‘It’s something pretty good,’ he said dispiritedly. ‘Really very good actually.’
‘Come to my room. I’ll get some champagne sent up.’
Once they were ensconced in armchairs with full glasses in their hands, Truffler Mason told Mrs Pargeter that he had spent the previous night at Brotherton Hall.
‘Not, I take it, as a guest?’
‘Er, no. Not exactly. Thing was, I thought I might get some clues as to where Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s been hiding himself.’
‘Any luck?’
‘No, not actually with him, but-’
‘What about Stan the Stapler?’ After what she’d heard from Jack the Knife, the whereabouts of the oddjob man had suddenly become important.
Truffler Mason looked a little aggrieved at not being able to conduct his narrative at his own pace. ‘Well, I did see him, but I got some more important stuff, actually.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’m rushing you. You tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Well, I got inside about midnight. There was nobody around then.’
‘No, there wouldn’t be. Early to bed, early to rise is part of the regime.’
‘Right.’
‘And did you have any problem getting in?’ Truffler gave one of his bleak looks which made her regret having asked the question. ‘Sorry, sorry. Where did you start looking for Ank?’
‘Started in his rooms. He’s got a flat at the top of the east wing.’
‘I know.’
‘But no sign of him there. Doesn’t look like he’s been home for a few days. I did a quick search of the place, but I couldn’t find anything.’
‘What were you looking for?’
Again Truffler looked pained at having his narrative rushed.
‘Sorry, sorry. Please go on.’
‘So, anyway, I thought I’d check out his office downstairs.’
‘Behind Reception?’
‘Right. Went through all the filing cabinets and that, but I didn’t find what I was looking for.’
With difficulty Mrs Pargeter restrained herself from asking once again what he had been looking for.
‘But,’ Truffler continued, timing his revelation with lugubrious eclat, ‘he’s got a safe. And it was in the safe.’
‘What? What, for heaven’s sake?’ Mrs Pargeter demanded in an agony of curiosity.
Truffler was still not to be hurried. ‘From the time you brought me into this, I’ve been looking for something which would indisputably link Ankle-Deep Arkwright with Jenny Hargreaves.’
‘And you’ve found it?’
The investigator nodded. Mrs Pargeter felt a pang of disappointment. Up until that moment she had been nursing the secret hope that some evidence would emerge to clear Ank, that he would be revealed as a victim rather than a perpetrator of whatever evil had been going on. Now, it seemed, that hope was destined to be crushed.
‘What did you find?’ she asked quietly.
‘It’s like a contract. There were two of them, actually, signed by different people, both female.’ He took a folded paper out of his inside pocket. ‘I photocopied the relevant one right there in the office, then put the original back into the safe.’
Mrs Pargeter took the proffered sheet. The agreement contained on it was not elaborate. In fact, it was not so much a contract as a disclaimer. The signatory agreed that, in consideration of the payment of five thousand pounds, she would participate in such dietary, medical or exercise programmes as were recommended by the representatives of Brotherton Hall Leisure PLC or Lissum Laboratories; that her regime should be conducted under the medical supervision of a physician appointed by the said Brotherton Hall Leisure PLC or Lissum Laboratories; and that she was entering into this agreement entirely of her own free will and that, in the event of any adverse effects being caused by the recommended regimes, the signatory undertook not to make any legal claims against the said Brotherton Hall Leisure PLC or Lissum Laboratories.
‘But surely this agreement’s not legal,’ Mrs Pargeter objected. ‘I mean, it could be a licence for them to poison people without any fear of prosecution. That’d never stand up in a court of law.’
‘No, I agree it wouldn’t. But a legal-sounding document like this could well be enough to frighten into silence an impoverished student, who was breaking college regulations by even agreeing to take part in the programme.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Pargeter, her eye unwillingly drawn to the signature at the bottom of the sheet. ‘Jenny Hargreaves’ was written in a robust, rounded, slightly childish hand.
The countersignature did not provide any comfort either. ‘P. T. Arkwright.’ It matched exactly the signature on the impersonal letter of farewell she had received from the Brotherton Hall manager.
‘Doesn’t seem much doubt that he was involved, does there, Truffler?’ Her surmise was confirmed by a mournful shake of his head. ‘I hate to think what they made the poor girl take…’
‘Whatever it was, it doesn’t seem to have done her much good.’
‘No.’ The memory of the body on the trolley was once again vivid. For a moment a rare doubt came into Mrs Pargeter’s mind. ‘I wonder if this document is enough evidence…’
‘Enough evidence for what?’
‘Well, to prove that Ank was implicated in Jenny’s death.’
‘And if it was…?’
‘I suppose we could hand it over to the police and leave them to sort it out.’
‘ To the police? ’ Truffler echoed in disbelief. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mrs Pargeter?’
‘Well… No, I’m not. I suppose I’m rather put down by the thought of having to go after someone I like. I mean, I really thought Ankle-Deep Arkwright was one of my friends. It’s horrible when friends let you down. When I think back to what happened in Streatham…’
Truffler Mason quickly shook her out of this uncharacteristic mood. ‘This piece of paper isn’t worth anything so far as the police are concerned. For a start, they aren’t even aware that there’s been a murder — assuming that there has. You forget, Mrs Pargeter, that so far as we know nobody has found Jenny Hargreaves’ body.’
‘That’s true.’
‘No, we’ve got to keep investigating Ank until we get the whole picture.’
‘Did you go on looking for him at Brotherton Hall after you’d found the contract?’
‘Not as things turned out, no. Actually, I’m pretty convinced he isn’t there. I was going to check over the whole place — particularly the basement level…’
‘Down by the Dead Sea Mud Baths?’
‘Right. There’s a whole network of other cellars down there.’
‘Ideal places for someone to hide?’
‘Or for someone to be hidden.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m pretty sure that they may have some other people locked down there.’
‘People like Jenny? Who they’re testing drugs on or…?’
He nodded. ‘That’s what I reckon. Remember — I found another contract apart from Jenny’s. There may be even more we don’t know about.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Pargeter grimly.
‘I went down to the cellars last night.’
‘And did you find anyone?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘No. I was… how shall I put it… interrupted.’
‘Someone saw you?’
‘Not quite. Close shave, though. I was down working on the cellar door with a picklock when I heard footsteps approaching. I hid back in the shadows and someone passed me and went through into the cellar.’
‘Who?’
