The Riddle at Gipsy's Mile (An Angela Marchmont Mystery 4) (22 page)

He sat back complacently and lit himself a cigarette.

‘
Quite,
’
said Angela, amused.
‘
So you have a “
nose for the news,”
do yo
u? That must be very useful.
’

‘
Oh, yes,
’
Freddy assured her.
‘
You
’
d be quite astonished at the way things seem to happen whenever I chance to be on the spot. I have quickly learned never to leave the house without my notebook on me, since I never know when
a story might suddenly present itself.
’

‘
Indeed?
’
said Angela.

‘
Yes.
’
He paused to blow smoke into the air, then went on,
‘
As a matter of fact, I shouldn
’
t be a bit surprised if something were to happen at Marguerite
’
s exhibition.
’

‘
What do you mean? What
do you think is going to happen?
’

‘
I don
’
t know,
’
he said thoughtfully.
‘
But
something
will. I can feel it in my bones.
’

Marguerite
’
s sculpture exhibition was to be held in the church hall in Littlechurch. There had been some grumbling among t
he locals that the hall was to be out of use for two whole weeks, but Marguerite had paid such a generous fee to the parish council to hire the place that their objections were overridden, and everyone except the few naysayers agreed what a good thing it
w
as for the town to have such a renowned artist among their number. Some of the more excitable souls even predicted that as a result of the exhibition, Littlechurch would shortly become a centre of art and culture to rival London and Paris, and Mr. Culshaw,
the local art teacher, suddenly began receiving dozens of requests for private lessons in painting and drawing, somewhat to his surprise.

Had Marguerite been worrying about whether there would be any interest in her exhibition, her fears were very quickly
proved groundless. She and her guests had come along to the hall early to make sure that things were properly set up, and she had just declared herself satisfied when Freddy came in and said,
‘
I say, how many people will this hall hold, do you suppose? W
e
appear to have the entire population of Littlechurch outside, waiting for the grand opening.
’

‘
But of course,
’
said Vassily.
‘
They hear of the great talent of Marguerite and want to see her works.
’

Marguerite gave a little trill of laughter.

‘
Oh, come now
, Vassily,
’
she said.
‘
They may have
come
to see my poor little efforts, but it is your genius that will make them
stay
. I shouldn
’
t be at all surprised if this exhibition were to be the start of a glorious career for you.
’

Vassily looked as pleased with h
imself as was physically possible with his particular arrangement of facial features, and stepped across to move one of his sculptures a fraction of an inch. As far as Angela could see, his
Eternity of the Damned
series consisted of a row of half-formed hu
man shapes carved roughly out of brown granite. They had a certain appeal, she supposed, although how the good people of Littlechurch would take art in such a modern style could only be conjectured. As for Marguerite
’
s sculptures
—
Angela had to agree with
F
reddy in his view that they might well cause a certain amount of consternation among those of a more sensitive temperament.

‘
Do you think they
’
ll arrest her for obscenity?
’
said Freddy as they gazed critically at one particularly suggestive piece.

‘
Oh, I s
houldn
’
t think so,
’
said Angela.
‘
Why, I shouldn
’
t describe any of these sculptures as flagrant, even if they are a little daring. Is it time yet?
’

But Freddy was staring into space thoughtfully, and did not seem to have heard.

‘
Let the fun begin!
’
declaim
ed Marguerite at last.
‘
Freddy, would you be a darling and open the door?
’

An hour later the thing was in full swing and Angela was rather enjoying herself. She had made the acquaintance of the vicar
’
s wife, Mrs. Henderson, a sensible, youngish woman who,
glass of wine in hand, had gazed at Marguerite
’
s sculptures and declared them to be
‘
awfully clever, although I probably oughtn
’
t to admit that I can see what they
’
re meant to be, ought I?
’
She lowered her voice confidentially.
‘
I
’
m fairly sure my husband
has no idea what he has given his approval to, so it
’
s probably best not to tell him, don
’
t you agree?
’
The two of them laughed merrily, and Mrs. Henderson put a mischievous finger over her lips.

It looked as though the exhibition were a roaring success. A
ngela looked about her. Marguerite had introduced her to several people who were meant to be among the most important personages in London
—
at least, as far as the new art movements were concerned
—
but there were also one or two people she recognized from t
h
e local area, including Sergeant Spillett and P. C. Bass, who were both in uniform and, she guessed, there to see that the crowds did not get out of hand. She frowned as she spotted Freddy, who was whispering into the ear of a disreputable-looking old man.
What was he up to?

‘
Hallo, Mrs. Marchmont
—
Angela,
’
said a voice at her shoulder, and she turned to see Lucy Syms standing next to her.

‘
Why, Lucy, how nice to see you again,
’
said Angela.
‘
Where is Gil?
’

‘
Over there,
’
said Lucy, nodding towards the door.
Angela turned and saw Gilbert Blakeney and his mother receiving an effusive greeting from Marguerite. Gil wore his usual slightly foolish expression, while Lady Alice was at her most gracious.

‘
Lucy, darling, come and see these sculptures and tell me what
you think of them,
’
said Cynthia, who had just then approached them and put her hand on the girl
’
s arm.
‘
I am trying to put together a little piece on this exhibition for the
Clarion
—
the society column, you know
—
so tiresome, but necessary
—
and I
’
d simply ad
ore to hear what you think of it all.
’

She bore Lucy away, leaving Angela by herself for a few moments, until Gil and his mother came to speak to her. Mrs. Henderson soon joined them, and listened courteously to some minor complaint of Lady Alice
’
s about
the vicar
’
s last sermon. The Blakeneys then turned away to talk to someone else, and Angela remained in conversation with the vicar
’
s wife. Mrs. Henderson was a sympathetic listener and Angela, rather to her surprise, found herself telling the story of ho
w
she had discovered Lita
’
s body several weeks earlier.

Mrs. Henderson shook her head soberly.

‘
Such a sad tale,
’
she said.
‘
I understand they have arrested the man who did it. Has he confessed?
’

‘
No,
’
said Angela.
‘
I don
’
t believe he has. As a matter of fa
ct, I don
’
t believe he did it,
’
she said suddenly, and she was surprised at the relief she felt at having finally said it aloud. The nagging doubt that had been sitting at the back of her mind for several weeks now was finally out in the open. She did
not
believe that Johnny Chang had murdered Lita de Marquez.

Mrs. Henderson raised her eyebrows.

‘
Oh?
’
she said.
‘
Why not?
’

Angela remembered what Alvie Berteau had said to her, and thought back to that night at the Copernicus Club and her brief introduction to
the calm, watchful Johnny Chang.

‘
He didn
’
t hate her enough,
’
she said.
‘
Whoever killed her did so out of hatred.
’

‘
Do you mean because he disfigured her face?
’
said Mrs. Henderson.

‘
Not only that,
’
said Angela.
‘
It
’
s an awfully violent thing to do, I ad
mit, but it
’
s logical if you want to prevent the police from finding out who she was. But I was rather referring to the thing as a whole. It
’
s almost incomprehensible: someone brought her down here and deliberately poisoned her to put her out of the way.
R
ather a lot of effort to go to for a girl who worked in a night-club and presumably gave no trouble to anybody, don
’
t you think?
’

‘
Then she must have given trouble to somebody,
’
said Mrs. Henderson.
‘
You might bash a girl over the head in a fit of anger, b
ut you don
’
t poison somebody on the spur of the moment.
’

‘
Exactly,
’
said Angela eagerly. That was what she had been struggling to put into words herself. She glanced around and saw Lady Alice, who was still standing nearby, regarding her intently. The old
woman caught Angela
’
s eye and looked away.

‘
I wonder how they lured her down here,
’
said Mrs. Henderson. She was about to say something else, when their attention was arrested by the sound of a disturbance across the other side of the room, and they turned
to see P. C. Bass, blushing furiously, throwing a coat over one of Marguerite
’
s art-works, while people looked on with varying degrees of amusement or astonishment.

Marguerite pushed her way through the crowd and accosted the young constable.

‘
What on ear
th are you doing? Oh,
do
please be careful with that,
’
she said, as she saw Bass preparing to throw a jacket over another one of the sculptures. She turned to Sergeant Spillett, who was now approaching.
‘
What is going on?
’
she said.

The room had now fallen
silent. Sergeant Spillett, also slightly pink in the face, said,
‘
We
’
ve just now received a formal complaint about these here statues from a member of the public, who considers them to be obscene and an affront to public decency. We are obliged to act on
any such complaints, so it is my official duty to tell you that this exhibition is now closed.
’

‘
What?
’
exclaimed Marguerite. She put her hand beseechingly on Spillett
’
s arm.
‘
Why, sergeant, you can
’
t mean it, surely?
’

‘
I
’
m afraid I do,
’
said the sergeant.
‘
You must all leave immediately. Mr. Henderson, if you
’
ll kindly give me the keys, I shall make sure the door is locked. P. C. Bass and I will come back tomorrow to examine these statues in greater detail
—’

‘
I
’
ll bet they will,
’
murmured Freddy at Angela
’
s elbow.

‘—
to see if there are any grounds for prosecution.
’

‘
Prosecution?
’
gasped Marguerite in horror.
‘
But my sculptures! What are you going to do with them? Surely nobody could find them offensive? Why, they are merely abstract representations of certa
in aspects of the human body in all its natural glory and beauty. What is offensive about that?
’

‘
That
’
s as may be,
’
said Spillett uncomfortably,
‘
but it
’
s not for me to decide in the final instance. A judge may decide that they ought to be destroyed.
’

As
soon as he said that, Vassily gave a great roar of outrage.