Our Jubilee is Death (7 page)

“You see, Miss Stayer, perhaps the police think it rather odd that a member of the household who is not usually concerned with the garden should suddenly, without consulting the gardener, purchase weed-killer.”

“Yes, but the tin was never opened. They could see that. The seal wasn't broken. Yet they have questioned me again and again.”

“Interrogation is terribly trying, I know.”

“Besides, Aunt Lillianne died of an overdose of sleeping-pills,
didn't she? They know that. Why do they have to go on about a weed-killer?”

“I honestly don't know. But the police have a way of reaching the truth in the end.”

This did not seem to do much to console Gracie Stayer.

“Would you mind telling me what you were wearing on the night of your aunt's death?”

Gracie Stayer, who had intended to ask Carolus for advice and now found herself narrowly questioned, looked rather baffled.

“I'm just trying to remember,” she said, but one could almost hear her saying to herself, ‘Why is he asking me this?' “I remember. I had on a black frock—almost new.”

“What shoes?”

“Really! Have you found some footprints or something?”

“It would help me if you could tell me that.”

“I think it was a black velvet pair.”

“Could you be sure?”

‘Why is he asking me? Why is he asking me?' said Gracie's tortured eyes.

“Yes, I'm sure it was.”

“Were they nearly new, too?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Could I see them?”

“Why? Why do you want to see them? No, you can't. It's absurd. I thought you were going to help us, not be fifty times worse than the police. No, you can't see them.”

“If you want to get at the truth, Miss Stayer, I will help you. If you have something to conceal, I shall be very far from helpful.”

“I
haven't
anything to conceal. Of course I haven't.”

“Then would you please show me those black velvet shoes?”

“I can't. I haven't got them. They were uncomfortable.”

“What did you do with them?”

“Oh, I can't remember now. Gave them to Mrs Plum.”

Carolus pretended to make a note, which seemed to agitate Gracie further.

“No. I'm not sure what I did. Threw them away, I think. Put them in the dustbin. That was it.”

“Wouldn't it be better to tell me the truth about this, Miss Stayer?”

“I'm telling you all I remember.”

“It is just as you wish, of course.”

“But I
am
telling you all I remember.”

“What time did you go up to your bedroom that evening?”

“About eleven, I think.”

“Did you go straight to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Read in bed?”

“Sometimes. Not that night.”

Gracie was calmer.

“No one came to your room during the night?”

“Not till …”

“Yes, Miss Stayer?”

“Not till the morning.”

“Who came then?”

“I don't remember.”

“Who usually came?”

“Well, no one. I was nearly always the first up. I would get Aunt Lillianne's breakfast.”

“But that morning someone did come to your room?”

“Yes. It was Babs. I remember now.”

“Was Mrs Bomberger the only member of the household who took sleeping-pills?”

“Well, proper sleeping-pills, yes.”

Carolus smiled.

“What are ‘proper sleeping-pills'?” he asked.

“I mean, Aunt Lillianne had them prescribed by Dr Flitcher. They were terribly expensive. He prescribed some others for us called Komatoza. For Babs and me, that was.”

“Were they effective?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Mr Deene, we sometimes believed they were just as good as Aunt Lillianne's, though they cost a tenth of the price. They looked just the same, anyway.”

“Oh. Did Miss Pink take any?”

“Well, yes. You know life with Aunt Lillianne was rather a strain, and I think we all felt we needed a little help to sleep at night. She took something quite different called Bromaloid, which was in liquid form.”

“I see. So only you and your sister took Komatoza?”

“That's right.”

“How many did you take?”

“The chemist said it didn't matter up to six or so. But we never took more than two each.”

“You bought them from the chemist who made up your aunt's?”

“Cupperly's. Yes. Where I bought the weed-killer. You still haven't told me what to do about that.”

“I have, Miss Stayer. I have told you to be frank.”

“Yes. But why do they keep on now? Why, Mr Deene? They know Aunt Lillianne was not poisoned by weedkiller. Why do they keep asking me questions?”

“I can't tell you that. But you say you have nothing to conceal, so I should not worry any more. Tell me, Miss Stayer, have any of you ever been down to the beach at night?”

The last of Gracie's self-control broke at his question. Through angry tears she almost shouted, “No! no! Why do you ask such questions? We never went out at night. Scarcely into the garden, even. Aunt Lillianne did
once
want to be wheeled into the garden by moonlight, but never more than once. And never farther than the garden. Why do you ask? What
right
have you to ask?”

“No right at all. I only wanted to know whether the beach in Trumbles Bay was customarily quite deserted at night.”

“Oh, quite. I should think, that is. I've never been down there.”

“So that if Mrs Bomberger walked down herself to the beach that night, or if she was decoyed there, or wheeled there in her chair, or died first and was taken there—however she got there, in fact, no one need have seen it? No one, unless someone took her?”

“I suppose … oh, it's dreadful! There was no one about. There can have been no one about. We should have heard. It would have come out at the inquest. However she got there, there was no one to see, I'm sure.”

“How do you think she got there, Miss Stayer?”

“I'm beginning to think she must have walked there. To meet someone, perhaps. There was that phone call.”

“But that can't have been so very unusual. Mrs Bomberger must have had calls from people whose names you don't know?”

“Yes. Sometimes. But it was so extraordinary coming on the very night.”

“You think she went down to the beach to meet this man who called himself Green and that he murdered her?”

“I know it sounds extraordinary.”

“She is supposed to have died of an overdose of sleeping-pills.”

“I don't see how they can tell. She had been in the water for hours. Suppose he made her unconscious in some way, then buried her up to the neck and let the tide drown her?”

“It's not a nice thought.”

“It's horrible. But then the whole thing is horrible. And my aunt, let's face it, was a very horrible woman.”

Carolus felt that Gracie at last was ‘being herself'.

“You've no idea who ‘Green' might be?”

“We've thought about that. There was a Mr Green with her publishers at one time, but we can't think it was him. Very quiet man who worked in the production department and had to see Aunt Lillianne about a dust-jacket she
didn't like. But he left and went to some other publishers. I'm sure it wasn't him.”

“In fact, Miss Stayer, you have nothing else to tell me?”

“Well, Mr Stump came up to the house that evening. Just before the phone call, I think. Or was it just after?”

“Did he see Mrs Bomberger?”

“Not that we know of. There had been a terrible quarrel between them and my aunt had given orders that Mr Stump was not to be admitted. Miss Pink opened the door and refused to let him in.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. Unless you would like to see Aunt Lillianne's room or anything? It's all been cleaned up now.”

“No. I won't trouble you to show me that. I should like to come out again tomorrow if I may?”

“Yes, yes. Do. Mr Deene …”

Carolus looked at the unhappy young woman quite steadily.

“Mr Deene, I feel I can trust you. Even if you did find out something I … we … if…”

“Miss Stayer, I shall sound very priggish and pompous, but with all my heart I recommend you not to hold back information in this matter. Whoever and whatever it may involve. I will see you tomorrow.”

Carolus escaped with Fay without having to see Babs and Alice Pink again.

“What do you think of them?” said Fay as he drove back to Blessington.

“Fools. Worse. Oh, Fay, why do people, people of the kind we know and understand, commit murder? Anything rather than that. Surely. Starvation, misery, even death better than the curse of Cain. Sorry, my dear. I'm being portentous. Come and see whether Mrs Stick has managed to turn round sufficiently to give us dinner.”

Priggley awaited them in a ‘front room' from which
sufficient furniture had been cleared to admit the three of them.

“You didn't tell me you were going out to Bomberger's,” he complained. “However, I've improved the shining hour.”

“One of the forward and dizzy young women you call pieces of homework, I suppose?”

“That's a corny term, anyway. No, I was interested in Beddoes Farm. I decided to have a look round on my own. I left the bike a mile away and actually walked to the place.
Walked,
on my two feet. Is that devotion to duty?”

“You had no business to go out there again.”

“I found chummy just finishing his job of changing the hand-brake cable.”

“He saw you?”

“Certainly not. If he had I was going to ask for work on the farm during my summer holidays. There
are
unbelievable drears from squalid schools calling themselves the Public Schools Farmers' Aid, or some such thing. They actually plough and whatnot, I believe. So mine would have been quite plausible. But he didn't see me. On the contrary, I saw him. He picked up the old cable from where he'd chucked it and with it in his hand started off on foot from the shed. It was getting slightly duskish, but not nearly dark enough. I had to stay where I was and watch him across country. He made for a group of trees. I'm sorry if this all sounds nauseatingly R. L. Stevenson or John Buchan or something. I assure you, I don't want to be a Mountie. Too ludicrous. But I did go across to that group of trees afterwards. And what do you think I found? said little Red Riding Hood. A pond, Carolus. That character with the worn cable had felt strongly enough about it to walk across two fields and chuck it in a pond. Now, congratulations to me, and for God's sake let's have a drink.”

M
RS
S
TICK
had indeed managed to ‘turn round', for at that moment she came in to ask how many there would be for dinner.

“Can we manage three, Mrs Stick? Or am I asking too much on the day of your arrival?”

“If it's for Miss Fay and this young gentleman we can do it, sir. I'm not saying there would be enough for anyone …”

“Quite. Yes, it's for the three of us here. By what euphemism you speak of a ‘young gentleman' I cannot think.”

There was some discussion among the three of them after Mrs Stick had left the room as to whether that desiccated pucker round her mouth had been a smile. If so, it was unprecedented.

“Oh, by the way, sir, the creature with the bangles wants to speak to you. ‘Please tell Mr Deene Ey shall be on duty tonate and have something to tell him.' ”

Carolus sighed.

“Couldn't you get it out of her?”

“I tried, but no. ‘Ey'm sorry et's a confeydential metter.' ”

“That's the hell of this sort of job. One just can't afford to risk it. It's probably that her young man wants to be a detective, but it might be something. I'll walk back to the hotel with you later.”

Mrs Stick gave them grilled lamb chops and a cheese
soufflé.
They spoke no more of the case while they were eating this, but afterwards Fay returned to the subject of Gracie.

“She's frightened,” said Carolus. “A very frightened young woman.”

“I know. I should think most people would be when they're interrogated so much. I rather like Gracie. I'm very, very sorry for her.”

“Sure you're not confusing the two?”

“I suppose you will tackle Babs tomorrow?”

“I suppose so. Though I don't expect a lot from her. Or Alice Pink.”

Under a brilliant August moon Carolus and Priggley walked round to the Royal Hydro, passing along the promenade among the holiday-makers.

‘The creature with the bangles' smiled from behind her desk when she saw Carolus approach alone.

“Ey'm sorry you hevvn't stayed with us, Mr Deene. Ey feel there mate have been so many little theengs for you to observe here.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yase, Mr Deene. A metter Ey feel Ey should tell you about. An individual keem here this morning and meed enquiries about you.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Ey theenk so. He was a very shifty-looking individual. He hed a pronounced squeent.”

“What? Oh yes, I understand. Gold teeth, had he?”

“How deed you know that? Ey suppose thet's being a detective. Yase. Several noticeable gold teeth. A tall individual. Most disagreeable. In feet, Mr Deene, hed it not been a metter which Ey thought mate interest you Ey should not have conversed with heem.”

“What did he want to know?”

“He appeared to have gethered thet you were in some way interested in the kees. He weeshed to know who you were and what mate your connection be. Ey expleened to him thet you were a very feemous investigator.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He smeeled and said, “Oh is thet all?' Ey said no more.”