Noose for a Lady

by Gerald Verner

  ‘Do you mind if I meet you somewhere later?’ she asked. ‘I must look after things here this morning.’

  ‘Why not meet us in the pub?’ said Martin. ‘I said we’d see Vanessa there about midday.’

  Jill regarded him coldly. ‘Vanessa?’ she said. ‘I should have thought there was plenty you could do instead of chasing Vanessa about.’

  ‘I’m not chasing her,’ protested Martin. ‘I merely suggested we should meet her for a drink.’

  ‘And a very good idea, too,’ interposed Simon, with a sharp and understanding glance at Jill’s angry face. ‘Vanessa interests me. I’d like to know what lies underneath that slightly bored manner she adopts. I’m sure it could be something quite unexpected. There are depths to that young woman which might be very surprising.’

  Jill said nothing. With a muttered excuse she hurried out of the room, slamming the door behind her with unnecessary force.

  *

  Inspector Frost looked like a farmer. His face was red and shining but the eyes, small and set a shade too close to his rather bulbous nose, were shrewd. He sat behind the desk in his little office and listened quietly and without interruption to what Simon Gale had to say. When he had finished, the Inspector sat back and slowly expelled his breath.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he remarked, ‘you’ve flabbergasted me, an’ that’s a fact. It never struck me there could be any doubt about Mrs. ’Allam’s guilt.’

  ‘From your point of view,’ said Gale, ‘it must have been the obvious conclusion.’

  ‘There wasn’t any other, sir,’ said the Inspector, shaking his head. ‘I still think it’s the right one.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to change your opinion,’ said Gale. ‘All I want is a little help.’

  ‘You can ’ave that, sir, an’ welcome,’ answered Frost heartily. ‘I’d be glad if I could ’elp Mrs. ’Allam, an’ that’s a fact. A very nice lady, I’ve always thought her.’

  ‘Good.’ Simon took a slip of paper from his pocket. ‘Now, I’ve jotted down some questions I’d like to ask you.’

  ‘Ask what you like, sir. I’ll tell you anything I can, though I reckon you’re goin’ to ’ave all your work cut out to do what you’re tryin’ to do.’

  ‘I know, but I’m going to do it all the same.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck, sir,’ said Frost. ‘Thank you,’ said Gale. ‘Now, first of all — about this whisky and milk in which the poison was supposed to be administered: could the barbitone have been already in either the whisky or the milk which Mrs. Hallam used?’

  The Inspector shook his large head. ‘No, sir. You can wash that out. The remains of both the whisky and the milk she used was analysed, an’ there wasn’t a trace of anything at all. The poison was put in the mixture after she’d made it.’

  ‘There can’t be any mistake about that?’

  ‘No, sir. It was all gone into very thoroughly at the time.’

  ‘Right. Well, the next thing is this: when you made an examination of the study, after the murder, were the French windows fastened?’

  ‘Fastened an’ bolted on the inside, sir.’ ‘Hallam could have done that himself — before the poison took effect?’

  ‘I s’pose ’e could, sir.’ Inspector Frost’s eyes suddenly looked very shrewd indeed. ‘Is it your idea, sir, that somebody paid ’im a visit that way after Mrs. ‘Allam ’ad left ’im?’

  The Inspector considered this.

  Gale nodded.

  ‘Well, I s’pose they could’ve,’ he admitted doubtfully.

  ‘What’s more,’ said Gale, ‘I think the person was seen.’

  ‘Seen?’ Frost suddenly became very alert. He leaned forward across the desk. ‘Ah, now — if you could prove that, sir, you’d be gettin’ somewhere. That’d be evidence.’

  ‘Do you know a man named Rigg — Jonas Rigg?’ asked Simon.

  ‘I should think I do,’ said Frost with disgust in his voice. ‘An’ no thin’ to ’is credit. A thoroughly bad lot if ever there was one. You’re not tellin’ me…?’

  ‘Would you say he was capable of blackmail?’ said Gale.

  ‘I wouldn’t put nothin’ past Rigg,’ declared Inspector Frost. ‘As long as it didn’t put ’is own dirty skin in danger. What are you…?’

  ‘I think Rigg saw somebody at Easton Knoll on the night John Hallam died,’ said Simon Gale.

  ‘An’ ’e’s blackmailin’ this person — is that your idea?’ said Frost.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why do you think this, sir?’

  ‘I’ve talked to Rigg. It’s obvious from his manner that he knows something, but although I offered to make it worth his while, he remained as mum as an oyster. There’s only one reason for that — with a man like Rigg — he hopes to make more from somebody else.’

  Frost nodded his agreement. ‘That seems to be pretty sound reasonin’, sir,’ he said, ‘allowin’, of course, that ’e really knows anythin’. ’Ave you any idea who this person is?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘It’d ’ave ter be someone with a motive, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Well, from what I can gather, Hallam was pretty generally disliked.’

  ‘He wasn’t what you’d call a popular gentleman,’ said the Inspector, ‘but that’s not a good enough motive for murder, sir.’

  ‘That depends … Do you know why he was unpopular, Inspector?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I’ve a vague idea — if I’m right quite a number of people might have a reason for wishing to murder him.’

  Inspector Frost pursed his lips. ‘You’d still ’ave to show that they could have done it, sir,’ he said. ‘What you’re going to be up against is the fact that barbitone stuff was kept in Mrs. ‘Allam’s bedroom in a locked drawer.’

  ‘And the key in her handbag.’ Gale nodded. ‘Yes, I know. What would you say if I told you that at least five people had an opportunity of getting hold of that key on the day before Hallam died?’

  ‘I’d say that you’d still ’ave to prove that one of ’em got hold of it, sir — an’ what’s more, that they also took the barbitone.’

  ‘I realize that, of course.’

  ‘Who was the five people, sir?’

  ‘Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys, Vanessa Lane, Mrs. Barrett, Robert Upcott, and Miss Ginch.’

  Frost frowned at the inkpot in front of him.

  ‘Well, I can’t see any of them poisonin’ Mr. Hallam,’ he said. ‘Except maybe, Miss Ginch. She’s a queer old girl, an’ that’s a fact. Always smarmin’ round the vicar, poor chap, an’ runnin’ everybody else down be’ind their backs. The lies she tells about people — you’d never believe it. Doctor Evershed threatened ’er with an action once for the things she said about ’im.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Doctor Evershed. I haven’t met him yet. What’s he like?’

  ‘Very nice chap,’ declared the Inspector, ‘a bit abrupt in his manner, an’ there’s some as don’t like ’im at all. But ’e’s a clever doctor. He bought old Doctor Croxton’s practice when he retired a couple o’ years ago.’

  ‘He’s practically a newcomer, then?’ said Gale.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did Miss Ginch say about him?’

  ‘It was about one of his patients — a woman. He’s a good-lookin’ feller an’ youngish for a G.P. in a place like this — about forty, I should say. Miss Ginch started a rumour … well, you know the sort of mush, sir?’

  ‘Presumably Miss Ginch had tried her charms on Doctor Evershed without success, eh?’

  A deep rumble shook the large bulk of Inspector Frost. Simon Gale gathered that he was chuckling, though there was no change in the expression of his face.

  ‘I expect you’re about right there, sir,’ he said. “As a go at every man, she does, an’ ud run a mile if any of ’em took any notice of ’er.’

  ‘I suppose it was Doctor Evershed who was called in when Hallam was found dead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was he the first
to notify the police that there was something wrong?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  There was a short silence, and then Simon folded up his notes and put them in his pocket.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all for the time being,’ he said. ‘If I want any help, I can count on you, can I?’

  ‘You can, sir,’ said Frost, and added: ‘so long as it’s in an unofficial capacity.’

  ‘Of course, that’s understood. All the same if you should hear of anything … ?’

  ‘I’ll let you know at once, sir.’

  They shook hands. As Gale was going out of the door, Frost said: ‘I might make one or two inquiries — along the lines you mentioned — strictly in my spare time, of course.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful,’ said Simon. ‘Goodbye, Inspector . ’

  ‘Good mornin’, sir — an’ good luck . ’

  *

  Simon found his brother waiting for him outside the little rural police-station.

  ‘Hello,’ said Martin. ‘You’ve been a deuce of a time. Why didn’t you let me come in with you?’

  ‘Because I thought it would be better to see him on my own.’

  ‘How did you get on? What sort of chap is he?’

  ‘Very amiable … Hell’s bells, look who’s bearing down on us.’

  Martin looked round. The thin form of Miss Ginch was crossing the road and coming towards them with deadly intent. There was no possible way of dodging her so they had to make the best of it.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Gale,’ said Miss Ginch, gushingly. ‘How are you, and how is your brother? Didn’t I see you come out of the police-station just now?’

  Her expression dared either of them to deny it.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you did if you happened to be looking in that direction,’ said Gale.

  ‘I was sure I wasn’t mistaken,’ said Miss Ginch. ‘Do tell me, Mr. Gale, are there any new developments? When is Mrs. Hallam going to be released? I’m so anxious about it all. I always felt there was a mistake, you know.’

  ‘Did you Miss Ginch? I rather gathered yesterday that you…’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Ginch, speaking very rapidly. ‘I couldn’t imagine dear Mrs. Hallam doing such a dreadful thing. You’re a very great friend of hers, aren’t you, Mr. Gale?’

  ‘Yes, we were almost brought up together.’

  ‘How very extraordinary.’

  ‘Why should it be extraordinary?’ asked Martin, in surprise.

  ‘It seems to me so peculiar that you’ve never been here before,’ said Miss Ginch, meaningly. ‘If you and Mrs. Hallam were such friends I should have thought you would have come to visit her. But, perhaps, the friendship did not extend to Mr. Hallam?’

  ‘It didn’t,’ said Gale, shortly. ‘I never met him.’

  Having shot her shaft, Miss Ginch proceeded happily:

  ‘Such a strange man, Mr. Gale. Yes indeed. I’ve always felt so sorry for Mrs. Hallam and Jill. Poor things! So difficult to have to live with anyone like that, you know?’

  ‘Like what, Miss Ginch?’

  ‘Well, not a very nice person, I’m afraid,’ said Miss Ginch making strange noises with her teeth. ‘Oh, no, not a nice person at all … not at all …’

  ‘Look here, Miss Ginch,’ said Simon, bluntly, ‘what do you mean? People keep on hinting at something peculiar about John Hallam, but nobody comes out into the open and says what it was.’

  ‘Well, of course, it’s only what I’ve heard,’ said Miss Ginch cautiously. ‘I do think people should be careful of repeating gossip — they get into such trouble, you know. You should ask Mr Upcott or Major Fergusson, or Mrs. Langdon-Humphreys.’

  ‘Here’s Upcott now,’ interrupted Martin.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Miss Ginch, very flustered with a spot of colour staining her yellow cheeks. ‘That’s Doctor Ever-shed with him. One always meets everybody in the High Street of a morning … Do excuse me — I must be getting on with my shopping … Goodbye, goodbye…’

  She turned hurriedly and tripped away. ‘What made her rush off like that?’ asked Martin.

  Simon Gale chuckled.

  ‘Doctor Evershed, I imagine,’ he said. ‘Miss Ginch is not very popular in that direction … Good morning, Upcott.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Gale, good morning,’ said Upcott, beaming at them. ‘This is quite an unexpected pleasure. Do you know Doctor Evershed? I don’t think you do, do you? Doctor, this is Mr. Simon Gale, the portrait painter — I’m sure you must have heard of him. Mr. Gale has come down here to—’

  ‘I know,’ broke in Doctor Evershed, curtly, ‘I’ve heard all about it.’

  ‘Marvellous, isn’t it, how quickly news travels in our little community?’ said Mr. Upcott.

  ‘Not while there are people like Miss Ginch in existence,’ said Evershed. He was a thick-set, swarthy-faced man. His hair was very dark and he had a full-lipped mouth and rather large brown eyes. Gale thought he looked as if there was a touch of the Latin about him.

  ‘Poor Miss Ginch!’ Upcott gave a little high-pitched cackle. ‘Our general information bureau, you know, Mr. Gale — not always very reliable, I’m afraid.’

  ‘A thoroughly spiteful and dangerous old gossip,’ said Evershed.

  ‘But nobody takes anything she says seriously, Evershed,’ said Upcott, quickly. ‘You agree — I’m sure that you agree? We all know our Miss Ginch, eh? What particular choice piece of scandal was she discussing with you, just now, Mr. Gale?’

  ‘Well, it concerned you,’ said Simon, not entirely truthfully.

  ‘Me?’ Mr. Upcott looked a trifle uneasy. ‘Good gracious, what could she possibly have to say about me?’

  ‘She suggested that you know a great deal more about John Hallam than you’ve admitted.’

  ‘Oh, really, this is too much,’ declared Upcott, ‘Quite, quite absurd, of course. I knew nothing about Hallam — nothing at all.’

  ‘I understand that you called to see him at Easton Knoll on the day before he died,’ said Gale. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I think I did. But, my dear fellow, why shouldn’t I?’ Mr. Upcott spread his plump hands. ‘There was nothing in it. I’d heard that Hallam had an early Doctor Wall teapot — a very fine specimen — and I was anxious to purchase it for my little collection…’

  ‘Did you get it?’

  ‘No,’ Upcott shook his head sadly. ‘Hallam sent a message to say that he couldn’t be disturbed. So vexing after going all that way. I suppose he was gloating over one of those horrid books of his … Oh, you know about them, do you?’

  ‘Everybody does,’ said Doctor Ever-shed. ‘Hallam had a queer streak. Definitely a pathological case, in my opinion.’

  ‘It’s rather interesting you should think that, Doctor Evershed,’ said Gale.

  ‘He wasn’t mad, of course, but close to the border-line,’ said Evershed.

  ‘A sort of sadistic obsession — is that what you mean?’

  ‘You understand, eh?’ Evershed flashed him an appreciative glance.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gale. ‘I’d formed the same opinion.’

  ‘Clever of you,’ said Evershed. ‘Not a unique case, you know. Lots of ’em about.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I must be pushing off. Quite a few patients to see.’

  ‘I should like to have a chat with you sometime soon,’ said Gale.

  ‘Glad to. After surgery’s the best time. Drop round this evening — seven-thirty.’

  ‘Thanks, I will.’

  ‘Goodbye, Doctor,’ said Upcott, ‘thank you so much for the prescription.’

  Evershed nodded curtly and hurried away.

  ‘My poor nerves are really in a shocking state,’ sighed Upcott. ‘You know what they were like yesterday? I suffer from insomnia, you know? I simply had to go to Doctor Evershed this morning and ask him to give me something. Sleeplessness is dreadful, isn’t it? You agree — I’m sure you agree?’

  ‘Never suffered from it,’ said Gale. ‘I always sleep like a log.
What did Evershed give you?’

  ‘Oh, he always gives me the same thing — barbitone tablets. They’re so efficacious. I shall sleep like a child tonight. Bye, bye — I really must run along now.’

  Martin pursed up his lips in a silent whistle.

  ‘Barbitone!’ he said, softly.

  Simon Gale nodded.

  ‘Yes — a queer coincidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘He’s had them before, too.’

  ‘They’re quite often prescribed for insomnia.’

  ‘It looks very queer to me,’ said Martin. ‘Taken in conjunction … What are you looking at, Simon?’

  ‘Jonas Rigg. All the time we’ve been talking he’s been watching us…’

  ‘I can’t see him.’

  ‘He’s hiding himself in that little passage between those cottages … Walk slowly up the street, Martin…’

  A little bewildered Martin obeyed. Simon strolled along beside him. Presently he said:

  ‘Stop at this shop, and look in the window. Rigg is following us. Let’s give him a chance to catch up with us.’

  They stopped outside the little general stores, and looked in at the assortment of goods in the small window. Footsteps came hesitantly up behind them and stopped.

  ‘I say, mister,’ said a voice in a hoarse whisper.

  Gale looked round. Rigg was shuffling from one foot to the other nervously.

  ‘What do you want, Rigg?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what we was talkin’ about yesterday?’ said Rigg, his small eyes wary and alert. ‘Could you come to my caravan — sometime tonight. I might ’ave somethin’ to tell yer.’

  ‘Why not tell me now?’

  ‘Not ’ere — I don’t want ter be seen talkin’ to yer … ’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune since yesterday, haven’t you. Why?’

  ‘I’ve been thinkin’ … I wouldn’t like no one to get in trouble fer what they didn’t do, see.’

  ‘You mean Mrs. Hallam?’

  ‘I ain’t mentionin’ no names … It ud be worth somethin’ fer the information, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘That depends what it is,’ said Gale. ‘If it helps to clear Mrs. Hallam I’ll see you’re all right.’

  ‘’Ow much, mister?’ said Rigg greedily.

  ‘We’ll talk about that when I’ve heard what you’ve got to say.’