“I shall work,” said Alleyn, “on the theory that you said nothing more to Dr. Templett of this shadowy impression, as you did not wish to alarm him, but that it was not too shadowy or too fleeting for you to recognise the watcher at the window.”
That shot did go home. Her whole face seemed to sharpen and she made a quick involuntary movement of her hands. She waited for a moment, and he knew that she was mustering her nerves. Then in one swift movement she was on her feet, close to him, her hands on his coat.
“You don’t believe I’d do anything like that, do you? You’re not such a fool. I don’t even understand how it worked, and I’ve never been able to tie a knot in my life. Mr. Alleyn? Please?”
“If you are innocent you’re in no danger.”
“Do you promise that?”
“Certainly.”
Before he could move she dropped her head against him and clung to his coat. She murmured broken phrases. Her hair was scented. He felt her uneven breathing.
“No, no,” he said, “this won’t do.”
“I’m sorry — you’ve frightened me. Don’t be nervous, I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m only rather shaken. I’ll be all right in a moment.”
“You’re all right now,” said Alleyn. He took her wrists and held her away from him. “That’s better.”
She stood before him with her head bent down. She achieved a look of helpless captivity. Her whole posture seemed to proclaim her subjection. When she raised her face it wore a gamine grin.
“You’re either made of dough,” she said, “or else you’re afraid I’ll compromise you. Poor Mr. Alleyn.”
“You would have been wiser to call on Mr. Jernigham,” said Alleyn. “He’s Acting Chief Constable, you know.”
iii
When she had been gone some minutes, Nigel looked cautiously into the back parlour.
“Hell knows no fury,” he said.
“An intensely embarrassing lady,” said Alleyn. “Did you get a shot of her?”
“Yes. Ought to be all right. I got her as she came in.”
“Let me have the film or plate, or whatever it is.”
“Do explain all this, Alleyn.”
“It’s as plain as daylight. She’s got a genius for self-preservation. When I showed her the anonymous letter she was hell-bent on keeping out of suspicion, and on the spur of the moment denied all knowledge of it. She’d do her best for Templett up to a point, but a charge of homicide is definitely beyond that point. Yesterday she let him down with a thud. Now she’s regretting it. I think she’s probably as much in love with him as she could be with anybody. She’s read a popular book on criminal investigation. She remembered that she’d handled the letter and realised we’d find her prints. So she hatched up this story. Now she knows we’re not after Templett she’ll try to get him back. But she’s a sensible woman, and she wouldn’t hang for him.”
“I wonder if he’ll believe her,” said Nigel.
“Probably,” said Alleyn. “If she gets a chance to see him alone.”
Fox came in.
“I’ve seen Mrs. Ross’s maid, sir. There’s nothing much, except that Mrs. Ross did go out on Friday night. It was the maid’s night off, but her boy had a cold and it was raining, so she stayed in. She only mentioned this to Mrs. Ross this morning.”
“And Mrs. Ross mentioned it to me in case the maid got in first.”
“Is that a fact, sir?”
“It is, Brer Fox. You shall hear of our interview.” Fox listened solemnly to the account of the interview.
“Well,” he said, “she’s come off worst in that bout, sir. What’ll she do now?”
“I think she’d like to have a shot at old Jernigham.
She’s frightened and rattled. A shrewd woman, but not really clever.”
“Does she think you suspect her, Mr. Alleyn?”
“She’s afraid I might.”
“Do you suspect her?” asked Nigel.
“Of all sorts of things,” said Alleyn lightly. He sniffed at his coat. “Blast the woman. I stink of Chanel No. 5.”
Nigel burst out laughing.
“Don’t you think she’s attractive?” he said. “I do.”
“Fortunately I don’t. I can see she might be; but she gives me housemaid’s creeps. What do you think, Fox?”
“Well, sir, under more favourable conditions I dare say she’d be quite an experience in a way. There’s something about her.”
“You licentious old article.”
“She’s not very comfortable, if you know what I mean. More on the frisky side. I’d say she’s one of these society ladies who, if they were born in a lower walk of life, would set up for themselves in a rather exclusive way, but well within the meaning of the act.”
“Yes, Fox.”
“What do we do now, Mr. Alleyn?”
“We lunch. After lunch we have a word together. And to-night I think we play a forcing hand, Fox. We’ve got about as much information as we’ll ever screw out of them by separate interviews. Let’s see how we get on with a mixed bunch. There’s a fast train from Great Chipping in an hour. I think I’ll catch it. Will you see the telephone people? Have one more stab at the villagers for Saturday afternoon. The person who stood at the box and peeped through the window. Ask if anyone saw anybody about the place. You won’t get anything, but we’ve got to try. Arrange the meeting with Jernigham senior. I’d better see him myself beforehand. There are one or two things— Go carefully with him, Fox. And telephone to me at the Yard before half-past five.”
“I’ll come up with you, if I may,” said Nigel.
“Do. There’s a good train that gets to Great Chipping at 8.15. I’ll return by that, and send a car ahead with two people and clanking chains, in case we feel like arresting somebody. All right?”
“Very good, sir,” said Fox. “Then we’d better lunch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Peculiarity of Miss P
i
It’s no good taking it like this, Eleanor,” said the squire, laying down his napkin and glaring at his cousin. “How do you suppose we feel? You won’t help matters by starving yourself.”
“I’m sorry, Jocelyn, but I cannot eat.”
“You can’t go on like this, my dear girl. You’ll get ill.”
“Would that matter very much?”
“Don’t be an ass, Eleanor. Henry, give her some apple tart.”
“No, thank you, Henry.”
“What you want, Cousin Eleanor,” said Henry from the side table, “is a good swinging whisky.”
“Please, dear. I’m sorry if I’m irritating you both. It would be better if I didn’t come down to lunch.”
“Good Gad, woman,” shouted the squire. “Don’t talk such piffling drivel. We simply don’t want you to kill yourself.”
“It’s a pity,” said Miss Prentice stonily, “that I wasn’t killed. I realise that. It would have been a blessed release. They say poor Idris didn’t feel anything. It’s the living who suffer.”
“Cousin Eleanor,” said Henry, returning with a loaded plate, “have you ever read Our Mutual Friend?”
“No, Henry.”
“Because you’re giving a perfectly brilliant impersonation of Mrs. R. W.”
“Was she very irritating?”
“Very.”
“That’ll do, Henry,” said the squire. He darted an uncomfortable glance at Miss Prentice, who sat upright in her chair with her head bowed. At intervals she drew in her breath sharply and closed her eyes.
“Is your finger hurting you?” demanded Jocelyn after a particularly noticeable hiss from the sufferer. She opened her eyes and smiled palely.
“A little.”
“You’d better let Templett see it again.”