Nest of Vipers

‘No. For telling Miss Kennett, in front of witnesses, that she had to get married.’

‘And trick that obnoxious Hempseed into bigamy?’

‘Bigamy, in my opinion, does not enter into the matter. Mr Hempseed (to use his pseudonym) has far too much common sense for that, I am perfectly sure. I have no doubt that, to satisfy Miss Barnes, some kind of ritual was carried out which she assumed to be a marriage ceremony. She appears to be a singularly guileless young person, and a very bad liar. As I say, I am convinced that Mr Hempseed is far too wary a practitioner to have contracted a bigamous marriage which Miss McHaig could have exposed for what it was at any moment she chose. Also, Miss Barnes saw far more of Miss Minnie than she admits.’

‘So what’s this “had to get married” argument all about?’

‘The loss of her virginity, no doubt, had some importance for her. One assumes she desired to lose it.’

‘Oh, well, it isn’t fashionable to be a virgin nowadays. How are we going to spend Sunday?’

‘In meditation and prayer, as is seemly and right.’

‘You’re not going to church?’

‘Why not? In the business we are about to undertake, the more of the odour of sanctity we have about us, the more sure are we of successfully resisting the powers of evil. Besides, I always go to church when we are at home.’

‘Yes, but I thought you looked on that as a social gesture, something the village kind of expected of you as the owner of the biggest house in the place.’

‘There is that aspect, of course.’

‘Look, what is all this? And what has Barnes’s virginity got to do with it?’

‘That remains to be seen. We shall know more, I hope, when we have visited that sleazy little antique shop again.’

‘I say!’ said Laura, on a note of enlightenment. ‘Does it all add up? I mean, Miss Minnie being connected with that peculiar sect and being seen by that dim-wit Barnes to go into the junk shop and disappear, and Barnes teaming up with this Hempseed simply for the purpose you mentioned, and Miss Minnie getting drowned and disfigured? Could it make some sort of sense? I suppose it could. But where does Niobe Nutley fit in? Didn’t she murder the old lady, after all?’

‘Monday’s child is fair of face,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘so let us see what its pulchritude can do for us the morn’s morn, as I believe your countrymen express it. Meanwhile, we are in a seaside town at an unattractive time of year. How shall we disport ourselves on a somewhat cheerless Saturday evening?’

‘Go to the pictures,’ said Laura.

The cinema, the only one in the little town, looked drab and unprepossessing from the outside, but, in deference, no doubt, to the summer visitors from whom it derived a good deal of its revenue, the interior was warm and tastefully decorated.

The young woman at the receipt of custom looked them over with a casual glance which hardly travelled beyond the treasury note which Laura was holding out, and said briefly, ‘One senior cit., one full price – where d’ya wanna be?’

Laura opted for the front of the circle and was picking up her change when from a curtain which screened the back of the box-office, a bland, expressionless face peered out and a finger poked the girl in the back.

‘OK,’ said the box-office girl, without turning round. ‘You’ve got time for a quick one, if you hurry, Dadda. Dirty old man!’ she observed in an indulgent tone, when the face had disappeared behind the curtain.

‘Who is he?’ Laura enquired.

‘Name of Bosey. Deputises for me every other Sat’ night and Wednesdays, when I go off.’

‘I think I’ve seen his shop.’

‘Oh, yes?’

At this moment a considerable section of the audience came streaming out and several patrons came in from outside. Dame Beatrice and Laura mounted one long flight of steps and were conducted down another to their seats at the front of the circle. The main feature was entitled: The Ghouls of Dead Man’s Creek.

‘Very suitable,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘At the interval I shall require a choc-ice and a bottle of some obnoxious liquid which I shall imbibe through a straw.’

‘When in Rome, and all that, I suppose,’ said Laura. ‘Sure you wouldn’t like me to dash out for some fish and chips?’

There was a message for Dame Beatrice when they got back to their hotel.

‘Would you please ring your son at his home address, Dame Beatrice?’

Dame Beatrice did so and was told by Ferdinand Lestrange that, at his last remand before the magistrates, Chelion Piper had been released and the police had withdrawn the charges.

‘I don’t know whether you or Cox, Cox, Rufford and Cox have pulled it off,’ said Ferdinand, ‘Congratulations, anyway.’

Chapter Twelve

Discoveries

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