Dr. Lawrence continued
his examination of the body. There was nothing too stomach-turning,
but it was definitely not a pleasant sight, this reduction of a person who
had been living such a short time ago to a piece of meat, turned this way
and that, poked and prodded. Dr. Lawrence took notes the entire time, finishing
up with another look at the eyes.
When he did so, his standard neutral expression slipped into a frown. He
pried back both eyelids, looking back and forth between them. Finally, he
arranged the body, stood up, and went over to the tea and Bengers. He sniffed
both of them carefully, lingering over the Bengers.
"Is there some tonic water or something? I need a bit of tonic water,
or club soda, or something. And a small spoon."
Upon receiving the items, he used the spoon to put a tiny amount of the
tea on the back of his tongue, followed by rinsing his mouth out with the
water. Repeating with the Bengers was a bit more dramatic; as soon as it
touched his tongue, his eyes shot wide open and he rinsed his mouth out
violently, several times.
Wiping his mouth, he looked at the other two in the room. "Well, that's
that. The Bengers will have to be locked up until the authorities arrive."
At that moment, they could hear some commotion outside. "Which might
be right now, I suppose."
Miles was still
brushing snow from his clothing as they entered the room. He nodded to the
folks gathered in the room. "Honey, we're home. Everybody, allow me
to introduce the honorable Constable Welles. Constable Welles, allow me
to introduce you to ... um ... everybody."
He spotted a decanter at the sideboard, "Did somebody offer brandy?
Don't mind if I do. Major? Constable?" He went over and poured himself
a drink ... being sure to sniff it, and taste a drop (checking for obvious
poisons), before enjoying its smooth warmth.
"Not while I am on duty, Sir," said the Constable, being fond
of a good cliché.
He moved through the living room and into the library.
"Ah, Doctor," he said. "Have you finished? Perhaps you and
your friends will come into the living room. I think we should all hear
what you have established."
He led the doctor into the living room and waited, notebook in hand...
Dr. Lawrence looked through his notes. "Mmm ... well ... I can't be
conclusive, but I can get close. The condition of the, mmm, deceased is
strongly suggestive of poisoning, alkaloid poisoning to be more specific.
The unequal dilation of the eyes is the most characteristic symptom; unfortunately,
I can't be certain, as most of the symptoms seem to have been cut short
by the speed of onset. These poisons have a distinct odour and taste, which
I did not find in the tea, but did find in the Benger's.”
Madame Escuskiovna could not resist shooting a vindicated look at Viscount
Fenwick at this point.
Clifford caught her gaze, and with an indignant "Hmph!" he turned
away, looking down his nose to examine a nail.
“Markedly so, I must say, suggesting a very sizable dose, which agrees
with the quickness of death."
He glanced around the room briefly, then his eyes shot back to his notes.
"I'm not sure _which_ alkaloid was involved. Taxine or cytisine, probably;
both are botanical in origin and not horribly difficult to come by, I'm
afraid."
The constable nodded.
"And are there any further tests or investigation on that side of things
that should be carried out immediately?" he asked.
Dr. Lawrence considered this for a moment. "Mmm. Yes. And no. Ideally,
there should be tests run on both the tea and Benger's, to confirm what
I've said and pin down what agent is involved, as well as a proper autopsy.
What I've done is rather preliminary, really. These should be done soon,
but it's not imperative they be done immediately."
The Constable nodded, then turned over a page in his notebook.
"What I would like each of you to do is to think about what you were
doing between the time you were in the dining room, until you heard the
screams."
Dessard gratefully accepted a tumbler of brandy from Secord, "To ward
off the chill of the night."
He chuckled at Secord's precautions, but didn't drink his own until the
other man sipped his. He nodded at the Constable's sensible request and
volunteered, "I believe that most of us were in the living room, enjoying
after dinner drinks with the ladies and planning on playing a rubber or
two. I'm not sure who was there and who wasn't ... I know that Mr. Emerson
left and Ms. Ericksson left to get the Bengers and tisane. Madame was playing
the piano", he nodded in the direction of the spiritualist, "and
then we heard her scream and all rushed to the library. Mr. Emerson was
there when we arrived, kneeling over the body, grief-stricken."
Madame Escuskiovna nodded also. "That accords with my own recollections,
Constable. I should also mention, perhaps, that after we left the gentlemen
in the dining room, most of the ladies went upstairs to freshen up before
meeting again in the living room. I believe Miss Blume remained, however?"
She looked inquiringly at Jane.
"Oh, yes," said Jane, apparently without any apprehension whatever.
"And I was alone for quite ten minutes... before Davyd came in."
She batted her eyes at Davyd obligingly.
Davyd took a quick tour of his memory and nodded, satisfied with these accounts.
"Yes, I arrived in the living room and saw Jane here. I can't say where
anybody else was for sure, although I'm quite certain that the ladies were
upstairs and the gents were in the dining room." He pulled a cigarette
from his case and offered one to Jane, then one to the bobby.
"What a dear," murmured Jane, taking a long (rather openly
euphoric) drag, exhaling streams of milky smoke into the air above her.
"I came out of the dining room just behind Anja," said Lucinda.
"She saw Gladys in the entrance hall, I think."
Briefly, she related the substance of the conversation between Gladys and
Anja, looking at the other women for confirmation.
"I think all the ladies except Miss Blume were there," she added.
“But anyone could have seen the tray as they walked through the morning
room. And most of the gentlemen joined us singularly."
"As for me, I never left Anja until she decided to take the Bengers
to Wally darling ... "
"Doctor, was the poison in the Bengers?" Dessard interrupted.
"If so, it's possible that Anja was not the intended victim."
He glanced at Emerson, seated on the couch, hands in his head in mourning.
Secord says quietly, "I told you finding out how the poison was introduced
could be important."
Dr. Lawrence rolled his eyes. "Yes, the Bengers, as I already said."
"Oh, heavens!" cried Jane. "Of course Wally was the intended
victim... Regardless of which drink the poison was in, both were meant for
him..." She leaned forward towards Welles, her shockingly cropped platinum
hair catching light from somewhere.
"Anja made quite a to-do at the dinner table, you see, Constable."
She smiled, shiny red lips twitching in amusement. "About the Bengers.
'Slimy sludge,' or something, she called it. I can't imagine what possessed
her to drink it ... what was it for again? Nerves or something?"
“I see, Miss," said the Constable. "Would you all agree with
that? That is was unlikely Miss Ericksson would drink the Bengers? Or would
anyone hearing believe that her curiosity was aroused and she was likely
to try it?"
Madame Escuskiovna looked thoughtful. "She did express considerable
revulsion, Constable, though there was some curiosity as well. Those of
us who have used Bengers," she glanced over at Secord, "were
in some disagreement as to whether it is as distasteful as she seemed to
think. But I don't think anyone could have been sure, from what she
said. So capricious a thing to do." She shook her head sorrowfully.
Jane leaned back, cigarette aloft, watching Welles. "At any rate, I
think I can solve he riddle of the phone, but - " she teased, half-pouting.
"I think I should like to tell you about that in private, Mr. Constable."
Her tongue lingered on the "L" sound only a trifle longer than
necessary.
"I will be interviewing each of you in private in the morning,"
said the Constable. "For now I should suggest that all of you, except
Miss Blume, get a good night's rest. Miss Blume, if you will stay behind,
I shall talk to you now."
Jane smiled. "That suits me fine," she said.
The Constable waited until everyone else had circumspectly withdrawn. Then
he looked at Miss Blume inquiringly.
"Would you care to explain, Miss?" he asked. "And then I
have a few more questions for you as well. "
"Oh, yes," she said pleasantly as she shifted herself into a more
comfortable (and more alluring) position. She waited a few moments until
she was certain he had given her his undivided attention.
"I imagine," she began with a shake of her head, "I imagine
Anja quite tore that phone out of the wall herself."
"Really?" said the Constable, interested. "And why would
she want to do a thing like that?"
"She had a phone call in the Library," said Jane, "which
she was raging about ... There was a terrible crash, which - in retrospect
- I could imagine to be the phone."
"Anyway, it doesn't make a terrible lot of sense for the murderer to
pull the phone out of the wall, as the little village is within walking
distance, anyway. He - or she - had to know the authorities would be called,
isn't that right? And they already had to know there wouldn't be any sort
of quick getaway before you arrived, Constable; we all knew the drive was
blocked."
The Constable nodded. "And how did you know about this phone call?"
he asked. "If you were close enough to hear the crash, did you hear
anything that was said? Did anyone else?"
"I was just coming down to dinner, and overheard it,” she answered.
Then she shook her head and laughed. "Poor Anja! The phone call was
from someone she called, 'Phillie,' or some-such. Her agent, perhaps. He
was apparently telling her that I had just been cast with Tallulah Bankhead
and Douglas Fairbanks in that new flick, and she was simply green
with jealousy!"
She shook her head, and smoked her cigarette. "Really, I thought everyone
knew about it already... but I guess that's just me ... assuming everyone
is as interested in me as I am." She laughed. "Honestly,
I didn't even know she was up for the part."
Jane did seem amused, rather than put out. "Anja told him she wanted
me ruined." She paused thoughtfully. "I suppose it would have
been luckier for me if she had died before sending out 'orders'..."
"Hopefully, nothing will come of it, anyway. I'm just glad," she
stated, "that it doesn't make any sense for me to have tried to kill
Anja by poisoning the Bengers. I daresay I had the motive and the opportunity...
only the facts don't fit, thank heavens!"
Jane seemed completely oblivious to any real grief for Anja's death (although
one could hardly blame her, seeing what Anja had wanted for her...)
The Constable nodded.
"And did anyone else hear this, who could confirm your story?"
he asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Cliffie was with me-- the Viscount,
I mean. He escorted me to dinner. And I'm sure everyone saw us come in together,
after Anja must have left them to take the call. But when she came back
in, she acted as if nothing was wrong..." Jane paused. "—only
she was asking someone or other at dinner about the penalties for betrayal."
She took a drag from her cigarette, and blew it playfully away, smiling
at some thought.
"Of course, I thought she was referring to me - at the time.
But really, mightn't she have meant Lucy...? Or even Wally? Or... I don't
know. I never really pay much attention to things if they don't affect me
directly..."
She suddenly smiled very prettily at the Constable, and she looked dreadfully
young with all that strange, mature ambition and sexual frankness gone from
her face. "I hope I can help you find out what happened, though,"
she said. "This is a nice plot for a movie, but I don't fancy living
through it."
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
"Oh, we all just ran to see what had happened. I believe we went more
or less as a group, but I really don't have much of a memory for that sort
of thing, I'm afraid." She laughed. "Other people watch me,
I don't watch other people..."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
"I can think of all sorts of reasons for people to want rid of Anja,"
she said matter of factly. Then she smiled. "Do be a dear, and pour
us a little port, won't you? I can see this will be thirsty work..."
He looked at her narrowly as he poured out a glass.
"So how long have you been drinking port, Miss Blume? A drink favoured
by red-faced ex-soldiers and old maids in town pubs. I'd have thought gin
and tonics more your choice ... or that new American thing ... what is it?
Cock-tails or some such silly name."
"Oh, quite," she agreed. "Only I saw the port sitting there,
and I didn't see any gin. But as for tonic ... " She pulled a face.
"They only mix gin with it to make it palatable enough to get down
... Didn't you know that? They started that in the war ... "
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. "Let's see ... one ... two ...
three I can think of off-hand. Where would you like me to start?"
The Constable smiled. “I have found it excellent advice to say, 'Begin
at the beginning'. So, Miss Blume ... who are your one ... two ... three?"
"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "Well, number one is Lucinda.
All appearances are that she has been having an affair with Wally.
"Number two... mmm, Reginald Staughton's family apparently lost this
hall to Wally, somehow. I don't know any of the details of the legalities,
but it certainly bears looking into.
"Number three... Doctor Lawrence. Rumors are that he provides, er ...
prescription recreation to the jet set. What if Anja was hooked on something?
What if Wally found out ... ? All sorts of possibilities, there. He could
have given her something earlier, and only made it look like it was the
Bengers to throw suspicion off of him...
"Let's see," she continued, "number four ... mmm ... Wally
could have made her drink it. They were alone when it happened, after all.
What if he wanted rid of her so he could more openly pursue Lucinda?"
"And I've told you what I overheard in the Library."
"Oh!" she said. "And Wally got some telegram. Anja was complaining
about it when Cliffie and I first got here... That could be important if
he was the intended victim. He was going on about something at dinner...
as if he had incurred some debts or other. You should probably ask Miss
Mulchop about that... I think she wasn't originally supposed to be a member
of the party, only there were cancellations or something... "
Davyd sat on the
stairs, an idiosyncratic cigarette resting in his lips. He'd seen the look
on Jane's face when they'd seen the body. It hadn't been pleasant; and had
seemingly shaken the constant...bubble out of her person. A crying shame.
He hoped that she'd be okay, and waited eagerly for her to finish with the
constable. For now he'd just wait and smoke.
The following
morning found Oswald Skeffington-Nottle (always a keen trencherman) in the
dining room at 8 am, and making a good start on breakfast.
"Beech," he said, as this worthy entered, clearly to instruct
the accompanying footman on the nice placement of kippers on the heated
tray, "what's happening with the investigation?"
Oswald, it must be observed, despite his startled fawn appearance, and the
fact that he was roundly known as the 'fool of the family' - in much the
same way that Homer's sea is 'wine dark', or his Dawn 'rosy-fingered', possessed
a shrewd sense of knowing who to turn to in a crisis.
And Beech, he recognised unerringly, was 'the man'.
Beech, magnificent as ever, did not fail him.
"The Constable has been talking with the staff, Sir. He has established
that the Bengers and tea were made in the kitchen, and were in a satisfactory
condition when they left that location."
"Apparently, the Russian lady's tisane excited no little interest,
so that three people were moved to taste it. And then, in a spirit of foolish
emulation, Muriel, the lower housemaid, was inspired to taste the Bengers.
She pronounced it 'horrid', but as she suffered no ill effects, and did
not detect any bitter after taste, the Constable believes the beverage was
unadulterated at this point. And there are five reliable witnesses to the
fact that Gladys immediately brought the tray upstairs."
Oswald revolved this thoughtfully, nodding his head.
"I say," he said, "that does make it look jolly likely it
was one of us then. Unless it was the parlour maid."
Beech inclined his head gravely. "Such, I believe, is the Constable's
impression," he said. "A just man, he is not excluding Gladys
- even though she is his sister-in-law. The other staff who were upstairs
at the time - namely the footman, James, and myself, were not alone at any
point - and can vouch for each other. But, regrettable as it is, we must
conclude the murderer was drank from among those staying here this Christmas."
As he finished speaking, Lucinda came into the dining room, pale and a little
tired. She smiled at Beech, who bowed and withdrew.
"Wally is still sleeping," she said quietly. "I slept in
a chair in his room. I know it's not the done thing - but I thought about
what Miss Blume said last night - that poor Wally was the intended victim."
"I know Madame Escuskiovna wants to do his tarot. I think that might
help ... Do you know what's happening?"
Oswald explained what Beech had told him, and added, "I believe the
Constable has set up his base in the near the stables. He wants to see us
all one by one."
"I shall go straight after breakfast then," said Lucinda. "Then
perhaps we can do the card reading in the living room. And then I shall
take Wally for a walk - I am sure it will do him good."
Dessard came downstairs about 8:30 a.m. to see Oswald already at work on
breakfast. "Merry Christmas." The major said wryly. He sat down
across from the young fop and proceeded to tackle his meal with gusto, with
kippers, eggs and sausages heaped on his plate, and coffee in his china
teacup. "Ahhh, that's the stuff. Nasty habit I picked up campaigning."
He pointed to the coffee. Finishing his repast, he proceeded to light a
fag, asking permission from the ladies before doing so.
"So, the local bobby'll be seeing us all this morning?" He asked
nonchalantly. "Anyone been to see him yet?"
"Not I!" came a chipper voice from the door. Clifford Viscount
Fenwick swept in, and continued, "But I am so looking forward
to it. Morning, all!"
Sitting near Lucinda, Clifford beamed a smile at her before pouring himself
some coffee. He appeared none the worse for wear, as much as the others
could tell anyway. Cupping the hot cup between his hands, he glanced at
the others.
"What about you, Ozzie?” He directed this at Oswald. “Have
you seen him yet?"
"No," said Oswald. "Apparently he's been seeing the servants
before breakfast ... and he's found out a fair bit ... "
Briefly, he recounted what Beech had told him.
"Lucy has volunteered to be first for the inquisitor," said Oswald.
"Although that jolly girl you were with saw him last night, didn't
she? Miss Blume? Did she say how that went?"
Dabbing his mouth with a napkin, Clifford answered, "Oh my, no! I haven't
spoken with her since last night... and I dare say it's a bit early for
Janey to be up! I just couldn't sleep any longer, the excitement and worry...
tsk!"
With that he went back to eating his breakfast, mostly fruits and cereals.
Dr. Lawrence gave
the distinct impression of having randomly wandered into the constable's
improvised office. "Good morning, Constable, and I can only wish it
were a merrier Christmas. Mmm ... you wanted to speak to each of us, correct?"
The Constable nodded. "What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing
the screams? What other people did you see and when?"
"Mmm ... let me think. After most of the women left - well, all of
them except Jane Blume, who was talking with young Smyth - I remained in
here with the rest of the men. Emerson, the Major, Oswald, and Secord were
discussing business, for which I had no interest at all. The Viscount joined
in and things got a bit snarky, for which I had even less interest, so I
just sat out of the way. The ladies were coming back down by this point,
but I'm afraid I don't remember in which order or any such."
He paused. "Anja asked Madame...Escuskiovna...to play the piano, and
went off to take the Benger's and tea to Emerson. I believe we were all
there at the time; I didn't notice anyone missing."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
"Mmm ... no. Can't think of anything. Oh, I suppose young Staughton
might have a bee in his bonnet about about losing the manor, but he didn't
seem all that upset about it."
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
Brandon's face momentarily took on an odd expression, then slid back to
neutral. "No, can't say that anything's struck me at all."
Dr. Lawrence and the constable looked at each for a moment in silence. "Is
that it, then? Right, well, you know where to find me," Brandon said,
and ambled back out to the living room. He stood for a moment, looking around,
then asked, "Cards, anyone?"
Davyd almost came out of his seat at that word. Removing the cigarette from
his mouth, he produced a handsome set of cards and began shuffling them.
"I'm game. Give these a good shuffle, grab a few other players, and
we'll see if we can't get a good'un going. Think I'll pop in and see the
inspector first."
Dropping the cards onto the table, he went into the office. Exchanging swift
pleasantries with the constables, he took a seat and the interview began:
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
"Myself and the other gentlemen remained in the dining room for a while.
The talk quickly turned to business-cum-politics, subjects which I don't
find terribly interesting. I left as soon as etiquette allowed and went
to the living room to seek some female attention. I found Jane in there
looking rather bored, and we got talking until the other guests arrived.
Some music ensued, courtesy of our resident medium, and at the climax we
heard the screams..." He trailed off, remembering those cries.
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
"Not really. Well, obviously Staughton isn't overjoyed with having
lost the Hall, but then that doesn't make him a murderer, does it? In any
case, I've passed about two words with the chap, so I really couldn't comment
further.”
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
Davyd opened his mouth to answer in the negative. Then closed it again.
Again he went to say no, but the inspector had witnessed the entire action.
With a shrug, a sigh, and a sudden yearning for tobacco, he spoke. "Okay,
I can't really see that it's relevant to the inquiry, but I couldn't help
but notice Miss Hermione seemed particularly moved by Emerson's grieving.
I mean, obviously, no-one enjoys watching a man mourn his wife but... I
don't know. It seemed as if I were missing something quite significant there."
Nodding to the inspector, Davyd rose. "I'm sure I needn't tell you
to call on me if I can be of further service..." he added, leaving
the room.
When she went
to visit the Constable on Christmas morning, Madame Escuskiovna was dressed
much less eccentrically in a grey tweed costume suitable for the country,
though it was decorated with a filmy scarf, spangled with silver, at the
throat. She answered Welles' questions thoughtfully, in a collected manner.
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
"The other ladies and I left the dining room with Miss Ericksson. At
that point she suggested that we all go upstairs to freshen up before meeting
again in the living room, which we did – except for Miss Blume, as
I recall. But . . . yes, it was just before that that the parlourmaid appeared
with the - with the Bengers and the tisane for Mr. Emerson, that is - and
Miss Ericksson told her to leave it in the morning room, that Mr. Emerson
was not ready for it yet.
"After that we went upstairs. My room is on the second floor, so Miss
Smithson and I went up together, but . . . I do not believe I saw her when
I came out of my room and went back downstairs. I believe there was some
talk of her going by the back stairs. When I arrived in the living room
most of the other ladies were already there; Miss Ericksson allowed Miss
Dalrymple-Smythe to use her room. Shortly after the gentlemen joined us,
Miss Ericksson asked me to play the piano, so I sat down at the instrument
and was playing when we heard the screams."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
"I do not know either Mr. Emerson or Miss Ericksson well enough to
know who might wish them ill. Miss Ericksson heard of my . . . talents .
. . through a mutual acquaintance and was kind enough to invite me for the
weekend. However," she bent her pale-blue gaze upon the Constable,
"if I should learn anything of this by - other methods - I shall not
fail to inform you, Constable."
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
Madame Escuskiovna pursed her lips thoughtfully, but finally shook her head.
"I am not familiar enough with any of the guests, at present, to be
able to detect such a thing."
"Morning,
lah!" Clifford beamed as he entered the constable's makeshift area.
Following some initial pleasantries and general settling down, the questioning
began.
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
Clifford sat in a large, overstuffed chair, legs crossed. In his right hand
was the overly long cigarette holder, with a smoldering black cig attached.
This he held near his face, with his other hand cradling his elbow. His
countenance was uncharacteristically sombre.
"Well," he began, "After dinner, the ladies were led away
by Anja, and us lads had a spot of port. Not the best I've had, mind you,
but it was adequate. Then Wally left, saying he had work to do. Soon after,
that Davyd Smith fellow slipped out. Not one for socializing I suppose,"
he added with a shrug. "It was maybe ten minutes later, when Ms. Smithson
slipped into the room and grabbed Anja's purse... said that Anja had asked
her to retrieve it. She seemed mortified, the poor, frumpy creature. A little
while later, we joined the ladies in the living room, and I believe we were
all present at that point. Anja asked the Russian woman to play the piano,
and then she took the tray in to Wally... and then..." Clifford paled,
dropping his gaze. "Well, it was just after that that we heard Anja
scream."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson? If so, please explain."
"Hmmm...." considered the Viscount, as he punched out the remainder
of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "Well, actually sir, Wally and
Mr. Staughton had words during port. It seems that this place once belonged
to Reginald's uncle, the Earl... and I don't think he's very happy about
Wally acquiring it... Ooo! That seems a bit damning, doesn't it?" Clifford
expressed excitedly. "Other than that, I'm really not sure... I just
met the others last night. Other than dear Janey, of course."
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
Clifford sat forward, considering. Then he looked up and met the constable's
gaze. "Well, what with Staughton's position, I'd certainly suspect
him," he answered, and then fell silent, considering further.
"And you know, I'm not entirely sure why, but I just don't trust that
Russian woman. She's odd... in a... general sort of way... a fine pianist,
however..."
"I see, Sir. And no-one else? No-one who ... well, may not be quite
above board?"
The Viscount sat back, eyes widening at the odd urging from the constable.
~Why, he must know something, the crafty devil!~ His gaze lost focus as
he scanned over what he knew and guessed about the others, looking for anything
that might be of help to the officer.
"Well..." he began slowly, still thinking but afraid to let the
silence hang for too long, "If we're going to speak of small
things ... I do know that Major Dessard is notorious among London's
clothing shops and tailors ... he never pays his bills, it seems. Probably
has trouble getting work done by anyone by now ... but I don't see
how that would implicate him here ..." Clifford added quickly, the
tan face of the Major coming to mind ... the scar, the danger in the eyes
... the striking profile ... Clifford squirmed a bit, and refocused on the
constable. "I don't know him personally, but that's just what I've
heard. I'm afraid I'm just not sure about the others. Although all of those
veteran chaps seem a bit edgy ... what with seeing blokes dying and whatnot
..."
"That's very interesting, Sir," said the constable. "Well,
thank you - very much. You've been most helpful."
"Ah, smashing! Glad to be of service, constable!" Clifford replied
with a smile.
He watched the Viscount rise to his feet.
"Oh, just one thing, Sir. You wouldn't happen to know anything about
how the phone in the library came to be disconnected, would you?"
Fenwick's smile faltered, and his gaze dropped. "Oh my ... yes. I think
I do ... poor Anja." Clifford sighed. Looking back up, he continued,
"Janey and I were heading past the library earlier, and we overheard
Anja on the phone. She was quite upset about a movie deal falling through,
and I believe she went so far as to throw the thing against the wall. I
mean, I didn't see it happen, but rather heard it." He gave the constable
a weak smile. "Does that help?"
"It does indeed, Sir," said the constable. "Did you happen
to hear any details of the conversation? Anything that might account for
Miss Ericksson's later talk of 'betrayal' at dinner?"
Clifford shook his head and was dismissed.
Hermione took
her turn with the constable.
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
“Directly after dinner I accompanied Madame Escuskiovna to freshen
up as Miss Ericksson had suggested we do. When we retuned Miss Ericksson
asked if I would fetch her purse from the dining room. Which I did."
Hermione paused, her cheeks turning a delicate shade of red.
"When I returned everyone was present except for Wallace Emerson of
course. After a while Miss Ericksson went to join him & it wasn't long after
that that we ..." Hermione winces, "heard those dreadful screams."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
Hermione shifted slightly in her chair. "No none."
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
Hermione thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No." She
paused, still thinking. "No. Definitely not. You see." She explains
standing to take her leave. "I'm afraid I am not familiar with any
of these people. As you probably guessed, I'm American. I'm only here because
I am ... was a great fan of Ms. Ericksson. "
Deep in the mud.
Laying face down. He heard the thunder walking. It walked closer and closer.
Bringing death a bit closer with each explosive step towards where he lay
hiding. It seemed like the last shell burst nearly atop him. The next should
strike his hiding place directly. He heard the deepening pitch of the shell's
whistle as it descended from the heaven to bring explosive death. The whistling
sound seems to fill the world around him, and suddenly … he awoke.
The sun had just risen. The rest of the house was asleep, with the exception
of the servants getting the estate running. There was no question of a return
to sleep, with that dream just waiting for him to return.
He dressed and made his way downstairs and outside. Wandering around on
the white blanket of snow calmed his mind down. As life started to stir
in the manor, Miles Secord made his way back. He enjoyed a hearty country
breakfast, raising an eyebrow at the English idea of bacon. He washed it
down with coffee and a glass of orange juice.
Leaving the breakfast table, he sought out the Constable. Might as well
get this over with as soon as possible.
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
Miles shrugged. "I just stayed with the men, enjoying a glass or two
of port. It was quite good by the way. The discussion seemed to center on
business for the most part. I tried to participate, but … well, though
I have access to a small fortune, the business aspect holds little interest
for me." He thought, "I believe we were there when we heard the
scream, and made directly for the source."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson? If so, please explain."
"Um, not off hand." Miles considered. "Of course, I don't
really know many of the folks here."
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
"I'm sorry, Constable," replied Miles regretfully, "I'm afraid
I've been mostly lost in my thoughts since getting here at the manor. Until
last night, I hadn't really been paying too much attention to the other
guests, or servants. But I assure you, if I think of something, I'll be
sure and let you know."
Major Dessard
visited the Constable.
"What exactly did you do between dinner and hearing the screams? What
other people did you see and when?"
"I was in the dining room, speaking with young Oswald and Emerson about
investment opportunities until we joined the ladies in the living room.
Jane Blume remained in the dining room with the men for a while. Forward
young lady." He grinned in admiration.
"In the living room, we gathered around the piano. The ladies were
coming downstairs after retiring to refresh themselves. Madame Escuskiovna
was preparing to play, and afterwards we intending to play a rubber or two
of bridge. Emerson excused himself to do some work, but told his secretary,
Miss Mulchop, he wouldn't be needing her for the evening. That struck me
as rather odd. A few minutes later, Miss Ericksson excused herself to bring
the Bengers and tisane to Emerson. That was odd too, come to think of it;
she could've had Gladys do it."
"Do you have any reason to believe that someone here would wish ill
to either Wallace Emerson or Anja Ericksson?"
"No. Staughton, maybe." Dessard considered. "Emerson took
the manor from his father or uncle, I can't recall which. Stanton seemed
a little put off about it, but I can't imagine he'd kill to get it. It would
presumably pass on to Emerson's heirs, right? Staughton wouldn't get title.
You should probably speak to Emerson about that." Dessard suggested.
"Has anyone here struck you as behaving suspiciously? Do you know anything
that might lead you to suspect anyone here?"
"Not really. I know Emerson from a mutual acquaintance I took on safari.
The only guest I know by reputation besides our host and hostess is Jane
Blume. She had a relationship with a frog photographer I used to know, a
Jean-Pierre Marseilles. Miles Secord seems to be a stand-up American. I'm
not sure of Davyd Smythe or that fop, the Count, though I can't point to
anything either of them has done.
"The only one that acted odd during dinner was Anja Ericksson. She
babbled about the 'penalty for betrayal' or some such nonsense, during dinner.
But she's the one that ended up murdered. Maybe she betrayed someone? And
that person got his or her revenge? Again, I don't know enough about the
family to be much help."
"You should know that I'm carrying a .32 revolver, ever since this
business started. Its legal." Dessard offered to show Welles the papers
if necessary, finishing with, "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help,
Constable."
This may be the
point to report that Oswald and Lucinda were able to add nothing at all
to the stories that the other houseguests told. What they said about people's
movements tallied exactly with everyone else; they seemed singularly at
a loss as to potential enemies and had (the innocents) noticed nothing whatsoever
odd about the other guests ...
End of Chapter 6
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