Duplicate Death Part 16

"Did you happen to notice whether there was still a coat in the hall?"

"No, I didn't think to look. I'm sorry. I came straight to this room. The only thing I did notice was that the light was on in the dining-room, but I didn't hear any sound of movement, and I hoped Thrimby was downstairs. He can't stand me at any price - or I him - and I knew he'd tell Mrs. Haddington, if he saw me. I opened that drawer -" she pointed to the top drawer of the desk - "took out the cheque, and - and tried to make an un.o.btrusive getaway. But Thrimby was in the dining-room, and he heard me. I expect you know the rest. Like a fool, I asked him not to give me away. I also tried to stop him going up to tell Mrs. Haddington I was on the premises. I knew she'd give me some wretched errand to do - But it's no use my telling you that! Even I can hear that it sounds thoroughly phoney!" Beulah said bitterly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" responded Hemingway, jotting down another note in his pocket-book.

"Why the girl wanted me to come and hold her hand I shall never know!" remarked Timothy. "A good witness, Chief Inspector: I wouldn't have the slightest hesitation in putting her in the box."

Beulah smiled faintly. Hemingway said: "One more question, Miss Birtley. You might prefer me to put it to you without this legal adviser of yours standing around. He can go and talk to Mr.. Kane in the dining-room. You'd only have to scream, and I don't doubt he'd come bursting in to your rescue."

"What, more hideous revelations?" said Timothy.

Beulah shook her head. "No; I - I think probably I'd better not have any more secrets from Mr.. Harte," she said. "What is it?"

"What did you quarrel with Mrs. Haddington about this morning?"

She blushed. "Oh - !"

"Well, I did warn you!" Hemingway pointed out.

"Apparently you already know what I quarrelled about! I've no doubt Thrimby was listening to the whole affair. All right, I don't care! Mrs. Haddington had found out that I dined with Mr.. Harte last night, and - she was furious."

"Yes?" Hemingway prompted her.

She swallowed. "She - threatened to tell him - about me." She raised her eyes. "Well, more than that: she said she would tell him."

"And what did youu say to that?"

"Oh, why ask me? You know exactly what I said!"

"No, he doesn't," interposed Timothy. "All he knows is what Thrimby says you said, so you give him your version! I'll leave the room, if you like!"

"It isn't that! Only you're telling me to put a rope round my own neck!"

"G.o.d bless the girl!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Timothy. "After that crack, my love, don't waste a moment in disclosing to the Chief Inspector exactly what you did say! It can't possibly be as damaging as the ideas you've put into his head!"

"I said I was going to marry you, and I'd go to any lengths to do it, or something like that! I don't really remember my precise words, because I was in a rage. I said I wouldn't let her stop me. I think I said there wasn't much I wouldn't do if she tried to interfere. But I didn't mean I'd kill her!"

"No?" said Hemingway. "Suppose you were to tell me just what it was that you did mean, Miss Birtley?"

She appeared a trifle discomposed. "Nothing! One says silly things like that - not thinking!"

"Think now!" recommended Hemingway. "It might be important. You uttered a threat: you've admitted that. If you didn't mean violence, what did you mean? What harm could you do Mrs. Haddington?"

Timothy, who had been watching him, turned his head. "I should answer this one," he said. "Did you know something she didn't want disclosed?"

"I - I had certain suspicions, but - Look here, I wasn't serious! I said it to frighten her! I wouldn't really blackmail even Mrs. Haddington!"

"What were your suspicions, Miss Birtley?"

"I'd rather not say. I've no proof, and - she's dead!"

"Yes, and I'm trying to find out who killed her," said Hemingway.

She stared at him for a moment. "I know you are," she replied slowly. "And if anything I said - caused you to discover her murderer -" She paused, and then added defiantly: "I should be sorry!"

"Never mind that!" said Timothy. "Your private sympathies don't come into it. I can guess what you suspected, and so, I fancy, can Hemingway. Had she any sort of a hold over Lady Nest Poulton?"

She regarded her clenched hands. "Yes. I think so. I once overheard something that was said. I couldn't help it: they were both standing in the back drawing-room, and I came into the front half of the room. They stopped as soon as they realised I was there, of course."

"What was said?" asked Hemingway.

She answered reluctantly: "Lady Nest said, I'm d.a.m.ned if I will! and Mrs. Haddington gave that hateful laugh of hers, and replied, I thinkyou'll do exactly what I askyou to do, dear Nest, because you'll certainly be d.a.m.ned ifyou don't!"

"Thank you," said Hemingway.

"It mightn't have meant what I thought it meant!" she said quickly.

"Never mind what it meant! That's my headache! Now, when you were sent to the late Seaton-Carew, you were sent by someone who didn't believe you'd been shopped, weren't you? Someone who thought you belonged to the criminal cla.s.ses?"

"I suppose so," she said, rather drearily. "I thought she believed what I told her."

"Highly unlikely. But when he saw you, Seaton-Carew found you weren't the sort of girl he was after. That's what you told me, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Did you get any idea of the sort of job he did want a young lady like you for?"

"Not then. Only when I thought it over afterwards, and remembered the questions he'd asked me - not that there was anything in them, taken by themselves - I began to wonder if I was to have been a sort of informant."

Hemingway nodded. "Any reason to think he and Mrs. Haddington were in partnership?"

"I can't answer that. I honestly don't know. They were very intimate, that's all I can say."

He shut his notebook, and restored it to his pocket. "All right; I shan't keep you any longer tonight, Miss Birtley. I'm going to hand you over to your legal adviser, and I won't conceal from you that while he's giving you a bite of supper, I'm going to send one of my men to check up on your story. That's routine, as Mr.. Harte will tell you. I've got to be certain those accounts are where you say they are. I've no wish to start a lot of talk, so if you like to write a note to your landlady, authorising her to let the bearer take the books and the bills out of your bureau, he won't have to show her his card."

She got up, and went to the desk. "Thank you. Decent of you! I'll do that, only I can't leave this house before Miss Pickhill gets here. Cynthia Haddington might come in at any moment, and somebody ought to be here, besides the servants. Miss Pickhill has to come from Putney, you see."

The telephone-bell sounded as she picked up a pen. She made as if to lift the receiver, and then checked herself, looking enquiringly at Hemingway.

"Don't worry about that!" he said. "One of my chaps will deal with it."

She began to write. She was slipping the folded note into an envelope when a man in plain clothes came quietly in, and handed the Chief Inspector a sc.r.a.p of paper torn from a notebook. He read it, and said: "All right, I'll take it in here, Snettisham. I want you to go to this address -" He handed the Sergeant Beulah's letter -"and give this to the landlady. No need to say you're a police-officer. She's to take you into Miss Birtley's room, and allow you to bring away with you a pile of bills and household books, in Mrs. Haddington's name, which you'll find in the bureau. It isn't locked, Miss Birtley?"

"No. The key is in it. He'll see the bills as soon as he opens the front. Could he - would he mind turning out the gas-fire? I left it on, and as I put a shilling in only this morning it'll still be burning."

"And turn out the fire!" said Hemingway. "I want you to go by the tube - Green Park station, and to come back the same way. Time it! That's all." He nodded dismissal, and turned to Beulah, "Do they have to switch the telephone through to this room, or can I get straight on?"

"Straight on. If Miss Pickhill arrives - can I go, or must I wait till that man gets back?"

"No, I'll trust Mr.. Harte to keep an eye on you," he replied, opening the door.

She lingered for a moment. "Thanks! I - I'm sorry I was rude to you before!"

"That's all right," he said. "You've been quite helpful."

He shut both her and Timothy out, and went to sit down at the desk, picking up the telephone. "Hallo?"

"Is it yourself, sir?" asked the voice of Inspector Grant.

"It is. Where are you speaking from?"

"From your office, sir. Mr.. Poulton was driven from Charles Street straight to Northolt Aerodrome, and has left for Paris."

Chapter Sixteen.

So long a silence followed this announcement that Inspector Grant presently said: "Are you still there, sir?"

"Yes, I'm here," Hemingway replied. "Where did you find this out?"

"When I left you, I went to Belgrave Square. It was the butler told me that Mr.. Poulton was flying to Paris for a business conference tomorrow morning. I asked him when he expected Mr.. Poulton to return, and he told me, tomorrow evening. As to that, I have my doubts!"

"Did you get on to Northolt?"

"Cinnteach! But I was too late, for the plane had taken off already. I have seen the chauffeur. He has had his orders since the day before yesterday."

"Has he also got orders to meet some plane tomorrow?"

"Ma seadh! But what does that prove? He may go to Northolt, and come away without his master, it seems to me! Would you have me apply for extradition?"

"No. Not a bit of use.. I haven't enough on him to have a hope of getting it."

"Ciod e so? Is there another that has as much motive for these murders?"

"That's what I don't know yet. You can take it from me that Big Business interests aren't going to be annoyed on the evidence I've got. You can go round to Poulton's office first thing in the morning, and check up on this conference story. Meanwhile, I'm getting a lot of funny ideas about this case. I have to keep telling myself that first thoughts are best. I'm staying here till Mrs. Haddington's sister turns up. You nip round to wherever it is Mr.. Sydney b.u.t.terwick hangs out - you've got the address, haven't you? Park Lane, or something - and get his story out of him. Unless you get something startling from him, you needn't show up again till tomorrow morning."

"And where," asked the Inspector politely, "will you be going yourself, Chief Inspector, when you leave Charles Street?"

Hemingway grinned. "Back to the Yard!"

"I will be seeing you there, then," said the Inspector.

"All right, Sandy. You're several kinds of silly a.s.s, but, barring your habit of breathing that Gaelic at me, I don't know when I've had a sub I got on with better!"

"Moran taing!" said the Inspector.

A click indicated that he had replaced his receiver. Hemingway followed his example, mentally registering a vow to discover the meaning of this cryptic valediction at the earliest opportunity. He went into the hall, where one of his men was sitting. To him, he issued instructions to lock and seal the doors into Mrs. Haddington's bedroom and boudoir. The officer had scarcely reached the halflanding when the front-door bell rang. Forestalling Thrimby, who had retired to his underground fastness, Hemingway opened the door, and admitted into the house Miss Violet Pickhill, who bore all the appearance of one who had s.n.a.t.c.hed up the first hat and coat that chanced to meet her eyes. Fumbling within the folds of the coat, she drew forth her pince-nez, on the end of a thin chain, and jabbed them on to her nose. Through them she subjected the Chief Inspector to a suspicious scrutiny. "Who may you be?" she demanded.

Hemingway announced himself, and was annoyed to detect a note of apology in his own voice.

"Disgusting!" said Miss Pickhill. She removed the pince-nez from her nose, and added in a milder tone: "I don't mean you, but to think it should have come to this! Well, I always knew Lily was heading for trouble! Time and again I've told her that her behaviour was enough to make my poor father turn in his grave, and now we see how right I was! Where's my niece?"

"Miss Haddington hasn't come in yet," said Hemingway. "The servants seem to think she went off to some party or other, but she's expected to come home for her dinner. Miss Birtley - Mrs. Haddington's secretary -"

"I know very well who Miss Birtley is!" interrupted Miss Pickhill. "She rang me up, and I thought the better of her for having done so! It showed a very proper spirit, whatever my sister may say! Not, of course," she corrected herself punctiliously, "that my sister can say anything now, for I will tell you at once that I am not a believer in this Spiritualism, and never shall be!"

At this point, and considerably to the Chief Inspector's relief, the taxi-driver created a diversion by appearing on the scene for the purpose of dumping a suitcase inside the hall,, and of collecting his just dues. Miss Pickhill groped in her capacious handbag, andd handed these to him, forestalling criticism by informing him that if he wanted to receive a more handsome gratuity he should not have put his fares up. She clinched the matter by adding that ifhe had anything to say he might address his remarks to Hemingway, whom she introduced to him under the t.i.tle of "this policeman." The taxi-driver wisely decided to withdraw without uttering the expostulation trembling on his tongue, and Miss Pickhill, shutting the door on him, turned to Hemingway, and demanded to be put in possession of the facts of her sister's murder.

He took her into the library, and told her briefly that her sister had been strangled in her own boudoir. She e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed first that it was a judgment on her, and then commanded Hemingway to tell her who had perpetrated the deed. Rather to his surprise, she accepted without comment his reply, that he was unable to enlighten her. She said: "Well, I was saying only yesterday to Mr.. Broseley - he is our Vicar, and a most enlightened man! - that a woman without religion is like a ship without a rudder. I may say that he entirely agreed with me! We were not, of course, discussing my poor sister. Whatever I may have thought, I hope I am too loyal to discuss any of my family, even with dear Mr.. Broseley! But it all goes to show! From the moment she married Hubert Haddington - right against her father's wishes, I may say! - Lily (for call her Lilias I never would!) took a turn for the worse! My father always said - he had a very unconventional way of expressing himself, though a thorough Churchman! - that Hubert was a bad hat. Of course, Lily took after the Whalleys: there's no getting round that! My mother's people - not that I wish to say a word against them, but there's no denying that they were not Pickhills! My mother, naturally, was different, but I well recall hearing my dear father saying that her relations were some of them most uncongenial people. Quite irreligious, I fear, and with what my father used to call an eye to the main-chance. It was the same with Lily. As hard as nails! The only person she ever cared twopence for was my niece, and, as is always the way, she spoiled her atrociously! Often and often I've told her so, but you might as well have talked to a brick wall! And what has been the result? The child spends her whole life making up her face, and going to c.o.c.ktail-parties, and my poor sister has been murdered! Of course, if he weren't dead already, I should have said that Mr.. SeatonCarew had done it!"

"Would you, madam?" said Hemingway, in a conversational tone which would not have deceived Inspector Grant for even the fraction of a second. "Now, I wonder what makes you say that?"

"I always trust my instinct," said Miss Pickhill darkly. "It's never at fault - never! The instant I clapped eyes on him I knew! A friend of Hubert Haddington's, I need hardly say! Pray do not ask me what his relationship with my unhappy sister was! That is something I prefer not to think about! Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil!"

"Very proper, madam!" approved Hemingway. "What, if I may ask, was the late Mr.. Haddington's profession?"

"If you can discover that," said Miss Pickhill, "you will have discovered more than my father ever did! It was his belief that Hubert was an adventurer. Those were the very words he used. One moment they were driving about in Rolls-Royces; the next they hadn't a penny to bless themselves with! Never shall I forget the day we discovered that Lily was being sued in the County Court for a bill to a dressmaker! That was too much! As my father said at the time, one can put up with a great deal, but not with being County-Courted! However, the next time we saw her she was in her own car, with a chauffeur, so naturally my father had to allow her to enter the house, which at one time he said he never would again. That was many years ago, of course, when Cynthia was a baby. After Hubert died, she chose to gad about all over Europe, instead of coming to live at home with me, which I naturally begged her to do, because whatever my feelings may have been I've always held that blood is thicker than water, and Cynthia could have attended the High School, which, if you were to ask me, would have been far better for her than that ridiculous Swiss school Lily sent her to! But that wasn't good enough for Lily! Cynthia had to have the very best of everything! Why, when she was a toddler even, nothing would do for Lily but all her little dresses had to be hand-embroidered! Goodness only knows what she squandered on the child, from first to last! Of course, I don't deny that she's a very pretty girl, but for my sister to be setting her heart on making some grand match for her was just tempting Providence! "You'll have her running off with the chauffeur!" I said to Lily once; and never shall I forget my dear old Aunt Maud asking me if Lily meant to get the Prince of Wales for her daughter! That was a figure of speech, of course, because we hadn't got a Prince of Wales at that time, and Aunt Maud knew that just as well as anyone else, for it was only on certain subjects that her mind wandered, and then only quite at the end."

She paused for breath, and Hemingway, who, while not unappreciative of her discourse, had reached the conclusion that she knew nothing about her sister's more private affairs, seized the opportunity to ask if she could furnish him with the name of Mrs. Haddington's solicitor.

"Well, if Lily took her affairs out of our dear Mr.. Eddleston's hands, it's news to me!" replied Miss Pickhill. "Of course, I daresay it's young Mr.. Eddleston who looks after things now, but that her Will is deposited with them I do know, for Lily told me she was making me one of poor little Cynthia's trustees, just in case anything should happen to her, which she didn't for a moment expect, or I either, if it comes to that, and Mr.. Eddleston the other. For I said to her at the time, Don't name Mr.. Lowick, because if you do, I said, I shall refuse to act. Mr.. Lowick is the junior partner, and when I tell you that the day I went up to see him about the ground-rent he not only kept me waiting for ten whole minutes, but received me with a pipe in his hand, you will understand why I said what I did. There are limits!"

Jotting the name down in his book, Hemingway said: "Well, madam, I think that's all at present. I shall be getting into touch with Mr.. Eddleston at once. You'll understand that I shall have to go through Mrs. Haddington's papers, and her solicitor will of course be present. Until then, I have had the boudoir and her bedroom locked up."

Miss Pickhill plainly took this amiss, for she bridled, and said in a stiff voice: "Well, really, I can't see what you want with my poor sister's private papers, and as for locking her bedroom, I call it most officious!"

"Just a matter of routine!" Hemingway said.

"I've no doubt!" interrupted Miss Pickhill. "It's exactly what Mr.. Broseley was saying to me only the other day! Encroachment! Ever since the War, officials seem to think they can do exactly as they like, and I daresay the police are just as bad as the Ministry of Food, interfering right and left, and telling people how to cook cabbages, which we all knew long before they were ever born or thought of!"

"I wouldn't think of telling you how to cook cabbages, madam!" Hemingway a.s.sured her. "For one thing, I don't know, and for another -"

"I should hope not indeed! It would be a great deal more to the point if you drilled some of your new policemen, let me tell you! In my young days the police were fine, upstanding men, but whenever I come to London now all I see is a lot of young constables, standing about with their chests in and their stomachs out, and their mouths hanging open. I wouldn't even ask one of them for the time! Enough to make my father turn in his grave!"

Reflecting that Mr.. Pickhill's ghost must be the most restless one ever to disturb a cemetery, Hemingway said meekly: "It's a scandal, madam: I've often thought so. But I daresay you wouldn't want to stop me finding out who murdered Mrs. Haddington!"