Duplicate Death Part 15

"Oh, yes, I know all about that! Used threatening language, didn't you? Silly thing to do, if you meant to murder her!"

"I didn't murder her!"

"All right, let's start from there! When did you leave the house?"

"I'm not going to say any more than that! I know just where talking to the police gets you!"

"Listen!" said Hemingway patiently. "I'm quite prepared to believe you had a raw deal eighteen months ago. Suppose you have a shot at believing that I'm not the Big, Bad Wolf? I'm not even Inspector Underbarrow: in fact, far from it!"

"If you mean the Inspector who dealt with my case -"

"I do, and that's all we'll say about him. He's all right in his way, but it isn't my way, and the sooner you tumble to that the better we'll get on together."

"I expect this is the velvet glove?" said Beulah. "I didn't murder Mrs. Haddington - and that's all!"

The door opened at that moment to admit Grant. He spoke in a low voice to his chief.

"Oh, he's turned up, has he? Yes, let him come in! I've got no objection. Just a moment: I want a word with you!" He took the Inspector by the arm, and led him out into the hall. Here he found Timothy and his brother, divesting themselves of their coats. He said: "Now, what is all this? How many more people are going to walk in here? Anyone 'ud think it was a soiree, or something! Good-evening, Mr.. Kane! And who might it have been who sent for you, may I ask?"

"Sorry if you object," said Jim, "but I was with my brother when Miss Birtley rang up, and, all things considered, I thought I'd come along with him."

" Just to take care of him, I suppose? Yes, you never know what I might take it into my head to do to him, do you? Not but what I should have thought he was very well able to take care of himself - too well! If you want to have a word with Miss Birtley, Mr.. Harte, you'll find her in there." He jerked his head towards the library, adding, as Timothy pa.s.sed him: "And if you can convince her that the silliest thing she can do is to refuse to answer my questions, I shall be quite glad she sent for you!"

"I'll wait for you, Timothy," Jim said.

"All right, but I've already told you there's not the slightest need," Timothy replied over his shoulder.

"I take it that the extraordinary story Miss Birtley told my brother was true?" Jim said, as the library door shut behind Timothy.

"If she told him that Mrs. Haddington had been murdered, it was true enough, sir. If you like to wait in the dining-room, there's a fire burning there."

"Very well. I don't know how seriously you took my brother's lack of alibi for that other affair, but I imagine this new development lets him out, doesn't it?"

"Well, he certainly didn't commit this murder," said Hemingway. "If it's any comfort to you, sir, I don't propose to waste any time asking him what he was doing this afternoon. For one thing, it's a safe bet you'd swear blind you were with him all day, and I've got enough on my hands without trying to prove you're grossly deceiving me."

Jim laughed, and limped into the dining-room. The Chief Inspector turned to Grant. "Go and pull Poulton in, Sandy! No charge: take him along to the Yard, to answer a few questions! I've got quite enough on him to warrant that. Treat him kindly, and let him kick his heels there till I come. That won't hurt him!"

Chapter Fifteen.

In the library, Beulah, looking up defensively when the door opened, flew into young Mr.. Harte's arms. "Timothy! Oh G.o.d, what am I going to do?"

Mr.. Harte, trained by circ.u.mstance to act coolly in emergency, promptly cast a damper on what he correctly diagnosed to be rising hysteria. "Hallo, ducky!" he said, kissing his betrothed with great affection. "Don't knock me over! Have you got any face-powder in your bag?"

"Yes, of course, but -"

"Well, put some on your nose!" begged Mr.. Harte. "Begin as you mean to go on! What a heedless wench you are! Don't you know that the whole art of keeping a young husband happy is always to appear dainty in his eyes? That singularly repulsive adjective, let me inform you, embraces everything from face-powder to -"

"Thanks, I can fill in the rest for myself!" interrupted Beulah, slightly revived by this bracing treatment. "Don't laugh at me! I've never been in such a jam in my life! I was here, Timothy! I had a row with her this morning, which Thrimby overheard; and I had no business to be here!"

"Clearly booked for the scaffold. Calm yourself, my love!"

She drew herself out of his hold. "There's worse. I've never told you. I meant - but it's no use! If I don't tell you, that policeman will! You'd better hear it from me!"

"Hold all your horses!" commanded Mr.. Harte. "I don't deny that I should like to know exactly what is your grim past, but if you're labouring under the delusion that Hemingway will disclose some hideous secret to me, or to any other layman, rid yourself of it! He won't."

She opened her handbag, and took out her handkerchief. Having blown her nose with considerable violence, she said in a choked voice: "You're so incredibly nice! Your brother practically told me I was a filthy cad not to confide in you, and I suppose he was right."

"The only thing that deters me from instantly bursting off to offer Jim his choice between pistols and swords is my conviction that he never said anything of the sort," returned Timothy.

"Oh, he didn't say it in so many words, but that was what he meant! Well, here it is! - I'm a gaol-bird!"

The effect of this p.r.o.nouncement was not quite what she had expected. She had been prepared to see Mr.. Harte make a chivalrous attempt to conceal his feelings; she had been prepared to see him recoil. What she had never visualised was that he would sink into a chair by the desk, drop his head in his hand, and utter in shaken accents: "But what a line! No, really, darling, it's terrific!"

"It's true!" she said desperately.

"Oh, no, I can't bear it! What did they jug you for, my sweet? Manslaughter, due to furious driving?"

"Forgery and embezzlement!" she shot at him.

That made him raise his head. He looked at her for a moment, and held out his hand. Almost without meaning to, she put one of her own hands into it. He pulled her down on to his knee. "My poor precious! Tell me all about it, then!" he said.

Instead of obeying this injunction, Beulah subsided on to his chest, and cried and cried. Mr.. Harte very wisely confined his remarks to such soothing utterances as Never mind! and There, there! at the same time rubbing his cheek against her already tousled locks, and patting her in a comforting way. This very sensible treatment presently had its effect: Beulah stopped weeping, and said in an exhausted whisper: "I didn't do it! I didn't do it, Timothy!"

"Look, ducky, don't start me off again!" begged Mr.. Harte. "You don't have to tell me that! Who on earth did you have to defend you?"

"I f-forget. I applied for legal aid, and they gave me an elderly man. They said he was a soup, or something."

"My darling, you need say no more! I have the whole picture!" Timothy said. "This is the first time in my legal career when I've wished I'd chosen to be an Old Bailey Tub-thumper! If only I could have defended you - !"

"Oh, Timothy! Oh, Timothy!" Beulah sobbed into his shoulder. "It wouldn't have been any use! I was such a little fool! No one believed me - I didn't think anyone ever would believe me! I couldn't bring forward anything to prove I hadn't done it, and that when I went to that office after hours, it was because he rang me up, and asked me to go there, and get that envelope out of the safe! He said he'd forgotten it, and he'd get into trouble with his uncle, and I was to post it to him - but it was only my word against his, and though I did think that man on the Bench half-believed me, the jury didn't, and if they didn't, why should anyone else?"

Mr.. Harte made no attempt to unravel this. Producing a large handkerchief, he mopped Beulah's cheeks with it, and said: "You shall tell me all about it, my pet, once we're through with this mess. Now, you sit up, and stop soaking me to the skin! We shall have my-friend-the Sergeant, alias Chief Inspector Hemingway, here at any moment, and you don't want him to find you in floods of tears! And don't run away with the idea that he'll arrest you for murder just because you were once convicted of embezzlement: he's far too downy a bird to do anything of the sort."

"I haven't told you the whole of it," Beulah said, apparently determined to make a clean breast of everything. "Birtley isn't my name! At least, it is, but not all of it!"

"Give me a moment to steel myself!" Timothy begged. "Because if it's Spooks, or something like that -"

She gave a shaky laugh. "No, no! It's Meriden!"

"And what could be nicer than that? Apart from the fact that the only Meridens I ever heard of are a rather stuffy Warwickshire family, full of Good Form and inhibitions."

"That's them," Miss Birtley said, into his coat.

"What you mean, my girl," said Timothy, "is Those are They. I'm sorry, but our engagement is Off! Half your value for me lay in the fact that you weren't cluttered up with that kind of relation. Kindly get off my knee!"

The haste with which Beulah complied with this injunction was due to the reappearance on the scene of Chief Inspector Hemingway. She betook herself to the mirror that hung over the fireplace, and proceeded to repair her damaged complexion, only very occasionally giving a convulsive sob.

"Come in!" said Timothy. "It'll probably clear the air if I tell you that I know All. So don't be shy, Chief Inspector! I've just been telling our entrancing gaol-bird that you won't arrest her merely because she got herself into a mess before she had the benefit of my acquaintance, counsel, and support."

"No, I shan't," replied Hemingway. "But I give you fair warning, Miss Birtley, that if you go on treating me as if you thought I was the whole Gestapo rolled into one, I'm liable to get very nasty, and quite likely I shall set Underbarrow on to you for not having reported yourself. So now you know!"

She turned, a little flushed, and said, with an attempt at a smile: "You can't help being prejudiced against me, and my experience of the police has not been such as to lead me to confide in them."

"The Chief Inspector will tell you, my love, that there are good and bad policemen," said Timothy. "Won't you Hemingway?"

"I shan't tell her anything of the sort," responded Hemingway. "The most I'll say is that some of us are better than others. However, just to show you that Himmler never was what you'd call a great pal of mine, I don't mind telling you, Miss Birtley, that I think your case could stand a bit of looking-into, and I happen to know that the partnership between Mr.. Harold Maxstoke and his uncle has been dissolved."

Light sprang to her sombre eyes; she exclaimed: "Oh, do you think - ?"

"I don't think anything at all," said Hemingway firmly. "In fact, I'm not interested, because it wasn't my case, and the only thing that interests me is homicide. Now, you tell me this! What brought you back to this house tonight?"

She glanced uncertainly at Timothy, who said at once: "Sit down, and answer the kind policeman truthfully, my child!"

She obeyed, but said reluctantly: "It sounds so unlikely!"

"Most of the stories I have to listen to do," observed Hemingway. "And they're not always lies either!"

"Well, Mrs. Haddington gave me a cheque this morning," she said. "She does it every week. I have to cash it, and pay all the household bills. I put it in a drawer of this desk, and forgot it. So I came back, because I'm supposed to pay the bills tomorrow morning, before I report for duty here."

"Can I see the cheque?"

She hunted in her bag. "Yes, it's here. I haven't got the books or the bills here: I left them at my digs. If you like to send someone to fetch them, I can tell you just where they are, though! The cheque's made out for the exact amount."

Hemingway took it from her, glanced at it, and handed it back. "A Bearer cheque: where do you cash it?"

"At Mrs. Haddington's Branch, in Piccadilly."

"Well, that seems all right. You've got a latch-key for this front door?"

"Yes."

"When did you let yourself into the house again?"

"I - I don't know! I never looked at the time!"

"Let's see if we can work it out! When did you first leave the house?"

"At six o'clock," she answered readily. "As the clock in the hall was striking. I had finished all I had to do ages before, but Mrs. Haddington won't let me go till six."

"What did you do then?"

"I walked to Green Park Station, and caught a train to Earl's Court."

"You live in Nevern Place, don't you? Say five to seven minutes walk each end. And then?"

She frowned in an effort of memory. "I lit the gas-fire in my room, and took off my - no, I didn't! I put the household books, and the loose accounts, into my bureau. It was then that I looked to make sure I'd got the cheque, and found I hadn't. I carried the books back in my attache-case, you see. It - it sounds silly, but I thought if I sneaked back here at once, Mrs. Haddington would be dressing for dinner, and wouldn't know anything about it. It was the kind of thing she used to be very unpleasant about, and I should never have heard the end of it if she'd caught me here tomorrow morning collecting the cheque. Wasting my employer's time through my own thoughtlessness. That sort of thing! So I came back."

"By tube?"

"Yes, by tube. I - I had a key, and I was able to slip in without anyone hearing, and come into this room."

"Not too fast!" said Hemingway. "Let's go back for a minute! Before you left the house at six o'clock, did anyone come to see Mrs. Haddington?"

She hesitated. "I didn't see anyone, but I did hear the front door bell ring once or twice."

"Anything else?"

Her eyes sought Timothy's; he said quietly: "Don't be silly, darling! What, if anything, did you hear?"

"It wasn't anything, really. I thought I recognised Mr.. b.u.t.terwick's voice. But I may easily have been mistaken! I wasn't paying much attention!"

Hemingway nodded. "And after that?"

Again she hesitated. "Well, Lord Guisborough arrived! But I knew he was expected: the servants were talking about it earlier in the day. There has been a lot of speculation amongst them about - well, about his intentions! I heard him holding forth - I mean, I heard him talking to Thrimby!"

"Do you know when Mr.. b.u.t.terwick left the house?" She shook her head. "Or when Lord Guisborough left?"

"No. He was still with Mrs. Haddington when I myself left: I saw his coat hanging up in the hall."

Hemingway glanced down at his own notes. "All right. Now let's get back to your second visit to the house. How long did you have to wait at Earl's Court for a train?"

"I didn't. I was lucky - in fact, I had to sprint to catch the train."

"How long do you reckon the train journey usually takes you?"

"A quarter of an hour to twenty minutes," she replied at once. "I usually allow half an hour from door to door."

"Any idea how long you spent at home?"

She reflected. "Not long. It's rather difficult - not more than ten or fifteen minutes, I should think."

"Well, we shan't be far out if we put the time of your arrival round about ten-past-seven, shall we?" said Hemingway.

"No, I should imagine it must have been about that time," she agreed, watching him nervously.