Mrs Pargeter 01; A Nice Class of Corpse

When she had taken off her coat and boots, she went down to the Seaview Lounge. It was about half an hour till lunchtime, and the room was empty, except for the solicitor, Mr Holland.

He rose a little awkwardly as she entered, and when she was settled into an armchair, said, “I must apologise for this morning.”

Mrs Pargeter smiled equably. “Think nothing of it.”

“I’m afraid, not knowing the residents of the hotel as individuals, I was perhaps too easily swayed by Miss Naismith’s views as to what might have happened to Mrs Selsby’s jewels.”

“Of course. Perfectly understandable. By the way, has Miss Naismith organised a search of the hotel?”

“Tentative steps have been taken. She accompanied the chambermaid…is her name Loxton?…on her morning bed-making round and examined the obvious hiding places.”

“A waste of time looking in the obvious places. Whoever took those jewels would have hidden them very thoroughly. Hmm. I wonder if Miss Naismith has investigated the hotel’s rubbish…?”

“Rubbish? But surely no one would risk putting valuable jewels in with the rubbish?”

“I don’t think you know a lot about the criminal mind, Mr Holland.”

“I am a solicitor,” he said, affronted.

“Yes, but you have to get inside the criminal mind to find out what they’re likely to do. Anyway, in this case…” But Mrs Pargeter decided she was perhaps giving away too much about herself and stopped short. “Presumably, nothing was found – none of the boxes, nothing?”

Mr Holland shook his head ruefully.

“Oh well, the police will no doubt be more thorough.”

“Er, yes…”

The note of hesitation in his voice made Mrs Pargeter look up sharply. “Do you mean she hasn’t called the police yet?”

“I’m afraid not. Against my advice, I may say. Miss Naismith felt it might be more discreet if she were to wait for twenty-four hours and see if the jewels should reappear.”

“Why on earth should they suddenly reappear? What does she think they’ve done – gone on a day trip to Boulogne?”

“No, no. Miss Naismith’s view is that, if she lets it be known amongst the residents that certain articles have been noted as missing from Mrs Selsby’s room, someone’s memory might be jogged and the jewels might indeed suddenly…er, reappear,” he finished lamely.

“I see.” A light of anger burned in Mrs Pargeter’s eye. “She was quite happy to have me drummed out of the place, but if anyone else is the culprit, she’ll just gloss it over.”

Mr Holland looked intensely uncomfortable. “As I say, Miss Naismith is acting against my advice.”

Mrs Pargeter nodded grimly. “Oh yes. Hmm. I wonder if perhaps I should get in touch with Arnold Justiman after all…”

The name once again had its predictable effect on Mr Holland. Considerably flustered, he assured Mrs Pargeter that such a course of action would not be at all necessary. “As I say, Miss Naismith has just twenty-four hours to conduct her internal enquiry. If that reveals nothing, then there is no question of the police not being brought in.”

“Hmm,” Mrs Pargeter decided to take advantage of the solicitor’s abjectly apologetic state to pump him for information. “Were Mrs Selsby’s jewels worth a lot?”

“A very considerable amount,” he replied smugly.

“How much?” Mrs Pargeter had long since learned the surprise value of direct questioning.

“Oh, erm, well…” Mr Holland succumbed. “At their last valuation for insurance – which was two years ago – the total sum was eleven and a half thousand pounds.”

Mrs Pargeter nodded, pleased to have had her own estimate confirmed. “And, presumably, the jewels were not the full extent of her possessions?”

The solicitor almost chuckled at the naefvete of the idea. “Oh, my goodness me, no. Mrs Selsby was a very wealthy woman.”

“And with no living relatives…”

Mr Holland did not volunteer the information she had hoped for, so Mrs Pargeter resorted to another direct question. “Who inherits?”

The solicitor blushed at the unprofessional nature of this enquiry. “I don’t think it is yet appropriate for me to divulge details of, er –”

“Never mind,” said Mrs Pargeter. “I’ll get on to Arnold. His information-gathering service is remarkable. I’m sure he could find out for me very quickly.”

“Oh, er, well, in that case…” Mr Holland wavered. “I suppose the details are to be public soon enough…I doubt if much harm could be done by…And since you aren’t a beneficiary…”

Mrs Pargeter laughed. “Of course I’m not. I only met her once. Why should I be a beneficiary?”

“That, Mrs Pargeter, is one of the strange features of the will. Mrs Selsby, as you just said, had no living relatives, no one in fact very close to her – except for the people living in this hotel.”

“Oh?”

“She was happy here. She found the Devereux a dignified and genteel place in which to spend the, er, evening of her life. And so, two years ago, she summoned me and asked me to draw up a will, which divided her estate equally between all of the people living in the Devereux.”

“Staff as well?”

“Yes. Miss Naismith and Newth were to be included. Loxton, too, although she does not actually live on the premises. Mrs Selsby’s only stipulation was that the beneficiaries should have been here for at least six months. Which is why,” he explained, apologetically, “as I said, I’m afraid you fail to qualify.”

The late Mr Pargeter had left his widow sufficiently well cushioned to accept this news with equanimity. “But that’s a very unusual will, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mr Holland replied with some asperity. “And a very ill-advised one. I spelled out to Mrs Selsby all of the arguments against such a course, its potential dangers and disadvantages, but she was adamant. That was how she wanted it to be.”

Mrs Pargeter was struck that Mr Holland must be a very weak man. He was employed as a professional adviser and yet no one seemed to take his advice. Mrs Selsby had ignored him, and he had allowed Miss Naismith to ride roughshod over him that morning. Weak and stupid, she decided.

“So…” she said slowly, “everyone in the Devereux stood to benefit from Mrs Selsby’s death…”

“Well, I think that’s a rather cynical way of putting it, but, under the terms of her will, everyone would inherit an equal share, yes.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Mr Holland winced at the indelicacy of this question. “Come on. How much? Five thousand? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Fifty thousand? A hundred thousand?”

Pained at the necessity of replying, he said quietly, “Nearer your final figure than the others.”

Mrs Pargeter nodded. “And do you know if any of the people living here were aware of the unusual provisions of this will?”

“Of that I have no idea.” And, feeling perhaps that he had let down his professional image, Mr Holland added huffily, “But I can’t see that it’s important.”

No, thought Mrs Pargeter, you wouldn’t be able to see that, would you?

But it is important. Very.

? A Nice Class of Corpse ?

17

WEDNESDAY, 6 MARCH – 10.45 p.m.

It is strange – or perhaps even amusing – to see how quickly my thoughts are once again turning to murder. After my first, eminently successful, foray, which so simply – and even elegantly – achieved what I needed, one might have expected a period of peace and recuperation, a period of resting on my