of the murder?'
'No, ma'am, not to say "suspect her." It was only that, as she was accustomed to wear fancy dress, it just made me wonder whether a sword went with it.'
'Ah,' said Dame Beatrice, 'that, as Laura would say, rings a bell. The first time I met Rosamund she was in costume-that is to say, in stage armour-as Joan of Arc. She was not wearing a sword. I noticed, by the way, that at the time you entirely disregarded my remark that, sword or no sword, she certainly was in possession of an old-fashioned pistol, which she was carrying in her pocket when we went to Swanage together.'
'I d
idn't disregard it, ma'am. I was on a different tack, that's all. It's not as though the bullet you found came from that pistol, and I didn't want to confuse the issue, me having only a single-track mind, as Mrs Gavin would put it. Moreover, you have never made any formal complaint about that shooting. You merely told me about it in the course of conversation. Whom do you suspect of taking a pot-shot at you?'
'How can I suggest any particular person? There were nine other people in the house, apart from the servants. Of course I think it was Rosamund or Romilly. The only other likely suspect is Judith, but I doubt whether she had murderous intentions towards me. All the same, it will not do, at present, to rule out anybody. No harm was done, as it happens, so the incident has little importance.'
'You can't expect me to agree about that, ma'am. But for the precautions you took, it might have had very great importance indeed.'
(4)
The failure of Hubert Lestrange to denounce Romilly as an imposter deprived the police of their principal weapon. He had briefed an efficient Counsel, and although the prosecution pressed home the incontrovertible evidence that his fingerprints, and his only, had been found on the hilt of the sword, his statement that he had done no more than pick up the weapon and hand it over to the police was accepted by the magistrates, particularly as he also claimed that as soon as he had seen the body lying out on Dancing Ledge he had immediately reported a drowning fatality (as he thought) to the authorities.
The medical evidence, which had been given at the inquest and repeated at the first hearing before the justices, had established that the sword could have been the means by which Willoughby had been killed, but the defence produced expert witnesses who questioned this. The upshot was that the magistrates, accepting Romilly's mistaken identification of the body as an error pardonable under the circumstances, and bearing in mind the absence of motive and that there was no evidence of opportunity, refused to commit him and dismissed the case.
'We'll get him later, on a charge of fraudulent misrepresentation, and see how we go from there,' said Kirkby grimly. He waylaid the Reverend Hubert as that mild cleric was about to step into Dame Beatrice's car to spend his last day and night at the Stone House before he returned to Italy. 'Might I have another word with you, sir? How can you be certain that your brother did not know Mr Romilly Lestrange?'
'Oh, I can't be certain. I can only speak to the best of my knowledge. I don't see how poor Willoughby could have known Uncle Romilly.'
'If both were present at your grandfather's funeral, sir?'
'I suppose they could have met like that, if Uncle Romilly had attended the funeral, but Dame Beatrice tells me that she is certain he did not. Lies have been told that I conducted the funeral service-why, I do not know.'
'As the so-called liar was not present at that ceremony, it was perhaps not so much a lie as a simple mistake,' said Dame Beatrice.
'You don't believe that, do you?' asked Laura, later.
'Not any more than I believe that this Romilly and Willoughby met at the funeral,' said Dame Beatrice cheerfully. 'Romilly could not possibly have attended that funeral. He did not even know that Felix Napoleon was dead until the lawyers sent out the news to him (or, rather, as they thought, to the real Romilly) in Africa, and that would have been after probate was granted.'
'Was it by accident or design that Rosamund went to live with Humphrey and Binnie before she had a chance to meet Hubert?'
'It would make no difference whether she met him or not. I am certain she does not know him,' said Dame Beatrice.
'She knew his brother Willoughby, and a bit too well, by all accounts.'
'That is a different story, and is the one which estranged the brothers, if you remember.'
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CALUSHARI DANCE-EVIL SPIRITS
And though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed.'
All's Well That Ends Well.
'Surely you're not tailing me again?' said Romilly. The silvery, romantic portrait of a fashionable lady by Sir Peter Lely gazed down upon the scene with an equanimity at odds with Romilly's flushed and apprehensive countenance, Dame Beatrice's interested leer and Kirkby's massive masculinity. 'I've been acquitted. You've nothing on me now.'
'Just a continuation of my enquiries into the death of Mr Willoughby Lestrange, sir, together with a little matter of false pretences,' said Kirkby.
'You'd better come into the library,' said Romilly. 'Does Beatrice have to be present?'
'Yes, I do,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I can bring witnesses to prove that you are not what you represent yourself to be; that you are no relation of mine; that you have assumed the identity and have inherited the effects of a man you know to be dead. What do you say to all that?'
'Witnesses? What do you mean-witnesses?'
'It was very rash of you to bring me here before you had found out that my son knew the real Romilly Lestrange, and somewhat foolish to suppose that a man of your age could pass himself off as one who was at least twenty years younger than you are. Furthermore, I have noticed that you never wear, although you appear to possess, spectacles, whereas Romilly Lestrange was almost blind. Then, again, I doubt very much whether you can tell me the name of the sitter in a single one of the portraits in this house-and there are a dozen or more-or the name of the artist, unless the portrait is signed. Romilly Lestrange was a connoisseur of paintings. Apart from all this...'
'All right,' said Romilly, 'that's enough. I'll tell you everything. I've done nothing against the law. I haven't inherited anything except the ten thousand the lawyers sent me. That's in the bank, and, if you'll drop the matter, I'll pay it all back.'
'False pretences is a serious offence, sir,' said Kirkby. 'It isn't only the money you've taken out of the estate of the late Mr Felix Napoleon Lestrange which is involved. We believe that you have also been engaged in a conspiracy to kidnap the principal beneficiary and that you held her prisoner here until Dame Beatrice came along and rescued her. If you would care to make a statement-that is, if you have any explanation to offer...'
'May I write it in my own words? I give in. I think you've got me, but I'm not as much involved as you make out. If I could tell the story in my own words I think you'll see that I haven't done anything wrong except to pass myself off as poor old Romilly when, of course, as you say, I'm not Romilly. There's no law to say I can't call myself Romilly if I want to, is there?'
'Definitely, if fraudulent representation is involved, sir.'
'But it isn't. Give me a couple of hours or so, and I'll let you have the whole works.'
'Very well. My sergeant will sit in with you.'
'Oh, I shan't attempt to make a bolt for it, or kill myself, or anything of that sort.'
'I'll just fetch my sergeant, all the same, sir, but, before we leave you to it, perhaps you would answer a question Dame Beatrice wants to put to you.'
'I wonder that you believe I shall answer it truthfully!'
'It might very well be in your own interests to do so,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Besides-if I may anticipate my question a little-as Willoughby Lestrange was killed some days before your house-party guests arrived, a truthful answer, as you will perceive, can scarcely harm you. When I thought that you might have killed Willoughby because he was in a position to expose you, I could not believe that you would have drawn attention (as you did) to the fact that he had not turned up. Then I perceived a flaw in this reasoning. Suppose that Willoughby (as I now know to be the case) was not in a position to recognise that you were an imposter? I examined the facts, and discovered that it was more than probable that you and he had never met. In that case, you would have no more to fear from him than from any other of the young people you had invited to your house. My question, therefore, is-was Willoughby invited, or was he not?'
'Look,' said Romilly, 'you've got me in a cleft stick. I'll admit that, but, simply because of that, you'll have to believe what I say. I have no idea whether Willoughby
was invited or not. I certainly thought he was, and his brother, too, but (as you've just pointed out) I wasn't related to the brothers, so I had to ask Trilby for their addresses because she knew them and I didn't. She wouldn't have them at the housewarming, but on this second occasion I insisted, and I thought-'
'Let's have that statement,' said Kirkby. He went to the door and summoned the sergeant.
'On second thoughts,' said Romilly, 'if the sergeant writes shorthand I may as well dictate it. It will save a lot of my time.'
'Far better, from my point of view,' said Kirkby. 'I can chip in if I want anything enlarged upon or explained. I note you haven't asked for your lawyer to be present.'
'No need. Now you know I'm not Romilly Lestrange I've nothing to hide. Here goes, then.'
'One moment,' said Dame Beatrice. 'As you have nothing to hide, we should like to know your name.'
'Groot de Maas. I'm Cape Dutch. That's one reason why I was able to stay in Africa until 1966. I joined forces with Romilly Lestrange as soon as he first came out to Kenya. He'd bought a half-share in my estate, so we were partners. Later on came the war. It was an odd sort of time, although, of course, the colony had always netted a mixed lot of fish. You'd find English, Poles, Scandinavians and South Africans, especially in Nairobi. The South Africans were mostly farmers. Lestrange and I were partners in a coffee plantation, but we went into town for stores or when we wanted some fun.
'The colony wasn't actively involved in the war. Some of the younger Englishmen volunteered, but, by and large, things didn't alter much until the war was over. When the end came, we seemed to become a dump for high-ranking officers who saw no future for themselves in Britain, I suppose, but had the chance of a good life with us. They weren't the only immigrants. So long as they had the necessary capital to be allowed in, we got other ex-servicemen who became traders, technicians and farm managers-neither fish, flesh nor good red-herring, you might say-and the old snobberies which had always obtained, and which had developed into a sort of feudal relationship between ourselves and our native servants and workers, were gradually overwhelmed. Now, to my mind, snobbery isn't always such a bad thing. It acted in Kenya much as I imagine it does among the so-called County families in England. That's to say, it involves people in a certain code of behaviour and lays certain responsibilities on them.
Dance to Your Daddy mb-42 Page 19