‘Ain’t she the snail’s ankles?’ asked Mr da Soto admiringly.
There seemed to be no further information to be gathered from Leila Garland, whom Harriet put down in her own mind as ‘a regular little gold-digger and as vain as a monkey’. As for da Soto, he looked harmless enough, and did not seem to have any pressing reason for doing away with Alexis. One never knew, of course, with these slinky people of confused nationality. Just as she was thinking this, da Soto drew out his watch.
‘You will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I have a rehearsal at two o’clock. As always, Tuesdays and Thursdays.’
He bowed and left them, with his lithe walk, between a lounge and a swagger. Had he deliberately mentioned Thursdays in order to direct attention to an alibi for Thursday, 18th? And how did he know the time for which an alibi was required? That particular detail had not been allowed to get into the papers, and it was not likely to do so until the inquest. And yet – could one attach any importance to the remark? An alibi depending on an orchestra rehearsal was so easily established or refuted. Then an explanation occurred to her: the police would already have asked da Soto about his movements last Thursday. But surely they would not have emphasised the crucial time to that extent. They had agreed that the less anybody knew about the time the better – it would be helpful in the inquiry if anyone were to come forward ostentatiously flourishing an alibi for two o’clock.
Harriet returned with Antoine, still not quite knowing what to make of da Soto. It was still only a quarter past two; she had time to carry out a new plan which she had formed. She put some clothes in a suit-case and went round to interview Paul Alexis’ landlady, Mrs Lefranc.
The door of the cheap-looking lodging-house was opened to her by an ample personage with brazen hair, who was dressed in a pink wrapper, much-laddered artificial silk stockings and green velvet mules, and wore about her heavily powdered neck a string of synthetic-amber beads like pigeon’s eggs.
‘Good morning,’ said Harriet, ‘I’m looking for a room.’
The lady eyed her shrewdly and said:
‘Professional, dearie?’
‘To say ‘Yes’ was tempting but unsafe. Mrs Lefranc looked as though what she did not know about professionals could have been written on a threepenny bit. Besides, Harriet was becoming well-known in Wilvercombe – she could scarcely hope to hide her identity for ever.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I write books. In fact, Mrs Lefranc, I’m the person who found poor Mr Alexis last week. I’ve been staying at the Resplendent, but it’s terribly expensive, and I thought, if your room was still vacant, I might be able to take it.’
‘Well, there!’ said Mrs Lefranc. She opened the door a little wider, but seemed to be divided between suspicion and curiosity. ‘Well, there! I hardly know what to say. You ain’t one of these journalists?’
‘Oh, dear, no,’ replied Harriet.
‘Because,’ said Mrs Lefranc, ‘with those fellers you never know where you are. Worried to death I’ve been with them, poking their long noses into my private affairs. But of course you can’t help but feel an interest, dearie, can you, seeing it was you that found him, poor boy. Come along in. Excuse my negleegy, won’t you? If I’m not up and down, up and down, keeping an eye on that girl, I don’t know where we’d all be. I don’t get time to posh myself up of a morning. How long would you be wanting the room for?’
‘I don’t quite know. It depends on when they have the inquest.’
‘Ah, yes – and they’ve got to find him first, poor lamb, ain’t they? You know, I’ve got such a warm heart, I can’t sleep at nights for thinking of him washing about in all that nasty sea. Mind the coal-scuttle, dearie; the times I tell that girl not to leave it on the stairs. It’s a lovely room on the first floor – quite the best in the house, and you’ll find the bed comfortable. Poor Mr Alexis always said it was like a home to him and I’m sure he was like a son to me.’
Mrs Lefranc led the way up, her green mules flapping and displaying large holes in the heels of her stockings.
‘There, dearie!’ said Mrs Lefranc, throwing open the door. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t find better in Wilvercombe, and it’s nice and quiet – you’ll be able to do your writing beautiful. I’ve had it all cleaned up and his clothes and things put away – and if you was to dislike his books and bits of things about, I could easy put them to the one side. But there! I daresay you won’t mind them. It’s not as if he’d died in this room, is it, poor soul? And I’m sure Mr Alexis was far too much the gentleman to commit a rash act on anybody’s premises. That kind of thing do give a place a bad name, there’s no denying it, and one is apt to be blamed for things as aren’t in any woman’s control, try as she may to make her visitors happy. But as to the books, well, of course, if it had been anything infectious they’d have to have been destroyed, though as to who they belong to now I don’t know, I’m sure and the police can’t tell me either, and I daresay they’ve as much right here as anywhere, with me being like a mother to him this year past and more. But anything infectious there is not, for he never was subject to any such complaint, enjoying good health as a rule, barring the pain in his joints which he had to lay up for at times, and the agony he went through was cruel. I’m sure my heart bled for him, and the amount of antipyrin he took for it would surprise you and he never would have a doctor. But there! I don’t blame him. My sister had the rheumatics something cruel and the amount she spent on doctors and electric treatment and nothing to show for it, except her knee swelled up like a pumpkin. And she lost the use of the limb altogether, which was a cruel thing for a woman in her profession. A trapeze-artist, she was; I’ve got her photograph in my room if you would like to see it one day, dearie, and the wreaths her old pals sent to her funeral was beautiful to see. Covered the hearse, they did, and they had to have an extra carriage on purpose for them. But as I was saying, if you don’t care about the books I’ll take them away. I’m not going to have that Weldon woman or Leila Garland – the little cat – coming here trying to get hold of them.’
The room was pleasant enough – large and airy and much cleaner than Harriet could have hoped from Mrs Lefranc’s appearance. The furniture was, of course, hideous, but, though shabby, solid and in good order. The books were just as Inspector Umpelty had described them: mainly novels in cheap editions, with some Russian paper-backs and a few volumes of Russian Court memoirs. The only striking relic of the former tenant was a very beautiful little ikon hung at the head of the bed – certainly old and probably valuable.
For form’s sake Harriet entered upon a long haggle with Mrs Lefranc about terms, emerging victorious with an inclusive charge of two and a half guineas per week, or twelve shillings and find yourself.
‘And it’s not everybody I’d do that for,’ said Mrs Lefranc. ‘Only I can see you’re one of the quiet sort. If there’s a thing I don’t want in my house it’s trouble. Though I’m sure all this dreadful business is trouble enough for anybody. The cruel shock it was to me,’ said Mrs Lefranc, gasping a little and sitting down on the bed, as though to demonstrate that the shock had not yet spent its force. ‘I was that fond of poor Mr Alexis.’
‘I’m sure you must have been.’
‘Such a thoughtful boy,’ pursued Mrs Lefranc, ‘and the manners of a prince, he had. I’m sure, many’s the time when I was run off my feet with the girl and the lodgers and all, he’d say, “Cheer up, ma” – they all call me that, “cheer up, ma. Have a little cocktail with me and here’s to better days.” Just like a son he was to me, I’m sure.’
Whatever Harriet may have thought of this touching reminiscence, which sounded quite unlike anything she had heard of Paul Alexis, she did not ignore the hint.
‘How about a spot of something now?’ she suggested.
‘I’m sure,’ said Mrs Lefranc, ‘I wasn’t meaning – well, there! It’s no end sweet of you, dearie, but I couldn’t touch anything this time in the day. Not but what there’s the jug-and-bottle at the Dragon just round the c
orner, which comes very convenient, and there’s no doubt as a drop of gin do help your dinner to settle.’
Harriet bent her energies to overcoming the resistance of Mrs Lefranc, who presently put her head over the staircase and called to ‘the girl’ to slip round to the Dragon for a suitable quantity of gin.
‘They know me,’ she added, with a wink. ‘What with these ridiculous laws about bottles and half-bottles, if they don’t know you, they’d get you all locked-up before you knew where you were. You’d think they wanted to make folks drunk by Act of Parliament, wouldn’t you? What with one thing and another and the police sticking their noses in and asking questions – as though my house wasn’t always as well-conducted as the Archbishop of Canterbury’s – and they know it too, for I’ve been here twenty years and never a complaint – it’s hard for a decent woman to keep her head above water these days. And one thing I can say – I’ve never stinted anybody. My house is just like home to ’em, and so you’ll find it, dearie.’
Under the influence of gin-and-water, Mrs Lefranc became less and less guarded. She had her own version of the Leila Garland complication.
‘What there might be between those two,’ she observed, ‘I couldn’t tell you, dearie. It’s not my business, so long as my visitors conducts themselves quietly. I always say to my girls, “I’m not against ladies seeing their gentlemen-friends and contrariwise, provided there’s no trouble caused. We’ve all been young once,” I say to them, “but you will please to remember we want no trouble here.” That’s what I say, and there’s never been a mite of trouble in this house till now. But I must say I wasn’t sorry when that little cat took herself off. No, I wasn’t. Nor I didn’t like that dago of hers, either. I hope she’s making him pay through the nose. You couldn’t give that girl enough. Not but what she didn’t make herself pleasant enough, and bring me a bunch of flowers or a little present when she came to see Mr Alexis, though where the money came from I was not asking. But when poor Mr Alexis told me that she had taken up with this da Soto fellow, I said, “You’re well rid of her.” That’s what I said, and if you ask me, he knew it well enough.’
‘You don’t think he killed himself on her account, then?’
‘I do not,’ said Mrs Lefranc. ‘And I’m sure I’ve puzzled my head often enough wondering why he did it. It wasn’t on account of the old lady he was engaged to – I know that. To tell you the truth, dearie, he never expected that to come off. Of course, a young man in his position has to humour his ladies, but her family never would have stood it. Mr Alexis as good as told me that would never come off – and not so long ago either. “You see, ma,” he said to me no longer ago than last Sunday week, “one of these days I may do still better for myself.” “Oh, yes,” I says to him, “you will be marrying the Princess of China, you will, like Aladdin in the Panto.” No. I’ve thought about it over and over again, and I’ll tell you what I think. I think it was his speculations went wrong.’
‘Speculations?’
‘Yes – those speculations of his in foreign countries. The letters he used to get! All stuck over with foreign stamps and addressed in funny handwriting. I used to chaff him about them. Reports, he said they were, and if they came right, he’d be one of the biggest men in the world. He used to say, “Ma, when my ship comes in, I’ll give you a tiara stuck full of diamonds and make you housekeeper to royalty.” Oh, dear, many’s the laugh we’ve had together over it. Not but what there was a time when I could have had tiaras and necklaces if I’d wanted ’em. One of these days I’ll show you my newspaper critiques. Airy-fairy-Lilian they used to call me when I was principal boy in old Rosenbaum’s shows, though you mightn’t think it to look at me now, dearie, for my figure’s spread a bit, there ain’t no denying.’
Harriet admired and sympathised, and led Mrs Lefranc gently back to the subject of the foreign letters.
‘Well, dearie, there was one of them come two days before this dreadful thing happened. It must have been a long one, for he was shut up hours and hours with it. Working out his position, he used to call it. Well I think there must have been bad news in it, though he didn’t let on. But he was queer all that day and the next. Seemed as though he didn’t see you or hear you when you spoke to him. And laughing – hysterical, I should call it, if he’d been a girl. He kissed me on the Wednesday night when he went up to his bed. Joking he was and talking wild, but I didn’t pay attention. That was rather his way, you know. “One of these days,” he said, “you’ll find I’ve opened my wings and gone.” Little did I think – oh, dear me! Poor boy! I can see now that was just his way of breaking it to me. I heard him about in his room all night. Burning his papers, he was, poor dear lad. He’d had a dreadful disappointment and he didn’t want anybody to know. And in the morning he gave me his week’s money. “I know it’s a bit early,” he said – because, of course, it wasn’t due till Saturday, “but if I give it to you now, it’ll be safe,” he said. “If I took it out with me, I might spend it.” Of course I know what was in his mind, poor dear. He knew he was going out and he didn’t want me to suffer; he always was considerate. But when I think now that a word might have saved him –’
Mrs Lefranc burst into tears.
‘I did think he might have been going away sudden to see after his speculations, but he didn’t pack up anything, so of course I put that out of my mind. And as for him doing what he did do – how could I have thought it? He seemed in such high spirits. But there! I might have guessed, if my mind hadn’t been full of other things – only what with the girl giving notice as she did that morning and one thing and another, I didn’t pay attention. But they often do seem to be in high spirits before they put an end to themselves. There was poor Billy Carnaby – he was just the same. Gave an oyster-and-champagne party to the whole cast on his last night with his last penny and him the life and soul of it, making us split our sides – and then went off and blew his brains out in the gentlemen’s lavatory.’
Mrs Lefranc cried bitterly for a few moments.
‘But there!’ she exclaimed, suddenly pulling herself together and blowing her nose, ‘life’s a funny thing and you can’t account for it, can you? Let’s be happy while we can. We’ll all be having a little white stone over us before long and it don’t matter so much how or when. When was you wanting to take the room, dearie?’
‘I’ll be coming in tonight,’ said Harriet. ‘I don’t know whether I’ll want my board or not, but if I leave my suitcase and pay you the twelve shillings for the room in advance, that’ll be all right, won’t it?’
‘That’s O.K., dearie,’ said Mrs Lefranc, obviously cheered. ‘Just you come when you like, you’ll be happy with Ma Lefranc. There, now, you’ll think I’ve been talking enough to fetch the hind leg off a donkey, but what I say is, a good cry now and again does you good when the world ain’t using you well. All my young people brings their troubles to me. I only wish poor Mr Alexis had told me all his worries and he’d be here now. But he was a foreigner, when all’s said and done and they aren’t like us, are they? Mind that dustpan, dearie. Time and again I tell them not to leave things on the stairs, but you might as well talk to the cat. Five mice she left on my door-mat yesterday morning, if you’ll believe me, not that they ever come upstairs, dearie, and don’t you think it, but the cellars is overrun with them, the dirty little beasts. Well, so long, dearie, and by the way, here’s your latch-key. It’s lucky I had a new one cut; poor Mr Alexis took his away with him when he went and goodness knows where it is now. I let my visitors come in when and how they like; you’ll find yourself comfortable here.’
XVI
THE EVIDENCE OF THE SANDS
‘This is the oft-wished hour, when we together
May walk upon the sea-shore.’
Death’s Jest-Book
Tuesday, 23 June
If either Harriet Vane or Lord Peter Wimsey felt any embarrassment at meeting again after their burst of free speech, they did not show it. Both had a story to tell, and were thu
s spared the awkwardness of being gravelled for lack of matter.
‘Cipher letters? Is it possible that Mrs Weldon is all right and that we are all wrong? It makes it look more like murder, anyhow, which is one up to us. I don’t think much of Mrs Lefranc’s suggestion about speculations, but it’s perfectly obvious that Alexis had some scheme in hand, and it may be that the scheme went wrong. I don’t know. . . . I don’t know. . . . Were there, perhaps, two different sets of circumstances? Is it an accident that Alexis should have been killed just as his plans were maturing? He seems to have been surrounded by a bunch of curiously unpleasant people – liars and half-wits and prostitutes and dagoes.’
‘Yes; I can’t say we’re moving in very exalted circles. Antoine is the decentest of them – but probably you don’t approve of Antoine.’
‘Is that meant for a challenge? I know all about Antoine. Vetted him last night.’
‘To see if he was nice for me to know?’
‘Not altogether. Part of the process of exploring the ground. He seems a modest, sensible fellow. It’s not his fault that he suffers from lack of vitality and incipient melancholia. He’s supporting a mother in an asylum and looks after an imbecile brother at home.’
‘Does he?’
‘Apparently; but that doesn’t mean that his own wits are not quite reliable at the moment. He was a little more frank about Alexis’ love-affairs than he could be to you. Alexis seems to have taken a fairly robust view of his association with Mrs Weldon, and to have got rid of Leila with more than ordinary tact and ability. Da Soto is a bad egg, of course, but good enough for Leila, and he is probably vain enough to believe quite sincerely that he took her from Alexis vi et armis. But why all this? Well, never mind; let’s have our tea. Hullo! Great activity out at sea! Two boats stationed off the Grinders.’