“Why, they were known as the Hollyhock Cottage Murders! Haven’t you heard of them?” She was refilling their glasses with lukewarm lemonade and Nancy Adair was trying to catch Hitchcock’s eye to have him make the old lady get on with it.
“I’m afraid I haven’t. Has anyone written about them?”
“I am.” Despite her years she leapt from her chair with the grace of a prima ballerina escaping the lecherous advances of a Fokine faun and scurried to a desk at the opposite end of the long, narrow room. She grasped a thick loose-leaf book and brought it to Hitchcock. Then she stood back with hands clasped in front of her, her face warm with anticipation and possibly expecting applause as Hitchcock opened the book to the first page.
He read the title aloud for Nancy Adair’s benefit: “Blood and Gore” She’d caught his eye and he got her message, but there was little way of relaying to her that Miss Allerton would have to be humored until she was ready to move on their behalf. He said to the old lady, “The title’s a winner.”
“You do like it!” Her voice was piccolo-tweety.
“Adore it. How long have you been writing this?”
“Almost forty years.”
“I shall look forward to reading it.”
“Couldn’t you read some of it now? I’d value your opinion.” The hands were fluttering and her feet were shuffling and Hitchcock feared she might be about to take off in flight.
“I’m afraid there isn’t time, Miss Allerton. You see, it’s terribly important we meet with Madeleine Lockwood.” Miss Allerton retrieved her book and held it tightly to her almost nonexistent bosom. “Her book’s lousy. Had to publish it herself. Limited edition. Got him to pay for it.” Him, thought Hitchcock, the lover cashiered out of the army? “It’s all fantasy.” She took her book back to the desk.
Nancy Adair decided to take matters into her own hands. “Does Miss Lockwood live nearby?”
Miss Allerton sat and arranged her skirt, then she spoke. “She lives just across the road. The big house with the thatched roof. You may have noticed it when you parked your car. It’s very imposing from the outside. He bought it for her fifteen years ago or so. Inside it’s a mess. You’ll see for yourself. She’s a mess too. Sometimes it seems as though her mind is wandering, but I know it’s mostly playacting. She’s an incredibly shrewd person. But when it seems her mind is wandering, well, you’ll just have to be patient and steer her back to whatever track you want her on. She used to be in the theater.” She spoke directly to Hitchcock. “She takes direction well.”
She knows who I am! Hitchcock thought. Aloud, he said, “Were here to interview her for our book on espionage.”
Miss Allerton’s voice went limp. “You’re writing a book too? Is there anyone who isn’t writing a book?” She did little to masquerade her exasperation. “A book on espionage? Are you spies too?”
“Good heavens, no,” said Hitchcock, “we’re just researching a book about them.”
“Filthy profession, that. It’s what brought Jane down.”
“Jane who?” asked Hitchcock.
“She sent you here! Jane Farquhar!”
Hitchcock’s mouth was suddenly dry. He had a quick look at Nancy Adair, who had suddenly busied herself with nibbling at a biscuit and avoided his eyes. Hitchcock had a sip of his awful lemonade and then asked, “Jane Farquhar was a spy?”
“She wasn’t a terribly good one. She blabbed all over the place. Began when she was a nurse abroad during the war. Prisoner-of-war camp. She was the head sister there. Well, some of those prisoners had been pretty highly placed in the German hierarchy and they just talked and talked to our Jane. Jane, of course, took her information to the authorities and the next thing you know, she’s got two professions. Nursing and spying. She didn’t last very long.” With a mischievous expression, she then asked the two of them, “What did you say your name was?”
“Jennings, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings,” replied Hitchcock. He had croaked the reply, his throat feeling constricted, as though there were a noose slowly tightening around his neck.
Phoebe Allerton said nothing during the next few uncomfortable moments, and then leaned forward. “Madeleine might not be at her best today.”
“I assure you we’ll be very gentle and circumspect,” said Hitchcock.
“We had a circus pitched nearby all day yesterday.” The tips of Hitchcock’s fingers were tingling. “They gave a performance in the afternoon. Not much of an attendance. But, amazingly enough, Madeleine swathed herself in veils and we went to see them. Somehow we got separated, and when I found Madeleine again, I could see she had been upset by something. Probably by the freaks, because I found her coming out of their tent, and it’s a good thing too I found her then because she was feeling faint. I got her into my car and brought her home. She didn’t say a word on the way back, but she was upset. Shut herself up in the house and hasn’t even been out in the garden to my knowledge. Said she hadn’t when I phoned her this morning and asked if she’d see you two as a special favor to Cousin Jane.”
“She knows Cousin Jane, of course,” said Hitchcock.
“Oh, yes. On cold winter nights they used to get together when Jane came to visit me and compare betrayals. Jane doesn’t visit so much anymore now that she’s gone into trade, so to speak.”
Nancy Adair spoke again. “When do you suppose we can meet Miss Lockwood? We’re a bit pressed for time.”
“Young woman,” said Phoebe Allerton, sharply revealing a new side of herself usually reserved
