Suspects—Nine (37 page)

“I'm all for slapping,” said Bobby. “Hard and frequent. We all know our maiden aunts even if the psycho-analyst people don't. All the same, that suppressed type does exist. Perhaps this Miss Polthwaite was one. No telling.”

“You see, Bobby,” Olive explained, “that's exactly what Lady Markham and the others want cleared up. They want the diamonds back all right if they can get them, but I don't think they expect to and I don't believe that's the chief thing. It's more the horrid things being said. There were hints in the English papers, and all the people they know whisper about it and Lady Markham knew about us and she began talking about it last time she was here.”

“Well, what's the idea? What's she want me to do?” Bobby asked doubtfully.

“Go there and see what you can find out. The mill where it happened is to let. The man who owns it lets it out to visitors in the summer but no one will want to spend a holiday there so soon after a murder, so it's sure to be vacant still. Lady Markham thought you could rent it and look round. The diamonds may be hidden there still, she thinks. And some of the people in the village may know something.”

“Was there anything to suggest the suicide theory or was that an afterthought when the police were at a dead end? Was there any letter, for instance? Suicides nearly always leave a letter behind. They feel they've got to defend themselves.”

“There was something,” Olive admitted. “A sort of letter, only it wasn't addressed to anyone. In French. Mr. Polthwaite had a copy. They wouldn't give him the original.”

“Do you know what it said?”

“Lady Markham said it was only a few words: ‘J'en ai des écus jusqu'aux yeux, en avoir peur.' I don't see that it means much, do you? ‘Avoir des écus' is a sort of idiom —means you've got more money than you know what to do with. One of the French police, an inspector or something, his name was Clauzel, argued it meant she had worked herself into such a state of nerves over her diamonds and things that she went clean off her head and decided to end it. Of course, she was a bit funny, hoarding it up like that instead of using a bank or a safe deposit like everyone else. Lady Markham says she was convinced the first thing when the revolution came would be seizing the banks.”

“If the police think it was a case of suicide, why did they talk about this Camion chap?”

“That was largely the gossip in the village. They didn't know about her having valuables by her. Mr. Polthwaite made the Clauzel policeman person admit the note she left might have meant she was afraid not of her money but of someone she thought might be planning to rob her. He had to leave it there. He doesn't talk French very well.”

“Could the diamonds and stuff be identified if I did come across them?”

“They have a list of what she bought, numbers, weight, everything.”

“Ought to be good enough,” Bobby agreed. “Don't see much chance of being able to do anything though. You have to be on the spot at once, not months late. Probably the diamonds and the rest of it have been got rid of already. You can always sell small stuff safely enough if you do it by degrees.”

“You might find out enough to clear Miss Polthwaite's name?”

“Perhaps I shouldn't,” Bobby said slowly. “Perhaps I should find out the other way. Perhaps it was like that. Perhaps she had fallen for this Camion bloke. Old spinster ladies do go off the rails sometimes.”

“I think Lady Markham was facing that. She doesn't believe it, but she knows it's there. She said if you found the diamonds, there would be the reward. If you didn't, but just got at the truth, whatever it is, then they'll try to get you the private secretaryship with the chief constable they know.”

“Sporting,” agreed Bobby. “If she sticks to it. Do you think she will?”

“Well, she pays cash,” said Olive simply.

“Good enough,” agreed Bobby. “Sort of a threefold mission—the diamonds, the murderer, the truth. All right, I'll take it on if she can wangle that month's leave she talks about.”