Rudi breaking a date with me. We were going to the pictures that evening and then he said he wouldn't be able to come and I was a bit stand-offish with him about it – because after all, it had been his idea and I don't fancy being stood up by a foreigner. And he said it wasn't his fault, and I said that was a likely story, and then he said he'd got a bit of a lark on that night – and that he wasn't going to be out of pocket by it and how would I fancy a wrist- watch? So I said, what do you mean by a lark? And he said not to tell anyone, but there was to be a party somewhere and he was to stage a sham hold-up. Then he showed me the advertisement he'd put in and I had to laugh. He was a bit scornful about it all. Said it was kid's stuff really – but that was just like the English. They never really grew up – and of course, I said what did he mean by talking like that about us – and we had a bit of an argument, but we made it up. Only you can understand, can't you, sir, that when I read all about it, and it hadn't been a joke at all and Rudi had shot someone and then shot himself – why, I didn't know what to do. I thought if I said I knew about it beforehand, it would look as though I were in on the whole thing. But it really did seem like a joke when he told me about it. I'd have sworn he meant it that way. I didn't even know he'd got a revolver. He never said anything about taking a revolver with him.'
Craddock comforted her and then asked the most important question.
'Who did he say it was who had arranged this party?'
But there he drew a blank.
'He never said who it was that was getting him to do it. I suppose nobody was, really. It was all his own doing.'
'He didn't mention a name? Did he say he – or she?'
'He didn't say anything except that it was going to be a scream. 'I shall laugh to see all their faces.' That's what he said.'
He hadn't had long to laugh, Craddock thought.
IV
'It's only a theory,' said Rydesdale as they drove back to Medenham. 'Nothing to support it, nothing at all. Put it down as old maid's vapourings and let it go, eh?'
'I'd rather not do that, sir.'
'It's all very improbable. A mysterious X appearing suddenly in the darkness behind our Swiss friend. Where did he come from? Who was he? Where had he been?'
'He could have come in through the side door,' said Craddock, 'just as Scherz came. Or,' he added slowly, 'he could have come from the kitchen.'
'She could have come from the kitchen, you mean?'
'Yes, sir, it's a possibility. I've not been satisfied about that girl all along. She strikes me as a nasty bit of goods. All that screaming and hysterics – it could have been put on. She could have worked on this young fellow, let him in at the right moment, rigged the whole thing, shot him, bolted back into the dining-room, caught up her bit of silver and her chamois and started her screaming act.'
'Against that we have the fact that – er – what's his name – oh, yes, Edmund Swettenham, definitely says the key was turned on the outside of the door, and that he turned it to release her. Any other door into that part of the house?'
'Yes, there's a door to the back stairs and kitchen just under the stairs, but it seems the handle came off three weeks ago and nobody's come to put it on yet. In the meantime you can't open the door. I'm bound to say that story seems correct. The spindle and the two handles were on a shelf outside the door in the hall and they were thickly coated with dust, but of course a professional would have ways of opening that door all right.'
'Better look up the girl's record. See if her papers are in order. But it seems to me the whole thing is very theoretical.'
Again the Chief Constable looked inquiringly at his subordinate. Craddock replied quietly:
'I know, sir, and of course if you think the case ought to be closed, it must be. But I'd appreciate it if I could work on it for just a little longer.'
Rather to his surprise the Chief Constable said quietly and approvingly:
'Good lad.'
'There's the revolver to work on. If this theory is correct, it wasn't Scherz's revolver and certainly nobody so far has been able to say that Scherz ever had a revolver.'
'It's a German make.'
'I know, sir. But this country's absolutely full of continental makes of guns. All the Americans brought them back and so did our chaps. You can't go by that.'
'True enough. Any other lines of inquiry?'
'There's got to be a motive. If there's anything in this theory at all, it means that last Friday's business wasn't a mere joke and wasn't an ordinary hold-up, it was a cold-blooded attempt at murder. Somebody tried to murder Miss Blacklog. Now why? It seems to me that if anyone knows the answer to that it must be Miss Blacklog herself.'
'I understand she rather poured cold water on that idea?'
'She poured cold water on the idea that Rudi Scherz wanted to murder her. And she was quite right. And there's another thing, sir.'
'Yes?'
'Somebody might try again.'
'That would certainly prove the truth of the theory,' said the Chief Constable dryly. 'By the way, look after Miss Marple, won't you?'
'Miss Marple? Why?'
'I gather she is taking up residence at the Vicarage in Chipping Cleghorn and coming into Medenham Wells twice a week for her treatments. It seems that Mrs. What's-her-name is the daughter of an old friend of Miss Marple's. Good sporting instincts, that old bean. Oh, well, I suppose she hasn't much excitement in her life and sniffing round after possible murderers gives her a kick.'
'I wish she wasn't coming,' said Craddock seriously.
'Going to get under your feet?'
'Not that, sir, but she's a nice old thing. I shouldn't like anything to happen to her… always supposing, I mean, that there's anything in this theory.'
Chapter 9
CONCERNING THE DOOR
I
'I'm sorry to bother you again, Miss Blacklog-'
'Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose, as the inquest was adjourned for a week, you're hoping to get more evidence?'
Detective-Inspector Craddock nodded.
'To begin with, Miss Blacklog, Rudi Scherz was not the son of the proprietor of the Hotel des Alpes at Montreux. He seems to have started his career as an orderly in a hospital at Berne. A good many of the patients missed small pieces of jewellery. Under another name he was a waiter at one of the small winter sports places. His speciality there was making out duplicate bills in the restaurant with items on one that didn't appear on the other. The difference, of course, went into his pocket. After that he was in a department store in Zurich. Their
