She returned and perched on the edge of a chair and looked at them inquiringly.
“A photograph has come into my possession,” said Rose, not feeling like laughing any more. “I believe it was this photograph which Mr Pomfret was using to blackmail you.”
“Do you have this supposed photograph with you?”
“No,” said Rose. “I left it at home.”
“Then why are you here? You cannot need money.”
“I need to know the name of the person who was blackmailing you. If you tell me that, I assure you I will destroy the photograph.”
“Why, it was Freddy Pomfret, the ghastly little counter jumper.”
“I think someone knew what the blackmailing material was and approached you at Farthings. I think Mrs Jerry threatened to go to the police and that was why she was murdered. Did you know why Mrs Jerry and Lord Alfred were being blackmailed as well?”
“Yes, Mr Pomfret took great delight in telling me.”
“So who approached you at Farthings?”
“It was Lord Alfred. Now, are you satisfied? Go and get that photograph.”
“Captain Cathcart is at present interviewing Lord Alfred. If Lord Alfred confesses, I will return the photograph.”
Angela clutched the arms on her chair so tightly that her knuckles stood out white.
“I am not going to have my life’s work destroyed,” said Angela, staring straight ahead. She seemed almost to be talking to herself.
“I was brought up near Fairfax, Virginia. We were good family but we never had any money. Father gambled and Mother kept telling me how plain I looked. And then I met Mr Stockton at a cotillion ball in Richmond. To my delight, he started courting me. I knew him to be very rich. He had clawed his way up from a poor family and thought that by marrying me it would give him class. He only survived a year of our marriage. The doctor diagnosed a heart attack.
“I came to London and set out to make myself known. I knew I was psychic and I had read the works of Mr Steiner. I set up my vegetarian society. I lectured all over Britain, and the States, too. I was someone at last.
“And then that Pomfret creature threatened to destroy me. Have you told the police?”
Rose shook her head.
“But your parents know about this.”
“No,” said Rose, “they do not even know I am here.”
“Good, good, let me think.”
“There’s nothing to think about,” said Rose sharply. “As soon as I hear that Lord Alfred has confessed, you may have your photograph.”
Angela rose and paced the room, muttering, “Must think, must think.”
Rose got to her feet as well. “Now that you know the situation…” she was beginning when Angela strode to the book-shelves and lifted out an ugly-looking pistol and levelled it at Rose.
“Sit down,” she barked.
Rose and Daisy sank back in their chairs. Daisy remembered throwing herself in front of Rose last year to protect her from a bullet. Somehow, she didn’t think she would ever have the courage to do that again.
“I detest flittery little debutantes like you, Lady Rose, smug in your own beauty, poking your nose into other people’s business. That fool, Mrs Jerry, said that she couldn’t take any more and was going to the police. I was not blackmailing her for money, but I wanted her to join my society and work for me. I lied and said I had my own photograph back but had kept the one of her. She laughed in my face. So I doctored that champagne and put it in her room and then strangled the old bitch while she lay unconscious.”
“So no one other than Freddy Pomfret was trying to blackmail you?”
“No.”
Rose moistened her dry white lips. “So it was you who shot Freddy?”
“Yes, and I enjoyed doing it. I ransacked his flat but couldn’t find anything. Where did you find it?”
“He had put the material in a cigar box and given it to Tristram Baker-Willis for safekeeping.”
Angela gave a harsh laugh. “Amateurs, blundering greedy amateurs out to destroy my reputation. Do you know that the Duchess of Terford has just joined my society? A duchess!”
“Please do put down that gun,” said Rose, striving to keep her voice level.
“No, must think, think, think. Ah, you, Levine, you will go back and fetch that photograph and if you are not here with it after an hour, I will shoot your mistress.”
“I ain’t leaving her!” said Daisy.
“Go, Daisy,” said Rose. “You know what to do.”
Daisy looked at her for a long moment and then got up and hurried from the room.
¦
Harry was seated in front of Lord Alfred. He slowly drew the bundle of letters from his pocket.
“How much?” demanded Lord Alfred.
“I am not here to blackmail you. In fact, if you can tell me one thing, I will give them to you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Did you shoot Freddy Pomfret?”
“No, I swear on my life I didn’t. I wanted to. I knew I would go to prison if those letters were ever made public.”
“How did he get hold of them?”
“I met a young artist called Jimmy Portal. He was not a very good artist but he was very beautiful. He pursued me and I was seduced. Then I was terrified of it coming out, knowing I would be sent to prison. I returned his letters. He waited for me outside The Club one evening. He thrust his letters at me and said I must keep them forever. I told him harshly that I wanted to have no more to do with him. Pomfret told me afterwards that he had witnessed the scene from the window of The Club. He saw me hurrying off and saw Jimmy throwing the letters in the gutter. He nipped out and got them.
“He bragged that it was the letters that gave him the idea of being a blackmailer. He was a keen amateur photographer and said he had compromising pictures of Mrs Jerry and Mrs Stockton. He said he had just realized a way of getting money to buy a title. I paid. Of course I paid.
“Then when I went to Farthings and saw you there along with Mrs Stockton and Mrs Jerry, I was afraid.”
“Did anyone else try to blackmail you while you were at Farthings?”
“Yes. Mrs Stockton whispered that she had destroyed the photograph of her but had kept the letters. She said I must work for her society and travel with her. Then she told me that Mrs Jerry was going to go to the police. I was prepared to flee the country, but then she died. I knew Mrs Stockton had probably done it, but what could I do? You know what happens to fellows like me in prison.”
Harry felt a spasm of dread. Lord Alfred’s voice held the ring of truth.
He had sent Rose blithely off to see Angela Stockton, and Angela was a murderess.
“Excuse me.” Harry got to his feet and rushed from the room.
Lord Alfred looked at the letters lying on the table. He picked them up and took them to the fireplace. He took out a silver box of vestas and struck one and held it to the edge of the packet until a flame took hold and then he threw the burning packet into the fireplace.
He sat down again and covered his face with his hands and wept.
? Hasty Death ?
Twelve
Oscar Wilde
