The Twenty-Third Man (27 page)

‘A pleasantry,’ replied Dame Beatrice, waving her hand. ‘A preliminary skirmish before I ask you some very personal questions.’

‘I saw you in conversation with Mrs Angel. I suppose she told you we are man and wife. Don’t believe a word of it. The woman is mentally deranged.’

‘Why did you throw your packet of chocolate into the sea the other day?’

‘What packet of chocolate?’

‘The one which you offered to Clement and which I would not permit him to accept.’

‘I don’t remember the incident. It didn’t take place at this hotel.’

‘No, no. It took place on your island of Tiene.’

‘Really? I have a very poor memory, I fear.’

‘So you have forgotten that you married the woman who is known as Mrs Angel? You must keep a diary, you know. Bigamy is a serious offence.’

‘Nothing is a serious offence on Hombres Muertos, dear lady. We are all dead men here, and among the dead there is the harmony of disinterested mercy.’

‘That remains to be proved. But I spoke in jest. I dislike to think that you would commit a serious crime.’

Peterhouse shook his head.

‘You underestimate me,’ he said. ‘The chocolate, of course, was poisoned, as you guessed. I had never tried the effect of my distillations on any human being, and I thought the boy, unwanted and, you must admit, extremely tiresome at times, would be a suitable subject for experiment.’

‘Quite, quite. Which particular aconite did you use for your purpose, I wonder?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ He squatted on his heels beside the pond, scattered a few more crumbs, then slid his hand into the water, scooped out a fish, and flung it at her. Dame Beatrice picked up the streak of silver as it writhed in the dust and gently replaced it in the pond.

‘And now,’ she said, seating herself on the stone surround, ‘sit beside me and sing me songs of Araby, or, if you prefer it, tell me tales of fair Kashmir.’

Laura, prowling restlessly, found them, half an hour later, deep in a learned discussion of the best ways to cook and use English edible fungi. Dame Beatrice gave her an almost imperceptible signal to stay. Laura sat down on the coping and dabbled her fingers in the water while she listened to the gastronomes conversing.

‘Well,’ she said, as she and Dame Beatrice strolled towards the cliff path which led to the beach, ‘he didn’t
sound
particularly insane.’

‘He is perfectly sane on the subject of edible fungi.’

‘Yes. I suppose you mean there’s the converse.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean, the opposite of edible, which, in the case of fungi, is apt to be poisonous, isn’t it? And that’s him riding his hobby horse again!’

Dame Beatrice looked at her admiringly.

‘Do you really think so?’ she asked.

‘I think it was because he knew you’d rumbled that the chocolate he offered Clement was poisoned with his awful ranunculus plants that he threw it into the sea so that you couldn’t send it anywhere to be analysed. That’s what
I
think.’

‘I don’t think the chocolate was poisoned, but I wanted Peterhouse to think I thought it was.’

‘Why should you? I don’t see the point.’

‘Do you not? Does it not strike you that Peterhouse is our
deus ex machina
?’

‘Well, yes, but we can’t possibly prove it, can we?’

‘I think we can. Señor Ruiz is chief witness for the prosecution.’

‘Poor old Ruiz! How can he be?’

‘You have realized that there is no extradition from Hombres Muertos?’

‘Yes, of course. That’s why crimes can be committed with impunity, as they say.’

‘But there is such a thing as deportation, you know.’

‘Deportation?’

‘Certainly. Señor Ruiz is an important man in Reales. He would not stoop to murder, but I think he has it in his power to get rid of a nuisance.’

‘That lends a different complexion.’

‘So do cosmetics, dear child, but the facts remain the same.’

‘Meaning that you can’t alter the construction of bones? I couldn’t do less than agree. But where does this lead us?’

‘It leads us to the anatomy of the twenty-third or – if you prefer it – the twenty-fourth man.’

‘You mean because he was taller than the others?’

‘I do. The interesting feature is that the one man who ought to have noticed the difference forbore to comment upon it.’

‘Peterhouse?’

‘Exactly. He, of all people, accustomed as he was to leading parties to the cave, should have realized at once that one of the dead kings was noticeably taller than the rest. In other words, he
must
have noticed it.’

‘But forbore to comment? I say, that opens up a field of thought.’

‘No, no. It leads to one conclusion.’

‘Oh, dear! He’s a nuisance, but I don’t dislike Peterhouse. Can’t you get him out of it? It would be nice if you could. Anyway, why should he do it? There were people with far better motives. What about Telham, for example?’

‘Motive is almost always the weakest link in a chain of evidence. Means and opportunity – those are usually considered more important.’

‘Means? Well, the proved possession of the knife should settle that. But, then, dozens of people on the island possessed a similar type of knife, and – oh, of course, Peterhouse must have had two.’

‘Opportunity?’

‘You mean the island of Tiene. He could easily have killed him there. But why should Emden have gone to Tiene with Peterhouse? That’s what I still don’t understand.’

‘There was no doubt that Emden had to leave the hotel.’

‘No, that seems clear enough. I think I see what you mean. Peterhouse offered him shelter?’

‘It seems that he did. I can get no further until I have talked with Peterhouse again.’

‘You be careful, then. If Peterhouse did kill Emden he’s a dangerous man.’

‘So was the late Dan McGrew, of doubtful fame.’

‘
I WISH
’,
SAID
Dame Beatrice, ‘that you would tell me the whole story. I know you may have killed Emden. I can guess the reason. There appears to be no judicial penalty here for what you did, therefore I see no reason why you should refrain from telling me all.’

‘I remember nothing of it,’ said Peterhouse. They were sitting in deck-chairs on the beach. Peterhouse had an umbrella of extraordinary size and hue stuck in the sand to protect him from the sun. He was wearing sun-glasses and shorts and his bulging, pink torso reminded Dame Beatrice vaguely and not unpleasantly of her nephew’s Large White pigs. She herself was full in the sun, a smiling, saurian old woman, ageless, implacable, kindhearted.

‘Very possibly not,’ she said. ‘Freud, despite those who would discredit him, was sound on the subject. He averred, if you recollect his writings, that we forgot what we choose to forget. Memory, in fact, is selective.’

‘Really? Well, dear lady, since you insist, I will endeavour to prove him wrong. I will delve into my memory, poor though it be, for the details you require. I don’t know how far you look upon human life as sacred?’

‘I don’t know, either. I suspect that we all imagine our own lives to be sacred, but I feel that most of us are not nearly as certain when it comes to the lives of other people. Colour of skin, too, makes a difference; so does ideology. Let us by-pass the matter for the moment and argue it later.’

‘Very well. I perceive that you think as I do. I killed Emden. That I do remember. What interests you is the reason. It is simple enough to state. If
I
had not killed
him, he
would have killed
me
. That was the situation in a nutshell. Are you satisfied?’

‘Except in fairy stories, that which can be contained in a nutshell is of little importance. Tell me more.’

‘Diamonds can be put in a nutshell.’

‘I do not regard diamonds as important.’

‘Lives have been hazarded and lost because of them.’

‘We are asking ourselves why Emden’s life was lost.’

‘Ah, yes. It was not long before he ferreted out the truth about me.’

‘That you have been living on blackmail?’

‘Really, dear lady, you use harsh terms! Put yourself in my position. My wife had a child by Ruiz. Was I not entitled to compensation?’

‘I have no idea. I presume that you must have been an inadequate husband, but in what particular way I do not inquire. Marital infidelities have various roots. So Emden discovered your secret – by talking to your wife, I presume?’

‘He was an insinuating kind of man. I have never met a cleverer fellow where women were concerned.’

‘Still, I hardly see what use he could make of his knowledge – in the way of gain, I mean.’

‘He intended to marry Luisa Ruiz. She has no idea that Ricardo is anything but her full brother, and Emden thought he could force Ruiz to give consent by threatening to enlighten Luisa. Ruiz is very fond of his daughter and would hate her to know the truth.’

‘But I think Luisa
does
know the truth. She must have noted the affection Ricardo had – forgive me, but I do not think of her by your name – for Mrs Angel. I myself hold the opinion that Emden tried to compromise Luisa, thinking that, by so doing, he could force her father into consenting to their marriage, but it seems that he reckoned without Luisa’s strength of character. She appears to have been annoyed, not carried away, by his blandishments.’

‘He was accustomed to the conquest of women. I do not imagine – supposing you to be right – that it would occur to him that Luisa could resist him. She must have told her father of the matter, I suppose.’

‘Yes, she did, and Señor Ruiz was extremely angry about it. He was determined to get rid of Emden out of the hotel, and even threatened to have him deported. I am of the opinion that this was a particularly powerful threat in this particular case. You may or may not be aware that, once back in England, Emden would have placed himself in jeopardy of being tried for murder.’

‘I did not realize that, but, now I come to think of it, he did say to me once – it was when you arrived at the hotel in company with Clun – he saw (to use his own expression) the writing on the wall.’

‘How very much mistaken he was! I knew nothing of his connexion with the murder of Ian Lockerby until very much later.’

‘Ian Lockerby? Mrs Lockerby’s brother-in-law?’

‘No, her husband.’

‘I see. He killed her husband with the intention of marrying the lady! No wonder he made a connexion between your appearance and his probable fate! You may have me to thank for that! I take all the English papers and as soon as I saw your signature in the hotel register I remarked upon your august connexions. He saw the Home Office tracking him down, I suppose.’

‘Interesting. So then he persuaded you to hide him on your island of Tiene, and there you murdered him.’

‘But you must not think of it like that. It was not murder; it was self-defence, dear lady.’

‘Ah, but you poisoned his wine!’

‘But I did
not
poison the child’s chocolate! It was cruel to have made such a suggestion! Why would you not let him eat it?’

‘I wanted to warn you that I knew all. I will tell you the rest of the story, if you like. Emden, who, I agree, was a thorough-paced villain, bribed you to hide him on Tiene. You may live at the Hotel Sombrero without payment, but, if I may put it bluntly, you are woefully short of money to spend.’

‘Well, that is perfectly true. My wife holds the
pursestrings.
Always has. A mean-spirited person is the self-styled Mrs Angel! Angel, indeed!’

‘Emden then suggested that Ricardo Ruiz – or do you prefer to call him Ricardo Angel or Ricardo Peterhouse? – should be decoyed, on his next visit, which was about due, to Tiene, there to be murdered, and his South American papers confiscated. These papers were to become the property of Emden, who hoped, with their help, to enter South America, from which, again, there is no extradition. In other words he hoped to achieve his personal safety by going to live in a place to which the English law could not follow him.’

‘That is correct. But I did not see myself tackling Ricardo with such an object in view. Ricardo dislikes me, you know, although I doubt whether he is aware of the fact that his mother is my wife. I did not think he would come to Tiene at my invitation. Emden threatened me when I told him this. He frightened me very much. I am not a bold man, Dame Beatrice, and I’m no longer young.’

‘I sympathize greatly with people who are not very brave, but the thought that you murdered Emden is abhorrent to me. Did you fear him as much as all that?’

‘I did indeed. I was afraid, I tell you, that if I did not kill him he would kill me. I really had no choice. He was a mad dog. You would agree that it is not wrong to kill a mad dog?’

‘The analogy is not sufficiently close. Emden was not mad, and I see only one reason why he should have killed you.’

‘But that is just it! He was afraid I would sell you the information that he was in hiding on Tiene. He told me so. He told me he had me at his mercy, and would have no more compunction in killing me than in killing a snake. Yes, he actually called me a poisonous old reptile! It was that which gave me the idea.’

‘Of doping his wine from a distillation of your Alpine plants, I presume?’

‘Well, yes. But it was his own fault, really. I should
never
have thought of it but for his calling me names.’ Peterhouse suddenly chuckled. “‘Very well” I thought. “You little suspect, my good young man, that I have it in my power to be exactly that!” You don’t blame me for having such a thought, Dame Beatrice, do you? Yes, I doped his wine and, while he slept, I stabbed him. And you yourself have proved to me that I was fully justified in what I did. He had killed in England a man who was in his way, so, you see, there is no doubt that he would have killed
me
, and stolen my island of Tiene.’

‘I fail to see how that would have helped him to get to South America. However, where was the killing done?’

‘In the cave of dead women that I showed you. I took a little sand from the seashore and the small amount of blood from the wound was soon covered up. And nobody suspected, nobody at all, until
you
came along. What really made you suspect me, I wonder?’