? A Nice Class of Corpse ?
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Dr Ashington was instantly summoned. He examined the new corpse and, though his personal opinion veered towards a theory of accidental death, he called in the police. There were elements in the case, his own prescribing for Mrs Mendlingham, Miss Naismith’s possible carelessness in leaving the medicine bottle at the bedside, which might give rise to unfortunate gossip and conjecture unless the death were the subject of an official enquiry.
Miss Naismith was extremely unhappy about the idea of the middle-class peace of the Devereux being shattered by an invasion of policemen, but she could see the logic of Dr Ashington’s decision. There were sufficient cases even in the quality Sunday newspapers (which were the only ones that Miss Naismith was ever
The arrival of the police ensured that Mrs Mendlingham’s death prompted considerably more reaction than that of Mrs Selsby. Perhaps it would have done, anyway. Mrs Selsby, after all, had seemed to be fading away for years, while Mrs Mendlingham had been a much more assertive and controversial figure. Then there were the circumstances of the last few days of her life, the accident with the tea, the summons to Miss Naismith’s Office, the wild hysterical attack, the calling of the doctor.
And not to be discounted was the fact that hers was a second death in a very short period. The inquest of the previous day had neatly tied the bow on the closed file of Mrs Selsby’s life, and just when the residents of the Devereux might reasonably expect to be getting back to their normal routine, the pattern had been again disrupted by this new death.
These factors all ensured that there was plenty of discussion that morning in the Seaview Lounge, where the residents awaited their respective summonses to the Schooner Bar, in which the police had set up their temporary headquarters. The police were constantly reassuring; their enquiries, they insisted, were purely routine; it was just that in the case of an unexpected, violent death, such enquiries had to be made.
After Miss Naismith had made the constabulary properly aware of the kind of establishment they were dealing with, of the incredibly high standards of the Devereux, and of the exceptional moral and social qualities of its clientele, Mrs Pargeter, as discoverer of the body, was politely requested to go to the Schooner Bar.
She was encouraged by sympathetic prompting from one of the two plain-clothes detectives to describe exactly what she had done and seen in Mrs Mendlingham’s bedroom that morning. With a little discreet editing (she did not mention her putting on gloves or discovering the notebook under the bedclothes), Mrs Pargeter did this helpfully and concisely.
“I gather,” said the detective, whose name was Mitford, “that you have only recently taken up residence here…?”
“That’s true. Only five days ago.”
“And a rather unfortunate five days…?” Detective-Sergeant Mitford ventured.
“Yes. A death every other day so far. Miss Naismith certainly didn’t mention that feature of the hotel when I arrived.”
It had been a risk, but the broad smile on the detective’s face showed that she had taken the right approach. After Miss Naismith’s suffocating gentility, he was happy to hear a note of humour.
“So, Mrs Pargeter, you could hardly be expected to have known the deceased very well…?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Or any of the other residents, come to that…?”
Mrs Pargeter shook her head apologetically.
“I often find…” he began slowly, “that in any sort of investigation of an enclosed community – which is what this is – it’s useful to get an outsider’s view of the situation. People who’ve been around for any length of time have their judgement clouded by personal loyalties and rivalries, so it’s often difficult to get an accurate picture from them.”
Mrs Pargeter waited to see what would come next.
“All I’m saying is that you are in an ideal position, having just come to the Devereux, to give us a feeling of what the place is like.”
Still she didn’t say anything. Another invaluable tip from the late Mr Pargeter had been that one should never volunteer information unless one wishes to change the direction of a questioner’s enquiry. Answer every direct question as truthfully as discretion allows, but never give the answers to unasked questions. It is surprising how many important questions never get asked. (This advice was another expression of the late Mr Pargeter’s philosophy of life, which could be summed up in the following sentence: Be scrupulously honest for as long as you can, and never resort to illegality unless there is truly no alternative.)
“How would you describe the atmosphere here, Mrs Pargeter?”
“Pretty friendly, on the whole,” seemed a fair and balanced reply.
“On the whole…?”
“Yes, on the whole,” Mrs Pargeter agreed, beaming. She wasn’t going to give him anything he hadn’t earned.
“No evidence of internal dissension? Quarrels, arguments, that sort of thing…?”
“No more than you’d expect in a place like this,” she replied evenly. “As you said, I haven’t been here long, so perhaps everyone’s still on their best behaviour with me.”
Detective-Sergeant Mitford nodded, again responding to the note of humour in her voice. He paused before continuing, “But there’s nothing you have felt, no tensions, no conflicts, that might lead you to suspect that Mrs Mendlingham’s death was anything other than the accident it appears to be…?”
She was tempted. It would be comforting to share with someone the unpleasant conjectures that had been shaping in her mind. But, on the other hand, those conjectures were based on the flimsiest of instincts and feelings; she did not think they would stand up to serious scrutiny. Anyway, another of the late Mr Pargeter’s dicta had always been: “If the police arrive, be nice to them. But don’t
She feigned ignorance. She wasn’t going to volunteer the word ‘murder’. “I’m sorry, Detective-Sergeant. I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Never mind.” He tried another tack. “Did you know that Mrs Mendlingham kept a sort of notebook?”
“I had seen her writing in one, yes,” was her honest reply.
Detective-Sergeant Mitford nodded. “It’s a strange book. She recorded all kinds of snippets of information and feelings. Haven’t read it all through yet, obviously, just glanced at it, but there is one interesting entry…”
“Oh?”
“She refers to having seen something ‘on the landing’, something that upset her…Have you any idea what that might be, Mrs Pargeter?”
“The only thing I can possibly think of,” she replied truthfully, “is that it might be something to do with the death of Mrs Selsby.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I don’t know whether you’ve heard what happened, but Mrs Selsby was killed falling down the stairs from the first-floor landing. Since Mrs Mendlingham’s bedroom is on that landing, it’s possible that she saw Mrs Selsby fall. And that the memory of that – or perhaps the thought that she should have been able to prevent it – is what was upsetting her.”
Detective-Sergeant Mitford nodded with satisfaction. “Thank you, Mrs Pargeter. You’ve been most helpful. And may I say that, with regard to the reference to what Mrs Mendlingham saw on the landing, we have come to exactly the same conclusion as you have.”
Well, perhaps not
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