‘Did he sneak in by the side door?’
‘Course not. A gentleman wouldn’t do that. He goed up bold to the front door, Mr Leek did, as was usual with him now and again.’
‘Mr Leek? Was he alone?’
‘Being as his wife and her brother and the young blackamoor was off to London in your old lady’s car (or so my mates at the pub told me) of course he was alone. He come up to me and asks if anybody was at home, as he was on his own and at a loose end. I telled him I think as Mrs Leyden and Mrs Porthcawl are in, to the best of my knowledge, so up he goes to the front door and in he’s tooken and must have had tea with ’em, I reckon, because it was near enough half-past five when he come out. Looked very pleased with himself, too, I thought, for all that he’d got a seven-mile tramp to get back to Seawards and spend the night on his own. But there! He’s always odd man out over to Seawards.’
‘Looked pleased with himself, did he?’
‘As usual, when he come away with some of the old lady’s money, which I reckon he did, because young Pabbay once told me that was the way of it.’
‘This wasn’t his first visit on his own, then?’
‘Oh, he didn’t come very often. Missus wouldn’t have stood for that. But servants hear a good bit, one way and another, and Redruth hears things in the car, there not being any screen between him and the passengers, and the old mistress not always guarded in her words when she talked to Mrs Porthcawl or Miss Fiona. The parlourmaid used to hear bits, too. Seemed that Mr Leek used to come cap in hand when the rates or the electricity or sommat expensive was due, and the old lady—she liked to play bountiful at times—she’d give him enough to foot the bill, whatever it was, and tell him it was to keep the wolf from Mrs Leek’s door and not for any love of him.’
‘So Mr Leek had reason to be grateful to Mrs Leyden?’
‘If anybody’s really grateful for charity,’ said Mattie. ‘It wouldn’t be my way, I can tell you, but, then, I wouldn’t ask for charity in the first place. Cap in hand never did fit in with my ideas.’
‘And he always came alone on these errands?’
‘Oh, yes. Mrs Leek would be far too proud to have any truck with such goings-on.’
‘She must have known he came here, though.’
‘I don’t reckon she did. Always at her painting and kind of innocent, if you know what I mean. I don’t reckon she either knew or cared what Mr Leek got up to, most of the time. He was the dreamy, wandering, helpless sort, you know. A real rabbit of a fellow he is. You’d hardly call him a man.’
‘So there’s one person who certainly did not have a grudge against Mrs Leyden,’ said Laura. ‘Anyway, for what it’s worth, the name of the dairyman who supplied milk and cream to Headlands is Trewiddick of Polyarn.’
‘You might look up his telephone number for me. We can readily establish whether he also delivers to the other two houses.’
‘Isn’t it simpler to—oh, no, of course not. But what happens if he says that Campions and Seawards both place a regular order for fresh cream?’
‘We must hope that such is not the case.’
Laura looked up the number and Dame Beatrice made the enquiry. The result was not helpful. Neither house had a regular order for fresh cream, although both had their bottles of milk daily from Trewiddick’s and to neither house had any fresh cream been delivered on a special order.
‘I hardly thought we should obtain a different reply,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘but it was worth making sure. The murderer must have been a personal shopper for the cream and it is possible that he or she did not buy it from the regular milkman at all. A person with murder in mind would exercise every possible precaution, one supposes.’
‘So what’s the next move?’
‘You mentioned Parsifal Leek and pointed out that he, at least, bore Mrs Leyden no grudge, so perhaps I had better have a word with him and this is as good a time as any. Mrs Leek is out on the hillside with brush and easel, Gamaliel and Mr Porthcawl have just entered the water and Mr Leek, I perceive through my field-glasses, is seated on the terrace and appears to be preparing vegetables for lunch. Will you take me to Seawards in your car? I have just sent George back in mine to his public house to have his own lunch.’
‘But you believe there is something that Parsifal Leek can tell you?’
‘I know there is.’ They soon reached the gate of Seawards. ‘Will you object to waiting for me? I have no idea how long my interview with Mr Leek will take,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘All right if I take a stroll down the garden and watch Gamaliel and Garnet frolicking in the water? Incidentally, I’d be interested to know what you think this Leek can tell you.’
‘He can tell me how he occupied himself while his wife, his son and his brother-in-law were buying Gamaliel’s boxing gear in London.’
They left the car and descended the two flights of steps to the front door, but, instead of knocking, Dame Beatrice led the way round the side of the house to the back.
‘I notice that the clump of monkshood which used to occupy the angle of the garden wall has been dug up and got rid of,’ she remarked.
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Laura. ‘I suppose it became too painful a reminder of the way the old lady died.’
‘Yes, of course.’ At the back of the house Laura strolled down to the sea beside the tumbling little stream, fast-running from its tiny waterfall, while Dame Beatrice called in her melodious voice to the man on the terrace above her. Parsifal, in a thin tenor, called back that his wife was not at home.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to shout my business from here?’
‘No, no. The steps up from the garden are at your service.’ When she had stepped on to the terrace, Parsifal went on: ‘Is your business with me, then?’
‘Well, I expect so. Perhaps there is a typewriter in the house.’
‘Yes,’ said Parsifal, looking astonished, as well (she thought) he might. ‘Garnet has one in his room. I borrow it to type my verses.’
‘I would like you to borrow it again, unless you would prefer to take dictation in your own handwriting.’
‘What dictation? Are you—I mean, the sun has been unusually hot today—’
‘I am not suffering from sunstroke, neither am I mentally afflicted. It is that I have a passion for the truth,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Will you borrow the typewriter?’
‘I would like to oblige you, Dame Beatrice, but, as you see, I am busy preparing the vegetables for lunch. If you will take a seat in a basket chair while I complete my task, I shall be at your service, strange though your request seems to be.’ He made a grab at the sharp little knife which was lying among the peelings.
‘I really shouldn’t advise violence,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I could break your wrist, you know. Nature did not frame you for physical combat. Who destroyed the wolfsbane which used to be in your garden? It was not used for the murder, so in what way had it fastened itself upon somebody’s conscience?’
Chapter 17
Gamaliel’s Law
« ^
‘Why do you call it wolfsbane?’ asked Parsifal, avoiding an answer.
‘Because Mrs Leyden’s name was Romula.’
‘Ah, yes, you saw the significance of that.’ His attempt at belligerence had faded away completely. ‘But you can’t prove anything, can you?’
‘My arguments and the conclusions I have drawn from them are on their way by post to the police.’
‘But it’s all theory.’
‘Not quite all. Let us apply the rules. First comes the rule of Means.’
‘Anybody round here could have found the means of poisoning that poisonous old woman.’
‘Opportunity?’
‘The same applies. On a Friday anybody could have sneaked into that kitchen and changed over the jars.’