‘Yes, he’s an offensive little swine in private life,’ said Sir Ferdinand, ‘but I would say that his outburst in court was so uncharacteristic that I’m sure my mother is right and that he was determined to get himself jugged.’
‘But that could mean the brother knows something against him,’ said Laura.
‘It cannot be anything he can prove, or surely he would have gone to the police with it,’ said Sir Ferdinand. ‘Besides, if mother is right – and I’m sure she is – Lawrence fears private vengeance. Actually, I feel pretty sure that he is not the murderer, although he well may be the accessory after the fact. It looks to me as though the actual killing was done by an accomplice who then left Lawrence’s flat.’
‘How long do you expect your case at Winchester to last? Shall we see you again when it is over? ’ Dame Beatrice enquired.
‘Yes, thanks, mother. The wife of my bosom has taken her own mother to Madeira for a period of convalescence, so I’d like to drop by again, if I may. By my reading, my case should last the best part of a week or maybe longer. It’s a little matter of theft followed by death. My client stole from a warehouse and, interrupted by the night watchman, hit the latter and killed him. The prosecution will quote R. v. Jones, of course, when Jones was convicted of murdering a store-manager and had his appeal dismissed. There was a reasonable doubt, in my opinion, whether Jones intended to do more than disable the manager of the store which he had burgled, but I doubt whether, in the case I am defending, I can do any better than a verdict of manslaughter, although I shall do my best to “soften the evidence”, as that rascal Peachum would say.’
‘The murder of Mrs Lawrence could hardly boil down to a charge of manslaughter,’ said Laura. ‘It was deliberate murder, premeditated, workmanlike and callous.’
Chief Superintendent Nicholl looked dubious.
‘But if it’s a proper question, Mrs Gavin,’ he said, ‘what do you expect to get at his landlady’s?’
‘I’m hoping to break down his alibi for the week Mrs Lawrence was murdered.’
‘Well, I wish you more luck than we’ve had.’
‘Woman to woman, and all that kind of thing, you know. What sort of woman is she?’
‘A most respectable old party. Has let rooms to the College for years and never a breath against her. If you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs Gavin, ma’am, I think you’ll be wasting your time.’
‘We’ll see. You never know.’
She drove off blithely to the address he had given her, but her visit proved to be as abortive as the superintendent had prophesied. Lawrence’s lodgings were in a much larger house than Laura had envisaged. It was a solidly built, three-storey Victorian mansion, well maintained; it had a neat front garden, a polished brass knocker, doorbell and letter-flap, and in answer to her ring the front door was opened by a maid capped and aproned and with a well-scrubbed, fresh-complexioned face. This girl stood politely awaiting the caller’s opening remarks.
Laura produced Dame Beatrice’s official card with her own name added to it in Dame Beatrice’s handwriting.
‘I wonder whether I could speak to Mrs Breaston?’ she said.
‘Come inside, madam, please. I’ll go and ask. Would it be about a room? – because I don’t believe we have a vacancy.’
‘Oh? Has Mr Lawrence’s room been re-let, then?’ asked Laura, who had not foreseen such a useful opening to her visit.
‘I’ll speak to Mrs Breaston, madam, if you’ll kindly take a seat.’
There was a small table in the hall with a chair at either end of it. Laura sat down and was not kept waiting. Mrs Breaston reminded Laura of nobody so much as of the enigmatic housekeeper at Manderley. She was a tall ramrod of a woman dressed all in black. She glided like a fictional nun and carried her hands clasped just below her waist. She was decorated with a large cameo brooch and a long gold chain at the end of which Laura could see a gold cross. Her hair was strained into a small bun at the back of her neck and she wafted before her a faint odour of aniseed.
‘I have no vacancies,’ she said, ‘but your card hardly suggests that you need one. The Home Office? Are you connected with the police force? If so, I am going to complain to my Member of Parliament. I really must protest about being badgered in this way.’
‘I am not a member of the police force, neither have I any intention of badgering you, Mrs Breaston. Did you know that Mr Lawrence has been sent to prison for dangerous driving?’
‘I have no wish to hear Mr Lawrence’s name spoken.’
‘I suppose he did leave you rather suddenly. Was he up-to-date with his rent?’
‘I have no complaints about that. Perhaps we had better go into my sitting-room. The servants are all ears.’ She led the way along the hall and opened a door. The room was papered in a gloomy shade of red which (thought Laura) would have been handy for covering up bloodstains. The curtains were red and so was the carpet, and such light as penetrated to the room came in through the slats of a Venetian blind. ‘Please be seated,’ the landlady continued. ‘Now what is your business here?’
‘If Mr Lawrence’s name is not to be mentioned, I can hardly answer that question.’
‘You say Mr Lawrence is in prison?’
‘Yes, for drunken driving and for insulting the judge.’
‘That astonishes me. I would not have thought he had the courage for either misdemeanour.’
‘Did you ever hear him mention a woman named Coralie St Malo?’
‘She sounds like an adventuress,’ commented Mrs Breaston remaining within the period which she and her sitting-room so ably represented.
‘She’s on the concert-party stage. At present she is playing in Blackpool.’
‘I know of no such person.’
