I decided that after al I hadn’t wasted my money feeding this lug.
“Thanks,” I said. “I won’t tell a soul.”
There was still a strong smel of gas in the cottage, which grew
stronger as we entered the kitchen.
“It’s Anne Scott all right,” Corridan said gloomily, pointing to a
huddled figure lying on the floor.
I stood over her, felt inadequate, could think of nothing to say.
She wore a pink dressing-gown and white pyjamas, her feet were
bare, her hands clenched tightly into fists. Her head lay hidden in the
gas oven. By moving around, carefully stepping over her legs, I could
see into the oven. She was a blonde, about twenty-five; even in death
she was attractive, although I could see no resemblance to Netta in
the serene rather lovely face.
I stepped back, looked at Corridan. “Sure she’s Anne Scott?” I
asked.
He made an impatient movement. “Of course,” he said. “The
woman identified her. You’re not trying to make out there’s a mystery
in this, are you?”
“Odd they should both commit suicide, isn’t it?” I said, feeling in
my bones that something was very wrong.
He jerked his head, walked into the sitting-room.
“Read that,” he said, handed me a sheet of note-paper. “It was
found by her side.”
I took the note, read:
Without Netta life means nothing to me. Please forgive me. ANNE.
I handed it back. “After fifty years in the police force, I feel
justified in saying that’s a plant,” I said.
He took the paper. “Don’t try to be funny,” he said coldly.
I grinned. “Who do you suppose it was addressed to?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Mrs. Brambee tells me a lot of
men used to come down here. There was one fellow-Peter-who Anne
used to talk a lot about. Maybe it was for him.”
“Would that be Peter Utterly?” I asked. “The guy who gave Netta
the gun?”
Corridan rubbed his chin. “Doubtful,” he said. “Utterly went back
to the States a month or so ago.”
“Yeah, I’d forgotten that,” I said, wandering over to the writing-
desk that stood in the window recess. “Well, I suppose you’ll look for
this guy?” I opened the lid of the desk, glanced inside. There were no
papers, no letters. All the pigeon-holes had been carefully cleared.
“She tidied up before she threw in her hand,” I pointed out. “Any
letters or papers anywhere?”
He shook his head.
“No means of checking if the handwriting of the note is really
Anne’s?”
“My dear fellow . . .” he began a little tartly.
“Skip it,” I said. “I’ve a suspicious nature. Find anything
interesting?”
“Nothing,” he returned, eyed me narrowly. “I’ve searched the
place thoroughly; there’s nothing to connect her with forged bonds,
diamond rings or anything like that. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’ll get over it,” I said, grinning. “Just give me time. Find any silk
stockings in the place?”
“I didn’t look for silk stockings,” he snapped back. “I’ve more
important things to do.”
“Let’s look,” I said. “I have a thing about silk stockings. “Where’s
the bedroom?”
“Now look here, Harmas, this has gone far enough. I’ve let you in .
. .”
“For your rupture’s sake, if not for me, calm down,” I said, patting
him on his arm. “What’s the harm in looking? Netta had silk stockings
and they vanished. Anne may have had silk stockings and they may
still be here. Let’s look.”
He gave me an exasperated glare, turned to the door. “Wait
here,” he said, began to mount the stairs.
I kept on his heels. “You may need me. Always a good thing to
have a witness.”
He led the way into a small but luxuriously furnished bedroom,
went immediately to a chest of drawers and began to paw over a
mass of silk undies, sweaters and scarves.
“You handle that stuff like a married man,” I said, opened the
wardrobe, peered in. There were only two frocks and a two- piece
costume hanging up. “She didn’t have many clothes, poor kid,” I went
on. “Maybe she couldn’t get coupons, or do you think she was a
nudist?”
He scowled at me. “There’re no stockings here,” he said.
“No stockings of any kind at all?”
“No.”
“Seems to confirm my nudist theory, doesn’t it?” I said. “You
might like to turn this stocking angle over in your nimble, sharp-witted
mind. I’m going to do that myself, and I’m going to keep at it until I
find out why neither of these girls had any stockings.”
“What the hel are you driving at?” Corridan burst out. “You have
a shilling-shocker mind. Who do you think you are- Perry Mason?”
“Don’t tell me you read detective stories,” I said, surprised. “Well,
what happens now?”
“I’m waiting for the ambulance,” Corridan said, following me
downstairs. “The body will be taken to the Horsham mortuary, and
the inquest will also be held there. I don’t expect anything will come
out at the inquest. It’s pretty straightforward.” But he sounded
worried.
“Do you really think she learned about Netta’s suicide and
followed suit?” I asked.
“Why not?” he returned. “You’d be surprised how suicides fol ow
in families. We have a bunch of statistics about it.”
“I was forgetting you worked by rule of thumb,” I returned. “What
was the idea of keeping me out until you sniffed around?”
