At the almost imperceptible movement which meant, “Yes,” he said,
“Very well then. Now come and sit down. And just remember nothing is ever quite so bad as you think it is.”
They sat down on Martin Brand’s comfortable, shabby old couch with its wide seat and deep padded back. Marian leaned against the cushions and thought how wonderful it was to have someone who wanted to help, and how easy to let him do it.
“What is it? If it’s the raincoat, you don’t suppose Mrs. Woolley held her tongue about it, do you?”
“Oh!” It was just an involuntary catch of the breath. Her hands took hold of one another, but she was able to manage her voice.
“What did she say?”
“That your raincoat was found hanging over the back of the seat on the terrace from which Helen Adrian fell. You didn’t put it there, I take it.”
She shook her head. Her eyes were clear on his face.
“Or Ina?”
There was a pause before she said, “No.”
“Was it left down on the beach after the picnic? You were sitting on something of the sort, weren’t you?”
She thought, “He notices everything.” Then, aloud, “No, it wasn’t left out. You brought it in yourself.”
He said, “So I did!” and for an odd intimate moment they smiled at one another. Then he laughed. “I brought it in, and I hung it up in that bit of passage where the door goes through to the other house. That’s where you keep it, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone could take it from there.”
She said, “The door was locked.”
“You mean, Helen Adrian couldn’t have taken it?”
She said again,
“The door was bolted. There are bolts on our side. We keep them shut.”
“You mean, someone from this side must have taken your coat?”
“The police will say so.”
He said, “I should think they would be too busy suspecting Felix Brand.”
She shook her head.
“The sergeant asked me about the coat-he wanted to know how it got there. He asked us all, and we all said we didn’t know.”
Richard said in a reasonable tone,
“Well, I should say offhand that if anyone is lying it would be Cyril.”
She said, “Why should he take my coat?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know why anyone should, but somebody did. It may have been just accidental, or there may have been a motive behind it.”
“What do you mean, Richard?”
“I mean, someone may have taken your coat because they wanted one and yours was handy. Or they may have taken it because it was yours, to turn suspicion towards you-away from someone else.”
“That’s-horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Richard, there’s something more.”
“I knew that. What is it?”
She said, speaking slowly with pauses between every few words,
“I have-a blue and yellow scarf-a square to tie over the head. There’s so much wind here-it blows my hair. I got it in Farne-the day after we came down-it’s rather pretty and bright. It was hanging in the passage-with my coat. The sergeant wanted to see-where I kept the coat-so I showed him. The scarf was there-hanging on the peg-so he took it down and looked at it. He asked-if it was mine. I said it was. Then he held it out-for me to see.” A long shudder went over her. She said, “It was-stained-”
“Blood?”
“Yes.”
He sat quite still for a moment, frowning and intent, his mind working, emotion shut off. Then he said,
“Your scarf-stained and put back. That’s proof that someone wants to bring you into it.”
Her lips just moved. He barely caught the words they formed.
“Unless-they didn’t know-”
“You mean, the person who was wearing the scarf might have put it back without knowing it was stained. What sort of stain was it-slight?”
“No-dreadful.”
“Then whoever handled it must have known.”
“I don’t see how they could help it.”
He got up and walked to the glass door. It stood open. A bee blundered by, heavy with pollen, a scent of flowers was distilled upon the sunny air-the sort of day one calls heavenly. And things moving in some perverted mind-sick, evil things reaching out to injure and befoul. He had a moment of awareness that set every nerve tingling. He turned and came back.
“Marian-”
She looked up, startled.
“What is it?”
“There’s something deliberate about this. I can see no motive for bringing that stained scarf back into this house except the damnable one of trying to involve you in the murder. But look here, my dear, that lifts your worst fear. You needn’t tell me what it is, for I know. You’ve been afraid about Ina. But you needn’t be. The worst of this kind of shock is that it puts your thinking out of action and hands you over to your emotions. Now just pull yourself together and think! Yesterday afternoon Cyril was having the kind of casual flirtation with that young woman which I suppose he, and she, would have with every second person they met. That is so, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Do you really think it upset Ina so much that she contrived to lure Helen Adrian down to the beach in the middle of the night and murder her there?”
Marian’s colour came back in a rush. She said,
“No-no-of course I don’t.”
He went on ruthlessly.
“And if you did manage to believe that, could you believe that she would wear your raincoat and your scarf, leave one on the scene of the crime, and bring back the other all messed up with Helen Adrian’s blood and hang it in the hall for the police to find? Now, Marian, get your brain to work! It was done to incriminate you. Would Ina do that?”
She put up her hand to her head.
“No-no-of course not. Richard-please.”
“I’m putting it bluntly, but that’s what you’ve been letting yourself be afraid of. Isn’t it? Once it’s put into words, you can see that it’s all nonsense. Get it into words to Ina. Go up now and ask her if she took your raincoat or your scarf. The Inspector may ask for you at any moment, and we’ve got to know where you stand.”
He saw relief flash over her face. She ran upstairs. After a moment’s hesitation he followed, to find her at Ina’s door, her head bent, one hand on the jamb. She called softly,
“Ina-it’s Marian. Let me in.”
There was no answer.
“Ina, we shall have to see the Inspector. I must see you first. If you don’t let me in, I shall have to climb from the bathroom, and if you shut the window I shall break the glass.”
This was a Marian whom he hadn’t seen. Something inflexible in her bearing, in her voice, but all very quiet.
Before he had time to wonder what would happen there was the sound of the key turning in the lock and the door opened. Ina stood there with the back of her hand to her eyes as if she was shielding them. When Marian put an arm around her the hand came down and caught at her. She looked dazed, and she was wearing the dress she had worn the night before. He wondered whether she had undressed or slept.
She said, “Where’s Cyril?” and Richard answered her.
“He said he had an audition. He is seeing the Inspector about going up to town.”
“Will they let him go?”
“I don’t see why not.”
She showed no surprise at his presence, no embarrassment. Her voice was gentle and a little dull. He thought, “She’s had a bad shock.” He began to wonder about Cyril Felton.
Chapter 22
It was no more than five mintues later that a constable came through to say that the Inspector would be glad if they would step along to the drawing-room next door and answer a few questions.
The two girls were in Ina’s bedroom with the door shut, but Richard went to it and knocked. They came out at once. A resourceful woman can do a good deal in five minutes. He had heard water splashing in the basin, and guessed at a vigorous sponging of Ina’s drawn face and tired eyes. She certainly looked a good deal more alive. Powder had been applied, and a very little rouge-not enough to stand out from the pallor beneath, but enough to mitigate it. The dark curls had been combed and the crumpled dress replaced by a skirt and jumper.