Now that this had been decided, those members of the party who it had been decided would be present at the opening of the safe set off up the stairs.

This consisted of Dr Marsden, Zap Arthur, Oswald Skeffington-Nottle, Adrian Quinn and Davis MacKenzie. The Rector asked David Bannister to take his place.

A combination for the safe had been found in the desk. When it was tried, it was found to be correct, and the door swung open.

"The person who closes it had better reset it and give the combination to Sir Colin," said Oswald. "Wouldn't do for us all to know the combination of where the Cross was stored."

David gave a nod of agreement at Oswald's suggestion. "I'll do it," he offered. He stood and peered inside the strong box as Oswald reached inside for its contents.

"I have a suggestion," Adrian said. "There are five of us here, and five numbers to the combination. As we leave, each of us resents one tumbler on the combination lock and writes that number down. When we return to the Great Hall, we'll each privately inform Sir Colin of the number we chose, along with its position in the combination - for example, 'The first number to the combination is 35.' That would then leave him the only person who knew the entire combination, but would still allow the safe to be opened without being drilled if something should happen to him."

"Don't get them mixed up," Sandra said with a touch of dark humor.

There were some papers in the safe - but not a great many. One was the Will.

Oswald opened it carefully.

"Well," he said, "we can be fairly sure that this is not valid. It's made out in the name of MacKenzie-Brown, which he apparently wasn't, and his property and the resources to back it seems to have been left to heirs of his body, by his beloved wife - which she apparently wasn't either. She was to have a life interest in the estate ... "

He read a little further.

"Somebody asked me earlier tonight whether I knew if 'Douglas' and Selina had - shall we say, consummated their marriage in a more permanent fashion. I wonder whether that individual was aware of the contents of the will." Quinn's tone was very curious, in a way that boded ill for the individual in question.

"The rest of the Will concerns setting up a Foundation for the Improvement of a particular district of New York, it appears," said Oswald. "I imagine all that falls now, although what will happen to the money, I wouldn't know."

There was another file, marked Willie Gutierrez. This proved to be the real name of Will St Pierre , who was characterised (in the Pinkertons' report in the file) as being a small-time hood and conman.

"Well," said Oswald, "that seems to fit."

He glanced up at Zap. "You knew him in New York ?"

Zap shook his head. "I've never met him before we came here. I knew Selina -- we were on Broadway together." He considered this for some moments before adding. "I probably know people who know him. But after Map and I started making movies, we both moved to California . On the other side of the country. Er...what area of New York ? State or city?"

"A district called ... " Oswald consulted the Will again. "The Devil's Kitchen?"

David quirked his eyebrows. "Hell's Kitchen?"

He paused and then continued to explain.

"An area in East side of the City of New York , east and south of Grand Central Station" David spoke up when Oswald read the location. "A poor and indigent neighborhood to be sure, and desperately in need of some charity. Not the type of area I would expect Mr. Arthur or Selina to be terribly familiar with, lest they were down on their luck."

"I got caught in Hell's Kitchen once when I was a kid," Zap said. It had taken a whole lot of stuff and a fair amount of luck to buy himself out of that one. He'd been =way= off his turf... "But there's a Devil's Kitchen in New York too -- that's in the Catskill Mountains . Just a mention."

"No," said Oswald, "it's Hell's Kitchen. I misread it."

David paused and then added "My wife and I spent a little time there a couple of years ago doing good works while waiting for a ship to take us back to the South Pacific. " he explained.

"Did you or your wife possibly meet Mr. MacKen.. Mr. Yohe at that time?" Sandra asked, standing back from the safe.

David shook his head. "No." He frowned. "And I am probably completely wrong," he looked at Zap, "about where the document refers to, in any event. I've never been to the Catskill Mountains."

"No, my mistake, old bean," Oswald assured him.

Zap had -- with the Katzenjammer Kids & Co, the so-called literary group that spent more time arguing about poker than books, and which had adopted the mostly illiterate Zap as a sort of mascot and semi-official referee -- but it didn't seem worth mentioning. "Why would Mr. Mac...Mr. Y...whoever! have been interested in doing good works in Hell's Kitchen?" he wondered aloud.

"Perhaps he spent some time there," suggested Oswald. "Perhaps he had business interests there - although one doesn't really like to speculate on what those might have been. But ... it might be hard to find out now."

Sandra looked around at the suite. "Maybe... there's a link, a clue somewhere in here," she suggested. "Perhaps in his personal effects? Or... in his night stand? Something he might not worry about having Selina see, because it wouldn't mean anything to her?"

"Who would know anything o' Yohe? Did he have any kin? I'm not even clear if he was an American childhood friend or from before MacKenzie-Brown emigrated. Or why his parents would pretend that another child was theirs."

Sandra sighed. "Whoever blackmailed him might know," she mused. "And I suspect that person might be the only one who could fill in all thepieces of this particular puzzle."

"It's hard to understand," said Oswald. "Perhaps someone knows something more ... Perhaps we can investigate that later. I think the time has come to share information."

"Very well..." Sandra said doubtfully. "But I think we're missing something obvious here.." She shrugs, then starts down to the Great Hall.

"I think we should return to the Great Hall and the rest of the guests. I'd like to read these aloud, the Will in its entirety and the summary of the Pinkerton report, along with a few other things from files from the desk. There are some reactions I should very much like to watch."

"That seems reasonable," Dr. Marsden agreed somberly. She took the cross still wrapped in the handkerchief and placed it in the safe, giving it a last little pat before letting go. "And that should be safe right there."

So it was agreed, and after closing the safe, and each noting their numbers, they took the papers downstairs to the Great Hall where everyone (save Dr Campbell, the Rector and Brian Shea) had now gathered.

Everyone looked up as the party who had opened the safe returned to the Great Hall.

"We've found the Will," said Oswald. And ... erm ... some other things as well."

He set down the file marked Willie Gutierrez on the table, within view of Selina, Will and Josette.

" Madre de Dios ," Willie muttered, and crushed out the cigarette in his hand. He looked up at Oswald. "You read it, I figure. So you know, which means everyone knows... Yeah. That's me. Douglas - or Yohe, whoever he was - had us investigated. I don't know when. Maybe right away, maybe not. Before the big ceremony, he let me know he knew Selina and I were married. He said he might just let us slip away with a quiet divorce - her fault - and no press, no police. But part of the deal was I couldn't tell Selina." He glanced at her apologetically. "But he didn't tell me he knew about... this." He gestured at the folder. "I took Selina's name when we decided her career would go better if we were brother and sister. I'm not ashamed of my name. My mother, God rest her soul, was a good woman."

He looked at them steadily. "I didn't kill anyone. I'm a grifter and a player, but guys like me... we don't commit cold-blooded murder. It's not our style. And anyway... we were just going to cut our losses. This whole thing..." He shrugged expressively. "You want to hang it on me, you've got the ammunition. But if you think about it, you'll know it doesn't hang right."

"For what little it's worth, Mr. Gutierrez, I believe you. Not that fraud charges wouldn't still collect you a prison term, but not nearly what you'd collect for murder." Quinn's voice was quiet and calm, though he did not make eye contact with the two Americans, instead preferring to watch everybody else in the room.

"Maybe not cold-blooded murder...but hot-blooded murder..." Josette commented, looking Will straight in the eye.

Willie took it all in. He smiled slightly at Quinn's measured worth, a boyish smile that held some gratitude. Then he looked at Josette. "We all do things in the heat of the moment. This wasn't one of those things. It's the same as what I said about you. You didn't have the time to plan the murder, even if he saw you take the cross - which I don't believe happened. You and me... we've earned our reputations, but I think we also have other things in common. Neither of us is a cold-blooded killer, and that's who killed Douglas ." He squeezed Selina's hand again. "And Seelie... she's not a killer at all. She's not even a player. She went along with my scheme, but... on her own, she never would have done it."

Oswald took up the Will and began to read it ...

As he did so, Dr Campbell, the Rector and Brian Shea joined the others in the room.

Oswald read the Will carefully, trusting Lucinda to observe others' reactions to it ...

He explained that it was in the name of MacKenzie-Brown.

"His property and the resources seems to have been left to heirs of his body, by his beloved wife - that would, in theory, be you, Mrs ... er ... Gutierrez.

"She was to have a life interest in the estate ... " he added for the benefit of others in the room.

He read a little further.

"The rest of the Will concerns setting up a Foundation for the Improvement of a particular district of New York, it appears," said Oswald. "A place called Hell's Kitchen, which Mr Arthur and Mr Bannister assure me is comparatively unsalubrious."

"That's fine," said Lord Eversham, an ironic smile toying at the edges of his mouth. He needed a drink. At the table on the far side of the room he poured three fingers of scotch, neat, and sipped.

"Yes, just fine," he repeated, "if there were even the slightest hint who MacKenzie-Brown might be. No indication at all in the will. So, what about that trashy novel, hm? Scintillating with vital clues, was it?"

Sandra resumed her seat on the side of the library. "So... it seems fairly straight forward. Except for the last part. Does anyone here know about the Foundation? Or know anything about any connections the deceased might have had with the area?"

"I do," said Major Bastable.

He cleared his throat. "The man you knew as MacKenzie Brown was indeed George Yohe. The hunting accident - young though he was, he was in hot water. He faked his own death - with the help of his friend Douglas MacKenzie-Brown, who was something of the same physical type. Yohe fled to the States - where he met up again with MacKenzie-Brown a few years later. From what I've learned, they ran rackets out of Hell's Kitchen - MacKenzie-Brown was the smooth front man, Yohe doing the dirty work behind the scenes. They prospered - extended operations even over here, with Yohe heading up things while his partner stayed back in the States, although they packed that in when Yohe got caught up in a court case.

"Then MacKenzie-Brown died - just as he'd been approached by Sir Colin about taking over the Lairdship. Maybe it was a co-icidence - maybe not. I haven't been able to find out. Pubically - it was given out that Yohe had died. I only made the connection today myself.

"At all events, no-one had seen MacKenzie-Brown in England for over thirty years. Yohe took a gamble - like he did when he staged the hunting accident. He knew MacKenzie-Brown well - thirty years of being partners in crime. And he knew MacKenzie-Brown hadn't seen any of his relatives for thirty years."

He shrugged. "The deception worked. Yohe bought the title and the island, and settled down to playing at Scottish squire. It never quite worked, though. He was a thug at heart, and a thug he remained. He acquired his wife. I think Mrs Guitterez and her husband have had a lucky escape. Yohe was never a man to cross."

He looked around the room. "I built up a file on the man. Of course, I was expecting to be meeting MacKenzie-Brown. But when you researched him, you couldn't help but stumble across Yohe in the background. Until half an hour ago, I assumed - like the rest of us - that it was MacKenzie-Brown who was killed. That was why I didn't speak up.

"If he was being blackmailed - it's no more than he deserved. In fact, the odds are that he probably killed MacKenzie Brown himself."

After giving everybody else a chance to respond, Quinn put one question out into the open. "Although the will will probably be invalidated, since it was not in the true name of the deceased, there is one question that must still be answered before the status of the Mackenzie estates can be determined.

"There's no way to ask this politely, so I won't bother trying. Mrs. St. Pierre, did the deceased father a child with you?"

Garreth looked a bit aghast. "It would not likely matter Mr. Quinn. The child would be first illegitimate, and second no true blood relation to press a stake in the estate, an estate purchased by fraud."

"Even with several years away from true practice, I could win a case like that," he promised.

Colin smiled faintly.

"I presume," he said, "that the fraud will invalidate the sale. I don't know if I'd be expected to refund the purchase money ... I can't, anyway, as it went to pay off debts.

"But to have Verrisay again ... free of debt ... "

His eyes were distant, although he was looking around the room. Then he focused on Davis .

"I won't let you all down again," he said quietly.

Quinn made no apologies for his bluntness. "I'll grant you all of those points, but there is an additional issue that hinges on the question I asked - whether Mrs. Selina Gutierrez-St. Pierre-Mackenzie-Brown had the motive to commit murder. We've all seen the way that Yohe was treating her - if she knew the contents of the will, and an heir was on the way, removal of the offending party was her ticket to an easy life - or, at least, so she may have believed.

"And although I was rather blunt in my asking the question, it's not the first time it's been raised here on the island. I seem to recall you asking me the same question at the Christmas party, shortly before the Cross was unveiled."

"Yes, but I was considering if there was to be a new Laird of that ass's line. You're looking for motive, I understand, but she wasn't going to continue this marriage, and probably had little knowledge of the Will," Garreth explained.

"It doesn't matter," Selina said. "I'm not going to have a baby any time soon. As for lawsuits -- Mr. MacKenzie, wouldn't the papers Josette found would be enough insurance for you against anything Willie or I might ever do? I would be glad to take someone -- perhaps Lord Eversham, since he distrusts me anyway -- to my room to fetch them for you."

David nodded, listening to Garreth's explanation and his reasoning. "There do seem to be a couple of Motives floating about, amongst various parties, that's part of the problem. Method is pretty well established, and Opportunity as well. It's a conundrum." He returned to being quiet, pondering matters as if he were engrossed in a bible study or in a patient's vital signs.

"We don't lack motives," said Colin bitterly. "Most of the people in this room have a motive for killing him ... But Rendell? Why kill Rendell?"

"Because he knew something," Mabel Tawney said tartly, with a significant glance at Oswald. "He'd seen something that might point to her as the murderer."

"Or someone =thought= he had..." Zap said.

Colin turned. "Her?" he said.

"The voice on the tape answering Rendell's was definitely a woman's," said Mabel.

"I believe you were gone at the time, but there's something on Miss Tawney's recording that suggests Rendell may have known who crushed the yew berries. He may have been killed for the sake of that knowledge," Quinn posited.

"Ms. Tawney, would you object to playing the recording again for all to hear?"

"Not at all," she said. "Perhaps with everyone here, someone will be able to identify the second voice."

She dragged over her recorder, which still held the tape in question, and rewound it to the point she wanted.

She switched the tape on...

"As if we all need to listen to funeral dirges again," Sandra remarked quietly. Still, she leaned forward a bit in her chair to hear better.

Patience had moved to be by her husband's side, and held one of his hands tightly in hers as she listened somberly. At Sandra's comment, her gaze snapped up, thoughtful. She whispered to her husband, "It almost seems too appropriate a music choice... does it not? I wonder who chose the music..."

David nodded at his wife's words. "Too appropriate, almost prophetic." he said. A chill went down his spine at the thought. David briefly brought his other hand to cover the one he was clenching his wife's hand with, and patted it reassuringly.

Patience relaxed at his touch. "I was thinking," she says softly, "that if he did not choose the music himself, perhaps whoever chose it knew that Mackenzie-Brown... or Yohe as it were... was going to die."

Davis responded to David, but he answered Patience as well. "Begging your pardon, but I chose the music and I did not know that the man was going to die. Given that the piper had piped in the pudding to "Flowers of the Forest" and the rat had been condemned, I thought "MacPherson's Lament" was appropriate, until I was asked for more cheerful tunes, when I switched to ballads."

"Murder ballads," Mabel noted wryly. "I remember sympathizing with your feelings, Mr. MacKenzie."

"Aye. More cheerful tunes, as requested."

"It's surprising how bouncy some of those things are," Mabel commented.

If Davis were considering replying that not all deaths were cause for lamentation, he apparently reconsidered. "Aye," he replied.

"Whatever's on that tape, it's hardly proof positive," Eversham reminded them. He sipped again of his scotch.

Zap looked at him curiously. "You have interesting ways of discussing the evidence -- or not," he said. Eversham's earlier bullying still rankled. "Which makes me think that there are things on that tape you don't want to hear."

"To tell the truth," Eversham said, speaking louder, "I"m much more curious about the fact Bastable knows so much about Yohe -- as much as the blackmailer must have known -- and yet can't admit to that deed.

"It would have helped to stay the vultures encircling Bastable Textiles, eh, Major?"

"Whoever the blackmailer is, it's not me," said Bastable. "I never set foot on the island before two days ago. For the last six months I've been in London - and have witnesses who will vouch for me. I research my subjects thoroughly - that's all.

"You could ask me about British Bauxite if you wish."

"I know all about BNB, thank you, Major." Lord Eversham's tone would brook no argument. He drew up to his full height, and stared the retired old soldier down.

"How do you know so much about Yohe? Why would you investigate a man you've no connexion to?"

"I've already told you," said Bastable. "I didn't research Yohe. I researched MacKenzie-Brown. The two of them were neck deep together as partners in crooked deals for the last thirty years. Investigate one - and you learn about the other."

"Why investigate either of them at all, Major?" Eversham insisted. "I don't think anyone else here believes you would just happen to know about Yohe's existence and MacKenzie-Brown's mysterious disappearance, and not put it together they were one and the same.

"Having already come that far, it would be ridiculous to suggest that there would just happen to be two people on this island -- one a blackmailer and one a mere gambler and bankrupt -- both of whom had intimate knowledge of MacKenzie-Brown's true identity, and neither of whom had any pressing desire to expose him."

"I learned about him because I had the intention of blackmailing him, dammit!" snarled the Major. "Only ... only he died ... "

"Well? Are you going to play the thing or not!?" Josette exclaimed eagerly.

"All right," Eversham said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Ignore Bastable. Ignore logic, blackmail, a perfect motive for murder. Let's hear what's on that ruddy tape, shall we?"

He took a seat at an ancient secretary beneath the high windows, sipping his scotch, occasionally sending a speculative glance Bastable's way.

Garreth laid a reassuring hand on Dr. Marsden's arm as he too looked to the recorder/player. He had been watching Bastable intently during Eversham's questioning.

Sandra glanced up at Garreth and gave him a small smile. Then she returned her attention to the tape recorder.

"Go on," said Colin. "Play it."

All those present heard the music of Davis ' fiddle - and then Rendell's voice.

"Excuse me. Would you stop playing now?"

The music died away ... one of the musicians seemed to be muttering.

Then, at a distance .. Rendell again. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are these your gloves?"

There was a pause ...

And then a woman's voice said, "Why ... "

Then the tape cut out.

David held his breath throughout the short duration of the tape, not wanting to make a single disturbing sound. His eyebrows furrowed as the voice came on, however briefly, and he strained to try and identify the voice beyond a reasonable doubt.

He made not a sound when the tape ended. his eyes squinting in intense and silent concentration.

"Mrs. Bannister," Lord Eversham said softly, "do you care to offer an explanation?

"That tape isn't so damaging as it's been portrayed. Explain the circumstance, and our investigation will continue."

Patience appeared confused and shocked, shrinking closer to David and further from Lord Eversham's accusation. "I... I don't have an explanation. That wasn't me you heard. Or if it was, I certainly don't remember it. You couldn't possibly think that I... I didn't even know the man."

Colin frowned. "I can't tell the voice from that," he said. "A woman, yes - and claiming her gloves. Or perhaps Dr Marsden's gloves. But I can't tell the voice ... "

"There's more," said the Rector. He glanced at Dr Campbell. "We have a witness."

"Definitely a woman." Dr. Campbell asserted agian. "Major Bastable may be a blackguard, but he isn't the murderer." He turned to the Rector and said quietly, "Andrew, maybe this isn't the place for the boy", he nodded at young Brian Shea, "with all this talk of lewd passages, murder and blackmail."

"Nevertheless," said the Rector, "Brian is the one who will be able to identify her. Perhaps you would care to tell them how, Dr Campbell."

Zap blinked, looking at his young friend in considerable surprise.

Trying not to tremble, David turned his head toward Dr. Campbell, and Brian. His hand gave Patience's yet another squeeze, and moved a fraction of a millimeter closer to her as he pivoted his head.

One arm slid around David's back, holding him close as Patience leaned her head on his shoulder and watched Dr. Campbell, eyes wide and moist.

Garreth didn't look too convinced, at least not yet.

"Come with me, Brian," said the Rector, glancing around the Great Hall.

He led him out.

Dr. William Campbell began, "I would like you all to accompany me to the armoury. The murderer concealed the mortar and pestle used to mash the yew berries in a helm, where the rector and I discovered it. I am going to ask that each of the ladies, one at a time, walk across the armoury floor, touch the helmet, turn, and walk back. In that way we will be able to identify the murderer."

"Very well," said Colin, looking a little mystified. "If you think it will help. I trust none of the ladies will have any objection?"

"I don't," said Lucinda.

Linking her arm with her husband, she prepared to head for the armoury.

"Of course I don't mind," Patience said, also moving to head for the armoury with David.

She was wearing her same shoes as the night before.

Miss Tawney snorted faintly. "This should prove interesting. All right. Though none of us are wearing the same clothes we had on last night."

"And... I suspect, most of the women aren't wearing the same shoes, either," Dr. Marsden pointed out dryly as she stood to follow.

"Could that no' be remedied, Doctor? An' if someone has had the foresight to destroy her own shoes tae hide the sound, would that no' be suspicious?"

"Perhaps. But then our ruthless murderer would have no doubt killed the witness as well." Campbell answered.

Colin turned and nodded. "Davis, take a description of the shoes everyone was wearing last night - and then have a housemaid go to their rooms and retrieve the relevant pairs."

"Yes, Sir. Angus, would you see Aunt Shona and tell her what we'll need? And perhaps bring Gordon or Ewan back with you, in case we need more help?"

The islander quickly went to each of the women in the room, asking them one at a time what shoes they were wearing last night. He took the opportunity to listen very carefully to each woman's voice, making a mental list of which were sopranos, which were altos, and which spoke in the contralto range.

"If it's the sound they're trying to duplicate," Dr. Marsden said. She leaned over to the ashtray, carefully putting out her cigarette. "But Dr. Campbell has yet to tell us what he's trying to prove, so it's rather difficult to guess."

"Destroy a pair of shoes on purpose!" Josette laughed, "It would have to be a woman who didn't care very much for clothing."

"Better destroy her shoes than risk her neck," said Oswald Skeffington-Nottle soberly. "But I would suspect no-one thought to go so far. No-one would have realised they had a witness. Otherwise ... the odds are that the boy might be as dead as Rendell."

Josette gave a shudder at the thought of the little boy being murdered.

"Well... I'm wearing the same shoes. Wool stockings, though." Sandra gave Garreth a brief grin at that. "Too cold around here without them. So... " she poked her head into the armory. "Which helmet, doctor?" she asked as she glanced around the large room.

Selina described her high-heeled slippers with commendable precision, and told Gordon precisely where to find them. She put them on when they arrived, and followed the other women silently to the armoury.

Garreth chuckled, as he took Sandra by the arm for the walk to the armoury. "I wonder if the boy was sure it was a woman? A good number of us had bare legs last evening," he said, looking at his own kilt.

"Well... if all the women come up clean, I'll make sure to suggest you take their test next," Sandra quipped with a tight smile. "I'll even loan you my silk stockings to make it more fair."

 

End of Chapter 17

Chapter 16 | Top | Chapter 18