“Good - God!” said Hannasyde very slowly. “But - she never came into the case at all!”
“No,” agreed Giles. “And if she hadn't committed the second murder she never would have come into the case. She said she had never even set eyes on Arnold; both my cousins said it; and not a soul came forward to explode that fallacy. Moreover, no one ever would have come forward. None of my witnesses have any idea of her name, you see.
“But” - Hannasyde was trying to puzzle it out - “how did she meet him? And having met him, why did she keep it so dark? Do you suggest that she set out to become acquainted with him with the idea of murder in mind? It's almost incredible!”
“No, I don't think she did. From what I've seen of her I imagine she started with the intention of getting Arnold to marry her. But when it came to marriage Arnold was very wary. He would never be caught by a girl of her type. I've no doubt it didn't take her long to realise that. She's acute, though not clever. And then she planned to get rid of him.”
“What made you suspect her in the first place?”
Giles reflected. “I don't think I know. It first occurred to me when Roger was killed, but it seemed wildly improbable. Then I made an excuse to call on her, and it struck me - perhaps I was already suspicious - that she was a little too anxious to convince me that she had an alibi for that evening. That might have been my imagination, of course, but it was enough to make me go back over everything I knew about her, and add it up, and find what the total was. To start with, I knew she was a gold-digger. My cousins were continually pointing that out to her. Also, I saw her setting her cap at Roger in a highly determined manner. She thinks more of money than anything else; that was always evident. To go on with, I learned from Kenneth (I think you were present too) that she was a close student of every kind of detective fiction. In itself that didn't mean anything, but added to the rest it seemed to me to mean quite a lot. Thirdly, Kenneth went to call on her on the night of Arnold's murder - and she was out.” He paused. “Little things like that - not much in themselves. Also the fact that she was obviously not in love with Kenneth. I could never imagine why she got engaged to him. I remembered, too, that Miss Vereker had told me, quite light-heartedly, that Violet had always been in the habit of picking up well-to-do men in hotel lounges, and that sort of thing. Then came Roger's death. You didn't know it, of course - how should you? - but she did a thing that evening that seemed to me stupid, and curiously unlike her. At the last moment she told Kenneth Vereker that she wouldn't go with him to that ball. She put his back up so badly that he at once rang up Miss Rivers, and invited her to go in Violet's stead. At the time I was merely surprised that Violet had handled him so clumsily - for the attitude she had adopted was that it would be indecent for either of them to appear at such a function. Now I think that she did it on purpose to ensure Kenneth's going to the ball, and thus providing himself with an alibi. She meant Roger's death to look like a suicide, and it was she who launched the theory that he was in a state of nerves on account of the police. That was one of the most suspicious things she did, I thought. The first murder had been so perfectly planned, and was so successful, that it went to her head. She's a conceited young woman, you know, and she ran away with the idea that if you could fool people once you could fool them any number of times.”
Hannasyde nodded. “Very often the way.”
“So I believe. Well, she was perfectly confident she could stage a convincing suicide, but in case of accidents she took care to provide herself with some sort of an alibi. Actually, it wasn't an alibi at all, but it might have worked if she hadn't made her fatal mistake.”
“Something to do with that mysterious letter,” Hannasyde said instantly.
“Yes, everything. You see, I was present when Miss Vereker gave Violet Williams that letter to post. She gave it her on the night of Roger's death - after seven o'clock.” He paused, and looked at Hannasyde. “Which meant, of course, that having missed the six-thirty collection it would catch the next - I don't know the exact time, but I suppose not earlier than eight-thirty, and probably later. I have a great respect for the Post Office, but I can't bring myself to believe that a letter posted at that hour can possibly be delivered at its destination the same evening. Violet Williams must have used the letter as an excuse to call on Roger at that unconventional hour.”
“What hour?” Hannasyde asked. “Have you any idea?”
“Sometime after eleven - when the girl she had invited to spend the evening with her left - and certainly before twelve, when she knew the main door would be shut.”
“Yes, I see. Coinciding with the entrance of the woman who might have been Mrs Delaford's personal maid, and the noise which was thought to be a tyre burst, heard by Mr Muskett. Is there a possibility of her having delivered the letter by hand prior to the arrival of her visitor?”
“No, I think not. She told me that her visitor came to dinner with her, and I expect you'll find she was speaking the truth. She wouldn't have had time.”
There was a long silence. Then Hannasyde said ruefully: “If all this turns out to be true, you'll have made me look rather silly - Mr Holmes.”
“Not at all,” replied Giles. “I only got on to it because I'm on very intimate terms with my cousins, and have been in a position to watch every move in the game at close quarters, as you never could.”
“I ought to have thought of it,” Hannasyde said. “If it hadn't seemed so certain that she'd never met Arnold Vereker, I must have thought of it. She was the only other person who had a motive.”
Giles laughed. “I really don't think you can blame yourself! My young cousin has been building up far too damning a case against himself to admit of your looking beyond him for some really unlikely suspect. All the same, you've never felt sure that Kenneth did it, have you?”
“No,” confessed Hannasyde. “I haven't. It always seemed to me that he was enjoying himself at my expense, for one thing, and for another - if he killed Arnold Vereker, why the stocks?”
“You gave up your first idea of a practical joke? Yes, that was what made me sure it wasn't Kenneth, and must have been a woman. The more I thought about it the more certain I felt that the stocks had an important bearing on the case. Whoever stabbed Arnold wanted to get him in a helpless position - in case, I suppose, the first blow didn't kill him. That pointed to a woman. Whether the stocks were a premeditated feature I suppose we shall never know. I'm inclined to think not. Perhaps Arnold's tyre burst occurred in the village, and Violet got the idea of using the stocks while she was waiting for him to change the wheel. Or perhaps - since it was a moonlit night — she caught sight of them when they were driving through Ashleigh Green, and got him to stop then, on the spur of the moment. It must have occurred to her that it would be safer to kill him in the open than to wait until they reached the cottage.”
Hannasyde did not speak for a moment or two. Then he said: “What a case! I apologise for not taking your amateur efforts seriously, Mr Carrington. You ought to be in the CID. That pistol, by the way, had been recently oiled. There should be traces of oil on the gloves that Violet Williams wore, or in her hand-bag, where I suppose she carried it. What a fool she was to use Miss Vereker's gun! Suspicion was bound to fall on young Vereker.”