Payne led the way, Antonia and the tweedy lady following, the latter rather reluctantly, dragging the dogs behind her.
Some fifteen seconds later the trees on either side of the path parted and, like some stage set, the Gothic monstrosity called The Mongoose was revealed in a bay of pale sunlight against a misty well of dark desolation. They’ve allowed the trees in their back garden to grow as tall as the house, Antonia thought. She was put in mind of the world of fairy tales, those of the Brothers Grimm in particular. One expected an ogre or a witch to live in a house like that...
The front door was gaping open — they saw a blob of colour — a fat woman in a voluminous orange bathrobe, her head encased in a frilly bath cap, appeared on the porch. Catching a glimpse of them, she waved her hand, beckoning them to get closer.
“Eden Swann,” Antonia whispered.
“Ahoy there!” Eden Swann cried.
“Holy Jerusalem, Jenner was right,” Payne murmured. “She does look ghastly.” He turned to Antonia. “Please, promise me never to wear orange.”
Something caused the tweedy lady to gasp, draw back, and drop the pugs’ leashes. “Look — look — in her hand!”
“Stay still,” Major Payne commanded sotto voce.
They heard the dogs running away, but none of them made an effort to stop them. Their eyes were fixed on the object clutched in the former child star’s right hand.
It was a gun.
“Miss Swann? Miss Eden Swann?” Payne called out.
“Are you from the music business? Please, come over! Don’t be afraid of the gun. I only used it because there was an emergency.” She waved the gun in another beckoning gesture.
They didn’t move. Payne proceeded to speak in a loud voice, very slowly, “You must do something first. Kindly drop the gun on the ground.” As he spoke he wrapped his handkerchief round his hand. “Gently. Please do it gently.”
“Drop it? Gently? On the ground?” She pronounced ‘drop’ as ‘dwop’ and ‘ground’ as ‘gowned’. But like the good little girl she clearly still imagined she was, she did as asked. As soon as she dropped the gun, Payne walked up to it, scooping it up and putting it in his pocket. A tiny gun, like a toy, he thought. Antonia and the tweedy lady joined him.
“Are you from the music business?” Eden Swann asked again. Her face was an unhealthy mottled pink colour. Her eyes didn’t focus well.
“So it was you who fired the gun?”
“Yes. The phone’s not working, you see. I had a little drinkie first. I was a bit shaken up. Two little drinkies, in fact.” She held up two fingers. “No, three.” She held up three fingers.
“Why did you fire the gun?”
“There was an emergency, I told you. I couldn’t think of anything else. It’s my husband’s gun, I think. Bent has several guns. But he keeps them locked.” She stood peering at them. “Who are you?”
“My name is Hugh Payne and this is my wife Antonia. And this is—?”
“Beryl Fletcher,” the tweedy lady introduced herself.
“Are you from the music business?”
“I am afraid not,” Payne said.
“I am afraid not,” Beryl Fletcher said.
“Where’s your husband?” Antonia asked.
“How terribly disappointing. I was in the music business once. I was on TV the other day.”
“Where’s your husband?” Payne asked.
“He’s inside.”
“We’d like to see him, if we may.”
“I don’t want to go back.” She shook her head.
“We must see your husband,” Payne said firmly.
“It’s nice here, in the sun. Warm and bright. I am free at last. And there’s that sweet cookie smell again! How lovely.” She shut her eyes. “Such a cosy kind of smell. Reassuring. I love cookies. Takes me back to the time when I was a little girl...”
Major Payne was already walking towards the front door.
“I am not going back to that ungodly hole.” Eden Swann sniffed. “I’m going to stay here. I need to think. I believe — yes, I believe something extraordinary has happened! A miracle. One of those one-in-a-million chances. Well, I have always been a firm believer in Fate. Whatever is meant to happen, will happen. What will be, will be. This was clearly meant to happen. Bent is in the hall. You can’t miss him. I’d rather not look at him again. I don’t like blood.”
They couldn’t have missed him, even if they had tried. He lay on his back in the middle of the hall. He was clad in a tartan dressing gown. His pale eyes bulged open. There wasn’t any doubt that he was dead. A pool of very dark blood had formed round his balding head. It had oozed from a tiny jagged hole in his right temple. Beside his right hand there lay the pieces of a broken china cup in a puddle of spilt black coffee.
“My God,” Miss Fletcher whispered. Unexpectedly she crossed herself.
Payne nodded. “Exactly as Jenner described him — snub-nosed, no chin, small ears — and he’s wearing the signet ring.” Bending over, he touched one of the man’s hands. “Still warm.”
“He’s been shot... Who is he?” Miss Fletcher asked.
“A fellow called Stewart posing as Benjamin Jenner,” Payne explained. “Benjamin Jenner used to be the husband of the lady outside. Her name is Eden Swann.”
“Did she kill him? She admitted to firing the gun.” Miss Fletcher glanced round the dark hall as though expecting someone or something to jump out of the shadows. “Do you know these people?”
“We know of them. It’s a long story—” Payne broke off as he saw his wife kneeling beside the body. “What are you doing? Why are you looking behind his ears?”
“What I thought,” Antonia said. “I was right.” She rose to her feet. “Your Captain Jenner got it all wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“No such person as ‘Stewart’ exists. This is the body of his uncle Benjamin Jenner, known as ‘Bent.’ ”
“But it can’t be! He looks nothing like Jenner’s late papa!”
“The reason he doesn’t,” Antonia said, “is because he made sure he didn’t. He changed his appearance, Hugh. There are stitches behind his ears.”
Payne stared back at her. There was a moment’s pause. “Plastic surgery?”
“He did have plastic surgery, yes.” It was Eden Swann who had spoken. She seemed to have changed her mind and decided to come back into the house. She was standing beside the front door, leaning against the frame. “He didn’t allow me to have plastic surgery, he was so mean, but he paid a fortune to have his own mug altered beyond recognition.” She no longer spoke in her little-girl voice, Antonia noticed. And there was a strange light in her eyes — a certain knowing look? “He paid for it with my money.”
“Why did he have plastic surgery?” Payne asked.
“He didn’t want his enemies to recognise him. He’d been involved with some extremely dangerous people. He hadn’t paid his dues. He had taken more than his share. He’d cheated and double-crossed his own associates. He never told me what he was running away from exactly, but he used to mutter to himself and I always listened. He talked in his sleep too. I always listened. Then there was that child business and the letters. That tipped him over the edge. That really scared him. He changed his name. He became Stewart. We kept on the move, like gypsies. So undignified. Each time we bought a house, he called it The Mongoose. That was his only link with the past. Some puerile joke... I wanted to leave him but I was afraid. He said he’d find me and he’d skin me alive. He enjoyed hurting me.”