Murder of a Lady (11 page)

Chapter XVI

Inspector Barley

His confession seemed to release Dr. McDonald from bondage. His manner, until now gloomy and reserved, changed.

“I've been frank with you, Hailey,” he said, “because, sooner or later, you're bound to hear about the suspicions which Miss Gregor instilled into so many minds. I want you to know the truth. Oonagh belongs to Eoghan. Not for a single instant has she swerved from her loyalty to him. Her coming here was a gesture, a protest made when her fears for Hamish and her distress that her husband should have seemed to take sides against her had brought her to the edge of a breakdown.”

He seated himself as he spoke and once more arranged his leg in front of him.

“The end of the story, happily, was better than the beginning. I was trying to persuade her to let me take her back to the castle when a car came to the door. It was the old nurse, Christina, who had been sent as a peacemaker, because Duchlan and his sister were genuinely afraid by that time. The old woman was terribly distressed. You saw her last night. She fixed those queer, black eyes of hers on Oonagh's face and told her that Hamish was crying for his mother. I don't know, there was something in her voice, some tone or quality, that made that appeal irresistible. You saw the child's face; heard his voice. Oonagh's resistance broke down at once. Then the old woman comforted her, promising that her troubles would soon be at an end. You couldn't help believing her. But she's a retainer of the Gregors. I felt that, in her heart of hearts, she shared Miss Gregor's suspicions of me. Queerly enough, she awakened a sense of guilt which I hadn't experienced in any of my dealings with Miss Gregor.”

He shook his head.

“I wasn't wrong. She had read my secret. She put Oonagh in the car and came back to this room for a shawl that had been left behind. I was outside at the car, and when she didn't return, I followed her to find out if anything was amiss. She turned and gazed at me just as she had gazed at Oonagh, but with very hostile eyes. ‘Whom God hath joined together,' she said in solemn tones, ‘let not man put asunder.' Then she picked up the shawl and hurried away.”

‘‘Do you know what happened,” Dr. Hailey asked, ‘‘after Mrs. Eoghan got home?”

‘‘Oh, yes, they received her with relief if without cordiality. That feeling soon passes. What remained was the knowledge that she had disgraced them publicly—the unpardonable sin. I called on the child next morning. Miss Gregor was in the nursery; she told me that Mrs. Eoghan was in bed with a headache.”

‘‘She had yielded to them?”

McDonald's eyes narrowed. He shook his head.

‘‘I don't think that is how I should put it. Oonagh isn't an Irishwoman for nothing. She was biding her time. I realized that the real battle would be fought when her husband came back. But I knew also that the period of waiting for that event would be greatly distressing to Oonagh. She's one of those women who can't act alone, who needs a friend to advise her and help her to gather her forces.” He raised his right hand, holding the palm horizontal and keeping the fingers extended. “I suppose we all depend to some extent on the feelings which animate us at any given moment. It's only on high emotional planes that we're heroes.” He lowered his hand. ‘‘Down here is weakness and hesitation. I think the truth is that she came to me for strength. She told me, a few days later, that she only lived when she was talking to me.” He leaned forward. “Mind you, it wasn't my strength she wanted; it was her own. I helped her to command her own strength.”

Dr. Hailey nodded: “I know. Humanity as well as chemistry has its catalysts.”

“Exactly.”

Dr. Hailey rose to go. “Am I at liberty to tell the new detective from Edinburgh what you've told me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He held out his hand. Suddenly he turned back.

“Do you know why Eoghan came back so hurriedly from Ayrshire?”

McDonald's face lost its eagerness: a slow flush rose to his cheeks.

“I suppose he came to borrow money. But Oonagh had sent for him.”

“To take her away?”

“Yes.”

“He refused?”

Dr. Hailey asked the question in the tones of a man who knows the answer.

“I don't know.”

“Eoghan's like his father, isn't he?”

McDonald shook his head.

“In some ways. Not in all ways. For example, he isn't superstitious. The terrible logic of the Irish clashes with that Highland element.”

“When I met him,” Dr. Hailey said, “I realized that he was a difficult man to know. I formed no very clear idea of his character except that he was in love with his wife.”

“I have no very clear idea of his character.”

“Has his wife?”

“She's in love with him.”

Dr. Hailey sighed.

“Sometimes,” he confessed rather sadly, “I wonder what that means. Do lovers really see one another truthfully? Isn't it rather their own illusions that they see?”

There was no answer. McDonald passed his hand wearily across his brow.

“Perhaps lovers see everything and forgive everything,” he said.

When Dr. Hailey left McDonald he walked up the harbour to the manse. This was a big square house standing back from the road among scrubby trees that looked terribly wind-worn. He rang the bell. The door was opened by a small girl who stated that her father was at home. A moment later a short, stout man in clerical dress came into the hall. He advanced to the door, dismissing his daughter with a genial gesture.

Dr. Hailey explained who he was and was immediately invited to come in. The Rev. John Dugald led the way to his study and shut the door. He moved a big arm-chair by its back and urged his visitor to sit down. After a glance at the formidable array of volumes with which all the four walls were lined the doctor complied.

“What can I do for you?” the minister asked in rich Highland accents. His good-humoured face was grave, but his eyes gleamed with excitement.

“I want you to tell me about Dr. McDonald.”

“Really?” With an effort the Rev. John stifled his curiosity. “McDonald is not a member of my congregation,” he said. “He's not a member, indeed, of any congregation. But I have always found him to be a good man, aye and a skilful man too. When my wee boy had bronchitis last winter, he saved his life.”

Dr. Hailey inclined his head.

“I'm sure he's a good doctor. My concern, frankly, is with his personal character. His character as a man.”

“That's a hard question, sir.” The minister considered for a few moments. “If you had asked me that question six months ago,” he said, “I would have replied that McDonald was a poet and an artist who had lost his way and become a doctor. I would have said that his only interest was his books and his writing.”

He broke off. A troubled look appeared on his face.

“And now?”

“Now it's different. There have been rumours. Stories.”

“Such as?”

The Rev. John moved uncomfortably.

“I'll be frank with you. The village has begun to talk about the doctor's intimacy with Mrs. Eoghan Gregor. And not the village only.”

He leaned forward. His right hand descended to find his pipe on the top of a wooden coal-box which stood beside his chair.

He put the pipe in his mouth.

“The late Miss Gregor was one of my people,” he said. “She came to me a few days ago in the greatest distress to ask my advice. It appears that she had surprised her niece walking on the shore, after dark, with McDonald. What troubled her was whether or not she was bound in duty to report to her nephew.”

“I see. What did you advise?”

“I advised her to see Dr. McDonald and talk to him.”

“Well?”

“She then told me that she was scarcely on speaking terms with him.”

Dr. Hailey frowned.

“The suggestion being that McDonald was so deeply in love with Mrs. Eoghan that no plea was likely to be listened to?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What did you advise in those circumstances?”

“I felt that I could not take the responsibility of giving any advice. But I offered to see the doctor myself. That offer was not accepted, and Miss Gregor went away saying that she must consult her own conscience.”

“Were you the only person to whom she confided this information?”

The minister shook his head.

“I don't think so.”

“In other words a systematic attempt was being made to blacken Mrs. Eoghan's character?”

There was no reply. Again Dr. Hailey leaned forward.

“Tell me,” he asked, “whether or not you're inclined to believe the suggestion conveyed?”

“I'm not inclined to believe it.”

“You trust McDonald?”

“Yes, and Mrs. Eoghan.”

The doctor nodded. Then he asked:

“And Miss Gregor?”

Silence fell in the room. At last the Rev. John said:

“Miss Gregor, as I've told you, was one of my people. I believe that she felt herself justified in what she did and said. At least I hope so. But it has always seemed to me that there was a quality in her character difficult to reconcile with Christian ideals. I've often tried to define that quality in my mind. I can't say I have succeeded. She was not a hard woman; she was not an ungenerous woman. But there was something…”

He broke off. Dr. Hailey rose and held out his hand.

“Jealousy,” he remarked, “is neither hard nor ungenerous except in certain directions.”

The detective sent from Glasgow to replace Dundas had arrived when Dr. Hailey returned to the castle. He was with Duchlan in the study. He jumped to his feet the moment the doctor entered the room and thrust out his hand like a man snatching a child from danger.

“Dr. Hailey, I presume. My name is Inspector Barley. Thompson Barley.”

He seized the doctor's hand and wrung it; at the same time a broad smile exposed his strong, stained teeth.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, doctor,” he cried. “Even at such a tragic” (he pronounced the word traagic) “
contretemps
. Duchlan here has just been telling me of your goodness. What a calamity! What a calamity!” He waved his hand in a gesture which reproached the gods. “What a calamity!”

Dr. Hailey sat down at the table. This most un-Scots-like Scot interested him. Barley, who wore a black-and-white check dust-coat of terrific pattern, looked like a shop-walker and spoke like a decayed actor in a Strand public-house, but he detected another quality and warmed to it. Inspector Barley possessed pleasant grey eyes; his brow was fine, square and massive and he had eloquent hands. What a pity that he had dyed his hair with henna!

“I am going to venture to ask you,” Barley cried, “for an outline of the case. After that I hope that we may co-operate in everything.” He turned to Duchlan, bowing as he turned. “Doubtless, sir, you are well aware of the great distinction which attaches to Dr. Hailey's name, both in medical and in criminological circles? But let me tell you that it is only among the
élite
of both these professions that his true worth is understood and appreciated. Only among the
élite
.”

He gave his head a strong downward movement as he repeated the last sentence. His mouth at this moment was slightly open and his face had a vacant expression which, paradoxically, expressed a great deal. Duchlan gazed at him with lively astonishment.

“No doubt.”

Inspector Barley swung round again to face the doctor. He listened with gravity to the story of the two murders, offering no comment, but bowing occasionally as he took a point. His face remained inscrutable. The fact that his features were somewhat broad and coarse and that he wore a bristling moustache added a grotesque touch to his ceremoniousness. When Dr. Hailey finished he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

“Most mysterious. Most mysterious,” he exclaimed in quick tones that wholly discounted the meaning of his words. “Apparently murders of a new
genre
. Of a new
genre.
But probably not. Murder, as you know, changes its form only in unessentials.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
.”

His French accent was better than his English and went some way towards explaining his gestures. He rose and walked to the fireplace, seeming to glide across the carpet. He stood with his back leaning on the mantelpiece.

“It must have struck you, of course, Dr. Hailey,” he exclaimed, “that there is one person who certainly had the opportunity of murdering poor Dundas.”

He paused. He glanced in turn at each of his companions. Neither spoke, though Dr. Hailey frowned.

“I mean Dr. McDonald, who returned alone to Dundas's room to get your pen.”

A sound like a groan punctuated the silence.

Duchlan's head had sunk on to his chest. He swayed for an instant and then slipped from his chair.

Chapter XVII

“What an Actress!”

Inspector Barley, like Napoleon, who, as he said, he admired
à outrance
, knew the value of time. It took him only a few minutes to ascertain from Oonagh that Dr. McDonald had visited her child on the night of Miss Gregor's death, a visit which, as Dr. Hailey felt bound to acknowledge, had been overlooked in all the earlier investigations.

“McDonald has made no secret, of course, of his frequent visits,” the doctor declared. “And, as I told you, he was present when the door of Miss Gregor's room was forced.”

“Quite. No doubt the circumstance is unimportant.” Barley bowed to Oonagh, who was seated in an arm-chair, apologizing to her, apparently, for the interruption of her narrative. “Pray continue, Mrs. Gregor.”

The girl glanced at Dr. Hailey and then lowered her eyes. She repeated the account she had already given of her behaviour on the night of her aunt's murder in tones which were so low as to be nearly inaudible. She looked exceedingly ill at ease. There were dark lines under her eyes and she kept drawing her hand across her brow.

“In my humble judgement, and you will correct me if I am mistaken,” Barley exclaimed when she had finished, “your account amounts to this. You had gone early to bed because you were feeling indisposed. You were summoned about 9 o'clock by the nurse Christina, because your small son had become ill again. Dr. McDonald was sent for and after he went away you wished to report the result of his visit to your aunt, Miss Gregor, who had meanwhile gone to bed, where she was being attended as usual by your nurse, Christina. For some reason unknown to you, Miss Gregor received your well-intentioned visit to her bedroom with dismay and locked the door of the room in your face.”

He leaned back in his chair and thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat. “Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. McDonald had left the house before you paid your visit to Miss Gregor's room?”

The blood ebbed slowly out of Oonagh's cheeks.

“He remained with Hamish while I paid my visit,” she said with an evident effort. “Because Christina had gone to my aunt.”

“And then?”

“He was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. We came downstairs together.”

“To the study?”

“Yes. Dr. McDonald wanted to give me some directions about the treatment.”

Barley swept the room with his eyes, fixing his gaze finally on the ceiling.

“This room is situated immediately under Miss Gregor's room, is it not?” he asked.

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the detective rose to his feet and pointed his finger at the girl.

“I put it to you,” he cried, “that Dr. McDonald accompanied you to Miss Gregor's bedroom?”

“No.”

“Take care, Mrs. Gregor.”

“He did not accompany me to Miss Gregor's bedroom, Christina will tell you that he did not.”

Her eyes were unflinching; her beauty shone with the strength of conviction which animated her face. Barley caught his breath in a gasp of admiration.

“What an actress!” he exclaimed insolently.

He sat down again and appeared to remain unaware of the vigour with which his rudeness had been resented. He dismissed Oonagh with a wave of his hand, then suddenly rose and opened the door for her, bowing as she went out. He rang the bell and returned to his chair.

“Dr. McDonald did accompany her to her aunt's room,” he said, “you shall hear.”

Angus, the piper, answered the bell. Barley ordered him to sit down in tones so gracious that the Highlander appeared to think himself insulted. His solemn face expressed a lively resentment.

“Did you see Dr. McDonald on the night your mistress was murdered?” the detective asked.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Where?”

“In this house, sir.”

“Where, in this house?”

Angus turned and indicated the door with a gesture superb in its mingling of deference with scorn.

“I opened the front door to him.”

“Did you see him after that?”

“I did not, sir. The doctor told me not to wait up for him because Mistress Gregor or Christina would let him out of the house.”

“Did you hear him going away?”

“I did not. My room is at the other side of the castle.”

“Did anybody hear him going away?”

Angus hesitated. He smoothed his kilt with his big red hand.

“Christina told me that she heard him going down the top flight of stairs, but she did not hear him going down the second flight to the hall.”

Barley started and strained forward.

“What do you mean?”

“Dr. McDonald has a wooden leg, sir.”

“Ask Christina to come here immediately.”

When the door shut, the detective no longer attempted to hide his jubilation. He began to walk up and down the room with his hands clasped behind his back and his head and shoulders thrust forward. He paused at every few steps to throw out a remark, much as turkeys pause to gobble.

“Wooden leg! You didn't tell me that. But, of course, it's a detail…My dear doctor, I believe that the solution of this mystery cannot now be long delayed. The solution may be displeasing, distressing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “
Que voulez-vous?
What a point: that thumping of the wooden leg on the wooden stairs! The old woman listening. Hearing the ‘thump, thump' down to the first floor. Then silence. A silence more eloquent than words.” He came to Dr. Hailey and stood in front of him. “The husband is coming home: there is a story to tell him.” He shook his head. “Don't forget that Miss Gregor was Eoghan's foster-mother.
In loco parentis.
Women can endure least of all, in my humble judgement, to see the men they have mothered betrayed in their absence.”

He stopped speaking because the door of the room had opened. Christina came hobbling into the room. She was dressed in cap and apron. She glanced at Barley in a manner that was quite frankly hostile and then seated herself on the edge of the chair which he offered her. He came to the point in an instant.

“You heard Dr. McDonald going downstairs from the nursery on the night your mistress was murdered?” he asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you hear him go down to the hall?”

“I did not.”

“Tell me exactly what you heard.”

The old woman clasped her skinny hands in her lap and looked at them attentively.

“I heard him go down to the floor below,” she said.

Barley began to nod his head vigorously.

“That means he didn't go down to the ground floor. You couldn't have helped hearing his wooden leg on the stair if he had gone down to the hall.”

“I was not listening.” The old woman shook her head. “Very likely he did go down to the hall. I had shut the door of the nursery.”

A quick frown gathered on Barley's brow.

‘‘A wooden leg makes a deal of noise on a wooden floor,” he exclaimed.

“It does, if you are near it.”

“Why did you tell Angus that you only heard the doctor go down one flight of the stair?”

“Because I only heard him go down one flight. After that I shut the nursery door.”

Christina's face was grave but Dr. Hailey fancied that he detected a grim smile lurking among its wrinkles. The Highlander, he reflected with some satisfaction, has his own sense of humour. Barley did not try to hide his annoyance at the check he had received; but he did not, in his annoyance, abate his eloquence.

“You heard him go down to the first floor. You returned to your duties.
Ca va bien.
Angus, the piper, has told us that he had already gone to bed. The question is: Who locked up the house after the doctor had gone away?”

“I do not know.”

“The doctor stayed with the child, did he not, while you went to put your mistress to bed?”

“He and Mistress Eoghan Gregor stayed with Hamish.”

“Now be careful how you answer this question: Did Mrs. Eoghan Gregor come to Miss Gregor's bedroom?”

“Yes, and then I went back to the nursery, where the doctor was waiting.”

Barley bowed over his waistcoat. He raised his hand in the manner of the conductor of an orchestra.

“What happened,” he asked, “when Mrs. Eoghan Gregor entered Miss Gregor's bedroom?”

“I did not see what happened.”

“But you were there?”

“I was. But I went away. Mrs. Eoghan took the candle from me at the door. I wished to go back to Hamish.”

“Did you hear Mrs. Eoghan come out of Miss Gregor's room?”

Christina shook her head.

“I did not.”

“What happened after you returned to the nursery?”

“Dr. McDonald went away down the stair.”

“Mrs. Eoghan Gregor says that Miss Gregor ordered her out of her bedroom and locked the door behind her?”

“Yes.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes.”

Once again Barley gesticulated.

“Dr. McDonald, for all you know to the contrary, may have gone to Miss Gregor's room?”

“Mrs. Eoghan did not say that. She said…”

“Yes, I know what she said.” The detective swept away the repetition he did not wish to hear. “Now tell me,” he continued, “did you hear Mrs. Eoghan shutting the front door after the doctor left the castle?”

“I did not. I heard Mr. Eoghan's motor-boat coming into the jetty.”

“What, so Mr. Eoghan arrived just when Dr. McDonald was going away?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Did they meet?”

Christina shook her head. “I do not know if they met.”

Barley dismissed her and addressed Dr. Hailey.

“I admit,” he exclaimed, “that I have not proved all that I had hoped to prove. But something has undoubtedly accrued from my investigation. Something!” He bit at his words as they escaped from his mouth. Suddenly he took a small comb from his pocket and combed his moustache in short, quick strokes that made it bristle. After the comb he produced a pipe, dark and well-seasoned, which he polished lovingly on the side of his nose.

“Point one,” he stated, pointing the stem of his pipe at his companion. “Dr. McDonald is the only person who can possibly have murdered Dundas. Point two. It may very well be that Dr. McDonald entered Miss Gregor's bedroom. We have only the word of Mrs. Eoghan that he did not do so, and her word, in my humble opinion, is suspect. Point three. A link establishes itself between these two associations. What did Miss Gregor know? Here is a young wife, left by her husband in circumstances which doubtless were uncongenial. Her boy is ill. She summons the local doctor who calls at frequent intervals. Acquaintance ripens into a warmer emotion.
A côte de l'amour…
” The pipe made a great circle. “Your Celtic temperament is nothing if not ardent. Emotion rises to full tide in a day, an hour. Nothing else seems to matter. Ah, this is the very quintessence of love!”

The man raised his eyes ecstatically. They were loosely set and moved with a tipsy roll that was full of surprises. Evidently he attached importance to a lyrical quality which he supposed his nature to possess for he quoted some lines about love, the authorship of which he did not disclose. His voice tripped along and stopped and tripped along again like an old maid trying to cross a crowded thoroughfare.

“But there was Miss Gregor to mar these stolen sweets,” he went on. “That austere, puritanical nature doubtless burned with cold fire at the spectacle of this doctor and his patient…”

“I feel sure,” Dr. Hailey interrupted, “that Mrs. Eoghan's feelings for McDonald were merely those of an anxious mother…”

“Look at the facts. What does our immortal bard tell us?”

“‘Facts are chiels as winna ding'.”

“Mrs. Eoghan had fled by night to McDonald's house. Isn't that enough to justify what I've said? ‘Love flows like the Solway.' Do you think that Miss Gregor's shrewd eyes had overlooked what was so plainly to be seen?”

“No, but…”

“Oh, my dear Dr. Hailey, your knowledge of that lady is clearly less accurate than it should be. As for me, I've been at pains, at great pains, to inform myself about her. A puritan, believe me, of the most rigid school. In her long life she never touched a playing-card or entered a place of public amusement. How do I know that?”

He stopped. His wide nostrils dilated.

“I have a friend in Glasgow who knew the Gregor family well many years ago. A retired Army man. Excellent family. Delightful, most cultured man. Once upon a time, he told me, he persuaded Miss Gregor—she was a girl in her twenties then—to accompany him to see Sir Henry Irving playing in
Hamlet.
When they reached the theatre the first thing she saw was a notice, ‘To The Pit'. After that nothing would induce her to enter the building. That's Miss Gregor for you. What mercy were Mrs. Eoghan and McDonald likely to receive from such a woman?”

Dr. Hailey did not reply. His silence was instantly interpreted as consent. Barley's face stiffened with new gravity.

“The eternal triangle!” he announced magnificently. “With a woman of the hew-Agag-in-pieces-before-the-Lord type in the middle of it. Are not these the lively ingredients of tragedy? Put yourself in McDonald's position, in Mrs. Eoghan's position. Would you not have feared greatly both the husband who was returning and the woman who was waiting to inform him whenever he did return? Believe me, it's that fear which must hold all our attention.”

Another gesture called the heavens to witness. Dr. Hailey remained silent.

“As a psychologist,” Barley assured him, “you cannot but be aware of the demoralizing effect of fear even on the strongest characters. It corrodes, as rust corrodes iron. It demoralizes. Fear is one of the nursing mothers of crime. Like greed. Like jealousy. McDonald was afraid; Mrs. Eoghan was afraid. They were mice in the presence of the cat. The time was approaching when the cat would pounce…”