8

He slept well and awoke just after seven. By the time he had washed, shaved and dressed it wasn’t yet eight o’clock.

The house was quiet. So far as he could tell the others were still asleep. There was no sound from any of the bedrooms as he went downstairs.

It had stopped raining and the sun was high. Among the elm trees that crowned the road to Castle Lammering the birds were singing. Except for a sprinkling of petals around some bedraggled rose bushes and a few broken twigs on the drive there was little trace of the storm.

If everything hadn’t gone wrong within an hour and a half of his arrival, to-day would’ve been the start of an enjoyable week-end. He had looked forward to it so much: a luxury house in the country, hospitable people, lovely June weather. A man could ask for nothing more.

But Adele had spoiled it all. Adele had gone and died.

… Why couldn’t she have picked next week-end? Might not have happened like this if she’d gone away a week later. Wonder where she went when she was supposed to be going to Wood Lake? If Michael knew, then he lied to everybody. If he didn’t, then Adele lied to him. Must’ve had a reason. Wish I knew what it was …

He hadn’t wanted to become involved but now he was part of a nasty tangled affair. Elvin would think it funny if he packed his bag and left.

… Suppose he’d think it even funnier if he knew it wasn’t your bag and the things in it weren’t yours, either. Could’ve blackmailed Carole into sleeping with me if I’d threatened to tell Bossard I was wearing his shirt and how I came to get it … with a few embellishments that she’d never convince him were all in my imagination. She’d hate him to think she was as bad as he’d been. To keep that sort of thing from him she’d share my bed any time I liked …

The thought fanned into life a dark flame of desire. He’d only be taking what she’d been willing to give on the night she took him home to her cottage.

… You could be wrong about her — wrong from beginning to end. And, even if you’re not, since when did you crawl into the gutter for your pleasures? No matter what she may, or may not, have done, she’s another man’s woman. If you made her sleep with you, you wouldn’t sleep too well with yourself for as long as you lived. So forget it. If you can’t, go and take a cold bath …

The flame shrank low and then snuffed out. He told himself that a cup of hot coffee would make sure it didn’t flare up again. Nobody would mind if he fixed some breakfast. They were all in bed. When he’d had something to eat he’d go for a walk.

As he crossed the sitting-room there were little sounds of movement in the kitchen … a cup tinkling in a saucer … a chair creaking … the rustle of a newspaper.

It was Irene Ford. She was sitting at the table with a teacup in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other.

When he drummed on the door with the tips of his fingers she looked up, her eyes startled. Then she giggled nervously while she fanned herself with the paper.

She said, “Oh, dear, you gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone was there.”

Quinn said, “I’m sorry. If I’d thought —”

“No, it wasn’t your fault … not really. My mind was miles and miles away.”

In the same colourless voice, she added, “It’s only to be expected … isn’t it? After what’s happened … I mean.”

“Of course. You must’ve been badly shaken. How are you feeling now?”

“Oh, a lot better. But it’ll take time for me to get over it. Only natural … when you get a shock like that … don’t you think?”

There she hunched up her narrow shoulders as though the sunlight was cold. All her movements were nervous and jerky like those of a bird prepared for instant flight.

Quinn wondered how a man of Ford’s type could ever have married her. She didn’t seem to have a drop of warm blood in her veins.

… Couldn’t imagine anybody making love to her unless he was desperate. Soon’s hubby starts getting excited, I’ll bet she giggles. And if there’s anything can put a man off at the critical moment, that’s it …

He said, “Yes, quite natural. I’m surprised to see you up and about so early. I understood that Dr. Bossard had given you something to make you sleep.”

With a little self-conscious wriggle, Irene Ford said, “Oh, that sort of thing doesn’t have much effect on me. I could take fifty of those pills and —”

Her mouth stayed open but no sound came out. She had a shrivelled look on her thin, pallid face as she stared up at Quinn miserably.

At last, she said, “Poor Adele … Terrible when someone young dies like that … unexpectedly, I mean … isn’t it?”

“Very terrible,” Quinn said.

She looked here and there, played with her cup, and eventually asked him, “Would you like some coffee … or do you prefer tea? I’m sure you want a hot drink. I always need one in the morning … to wake me up … if you know what I mean.”

“I’ll have coffee, please, if it’s no trouble.”

“Oh, no … no trouble at all. There’s some in the pot on the stove.”

Without making the slightest move, she went on, “You sit down, Mr. Quinn. After all, you’re a guest. Let me get it for you.”

“No need for that,” Quinn said. “I can help myself … if it’s all right with you.”

“Yes, of course. Why should I mind?” A look of tired helplessness came into her eyes. “This isn’t my house. I’m not even sure I’ll be welcome here from now on.”

Quinn poured out a cup of coffee and brought it back to the table. As he sat down, she said, “Maybe I shouldn’t say a thing like that. It sounds awful … but I know you won’t tell Michael … although it’s true … unfortunately.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t like you?”

Her face brightened. She said, “Oh, it’s not me. I get on well enough with him. It’s Neil. They seem to rub each other the wrong way. Of course, Michael’s inclined to be — difficult. Doesn’t mean any harm, really, but you’ve got to understand him. And that was Adele’s trouble … although it doesn’t seem right to find fault now that she’s …”

The rest trailed off into uneasy silence. Quinn asked, “What was Mrs. Parry’s trouble?”

Irene gave herself a little shake. With her fingers travelling over the surface of the newspaper as though she were reading braille, she said, “I always told her she should have more patience. But she was never very patient with anyone … not even my brother … and he was the easiest man to get on with that you could hope to meet. Anyone who knew him would tell you that.”

“Weren’t they happy together?”

With a nervous wriggle, Irene said hurriedly, “Oh, yes, very happy. I don’t think they ever had a wrong word. Of course, I’d say that was mainly because he was so easy-going … and we can’t all be the same, can we?”

“So they say,” Quinn said. “You think that if Adele had been more patient with Michael she might be alive now?”

“Well, no one” — Irene wriggled again — “no one can be sure of that … can they? I’m only going by what she told me on the phone … nothing to make me think she meant to poison herself, of course, and I can’t believe it even now …”

There was another awkward silence until Quinn asked, “What did she tell you on the phone?”

Very deliberately, Irene linked her thin hands together and hunched forward. In a worried voice, she said, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t say anything … I don’t want to cause trouble … but that’s what upset me most of all last night when I had time to think about it … and it can’t do her any harm now she’s, well, dead … if you know what I mean.”

Quinn said, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Ford. The one thing you can be sure of, however, is that nothing you might say will do Mrs. Parry any harm and it could relieve your mind of needless worry. So why keep it to yourself?”

She drew back a little and looked guilty. She said, “It’s probably not worth repeating. You’ll think I’m just silly for making a fuss over nothing. My husband always says I exaggerate and if he heard —”

“He won’t,” Quinn said. “Not from me, he won’t. So now — what did Adele say to you on the phone?”

“It was about her and Michael … and she sounded as if she’d really made up her mind.”

“What about her and Michael?”

“She was going to divorce him … or ask him to divorce her. I’m not sure which. But it doesn’t make any difference really … does it?”

“Depends on the circumstances,” Quinn said. “In this case it might make all the difference in the world. Can’t you remember what she said?”

“No, I didn’t pay much attention. To me it was the same thing either way. Of course, if I’d known what was going to happen … but you can’t see into the future … even a few hours … can you?”

She separated her hands and gave another wriggle as though her clothes felt tight. Quinn wondered how any man could put up with her interminable questions, her lack of ordinary common sense.

He said, “You weren’t to know, Mrs. Ford. So don’t blame yourself. When did you get this phone call from Adele?”

Her face sharpened in a look of surprise. She said, “I’ve told you. It was only a few hours before — before I got here. She rang me yesterday morning when I was at home.”

“Just to say that she and Michael were going to be divorced? Why couldn’t she have kept the news until you arrived?”

“I asked her that and she told me she hadn’t known whether we were coming or not. We hadn’t said definitely when we were here the last time … and, anyway, we might not want to come when we knew she might be going off as soon as she’d talked to Michael.”

“But it didn’t stop you?”

Irene hunched up her shoulders. She said, “Oh, no, of course not. You surely don’t think I was going to stay away and let her break up her whole life … just like that … do you?”

“But if she’d made up her mind —”

“It was still my duty to give her a good talking to … wasn’t it? I had to make her realise what she was doing. After all, Michael wouldn’t have grounds for divorce unless she did something … something wrong … if you know what I mean.”

“I can guess,” Quinn said. “But Mrs. Parry wasn’t a child. You couldn’t be responsible for what she did.”

“No, but people talk. And it isn’t nice … not really. Is it?”

There was no answer to that, no means of communication. Quinn told himself there was nothing so impenetrable as the barrier of stupidity.

But one question had to be asked. He said, “Did Mrs. Parry tell you where she was speaking from?”

Irene looked momentarily lost as though he had interrupted her train of thought. Then she said vaguely, “Oh, yes …”

As her eyes strayed down to the newspaper again, Quinn said, “This is important, Mrs. Ford. Where was your sister-in-law yesterday morning?”

“In London. She’d been there all week. She wanted to get away from everybody and everything so she could decide what to do … about Michael. It was only when she’d finally made up her mind that she phoned me from the hotel.”

Once again, Irene retired within herself. Quinn asked, “Do you know the name of the hotel?”

“It’s the one where she always stayed when she went up to town — the Cavendish … at least, I think so.”

“But she didn’t say so?”

“Well, no. But she never went anywhere else. It was very convenient when she wanted to see her lawyers because their office is just round the corner.”

“Was that one of the reasons why she was in London — to see her lawyers?”

With her shoulders hunched up, Irene Ford sat and thought. Then she said, “I don’t know. Adele never mentioned anything about them. She just said she’d gone away for a few days because she wanted time to think … and she felt that I ought to know what she’d decided … since I was the only relation she had, as it were … apart from Michael, of course, and she’d made arrangements about him. So you see —”

“What had she arranged for Michael?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my place to ask … although I did wonder what she meant.”

There was no future for Quinn in the realm of things that aroused Irene Ford’s wonder. He asked, “Did Mrs. Parry say when she would be returning home?”

“Yes, I understood she’d be back before we arrived. That’s why I thought it strange when she wasn’t here. I never dreamed … it was the last thing in the world …”

Her lips trembled and she made a thin wailing sound in her throat. Then she stood up clumsily, her hands feeling for the corner of the table as though she were blind.

Without looking at Quinn, she said in a muffled voice, “You’ll have to excuse me … oh dear … oh dear … oh dear …”

He watched her cross the wide expanse of living-room and go upstairs, her shoulders stooped, her arms wrapped round her middle as though she was in pain. In his mind lingered an impression that he had heard her whimper “… It was wrong. He shouldn’t have done it. I don’t care what she was …”

Long after she had left him her plaintive voice went on repeating the words again and again inside his head. He could still see the look of desolation on her face as she got up from the table — a look that left him feeling some of the cold she felt when she thought of Adele lying dead in the nursery.

She was afraid … like Carole was afraid … and Michael, too. When Adele Parry died, fear took her place at Elm Lodge.

Inspector Elvin was interested. He said, “Thanks for ringing me, Mr. Quinn. What you’ve learned from Mrs. Ford should save us quite a lot of trouble. When I asked you to stay on at the house I knew you’d be a useful chap to have around — most useful. Keep up the good work.”

“Only if our association isn’t intended to be a one-way affair,” Quinn said.

“Meaning … ?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. Anything I may be able to do will be done strictly on a quid pro quo basis. If I help you I want to be kept informed of progress.”

The phone hummed distantly while Elvin took time to think. Then he said cautiously, “If it’s to be strictly a quid for a quo, it’ll also have to be strictly unofficial. I’m not supposed to divulge —”

“And I’m not supposed to be a copper’s nark,” Quinn said. “In case you don’t know it, this isn’t my idea of a holiday.”

“No? I’d have thought you were doing all right. I wouldn’t mind being a guest at a country house in perfect June weather, all found, and with something to keep my mind gently occupied.”

“Then your tastes differ from mine. Ever heard the saying: ‘Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile?’ There’s nothing gentle about life at Elm Lodge.”

Elvin said, “Your misquotation is from a hymn by Bishop Heber and the correct line starts ‘Though ever prospect pleases … ‘ My mother used to sing it.”

“I never knew that policemen had mothers,” Quinn said. “And let’s not get off the point. Is it a deal?”

“Providing that your idea of reciprocation doesn’t conflict with my idea of duty — yes, it’s a deal. What do you want to know?”

There were sounds from upstairs … a door opened and closed … slippers flapped their way along the corridor … another door thumped shut.

Quinn said, “Nothing — right now. The house is beginning to wake up. You’ll be paying us a visit some time to-day, I suppose?”

“I’d intended to come out this morning … but in the light of your information I’ll make a quick trip to London, instead, and have a chat with the people at the Cavendish. You don’t happen to know the name of the late Mrs. Parry’s lawyers, do you?”

“No, but I could find out from her husband. Want me to ask him?”

The phone went quiet again except for that empty humming sound in the distance. Then Inspector Elvin said, “No, better not. I’ll get hold of it some other way.”

With a smile in his voice, he added, “We have our methods … as that pompous and overbearing character, Mr. Holmes, was fond of saying.”

“This seems to be a day for misquotations,” Quinn said. “The phrase he used was: ‘ You know my methods … ‘”

Elvin said, “Touché. How do you propose to spend your time until I get back from London?”

“Enjoying the delights of the countryside. When I’ve arranged some breakfast I’m going for a walk.”

“Don’t go too far. I may want to give you a ring.”

“Not to worry,” Quinn said. “I won’t get lost.”

He made some toast and washed it down with the last of the coffee. Then he lit a cigarette. By that time he could hear people talking on the floor above. One of them sounded like Carole.

What he had said to her the night before had been a mistake. He hadn’t any right to be jealous of Bossard. After all, Dr. Bossard was still her husband — even if they were separated.

… And that’s your trouble: you are jealous. Why don’t you go and get your own woman instead of casting covetous eyes at another man’s wife? Anybody’d think she was a raving beauty …

Asking himself questions to which there were no answers wouldn’t help. He’d tried to frighten her with a threat as though nailing his colours to the mast. And that had been mean.

“Don’t rely on me. I owe you nothing — neither you nor anyone else connected with Adele Parry. Whatever I learn while Fm here I’ll tell the police.”

Now he realised they’d been foolish words — just an empty threat. In the event he hadn’t told Inspector Elvin that Carole was Dr. Bossard’s wife. It did no good to excuse himself by saying that the information wasn’t relevant, that it had no bearing on the death of Adele Parry. That hadn’t been his real reason.

… You were just trying to atone for the nasty thoughts you had about her, trying to be a gallant gentleman. Trouble is you don’t know how to be gallant and you’ll never be a gentleman … If I’m any judge there’s not much wrong with that girl. She’s been hurt once and I don’t want to see her hurt again …

Yet he knew all the time he was blinding himself to reality. He believed in her because he wanted to believe in her.

Threatening her on the one hand and keeping things from Inspector Elvin on the other was what the Yanks called playing both ends against the middle. And the Yanks always contended there was no future in that.

Now he’d manoeuvred himself into the middle position and the quicker he got out of it the better. Carole was married. Carole had volunteered the information quite readily. If she hadn’t wanted anyone to know she shouldn’t have told him.

He stubbed out his cigarette and crossed the living-room and unlocked the front door. One half of his mind was listening to someone on the floor above complaining about the lack of hot water. This time it sounded like Irene Ford’s voice.

As he went out he was turning to look back and he nearly bumped into Miss Wilkinson. She was dressed in white sandals, tight, pale-blue jeans, and a yellow sweater that emphasised her shapeless bust. Around her hair she wore a chiffon scarf tied in a bow under her chin.

In exaggerated self-defence she held up both hands and said, “Well, how about that? Almost got knocked over by the sleuth of Fleet Street himself … and I’ll bet you couldn’t say that if you were tiddly. Where are you dashing off to so bright and early — if it’s any of my business?”

Quinn said, “I was just going for a walk. The others aren’t up yet … or I should say they’re up —”

“But not down … good.”

She came closer to look up at him and he could see little yellow flecks in her hazel eyes. She said, “It’s you I want to talk to this beautiful morning — not the others. So would you mind postponing your walk for a few minutes?”

“Why not come with me? I won’t go far.”

“That’s the trouble” — she gave him a coy look — “with all the men I meet. They never go far enough … and if you don’t smile at that you’ll embarrass me because I’ll think you don’t think I’m joking.”

“Then consider that I’m smiling,” Quinn said.

“If you are, it doesn’t show. But never mind. It’s not the first time my poor attempts at wit have fallen flat.”

She lowered her voice as she went on, “I don’t want them to see me going off with you. They’ll think I’m telling you something they’re not supposed to hear.”

“Such as what?”

“Such as the motive behind Adele’s death.”

“Telling me won’t do any good. It’s the Coroner’s job to decide why she would want to commit suicide.”

Miss Wilkinson fluttered her eyelashes and asked, “But supposing it wasn’t suicide? Supposing somebody might’ve had a reason for wanting to get rid of her?”

“Anyone might’ve had a reason for doing anything,” Quinn said. “Why not be a little more specific?”

“Oh, I can be a lot more specific. But if I am” — she looked past him at the open door and dropped her voice lower still — “I don’t want my name to be mentioned.”

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

“My neighbours. I’ve got to go on living round here. And if they thought I kept an eye on their comings and goings, that would be the end of my social life. So anything I say must be between ourselves. Otherwise …” She put a finger to her lips and then waved it in Quinn’s face.

He said, “O.K. If anything results from what you tell me, I promise not to disclose the source. Now let’s hear it. Whose comings and goings have you been keeping an eye on?”

Miss Wilkinson stood on tip-toe to look past him again. Then she said, “Dr. Bossard’s. About a year ago he started calling here pretty often. During the day, at that, when Michael wasn’t at home. He never gets back from the Bird-in-Hand until nearly four … and Mrs. Gregg leaves at one o’clock … so the doctor and Adele had the house all to themselves.”

“Don’t see anything wrong in that,” Quinn said. “She was one of his patients — almost certainly a private patient. He was entitled to visit her whenever she asked him to call.”

Cynical lines etched themselves around the corners of Miss Wilkinson’s nose and mouth. She said, “Two or three times a week? They can hardly have been professional visits.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Because if she needed medical attention all that often she must’ve been suffering from some chronic ailment … and I can assure you she wasn’t.”

At the back of Quinn’s mind he could hear Michael Parry saying “… It can’t be true … Adele’s the healthiest person I’ve ever known. Never had a day’s illness in her life …”

Quinn asked, “Did Dr. Bossard only call here in the afternoons?”

With her eyes half-shut and her head titled back, Ariadne Wilkinson stood quite still while she thought. Then her eyelids flicked open like those of a doll.

She said, “It was the afternoons when I saw him … the time of day when Adele would be alone in the house. That’s why it’s obvious —”

“Only if you jump to conclusions,” Quinn said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to tread cautiously. To begin with, what evidence have you got that the doctor came to the house two or three times a week?”

“The evidence of my own eyes. I can see Elm Lodge from the bedroom window of my cottage. It’s” — she pointed vaguely in the direction of the high ground to the west — “it’s over there. The drive here in front of the house is clearly visible … and I can’t mistake the doctor’s car.”

“So for the past year you’ve been keeping watch every day,” Quinn said.

Her mouth drew down again. She said, “How about that? I try to be of help … and for my pains I’m charged with snooping. You’re not very nice to know, are you?”

He said, “That’s not what I want. You say Dr. Bossard started calling on Mrs. Parry about a year ago. I just wondered if these visits of his had gone on up to the time she went away last Monday.”

“If I could answer that” — Ariadne Wilkinson was faintly triumphant — “it would mean I’d been snooping seven days a week for the past year … and I can assure you I haven’t. I lost interest months ago. It was none of my business if our local doctor chose to make a fool of himself with an over-sexed married woman.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say about a professional man,” Quinn said. “You’ve no proof they were having an affaire”

She looked at him with a wide-eyed pretence of astonishment. In a tone that was even deeper than her normal voice, she said, “How about that? Who’d have believed you were never told the facts of life?”

Quinn said, “Let’s cut out the quips. What has all this to do with Mrs. Parry’s death?”

“Just about everything. Can you imagine how Michael would’ve felt if he’d discovered what was going on behind his back?”

“Yes. I can imagine how any husband would feel in those circumstances. Are you suggesting he had found out?”

“No, but he was bound to do so very soon. And then what do you think he’d have done?”

“The same thing as most other husbands … if she’d been like most other wives. He’d have divorced her. But she was different from other wives. She was a rich woman. Because of that he might’ve been prepared to turn a blind eye to —”

“You’re no judge of human nature,” Miss Wilkinson said roughly. “There are very few men who’d put up with that sort of thing. Besides, if he wanted money, he could get it by suing for divorce and charging the doctor with enticement … or whatever it’s called. That way he’d get a tidy sum, wouldn’t he?”

Quinn said, “This isn’t getting us very far. What you say may be true but it doesn’t provide a motive for her death … assuming that she didn’t commit suicide.”

“Of course she didn’t! Why should a young, rich and attractive woman poison herself? Not because she’d been crossed in love — that’s for sure. A man-eater who’s been married twice doesn’t voluntarily give up the delights of the flesh.”

The question echoed in Quinn’s mind and roused a memory of Irene Ford’s voice. He could hear her whining complaint again as clearly as he had heard it when he was going downstairs to phone the police.

” … It doesn’t seem right. She had so much to live for. It just doesn’t seem right … “

He said, “I can give you one reason. Maybe she poisoned herself because she couldn’t face a divorce action and all the notoriety that goes with it.”

With a knowing smile, Ariadne Wilkinson said, “No, not Adele. She wouldn’t be scared of notoriety. But I can tell you somebody who would — somebody who’d have been ruined if he were cited in a divorce suit …”

They were Quinn’s own thoughts clothed in another person’s words. Now he could understand what lay behind the fear in Carole’s eyes. It had to be one of two things: either she had poisoned Adele Parry … or she guessed that Dr. Bossard had done it.

Miss Wilkinson’s deep masculine voice ran on as though she were savouring each phrase with relish. This was her big moment.

“… Adele was his patient. Once she had her claws in Bossard I doubt if he could ever have made her let go. And hanging over him all the time was the threat of what Michael would do when he found out … as he was bound to find out in the long run. Maybe not so long, at that.”

Quinn said, “You’re making a very serious allegation.”

“Oh, yes, I know just how serious. But, of course, it’s strictly entre nous”

“Now you’re being silly. That sort of thing can’t be kept secret.”

“Who says it’s a secret? Who says I’m the only one who’s aware of the intimate relationship between Adele and her — for lack of a better term shall we call him her medical adviser?”

“I can’t see how that has any bearing on —”

“Perhaps it hasn’t … but you never can tell. The main thing is that a doctor gets struck off for what’s described as unprofessional conduct. And adultery with a female patient isn’t considered to be ethical treatment — even if that’s the medicine the patient prescribes for herself.”

For a moment longer Ariadne Wilkinson stared up at Quinn with wide hypnotic eyes. Then she said, “He was hooked, Mr. Quinn. Nothing could save him. Whether he realised it or not, the risk that Michael Parry would find out was becoming greater every day.”

Quinn heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She must’ve heard them, too, because she drew back.

With a farewell wiggle of her fingers, she added, “Strange are the workings of Providence. Just in time his mistress let him off the hook. She went and died. How about that, Mr. Quinn of Fleet Street? How about that?”