‘That’s the explanation, is it?’
‘Yes. Satisfied?’
‘It’s a very good explanation,’ said Gale. ‘If it wasn’t true, I should be able to congratulate you on your ingenuity.’
‘But since it is, you can’t. What a pity … ’
‘Isn’t it?’ said Gale. ‘Ingenuity is so much rarer than truth … ’
‘In this village,’ said Evershed, ‘it takes a great deal of the first to discover even a tiny particle of the latter.’
‘Yes … yes,’ said Gale, thoughtfully, ‘I don’t think you realize just how right you are’
*
‘Some more tea, Simon?’ asked Jill.
‘No, thanks,’ he shook his head.
It was nearly half-past four and they were having tea in the drawing-room at Easton Knoll.
‘Some more cake?’ she asked.
‘No thanks.’
She nibbled on a biscuit. ‘What time is Martin likely to be back, Simon?’
‘It all depends how long it takes him to finish his business,’ said Gale.
‘Where’s he gone?’
‘Up to town. There are one or two things I want from the studio … ’
‘Is he going to see Margaret?’
‘He may do — if there’s time … ’
She poured herself out another cup of tea.
‘Do you think you will be able to … to save her?’ she asked.
‘If things work out as I hope they will — yes … ’
‘Have you any idea who it was?’
‘Well … ’ he pursed his lips.
‘Simon, you have … ’
‘It’s only the very vaguest notion, Jill.’
She leaned forward eagerly. ‘Who, Simon? Tell me who?’
He shook his head.
‘Not now,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to think it all out … I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ ‘Tomorrow,’ she said, and her face clouded. ‘That’s the last day, Simon.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ve got to be right. There’ll be no time to rectify a mistake … ’
‘If you’re wrong … Simon, you mustn’t be wrong. I couldn’t go on living here without Margaret.’
‘What would you do?’ He got up and leaned on the mantelpiece, looking down at her.
‘Sell the house, I suppose,’ she said, ‘or shut it up and go and live in London. I couldn’t stay here — in this huge house — all on my own.’
‘You ought to get married, Jill,’ he said.
She dropped her eyes. ‘I don’t think — that’s very likely,’ she said.
‘I shouldn’t let Vanessa worry you too much,’ said Simon Gale meaningfully.
She looked up quickly. He met her gaze with a quizzical smile. ‘Vanessa? What do you mean, Simon?’ she asked.
‘Don’t pretend, Jill,’ he said. ‘I know how you feel about Martin.’
‘Oh … ’ she breathed.
‘It’s very obvious, you know … ’
‘I didn’t mean it to be,’ she said, in a low voice.
‘Never mind — things will sort themselves out,’ he said. ‘Vanessa won’t worry you in the future … ’
That startled her. ‘Simon,’ she exclaimed. ‘You don’t — you don’t mean … ?’
The door opened and Mrs. Barrett came in.
‘Miss Jill, that girl, Agnes Potter, wants to see you.’
‘Agnes Potter?’
‘Mrs. Potter’s daughter. Miss Jill,’ explained Mrs. Barrett. ‘You know, the one that was so ill, and had to go and stay with her aunt in London … ’
‘Oh, yes, I know,’ said Jill. ‘What does she want to see me about?’
‘I don’t know — she won’t say, miss,’ said the housekeeper. ‘But she won’t go away.’
‘All right, I’ll come and see her.’
‘Why not ask her to come in here?’ suggested Gale.
‘All right — bring her in here, then, Mrs. Barrett.’
‘Yes, Miss Jill.’
She withdrew and when she returned in a moment or so she was accompanied by a plain-faced, rather nervous girl, who started fumbling with a handkerchief, and staring at the floor.
‘Here’s Agnes Potter, Miss Jill,’ said Barrett.
‘Well, Agnes,’ said Jill. ‘What do you want to see me about?’
‘I ’ope you’ll excuse the liberty me comin’ ’ere like this, Miss ’Allam,’ said
Agnes, unhappily. ‘But mother said as it would be all right, an’ that I ought to tell you … ’ Her voice faded to incoherence and she cleared her throat.
‘Tell me what, Agnes?’ asked Jill.
Agnes looked as though she wished she hadn’t come. With an effort she managed to find her voice again.
‘I’d been to a dance over at Harchester, you see, miss, an’ ’avin’ to walk ’ome in the rain, I caught cold an’ it turned to pneumonia.’ She rushed into words, nervously. ‘They thought I wasn’t going to get better, an’ when I did I was very weak-like, you see, an’ mother said I ought to ’ave a change an’ so I went to auntie’s I didn’t think anythin’ of it until I came to see mother yesterday an’ she told me about it might not have been Mrs. ’Allam after all, an’ then I remembered what I’d seen … ’
‘What you’d seen?’ said Jill, seizing on one sentence from this spate of words.
‘On me way ’ome from the dance, yer see?’ explained Agnes.
‘Just a minute, Agnes,’ said Gale. ‘Don’t go so fast. When did you go to this dance? Was it on the night that Mr. Hallam was killed?’
‘Yes, sir — at least mother says it was. You see I was so ill I don’t rightly know … ’
‘You walked back from this dance, and you saw something that you think we ought to know?’ said Gale.
Agnes nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘That’s why I come round ’ere … ’
‘What time was it when you came back from the dance?’ asked Gale.
‘Oh, it was very late, sir,’ said Agnes. ‘If I ’adn’t been took ill like I was, there’d ’ave been a proper row with mother … ’
‘Yes, yes, I expect there would,’ he said. ‘But what time was it?’
‘I ’eard the church clock strikin’ two, sir, as I come past Easton Knoll … ’
‘And then you saw something — what did you see?’
Agnes licked her lips which seemed to have gone very dry.
‘I saw someone leavin’ the ’ouse, sir,’ she answered. ‘They was just comin’ out o’ the gates, sir, as I come along the lane … ’
‘Who was it, Agnes?’ asked Jill. ‘Could you see?’
‘Yes, miss. Yer see it ’ad been dark up to then, but the moon come out just as I got in sight o’ the drive. It was only fer a minute, an’ then it clouded over again, but I see who it was all right … ’
‘Who was it, Agnes?’ said Simon Gale.
‘It was Mr. Upcott, sir,’ she answered.
‘That’s the girl’s story,’ said Simon Gale to Inspector Frost half-an-hour later, ‘and she’s prepared to swear it was Robert Upcott.’
Frost took a bite from a wedge of cake and washed it down with a drink of tea. Gale had disturbed him in the middle of his meal.
‘I’d be inclined to take ’er word for it, Mr. Gale,’ he said. ‘Agnes Potter wouldn’t be likely to make a mistake. She’s lived ’ere all ’er life, an’ she’s a steady, trustworthy sort o’ girl. I wish we’d heard about this before, an’ that’s a fact … ’
‘You probably would have done if she hadn’t caught pneumonia and been seriously ill at the time,’ said Gale. ‘She only came home today from her aunt’s in London. When she heard her mother talking about what we were trying to do, she remembered…’
‘It might ’ave made all the difference if we’d known earlier,’ said Frost, frowning into the mug of tea, ‘still it may be in time now. You know, ever since you first came an’ told me you thought Mrs. ‘Allam was innocent, I’ve had an idea in the back o’ my mind
that it might be Upcott … ’
‘Well, it certainly looks as though you were right, Inspector,’ said Gale.
‘’E’s a queer sort of feller, an’ that’s a fact — just the kind you’d expect to use poison if ’e wanted to get rid of someone … ’
‘No … not quite the kind I should expect,’ said Gale, shaking his head, ‘but it seems I’m wrong. Well, what are we going to do about this?’
‘I think it ought to be followed up at once, sir,’ said Frost.
‘I agree,’ said Gale, ‘but who’s going to do the following up? Look here, Inspector, I’ve an idea that I can get more out of Upcott than you. Don’t misunderstand me — I don’t doubt your ability — but you’re rather restricted by red-tape, aren’t you? You’ve got to be careful what you say to him, otherwise you may get hauled over the coals by your superiors … ’
Frost considered this while he cut himself another wedge of cake. ‘Well, there’s somethin’ in that, sir,’ he said at last, ‘an’ that’s a fact. These rules an’ regulations don’t make it too easy … ’
‘Exactly — but they don’t apply to me,’ said Simon, ‘so suppose you let me tackle Upcott first? You can take over later.’
‘It might be an idea, sir.’
‘Right!’ Gale got up and went over to the door. ‘I’ll go along and see him now.’
‘Oh, Mr. Gale,’ Frost called to him as he was going out.
‘Yes?’
‘D’you think Rigg saw Upcott too, that night — an’ that’s what ’e was goin’ to tell you?’
‘Possibly — if it was, that would clinch things, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Frost.
Once more Gale stood outside the neat front door of Robert Upcott’s house. Once more it was opened by Upcott himself who greeted him with his usual effusiveness.
‘Come in — do come in,’ he cried. ‘I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, but I was in the kitchen preparing my evening meal … I adore cooking … ’
‘Sorry,’ said Gale, ‘if I’m disturbing you.’
‘Don’t apologize — please don’t apologize.’ Upcott led the way into the drawing-room. ‘I’m always delighted to welcome a friend … ’
‘I don’t want to spoil your dinner … ’
‘It can wait — I assure you it can wait. A Chicken a la Casserole — it will improve by keeping. Unless I can persuade you to join me? Can I — say I can … ?’
‘No, no, thank you, Upcott,’ said Gale. ‘It’s a little early for me … ’
‘Ah, yes, I understand,’ said Upcott. ‘Alas, I have to dine at this uncivilized hour. Otherwise I shouldn’t sleep. I am a martyr to indigestion — a martyr … ’
‘I thought you took barbitone to make you sleep?’ said Gale.
‘I do — but I try not to make a habit of it,’ replied Upcott. ‘It’s so degrading to have to depend on drugs in any form, I think. You agree — I’m sure you agree?’
‘I want to have a little talk to you, Upcott,’ said Gale, seriously.
Upcott clapped his plump hands in an ecstasy of pleasure.
‘My dear sir, I’m always delighted to talk to someone of intelligence. The people round here’ — he shrugged expressive shoulders — ‘quite impossible, I assure you — quite impossible. It’s such a pleasure to meet a broader mind, if you understand me.’
‘I’m afraid this is rather — serious,’ said Gale. ‘Do you know Agnes Potter?’
‘Agnes Potter?’ Upcott made a grimace of distaste. ‘Such a horrible name! Why do they have such revolting names? Really, I can’t imagine … ’
‘You must know her?’
‘Of course I know her,’ declared Upcott. ‘In a village of this size, Mr. Gale, everybody knows everybody else. Agnes Potter is the daughter of a very worthy and respectable woman who takes in washing, but what has she to do with me?’
‘She has a great deal to do with you. She says she saw you coming out of the gates of Easton Knoll on the night Hallam died … ’
Robert Upcott’s face went white, except for the rouge on the cheeks which stood out in grotesque patches so that he looked like a partly made-up clown.
‘Really, how ridiculous,’ he said. ‘Surely you don’t believe such an outrageous statement? The girl must be mad … ’
‘I don’t think she’s mad at all,’ said Gale.
‘My dear sir,’ protested Upcott, ‘you cannot take this obviously absurd story seriously. I credit you with too much intelligence — far too much intelligence … ’
‘You deny that you were at Easton Knoll that night?’
‘Absolutely!’ declared Upcott. ‘I was nowhere near the place. What should I be doing there at two o’clock in the morning? It’s fantastic — positively fantastic … ’
‘I didn’t mention any time,’ said Gale. ‘What makes you think it was at two o’clock?’
Upcott was disconcerted. His eyes were restless with uneasiness and there was a faint tremor of his lower lip.
‘I … I don’t know … ’ he said.
‘I do,’ said Gale, pressing home his advantage. ‘It was because you heard the church clock strike two as you left Easton Knoll.’
‘I wasn’t at Easton Knoll that night,’ asserted Upcott.
‘It’s no good lying,’ said Gale. ‘Agnes Potter is ready to swear — on oath, if necessary, that it was you … ’
‘She must have made a mistake … How could she be certain — in the dark? It’s incredible … nobody would believe her … ’ Upcott was slightly incoherent.
‘I believe her,’ said Gale. ‘I think the police will, too.’
‘It’s not true,’ said Upcott, desperately. ‘You’re trying to frighten me … you don’t care who suffers as long as it isn’t Margaret Hallam, and you’re trying to fasten it on to me.’
‘I’m not trying to fasten anything on to you,’ retorted Gale. ‘You were at Easton Knoll on the night that Hallam died, and I want to know why. It’s no good trying to lie your way out of it — there’s been too much lying by everybody — I want the truth and I mean to get it … ’
‘I’ve told you the truth … ’
‘What did Hallam know about you, Upcott?’ demanded Gale.
‘Nothing … nothing at all … ’
‘Oh, yes, he did. He knew something that you were so frightened he might divulge that you poisoned that whisky and milk. That’s what you’d done when you crept away from Easton Knoll at two o’clock in the morning. John Hallam was dead then, wasn’t he?’
‘No … no, you’re quite wrong, Gale … quite, quite wrong … ’
‘If he wasn’t dead he was dying,’ snapped Simon. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t dead — barbitone takes quite a while to act … ’
‘I don’t know anything about it … I had nothing to do with it … you’ve got to believe me … ’ said Upcott entreatingly.
‘It won’t make much difference whether I believe you or not,’ said Gale.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You surely don’t imagine that this will rest with me?’ said Gale. ‘Of course it won’t — it can’t. This is fresh evidence that must be put before the police at once. They’ll have to deal with it … ’
‘But it’s all a mistake,’ cried Upcott. ‘Look here, Gale, it’s all a mistake. I didn’t kill Hallam — I swear to you I didn’t … ’
‘You were there when he died, Upcott. Don’t you see what that means? Nobody suspected that there was anybody at Easton Knoll that night, except Mrs. Hallam and the servants, until this girl, Agnes Potter came forward and said what she saw. It changes the whole circumstances. The police will have to take what action they think fit … ’
‘Listen … listen to me,’ entreated Upcott. His face was a queer greenish colour and shining with sweat. ‘I implore you not to bring the police into this!’
‘You were at Easton Knoll that night?’
‘Yes … yes, I was … but I can explain … I can explain everything. I did
n’t kill Hallam. He was already dead when I got there!’
‘Do you seriously expect me to believe that?’ said Gale.
‘It’s the truth … really it’s the truth,’ said Upcott. ‘Hallam was dead in the chair. The empty glass was on the table by his side … ’
‘How do you know he was dead?’ asked Gale.
‘Because I — I touched him,’ Upcott shuddered at the recollection. ‘I thought at first he was asleep and — and I tried to wake him … ’
‘What time did you get there?’
‘Half-past one,’ Upcott was talking eagerly now, ‘I went round to the French windows … He said he’d leave them unlatched … ’
‘Do you mean he was expecting you?’
‘Yes, yes … I tried to see him during the day … ’
‘About the Doctor Wall teapot you were so anxious to possess?’
‘No, no — that was just an excuse that I made to you. I wanted to see him about — something else. He wouldn’t see me then … so I telephoned later. He — he told me if I liked to — to come about half-past one that night he’d leave the windows of the study unfastened.’ Upcott paused breathlessly.
‘They were fastened when he was found in the morning,’ said Gale.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Upcott. ‘I fastened them — on the inside — before I left. I let myself out by the front door … It wasn’t bolted … ’
‘Why did you go to the trouble. Why didn’t you leave by the way you came?’
‘I didn’t want anyone to think that … anybody might have — have come that way. I was so confused and — and upset, I hardly knew what I was doing. It was dreadful — dreadful … finding him like that … ’
‘But you didn’t say anything when Mrs. Hallam was arrested, although, if you’d come forward, it might have made a difference?’
‘I thought she’d killed him,’ declared Upcott. ‘Don’t you see? You must see. I found him dead — with that empty glass on the table … I was sure she’d killed him. There was no point in my coming forward. You understand — I’m sure you understand?’
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