And that evening after dinner, while some of the others played bridge and she appeared to read in the Seaview Lounge, Mrs Pargeter mulled over the new facts she had found out about Newth: first, that he was a rich man, and, second, that he was a sick man.
Oh, yes, and third – that he was almost definitely a thief.
∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧
28
SATURDAY, 9 MARCH – 9.30 p.m.
Well, what an exciting life I seem to be leading! Not only can I now call myself a double murderer, I have even had the police taking notice of my humble efforts. Quite a shock that was, when I heard that they’d been called in. And yet, like many of the other excitements I have undergone since I started on my recent course, it was not wholly unpleasureable. Indeed, after a life of almost unbelievable dullness, I seem to get quite a thrill out of living dangerously.
I also gain considerable satisfaction from the ignorance of everyone else at the Devereux. They behave to me exactly as they always have, and I think I can congratulate myself on my acting for behaving as I always have. I wish I had realised earlier the pleasures of leading a double life!
Because, in the last few days, partly perhaps because of the evidence of others’ mortality (which I have caused), I have become increasingly aware that my own time is getting short. And this thought has caused an interesting change in my attitude to my murders. Only last week I was unworried by the prospect of arrest and conviction – I just thought it might add to the excitement. But now, perhaps because I’ve seen the police come so close, I am very determined not to get caught.
A new element has entered my life – call it the thrill of the chase, perhaps, or the appeal of a game of cat and mouse – but, whatever it is, I am determined to get away with my crimes, even if – as poor Mrs Mendlingham found out – this means committing more murders.
In other words, anyone who I find has got near to the truth of what I have done is lining themselves up to be my next victim. The trouble is, I am beginning to develop quite a taste for murder.
∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧
29
Mrs Pargeter decided that she had got as far as she could in her investigation without enlisting outside help. Among the many invaluable legacies of the late Mr Pargeter had been his address book and, though she had rarely had occasion to use it, she knew it to be a wonderfully rich alternative Yellow Pages, which offered access to a wide variety of unexpected services.
She decided it would be unwise to use one of the telephones at the Devereux, since they all went through the hotel switchboard and she did not wish to have her conversation overheard. So, round ten on the Sunday morning, Mrs Pargeter set out with a pocketful of change towards the public phone boxes she had located on her day of reconnaissance.
The curtain of grey cloud had parted to let through a little grudging sunlight. The seaweed smell was strong. Mrs Pargeter breathed deeply. She felt good, healthy in body and with her mind intriguingly occupied.
Although it had been over five years since they had spoken, she was in no doubt as to whom she should ring, but initially she met with disappointment.
“I’m sorry,” said a woman’s voice at the other end. “I’m afraid Mr Hollingberry doesn’t live here any more.”
“Oh. You don’t mean that he’s…away for a while but will be back?” asked Mrs Pargeter discreetly.
The woman had obviously never had a relative in prison, because she did not appear to understand the question. “No, no, he’s moved.”
“Do you have a number for him at his new address?”
She was in luck. The woman gave her the number and Mrs Pargeter dialled it.
“Hello,” said an excessively cultured voice when the money went in. “Bishop’s Palace.”
Mrs Pargeter’s instinct was to say, ‘Sorry, wrong number’, and put the phone down, but something held her back. “Oh. Er, I wanted to speak to a Mr Hollingberry.”
“Just a moment, I’ll call him to the telephone.”
There was a wait of nearly a minute and then a familiar voice said, “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“Kipper?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Melita Pargeter.”
“Mrs Pargeter! Oh, what a pleasure to hear your voice, Madam. May I say, Madam, that I think of you a great deal. You and, of course, poor Mr Pargeter. I know it’s been over five years since he passed on, but I do find I still miss him, you know.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Pargeter wistfully. “I know.” Then, warding off introspection, she asked, “What on earth are you doing in a Bishop’s Palace?”
“I work here,” Kipper Hollingberry replied with dignity.
“Oh?”
“I am his Lordship’s chauffeur.”
“I didn’t know that was your line of country, Kipper.”
“I have always,” he said rather primly, “aspired to the quiet of a Cathedral Close. That is where I always wished to spend my later years. An ambition perhaps deriving from an early affection for the works of Trollope.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps if you’ve changed direction so completely, you won’t be able to help me…”
“Mrs Pargeter, I would always help you. I can never forget yours and Mr Pargeter’s kindness to me on so many occasions. Any service to repay a little of my debt of gratitude I will gladly perform.”
“I know that, Kipper. I was only thinking that, now you’re out of the swing, you probably won’t have the information I require.”
“I am by no means ‘out of the swing’, Madam.”
“What, you’re still in business?”
“In a smaller way. My service is now, let’s say…a consultancy.”
“And you run it from the Bishop’s Palace?”
“Yes. Only for selected clients, of course.”
“Hmm. You’ve still got the Directory?”
“Certainly. And I pride myself on keeping the information in it right up to date.”
The pips went. Mrs Pargeter put in more money.
“Give me the number,” said Kipper. “Next time that happens I’ll call you back.”
“What about the Bishop’s telephone bill?”
“His Lordship trusts me implicitly.” There was a note of reproof in Kipper’s voice. “Now what can I do for you?”
“It’s a safe.”
“Yes?” he sounded unsurprised. “What make?”
“Clissold and Fry – Excalibur Two.”
“Hmm. They’re pretty straightforward. Plastic explosives. Doesn’t need much, they’re not very robust.”
“No, no. I don’t want any sign that it’s been opened.”
“Ah. Combination job. Right.”
“That’s the sort of information you’d have on the Directory, isn’t it?”
“Should do, certainly. Depend a bit when the safe was sold. My contact at Clissold & Fry got, er, a little careless. I’m afraid he’s been…um, away for the last three years and I haven’t as yet been able to replace him. But, if it’s more than three years ago, I’ll have copies of the lot…sales invoice, combination.”
“I should think it probably has been there three years. Doesn’t look very new.”
“Well, where is the safe?”
“The Devereux Hotel, South Terrace, Littlehampton.”
“Any idea of the name of the purchaser?”
“The current proprietress’s name is Miss Naismith.”
“Splendid. I’ll check it out for you, Madam.”
“How long’s it likely to take, Kipper?”
“Five minutes maximum. Shall I call you back on that number?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”