Spotted Hemlock

‘You won’t be talked into anything,’ said Gavin. ‘What’s the name of this fellow?’

But Coles shook his head.

‘I never asked and I haven’t a clue,’ he declared.

‘You will say no more,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Personally, I think we might all go to bed.’

But her guest, it seemed, was not prepared for this.

‘I do wish you’d listen,’ he said. ‘I didn’t love Norah. You might as well know it first as last. I have no money. I thought she’d come in for something substantial from her father, and, heaven knows, I can do with every penny I can get. You see, I’ve got talent. Not a lot, of course, but, with a bit of money behind me—have you any conception of what it costs to hire even a small art gallery for a one-man show?—I could make good. I saw my chance, as I thought. But then I weakened. Norah wasn’t really what I wanted. Then I thought it all over again and decided that it might work. I was prepared to be perfectly fair as long as all she wanted was an uncritical husband. But, naturally, she wanted a good deal more than that. She wanted complete devotion, and that shot wasn’t on the board. You can’t mortgage your soul.’

‘So Doctor Faustus discovered,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘And then?’

‘Nothing. We got married. But when I got the chance of this cheap trip to Paris, she went to stay with her aunt. Only —she didn’t, according to you. She went to this holiday camp at Bracklesea. Well, we know what’s happened to her since then!’

‘How much did her father leave her?’ Gavin enquired. Coles shook his head.

‘Her mother kept a tight fist on it while Norah stayed at college. I don’t think Norah herself knew how much it was.’

‘I really think she did.’

‘Then,’ said Coles, ‘there’s only one thing for you to do if you want to find the killer. You’d better lay off me and find out what that swine Biancini was doing between August eighteenth and August twenty-fifth this summer. There’s your murderer for you, and you can tell him I said so! Mrs Biancini dotes on him, and anything Norah had to leave will come to him in the end. You see if it doesn’t!’

chapter eleven

Identification of a Lady-Killer

‘“What do you call that horrid beast?” asked James, “It is,” replied I, “the cocoa crab. I doubt if you would have succeeded in overcoming your antagonist without that lucky thought, for the cocoa crab has as much courage as cunning, and he may be a dangerous adversary for a child.”’

Ibid.

« ^ »

Our guest,’ observed Laura, when Coles had been conveyed back to London, ‘spoke quite a piece when he suggested that there might have been naughtiness going on between the porcine Biancini and that girl.’

‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ said her husband. ‘All the same, it won’t do any harm to check up on the Wop. I can drop a hint in the right quarter and make a slight unmeritorious police job of it, if you like.’

‘What sort of hint?’

‘To begin with, a hint to suggest that he may not be a naturalised British subject. If he hasn’t taken out naturalisation papers he is an alien, and if he’s an alien he may turn out to be an undesirable one. And so forth, until we’ve collected his dossier.’

‘While I am no critic of sexual indiscretions,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘it does seem to me that if Biancini did stay at that holiday camp with Mrs Coles and not with Mrs Biancini, it would do no harm to investigate further. Your scheme, my dear Robert, although ethically undesirable, sounds neat and practical. How soon may we expect results, I wonder?’

‘We shan’t be long,’ said Gavin, grinning. ‘We may not be as well documented in certain respects as the Surete, but we can soon get the tabs on people when it’s necessary. On the face of it, this murder of Mrs Coles looks like one of those messy little “got the girl into trouble and had better shut her mouth” crimes, and, if it is, then this holiday at the camp could bear investigation, especially if the Mrs Palliser of the register was indeed Mrs Coles.’

‘But that’s the odd thing,’ said Laura. ‘Ask Dame B.’

‘The autopsy revealed that the girl was a virgin,’ said Dame Beatrice.

‘Un mariage blanc? Good Lord! Then I don’t see where Biancini fits in. If he did take the girl away, it could only have been for one reason. I’m all the more determined to probe into this camp holiday. Of course, there’s strong presumptive evidence that the Mr and Mrs N. Palliser of the camp register were not verily and indeed the Mr and Mrs Coles of whom we know, if Coles did indeed spend that week in Paris, but that doesn’t necessarily involve Biancini.’

‘Of Calladale House, near Garchester, don’t forget,’ said Laura. Gavin wrinkled his nose.

‘Curious, that,’ he admitted. ‘Must have been the girl’s idea, I should think. Anyway, I don’t suppose she dreamed that anybody except the camp staff would ever bother about what was written in the book. I should imagine that the “Calladale House” business was sheer stupid snobbery, put on for the benefit of the camp officials.’

‘Well, what’s our next move?’ asked Laura.

‘I shall visit Mrs Biancini to find out what, if anything, she knew about the marriage,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I find it difficult to believe that she had no inkling at all, although I do realise that family relationships are anything but what they used to be. What did you make of Mr Coles?’ She was addressing Gavin, who nodded.