Spotted Hemlock

‘I do know what he thought, as it happens. Upminster was in the showers with me last Wednesday, and as we were drying ourselves he said, “Rather a rum thing happened this morning. I was in the bar with Gastien, sampling the brew, when in walked a female dressed in black, with a scarf pulled round her face as though she’d got toothache or something, and asked for twenty cigarettes and a box of matches. Gastien didn’t turn and look at her, but she was reflected in the mirror behind all those bottles and Toby jugs and tankards and things. When she spotted him she simply turned and bolted without the cigarettes and matches. Gastien turned and looked fairly thoughtfully at the door, which was, as usual, propped open, and said, “My boy, you had better take me home. This is the kind of thing which has made men sign the pledge, and, what’s more, stick to it. I’ve seen a ghost. I thought that a young woman Basil used to trot around came in here and asked for cigarettes and matches.” ’

‘Yes?’ said Dame Beatrice.

‘Well, of course, Upminster told him a female had just been in and asked for cigarettes and matches, and described her. He said that Gastien looked at him in an owlish sort of way, and said, “She couldn’t be the girl I’m thinking of. The girl I’m thinking of is dead.” You have a talk with Gastien, Dame Beatrice, and get it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

Dame Beatrice did this at the following midday. Having been apprised of his habits, she met Mr Gastien in the hotel bar at precisely a quarter to twelve, it being his daily custom, it appeared, to leave college at eleven sharp, whatever duties he was engaged upon at Highpepper, and drive into Garchester for his midday refreshment. He usually brought a couple of Highpepper students with him, and it was understood that these bought his chaser of gin when he had had sufficient beer, and drove him back to the college.

By previous arrangement, the two students on this particular and important occasion were Preddle and Soames, who were in a position to introduce him to Dame Beatrice and include her in the party.

‘Basil?’ said Mr Gastien, when his thirst was somewhat alleviated and the object of the meeting had been introduced. ‘Oh, yes, Basil. About time he came back, I should think. He isn’t back, is he? Can’t be, or that young woman of his wouldn’t be knocking about on her own. And she is knocking about on her own. Met her—well, I won’t say met her, because she walked in here last Wednesday morning when I was with Lord Robert Upminster and dashed out again as soon as she realised I’d spotted her. Girl isn’t dead, as we were given to understand. Something very fishy must have been going on.’

‘Murder has been going on, as we knew,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘but a mistake was made by the person who was called upon to identify the body.’

‘So that was it! Glad I know. Thought I was seeing things. Thank you, Mr Preddle. A double, eh? Very generous. Very generous indeed.’

Preddle received this tribute—a stock phrase with Mr Gastien—with a polite inclination of the head. His tutor swallowed the gin at a gulp, smacked his lips, licked them and looked expectantly at Soames, who rose immediately and went to the bar counter. The little ceremony was repeated, but this time the gin was sniffed at and sipped. Mr Gastien then glanced expectantly at Dame Beatrice. Scarcely thinking that this was a hint to buy him a third gin, as he still had almost all of that provided by Soames, she continued her remarks.

‘Yes. Mrs Coles had an older sister who so much resembled her in appearance that the distressed mother, who was called upon to identify the body, mistook her for the younger daughter because she was wearing the Calladale blazer. The face, in any case, was much disfigured.’

‘Oh, well, that would seem to let Basil out. Always afraid the girl had tried to blackmail him or something, and he’d got rid of her. Quite a relief.’

‘It is not in the public interest, at present, that the wrongful identification should be disclosed.’

‘No, no, of course not. I won’t breathe a word. You fellows must be discreet, too.’ He sipped gin. ‘Murderer must be allowed to think he’s got away with it. The police will get him easier that way. Well, this is all very interesting, I must say. Let me get you more sherry, Dame Beatrice. Are you staying here to lunch?’

‘No. I am lunching in Calladale College, at the invitation of Miss McKay. No more sherry, thank you.’

‘What I can’t understand,’ said Soames, ‘is why the girl chose to come in here for cigarettes and matches. I mean, it wasn’t early closing day or anything of that sort. She could have gone into a shop. Girls of that age don’t usually patronise a bar on their own.’

‘For that very reason she chose to do so, I take it,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Dressed as she was, and with her face covered up, she was less likely to be recognised at the bar counter than she might have been at a shop in this rather small town. I don’t suppose the barmaids had ever troubled to notice her before. It is not likely that she had ever ordered drinks from them. Her escort would have done everything necessary in that way.’

‘I doubt whether Basil often brought her in here,’ said Mr Gastien, ‘but, if he did, it would be as you say. I mean, look at it! It’s always like this in here, especially on Saturdays and Sundays, and those, if I know anything of the regulations at Calladale, are the only days on which, in the ordinary way, she would be able to get away from college. Oh, there’s the mid-week half-holiday, of course.’

The dense and noisy crowd of young men who, by this time, were thronging the bar, certainly gave point to his words. Persons seated at the tables would be almost completely screened from the barmaids. Dame Beatrice nodded.

‘The most interesting aspect of the whole business,’ she observed, ‘is that, knowing (as she must do by this time) that a mistake in identification has been made, she does not wish to put it right, but hides and skulks in this extraordinary way. There can be two possible explanations. Either she killed her sister or else she herself is in danger. I prefer the latter theory. I think she goes—or believes she goes—in fear of her life, and that is why the police have not found her. In any case, on their own submission, they are looking for a dead girl, not a living one.’

chapter eighteen

Squeak, Piggy, Squeak

‘This conversation hindered us in unloading the sledge.’

Ibid.

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