Nest of Vipers

liked.’

‘Did you ask whether anybody else in the house had a pass-key?’

‘We did, and Miss Niobe Nutley immediately produced hers. Of course, we didn’t find Piper’s key. Miss Nutley said he had had one and must have lost it.’

‘That young lady thinks of everything,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Did you find Miss Minnie’s own door-key?’

‘Yes, it was on the body. Why do you ask?’

‘Oh, nothing – except that Mr Piper clearly was not the only person who could obtain access to the bungalow whenever he wished to enter it. There is another point, too, which you might care to consider: Miss Nutley also used her key (a master-key to which, as housekeeper, I suppose she was entitled), to enter any of the apartments at any time. That must have included the bungalow, one would think.’

‘Are you offering that as a serious suggestion, Dame Beatrice?’

‘Well, it is one which ought to be taken into account, as the charge against Mr Piper is a serious one.’

‘This was not a woman’s crime, madam.’

‘I wonder on what you base that assumption?’ Dame Beatrice outlined her theory about the buckets of sea water. ‘Miss Nutley may be tearful and may appear distraught,’ she concluded, ‘but she has the shoulders and the muscular strength of a coal-heaver.’

‘But the motive, Dame Beatrice! It is clear, from our enquiries, that Miss Minnie has good grounds for attempting to upset Mrs Dupont-Jacobson’s will. Money, more often than not, is the motive behind murder, especially the murder of an elderly person. The motive in this case sticks out a mile. With Miss Minnie out of the way, Piper’s inheritance was safe.’

‘And with Mr Piper behind bars and serving a life sentence, Miss Nutley’s thirst for revenge would be partly if not wholly slaked, I think. Did you peruse the document written at my instigation by Mr Piper?’

‘Yes, with great interest, but it did not convince me of his innocence. These novelists have a trick of putting themselves across when they’re given a ball point and sufficient paper,’ said the Chief Superintendent, smiling at his own omniscience.

‘So no sense to be drummed into that blighter’s thick head,’ said Laura disgustedly when they had left the Chief Superintendent’s office. ‘You’d think that even he would have smelt a rat when the police knew that the Nutley woman could get into the rooms (and into the bungalow) whenever she chose.’

‘I believe we have left him with something to think about,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘He is not a stupid man.’

‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet about motive, that’s the trouble.’

‘And, as he says, he cannot see this as a woman’s crime.’

‘I suppose Nutley wept all over Chelion Piper when he was arrested.’

‘The Walrus wept for the oysters, but it did not prevent him from swallowing them,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘My opinion of Miss Nutley is not a high one, but I see her less as a murderer than as an avenging Fury.’

(2)

It was a fairly long drive back to the Stone House on the edge of the New Forest, but, as Dame Beatrice pathetically observed (following the observation with a sardonic cackle of laughter), ‘Now that I have been turned away from the stately mansion of Weston Pipers, I have nowhere to lay my head except in my own home.’

‘We could have stayed at a hotel in Moretonhampstead or Exeter,’ Laura pointed out.

‘There is a good reason for going back to Wandles Parva. My telephone number was on the cards I left with Miss Kennett and the proprietor of the antique shop. I shall be surprised if we do not hear something from the latter before we visit him again. I have very little doubt that he knows we went to the police with his Weston Pipers’ fire- irons.’

But the call came from Billie.

‘If you want to question Elysee, she is with me again. Cassie McHaig trailed them to the hotel where they were staying and staged a menage a trois. Elysee wasn’t having any of that, so she’s come back. Don’t know really whether I’m glad or sorry. Anyway, she’s here if you want her.’

‘So we can kill two birds with one stone,’ said Laura, who had taken the call. ‘Billie Kennett’s place isn’t all that far from the shop.’

‘Quite. The shop first, I think, and then to find out what Miss Barnes has to tell us.’

But when they reached the grimy little junk shop it was closed.

Chapter Eleven

The Elysian Fields

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‘WHAT’S today?’ asked Laura, looking at her watch. They had lunched in Moretonhampstead and the time was just after half-past three. ‘Saturday, isn’t it? So it can’t be early closing.’

‘Some shops do close on Saturday afternoons,’ Dame Beatrice pointed out.

‘We shall have to wait until Monday. Perhaps the sect of which our friend is the leader keeps the Biblical Sabbath.’

‘Oh, well, we can go and see those two girls, so our trip won’t be entirely wasted.’