Chapter Eleven

The Package, Mr. Murgatroyd, And A Lady

In a quiet broken only by Murgatroyd’s heavy breathing, Alec stepped to the clock, opened it again, and peered inside. Murgatroyd glared at Rollison’s gun.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Alec. He groped into the bottom of the clock-case, and drew out a brown paper envelope. It was sealed with Scotch tape, and bulged as if with papers.

Mr. Murgatroyd suddenly darted forward and struck at the gun. Rollison drew his hand back and the wild sweep missed, making Murgatroyd lose his balance. Yet the little fat man had his wits about him, for he recovered and kicked at Rollison. Rollison dodged. Murgatroyd gripped one of the William and Mary chairs and pushed it at Rollison, who had to jump aside to avoid it. Murgatroyd swung round and made for the front door, handing Alec off and even making an ineffectual grab at the packet. Rollison jumped past Alec, who was flat against the wall, and on to the porch. Murgatroyd was scuttling down the drive towards a luxurious and powerful American car.

Rollison caught a glimpse of a silk-sheathed leg and a neat shoe, poking out from the side of the porch. He tried to jump over it, but struck it with his heel; it sent him flying forward. He turned his shoulder to the ground to break the fall, and kept his hold on the gun. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of a woman whom he had never seen before. She was standing by the porch, as if in two minds about turning and running after Murgatroyd. Alec suddenly appeared, and grabbed her arm.

Murgatroyd grabbed the handle of the car door, squeezed himself in, and started off. The whine of the engine soon faded as the car hurtled towards Winchester.

Rollison picked himself up and glowered at the woman. She smiled sweetly. She was tall, dressed in an attractive sky-blue two-piece, and wearing a sable. She was beautifully turned out in every way, except that her right stocking was laddered down to the ankle; she was resting her foot against the step of the porch, but looking round at Rollison and ignoring Alec, who let her arm go.

“It is a good thing for you that you did not use your gun,” she said.

“I think I know when to use a gun,” said Rollison. “Who are you? Babette Smith?”

“That’s right,” cried Alec.

“Well, Babette Smith, you’ve made a mistake this time. The police are most anxious to question you.”

“The police detained me this morning and released me after an hour,” said Babette Smith, “and there is not a stain on my character.” Her smile seemed to mock him. “How did you guess Murgatroyd wanted the clock?”

“He offered too much money,” said Rollison. He could not fail to admire both her poise and her appearance; he had expected Babette to be someone far less polished and sure of herself. “So the police made that mistake, did they?”

“Aren’t you making one?” asked Babette. “Mr. Murgatroyd came to buy a clock, which is quite legitimate. You threatened him with a gun and I courageously prevented you from shooting at him. The Toff ’s mistake,” she said, and her smile grew even more sweet. “Someone once told me that you didn’t make any.”

“You shouldn’t believe all you hear,” said Rollison. “Who wants the clock?”

“I did,” said Babette. “But I’m more interested in the package.” She glanced at it in Alec’s hand, and shrugged her slender shoulders. “I suppose you will open it now, and then run to the police. Well, I’ve done all I can!”

“Perhaps the police will then detain you again,” said Rollison hopefully.

“Oh, I don’t know what’s in the package,” said Babette. “All I know is that Danny Bond stole it from Whittering just before he was arrested. I think it might help to catch poor Sam’s murderer, so I came to get it, with Mr. Murgatroyd’s help. Wasn’t it clever of me?”

“Very plausible,” said Rollison.

“I will do you another service,” said Babette. “If you open the package, Alec dear, I think your sweet Sheila will go to keep Danny company in prison. I don’t know, mind you. I’m only guessing,” she added. “I—oh!”

Her foot slipped off the step and she stumbled. Rollison moved to help her. She turned with astonishing speed and struck at the gun in his hand. It dropped. She kicked it away and darted back, and from the folds of her coat she drew a small automatic. She remained smiling, but her lips were set.

“Don’t move,” she said. “Alec, give me the package.”

Alec simply raised it and threw it over his shoulder, into the hall. Before she dared point the gun at him and away from Rollison, he leaned back and pulled the door to with a slam.

“Very nice work,” applauded Rollison. “Babette, put that gun down.”

He flinched as she fired at him. He stood quite still. The bullet hummed a foot away from his head. He did not know whether she had aimed to kill, but when she kept quite still without firing again, he assumed that she had intended only to warn him. She backed away, keeping them both covered.

“Open the door and get that package.”

“You’ve a most undeserved reputation with the police,” said Rollison. “Open the door, Alec.”

“I’ll be damned if I will!”

“We can’t argue with an automatic and a determined tigress,” said the Toff.

“Be quick!” snapped Babette.

Alec stared incredulously at Rollison, then put his hand into his pocket for his keys. The woman watched him more closely than Rollison, for fear he would bring out something other than a key, and then Rollison opened his mouth and uttered an ear-splitting yell which startled them both, set chickens squawking, and made Babette swing the gun towards him.

Alec, quick as a flash, lurched forward. Before Babette recovered from her surprise he had reached her and spun her round. She fired twice, but Alec held her arm so that the bullets hit the ground. Rollison took the gun from her, and stooped down to retrieve his own.

“I hope no one heard that yell, don’t you? Feeling better, Babette?”

She had gone very pale. He gripped the back of her neck and forced her forward while Alec, breathing heavily, opened the front door. Rollison pushed Babette into the sitting-room, while Alec went for the package. He stared at it, fascinated.

“Now we will have a few questions,” he said. “Sit down, Babette.” He turned her round and, putting his hands on her shoulders, pushed her on to a settee. “Who sent you for this?”

She did not answer.

“Who—?” began Rollison, and then he heard footsteps on the path outside and, looking at the window, saw a man peering in.

His first thought was of the man who had put the fox into the poultry house. Then he saw the man’s shoulders, and his dark blue uniform.

“The police!” exclaimed Alec.

“Dear Inspector King,” murmured Rollison. “How do you feel about your reputation now, my pet? Alec and I will gladly give evidence against you.”

“Rollison, no!” There was terror in her eyes.

“Go and try to persuade the police that it’s all a mistake,” said Rollison, looking at Alec. “We’ll get more out of Babette ourselves.”

“Well, I don’t know,” began Alec. “They must have heard the shooting.”

“All right, I’ll go,” Rollison said. “Watch the tigress, she may have another gun in her girdle.” He went out and closed the door, not surprised to find another policeman entering the front hall. The man who had looked through the window came hurrying round, and before Rollison could speak, he said: “That man had a gun!”

“I always carry a gun,” said Rollison, “and with it my licence. What’s brought you, officers?”

The first man was a sergeant whom he had seen at Winchester. He liked the gleam in the man’s eyes, a pleasant contrast to the loudvoiced indignation of his companion, who was nearly purple in the face.

“So it’s you, Mr. Rollison. We heard shooting.”

“I’m a silly fellow,” said Rollison, with every appearance of frankness. “I was showing my friends how the gun works, and—”

“What about the shout?”

“Shout?” echoed Rollison.

“Didn’t you hear it?” asked the sergeant, sarcastically.

“Shout—oh, my yodelling! Come, Sergeant,” he added reproachfully, “I may not be in good voice, but—”

“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to explain more fully, sir,” said the sergeant. “May I see the gun?”

“No,” said Rollison.

“In that case, sir—”

“There is a perfectly simple explanation of everything, and I’ve given it to you,” said Rollison. “Mr. Stewart and Miss Smith will gladly corroborate my story, if you wish.”

The sergeant said: “If they will, sir, that is a different matter.”

What followed would depend entirely on Babette’s attitude; Rollison did not think she would do anything to implicate herself with the police, but she might not have the quickness of mind to reassure the sergeant. He had raised his voice so that the others could hear, and now he stepped forward and flung open the door.

“Come in, Sergeant! Miss Smith—”

He noticed that Babette quickly put her left hand by her side, and he wondered why.

The sergeant stepped past him and spoke loudly: “Leave this to me, sir, please. I heard shooting—what was it about?” he demanded of Babette.

She was immediately the seductive lovely of the first meeting – if a little too sweet to be true.

“Mr. Rollison was showing me how delicate is the mechanism of an automatic, and I jolted his elbow.”

The sergeant looked at Alec.

“Is that so, sir?”

“Of course it is,” said Alec.

The sergeant apologised with good grace, but asked to see Rollison’s licence. It was in order. He left, with the purple-faced constable breathing doubts into his ear. They were half-way along the drive when Rollison called after them, and, coming up, asked: “Just where are you watching from, Sergeant?”

“The top of the hill, sir.”

“Is your car equipped with radio?”

“Yes.”

“You might ask Inspector King to have the watch doubled after dark,” said Rollison. “I have to go away, and I’m worried about what might happen here.”

“I’ll pass on your message to the Inspector.”

“You might also tell him that I shall be in Winchester during the evening, and that there will be either three or four people here all night—Mr. Stewart, Captain Wilmot of the United States Army, Miss O’Rourke—a red-headed lady whom you cannot fail to recognise—and possibly Miss Smith.”

“I’ll tell him, sir, thank you.”

“Thankyou!” beamed Rollison.

He hurried back to the bungalow, and found Alec sitting in a corner where he could not be seen from either window, with the small automatic in his hand. Babette was sitting on the settee, skirt well up about her knees, examining her torn stocking. She had tidied her hair, and taken off the sable.

“Now, Miss Smith—” began Rollison.

She held up her left hand, and on the third finger was a platinum ring.

“Mrs. Smith,” she corrected.

“How respectable!” said Rollison. “You’re very cool, Babette.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“I wonder why all the women in this affair insist on being coy!” said Rollison. “Babette, I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to answer. If you’re wise, you’ll answer quickly. I don’t like hurting a woman, but—”

He broke off, exasperatedly, at the sound of a car engine. Babette’s face cleared, as if she expected a reprieve. Soon Sheila called out: “Rolly! Alec! We’re here!”

Rollison went across to Alec and took the package from him.

“I’d better look after this,” he said. “That’s why your visitors have come here, and they’ll probably guess that I’ve got it. Not a word to the others until we’ve gone. Babette, you’re coming with me. I’m not going to be in a playful mood.”

“Rol-leeeee!” called Sheila, “Aleccck! Open the door, there’s a dear!”

Rollison nodded to Alec, who looked about to protest but changed his mind and went to the door. Rollison took Babette’s arm in a grip which she could not loosen, and hustled her through into the kitchen. There he locked the back door and put the key in his pocket. He came out and locked the passage door as Alec admitted the newcomers. Sheila tumbled in, and behind her were Wilmot and the car driver, heavily laden.

“I thought I might as well bring everything!” said Sheila, breathlessly. “Is everyone all right? When you didn’t answer I thought you might have been hurt, or something.”

“Everything’s perfectly normal,” said Rollison, “but I’ve got to hurry off.” He patted her cheek. “Be good, Aphrodite! Goodnight, Alec. Goodnight, Wilmot.” He hurried to the porch, and then turned. “Oh, Alec—”

Sheila and Wilmot were too heavily engaged with the cases which he and the driver had dumped in the hall to take much interest in him. Rollison told Alec he would let him know the contents of the package, then hurried round to the back, unlocked the kitchen door, and found Babette eating a tomato as if it were an apple.

“Don’t forget the salt,” he said.

She stopped in the middle of a bite, and her face blanched.

“Come on!” said Rollison, roughly.

He hoped to get to the car without being seen from the bungalow, but suddenly, as they neared the gate, he heard Sheila calling him. He did not want her to recognise Babette, in case she came tearing down to see her, so he said: “Look straight ahead,” and turned to face the bungalow.

Sheila was leaning out of a window.

“Rolly!”

“I can’t come back, I’m in a hurry!”

“I don’t want you to come back. What did you mean about the fires?”

“What fires?”

“Don’t be dense! We were talking in the garden and you said that the old fires hadn’t burned out.”

“I was talking about your old flames!” called Rollison, smiling in spite of himself as he turned round. Babette was already sitting in the Consul, and the driver was at the wheel.

Rollison settled down in a corner, looked at Babette and, as the car started off, said lightly: “Well, Mrs. Smith, shall we talk about arsenic?”