‘What minute?’
‘I don’t know what the time was, not for certain. It must have been soon after seven. I heard a stealthy footstep in the hall, as if someone was walking on tip-toe, and I went to the door, like this, and there was Miss Birtley, just about to let herself out of the house.’
The Chief Inspector was unimpressed. ‘Any reason why she shouldn’t have been letting herself out? When is she due to knock off each day?’
‘At six o’clock, unless Madam wished her to stay on. And so she did, Chief Inspector, for with my own eyes I saw her leave the house then!’
‘Then how did she get in again?’
‘Miss Birtley has a duplicate latch-key. I was considerably astonished to see her, and it seemed to me that she was taking care not to be heard. When I spoke to her, she gave a start, and seemed much discomposed.’
‘She did, did she? What had she come back for?’
‘She informed me, Chief Inspector, that she had omitted to take away with her the cheque handed to her this morning by Mrs Haddington, to pay the accounts with. I need hardly say that I should be reluctant – most reluctant I should be! – to get a fellow-creature into trouble, but at the time it struck me as being Odd. I won’t say suspicious, but definitely Odd. Knowing that Mrs Haddington had wished to speak with her before her departure, I requested her to wait while I ascertained whether Madam had any message for her.’ He paused, and added impressively: ‘Miss Birtley was very reluctant to do so. In fact, she did not wish me to go up to the boudoir. But I was Adamant! I went – and that was what I found! I do not know when anything has given me such a Turn, Chief Inspector!’
‘And what were your own movements?’ asked Hemingway.
Thrimby was not to be so easily baulked. He said: ‘As soon as I realised that Mrs Haddington had been foully done to death, I commanded Miss Birtley to go into the library, and I sent immediately to request Mrs Foston, the housekeeper, to remain there with her until your arrival.’
‘And what,’ repeated Hemingway, ‘were your own movements?’
‘After the departure of Mr Poulton, which would have been at about a quarter-to-seven, as near as I can remember, I was in my pantry till I came up to lay the table.’
‘Yes, well, now suppose you were to tell me just who has been here this evening?’ suggested Hemingway.
‘I ought, perhaps, to tell you first, Chief Inspector, that I overheard a very unpleasant scene this morning between Mrs Haddington and Miss Birtley. I’m sure I would prefer not to mention the matter, but I feel it to be my duty to inform you that Miss Birtley addressed Mrs Haddington in what I should call threatening terms. She said that she wouldn’t be interfered with, and there were no lengths she wouldn’t go to, if she was goaded to it. Then she said, and, I must say, I was shocked, that if she couldn’t have Mr Harte – Timothy, she called him – she didn’t care what became of her. At which point, I thought it proper to intervene, which, Chief Inspector, I did. Quite murderous, Miss Birtley looked: I thought so at the time!’
Hemingway listened dispassionately to this story. He was interested, but he disappointed the butler by betraying no signs of excitement whatsoever. He felt none. It was possible, in his view, that Miss Birtley had strangled her employer, but he had interrogated too many witnesses not to recognise spite when he was confronted with it. By dint of some skilful questioning, he elicited from Thrimby a fairly coherent account of the day’s happenings. ‘So, setting aside the doctor’s visit, no one came to the house between the time he left, and the time Mr Butterwick arrived? Very well! You say that Lord Guisborough called before Mr Butterwick had left the house. Did you see Mr Butterwick out?’
‘No, for I was engaged in showing his lordship up to the drawing-room. By the time I came downstairs again, Mr Butterwick had departed. I did not actually see Lord Guisborough out either, though I heard him go. His lordship, not waiting for me to show him out, slammed the door with considerable violence. Mrs Haddington seemed quite put out: in fact she spoke to me as I am not at all accustomed to be spoken to, actually coming to the head of the stairs to know what had kept me, which nothing had, Chief Inspector, but it is not my custom to go dashing upstairs! She then instructed me to say in future, if his lordship called or rang up, that she was not at home. It is my belief that Mrs Haddington did not, as one might say, fancy his lordship. Of course, it is not for me to venture an opinion, Chief Inspector, but one can’t help putting two and two together. What with his lord ship running after Miss Cynthia, till it is quite noticeable, and Mrs Haddington asking him to come to see her this afternoon, and then his lordship rushing out of the house, and Mrs Haddington saying what she did, one can’t doubt that she had told him it was no use him thinking of Miss Cynthia, for she wouldn’t consent. Miss Cynthia, I should mention, is under age. Strictly between ourselves, Chief Inspector, it’s common knowledge, in the Hall, that it’s Mr Harte Mrs Haddington wanted for Miss Cynthia. Well, when he first visited here, I must say I thought there was something in it. But then he seemed to get sweet on Miss Birtley all at once – and there has been a certain amount of unpleasantness, Miss Birtley being a young woman with a temper, and I regret to say, not always as civil as she might be. Really, I was quite shocked at her this morning; and naturally I couldn’t but recall the words she had with Mr Seaton-Carew, the night he was murdered. Almost the same they were, though I don’t precisely remember them now. Threaten ing, is what I should call them.’
‘Never mind about Miss Birtley for the moment! After Lord Guisborough left the house, what happened?’
The butler reflected. ‘I went down to fetch the cocktailtray up to the drawing-room. I fancy Mrs Haddington must have gone up to Miss Cynthia’s room, for she asked me, when she came down, if I knew where Miss Cynthia was. Mapperley – that’s Mrs Haddington’s personal maid – thinks she went off to a party, but not having seen her go, I couldn’t say. She hasn’t yet returned.’
‘Just as well!’ muttered Hemingway. ‘Then what happened?’
‘Mrs Haddington went to see if Miss Cynthia was in the boudoir. It was then that Mr Poulton arrived, about 6.25, as near as I remember.’
‘Did Mrs Haddington seem pleased to see him, or not?’
‘Well, sir, I thought Mrs Haddington was better pleased to see him than he was to be here. I doubt if Mr Poulton has ever been in the house above twice or three times. I had the impression that he did not care for Mrs Haddington. But he is not a gentleman as shows his feelings. He asked for a private word with Mrs Haddington, and she took him into the boudoir, and that was the last time I saw her alive.’
‘I see. Tell me once again exactly what happened when the boudoir bell rang!’
‘When the bell rang,’ said the butler carefully, ‘I had of course been expecting it. I mounted the stairs from the basement, and when I reached the hall I saw Mr Poulton coming down the first flight.’
‘Was he in any way agitated? Did he seem quite as usual?’
‘So far as I could judge, he did. But I don’t know him well, and, as I say, he doesn’t give anything away. He was coming quite slowly downstairs, nor he didn’t hurry over putting on his coat. His car was waiting for him, and he drove off, as I told you.’
‘All right, that seems very clear,’ Hemingway said. ‘Did you say I would find Miss Birtley in the library?’
‘Yes, sir. I could not take it upon myself to allow Miss Birtley to leave the house. Mrs Foston is with her.’
‘All right, I know the way,’ Hemingway said.
He found Beulah and the housekeeper seated one on either side of the electric stove in the library. Beulah had thrown off her hat, but she still wore her tweed coat, into the pockets of which she had dug her hands. She looked white, and frightened. Mrs Foston, who rose at the Chief Inspector’s entrance, had been quietly knitting. She folded up the work, and said: ‘If you please, sir, Miss Birtley and I have thought it best to send for Miss Cynthia’s aunt, Miss Pickhill.’
‘Quite right,’ sa
id Hemingway.
‘I have also sent for Mr Harte!’ Beulah said.
‘Well, you’ve got a perfect right to send for anyone you like,’ replied Hemingway. ‘Anyone else you’ve rung up?’
‘No.’
‘That’s good. It wouldn’t really help any of us to have half London here. Thanks, Mrs Foston, I won’t keep you any longer.’
Mrs Foston glanced at Beulah. ‘That’s as may be, sir, but if Miss Birtley would like me to stay with her I’m very willing. Because no one’s going to make me believe a young lady would go and do such a nasty, cruel thing, whatever Thrimby may say! A piece of my mind is what he’s going to get, before he’s much older!’
‘You go and give it to him right now!’ Hemingway advised her. ‘You won’t do any good staying here, and whoever told you the police go around with thumbscrews in their pockets told you a lie: we aren’t allowed to.’
‘It’s all right!’ Beulah said, forcing up a smile. ‘I shan’t answer any questions until Mr Harte arrives.’
‘Well, if you’re sure, miss!’ Mrs Foston said.
Hemingway opened the door, and pushed her gently over the threshold. Having shut her out of the room, he turned and looked Beulah over. ‘You do get yourself into some awkward situations, don’t you?’ he remarked genially.
He caught her off her guard. ‘This is the worst I’ve been in yet! You needn’t think I don’t know that! I suppose you’ve already been told that I had a row with Mrs Haddington this morning?’
‘Oh, yes, I know all about that! Used threatening language, didn’t you? Silly thing to do, if you meant to murder her!’
‘I didn’t murder her!’
‘All right, let’s start from there! When did you leave the house?’
‘I’m not going to say any more than that! I know just where talking to the police gets you!’
‘Listen!’ said Hemingway patiently. ‘I’m quite pre pared to believe you had a raw deal eighteen months ago. Suppose you have a shot at believing that I’m not the Big, Bad Wolf ? I’m not even Inspector Underbarrow: in fact, far from it!’
‘If you mean the Inspector who dealt with my case –’
‘I do, and that’s all we’ll say about him. He’s all right in his way, but it isn’t my way, and the sooner you tumble to that the better we’ll get on together.’
‘I expect this is the velvet glove?’ said Beulah. ‘I didn’t murder Mrs Haddington – and that’s all!’
The door opened at that moment to admit Grant. He spoke in a low voice to his chief.
‘Oh, he’s turned up, has he? Yes, let him come in! I’ve got no objection. Just a moment: I want a word with you!’ He took the Inspector by the arm, and led him out into the hall. Here he found Timothy and his brother, divesting themselves of their coats. He said: ‘Now, what is all this? How many more people are going to walk in here? Anyone ‘ud think it was a soirée, or something! Good-evening, Mr Kane! And who might it have been who sent for you, may I ask?’
‘Sorry if you object,’ said Jim, ‘but I was with my brother when Miss Birtley rang up, and, all things considered, I thought I’d come along with him.’
‘Just to take care of him, I suppose? Yes, you never know what I might take it into my head to do to him, do you? Not but what I should have thought he was very well able to take care of himself – too well! If you want to have a word with Miss Birtley, Mr Harte, you’ll find her in there.’ He jerked his head towards the library, adding, as Timothy passed him: ‘And if you can convince her that the silliest thing she can do is to refuse to answer my questions, I shall be quite glad she sent for you!’
‘I’ll wait for you, Timothy,’ Jim said.
‘All right, but I’ve already told you there’s not the slightest need,’ Timothy replied over his shoulder.
‘I take it that the extraordinary story Miss Birtley told my brother was true?’ Jim said, as the library door shut behind Timothy.
‘If she told him that Mrs Haddington had been murdered, it was true enough, sir. If you like to wait in the dining-room, there’s a fire burning there.’
‘Very well. I don’t know how seriously you took my brother’s lack of alibi for that other affair, but I imagine this new development lets him out, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, he certainly didn’t commit this murder,’ said Hemingway. ‘If it’s any comfort to you, sir, I don’t propose to waste any time asking him what he was doing this afternoon. For one thing, it’s a safe bet you’d swear blind you were with him all day, and I’ve got enough on my hands without trying to prove you’re grossly deceiving me.’
Jim laughed, and limped into the dining-room. The Chief Inspector turned to Grant. ‘Go and pull Poulton in, Sandy! No charge: take him along to the Yard, to answer a few questions! I’ve got quite enough on him to warrant that. Treat him kindly, and let him kick his heels there till I come. That won’t hurt him!’
Fifteen
In the library, Beulah, looking up defensively when the door opened, flew into young Mr Harte’s arms. ‘Timothy! O God, what am I going to do?’
Mr Harte, trained by circumstance to act coolly in emergency, promptly cast a damper on what he correctly diagnosed to be rising hysteria. ‘Hallo, ducky!’ he said, kissing his betrothed with great affection. ‘Don’t knock me over! Have you got any face-powder in your bag?’
‘Yes, of course, but –’
‘Well, put some on your nose!’ begged Mr Harte. ‘Begin as you mean to go on! What a heedless wench you are! Don’t you know that the whole art of keeping a young husband happy is always to appear dainty in his eyes? That singularly repulsive adjective, let me inform you, embraces everything from face-powder to –’
‘Thanks, I can fill in the rest for myself !’ interrupted Beulah, slightly revived by this bracing treatment. ‘Don’t laugh at me! I’ve never been in such a jam in my life! I was here, Timothy! I had a row with her this morning, which Thrimby overheard; and I had no business to be here!’
‘Clearly booked for the scaffold. Calm yourself, my love!’
She drew herself out of his hold. ‘There’s worse. I’ve never told you. I meant – but it’s no use! If I don’t tell you, that policeman will! You’d better hear it from me!’
‘Hold all your horses!’ commanded Mr Harte. ‘I don’t deny that I should like to know exactly what is your grim past, but if you’re labouring under the delusion that Hemingway will disclose some hideous secret to me, or to any other layman, rid yourself of it! He won’t.’
She opened her handbag, and took out her hand kerchief. Having blown her nose with considerable violence, she said in a choked voice: ‘You’re so incredibly nice! Your brother practically told me I was a filthy cad not to confide in you, and I suppose he was right.’
‘The only thing that deters me from instantly bursting off to offer Jim his choice between pistols and swords is my conviction that he never said anything of the sort,’ returned Timothy.
‘Oh, he didn’t say it in so many words, but that was what he meant! Well, here it is! – I’m a gaol-bird!’
The effect of this pronouncement was not quite what she had expected. She had been prepared to see Mr Harte make a chivalrous attempt to conceal his feelings; she had been prepared to see him recoil. What she had never visualised was that he would sink into a chair by the desk, drop his head in his hand, and utter in shaken accents: ‘But what a line! No, really, darling, it’s terrific!’
‘It’s true!’ she said desperately.
‘Oh, no, I can’t bear it! What did they jug you for, my sweet? Manslaughter, due to furious driving?’
‘Forgery and embezzlement!’ she shot at him.
That made him raise his head. He looked at her for a moment, and held out his hand. Almost without meaning to, she put one of her own hands into it. He pulled her down on to his knee. ‘My poor precious! Tell me all about it, then!’ he said.
Instead of obeying this injunction, Beulah subsided on to his chest, and cried and cried. Mr Ha
rte very wisely confined his remarks to such soothing utterances as Never mind! and There, there! at the same time rubbing his cheek against her already tousled locks, and patting her in a comforting way. This very sensible treatment presently had its effect: Beulah stopped weeping, and said in an exhausted whisper: ‘I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it, Timothy!’
‘Look, ducky, don’t start me off again!’ begged Mr Harte. ‘You don’t have to tell me that! Who on earth did you have to defend you?’
‘I f-forget. I applied for legal aid, and they gave me an elderly man. They said he was a soup, or something.’
‘My darling, you need say no more! I have the whole picture!’ Timothy said. ‘This is the first time in my legal career when I’ve wished I’d chosen to be an Old Bailey Tub-thumper! If only I could have defended you – !’