Ne'er Do Well (5 page)

“‘Five.'

“‘All the patients on the terrace but one?'

“‘Yes. The patient in Number Three has a nurse to himself.'

“‘I see. Do the five keep you very busy?'

“‘No.'

“‘Do you wait for them to ring? Or do you look into their rooms, whether they ring or no?'

“‘I don't wait for them to ring.'

“‘You visit them all in turn, to see how they're getting on?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘But once they're asleep, you don't?'

“‘Sometimes I just look in, to see they're all right.'

“‘From the terrace perhaps?'

“‘Sometimes. In weather like this. Opening a door makes a noise.'

“‘Supposing you see a light on.'

“‘I wait. If it isn't put out, I go in.'

“‘For the last few days, I think, all the windows have stood wide open by day and night.'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Have the curtains been drawn?'

“‘Only in Number Two and Number Three.'

“‘Number Three has a special nurse. What about Number Two?'

“‘He fears that the morning light may wake him up.'

“‘Suppose you're visiting someone, and someone else rings for you.'

“‘Whenever my bell is rung, a small red light comes on in every patient's room. It doesn't disturb the patient, but I see the glow at once.'

“‘I see. You come on at eight?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘And you visit the five at once?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘To pass the time of day and show that you're there?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Now we come to last night. You visited Lord St Amant soon after eight?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘How did he seem?'

“‘His usual self.'

“‘Cheerful?'

“‘Yes, very cheerful. He always was.'

“‘His temperament was gay?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did he call you St Helena?'

“Her eyes met mine for a moment. Then she nodded her head.

“‘When did you see him next?'

“‘Just about ten o'clock. I took him some Ovaltine.'

“‘Was that usual?'

“‘Yes. I always took him a cup about that time.'

“‘And the next time?'

“‘I think about half an hour later. I went to collect the cup.'

“‘Did you bid him goodnight then?'

“‘No. He used to get up after that, to rinse out his mouth.'

“‘I see. So you went back again?'

“‘Yes, in a quarter of an hour.'

“‘What did you do then?'

“‘I put two japonica tablets by his side.'

“‘Did you have any speech with him?'

“‘Yes – for a minute or two.'

“‘He was always ready to talk?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Gay as ever?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did you finally say goodnight?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did you switch off the light?'

“‘No. I left that to him.'

“‘Did you visit him again last night?'

“‘No. I just looked into his room, but he was asleep.'

“‘Are you quite sure he was asleep?'

“She caught her breath. Then –

“‘I didn't put on the light, but I thought he was.'

“‘Perhaps you looked in from the terrace.'

“‘Yes, I did.'

“‘But how can you see at all?'

“‘I use a torch.'

“‘I see. And you keep the light on the ground?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘How do you get to the terrace?'

“‘Through one of the patient's rooms.'

“‘I see. And you leave it in the same way?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Usually One and Six?'

“‘No. Number Two sleeps very sound, so I usually pass through his room.'

“‘What time was it, when you just looked into his room?'

“‘It was just about three.'

“‘How d'you remember that?'

“‘Because I always go round at about that time.'

“‘I quite understand. Now tell me this, Sister Helena. During last night, did you hear or see anything unusual either upon the terrace or in the house?'

“‘No.'

“‘No light in the meadows?'

“‘No.'

“‘I want you to think for a moment. Think of the hours between eleven and six… Did anything at all occur during those seven hours that seemed irregular?'

“She sat for a moment, thinking. Then –

“‘Nothing,' she said.

“‘You went to call Lord St Amant at six o'clock?'

“‘I think it was a few minutes past.'

“‘You took in his tea.'

“‘Yes.'

“‘What did you find?'

“Her head went down.

“‘I found him dead.'

“‘You had no doubt?'

“‘Oh, no.'

“‘There was no mistaking it?'

“She shook her head.

“‘His eyes were open?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Please tell me the impression you got.'

“‘He looked…as if…he'd been taken by surprise.'

“She burst into tears there, and I waited for three or four minutes, until she was more composed.

“‘I'm sorry,' she said at last. ‘But it was such a dreadful moment.'

“‘It must have been. I'm – terribly sorry for you.'

“She raised her head at that, and looked me full in the eyes.

“‘It's a sister's duty,' she said, ‘to deal with life and death.'

“‘Of course. But sisters are human. The bride of Christ can't put off her womanhood.'

“‘By which you mean?'

“‘That women like you are tender. When they see such a man so dead, it touches their heart. I mean, it touched mine; and I am a policeman, accustomed to violent death.'

“She caught her breath. Then –

“‘Please go on,' she said.

“‘What did you do, Sister Helena?'

“‘I ran to my pantry and rang both emergency bells.'

“‘Whom do they summon?'

“‘The Mother Superior and the House Surgeon.'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Then I called another sister and we waited by the door of the room.'

“‘Did she go in?'

“‘For a moment – yes.'

“‘Alone?'

“‘I watched from the door. She brought me out a chair, so that I could sit down.'

“‘And then?'

“‘We waited outside the room. Then the Mother Superior arrived and I told her Lord St Amant was dead.'

“‘Did she go in?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Alone?'

“‘No, I went in with her and stood by the door.'

“‘Was anything touched?'

“‘I don't think so.'

“‘Were the tablets still in the spoon?'

“‘No.'

“‘And then?'

“‘The Mother Superior asked what I had to say: and I told her that I had known nothing until I came into the room.'

“‘And then?'

“‘The House Surgeon arrived.'

“‘And then?'

“‘He – he made an examination, and I – I began to feel faint. So a sister took me out and I sat on the terrace steps.'

“‘Were the tablets mentioned?'

“‘Yes. He asked me what they were and I said japonica. He asked how many, and I said only two.'

“‘You were back in the room then?'

“‘Yes. They sent for me.'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Then the Mother Superior dismissed us. She sent me back to my quarters and told the other sister to send Sister Geneviève.'

“‘But she and the doctor remained?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did you stay in your quarters till now?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did anyone visit you?'

“‘The house surgeon came and gave me something to drink.'

“‘Did you have a talk?'

“‘Yes, he was very kind.'

“‘Did he tell you there might be an Inquest?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Anything else?'

“‘He asked if at any time I had had any reason to think that Lord St Amant was not in excellent health.'

“‘What did you say?'

“‘None.'

“‘Did anyone else visit you?'

“‘The Mother Superior.'

“‘What did she say?'

“‘I don't think I have the right to repeat what she said.'

“‘In the ordinary way, no. But I'll leave it there for the moment. I may have to ask you again.'

“‘What d'you mean – in the ordinary way?'

“‘It may be found that his lordship died an unnatural death.'

“‘You think he did?'

“I looked at her very straight.

“‘D'you think that his death was natural?'

“After a little, she spoke in a very low voice.

“‘Why don't you think so?'

“‘Well, he was so well – and then…that – that terrible look on his face.'

“She put her face in her hands and began to weep again.

“To give her time, I went to the writing-table, took a sheet of paper and made some notes.

“Suddenly she burst out.

“‘But who would want to kill him? He was so charming and gentle in every way.'

“I turned on my chair.

“‘That's what I've got to find out – if anyone did. Before very long I shall know whether or no he was killed. And if he was and if I'm to find out who did it, I must have everyone's help. You see, Sister Helena, I haven't got second sight. I've just been questioning you: and I'm sure you've told me the truth. But it may very well be that you have a vital answer to some question I haven't asked. If that is so, please don't hold out on me. And please remember this – that you may not think it is vital, although it is.'

“‘I see. I'll bear that in mind.'

“‘Thank you.'

“‘Will they want me to go to the Inquest?'

“‘Yes, I'm afraid they will. But I shall be there and I'll do my best for you.'

“‘When will it be?'

“‘On Friday. I shall take your statement tomorrow, and the Coroner will question you from that.'

“‘Will he…ask me anything else?'

“‘I don't quite see why he should.'

“She hesitated. Then –

“‘You see, Superintendent, we all have other names. I'm Sister Helena now, but I…used to be somebody else.'

“‘I know. I'll do my very best to see that you're not asked that. But…'

“‘But what?'

“‘As things are or may be, I think that I ought to know. But you may depend upon me to tell no one else.'

“She told me her name. I hope she didn't see that it shook me, because it did. Her face had been vaguely familiar right from the first; but when she told me her name, I remembered who she was.

“I thanked her and got to my feet.

“‘I hope you've been taken off duty.'

“‘For tonight – yes.'

“‘I'd like to see you tomorrow. Would midday be all right?'

“‘As – as far as I'm concerned.'

“‘Good. And please don't worry. It's going to be quite all right.'

“‘It can never be that,' she said quietly. ‘Not if murder was done.'

“‘I feel the same,' I said. ‘A masterpiece has been broken. And we have so few today.'

“‘That's perfectly true.'

“As I opened the door for her–

“‘You've been very kind,' she said.

“And then she was gone.

“I went back to the station then and dictated a further report. Then I drafted her statement and gave it to Roan to type out. Then I went to the mortuary. The surgeons were waiting for me, with certain sealed jars. They handed these to Rogers, who signed a receipt.

“‘Anything new?' I asked.

“‘A first–class life.'

“When Paterson left, I walked with him to his car. I told him I'd seen the night-sister.

“‘Was the Mother Superior tiresome?'

“‘She wasn't there.'

“‘You never saw her alone?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘God in heaven,' he said. And then, ‘There'll be a row about that.'

“‘The day-sister arranged it at my request.'

“He nodded.

“‘Sister Geneviève is the salt of the earth.'

“‘You'll be called, of course. I'll bring a draft statement tomorrow, for you to approve.'

“‘All right.'

“‘About eleven o'clock?'

“‘Just ask for me.'

“Then I saw the Coroner.

“I think he'll be quite all right. I mean, he won't run out. In fact, he himself declared that the Convent must be considered in every possible way. I imagine the Mother Superior has to be thanked for that. Her writ runs everywhere. I suggested whom he should call and said he should have their statements tomorrow afternoon. I then broached the question of revealing the sisters' true names.

“‘I hope you'll agree,' I said, ‘that that should not be done. By such revelations, Justice will in no way be served. Only the press will profit: and the Sisters will suffer incredible misery. I mean, all this publicity's bad enough.'

“Mercifully, he agreed at once.

“Then we had a short talk. I said that the local superintendent would ask for an adjournment for a week.

“‘Do you expect developments?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘You suspect that Lord St Amant was murdered?'

“‘I do indeed.'

“‘Any luck so far?'

“‘None.'

“‘Oh, well,' he said. ‘If I can help, you've only to let me know.'

“I thanked him and took my leave.

“Then I saw the Press. They were waiting in force. ‘Where the carcase is,' you know.