‘If I did, I should not be undertaking this enquiry. I propose to begin by supposing that Piper has told the truth and nothing but the truth.’
‘But not necessarily the whole truth. Is that the size of it?’
‘Nobody would dare to tell the
(2)
Weston Pipers, Dame Beatrice thought, when, having stepped out of the car, she surveyed it before ringing the bell, was a gracious, benign old house. It was made of rose-coloured brick with facings of grey stone, long windows and a porch which was pillared, recently repaired and unlikely to have been a feature of the original building. Yet it was not entirely out of place since it was well-proportioned and its grey colouring matched the facings of the house.
The doorbell was answered by a young woman whom Dame Beatrice rightly took to be the Niobe of Piper’s narrative. She was tall, well-built with a fully-matured figure and, as her half-sleeved dress displayed, remarkably powerful forearms.
‘You will be Mrs Farintosh. Do come in,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you straight up to your flat and then I’ll let your man into the bungalow. Not too many stairs for you, I hope? The first-floor flats are occupied, so I’ve had to put you on the second floor, but the rooms are quite large and if you’re nervous about fire – some people are – you will find that an iron fire-escape staircase is just to the right of your door.’
Dame Beatrice followed her up a broad, beautiful oak staircase and then up a second one which was narrower and less expensively carpeted. The young woman produced two keys. One she handed to Dame Beatrice; the other – a master-key Dame Beatrice supposed – she applied to the door in front of her at the top of the stairs.
‘The doors are self-locking, I suppose,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Oh, yes, but if you lock yourself out by accident and have left your key inside, I can always let you in.’
‘I hope there are inside bolts on the doors. Twice in my own home I have been troubled with intruders.’
‘Oh, dear! Burglars, do you mean?’
‘Luckily they did not get away with whatever it was they had come for.’ (Dame Beatrice did not add that on both occasions it had been her life, not her goods, which the intruders had sought to take away.)
‘It must have made you very nervous.’
‘Well, a little cautious, perhaps.’ She looked at the inside of the opened door. ‘Oh, no bolts, I see.’
‘I’m afraid not. We have had people here living on their own, so, in case of emergency – illness, you know – it would be necessary to break the door down to reach them and help them if inside bolts were used. But this house is amply secure. There are bolts inside the back and front doors and patent fastenings on all the downstair windows. We are quite impregnable, I assure you.’
The flat consisted of a sitting-room, bedroom, small kitchen and even smaller bathroom, but the windows overlooked the park and gardens and the bathroom window, when its frosted casement was opened, gave a view of the front lawn, the bungalow and the tiny inlet.
‘Splendid,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘I thought you would like it. It is not completely furnished because our long-stay tenants like to bring their own bits and pieces with them, but I think you will be able to manage with what there is, as you will only be here for a week or two.’
‘Oh, I am sure I can manage. It all looks very pleasant and comfortable.’
‘The last tenants were two girls, so they took quite good care of the furniture except that, as they were both heavy smokers, I had to have all the curtains cleaned when they went, and new chair-covers made to hide the cigarette-burns. I don’t know why women smokers are so abominably careless. I would have seen to it that they paid for the curtains and the damage, but they went off at such short notice, leaving no forwarding address, that the house had to bear the expense.’
‘Which meant you yourself, I suppose,’ said Dame Beatrice. Niobe did not answer except with a laugh and a shrug of her powerful shoulders. (‘She certainly is not going to explain that the owner of the house is in prison and awaiting trial for murder,’ thought Dame Beatrice, ‘and small blame to her!’)
George, waiting at the front door, insisted upon relieving Niobe of Dame Beatrice’s suitcases, and then put the car away before being shown his own quarters. Dame Beatrice joined him and Niobe at the front door of the bungalow, where Niobe was vainly attempting to turn the key in the lock. George tried in his turn, but in vain.
‘How strange!’ said Niobe. ‘I had better go back to the house for the key which the police took from the body.’
When she had returned and let them in:
‘Will you be comfortable here, George?’ asked Dame Beatrice, as soon as Niobe had gone.
‘Oh, yes, madam, very comfortable. I have had lessons from Henri, madam, and am in a position to cook for you if you will allow me into your apartment for the purpose.’
‘I have a better idea, George. I will come over here for my meals and you shall cook for both of us. Your kitchen is larger than mine and has an electric cooker which, if you have been Henri’s pupil, you will know how to handle. It will mean that we can compare notes without appearing to conspire together.’
‘Very good, madam. At what time do you choose to dine this evening? I have all the provisions in the boot of the car.’
‘At about eight, do you think? Breakfast I will manage for myself, as I require nothing but toast and coffee. Lunch we will take most days at a hotel in the town. I have to keep up a pretence of house hunting.’
‘Very good, madam,’ He accompanied her to the front door. She inspected it.
‘No bolts, George, I see.’
