Noose for a Lady

by Gerald Verner

  ‘It’ll be worth a good bit — what I can tell yer, mister. You come along at eight-thirty, see.’

  ‘All right — I’ll be there,’ said Gale.

  ‘Don’t go sayin’ nothin’ to nobody, mister, or it’s all off, see,’ said Rigg, ‘an’ bring plenty o’ cash with yer.’

  He looked quickly up and down the street and shuffled quickly off.

  ‘What a bit of luck, Simon,’ exclaimed Martin. ‘So he really did see something. Do you think—’

  ‘I think,’ said Simon, ‘that we’d better hurry up and make for that pub. We promised to meet Jill and I want some beer.’

  ‘Lord yes,’ said Martin, ‘and Vanessa. Let’s get a move on.’

  ‘Don’t say anything about Rigg in front of Vanessa,’ warned his brother. ‘It will be better if we keep that amongst ourselves.’

  Jill and Vanessa had already arrived when they reached the Hand and Flower.

  ‘We’d given you up,’ said Jill.

  ‘I was just going,’ drawled Vanessa. ‘I’ve got to meet auntie at a quarter to one. You’re awfully late.’

  ‘We couldn’t help it,’ said Martin. ‘We ran into Upcott and Miss Ginch in the High Street.’

  ‘How dreadful!’ Vanessa shuddered. ‘They’re bad enough singly — together they’re perfectly appalling!’

  ‘We also met Doctor Evershed,’ said Simon. ‘He was with Upcott.’

  ‘Not from choice, I’m sure, Simon,’ said Jill. ‘Doctor Evershed can’t bear Mr. Upcott.’

  ‘No, Upcott had been to see him about his nerves.’

  ‘Poor little man!’ said Vanessa. ‘I don’t like him, but I do feel sorry for him.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Martin.

  ‘You’ve heard about his wife running away with some man or other, haven’t you?’ she said, languidly.

  ‘I told them,’ said Jill.

  ‘Well, ever since then, he seems to have gone to pieces — all jumpy and dithery — like he was yesterday afternoon. He never used to be as bad as that, did he, Jill?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And recently he’s got worse,’ went on Vanessa. ‘Sometimes he looks positively ghastly. I can’t think what can be the matter with him.’

  ‘He was genuinely upset at his wife leaving him,’ said Jill.

  ‘I can’t imagine Upcott married,’ said Martin. ‘It seems all wrong.’

  ‘It is all wrong, of course,’ said Vanessa. ‘He ought to have remained a spinster!’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Vanessa, you shouldn’t say things like that,’ said Jill.

  Well, that’s what he should be,’ answered Vanessa. ‘He and Miss Ginch are terribly alike, you know — really the only difference is that he isn’t spiteful.’

  ‘I think that’s really unkind.’

  ‘But it’s true,’ insisted Vanessa.

  ‘That reminds me, Jill,’ said Simon, ‘have you got an early Doctor Wall teapot at Easton Knoll?’

  She stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘What on earth’s that, Simon?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s rather a rare piece of china, I believe.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, ‘I’ll ask Mrs. Barrett.’

  ‘Simon means that thing in the study,’ said Vanessa, ‘in the corner cupboard by the window.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ exclaimed Jill. ‘Why did you want to know, Simon?’

  ‘It must have got something to do with Mr. Upcott,’ said Vanessa.

  ‘China and Upcott do go together, don’t they?’ said Gale.

  ‘Is it a clue?’ asked Vanessa. ‘You know everybody’s getting terribly excited wondering who it can possibly be if it isn’t Margaret?’

  ‘Their curiosity may be satisfied sooner than they expect,’ answered Gale. ‘Perhaps sooner than one of them will like.’

  ‘It’s awfully interesting,’ she said, ‘trying to think who it might be.’

  ‘Not quite so interesting for Maggie, you know,’ said Gale. ‘Her life depends on it.’

  Vanessa flushed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I didn’t think…’

  ‘All she can do is to sit and wait,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘Can you imagine what it’s like that waiting? Going to bed at night and waking in the morning — each day bringing her nearer to — the last morning?’

  ‘Don’t,’ whispered Vanessa, white to the lips, ‘please don’t…’

  ‘I don’t think you’d find it awfully interesting, Vanessa,’ he said.

  She looked as if she were going to cry but she fought back the tears. With a quick movement she swallowed her drink and set down the empty glass.

  ‘I must go,’ she said, speaking with difficulty. ‘I must go … I don’t — I don’t want to keep … my aunt waiting…’

  She walked hastily to the door and went out.

  ‘You shouldn’t have upset her like that Simon,’ said Martin reproachfully.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded his brother. ‘It won’t hurt her to feel a little human emotion. I thought under all that nonsense she might be capable of it, but I wasn’t sure.’

  He took a long drink of beer.

  ‘Simon,’ said Jill, wrinkling her forehead, ‘how did she know about the teapot?’

  ‘What do you mean, Jill — how did she know? She must have seen it.’

  ‘Yes, but when?’

  ‘Oh, sometime when she was in Hallam’s study.’

  ‘That’s just it, Simon,’ said Jill. ‘So far as I know, she’s never been in father’s study.’

  *

  There was a knock on the cell door. One of the wardresses got up, went over and unlocked it.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said. ‘Here’s the chaplain to see you Hallam.’

  Margaret Hallam looked up. She liked the chaplain. He was a youngish man, fresh complexioned, and going slightly bald, and he talked humanly.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs. Hallam,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought you those books I promised.’

  He laid them down on the table.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, tonelessly, ‘but I don’t think — I want to read.’

  He pulled up a chair, sat down, and offered her a cigarette. She took it mechanically and he flicked a lighter into flame and lit it for her.

  ‘I’ll leave them with you in case you should,’ he said. ‘It’s good to occupy the mind with something, you know.’

  ‘I’ve plenty to occupy my mind,’ she said.

  ‘Have you heard anything from your friends?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s hardly been time yet, has there?’ she said.

  No, I suppose not,’ he agreed. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help in any way, you’ve only got to ask me, you know.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ she said.

  ‘No, no … just doing my job.’ He sighed. ‘I only wish I could do more.’

  ‘There isn’t very much anyone can do,’ she said, ‘except to find out the truth.’

  ‘Mrs. Hallam,’ he leaned across the table, ‘you’ve told me what your friends are attempting to do, and I sincerely hope that they will be successful. At the same time you must realize how difficult the task is that they have undertaken.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said.

  ‘I only want to warn you,’ he went on, ‘not to put too much reliance on—’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know,’ she broke in. ‘I’m hoping for a miracle.’

  ‘“The most wonderful thing about miracles is that they sometimes happen”,’ he quoted, ‘G. K. Chesterton wrote that.’

  ‘I hope he’s right in my case,’ she said.

  ‘That rests with God, Mrs. Hallam,’ he answered. ‘We can only do our best. The final decision is with Him.’

  ‘That … doesn’t make it any easier, I’m afraid.’

  ‘No, I can understand that,’ he said, quickly.

  ‘Not when you know that each minute — each time the clock strikes — is hurrying you nearer to — to the time when there will be — no more mi
nutes.’

  ‘That time is bound to come for everybody, Mrs. Hallam,’ he said.

  ‘But they don’t know the day, the hour, the actual second, and have to watch it getting nearer and nearer … they don’t have to live with that for weeks before.’

  ‘I know. That is an ordeal mercifully spared the majority of us,’ he replied. ‘I doubt if many of us could face it. To do so requires great courage … ’

  ‘It’s like a line drawn through the middle of your life,’ said Margaret. ‘A thick black line — and beyond the line … there’s nothing more…’

  *

  The clock on the mantelpiece in the drawing-room at Easton Knoll struck eight. Simon Gale looked up from a silent contemplation of the fire, took the pipe from his mouth and said:

  ‘It’s nearly time we were starting. It’ll take half-an-hour to get to Rigg’s caravan from here, won’t it, Jill?’

  ‘About that, Simon,’ she answered. ‘There is a short cut, but I don’t think we’d better risk it in the dark.’

  ‘I hope when we get there, Rigg hasn’t changed his mind again,’ said Martin.

  ‘I don’t think you need worry about that,’ said Gale. He got up and stretched himself.

  ‘Why do you think he suddenly decided to tell us anything?’ asked the girl.

  ‘Because he was too scared to go through with his original plan,’ said Simon.

  ‘Scared?’

  ‘Yes. His first intention was obviously blackmail — that’s why we couldn’t get anything out of him yesterday — and then he got frightened. He won’t get so much out of us, but at least it’s — safe.’

  ‘I wonder what frightened him?’ said Martin.

  ‘I think he guessed that the person who poisoned Hallam wouldn’t stand for blackmail,’ replied Gale. ‘It’s easier to kill the second time, you know.’ He knocked his pipe into the grate. ‘We must be going — come along.’

  ‘I’ll just get my coat,’ said Jill, ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  ‘All right — hurry up,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll wait for you in the hall,’ said Martin.

  It was a dark night with a chill wind. They set out from Easton Knoll, walking briskly to keep warm. The wind had changed since the morning and was almost due north with a consequent lowering of the temperature.

  ‘I say,’ said Martin, suddenly remembering. ‘Weren’t you supposed to see Evershed this evening?’

  ‘I rang him up before dinner and put it off,’ said Simon. ‘This is the turning, isn’t it, Jill?’

  ‘Yes, we haven’t very far to go now.’

  ‘Good,’ grunted Martin. ‘I’m frozen.’

  They turned into the narrow lane which sloped steeply down to Quarry Wood.

  ‘Mind how you go,’ warned the girl, ‘the road’s very bad.’

  ‘This isn’t the way we came before,’ said Martin.

  ‘We came from the ‘Hand and Flower’ then,’ she said. ‘This is the best way from Easton Knoll. Rigg’s caravan is only a few hundred yards from the end of this lane.’

  ‘There’s somebody coming,’ broke in Gale. ‘Look — that’s the red tip of a lighted cigar . ’

  It was coming jerkily towards them — a tiny glow in the darkness.

  ‘It must be Major Fergusson,’ said Jill. ‘He always smokes cigars.’

  ‘What on earth’s he doing here?’ muttered Martin.

  ‘He often goes for long walks in the evening,’ said Jill.

  The red glow of the cigar came nearer. Presently they could dimly distinguish the figure behind it.

  ‘Good evening, Major Fergusson,’ said Gale.

  There was a startled exclamation and then Fergusson’s voice said:

  ‘Who’s that … Who are you?’

  ‘Simon Gale — don’t you remember? We met in the pub yesterday.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Fergusson was level with them now, and he stopped. ‘I could not recognize you in the dark. That’s Miss Hallam, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Jill.

  ‘You startled me,’ Fergusson went on rapidly, ‘I didn’t expect to meet anyone round here.’

  ‘Neither did we,’ said Gale. ‘Not a very pleasant night to be out.’

  ‘The weather makes no difference to me,’ answered Fergusson. ‘I like walking at night. I find I sleep better. You seem to like it yourselves.’

  ‘Ah, we’re not out for pleasure,’ said Gale. ‘We’re on our way to see Rig.’

  ‘Rigg?’ exclaimed Fergusson, and he sounded startled, ‘you mean Jonas Rigg?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll have your trouble for nothing, I’m thinking.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Jill.

  ‘I passed his caravan a wee while back and there was no light,’ said Fergusson. ‘Well, I’ll not be keeping you. Good night.’

  He walked briskly past them and disappeared in the darkness.

  They continued on their way, came to the end of the lane, and presently to the edge of the wood where Rigg’s caravan stood.

  ‘Major Fergusson was right,’ said Jill. ‘There isn’t a light.’

  ‘I hope Rigg isn’t going to let us down,’ said Martin.

  ‘It’s only just half-past eight,’ said Gale. ‘He may not have got back yet.’

  ‘Unless he blocks up his windows,’ suggested Martin.

  ‘The place is so dilapidated, I should think you would be bound to see a chink somewhere.’

  They walked over to the caravan. It was dark and quite silent. Simon Gale went up the steps and tried the door. It opened under his hand, but there was no light inside.

  ‘I don’t think he can be here, unless he’s asleep,’ he said. ‘It’s too dark to see anything.’

  Martin joined him.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said, ‘I’ll strike a match, Simon…’

  He took out a box of matches, struck one, and shielded the flame with his hand. The feeble light shed a faint glimmer round the dark interior of the caravan and:

  ‘Hell’s bells!’ exclaimed Simon Gale.

  ‘What’s the matter, Simon?’ called Jill sharply from the foot of the steps.

  ‘See if there’s a lamp anywhere,’ snapped Gale, ‘we must get a light.’

  She came quickly up the steps.

  ‘There’s one on the shelf — in the corner … ’ she said.

  ‘I see it,’ said Martin. ‘Wait a minute … I’ll strike another match.’

  ‘Simon,’ said Jill, ‘is something wrong?’

  ‘I think there’s something very wrong,’ he answered. ‘Don’t move until we get a light, Jill.’

  A flame flared up inside the caravan, there was a clink of glass and it began to burn steadily.

  ‘There,’ grunted Martin, ‘now we can see what we’re doing.’

  ‘What do you mean Simon,’ persisted Jill, urgently. ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘Rigg’s here,’ answered Gale, ‘but I’m afraid he’s dead.’

  She gave a little cry.

  ‘Dead?’ exclaimed Martin.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jill, ‘oh, no — he can’t be.’

  Simon touched the motionless figure in the chair by the table.

  ‘He is — there’s no doubt of it,’ he said. ‘He’s been dead for some time, I think.’

  ‘But how — how did it happen?’ she demanded, peering it from the doorway.

  ‘I don’t know yet. Stay where you are, Jill, and don’t touch anything … Martin, go and find Doctor Evershed and bring him here as quickly as you can. Get hold of Inspector Frost, too, if you can find him.’

  ‘Inspector Frost?’ repeated Martin.

  ‘Don’t you realize,’ said Gale impatiently, ‘that this is too convenient to be a coincidence?’

  ‘Convenient?’ said Jill.

  ‘Rigg was going to tell us something tonight — and he’s dead.’

  She caught her breath. ‘Simon!’

  ‘Somebody was afraid, Jill. They
had to take — precautions.’

  ‘Do you mean — it was murder?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Of course it was,’ asserted Gale. ‘I told you that a person who has killed once will always kill a second time — if necessary, didn’t I? It became necessary — with Rigg.’

  ‘Because — he knew?’ whispered Jill.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How was … how was he killed?’

  ‘I think he was poisoned,’ answered Simon Gale.

  *

  It was an hour later:

  Inspector Frost, his ruddy face grave, edged closer to Doctor Evershed as he straightened up from the body of Jonas Rigg-

  ‘Well, doctor, what do you say? Was it poison?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, there’s no doubt of it.’

  ‘You were right, Simon,’ whispered Jill.

  ‘I was certain of it. What was the poison, doctor?’ asked Gale.

  ‘One of the hypnotics.’

  ‘Such as — barbitone?’

  ‘Could be barbitone. There’s marked cyanosis. Can’t say for certain until after the post-mortem.’

  ‘It’s horrible — horrible,’ muttered Jill.

  ‘Why don’t you go home?’ Simon swung round on her. ‘Let Martin take you.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d rather stay.’

  ‘You can’t do any good here,’ said Evershed.

  ‘Come along, Jill,’ said Martin. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  ‘No,’ she said, stubbornly. ‘I’m staying. I want to know.’

  ‘Well, so long as Inspector Frost doesn’t mind,’ said Gale, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘I don’t mind, sir,’ said Frost, ‘only I think ’ud be better for the young lady if she went, an’ that’s a fact. We’ll be ’ere for a good bit yet.’

  ‘I’ll wait, Inspector.’

  ‘All right, miss, ’ave it your own way,’ said Frost good-naturedly, ‘Now then — about this poison. What d’you think he took it in?’

  ‘I think it was in the beer,’ said Gale. ‘That empty bottle was on the table when we found him.’

  ‘The dregs should tell us if you’re right,’ said the Inspector. ‘I’ll ’ave ’em analysed. ’Ow long would you say Rigg had been dead, doctor?’

  ‘Two or three hours,’ answered Ever-shed, ‘Can’t be more definite than that.’

  ‘These — what-d’you-call — ’em — ’ypnotics — are things people take to make ’em sleep, aren’t they?’