Ne'er Do Well (9 page)

“‘You were on duty for six hours?'

“‘Yes. From eight till two.'

“‘Were you visited during that time?'

“‘Yes, by the House Surgeon.'

“‘How many times did he come?'

“‘Twice.'

“‘When did he come for the second time?'

“‘At about a quarter to ten.'

“‘Were you visited by anyone else?'

“‘Yes. By Sister Helena.'

“‘How many times by Sister Helena?'

“‘Three times, I think.'

“‘Tell me about them, please.'

“‘The first was when she first came on, soon after eight. Then when I rang for her about a quarter to nine. And then she looked in, as usual, I think about ten o'clock.'

“‘Did anyone else come in?'

“‘Sister Therèse relieved me.'

“‘Of course. But nobody else?'

“‘Oh, no.'

“‘Sister Helena looked in, as usual, about ten o'clock?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘She looks in from the terrace?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Does she part the curtains and just put in her head?'

“‘If I'm not at the window, she does.'

“‘But you don't look out at night.'

“‘No, but I hear her coming; and if I'm not with my patient, I always get up.'

“‘And go to the window?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘To be ready to greet her?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘You hear her coming?'

“‘Yes. Or I see the light of her torch.'

“‘Shining beneath the curtains?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Does she make much noise?'

“‘Oh, no, she's very quiet.'

“‘Still, you can hear her coming?'

“‘Usually, yes.'

“‘And she always parts the curtains and sometimes puts in her head?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Do you hear her go back?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘Did you hear her come and go back on Tuesday night?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘That was about ten o'clock?'

“‘Yes.'

“‘And you didn't hear her again?'

“‘No.'

“‘Or see her light?'

“‘No.'

“‘She might have gone by, you know, without looking in.'

“‘I don't think she did.'

“‘And you saw or heard no one else?'

“Sister Josephine shook her head.

“‘All right. Thank you.'

“As the Mother Superior dismissed her –

“‘Tell Sister Therèse to come in.'

“Sister Therèse was quiet, but self-possessed. A grave, wise face. I liked her at once. I asked her much the same questions, and she gave me intelligent replies. I pressed her hard upon what she had seen and heard between two and four. She had seen Sister Helena first at a quarter past two. That was because she had rung. She had needed assistance upon a routine job. They had been, say, ten minutes together. Sister Helena had come and gone by the door. She had seen her again about three. On that occasion Sister Helena had parted the curtains and just looked into the room. She had looked up and nodded, and Sister Helena had gone. And that was all. No other movement or light – so far as she heard or saw.

“It was she Sister Helena called, when she found St Amant dead. She bore out in every particular what Sister Helena had said.

“‘You had to leave your patient?'

“‘Yes. But I had injected morphia only ten minutes before.'

“‘So he would require no attention for a quarter of an hour?'

“‘It was very unlikely that he would. And this was an emergency.'

“‘Exactly. Well, thank you very much.'

“As the door closed behind her –

“‘A different type,' said the Mother Superior.

“‘Very,' said I.

“‘You have the impression that Sister Josephine could have said more than she did.'

“‘To be honest, I have.'

“‘I have that impression, too. We may be wrong, Superintendent, for Sister Josephine is a very saintly girl. Her devotion to duty is fanatic. But she dare not think for herself. She seeks divine guidance upon the most everyday things. Such guidance is not vouchsafed. So she has to fall back on the brain which she is afraid to use. Sometimes, as you may believe, with unhappy results. But, if you would like me to, I will have a talk with her.'

“‘Madam', I said, ‘I should be grateful indeed.'

“‘Very well. Is there anything else you want?'

“‘I have no doubt that visitors are allowed. I should like to know what visits were recently paid to Numbers One to Six.'

“‘Pray see the porteress. She keeps the register.'

“‘I am greatly obliged, madam.'

“With that, I took my leave.

“I confess I felt greatly relieved. If Dracona, as Dallas calls her, meant to co-operate, my chances of getting somewhere were considerably increased. And it looked as if she did. ‘We may be wrong, Superintendent.' Well, those were friendly words. And then she had offered to tackle the girl, herself. In such a case, she could learn more in five minutes than I could learn in five hours.”

“I give you best, Falcon,” said Mansel. “To reduce such a fortress as that was a triumph, indeed.”

Falcon regarded Jenny.

“Colonel Mansel, himself, would have done it in half the time.”

“I believe he would,” said Jenny. “But then he's exceptional.”

“Now, now,” said Mansel, laughing.

“As a matter of fact,” said I, “they're both of them right. I've seen you charm hostility into goodwill.” I looked at Falcon. “It's like a conjuring trick. I've seen it many a time, but I never know how it's done. And now go on, Superintendent.”

“Well, before I did anything else, I visited Dallas again. That Sister Josephine had, in fact, heard or seen something, I now had no doubt. I believed she had heard a footfall. Now Dallas had seen his flash at a quarter to two. I was sure he'd been waked by the footfall which Sister Josephine heard.

“When I put my head into his room –

“‘Now isn't that nice?' said Dallas, and offered me cigarettes.

“I lighted one and sat down.

“‘How's your knee going on?'

“‘The pain is less, Superintendent. You've done me good.'

“‘I should like to think that, Mr Dallas.'

“‘You have indeed. Before you came, my plight obsessed my mind: but now my mind is otherwise occupied. Believe me, I'm with you in spirit in all you do. But you didn't come in to learn that.'

“‘No, I didn't,' I said. ‘The time when you saw that flash – are you sure it was a quarter to two?'

“‘Of that, I'm quite sure.'

“‘I don't think a flash would have waked you.'

“‘Oh, no. It was something else. Almost certainly a sound. As I said, perhaps a footfall.'

“‘Sister Helena always comes round at about three o'clock.'

“‘I didn't know that.'

“‘She does. And she uses the terrace.'

“‘She's never waked me yet. But then she moves very quietly. Besides, I saw my flash at a quarter to two.'

“‘When you saw it, did you think it was her?'

“‘I can't tell you what I thought. I was half asleep. But I know that I saw a flash and I know that I saw that flash at a quarter to two.'

“‘How long had you been asleep?'

“‘Getting on for three hours. I usually get to sleep about eleven o'clock.'

“‘What about St Amant? Did he say when he went to sleep?'

“Dallas considered.

“‘I don't think he did. We did compare notes, of course. But I don't think he told me that. But he went to sleep later than I did, for when I turned out my light, I think his was always on.'

“‘How could you tell?'

“‘I could see the faint glow on the terrace. Placed as I am, I can't see the section of terrace in front of this room: but I can see the section of terrace belonging to his.'

“‘I understand. The glow must be very faint.'

“‘It is – or was very faint. And yet, when my light was out, quite easy to see. And one notices things, you know, lying here like this.'

“‘That's natural enough. Did you wake this morning at four?'

“‘I did.'

“‘As usual.'

“‘As usual. For some extraordinary reason, the pain reports for duty at four o'clock. St Amant was just the same. But I told you that.'

“‘Did he keep his tablets till then?'

“‘I remember his saying he did. He didn't like taking drugs and neither do I. Men don't, you know, Superintendent. I'll lay you don't take aspirin once a year.'

“‘I don't think I do.'

“‘Well, there you are. The woman's outlook is different. Drugs, admittedly mild, are her staple food. And now it's coming back. I remember his saying, ‘I don't like taking a drug to send me to sleep. If you start that sort of thing, you may have to go on.' And I agreed with him. No doubt that was why his light was on so late. He wouldn't take his tablets to send him to sleep. He kept them till four o'clock, to flatten the pain.'

“‘It looks like that,' I said. I got to my feet. ‘Well, thank you very much.'

“‘To thank me,' said Dallas, ‘is indecent – and you know it as well as I. The kick I get out of your visits will hardly go into words.
Au revoir
, Superintendent.'

“‘
Au revoir
,' I said, laughing.

“Then I went to the lodge and saw the porteress.

“She showed me The Visitors' Book. This is a proper register. Date; name and address of visitor; name of patient; relation of visitor to patient. No visitors for St Amant; but that I'd been told. Berryman's mother came to see him on Saturday last. Number One's daughter, on Monday; and on the same day the old Civil Servant's son. Only one entry made me think. A Madame de Porphyry came to see Dallas on Sunday – address The Savoy Hotel. She was entered as ‘Friend'. I asked the porteress if she remembered her.

“‘Yes,' she said, ‘I do. She was very French.'

“‘Young?' I said.

“‘Perhaps about forty,' she said.

“‘I don't think you liked her very much.'

“‘I'm afraid I didn't. When I asked her to register, she asked if this was a gaol.'

“‘I find that inexcusable.'

“‘Sister Geneviève will tell you more.'

“‘I haven't seen her today.'

“‘She'll be on duty again at four o'clock.'

“‘One more question, please. Did you see the Frenchwoman's car?'

“‘Yes, it was a Rolls-Royce.'

“‘Colour?'

“‘Black.'

“‘I see. Was she driving herself?'

“‘No. She had a chauffeur.'

“‘I see. Well, thank you very much. Perhaps I shall want to look at that register again.'

“‘Whenever you please.'

“It was then ten minutes to four, so I strolled to the gate and back. Then I entered the house and found Sister Geneviève.

“‘Can you spare me ten minutes?' I said.

“‘Yes, Superintendent. Would you mind if we talked on the terrace? Then the Sister in Number Three will tell me if anyone rings.'

“‘What could be better?' I said.

“We reached the terrace by way of St Amant's room.

“I glanced at Dallas' windows.

“‘I don't want Number Five to hear what we say.'

“‘Let's go to the other end. One moment. I must just warn the Sister in Number Three.'

“When she returned –

“‘Was that Sister Josephine?'

“‘No. She comes on at eight. Have you been questioning her?'

“‘Yes,' I said. ‘I wish she was as helpful as you.'

“‘She's very unworldly. I'm sure she tried her best.'

“‘Entirely between you and me, I'm not quite sure that she did.'

“Sister Geneviève looked greatly surprised.

“‘You amaze me, Superintendent.'

“‘There was something she didn't tell me.'

“‘That happened on Tuesday night?'

“‘Yes. It may be of no importance, but I want to know what it was.'

“‘I'll see what I can do.'

“I looked at her.

“‘I don't wonder that Lord St Amant called you St Geneviève. But, Sister Geneviève, this is between you and me – and nobody else.'

“‘That's understood, Superintendent.' She drew in her breath. ‘I oughtn't to say this, of course. But I want you to be successful in – in what you're trying to do.'

Falcon stopped there, and a hand went up to his head.

“I suppose I was right to broach the matter to her. I acted on impulse. It never entered my head, until she said she must warn the Sister in Number Three. If the Mother Superior hears, she'll write me off. I suppose, in a sense, I am going behind her back. But Sister Josephine is afraid of her. That fear may command her answers. But no one could be afraid of Sister Geneviève. Besides, she'll be very skilful… I don't know what to think. However, it's done now.”

“I'm sure you were right,” said Mansel.

“So'm I,” said I. “I used to act on impulse – and I never remember regretting what I had done. If you ask me, the girl was rattled. There was something she dared not say, in case the Mother Superior shouldn't approve. If I am right, your absence is not going to do any good. Sister Geneviève is very much more likely to get at the truth.”

“I entirely agree,” said Mansel. “You must be glad of that woman.”

“I am, indeed,” said Falcon. “For the Mother Superior, I have a profound respect. And we're now on very good terms. But I've something approaching affection for Sister Geneviève. There's something she didn't put off, when she took the veil. And I haven't done with her yet. Just listen to this.