Hollow Crown (11 page)

‘I see,’ Lampfrey said after a pause which seemed to stretch out until kingdom come. ‘So when you left Mrs Harkness at . . . ’ he consulted his notes, ‘twelve
fifteen, she did not seem to you suicidal?’

‘No, she was upset – no, not upset exactly but nervous, strung up. But she specifically said to me that we would continue our conversation in the morning.’

‘That certainly doesn’t sound like a suicide but I suppose she might have lain awake worrying, or slept but woken in the middle of the night and decided to end it all.’

‘It’s more likely she woke and mixed herself another sleeping draught and overdid it. I knew her quite well in Africa, as I told you, and she wasn’t the suicide type. She had
great guts and, even after her husband’s death, she never gave way to depression. By the way, here’s one odd thing. Mrs Harkness said she had a bottle of veronal in the cupboard –
I had asked her if she would manage to sleep. In my brief inspection of the room, I didn’t see it. It certainly wasn’t in the cupboard. I looked.’

The Inspector grunted. ‘We found nothing – no bottle – just the flask.’

‘When will we know for sure what killed her?’

‘Dr Fisher says we will have his report by tomorrow evening at the latest. Speaking of her husband – you said she had a lover? Was it certain – what was his name . . .
?’

‘Douglas Davenant.’

‘No, I mean the husband.’

‘Oh, Raymond Harkness.’

‘Yes. Do we assume it really was suicide?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She and the lover didn’t “bump him off”?’ The Inspector seemed pleased with his attempt at American slang. He enjoyed going to the pictures and the films of Edward
G. Robinson were favourites of his.

‘No, certainly not. Her grief – or rather her shock – was very deep. That was why I wanted to take her away.’

‘Very commendable.’

‘And don’t forget, she finished with Davenant.’

‘Mmm. Well, I’m sure you’re right, Lord Edward. You knew her well.’

‘I did but, as I said to you, we were never lovers. I just felt sorry for her. She was a fool with men. Some women seem to have a talent for picking rotters and there were plenty to choose
from in Kenya. I think her affairs were a sort of despair. Happy Valley! What a misnomer. That place destroyed many a happy marriage.’

‘Very public-spirited of you,’ the Inspector said and then added, in case Edward thought he was being sarcastic, ‘I mean it.’ He paused again. ‘So you haven’t
found these letters then?’

‘No.’

‘But she said she had them with her?’

‘That’s what I understood her to say.’

‘My men have been through the room with a fine-tooth comb and they aren’t there so we must assume they were either stolen or she left them elsewhere – hid them.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Mr Scannon says she gave him nothing to put in the safe. They had a burglary here last year – some diamonds were stolen from a guest – and since then, Mr Scannon tells me, he
has insisted house guests give him anything of value to be locked in the safe.’

‘She would not have trusted Mr Scannon – or anyone else – with the letters. She told me her flat in London had been ransacked quite recently and, since nothing had been stolen,
she believed whoever had done it had been looking for the letters.’

‘But they didn’t find them?’

‘No.’

‘Did she have any idea who might have searched her flat?’

‘She thought it might have been someone acting for the letters’ owner.’

‘Hmm. I suppose that is the obvious conclusion. So these papers are a motive for murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right, thank you, Lord Edward. You have been very helpful. Oh, by the way. I suppose you won’t have any objection to one of my men searching your room?’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Well, I believe your story but you can understand that I would be failing in my duty if I did not establish that you had not taken the opportunity of removing the letters at some time
during the night. Please don’t think, Lord Edward, that I am picking on you, so to speak. We will search the whole house. We must be thorough.’

Edward tried not to gulp but he saw the Inspector look at him speculatively.

‘Yes, I understand. Um, Inspector, I’m now going to seem to you to be very foolish.’

‘My lord?’

‘Just before you arrived I did remove a handbag, or small attaché case, from beside her bed. It was wrong of me, I know, but I thought, if it did contain the papers we were talking
about, I could return them to their rightful owner without a fuss.’ He was sweating and he felt like a murderer under the Inspector’s gaze. ‘It was idiotic of me. I see that
now,’ he babbled.

‘And did the handbag or small attaché case contain the letters?’

‘It was locked. I hid it . . . I hid it in the chimney meaning to examine it later.’

‘Well, I think the best thing we can do is to retrieve it and open it, don’t you, Lord Edward?’

The Inspector examined the rather sooty bag which now lay on the table at the foot of Edward’s bed. ‘I really don’t see much point in testing this for
fingerprints after being covered in soot,’ the policeman said, examining the case closely. ‘Presumably there must be a key to the case?’

‘I haven’t seen it,’ Edward said, still feeling like a schoolboy found out in some prank, ‘else I would have used it.’

‘It’s just a toy lock. Sergeant, pass me your penknife, will you?’

‘Sir,’ said the Sergeant, who was even more taciturn than the Inspector, handing over a stout penknife.

The Inspector selected the spike designed – but, as far as Edward knew, never used – for taking stones from horses’ hooves and wiggled it in the tiny lock. After a few moments
it sprung open and the Inspector opened the bag. It was quite empty. Lampfrey looked at it in silence for a minute and then felt in the lining and passed his hand along the bottom of the bag.

‘Nothing here,’ the Inspector said with some disappointment. ‘Do I have your word of honour that you have not opened this bag, Lord Edward?’

‘You have my word, Inspector.’

‘Hmm, ah well. Someone was there before you.’

‘Or perhaps Mrs Harkness had hidden whatever was in the bag somewhere safer, before she went to bed.’

‘You didn’t notice the bag when you had your late-night interview with Mrs Harkness?’

‘No. I’m sure I would have done had it been where I found it this morning, on the floor beside her bed. It must have been in a cupboard or somewhere.’

Edward was now uneasy again. He thought he knew what had happened. Dannie must somehow have entered Molly’s room during the night – he had told her himself she had taken something to
make her sleep – searched her room, found the bag and removed the papers. He did not dare think that she might have harmed the sleeping woman. It was bad enough to think that she had used him
to gain entrance to Molly’s room. And what did she plan to do with the letters? Return them to Mrs Simpson? He hoped so. After all, as far as he knew, if she owed anyone loyalty it was Lord
Weaver. Hadn’t he heard she had been his mistress? God, what a mess. He must speak to Dannie before she was interviewed by the police.

As the Inspector departed – taking the bag with him – he said, ‘Oh, one thing more, Mr Scannon does not seem to know if Mrs Harkness had any living relatives.’

‘I never heard her speak of any. She must have a lawyer who could tell us.’

‘I suppose so. I’m going to London tomorrow to go through her flat. There may be official letters there with a lawyer’s adddress.’

‘The owner of the flats will have dealt with her solicitors presumably.’

‘Yes, and if the letters Mrs Harkness stole are not here, then the next place to look is in the poor woman’s flat even though she told you she always took them with her. She just
might have thought Haling Castle was not a good place to take such dangerous documents.’

The Inspector hesitated and then said, surprisingly, ‘I was wondering if you would like to accompany me. You seem to be the nearest to a close friend she had – unless we look toward
royalty – and no doubt you would like to find these letters, or whatever they are, before they get into the wrong hands.’

‘Thank you, Inspector, that is very thoughtful of you. I would certainly like to come with you.’

‘I’ve got some work to finish off here. If I were to pick you up tomorrow morning we could catch the nine o’clock.’

‘I’ve got a better idea, Inspector. Why don’t I run you up to town in the Lagonda? She needs a spin and that way we’ll be independent of the railway timetable.’

‘Well,’ said Inspector Lampfrey, considering the offer and finding it good, ‘if you’re sure you don’t mind . . . ’

‘It would be a pleasure,’ Edward said.

Dannie and Boy Carstairs did not return from their ride until eleven fifteen, muddied and windblown. Edward and Scannon had been in the drawing-room, the latter making a
series of telephone calls, when they heard the sound of the horses in the drive. They followed them to the stables, Edward hoping for a quiet word with Dannie before Inspector Lampfrey got to her.
Watching the two of them dismount, he was struck by what a good-looking pair they made. For the first time he found he could appreciate what it was women saw in Carstairs. It wasn’t just that
he was tall and muscular with a fine head topped by a leonine mane of hair, it was more his air of physical command which was not quite English. It was not just his haircut – most Englishmen
had their hair cut short and then smothered it in oil – it was his air of being at home in his body. Englishmen, even if they had not been in the war, carried themselves like soldiers, erect
in bearing and marching rather than walking. Carstairs loped rather than walked and on horseback slouched in the saddle as any Boer would who spent whole days on his horse. Edward, trying to put
into words what made Carstairs different, could only come up with the word simian and, while he found the man faintly repulsive, he understood Dannie might find him attractive.

Carstairs slipped out of the saddle with grace and economy of movement and then went over to Dannie and helped her dismount. She had no need of help but she permitted what was almost an embrace
as she slid between his arms. Edward thought he saw him whisper a word in her ear as she did so.

‘Whatever’s the matter,’ Dannie began. ‘I’m sorry we’re late but we haven’t missed anything, have we?’

Edward thought it was a rather odd thing to say but perhaps it was clear from Scannon’s excited manner that something was amiss. Their host poured out the news to them and though they made
all the right noises, expressing shock and dismay, Edward was convinced they already knew Molly was dead. There was something in Carstairs’ tone of voice – Dannie, as was her custom,
said very little – which gave him the strong impression that he was acting.

Unfortunately, before Edward could have his private talk with Dannie, the Inspector materialized and she and Carstairs were whisked away to be interviewed. He paced around the garden smoking
furiously until Dannie reappeared looking a little shaken.

‘Oh, there you are, Dannie,’ he said. ‘Could I have a word with you?’

‘Not now, Edward, I must shower and change before lunch.’

‘Please, this won’t take long.’

With evident reluctance, Dannie allowed herself to be drawn into the garden. It was raining very slightly and her hair glinted with a fine mist.

‘Cigarette?’ he said.

‘No. If it’s about last night, I’m sorry. It was a mistake.’

Edward grimaced. He wasn’t sure he liked being ‘a mistake’.

‘Did you go into Molly’s bedroom last night while I was asleep?’

‘Why should I do that?’ she prevaricated.

‘You know very well why. Don’t pretend you don’t know why I am in this ghastly house.’

‘To make love to me, or at least that was what I hoped.’

She spoke with the cool lack of emotion which made him think of an actress in rehearsal, not bothering to do more than walk through her part.

‘And you were happy to make yourself available to me? Is that right?’

His voice was scathing and she glanced at him with something approaching interest. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said evenly.

‘I think Joe Weaver is your lover and he . . . gave you permission to let me make love to you.’

‘That’s not very flattering. You seem to be accusing me of whoring. Is that how you normally speak to the women you have slept with? Perhaps you don’t have much experience of
making love to any other kind of woman.’

Edward, attempting to hide his anger, said, ‘That’s not what I meant. Do you have any feeling for me?’

She turned her lovely head and looked at him. ‘We are two grown-up people without wives and husbands to betray. Is it not possible to go to bed with each other for the simple physical
pleasure of it? If you are asking “do I love you?”, the answer is no and nor, I hope, do you love me. But if you mean did I enjoy myself last night, then the answer is
“yes”. Does that satisfy your male vanity?’

Once again Edward had to restrain himself from doing or saying something he would later regret. ‘It’s not a question of male vanity, Dannie. I just wanted to know if . . . if you
felt anything for me. I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.’

She let the ghost of a smile curl her lips. ‘Oh Edward, I thought you were more intelligent than the others. Do you think I want to hear you tell me I’m beautiful? Is that what you
tell Verity Browne? I think not.’

Edward felt as if he had been slapped in the face. ‘What I say to Miss Browne,’ he said as pompously as he could manage, ‘is nothing to do with you. Did you take anything from
Molly Harkness’s room last night?’

Dannie stopped walking and Edward also halted. The rain had begun to fall more heavily now and beat on the rhododendrons like the pulse which beat in Edward’s head. ‘I did
not,’ she said at last.

They heard the sound of the gong from inside the house summoning them to luncheon. With scarcely another word they returned to the house. Just before they went in the front door, Edward grabbed
Dannie by the arm: ‘Can I see you again? I don’t even know where you live.’