Noose for a Lady

by Gerald Verner

  ‘Well, you won’t get no answers if you does. Go away and leave me alone.’

  ‘Look here, Rigg…’ began Gale.

  ‘You look ’ere, mister,’ interrupted the man, rudely. ‘If I come worryin’ round your ’ouse, you’d ’ave me thrown out, wouldn’t yer? Well, this is my ’ouse, see, an’ I’ve just as much right to my privacy as what you ’ave…’

  ‘I don’t want to disturb your privacy,’ said Gale. ‘If you’ll tell me what I want to know, you can have all the privacy you want, and I’ll pay for the information into the bargain.’

  ‘Wot d’yer want to know?’ demanded Rigg, suspiciously.

  ‘Do you know Easton Knoll?’

  ‘Everybody round these parts knows Easton Knoll,’ said Rigg. ‘Why?’

  ‘Were you near Easton Knoll on the night that Mr. Hallam was killed?’

  ‘’Ere, wot are you tryin’ to get at?’ the man said.

  ‘I’m not trying to get at anything, if by that you mean am I trying to trap you into an admission that may get you into trouble,’ answered Gale.

  ‘It don’t matter whether you are or you ain’t, see,’ grunted Rigg. ‘’Cos I wasn’t nowhere near Easton Knoll that night.’

  ‘You’re quite sure? It was the night you stole that bicycle…’

  ‘I never stole no bicycle neither … it was all lies.’

  I don’t care a tinker’s damn if you stole forty bicycles,’ said Gale impatiently. ‘All I want to know is — did you see anyone in the vicinity of Mr. Hallam’s house that night?’

  ‘’Ow could I see anyone if I wasn’t there?’

  ‘Don’t make a mistake, Rigg,’ interrupted Jill. ‘It’s very important. I’ll see you’re well paid…’

  ‘I ain’t makin’ no mistakes, miss,’ answered the man. ‘I wasn’t there, I tell yer. ’Ow many more times ’ave I got ter say it?’

  ‘That’s your story and you’re sticking to it, eh?’ said Gale.

  ‘You wouldn’t want me to tell what ain’t true, now would yer, mister?’ answered Rigg, with a cunning leer.

  ‘No, but I should like to hear you tell me the truth,’ retorted Gale.

  ‘Now, see ’ere,’ Rigg’s voice rose truculently. ‘I’m not wastin’ time arguin’. I can’t tell you nothin’ an’ that’s that.’

  Simon Gale looked at him for a moment and then he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘Come on you two, let’s go.’

  Rigg stood looking after them as they walked away, and there was a sneer on his ugly mouth.

  ‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’ asked Jill, breaking a short silence.

  ‘No,’ said Simon, frowning. ‘It’s quite evident what his game is. He thinks he’ll get more from somebody else, by holding his tongue, than he would from us if he told what he knows.’

  ‘Blackmail?’ grunted Martin.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, Simon, that must mean…’

  ‘That he did see someone at Easton Knoll on the night that Hallam died? I’m sure he did. I think he saw the murderer.’

  *

  Simon Gale was very quiet during lunch that day. He scarcely spoke at all until Mrs. Barrett brought coffee to them in the drawing-room, and then he said, as she was leaving the room:

  ‘Don’t go for a minute, Mrs. Barrett, I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ She waited patiently.

  ‘I expect you remember fairly vividly what happened on the day before Mr. Hallam died?’

  ‘I ought to,’ she answered bitterly. ‘I’ve had to tell it often enough. The police, and the lawyers, and then in court.’

  ‘Yes, of course … Did anybody call that day?’

  ‘Yes, sir, Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys and Miss Lane called in the morning — about eleven o’clock it was. They wished to see Mrs. Hallam. She was in the garden. They waited in here while I fetched her.’

  ‘Had she got her handbag with her in the garden?’

  The housekeeper looked surprised at the question. ‘Why, no, sir, of course not.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. She used to leave it in the room she’d been using — put it down anywhere, she would.’

  ‘I see. Did either Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys or Miss Lane, go upstairs while they were here?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. I was busy in the kitchen, sir.’

  Gale looked across at Jill.

  ‘Where were you, Jill?’ he said. ‘You didn’t go up to London until the afternoon, did you?’

  ‘No,’ she answered, ‘but I went down to the village to do some shopping in the morning. I didn’t get back until nearly lunch-time.’

  ‘Did anyone else call that day, Mrs. Barrett?’

  ‘Mr. Upcott came in the afternoon.’

  ‘Upcott?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He wanted to see Mr. Hallam, but Mr. Hallam refused to see him.’

  ‘Did he go away?’

  ‘No, sir, not at once. He waited in the hope of seeing Mrs. Hallam.’

  ‘Where was Mrs. Hallam?’

  ‘She was out. She went out in a temper after the — the quarrel with Mr. Hallam … ’

  ‘That was just before I left,’ interposed Jill.

  ‘Had you gone before Upcott came?’ asked Gale.

  ‘Yes — I’d no idea he’d called that day until now.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important enough to mention. Miss Jill,’ said Mrs. Barrett.

  ‘Exactly,’ broke in Simon Gale. ‘You see — that’s what happens. People will make their own selection as to what is, and what is not, important. Did Mrs. Hallam take her handbag with her?’

  ‘She never did, sir, when she went walking down here.’

  ‘Women don’t in the country, Simon,’ said Jill. ‘Only if they’re going shopping.’ ‘I thought probably she didn’t,’ he said. ‘What time did Mrs. Hallam come back?’

  ‘About six — just before Miss Ginch called…’

  ‘Hell’s bells!’ exclaimed Gale so loudly that the housekeeper jumped. ‘Did the entire population of the village call that day? What did Miss Ginch come for?’

  ‘About the sale of work, sir, at the church hall. Mrs. Hallam had promised to look out some things … She went upstairs and fetched the parcel for Miss Ginch.’

  Gale shot a significant glance at Jill, but he made no verbal comment.

  ‘What sort of relations were Mr. and Mrs. Hallam on that evening? Still quarrelling?’

  ‘Mr. Hallam was rather silent during dinner, but Mrs. Hallam seemed in quite good spirits.’

  ‘She sounded very cheerful when I rang up to say I was staying in town,’ said Jill.

  ‘Did anything else happen that evening?’ asked Gale. ‘Anybody else call? Anything at all?’

  ‘No, sir, not that I know,’ Mrs. Barrett shook her head. ‘I went to bed early — just after ten.’

  ‘You didn’t hear anything after you’d gone to bed? The sound of voices — a knock at the door — anything?’

  ‘No, sir, I heard nothing.’

  ‘All right,’ said Gale. ‘That’s all I want for now, Mrs. Barrett.’

  When the housekeeper had gone he looked at Jill and Martin. He said, pulling out his pipe and filling it:

  ‘You realize what that means, don’t you? Any one of those people who called that day could have got the key from Maggie’s bag, and helped themselves to those barbitone tablets.’

  ‘But which of them did?’ said Martin. ‘That’s the question.’

  ‘I don’t know, but we’re getting somewhere — we’re getting somewhere…’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Jill. She looked at her watch. ‘In the meanwhile, if we’re going to get to Robert Upcott’s house by half past three, we’d better hurry.’

  *

  Mr. Upcott came to the door himself. He was beaming with delight and he fluttered round them with a consideration that was most irritating.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he lisped. ‘Let m
e take your coat, Miss Hallam — put your things on the console table, gentlemen. It’s such a pleasure to welcome you to my little nest.’

  Gale murmured ‘that it was very kind of him to ask them.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all, I’m only too delighted,’ the little man answered him. ‘Come into the drawing-room — I do hate the word ‘lounge’ don’t you? So reminiscent of an hotel. The tea’s all ready, but I won’t make it until Miss Lane arrives. I expect she’ll be here at any moment.’

  Chattering happily he led the way into a long, low ceilinged room that was very tastefully furnished and spotlessly clean and neat.

  ‘What a charming room,’ said Jill, and meant it.

  ‘You like it? I’m so glad,’ Mr. Upcott clapped his hands in a transport of delight. ‘I do think it’s so important to live amid beautiful surroundings, don’t you? I adore my little treasures.’

  He pointed out some of the best of his pieces and he was in the midst of this when the front-door bell rang.

  ‘That will be Miss Lane,’ he said. ‘Do excuse me, won’t you?’

  He tripped quickly away and they looked at each other.

  ‘A bit overpowering, isn’t he?’ muttered Martin.

  ‘He’s got a very good make-up on,’ said Jill maliciously. ‘And the perfume

  — Chanel number five.’

  Vanessa’s drawling voice reached them from the hall.

  ‘I thought I was never going to get here,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, you’re not really late,’ answered Upcott. ‘The others have only just arrived. They’re in the drawing-room. Will you join them? I’ll just slip along to the kitchen and make the tea…’

  She came into the room languidly. ‘Hello, everybody,’ she greeted. ‘I was afraid I was going to be late. It would have been your own faults if I had…’

  ‘Ours, Vanessa?’ said Jill inquiringly.

  ‘Yes, the whole village is talking about you,’ replied Vanessa, ‘you know — about the reason you’re here, Mr. Gale.’

  ‘Has it got round already?’ said Simon Gale. ‘That’s pretty quick work.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t take long for news to spread in this place. Miss Ginch started it — she always does, you know? I met several people on my way here, and I thought they were going to keep me talking about it for ever.’

  ‘What did they say?’ asked Gale.

  ‘They can’t see how Margaret can be innocent because…’

  ‘Here’s the tea,’ Robert Upcott minced in with a tray, ‘I do hope you will like it. It’s a special blend of souchong that I have sent me from London. So wonderfully refreshing. I’m sure you’ll adore it. Will you pour out, or shall I, Miss Hallam?’

  He set the tray down on a low table.

  ‘I’d rather you did, Mr. Upcott,’ said Jill.

  ‘Of course, of course, dear lady, if you wish. You all take milk?’

  He looked round inquiringly and received affirmative nods.

  ‘Why don’t these people, you met, think Mrs. Hallam can be innocent, Vanessa?’ asked Gale, bringing the conversation back to the point where Upcott’s entrance had interrupted it.

  ‘Well, you see,’ said Vanessa, ‘they all say Margaret must have done it because nobody else could have put the stuff in that drink. There was nobody else there to do it.’

  ‘That’s just where you’re wrong,’ answered Gale, ‘there was. Somebody who called to see John Hallam that night after Mrs. Hallam had gone to bed … ’

  ‘Oh, Mr. Upcott, do look what you’re doing!’ cried Jill. ‘You’re pouring the tea into that plate of sandwiches!’

  ‘Oh, dear, so I am,’ Robert Upcott jerked the spout of the teapot up and stared in surprised dismay at the ruined sandwiches. ‘Oh, dear me, how — how very stupid of me.’

  There was a sudden and rather embarrassing silence. They looked at each other uncomfortably and then Simon Gale said: ‘What’s the matter, Upcott? I don’t think even your special blend of souchong will improve the flavour of anchovy sandwiches, do you?’

  Martin Gale came quickly down the stairs into the big hall at Easton Knoll. Somewhere in the house a clock began to strike and he counted the strokes as he made his way to the dining-room. Eight o’clock. Mrs. Barrett was coming out with a tray, as he went in.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Good morning, sir,’ said the housekeeper.

  ‘Am I first down,’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, no, sir. Miss Jill’s been up a long time. She’s had her breakfast and gone down to the village.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Martin, ‘has my brother gone with her?’

  ‘No, sir, he’s in the study, I believe. I’ll bring you some fresh coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs. Barrett.’

  The housekeeper went out and Martin went over to the window and looked out. It was a lovely morning. The sun was shining and there was a filmy veil of green over the bare branches of the trees — almost like a mist — and everything looked fresh and clean. The window was open and Martin drew in great gulps of the sweet smelling morning air. He turned as Jill called to him from the door.

  ‘Hello, Martin,’ she greeted. ‘Just got up?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You must have got up with the crack of dawn.’

  ‘I did. It was such a lovely morning I couldn’t stay in bed. Besides I wrote to Margaret last night, and I wanted to catch the first post.’

  ‘Oh, that’s where you’ve been.’

  ‘Yes. Where’s Simon?’

  ‘In your father’s study so Mrs. Barrett says. What’s happening today, do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know what Simon’s planned. I only saw him for a moment.’

  ‘Was he up early too?’

  ‘Yes — before me,’ she answered.

  Mrs. Barrett came in with a laden tray. ‘Here’s your breakfast, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Martin. He sat down at the table. Jill poured out his coffee and when the housekeeper had gone she said:

  ‘Do you realize we’ve only four more days, Martin — and that’s counting today?’

  He nodded, his mouth full of bacon and mushrooms.

  ‘I don’t see how we’re going to do it in the time,’ he said. ‘Unless he can get that man, Rigg, to talk.’

  ‘We’re not even sure that he knows anything,’ she said.

  ‘Simon thinks he does. Why can’t we make him say if he knows anything?’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ asked Simon Gale, appearing suddenly at the open window. ‘Torture?’

  ‘Oh!’ exclaimed Jill. ‘Simon, you startled me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologized, coming into the room. ‘I’ve been for a stroll round the garden. I was just coming in when I overheard what Martin was saying … Speaking of torture — that’s a queer collection of books in your father’s study, Jill.’

  ‘Horrible, aren’t they?’ she said.

  ‘Most instructive as a sidelight on his character.’

  ‘Why — what are they?’ asked Martin.

  ‘The Life of the Comte de Sade, A History of the Spanish Inquisition … the shelves are full of that sort of stuff.’

  ‘Father was always interested in things like that,’ said Jill.

  ‘Always?’ inquired Simon.

  ‘I never remember him any different,’ she answered.

  ‘You weren’t very fond of him, were you?’

  She hesitated. ‘I tried to be,’ she replied after a pause, ‘particularly after mother died but I could never get near him. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, I think I do,’ he said.

  ‘Sometimes I thought I had,’ she went on, ‘and then he would say something that hurt — hurt terribly. You knew that he meant it to hurt, and — and it sort of froze you up…’

  ‘What on earth made Maggie marry a man like that?’ demanded Martin.

  ‘Oh, he could be very charming when he liked,’ said Jill. ‘He was always courteous in little ways. He might be sayin
g hurtful things to you, but he’d never forget to open the door, or give you a chair … but he did it with a sneer. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes…’ Simon Gale tapped the stem of his pipe against his teeth thoughtfully. ‘I’m beginning to get a pretty good mental picture of John Hallam. It opens up an interesting speculation…’

  ‘What’s the good of speculation?’ said Martin. ‘We’ve got four days — that’s all — four days if we’re going to save Maggie.’

  ‘Hell’s bells, I know that!’ answered his brother. ‘But we’re not going to get anywhere by rushing around just for the sake of it. I know what you’d like — you’d like to go and shake the truth out of Rigg, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Well, I think we ought to do something about him,’ said Martin.

  ‘We’d get nothing out of Rigg that way.

  ‘All he’s got to do is stick to it that he knows nothing, and we’re no better off.’

  ‘What about Upcott?’ said Martin. ‘That was jolly queer behaviour of his yesterday — pouring the tea into the sandwiches.’

  ‘He explained that,’ said Jill. ‘He said that he was so interested in what Simon was saying that he forgot what he was doing.’

  ‘I know he did, but I think it was shock,’ said Martin. ‘He was scared. That remark of Simon’s about somebody coming to see your father after Maggie had gone to bed, frightened him. If Rigg saw anybody that night, I’ll bet it was Upcott.’

  ‘What reason would he have for killing father?’

  ‘What reason would anyone have?’ said Simon. ‘That’s one of the things we’ve got to find out.’

  ‘There’s such a lot we’ve got to find out,’ grunted Martin gloomily. ‘How can we hope to do it?’

  ‘Hell’s bells,’ exclaimed his brother. ‘Give it time, Martin, give it time.’

  ‘That’s just what we haven’t got,’ grunted Martin.

  ‘We can’t do more than we’re doing,’ said Gale. ‘This isn’t a job for action — it’s a job for thinking — collecting all the odd little pieces and juggling about with them until we get a picture. I’ve collected quite a few already — I’m going to try and collect a few more now.’

  ‘Where from?’ asked Jill.

  ‘Your local man — Inspector Frost. I’m hoping there’re one or two things he can tell me.’