‘This marriage puts a new aspect on things,’ said Entwistle, as they left the Abingdon. ‘Although I’m not quite sure how.’
‘No,’ agreed Bird. ‘It might have been one thing if she’d been sneaking off with other men behind his back, but if they weren’t living as man and wife any more it doesn’t make much of a motive. I mean to say, I don’t suppose he’d have been very pleased about it, but he’d hardly be jealous enough to kill her.’
‘That’s if he was telling the truth. We can easily confirm his story about the marriage, but proving they were amicably separated is another matter.’
‘You think he might have been lying about that?’ said Bird. ‘She was supposed to have had her eye on Robert Kenrick, wasn’t she? I suppose Penk might have killed her in a jealous rage, then, if she was displaying it a bit too openly at the party that night—oh, but he was on the second terrace for most or all of the time in question, so it looks as though he’s let out.’
‘He says he was on the second terrace all that time, but can he prove it? He might have sneaked across to the other one and done it while nobody was watching.’
‘Well, he’d have had to come through the living-room to do it, so if he did then somebody is bound to have seen him,’ said the sergeant. ‘And it looks as though Miss Drucker is out of the picture, too, since she was talking to one person or another—including Robert Kenrick—for the whole half-hour.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Inspector Entwistle. ‘Now, Kenrick had the most opportunity of all of them, since he was out on the main terrace for a large part of the fatal period. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’
They found Robert Kenrick at his flat in Knightsbridge. It was large and spacious, and had the messy, unfurnished appearance of having been recently acquired. Although it was late morning, he was still in his dressing-gown, with rumpled hair, but he admitted them readily enough—and indeed, when they entered the living-room they found that they were not the first visitors to arrive, for another man was lounging comfortably on a sofa, smoking.
‘I expect you recognize Basil,’ said Kenrick. ‘Basil Kibble, you know.’
In broad daylight, without his make-up, Basil Kibble appeared far closer to his real age, for he had the pale, unhealthy look and bloodshot eyes of a man who spends little time in the open air, and goes late to bed every night. His suit was worn and shabby, with shiny patches at the elbows, and altogether his daytime appearance was a far cry from the elegant and sophisticated persona he affected during his evening performances.
‘Hallo, inspector,’ he said cheerfully, without moving. ‘I’m here to cheer up the patient. Ought I to get up? Or might we dispense with the formalities? Should you prefer me to leave altogether, in fact?’
‘No need, sir,’ said Entwistle. ‘I believe you and your wife were at the Abingdon on the night Miss Dacres died?’
‘Oh, we were, we were,’ said Basil. He lowered his voice and looked suitably sombre. ‘Terrible thing to happen, and on such a triumphant night for her. I suppose you’re here to question Bob. Shall I go out of the room, dear boy? I can be as discreet as you like.’
‘No, no, I’d rather you stayed,’ said Robert Kenrick. ‘You might remember things I don’t. As a matter of fact, I’d much prefer to forget the evening entirely, but I don’t suppose I’ll be allowed to.’
‘Oh? Was Miss Dacres a particular friend of yours?’ said Entwistle.
‘No,’ said Kenrick shortly. Basil shot him a warning glance, and he continued hastily, ‘That is to say, I didn’t know her well. We’d only met a week or two earlier.’
‘And there was no closer connection between you than that?’
‘If you mean were we having an affair, then the answer is no,’ he said. ‘I’m engaged—or I was, at any rate.’
‘That would be to Miss Sarah Rowland,’ said Entwistle. ‘She accompanied you to the party that evening.’
‘Yes,’ said Kenrick suddenly. ‘And I wish we hadn’t gone, because she hasn’t spoken to me since.’
‘Why not?’
Kenrick opened his mouth to answer, but again there was the warning look from Basil Kibble, and he closed it again.
‘We had a row,’ he said at length. ‘It was a private matter that had nothing to do with what happened that night.’
‘Are you certain of that?’ said Entwistle. ‘Your fiancée wasn’t, perhaps, upset because she suspected you of having deserted her for Miss Dacres?’
‘No,’ said Kenrick, but his tone was unconvincing. For an actor, he did not seem very good at dissembling.
The inspector went on:
‘Several people observed that evening that Miss Dacres seemed to be taking an unusually close interest in you. It was also noted that she snubbed Miss Rowland publicly, and that Miss Rowland was upset, and spent most of the evening sitting in a chair at one side of the room.’
‘It was all nonsense,’ said Kenrick. ‘I told Sarah that, but she didn’t believe me. This is all new to her—it’s new enough to me, too—and she doesn’t feel quite comfortable among this sort of people yet. This was the first time she’d met any of them, and most of them were friendly enough, but then Dorothy came and thought she’d try to lord it over me in front of everyone. I had to play along a little—for the sake of the publicity, you know. One has to keep up a certain image. But Sarah didn’t like it one bit.’
‘What do you mean by play along? Do you mean you took part in the pretence that there was a romance between you and Dorothy?’
‘Not exactly,’ he replied uncomfortably. ‘We pretended to flirt—or at least, I let her flirt with me, because Sarah was looking daggers at us both.’
‘And there was nothing on your side?’
‘Not at all.’
‘What about Miss Dacres? Can you be sure it was all just for show?’
‘Ye-es,’ said Kenrick.
‘You don’t seem quite certain.’
‘I didn’t mean a thing to her, I’m sure of it,’ said Kenrick unwillingly.
‘But—’ prompted Entwistle.
Kenrick cast a glance at Basil Kibble as though in entreaty.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Basil. ‘You know what I thought of her. Inspector, what Bob is far too much of a gentleman to tell you is that Dorothy Dacres was badgering the life out of him.’
‘Is that true?’ said the inspector.
Kenrick looked embarrassed.
‘She made a suggestion,’ he said at last. ‘She said it would help our careers if people thought we were really—you know. And it would be good publicity for the picture.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘I was flattered, naturally, and I told her so, but I said I already had a girl and couldn’t think of it.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘Why, she had to accept it,’ he said with finality.
‘She wasn’t upset?’ said Entwistle.
‘No.’
‘She didn’t perhaps threaten you, or tell you she’d see to it you were fired from the picture?’
‘No, of course not. Who told you that?’
‘One or two people had that impression,’ said Entwistle vaguely.
‘Well, it’s not true,’ said Kenrick.
‘Very well, then. Let’s turn to the events of the party. We are trying to discover the circumstances behind Miss Dacres’ death, and to do that we need to know what she was doing immediately before she fell from the terrace. There is a period of about half an hour in which nobody seems to have seen her, and we’d like to know where she was and what she was doing during that time. Now, we know that at half past ten she announced to everybody that she had won the part of Helen Harper, and after that she spent a little while circulating and accepting congratulations. But we don’t know exactly where she was after about ten to eleven—although obviously we can assume she went out onto the terrace at some point. Did she go out with you?’
‘No,’ said Kenrick.
‘And yet you were on the terrace for some time after half past ten.’
‘Was I? Yes, I suppose I was.’
‘At what time did you go out there?’
‘I—I don’t know. I wasn’t particularly paying attention.’
‘Was it after Miss Dacres made the announcement, or before?’
‘Why, I—after, I think it must have been. Yes, it was. She mentioned me in her speech, I remember.’
‘Did you go outside immediately after she’d finished speaking?’
‘I spoke to a few people, I think. They wanted to congratulate me on getting the part in the film, so of course one had to go along with things and seem pleased, although I didn’t feel much like it.’
‘What did you do on the terrace?’
‘Nothing. Sarah wouldn’t speak to me and I was feeling pretty down and didn’t want to talk to anybody, so I suppose I looked out at the view and smoked.’
‘You didn’t think of going home?’
‘No, I didn’t, although I expect I ought to have. But I was there as the leading man, and I didn’t want to offend anybody.’
‘I see,’ said Entwistle. ‘Then you stood there on the terrace the whole time. Did you stay in one place?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t go around the corner to the other side of the terrace at any time?’
‘No.’
‘Did you speak to anybody or see anybody?’
‘Not at first. Cora came out after a while, and we talked for a minute or two, but she was a little distracted and seemed to be waiting for somebody.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Augusta, I think. She fairly ran over to her when she and her chap came outside. Then I realized how cold it was and went back indoors.’
‘You went inside before Miss Drucker?’
‘Yes.’
‘At what time was that?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps Cora or Augusta will remember. I left the three of them on the terrace.’
‘And what did you do after that?’
‘Nothing much,’ said Kenrick. ‘Talked to one or two people, I think.’
‘You didn’t go back out onto the terrace at all? Perhaps through Miss Drucker’s bedroom?’
‘Certainly not. I’d got cold and wanted to stay where it was warm.’
‘When did you realize Miss Dacres was dead?’
‘Not until I heard the commotion and Penk started charging around, yelling at people to get off the terrace. A lot of people had rushed outside because they thought there’d been a motor accident, and Penk shouted at them to get back in. Then everybody started whispering that it wasn’t a car crash after all—that Dorothy had fallen from the terrace. After that the police arrived, and it was obvious we were in the way, so we gave our names to the constable on the door and I took Sarah home. That was an uncomfortable journey, I can tell you. Now every time I telephone, her mother answers and won’t let me speak to her.’
‘Poor old chap,’ said Basil. ‘Give it another day or two and I’m sure she’ll come round.’
Kenrick said nothing, but looked glum. Entwistle turned to Basil Kibble.
‘I don’t suppose you remember what you were doing during the half-hour in question?’ he said.
‘Oh, Birdie and I were on duty, inspector,’ replied Basil. ‘In every house you’ll always find us at the piano. I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty in finding people to confirm that.’
‘Very well,’ said Entwistle. ‘I think that will be all.’
‘Tell me, do you have an inkling of what happened that night?’ said Basil. ‘I gather from others you’ve been bustling about asking people to give alibis. But what if it was an accident?’
‘Then we still need alibis to prove that,’ said the inspector. ‘If nobody was with her at the time, then everyone is cleared of suspicion, and we can safely say she died by her own hand one way or another.’
‘In that case, I have no more to say,’ said Basil. ‘I wish you the best of luck—and all the more so, because I think you’re going to need it.’