Mrs Pargeter sat over her kipper and looked round at the other residents breakfasting in the Admiral’s Dining Room. It was a peaceful scene of geriatric gentility, marred only by her knowledge that one of the other people in the room was a murderer.
She looked at them one by one.
Lady Ridgleigh was spearing small pieces of bacon with her fork and stabbing them into her mouth. She had avoided Mrs Pargeter’s eye that morning, mindful of their conversation of the night before. But that conversation had ruled her out as a candidate for the title of the Devereux murderer.
Miss Wardstone munched disapprovingly on her dry toast and marmalade. Butter, being something she might enjoy, was rigorously excluded from her diet, and, from the expression on her face, she had selected the tartest of marmalades. Miss Wardstone exuded such unadulterated bitterness that it was tempting to think some might have been channelled into murder. She had made no secret of her delight at Mrs Selsby’s death and her impatience to claim the old lady’s sea-front room.
But, reluctantly, Mrs Pargeter had to rule this candidate out too.
It was the cyanide attack that put Miss Wardstone out of the running. Mrs Pargeter felt convinced that the attempt on her life had been prompted by what she had said in the Schooner Bar the night before. Though she hadn’t intended it quite that way, she now realised that her words could have been interpreted by the murderer as a warning that she was on his or her track. And, of course, because of Miss Wardstone’s avoidance of anything that might dilute her natural sourness, she had not been in the bar the previous night.
That left three – the two gentlemen, already deep in their customary conversation of gnomic non sequiturs, and Eulalie Vance.
Mrs Pargeter thought about the former actress. There was certainly a lot of emotion there on the surface, but that might hide more complex emotions surging underneath. The heart that is worn on the sleeve is not always the true heart. And an actress is trained to deception. Mrs Pargeter wondered what possible motive Eulalie could have had against Mrs Selsby.
“Mrs Pargeter.”
The voice was so close that she started. Absorbed in her thoughts, she had not noticed anyone else come into the room.
“Good morning, Miss Naismith.”
“I wonder,” said the proprietress silkily, “whether it would be possible for you to step into the Office for a quiet word in a moment…?”
“Yes. Of course. Time for me just to have another cup of tea?”
“Certainly, Mrs Pargeter.”
As Miss Naismith glided out of the Admiral’s Dining Room, it occurred to Mrs Pargeter that there was another person who had witnessed what she had said the previous night in the Schooner Bar.
¦
“Come in,” called the voice from inside the Office door.
Mrs Pargeter entered. Miss Naismith sat behind her desk, looking atypically ill at ease. Her fingers fiddled nervously with what appeared to be a paper-knife.
“Mrs Pargeter. Thank you for coming. Please sit down.”
Mrs Pargeter obeyed. Miss Naismith’s fingers still fiddled, twitchily feeling along the blade of the knife. This was out of character, a lapse of breeding that denoted considerable inward perturbation.
“What’s the problem, then?” asked Mrs Pargeter comfortably.
“The fact is…” Miss Naismith rose from her desk and moved across to check that the door was closed. “The fact is that something rather distressing has occurred.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yes.”
Miss Naismith’s voice was now behind her, but Mrs Pargeter did not turn round as she asked, “What’s that, then?”
There was a long silence, as though the proprietress were steeling herself to some distasteful duty.
At last the words came out, expelled by a ferocious effort of will. “The fact is, Mrs Pargeter, that I owe you an apology.”
After this painful sentence had been spoken, Miss Naismith seemed to relax. She moved back to her desk, sat down and placed the paper-knife on its surface, neatly aligned with her blotter.
“You may remember, Mrs Pargeter, that we had an unfortunate misunderstanding a few days ago.”
“Oh?” Mrs Pargeter wasn’t going to make it easy; she was determined that Miss Naismith should finish up every scrap of her humble pie and then wipe the plate.
“With regard to Mrs Selsby’s jewels…”
“Ah.”
“And I made an accusation that was, in retrospect, extremely ill-considered.”
Mrs Pargeter smiled pleasantly.
“The fact is, I have now discovered who the real perpetrator of the crime was.”
Mrs Pargeter didn’t volunteer that she also knew. Apart from anything else, she wanted to know how Miss Naismith had found out the truth.
“The identity of the criminal is not, I’m afraid, something that reflects favourably on the Devereux.”
Mrs Pargeter bit back the temptation to say, “You amaze me.”
“Mrs Selsby’s jewels were stolen by a member of my staff.” Oh, how it hurt her to say the words!
Mrs Pargeter allowed herself the indulgence of a raised eyebrow.
“Newth, Mrs Pargeter. It was Newth. I am terribly disappointed to have to say this, and I feel utterly betrayed, but I’m afraid it is the truth.”
Mrs Pargeter still kept silence, confident that all the details would come out if she bided her time.
“Perhaps because of a guilty conscience or perhaps because he thought that his crimes were about to be discovered, it seems that Newth ran away from the hotel last night. Unfortunately, however, he is not a fit man – he has been suffering for some years from a heart condition – and the effort of running…or the strains of his guilt…led him to have a heart attack. He collapsed, it seems, on the outskirts of Littlehampton, where he was discovered in the small hours of this morning and taken to hospital.
“There he was examined and found to be in need of major surgery – open-heart surgery, I believe they call it. When he heard this, it seems that, aware of the risks of such an operation, he wanted to make a clean breast of his crimes. The police were summoned to the hospital, where Newth confessed that not only did he steal Mrs Selsby’s jewellery the night after she died, but also that he had stolen it before!”
Mrs Pargeter nodded, and Miss Naismith looked rather disappointed. She had expected more reaction to this bombshell.
“Apparently – and you can imagine how distressed I was to hear this – over a period of months Newth had been stealing individual items of Mrs Selsby’s jewellery and replacing them with imitations!”
This revelation was rewarded by no more than another nod.
Miss Naismith looked disgruntled, but had to continue. “I need not tell you how shocked I was by this revelation. The police telephoned me about half an hour ago and I could hardly believe what they told me. However, I am reluctantly forced to the conclusion that it is the truth.”
There was another silence. Miss Naismith was being made to work every inch of the way.
“So, Mrs Pargeter, once again I apologise. I cannot tell you how appalled I am by what has happened. I have spent a good part of my life building up the reputation of the Devereux, and to have that reputation sullied by a crime on the premises is a severe blow to everything that I have ever believed in.”
Yes, Mrs Pargeter thought, you really mean that. The gentility, the ‘niceness’, the ‘class’ of the Devereux matters to you more than anything in the world. Which is why you would never threaten its image by committing a crime here yourself. Which is why I must strike you too off my list of murder suspects.
“So, Mrs Pargeter…Please. Please may I ask you to accept my apology…?”
Mrs Pargeter was not vindictive. She had had her triumph, she had won the battle, and was not the sort to gloat over her victory.
“Of course, love,” she said, and held out her hand.
Miss Naismith reached hers daintily across the table and they shook hands.
