‘But only one person could be pretty sure that his antics would not be known. It seems to me significant that the poison was prepared at a time when the rest of your household were absent. That stuck me right at the beginning.’
‘Somebody else could have realised that and thought it might implicate me, don’t you think?’
‘Perhaps we have not explored sufficiently the question of means.’
‘But there isn’t any question about those. Whoever did it used the roots of monkshood from the garden where that girl was living.’
‘I was not thinking of the wolfsbane. I refer to the cream.’
‘But that wasn’t poisonous!’
‘No, but it had to be purchased. Enquiries have been made of the dairyman who supplied milk to Headlands, Campions and Seawards. Headlands put in a regular order for fresh cream. The other two houses did not. The cream, on the Friday before Mrs Leyden died on the Sunday, was delivered to Headlands as usual and was added to the innocent condiment fabricated by Mrs Plack, who tasted the result and passed it as being up to standard. That accounts for the cream which was delivered by the milkman. But the murderer also needed cream. He had sufficient perspicacity not to order it direct from the milkman, but he had to get hold of it somehow. I am sure he took a long walk on the Thursday before he called at Headlands to ask Mrs Leyden for money to meet some outstanding bills, went over to Polyarn—not a particularly daunting objective for a practised walker such as yourself—and bought the cream over the counter. He counted upon not being recognised, as the counter hand would not have been familiar with his appearance, whereas the milkman might have been.’
‘I never heard anything so specious in my life!’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘When a description of you reaches the shop and is recognised, will it not require some explanation?’
‘Forewarned is forearmed. One would plead a sudden desire for fresh cream, I suppose. People do have sudden desires for things, don’t they?’
‘You had a desire—although I do not think it was a sudden one—for a share of Mrs Leyden’s fortune.’
‘But surely you were told I stood no chance of that?—and now it is known to everyone that I did not.’
‘No, but after the first of the two dinner parties you knew that Mrs Leyden had become interested in Gamaliel, and after the second that, although the actual amount had not been mentioned, your wife would benefit. I think it was after the second dinner that you began to formulate your plans. What I think perhaps you do not know is how nearly you came to killing the wrong person.’
‘Nobody else liked horseradish.’
‘The cook was fond of it. It was her habit, in any case, to taste her condiment before it went to table to make certain that the cream had not turned sour. Owing to two factors which could not have been foreseen, she ate a quantity of her innocent mixture as soon as she had made it on the Friday and was prevented from tasting your lethal mixture on the Sunday because lunch was late and was rushed to the table at a peremptory summons from Mrs Leyden.’
‘If you’re only relying on a purchase of fresh cream to prove your otherwise unfounded allegations, I don’t think you’ll get away with them,’ said Parsifal, with a slight smile on his long, camel-like lips. ‘It was clever of you to spot the Romula-Romulus angle, though. Poetic justice I thought it. Those suckled by the she-wolf deserve to die of the wolfsbane. That thought gave me a great deal of satisfaction.’
‘I am sure it did.’
‘You see, it would have been so much simpler to have pushed her over the cliff, as Diana tried to do.’
‘You know that Mrs Bosse-Leyden did that?’
‘Oh, yes, the same as I know that Rupert did the same to Diana. But their attempts were half-hearted. It took me, the poet, to carry my plans to their logical conclusion. All my life, you know, Dame Beatrice, I have been an underdog, despised, neglected, overlooked and poor, but little did that arrogant old woman know that I held her life in my hands.’
‘And elected to destroy it. Yes, I see. Oh, well, I will take my leave, Mr Leek.’ She rose from the basket chair.
‘Thank you for calling,’ said Parsifal politely. Neither of them realised that the swimmers had left the water, although Dame Beatrice had seen Laura, some few minutes earlier, walk up the garden and disappear round the side of the house, presumably to return to the car. As Dame Beatrice descended the wooden steps which led down from the balcony, however, she was slightly startled to meet Gamaliel who, still in his bathing-trunks, was standing just in shadow outside the back door. He opened it and drew her into the house.
‘So it would have been simpler to have pushed my other dear old lady over the cliff, would it?’ he said. ‘What shall we do, my present dear old lady?’
‘Leave everything to the police, my dear young man. How much did you hear?’
‘Enough. I guessed the truth a long time ago, but he is my mother’s husband. He cannot go to prison.’
‘The girl must not suffer for something she did not do. The law must take its course. You see that, don’t you?’
‘There is more than one law.’
‘We must not take the law into our own hands.’
‘So my mother and I and my best friend Garnie are to live our lives under the shadow of this murderer serving a life sentence? That seems to me unfair.’
‘Of course it is unfair.’
‘As unfair as that Margaret Denham should go to prison for something she did not do?’
‘Quite as unfair.’
‘Ah!’ said Gamaliel in a tone of satisfaction. ‘I am pleased to hear you admit that.’ He glanced down at his naked limbs. ‘I am cold. I must get dressed. Do you think the discovery of the truth is an end in itself, even if it benefits nobody and damages three innocent people?’
‘Yes, I believe it is, but, in this case, it will benefit Margaret Denham.’ She walked with him through the basement of the house and he let her out by the front door.
‘Do you remember, in a story of King Solomon’s Mines, a terrible old person called Gagool?’ he asked as he opened it.
‘Dimly but sufficiently. Why?’
‘She smelt people out. I think you smell people out, dear old lady.’
‘I have been reading my mother’s diary,’ said Maria to Fiona. ‘It seems that she was in the habit of disbursing sums of money to Parsifal Leek. She told me about it once, I remember.’
‘I knew,’ said Fiona. ‘As her secretary, there were very few, if any, secrets that she kept from me.’
‘You never mentioned anything of her giving money to Parsifal. I should have known nothing of it had she not mentioned it on that one solitary occasion.’
‘It was nobody’s business but her own.’
‘It was the business of us all if it diminished our patrimony.’
‘I suppose one ought to say matrimony, except that that means something quite different.’
‘Are you still thinking of marriage?’
‘No. My only hope would be Garnet, your son, and I would rather be your friend than your daughter-in-law. I have never seen that as my relationship to you. Besides, Blue would not want me as a sister, even if Garnet wanted me for his wife.’
‘It is a pity she married Parsifal. He is not worthy of her. No wonder she wanted to adopt a son.’
‘He is more like Garnet’s son than Parsifal’s.’
‘He has always despised Parsifal, I think, and little wonder.’
‘No, I think he has always had a protective feeling towards him, as I feel Blue has. She must often regret her marriage. In fact, she confessed as much when I was staying with them after I had quarrelled with madre.’
‘What are we to do about that poor girl Denham? She is continually on my mind. I am sure—more sure than ever, as time passes—that she is not the guilty party.’