But he didn’t collapse. Not quite. He just swayed, looking at her speechlessly.
“I wonder…maybe you and I could have a talk? With Lady Ridgleigh, too, I think that would perhaps be best.”
His tongue licked across dry lips, but still no words came.
“What, in the Seaview Lounge, about half-past eight…do you think that would suit…?”
Newth nodded, and Mrs Pargeter went through to enjoy her dinner in the Admirals’ Dining Room.
∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧
35
MONDAY, 11 MARCH – 8.15 p.m.
As I anticipated, it looks very much as if two murders will not have been enough. Mrs Mendlingham died because she could have incriminated me about Mrs Selsby’s murder, and now I fear that there is someone else who may have information that could restrict my freedom.
I have been suspicious of her since she arrived. There is about her a watchfulness, which I am beginning to find unnerving. She misses nothing, and I suspect she has the intelligence to make connections between the pieces of information she picks up.
I’ve a nasty feeling that she’s on to me. At first I thought she was just nosey, poking around the hotel because she’s curious by nature. But now I’m coming to the conclusion that her inquisitiveness is not random. She is behaving almost like a professional investigator.
For a start, she appears to possess a professional’s equipment – and the expertise to go with it. When I saw her in the small hours of Monday morning, I’m fairly sure that she had just broken into the Office. I can only assume that she used some sort of skeleton key. That sounds uncomfortably professional to me.
Then tonight in the bar she said something that suggested that she’s definitely on to me. That business about the crimes being linked came too close to the truth for comfort.
I don’t know how much she knows yet, but she’s getting there, and I can’t take the risk of giving her much more time. So far as I know, she hasn’t said anything to the police yet, and I must see to it that she doesn’t get the chance.
Yes, what I’m saying is that there has to be a third murder. I would like to have more leisure to plan, to ensure that this one looks as accidental as the others, but I think this time it’s too urgent.
She has to go – and quickly!
∨ A Nice Class of Corpse ∧
36
Mrs Pargeter lay on her bed for a little while after dinner. She was tired after the exertions of the day, following on the sequence of interrupted nights. She couldn’t take it like she used to. Though very fit for her age, there was no way round the fact that she had reached sixty-seven. And she was going to need all her strength for the interview ahead of her.
She must have dozed off, and woke with a start, afraid that she might have missed her rendezvous. But no, her watch told her she had only been asleep for ten minutes.
As often happens after a brief nap, her mouth tasted foul. She went to the basin and cleaned her teeth, but still the rusty taste lingered.
“Make sure you always have sweet breath.” That had been another of the late Mr Pargeter’s pieces of advice. “There is no excuse for smelly breath. It’s one of those things that is quite controllable.”
For this reason, although her own breath was usually sweet, it was Mrs Pargeter’s habit to have an atomiser spray around in her bedroom (or in her handbag if she was going out). She had always taken to heart any advice that the late Mr Pargeter had given her (and she knew how particularly important it was for older people to be careful about their breath).
She reached to her bedside table now for the atomiser and directed a couple of sharp puffs into her mouth. The taste of the spray made her feel immediately better.
She put the atomiser down on her bedside table and checked her face and hair in the mirror. Then she picked up her handbag and went straight down to the Seaview Lounge.
♦
Lady Ridgleigh and Newth were already installed in the armchairs in the bay when she entered the room. The curtains had not been drawn, only one small lamp was on, on the far wall, and from the sea a faint, greyish light glowed, outlining the two figures against the windows.
Mrs Pargeter drew up a small stool and positioned herself between the two armchairs. She was very aware of the ponderous ticking of the grandfather clock.
“Thank you for coming,” she said softly.
The bony outline of Lady Ridgleigh’s head was graciously inclined.
There was a silence.
Then Newth cleared his throat. “I have told her Ladyship what you told me – that you’ve been to see Mr Chiddham.”
“May I ask,” Lady Ridgleigh drawled, “why you did that? Perhaps it will explain why I’ve been summoned here in this rather melodramatic manner.”
“I was interested in what had happened to Mrs Selsby’s jewels. And what had happened to your jewels before that.”
“Ah.” Any hope there might have been in Lady Ridgleigh’s voice had gone from that monosyllable. “So now I assume you know what happened to them?”
“I think so.”
“Tell me, then. I’ll let you know whether your speculation is correct or not.” Lady Ridgleigh sounded reproving; there was in her voice the tone that the Queen might be expected to use to a Commonwealth leader who has just announced his intention of leaving the Commonwealth.
“Well, the way I see it is this…” Mrs Pargeter began comfortably. “After your husband’s death, you found that you were very financially embarrassed. You told me once that he had lost all your money, but I still think you were shocked by quite how much he had lost.
“Still, a lot of widows have found themselves in that position, and what most of them have to do is just swallow their pride and settle down to managing on a smaller income…effectively they have to cut their standard of living. To do that was very hard for you. You’d always had large houses, servants…To admit you could no longer maintain that style of life was a bitter pill for you to swallow.”
“Yes, but I did it,” said Lady Ridgleigh with some asperity. “Do you think, when I was a young gel, I expected to end my life somewhere like the Devereux Hotel?”
Mrs Pargeter would have liked Miss Naismith to hear the contempt that was put into those last two words. Gentility was one thing, but aristocracy something else. To Lady Ridgleigh, living at the Devereux was definitely slumming.
“Yes, all right, you cut down your standard of living. You sold the house, houses maybe.”
“Not worth anything, though. Froggie had mortgaged them all to the hilt.” There was still a hint of pride when she spoke of her late husband’s improvidence.
“Yes, you remained hard up. Even living here. And then of course you had…other expenses.”
There was a long silence. Mrs Pargeter could sense the intensity with which Newth was looking at her. It was a disorienting, uncomfortable feeling.
“What do you mean by ‘other expenses’?” Lady Ridgleigh asked finally.
“I mean your son.”
“What do you know about Miles? You’ve hardly met him.”
“I don’t know a great deal. Just that he takes after his father where money’s concerned.”
“So? What’s wrong with that? God, I wouldn’t want to spawn some penny-pinching little wage-slave. Miles knows his place in society and he enjoys himself. If you can’t have a good time when you’re young, what’s the point of life?”
“Miles is thirty-six,” said Mrs Pargeter softly.