Behold Here's Poison (12 page)

'It is not a question of secrets, Mrs Lupton,' replied Hannasyde. 'It is merely that I prefer —'

'If you have anything to ask my husband, you may ask it in my presence,' interrupted Mrs Lupton. 'No doubt I shall be a good deal more competent to answer anything relevant to the affairs of this house than he.'

'I'm afraid you don't understand, Mrs Lupton,' intervened Giles. 'Superintendent Hannasyde has to proceed in the—er—customary way. There is no —'

'Henry!' said Mrs Lupton, unheeding. 'Will you kindly inform the Superintendent that you have no objection to my presence?'

'Well, my dear, naturally I—naturally I —'

'It is now obvious to us all that he has every objection,' said Randall. 'You know, you had very much better withdraw, my dear aunt. I feel sure that Uncle Henry's double life is going to be exposed. My own conviction is that he has been keeping a mistress for years.'

Giles could not forbear casting a quick look from Randall's handsome, mocking face to Henry Lupton's grey one. The little man tried to laugh, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Superintendent Hannasyde remained immovable.

Mrs Lupton flushed. 'You forget yourself, Randall. I am not going to stand here and see my husband insulted by your ill-bred notions of what is funny.'

'Oh, I wasn't insulting him,' said Randall. 'Why shouldn't he have a mistress? I am inclined to think that in his place—as your spouse, my dear Aunt Gertrude—I should have several.'

Across the room Giles' eyes encountered Hannasyde's for one pregnant moment. It was evident that Randall had at last succeeded in startling the Superintendent.

Mrs Lupton seemed to swell. 'You will either apologise for your impertinence, Randall, or I leave this room. Never have I been spoken to in such a manner!'

'Dear aunt!' said Randall, and kissed his fingers to her. Mrs Lupton swept round, and stalked from the room. Randall inhaled a deep breath of tobacco smoke. 'I said you might need me,' he remarked, and lounged towards the door.

Henry Lupton said in a strangled voice: 'Wait, Randall! What—what do you mean by this—this very questionable joke?'

Randall glanced contemptuously down at him. 'My good uncle, I have got you out of one mess: get yourself out of this!' he said, and walked negligently out of the room.

Giles would have followed him, but Lupton, a tinge of colour now in his cheeks, stopped him, saying: 'Please don't go, Mr Carrington! I—really, I should prefer you to remain! You are a legal man, and I —'

'I cannot undertake to advise you, Mr Lupton,' Giles said. 'I am here merely as the late Mr Matthews' solicitor.'

'Quite, quite! But my position —'

'By all means stay,' interposed Hannasyde. He laid his own letter before Henry Lupton. 'Did you write this, Mr Lupton?'

Lupton glanced unhappily at it. 'Yes. That is—yes, I wrote it. We—my brother-in-law and I—had a slight disagreement over a—a personal matter. Such things will happen in the best regulated families, you know. I thought it would be best if we met and talked it over. Without prejudice, you know.'

'Did you meet him?' Hannasyde asked.

'No. Oh, no! You see, he died before there was really time.'

'Did he answer your letter, Mr Lupton?'

'Only by telephone. Just to let me know that he couldn't manage an appointment.' He gave a nervous laugh. 'I was very much annoyed at the time—well, my brother-in-law had a sort of manner that rather put one's back up, if you know what I mean.'

Hannasyde said in his measured way: 'Mr Lupton, I want you to realise one thing. Except in so far as they may have a bearing on this case I am not concerned with your private affairs. Nor, I can assure you, have I any desire to make wanton trouble in your family circle. But when I went through the late Mr Matthews' papers at his office, with Mr Carrington here, I found the name and address of a lady calling herself Gladys Smith. You will understand that I had of course to follow this up. I called on Mrs Smith at her flat yesterday, and what I saw and heard there were sufficient to convince me that you are—intimately acquainted with her.'

Henry Lupton looked towards Giles for support, and getting none said in a blustering voice: 'Well, and what if I am? I should like to know what bearing it can have on this case?'

'That is what I also want to know, Mr Lupton.' Hannasyde left a pause, but Henry Lupton said nothing, and after a minute he continued: 'You had an appointment to see your brother-in-law on Monday, 13th May.'

Lupton moved uneasily in his chair. 'Yes, certainly I had. But this is—is quite ridiculous! There is no reason why you should drag in Mrs Smith's name.'

'Are you going to tell me, Mr Lupton, that your appointment with the late Mr Matthews had no bearing on Mrs Smith—whose name and address I found in his diary?'

It was evident that Henry Lupton hardly knew what to reply. He mumbled something about consulting his solicitor, seemed to think better of it, and chancing to catch sight of his own letter to Gregory Matthews, said with a good deal of agitation: 'I didn't poison him, if that's what you suspect! Yes, yes, I know very well what's in your mind, and I admit I was a fool to write that letter. That ought to convince you—for I never dreamed that anything like this would happen.'

'I don't suspect anything,' said Hannasyde calmly. 'But it is obvious to me that at the time of his death you were on bad terms with Gregory Matthews; equally obvious that the existence of Mrs Smith had something to do with that. I think Mr Carrington, in the absence of your own solicitor, would advise you to be frank with me.'

Giles said nothing, but Henry Lupton, dropping his head into his hands, groaned, and answered: 'Of course I've no desire to obstruct the police. Naturally I—I appreciate your position, Superintendent, but my own is—is extremely equivocal. My wife has no suspicion—I have my daughters to consider, and my whole object is to is to—'

'Please understand, Mr Lupton, that I am not here to investigate public morals,' said Hannasyde coldly. 'I can only tell you in all honesty that your relations with Mrs Smith are more likely to become known through a refusal on your part to be frank with me than through a voluntary statement made to me now.'

'Yes,' agreed Lupton unhappily. 'I see that, of course. I suppose you'll make inquiries, and it'll get round.' He gave a shudder, and lifted his head. 'I have known Mrs Smith for a number of years,' he said, not meeting Hannasyde's gaze. 'I needn't go into all that, need I? My work takes me about the country a good deal. I—there has always been plenty of opportunity without creating suspicion. I've been very careful. I don't know how my brother-in-law found out. It's a mystery to me. But he did find out. He asked me to call at his office. I'd no idea—I thought it odd, but he was a strange man, and it didn't cross my mind… anyway, I went, and he taxed me with—with my connection with Mrs Smith.' His face twitched. He clasped his hands tightly on his knee, and said in a constricted voice: 'He knew all about it. He even knew when I'd last been with her, and how they thought—the other people in the block, I mean—that I was a commercial traveller. He must have made the most minute inquiries. It was no use denying it. He knew everything - oh, things one wouldn't have thought he could know! He - was very unpleasant about it.' He broke off, and turned with a kind of appeal towards Giles. 'You knew him, Carrington. It's no good trying to explain to the Superintendent. No one who was unacquainted with Gregory would understand.'

'I didn't know him well,' Giles answered.

'You must have seen the type of man he was. Power! That's what he liked! He didn't care about my wife, you know. Not enough to make him threaten me with exposure. That wasn't it. It was - a cruel streak in his nature. They're all of them like that, the Matthews, in a way. He wanted to pull the strings and see the puppets dance. Well, I told him he couldn't do that with me. I - I have danced, often, in - in minor things, but this was different. I don't want you to think of it as a mere sordid intrigue, because I swear it's not like that. Mrs Smith - well, she's just the same as a wife to me. I'd marry her if I could, but, you see, it's all so impossible. There are my daughters, for one thing, and my position, and - and my wife, of course. I've even got a grandson. One can't, you know. But that's what I meant when I wrote that.' He pointed to the letter, lying on the desk before Hannasyde.

Hannasyde picked it up. 'The phrase, you will have cause to regret it if you drive me to take desperate action - that meant that you were seriously contemplating divorce, Mr Lupton?'

'Yes, I think I meant that. I don't know. I was terribly worried. I couldn't see my way out of the trouble. I wrote that to try and frighten him. I thought he might hesitate to push me too far if he knew I was prepared to stand by Gladys, and let everything else go to the devil. After all he wouldn't want an open scandal in the family, and it wasn't as though my wife suffered in any way through Mrs Smith.'

'I quite understand that,' said Hannasyde. 'You asked him for a second interview, but he refused it, didn't he?'

Henry Lupton nodded, and gulped. 'Yes, he refused it. That was the last time I spoke to him. On the morning of the day he died, just over the telephone. He rang me up from his office. I never saw him again.'

'At what time did he ring you up, Mr Lupton?'

'Oh, quite early! Not later than eleven.'

'I see. And what did you do then?'

Lupton stared at him. 'Nothing. That is, I was at my office, you see. I had my work. I couldn't do anything.'

'You didn't make any attempt to see Mr Matthews—during lunch-time, for instance?'

'No. It wouldn't have been any use. I knew Gregory. I had lunch by myself. I wanted time to think.'

'Where did you lunch, Mr Lupton?'

'At my usual place. It's a quiet little restaurant called the Vine. They know me there. I'm sure they'll be able to bear me out.'

'And after lunch?'

'I went back to the office, of course. As a matter of fact, I left earlier than I generally do. Well, before tea.'

'Where did you go?'

'To Golders Green. I wanted to see Mrs Smith.'

'Ah, yes,' Hannasyde said suavely. 'You naturally wished to discuss the matter with her.'

'Well, no. No, actually I didn't speak of it. I meant to, but—but I still hoped there might be some way of getting round it, and—you see, we never spoke of my—my home-life. And I didn't want to upset Gladys. I haven't told her anything about what's happened. Just that we have had a death in the family.'

'Oh!' said Hannasyde. 'At what hour did you leave Mrs Smith?'

'I don't really know. I was home in time for dinner. I mean, I went straight home from Golders Green.' 'And after dinner?'

'We had some people in for Bridge. I didn't leave the house again until next day, when we came here.'

'Thank you.' Hannasyde was jotting something down in his notebook. His tone conveyed nothing.

Lupton looked anxiously at him. 'I don't know if there's anything more you want to know, or if I can go? My wife will be —'

'No, there is nothing more at present,' said Hannasyde.

Henry Lupton got up. 'Then—?'

'By all means,' said Hannasyde.

The little man withdrew, and Giles came away from the window, where he had been standing, and said: 'Poor devil! What a mess to have got himself into! You don't like his story?'

'I don't like his alibi.'

'Which one? Oh, Gladys Smith! I should think he probably did go there. Vague idea of seeking comfort. Rather pathetic.'

'Anyway, she'll swear he was with her,' Hannasyde said.

'Probably, but I don't quite see how he could have come here at that hour without being seen by some of the household, if that's what you're driving at.'

'Easily,' said Hannasyde, with a touch of scorn. 'There are more ways of getting into this house than by the front-door, Mr Carrington. There's a garden-door, for instance, which opens out of a cloakroom on to a path at the side of the house. Anyone would use that door if he wanted to be unobserved. The backstairs come down just by the cloakroom. He would only have to choose his moment. The family and the servants would all be having tea. He might reasonably bank on the coast's being clear.'

'Yes, but what would have been the use?' asked Giles. 'Matthews wasn't at home then. Into what would he have dropped his poison?'

'I'm thinking of that bottle of tonic—so providentially smashed,' said Hannasyde.

Giles wrinkled his brow. 'Would he have known where it was kept? And how could he have arranged to smash it?'

'He might have known. Simple enough to smash it when he came round next morning with his wife.'

'Oh!' said Giles doubtfully. 'Think it's quite in keeping with his character? Such a weak little man!'

'He was feeling desperate, Mr Carrington. He admitted that himself. I should say this Gladys Smith is about the biggest thing in his life.'

'Divorce seems to me to be a solution more likely to appeal to him than murder,' said Giles.

Hannasyde shook his head decidedly. 'I don't agree with you. He wouldn't face up to that sort of a scandal. Probably fond of his daughters too. If he did the murder it was because he thought he could get clean away with it. He couldn't have got clean away with a divorce—not with that wife. There'd have been the hell of a row.'

'All very well,' objected Giles, 'but he couldn't have been sure that by killing Matthews he was protecting himself. Matthews might have told someone else. In fact, he did. That young sweep, Randall, wasn't drawing a bow at a venture. He knew.'

'He knew, yes, but, if you noticed, Lupton was amazed that he knew. He probably believed Matthews had so far kept the secret to himself.' He picked up Lupton's letter, and placed it in his pocket-book. Then he looked thoughtfully at the desk, and pulled open one of the drawers, and frowned. It was the odds-and-ends drawer. 'I wish—I wish very much that I knew what Mr Randall Matthews found to interest him amongst this collection,' he said.

'Was he interested? I didn't notice.'

'I'm nearly sure he was. But whether it was in something which he saw, or in something which he expected to see, and didn't, I don't know. Setting aside his duties as executor—which I don't fancy would worry him much—why did he want to be here when we went through his uncle's papers? What did he think we should find?'