The Pleasure Cruise Mystery (27 page)

“You knew that Maureen O'Connor had been murdered?”

“Hearsay only. It came as a great shock to me, and I had determined to avenge her death.”

“Like a gallant lover,” remarked Vereker. “Now we come to the point of how you knew and who told you.”

“I'll tell you the truth about the whole matter. As you've guessed, there was a guilty liaison between Maureen and Guillermo Mesado. Mesado had stolen my lover, so I was going to make him pay for the pleasure. Renée is an old friend of mine and we always confided in one another, but like a woman she doesn't know the value of silence and when it pays to talk. She became Mrs. Mesado's confidante and was genuinely fond of her mistress. In an outburst of frankness she must have told Mrs. Mesado all about her husband's relations with his sister-in-law. Women do such things. They cannot help themselves. There was a violent quarrel and Guillermo left his wife and returned to the Argentine. Mrs. Mesado then determined to make sure that the story was true and invited Maureen to this place, Firle House, for the weekend. She found out that Renée had told the truth, and at once related the whole story to her sister, Constance Colvin, and to Constance's husband. The latter is a vicious drunkard. One can admire a clever criminal, but a drunkard is contemptible. One can only spit on him and pass him by. Colvin knew that Guillermo's departure meant the loss of a good living for him. Guillermo paid him handsomely for the little and pleasant work he did for him. He has a violent temper, and being a weak man he can't control it. Infuriated at the loss of his income the poor wretch could think of nothing better than wreaking his hatred on the cause of it, so he murdered Maureen O'Connor.”

“You heard this from Renée Gautier?” asked Vereker, unable to conceal astonishment at the information.

“Yes; she ought to know. She was in the house when it was done.”

“It's difficult to believe, but how did he do it?”

“Unknown to Constance and Beryl, he was showing Maureen over the house after dinner. He took her down to the refrigerator to explain the working of it, ushered her in and banged the door. She was dressed in an evening gown and died of exposure to the intense cold during the night. It was a clever idea. I give him credit for some wit.”

“This was on Sunday night?” asked Vereker.

“I forget whether it was Saturday or Sunday. It matters little.”

“How did Beryl and Constance find out about it?”

“After locking Maureen in the refrigerator Colvin went upstairs and asked where Maureen had got to. His manner was innocent and disarming. They didn't know, but thought she had retired to her room. After a considerable lapse of time Colvin, expressing anxiety about the lady, asked his wife to go and see what Maureen was doing. Naturally she was not to be found, and there and then they searched the house, but never dreamed of looking in the refrigerator. Finally they came to the conclusion that she had found the family atmosphere uncongenial and had gone home. Towards morning Colvin pretended to remember that they had overlooked the refrigerator and roused his wife, for they had retired after their first unsuccessful search. They got up, wakened Beryl and together they went down to the cold storage chamber. Arriving there they found to their surprise that Renée Gautier had also remembered the refrigerator. She had slipped on a dressing-gown and gone down to investigate on her own. On opening the refrigerator door Renée had found Maureen almost unconscious. She dragged her out and gave her hot tea to revive her. She recovered sufficiently to tell Renée that Colvin had intentionally locked her in. With these words she succumbed. When the three others came on the scene Renée in an angry outburst accused Colvin of murdering his sister-in-law. Faced with the accusation, Colvin admitted he had locked her up in the chamber, but only with the intention of punishing her. Thereupon there was a hasty conference between the parties, and the three relatives tried to nobble Renée into joining them in a story that it was an accident. Renée refused to have anything to do with the conspiracy, but agreed to hold her tongue about the business unless she were directly questioned by the police or at an inquest. Further than that she absolutely refused to go.”

“She didn't wish to be accessory to a murder,” remarked Vereker.

“No. Renée has a lot of French caution; she's very hard-headed.”

“What happened next?”

“After some discussion they concluded that the safest thing to do was to dispose of the body secretly, so they decided to take it with them on Monday morning on their pleasure cruise and get rid of it at sea.”

“Whose bright idea was that?” asked Vereker.

“I believe it was Colvin's, but I'm not sure.”

“This was not prearranged?”

“Apparently not, but if there was a separate conspiracy among the relatives, Renée was ignorant of it. There may have been, for after all Maureen was the black sheep of the family and they were all sick to death of her.”

“But what was Maureen going to do on Monday morning if the accident, shall we say, had not occurred?”

“They had told her that they would take her up to London by car, leave her and proceed to Tilbury.”

“How did they all travel that morning?”

“Colvin and his wife went up by an early train. Renée and Mrs. Mesado and the luggage, which was considerable and included the body, went up by a car hired in Eastbourne. They had got rid of their chauffeur with the other servants the previous week.”

“So that's the story as you heard it. Have you told Colvin that you know about his share in this business?”

“No, it's no affair of mine. I never talk unless it's profitable to talk.”

“It may be profitable to talk later?” asked Vereker pertinently.

“No, I hardly think so. Things are getting too warm for me on this side of the Atlantic and I shall try my luck in America next. It seems to be the only place where fortunes can be made rapidly if one has a little courage, some brains and not too much sentiment.”

“I think that's all I want to know, Mr. Dias,” said Vereker, rising from his chair to signify that the interview was at an end. “Which way did you enter the house?”

“By one of the drawing-room windows.”

“Did you cut a pane?”

“It wasn't necessary; there is one with a faulty catch which responds easily to a little manipulation.”

“Perhaps I'd better see you off the premises in case the butler wakes up and fills you with shot. He always keeps a loaded twelve-bore beside his bed when the house is empty.”

“It would be better. Our conversation has probably roused him, and I don't like to run unnecessary risks. I leave that to fools.”

“Before you go I'll just have a look in that drawer to see that Maureen's diamond necklace is still there,” remarked Vereker as he quickly crossed the room to the chest.

“A wise precaution,” smiled Dias good-humouredly. “I was rather surprised you didn't look before.”

“I heard you turn the key to open the drawer when I switched on the light, and was pretty certain you hadn't time to extract the jewel-case,” replied Vereker.

“Hearing is a very faulty sense. I never trust it too implicitly. I may have been locking the drawer instead of opening it. Still on this occasion you are right, but as a detective you ought to make sure.”

“I see it's here,” replied Vereker as he opened the jewel-case and, finding the necklace, returned it to its place in the drawer.

“Shall I lead the way?” asked Dias when he saw that Vereker was ready.

“Naturally,” replied Vereker with a sardonic smile and followed Dias down to the drawing-room, where he slipped silently out of an open window and, making his way rapidly across the lawn, vanished into the dusk.

Firmly closing and wedging the drawing-room window, Vereker returned to his bedroom. He once more locked the drawer containing Maureen's necklace, got into bed and tried to sleep. His mind, however, was not in a sufficiently quiescent state for sleep. He lay awake far into the night pondering over the details of Dias's story. They were circumstantial enough to be plausible, but they conflicted with Vereker's theory of the crime, and the more he thought about them the less credible did they appear. Look at the matter in whatever light he might, he could not visualise Richard Colvin as the murderer of Maureen O'Connor. In his own mind he was now fairly certain who the culprit was, but before being positive he would see Heather again and hear the result of his work on the fingerprints and bloodstains in the refrigerating chamber. On the assumption that Dias's story was a fabrication he strove to find a motive for it, but at length, utterly weary of the task, gave it up and fell sound asleep.

The next three days Vereker spent on the Sussex Downs, tramping, sketching, loafing. He had completely detached his mind from the Pleasure Cruise Mystery, and found his change of occupation restful and invigorating. On the fourth day he was planning an excursion to Alfriston to visit the Star Inn, the reputed haunt of smugglers in bygone days, and was preparing to start after breakfast when he received a telegram. It was from Richard Colvin stating that he was returning to Firle House without Mrs. Colvin and would be home for lunch. It concluded by expressing the hope that Vereker was still resident there and that he would be present at the meal. Vereker at once informed Dobbs of his master's imminent homecoming and his own change of plan. He had to admit to himself that this unexpected news gave him a keen thrill of excitement. He was anxious to see Colvin and thrash out the whole business of the Mesado mystery with him. At the back of his mind he had felt certain that Colvin would take every precaution to avoid meeting him again, and that his generous offer of hospitality had only been another move in an audacious game of bluff. He had called Colvin's bluff by accepting the invitation to Firle House, and had been anxious to see how that move would be countered. He had not envisaged Colvin returning boldly to face matters out. At once he began to surmise that something exceptional had happened to urge him to this course of action. He spent the morning in elaborating some of his sketches of the previous three days, and at midday he heard the car which brought Colvin from the station whirl up the drive of Firle House and come to a halt before the main entrance. He laid down his sketching materials and looked out of the window only to see the car turning for departure. He was about to go down and greet the arrival when his door opened and Colvin entered. He looked haggard and ill and was evidently in great mental distress.

“I'm glad you're here, Vereker,” he said and, after shaking hands, sank into an easy chair as if exhausted.

“You don't look up to the mark. Anything gone wrong?” asked Vereker sympathetically.

“Every damned thing has gone wrong!” exclaimed Colvin with weak exasperation.

“Yes, I agree. The game has gone badly against you from the very beginning,” replied Vereker.

The remark caused Colvin to look up sharply, but on meeting Vereker's steady gaze he lowered his eyes and for some minutes was lost in deep thought.

“I've been wondering for some time now how much you knew, Vereker,” he said at length. “Even when we were on the ‘Mars' I had an inkling that you had probed unexpectedly deep into our secret. I was at first inclined to put the blame on my guilty conscience, but there was something in your attitude which warned me that you were on our tracks. It put me on the defensive and I naturally became more guarded than ever, but it seems as if I might have saved myself the trouble.”

“I've an idea I know all about your secret, Colvin,” said Vereker quietly, “but even now I'm not too cocksure. Before we discuss the matter, what has happened to Mrs. Colvin? Not met with an accident, I hope.”

“Poor Constance, the strain was too much for her. I had to take her to a nursing home on our return from Spain. She has had a dreadful breakdown.”

“A mental home?” asked Vereker.

“Yes. It's only temporary, I hope, but it's a bad business and the doctor in charge wasn't too sanguine.”

“I'm sorry for her, but a murder and a suicide in the family are enough to unhinge any but the strongest brain.”

“Then you do know,” said Colvin. “We've played a desperate game and lost. For myself I don't care two hoots, but for Constance...” Colvin left the sentence unfinished owing to his deep emotion. There was an uncomfortable pause, but regaining his self-control he said, “Tell me what you know and I'll let you know if you've got the facts correct.”

“To begin with your sister-in-law, Amy Diss or Maureen O'Connor, was the cause of all the trouble.”

“Yes, to a certain extent. She has been the skeleton in the Diss family cupboard for years. Beyond the fact that her sisters, Beryl and Constance, would have nothing to do with her owing to the degraded life she was leading, nothing serious would have happened if that scoundrel Dias hadn't come on the scene. He's a man of the most dangerous type. He became friendly with Beryl's husband in the Argentine, and on landing in England began to dig into the Diss family history after somehow learning that there was some mystery about a third sister, Amy. Having with extraordinary pertinacity found out all about Amy, he continued his search until he found out where the woman lived in London. As you know, he's a handsome and plausible rogue, and soon he had Amy, or Maureen as she called herself, completely in his power. With a view to blackmail he introduced Guillermo Mesado to Amy. Up to this point Guillermo had never heard of the existence of Amy. The result of this meeting was disastrous. Guillermo pitied the woman and, being very susceptible to feminine charms, was soon making passionate love to her. She encouraged him. He spent money recklessly on her and became so careless of his behaviour that Beryl's suspicions were roused. Moreover, Guillermo became jealous of Dias and, finding that Dias was simply bleeding Amy of the money he was providing, he quarrelled bitterly with her and left her. Finding that no further money was forthcoming, Dias tried to blackmail Guillermo. This was ineffectual, and to revenge himself Dias got his tool Renée Gautier to tell the story of the whole sordid business to Beryl. I believe Gautier too was in love with the man, but of this I wouldn't be positive. In any case there was a terrible row between Beryl and Guillermo. They almost came to blows, for Beryl when roused was absolutely reckless and behaved like a maniac. Guillermo promptly left Firle House, and we haven't seen him since. I dare say he has gone back to Buenos Aires, but we don't know. Now came the most serious part of the sorry business...”