Death with Blue Ribbon (12 page)

Grace stormed in.

‘Don't sit there blubbering, Maud,' she said sharply. ‘We must
do
something. We're going to fight this tooth and nail. How
dare
she do this? We'll dispute the whole thing.'

Miss Trudge showed unexpected shrewdness.

‘On what grounds?' she asked. Then, succumbing again to tears, ‘I can't believe it. That little emerald … it's so cruel. They hadn't spoken for years…'

‘It's an act of spite,' said Grace. ‘Nothing else. I taught her all she knew. A kind act never goes unpunished.'

Miss Trudge managed to lay a ten-shilling note on the counter.

‘Just a teeny … double,' she said. ‘I feel I need … Not even the furniture …'

‘Oh, shut up, Maud. This is just as she intended you to behave. Pull yourself together, woman. We've got to fight. I shall sue the estate for…'

Mr Smithers entered.

‘Good morning,' he said politely to Gloria. ‘A grapefruit juice, please.'

He opened his newspaper, and taking his drink went calmly to a table. Miss Trudge watched him, then with a strangled cry of indignation swallowed her drink, burst into tears and ran from the room.

‘You realise, don't you,' said Grace to Smithers, ‘that I shall
fight this all along the line. You're not going to get away with it.'

Smithers looked up.

‘What? Oh, that,' he said and returned to his paper.

‘Yes
that,'
said Grace, growing in her turn somewhat hysterical. ‘It's monstrous, and you know it. But if you think for a single moment that I'm going to stand by and let you grab …'

‘I should have thought this was hardly the place to discuss family matters,' said Smithers primly. He sipped his grapefruit juice.

‘But what are you going to
do
?' cried Grace.

‘I shall be returning to town on the 2.47.'

Grace received this announcement with a snort and left the room.

Mr Smithers put down his newspaper and addressed Carolus.

‘A little brighter this morning,' he observed.

‘Much,' said Carolus sitting down unbidden beside him.

‘I shall be sorry to return to London. It has been most pleasant down here.'

‘Rather disturbing for you, surely?'

Mr Smithers smiled.

‘Oh, I take things very much as they come, you know. We all have ups and downs.'

‘Very philosophical of you.' Then determined to break this complacency Carolus asked: ‘Do you think your wife was murdered?'

Mr Smithers seemed undisturbed by the question.

‘It's a moot point, isn't it?' he said chattily.

‘Were you satisfied with the coroner's verdict?'

‘Oh, I
think
so. There appears to be no doubt that she died
of suffocation. I believe such cases are not infrequent. I remember reading of one quite recently. In Plymouth, I seem to recall. Or was it Portsmouth? I don't know the South Coast very well, I'm afraid, though I'm told it's very attractive. I usually take my holidays in Wales.'

‘Your wife seemed somewhat excitable,' said Carolus, trying to draw Mr Smithers back from topography.

‘Somewhat, perhaps. No, it was Penzance. I remember now. A young child. Funny I should not have recalled it at once. I have an excellent memory.'

‘I understand you are the sole beneficiary under your wife's will.'

‘Yes. That is so. Quite a considerable estate, I believe. The career she made for herself was most lucrative. I was never much interested in gastronomy myself. Now if it had been gasteropods it would have been another matter. I have studied the snail—a most interesting mollusc.'

‘Reputed to move slowly but to get there in the end.'

‘Exactly.'

‘Leaving a trail behind it.'

‘Like so many of us!' agreed Mr Smithers.

‘If I were a newspaperman I should ask you some impertinent questions about your unexpected windfall.'

‘Oh, it wasn't unexpected. Not at all. And I never think questions are impertinent. They show one's interest.'

‘Then I will ask you, how did you feel about this very large fortune?'

‘Most gratified,' said Mr Smithers.

‘Will it change your manner of life much?'

‘Oh, not in the least. Why should it? I dislike change.'

‘Are you going to endow a favourite charity?'

‘I have none, really. I find that the advertisements of most charitable causes are crude attempts to invade one's privacy. Such very insistent appeals. No, I see no reason to encourage that sort of thing.'

‘And Miss Trudge?' ventured Carolus.

‘I shall feel bound to respect my late wife's wishes. Had it been her intention that Miss Trudge should benefit she would have made arrangements to that end.'

‘Very logical.'

‘I have always been considered a logical man. Life would be chaotic without logic, wouldn't it? And it's chaotic enough already.'

‘Did you see your wife on the evening of her death?' asked Carolus abruptly. Surely that would crack the shell?

‘Oh, I expect so. I must surely have looked in before I went to bed.'

‘Do you remember the time?'

‘Of course. Ten forty-five. My invariable bedtime.'

‘And you looked in on your wife?'

‘I would scarcely say “looked”. Miss Trudge had warned me that she was sleeping off an injection. I did not put the light on.'

‘Or speak?'

‘I expect I just whispered something. But there was no reply.'

‘You heard her breathing, no doubt. Under drugs people breathe rather stertorously, usually.'

‘My hearing is not quick. I don't remember hearing any sound at all.'

‘So, Mr Smithers, it is possible that your wife was already dead when you went to her room?'

‘Quite possible,' agreed Mr Smithers cheerfully.

‘In which case she must have died before ten forty-five?'

‘Say ten-fifty.'

‘Miss Trudge was with her till ten-twenty.'

‘In that case, if Imogen was dead when I looked in she must have died between ten-twenty and ten-fifty, mustn't she? The coroner would like to have known that.'

‘But we aren't sure that she was dead when you went to her room.'

‘Indeed no. We are not sure of anything. We can only hazard a guess. It reminds me of a recent case in the papers …'

‘At Penzance?' suggested Carolus bitterly.

‘No. This was at Cardiff. Or was it Carlisle? An elderly man and his wife found gassed in a bedroom. It was impossible to know which was responsible. Carmarthen, that was it. I was most interested because I frequently pass through there when I'm on holiday.'

‘You did not look into your wife's room again that night?'

‘I am fortunate in being an extremely good sleeper. I go to bed as I have explained at ten forty-five. By eleven-fifteen I am fast asleep and rarely wake before eight a.m. Something altogether exceptional would have to take place to awaken me.'

‘Something altogether exceptional
did
take place. Your wife died.'

Mr Smithers brushed this aside.

‘Oh yes,' he said airily. ‘But we were unaware of that, were we not, until the secretary caused all that hubbub in the morning. It disturbed me at a very early hour.'

‘You were unable to sleep again?' asked Carolus with what was intended as bitter irony.

‘Oh quite,' said Mr Smithers. ‘Once awakened I remain
awake. It is a law of nature for me. I dressed and came downstairs only to find that no breakfast was served before eight o'clock. A most discouraging start to the day. Later as you know I saw the doctor and completed all the necessary formalities.'

‘That must have been trying for you.'

‘It was. Most distasteful. I am quite unused to dealing with situations of this kind.'

‘There aren't many fortunately. You said a few minutes ago that the contents of Imogen Marvell's will were not unexpected by you. Had she herself informed you of them?'

The conversation had taken on more and more the form of an interrogation with no holds barred; but Mr Smithers seemed not in the least put out. In fact he appeared rather to enjoy it.

‘Yes, indeed. About three months ago she wrote to me asking me to call. I dislike the telephone and have always refused to instal it. I find it disturbs one's curriculum.'

‘And you called?'

‘I did. The secretary, Miss Trudge, was absent that day. I was alone with my wife. We had seen little of one another for some ten years. I found her manner of life repugnant to me. She seemed to
seek
disturbance and publicity. We had long ago realised our incompatability and surrendered to it.'

‘But she wanted to see you?'

‘Yes. She told me her difficulties. She was, it seemed, surrounded by disloyal and unappreciative natures. Her sister she stigmatised as commonplace and unable to understand her more subtle temperament. Her secretary failed to perceive Imogen's extraordinary qualities. Both thought only of themselves and were eager to possess themselves of Imogen's estate after her death which, she felt, might not long be delayed. I
protested at that and she said, “Whom the Gods love die young”, and added that I should never know what mean and malicious jealousy surrounded her.

‘Then she told me. It wasn't that she wished to benefit me, she said, but she was determined that none of her entourage or employees should receive anything on her death and by leaving her money to me she could ensure this. If she left it to some charity or other they might find a means of disputing it. But since it would be left to her husband no one could do so. I acquiesced.'

‘You bet you did,' thought Carolus vulgarly.

‘The matter would be carried out immediately. She gave me the name of the solicitors who were drawing up her will and bound me to secrecy on the whole matter. I respected my promise not to reveal her intentions and neither her sister nor Miss Trudge had any notion that her previous will, leaving them substantially provided for, had been superseded. Until this morning. They seemed to be quite upset,' ended Mr Smithers gently.

‘They were,' said Carolus.

‘That shows the folly of counting one's chickens in the matter of wills and bequests. We must all have known examples of that. There was a case in Northampton …'

‘And you feel no sympathy for these two?'

‘Feeling sympathy with misfortune is not a habit I cultivate. I am a simple individual who asks nothing of the world but to be left to my own modest devices. If I were to express any sympathy it would be with Mrs de Mornay who was my wife's housekeeper in Rutland Gate. A most deserving woman.'

Mr Smithers glanced at an old-fashioned watch which he drew from his waistcoat pocket.

‘It appears to be time for lunch,' he said and with an equable smile left Carolus to ponder over his astonishing confidences.

Stefan was cool and sober at lunch and Carolus took the opportunity of speaking to him.

‘I should like very much to have a few words with you,' he said. ‘I am investigating certain matters here. Could that be managed?'

‘Certainly. When?' said Stefan indicating something on the menu as though they were innocently discussing this.

‘This afternoon?'

‘I shall be free by three o'clock.'

‘Come out to the car park at the back. We'll drive out somewhere.'

Stefan nodded, and appeared to write down Carolus's order.

He was a very different man away from his work.

‘There's a country club beyond Netterly where we can get a drink in the afternoon,' he said, and Carolus drove away not knowing whether they had been observed or not.

Stefan proved to be both intelligent and cultured. He readily admitted that he gathered there was some kind of blackmail or protection racket going on but said he had not been approached by anyone. Rolland had warned him to be on his guard in the restaurant against anyone who seemed to want to cause trouble but had not told him anything in advance against Mandeville.

‘He's obviously very scared and I don't blame him,' said Stefan. ‘I've heard of this sort of thing before. It's difficult to cope with because people are afraid to give evidence. Do you connect it with the Marvell's death?'

This was a question which Carolus himself would like to have put and he evaded it by saying: ‘Do you?'

‘I thought the coroner was too easily satisfied,' Stefan said. ‘I was not asked anything except about the scene in the dining-room.'

‘Had you anything to say?'

‘I don't know whether it's relevant or not but there was a small incident.'

‘Really?'

‘During her last afternoon the Marvell asked for me personally and I went up to her room. She was perfectly calm so I can't help thinking that her hysterics afterwards were a bit forced. She said she wanted a bottle of champagne put on the ice and brought up to her at half past nine. No one was to know about it and I was to bring it myself. “Just as a nightcap,” she said.'

‘You took it up?'

‘Of course. I didn't know she'd been given an injection to make her sleep. I went up at just half past nine with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. I knocked at the door but there was no answer. So I went in.'

‘The light was on?'

‘No. And I did not switch it on—there was enough light from the passage. She was snoring like a pig. I put the tray down on a table near her bed. Not on the bedside table—there wasn't room. Then I tiptoed out.'

‘You are sure there was no one else in the room?'

‘Pretty sure. But the door into the bathroom was shut.'

‘What happened to the bottle?'

‘One of the Moroccan boys brought it down in the morning. It was empty. I hope the poor secretary had it. It was good champagne.'