‘Psychological problems?’ asked Laura, the only occupant of the room. ‘We’re busy, you know, on Dame Beatrice’s memoirs. Besides, a course of treatment is apt to be a long job and, if you are leaving the island so soon, you’d be better advised to consult somebody in London.’
‘I don’t know whether one would call mine a psychological problem, and, in any case, even if I were in need of a psychiatrist—and (like most people) I may be, for all I know—I have not come to consult Dame Beatrice on my own behalf in the sense which I think you mean.’
‘I suppose you’ve come about the death of Mrs Chayleigh,’ said Laura.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ said Marius gratefully. ‘The open verdict at Friday’s inquest was most unsatisfactory. I am convinced that my sister was murdered.’
‘All right, I’ll get Dame Beatrice. She was the first doctor to see the body. Sit down, won’t you?’
Dame Beatrice, summoned from the room she used as a study, treated the visitor to an alligator smile and said that she was delighted to see him.
‘Of course we are interested in your charming children,’ she added. ‘I wonder whether it is owing to their representations that you have come to see me?’
‘As a family we throw ourselves upon your mercy, I fear, Dame Beatrice. You will know, of course, that I crossed to the mainland to attend the inquest and my unfortunate sister’s obsequies, but I wonder whether you have heard what the coroner’s jury had to say? They brought in an open verdict, and I have no doubt that the police will be questioning us very soon. Dame Beatrice, I am certain that my poor sister was murdered. I believe you have been concerned with investigations into sudden deaths—homicide and kindred matters. I realise that you are extremely busy and that, so far, I can produce no concrete evidence that my sister’s death was the product of malice aforethought, but…’
‘Ah,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘so you have heard about the pig.’
‘The pig? What pig? The children mentioned a pig?’
Dame Beatrice told him. Then she added,
‘I will look into the matter, of course. In fact, I had intended to do so on my own account and as a matter of interest, but it is a pleasure to be assured that I shall not be meddling in something which is hardly my concern, except…’ she looked significantly at him ‘… except that a rumour seems to be floating around among the hotel servants that your sister was last seen making her way towards this house. I was not in residence at the time, of course, nevertheless, as the present occupier, I shall be glad to do what I can to establish the reason for Mrs Chayleigh’s disappearance and the manner of her death, if only for my own satisfaction. Had she, to your knowledge, any enemies?’
‘None, so far as I know, but I have been out of touch with her for many years.’
‘Does anybody obtain any monetary advantage by her death?’
‘Well, that’s the difficulty. I saw her lawyer after the funeral and it seems that she left all of which she died possessed to be divided equally among her natural son Ransome Lovelaine — my sister, as you may have been informed, changed her name to Chayleigh when she inherited the Chayleigh house and estate on this island and adopted the status of a married woman for what, no doubt, she thought good and sufficient reasons — myself and Miss Crimp.’
‘I see.’
‘Suppose that I should die first—I do not know how many years Miss Crimp has to her credit, and age is nothing really to go by — but supposing that I have the shortest life-span — then my share is to be divided between the other two. In other words, except for the last of the three of us, we have no more than a life-interest in our share of the property. The survivor, however, takes all and can dispose of it at will. That is the thing in a nutshell.’
‘And supposing you are right, and that your sister was murdered,’ said Dame Beatrice, giving him another sharp glance, ‘would a third share in her property have tempted one of you to kill her, I wonder?’
‘I can only speak for myself,’ said Marius, ‘and I can assure you that I did not kill my sister for that or for any other reason.’
‘Besides, you were not on the island at the time of her death and no doubt you can prove that. What about Ransome? Would he think that, as her nearest relative, he should have been left everything instead of only one- third?’
‘That would mean he murdered for revenge as well as for gain, would it not?’
‘Very likely. What about Miss Crimp? She also might feel that she had a major claim as she helps to run the hotel and, I imagine, has shares in it.’
‘Yes, I believe she has. My son and daughter tell me, however, that the hotel is doing very badly and that my sister (and, I suppose, Miss Crimp) are in debt. Sebastian says that they have no proof of this, but they learned it, I believe, from Ransome.’
‘If there are debts, these, presumably, would need to be discharged before any benefits could accrue to the three claimants.’
‘I shall make it my business to find out exactly how matters stand, but, judging by the fact that my sister had made no record of my booking at the hotel, I fear she may have been very slap-dash and careless and her affairs may need a good deal of disentangling. Of course, I suppose she was a very busy woman, but even the busiest person should be businesslike.’
‘Very busy?’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Would you think so? From various bits of gossip which Laura has picked up since we have been here, it seems that the hotel is rarely more than a quarter full, even in the height of the summer, and that the ornithologists’ numbers are a phenomenon.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think they’re paying full rates,’ said Marius. ‘Well, I must not take up more of your time, Dame Beatrice. I am most obliged to you for being willing to look into my family affairs, and I will be guided by you in every particular.’
He rose to leave. Laura appeared and escorted him to the door.
‘It’s very dark tonight. Can I lend you a torch?’ she asked.
‘Oh, it is only a step and, once I am up out of this dip, the hotel lights will guide me,’ Marius replied. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Gavin. I am greatly obliged to you for your help.’
‘I’ve done nothing yet,’ said Laura, who had been present at the interview. She kept the door open to light him through the small front garden and then called goodnight as he disappeared among the shrubs. She returned to Dame Beatrice and said,
‘What’s his real problem, I wonder. He’s scared about something. Are you going to do anything about it?’
‘Well,’ Dame Beatrice replied, ‘it might fit in very well with our other task, the one laid upon us by our dear Robert.’
‘Which, so far, we have not begun.’
‘You are always so impatient. We have to begin by establishing in the minds of the inhabitants that we are friendly, innocent and completely occupied with our own concerns. Only then can we operate with any assurance of succeeding in our enterprise. Nobody will be in the least surprised by our open interest in Mrs Chayleigh’s death. It is the talk of the island. Everyone, whether he knows anything about us or not, will fully expect that we shall be sufficiently interested to make enquiries and listen to gossip.’
‘You seem pretty cold-blooded about the wretched woman’s death.’
‘I did not know her, and that absolves me from prejudice. It is as well to approach the death of strangers with an open mind, although one is precluded from doing so in the case of relatives, friends and acquaintances.’
‘Granted that Mrs Chayleigh was murdered, do you think it was for what she had to leave?’
‘It is possible, of course.’
‘Even if she left debts?’
‘The murderer (if there is one) may not know about the debts and, moreover, it is not yet established that she left any. The story appears to rest on the so-far unsupported word of the illegitimate son, who may have the best of reasons for minimising the supposed value of his inheritance.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘I have not made up my mind about that. It may be useful for me to have a talk with Mr Ransome Lovelaine.’
