“Indeed, madam, I wanted to ask you what you did with the fuse you changed last night.”
Gabriela gave him one of her meek looks that put her unconditionally at the disposal of others.
“I threw it down the incinerator.”
“Would this be it, by any chance?” Ericourt had taken the notebook out of his pocket. “I checked the incinerator after I left your apartment yesterday.”
Gabriela let herself fall into an armchair, her lips white and a look of horror in her dull eyes.
“It wasn’t me,” she said.
“We know it wasn’t you. We found señor Iñarra’s fingerprints on the electricity box. He told us yesterday, however, that you were in charge of repairing things that often went wrong in the apartment.”
“Fine,” said Don Agustín. “It was me. Last night when you were here I had the diary on my bedside table. I had taken it. I was afraid you would find it and attribute the wrong meaning to it, so I decided to get rid of it by throwing it down the incinerator. When I was in the scullery I feared you might have noticed my movements, so I faked the blackout by tripping the fuse so as to go back to my room without being seen. I took the torch Gaby had left in the scullery. That’s all.”
“Don’t worry, madam, we can’t arrest you for privately confessing to being afraid of someone you call ‘him’,” said Ericourt, maliciously emphasizing the words.
“My wife and I have had some difficulties, sir. I was trying to protect the privacy of my home. In these unfortunate circumstances people allow themselves to talk about others as if they don’t have any feelings or problems. Gaby has exaggerated our situation. I don’t blame her. The sheltered life she leads has affected her nerves.”
“Is it your husband you refer to in the notebook, madam?”
“Gabriela, you don’t need to answer that,” protested señor Iñarra.
“What was the truth you were so afraid someone would discover?” Ericourt was unrelenting. Gabriela sobbed gently with her face in her hands. Her sobs suddenly grew louder.
“I was afraid this would happen,” said her husband. “A nervous breakdown. Let me call my daughter to take my wife away and keep her company. I’m willing to talk.”
“Poor Gaby!” said Don Agustín pityingly. “She’s a weak-willed creature, easily influenced. That’s why I’ve tried to behave like a father as well as a husband to her. Gaby has been so caring with my daughter that she won my affection from the first moment.
“She’s dedicated herself to me ever since I became ill. I know the task of constantly nursing must be hard at her age. I’ve made an effort to lighten her load so she doesn’t get exhausted, because her lack of moral strength makes her vulnerable. Uncharitable people have taken advantage of her exhaustion and dragged her into situations which, although not essentially ill-intentioned, could have turned out to be compromising.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Boris Czerbó. My wife told me. He tried to extort money from her. That’s the situation the diary mentions.”
“Why?”
“Things from the past. Before she married me, Gaby was misfortunate enough to be the victim of an unscrupulous man. Czerbó must have known that and tried to get money out of her.”
“If you knew about it, why worry?”
Iñarra smiled wearily.
“My dear man, have you ever known a woman who simply tells the whole truth? They’re very secretive when it comes to personal matters. They keep certain things quiet even in moments of great intimacy.”
Don Agustín’s voice remained moderately impassive, in the face of which any explanation by Gabriela would surely have come undone.
“My wife lied when she said she didn’t know why Betty was visiting Czerbó. She confided in her, and Betty, stubborn as she is, decided to take the matter into her own hands and convince Czerbó that it wasn’t worth attacking us.”
Blasi came in at that moment. For the first time Don Agustín seemed filled with lordly amicability.
“Czerbó has died in mysterious circumstances,” said Lahore.
“Ask our maid. She’ll tell you that my wife and daughter didn’t leave the apartment last night.”
Ericourt began speaking again.
“I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer yes or no to each one. Take notes, Blasi. I’d like señora de Iñarra to be present. Go and get her. We’ll wait until she’s ready to join us again.”
Blasi found Gabriela in her bedroom. Betty was with her. The room had no personal touches. Gabriela did not seem like the kind of woman who finds it easy to express herself, so for her to confess what was happening in writing, the circumstances must have really affected her.
“I’ll be right there,” she said when she heard Blasi’s request. “Stay here, Betty.”
“I’m going with you,” said the young woman irritably. “Why not call the maid and the caretakers as well? They’d hate to miss the show.”
“Betty,” reproached Gabriela. “He’s not to blame.”
“On the contrary, madam, I must accept some blame. I once allowed her to deceive me.”
Betty turned her gaze away and took her stepmother’s arm.
That way, together, they entered Don Agustín’s bedroom and sat on either side of the bed. Señor Iñarra eyed them paternally.
After briefly explaining his intentions to Gabriela, Ericourt began questioning señor Iñarra. He stood with his hands in his pockets and was apparently absorbed in following the short trajectory of his cigarette smoke to the ceiling.
“Did you know that your daughter was visiting Boris Czerbó?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that the reason for these visits was that Czerbó was attempting to blackmail your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know the reason for that blackmail?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever been into Boris Czerbó’s apartment?”
“No.”
“Was your daughter at Boris Czerbó’s apartment the night before last?”
“No.”
“Did Dr Luchter come here after seeing Czerbó?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you how Czerbó was?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Frida Eidinger?”
“No.”
“Had she ever been to your home?”
“No.”
“Is there any reason why you might harbour resentment towards your wife?”
“No.”
“Is there any reason why your wife might harbour resentment towards you?” “No.” “Do you admit that you caused the blackout the other night in order to get rid of some confessions your wife had written and which you deemed compromising?”
“Yes.”
“Did your wife know what you were doing when she went to the scullery to change a fuse?”
“Yes.”
“Did she agree to go along with your plan?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Emilio Villalba?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he had disappeared?”
“No.”
“What other plan of yours has señora de Iñarra gone along with?”
Don Agustín looked disconcerted; Betty, indignant; Gabriela, expectant. Outside the window, puffy white clouds passed rapidly towards the west. An unexpected ray of sun momentarily lit up señor Iñarra’s knotty, clenched fist. His negative response was heard once more:
“None.”
Ericourt turned to Gabriela.
“Do you confirm what your husband has said, madam?”
She nodded her head.
“I’m arresting you, señor Iñarra. Your answers lead me to suspect that you are responsible for Boris Czerbó’s death.”
Gabriela’s eyes filled with tears. Betty tried to put her arm around her shoulders but she shook it off as if the contact bothered her, then tipped her head back.