GENTLY LEFT BRASS amongst his vats and turned his steps towards the north-east wing again. The omnipresent chill seemed to be eating into his bones, and he yearned to straddle before a really scorching fire. A grave of a house. Had it ever been warmed? Would the crater of Etna suffice to make habitable its dead and frozen beauty? Even its brilliant architect had admitted the futility of trying to live in it, had tucked the inhabitants away in possible but inconvenient annexes …
Coming back to the great hall, he hesitated, and then mounted the marble stairs and pushed his way through the portal into the saloon. Here, if Johnson was to be believed, an argument had taken place … but arguments, alas, rarely left visible traces. The carpet was down, certainly, and given a particular set of circumstances, some marks here near the door might have told a suggestive story. But the circumstances did not obtain. Numerous feet had passed through the door since early Christmas morning. And in real life at all events, people did not drop initialled handkerchieves at convenient spots, or otherwise make easy the lives of half-frozen policemen …
He shook his head and moved to go firewards once more, but as he turned he became aware of a figure that had suddenly and silently materialized in the portal behind him. It was Mrs Page. Her face was blanched and her eyes staring horribly. And as they stood facing each other she gave a queer little moan, and began slowly to slide down the side of the marble doorway.
‘I’m all right … Just give me a minute.’
Gently had caught her before she fell, and now she lay a dead weight in his arms, the lids fluttering convulsively over her closed eyes.
‘I came to find you … It’s stupid … I didn’t expect to see you there.’
The breath was coming quickly, turning to vapour in the nipping air.
‘You see, Henry says you’re the one … you’re the one it’s going to be …’
Gently made a move to carry her to a convenient chair, but she clutched his arm violently, and by a tremendous effort managed to brace her limp body. Her eyes flickered open, the pupils large and wild. Something like a ghastly smile twitched at her lips.
‘I’ll be all right … really.’
‘Shall I call your maid, Mrs Page?’
‘No … just hang on … This is really too silly.’
‘Can I get you something – some brandy, perhaps?’
She signalled a feeble negative. ‘I’ve got some … back in my wing.’
For perhaps a minute she continued quite still, struggling to regain control of herself. Then a degree of strength seemed to surge back into her limbs, and she gently released herself from the arms that supported her.
‘Help me back to the wing, will you? … I think I can manage to walk.’
‘Don’t you think you should sit down for a little?’
‘No … help me back to my wing.’
She was inflexibly determined, so he tucked her arm under his and guided her slowly through the dreary labyrinth to the north-west wing. Here, in a small, very-feminine room, a fire was burning and a sniffling maid going round the ornaments with a feather-duster. Mrs Page allowed herself to be seated in a chair by the fire.
‘All right, Dorothy … you may leave the dusting now.’
‘I hadn’t really finished ’em, mum—’
‘Never mind. That will do for this morning.’
The maid disappeared, still sniffling, and Gently located a brandy-decanter in a cabinet in the corner of the room. He poured a stiff glassful. Mrs Page drank it eagerly.
‘You must forgive me for making such an exhibition, Inspector … Honestly, I don’t do these things as a rule.’
Gently hunched an ulstered shoulder. ‘You said you were looking for me?’
She nodded without meeting his eyes. ‘Yes, I was … I’ve been talking to my cousin. And then, seeing you there like that—’ She gave an involuntary shudder. ‘It just seemed as though you must know it all anyway – I can’t help it – it seemed uncanny.’
Gently found himself a chair to his liking and reversed it so that he could lean on the back. The brandy had brought colour back into Mrs Page’s cheeks, but not quite the composure to her manner.
‘And your cousin was saying about me …’
‘Oh – he says you’ll be the one who’ll understand this affair … He doesn’t think Sir Daynes has enough imagination.’
‘Do you know what he meant?’
‘No … except that he said he’d given you a background.’
‘He’s given me a background of some sort!’ Gently brooded over his chair-back. ‘My imagination must be getting rusty … it isn’t jumping to things like it used to. And he advised you to come clean?’
‘He … You know about it, then?’
Gently shook his head. ‘I can’t help intelligent guessing.’
‘He advised me … I would have to have told someone … He advised me to come to you.’
She had been lying, of course, when she was faced with Johnson’s statement. At the moment she had panicked, and it had seemed the only thing to do. The circumstance was damnable. Who would believe, if once she admitted having been on the landing with him, that she had had nothing to do with the subsequent event? And it was Johnson’s word against hers – or rather, the implication of Johnson’s evidence against her direct assertion: why should she not lie to avert from herself an unwarranted suspicion?
‘You must not think too hardly of me, Inspector. I would have come out with it then and there if I thought it would serve a useful purpose. But all it explained was why Earle was on the landing, and I knew it wasn’t important, though you might have thought it was.’
Gently nodded pontifically. ‘I can appreciate your feelings, of course … but you really shouldn’t judge whether evidence is important.’
‘I know … I know that now. I’ve had time to think it over. I can see that one should make any sacrifice where someone … someone …’
She broke off with a tremor in her voice, and Gently politely looked in some other direction.
‘At the same time, Inspector … how can it be important? You know I left him there – you’ve got Johnson’s evidence …’
‘It could give a motive, you know.’
‘A motive?’ She looked across at him.
‘There’s Johnson, remember … You must know he was an admirer of yours.’
‘Johnson!’ She seemed genuinely surprised. ‘But that’s ridiculous, Inspector.’
‘But you knew he was an admirer?’
‘Yes – I suppose so – of a kind. But it’s too far-fetched. Johnson wouldn’t have killed him over me. A man would have to be frantically in love with a woman to go killing off a rival … and Johnson wasn’t like that about me. Besides, he could have thrashed Earle with one hand.’
‘Lovers are strange people, Mrs Page.’
‘I don’t care. I know Hugh.’
‘And you can be as certain about everyone else at Merely?’
‘As certain – what do you mean, Inspector?’
‘I mean there might be another admirer … one who would be in love enough to kill Earle.’
Mrs Page remained silent for a moment, but it was not the silence of confusion.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re on quite the wrong track, Inspector. There’s nobody here except Johnson who has shown that sort of interest in me. You must remember that I have not been long a widow. My husband was a man I have not easily been able to forget. People have been very kind to me, but there have been no advances … nor, I assure you, would they have been encouraged.’
‘Not even Lieutenant Earle’s, Mrs Page?’
She blushed. ‘Not even Lieutenant Earle’s, Inspector.’
Gently sighed imperceptibly and folded his arms over the chair-back. ‘Perhaps we’d better start from the beginning … It’s usually the shortest way in the long run.’
Earle being Earle, Mrs Page had failed to take him quite seriously when he first arrived at Merely. At once he had begun to pay her extravagant attention, but since he seemed to be in the habit of spreading himself over every female he ran against, this didn’t register as being particularly significant. It was just Earle’s way. He was a demonstrative American. If you laughed at him about it, he laughed with you, and then went out of his way to be even more extravagant and to laugh even louder. She didn’t know when it was that she first realized there was more to it. When she did, it came rather as a shock, and she didn’t know quite how to handle the situation. She liked Earle very much. He had brightened up her rather sombre existence at Merely. But she wasn’t in love with him, and she didn’t want him to fall in love with her, and now he had done so the situation was extremely awkward.
‘Under all that gay front of his he was a very sensitive person, and I was sure that he would be hurt very deeply if I snubbed him or tried to shake him off. He was such a boy, you know. I believe Americans mature more slowly than Englishmen. They like to talk loudly and seem worldly and tough, but just below the surface they are … well, bewildered. Earle wanted reassuring. He couldn’t quite believe in the act he was putting on. And if I had treated him roughly it would have shattered his confidence … He didn’t just love me, he needed me too.’
So she had continued on the same footing with him, trying to hold the balance. She accepted his exaggerated behaviour as before, as though it were all a game and a jest. For some time it was enough. She was able to conceal from him that he was being held at arm’s length. Unfortunately, love affairs do not stand still, and Earle, in the end, began to find the Thou Shalt Not that was impeding his progress.
‘He got very silent sometimes when we were alone together. Naturally, I tried to avoid having a tête-à-tête with him, but in a place like this it isn’t easy to steer clear of them. He began to talk a lot about his people and his home in Missouri, and then he got that idée fixe about us going over there on a visit. I was the target there, I’m afraid. Les was very largely a stalking-horse to get me to agree. I expect poor Bill thought that once I was in Missouri my resistance would vanish – one plate of fried chicken, and another GI bride would be added to the tally.’
‘Did he make any passes at you?’
‘Only in a playful sort of way. Honestly, he didn’t know much about it, and evasive action was quite simple.’
‘In public, was that?’
‘No, he never did it in public. In public he kept up his Campus King act.’
‘Would anyone have cause to think you took him seriously … that’s what I’m trying to get at?’
‘I’m quite sure they wouldn’t. I’d say on the contrary.’
‘You made it plain that it was jest?’
‘And you were never alone with him in a way that might have been compromising?’
She shook her head. ‘He wanted me to meet him in London – you know, Christmas shopping! – but I squashed that flatter than a pancake, both in private and public.’
‘Ah well.’ Gently made a humorous face. ‘Go on, Mrs Page.’
The Christmas shopping idea had been a definite invitation. He had not been explicit, but the original suggestion had been for her to spend the night in town, on the excuse that they would need a full day at the shops. When she had turned this down he still persisted that she should accompany him, and she had then invented an unanswerable rush of workshop-business to put a final period to his importunity. He had taken this rather hardly. He had apparently built a good deal on that day in London. He had probably been under the impression that Mrs Page’s attitude was governed to a great extent by her environment, and that once she was got away from it opportunity might develop. However, he had her answer, and he had to accept it. He came back from his excursion with undiminished high spirits, and threw himself into the business of being the (slightly transatlantic) Spirit of Christmas at Merely. But there were obviously other things on his mind. His grand project, though halted, was only very temporarily postponed. After lunch he had jockeyed her into taking the walk to the folly with him, and on the way he had talked not entirely of Missouri and the old folks at home.
‘He told me right out that he was in love with me, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Part of the time he was jesting about, talking of Christmas being the time of love and goodwill, et cetera, when people ought to let their hair down and commit a few follies. But the rest of the time he was deadly serious. He told me that he had already written to his mother telling her that he had met the girl he was going to marry, and that if I had gone to London with him he would have bought the ring then and there. Well, I did my best to keep it all in a facetious vein, but I’m afraid it was getting very difficult. I saw that soon I should have to clamp down on Bill in sheer self-defence. I think, too, that he understood the way I felt about it. On the whole, I was just a little frightened.’
‘Frightened?’ queried Gently, lifting an eyebrow.
‘Yes – oh, I don’t mean in the sense of being scared. But Bill had gone so far, you see, that he probably felt he couldn’t go back, and I was trying desperately to keep the situation fluid, if you understand me.’
Gently nodded. ‘You wanted to let him keep his face.’
‘Exactly. And if I’d taken him seriously for a moment, it would have been all over. But I weathered that particular storm. I laughed at him all the way back to the house. When you laughed at Bill, he had to laugh back, and so we got over the walk without too much damage being done. There was just that little tension there. Once or twice, I caught him looking at me in a rather peculiar way. I felt that trouble was very definitely brewing for some occasion in the future, and I was glad there was going to be a party to give me a respite.’
During the party Bill had had to behave, and he kept his credit up manfully. There had been nothing to reproach him for. He had been his old self as ever. He had sought no tête-à-têtes, dropped no equivocal phrases, looked no odd looks. He had given a magnificent performance. It had all been saved up until everyone except Somerhayes had retired. And then, under pretext of seeing her to the door – a natural act for Bill – he had fiercely told her that he must see her alone, then, that night, as soon as he could reasonably get rid of Somerhayes.
Gently rocked forward in the chair he had been tilting. ‘And your cousin – he could have heard that? He could have heard the tone in which it was spoken?’
‘No.’ She was quick and positive. ‘That would have been quite impossible.’
‘Why do you say so, Mrs Page? You have described Earle’s tone as being fierce.’
‘Yes – it was. But naturally, he kept it down. Besides, my cousin was the length of the room away … He was pouring a drink, you remember? The drinks were on a sideboard at the far end of the room.’
‘This is a silent house, Mrs Page.’
‘I know – but then, we were round the door …’
‘Yet you saw your cousin pouring drinks at the sideboard?’
‘I – I mean he went to the sideboard just as Bill saw me out.’
Gently nodded inscrutably. ‘Let us say he was pouring drinks …’
Mrs Page gave him a glance of quick apprehension, but there was nothing to be gleaned from a poker-faced Gently.
‘Well, Inspector … what could I do? I was afraid that if I didn’t agree he would do something unforgivable – he spoke with a sort of desperation which I hadn’t heard before. So I told him I would see him in the saloon in about twenty minutes, and after staring at me for a moment, he went back to join my cousin. I assure you, I wasn’t very happy during those twenty minutes. I thought several times of going back on my offer. But in the state he was in, he would have been quite capable of coming here after me … In the saloon, at least, I would not be afraid to raise an alarm if he got out of hand.’
When she arrived in the saloon he was already there waiting for her. Apart from a gleam of light from the hall, which was lit at the lower level by a single night-lamp, the saloon was quite dark. She could not see his face. He had immediately seized her two hands and begun making violent protestations, punctuated with requests to be allowed to go back to her room with her. She had endeavoured to laugh it off, but he was in no laughing mood. She struggled to free her hands, but he embraced her and held her there by brute force. Finally, by threatening to call for assistance, she had made him release her; and after giving him to understand that he had better leave in the morning she had hurried, almost run back to her wing, and bolted the door behind her.
‘And that, Inspector, is everything I have been holding back. I am willing to have it taken down and to sign a statement to that effect.’
Gently gave the ghost of a shrug. ‘It’s certainly a very interesting story, Mrs Page.’
‘I beg your pardon, Inspector?’
‘I say it raises some interesting points – do you mind if I smoke?’
She shook her head impatiently, and he rose to empty his pipe in the hearth. Her eyes followed him as he scraped it out and filled it, and caught his for a second as the yellow flame bobbed over the pipe-bowl. Wariness, was it? Fear? Pleading … ? He remained standing by the hearth, the smoke wreathed above him.
‘Yes … to the average police mind. You did well to ponder over this statement, Mrs Page. For instance, the first thing that leaps to mind is that you, and not your cousin, were the last known person to see Lieutenant Earle alive … and that, at the most, a few minutes before he was killed.’
The blood started in the petal-like cheeks. ‘I most solemnly assure you that he was alive when I left him, Inspector – I could hear him panting as I ran out of the door!’
‘Yes, but you must look at it from our point of view, you know …Suppose he had followed you, and you had snatched down that truncheon?’
‘I – this is too absurd!’
‘And supposing Johnson, your admirer, had seen this take place. Couldn’t he have thrown Earle downstairs for you, and wiped the truncheon you dropped in your flight?’
‘Inspector, this is fantasy—’
‘Or as an alternative theory, it was Johnson who got rid of him for you … If you were in danger of rape, that would be a mitigating circumstance.’
She tried to get to her feet, but her strength had failed her again. Instead she sat trembling, her big eyes fixed on him.
‘Of course, I’m not saying that either of these theories are correct. They will just appeal to the police mind. At the moment the only motive they have is jealousy, and I’m sure they feel the weakness of it. Policemen are human, Mrs Page. I’m afraid they will jump at the chance of strengthening their case along the lines I have suggested.’
‘But – but it simply isn’t true.’
‘If it were, Mrs Page, I think you would do well to admit it.’
‘I tell you it isn’t, Inspector. Oh God, why isn’t the truth enough?’
‘It’s enough for God.’ Gently hunched his shoulders. ‘When you come to policemen, you’re on a different footing. But you tell me it’s true. For the moment I’m prepared to accept that. Now, what I want you to do is to cast your mind back over every moment of that incident in the saloon, and try to remember any little thing you haven’t told me. Which way did you approach it?’
‘I – I went through the square library and the statue gallery … and then through the west dining room and across the landing.’
‘Did you meet anybody on the way?’
‘No. Nobody.’
‘When you crossed the landing – think, Mrs Page – did you see or hear anything in the least unusual?’
‘No … I couldn’t have done.’
‘What sort of light is that in the hall?’
‘It’s a fifteen-watt bulb … It’s down by the main door. It’s just enough to illuminate the floor of the hall.’
‘But there’s a faint light at gallery-level?’
‘Yes … very faint.’
‘Enough to have seen anyone from the diagonals of the hall – as Johnson claims to have seen you?’
‘Yes, you could just about make them out.’
‘And you saw nobody?’
‘I – I wasn’t actually looking.’
‘Or heard anything?’
‘No.’
‘Nor when you came out – remember, Johnson says he was there then?’
‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I simply wasn’t thinking about anything except what had just happened.’
Gently nodded expressionlessly. ‘Very well, Mrs Page. We’ll have to leave it at that for the moment, won’t we?’
She glanced at him anxiously. ‘And you – you’ll tell Sir Daynes?’
‘Not immediately, Mrs Page … I’m not an official policeman here, you understand. Perhaps we can present your … confession … to Sir Daynes less alarmingly later on. In the meantime, you have made it, which is all that matters just now.’
She offered him a tentative hand. It was shaking as he grasped it. He made a sudden face at her, which produced a half-tearful smile.
‘And by the way … about your cousin. When did you tell him about what happened?’
‘I didn’t … He’d guessed about it.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Page,’ said Gently.