'A simple matter indeed,' Dame Beatrice agreed, 'and the result, I suppose, amused everybody.'
'Well, I am not sure about Chelion and Niobe. Everybody else thought it a good joke.'
'Chelion?'
'Chelion Piper.'
'He had to pay for your joke, I suppose.'
'Well, I could hardly own up to it, could I? - especially now I know what he's capable of doing if anybody angers him.'
'Oh? Of what is he capable?'
'Murder, no less. I was there when Targe came into the house to telephone the police. I saw him come tearing across from the bungalow and I'd seen Piper and Evans go across there with him, so, of course, I listened outside the office door and heard him ask for a doctor and then he phoned for the police.'
'I have heard something of this from Mrs Constance Kent.'
'You should say Miss Constance Kent. Professional women who use a pseudonym are always deemed to be unmarried.'
'I am obliged to you for the information. What makes you think that Mr Piper committed murder?'
'Oh, Miss Minnie wrote anonymous letters, you know. Such a wicked and dangerous thing to do.'
'How do you know she wrote them?'
'Well, the letters came and she was murdered. One only has to put two and two together.'
'But can you be sure that Mr Piper received an anonymous letter?'
'Oh, yes, he had at least one such missive, I think. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have murdered her, would he? I'll tell you something else, too. I know Minnie sometimes had a man in that bungalow at night.'
'Oh, really, who was that?'
'I don't know. I am not tall enough to look in at the windows. I'd heard the voice before, but I couldn't place it.'
'So it wasn't Mr Piper's voice?'
'Doesn't prove he isn't a murderer.'
'Did you receive a letter?' asked Dame Beatrice, abandoning the game of going round in circles. Shard did not answer until he had parked his car and they were seated at the tea table in a cottage where the owner's wife (he informed Dame Beatrice proudly) did all her own baking.
'Yes,' he said, 'I got one of the letters. I can't show it you because I destroyed it. It was unkind, but not scurrilous. It called me Jack the Giant-killer and asked what I had done with my beanstalk.'
'That does not sound very unkind.'
'I don't know how Miss Minnie knew,' said Shard, 'but I was once engaged to a girl a good deal taller than myself. I broke the engagement because my friends, so-called, were so - well, they thought it a subject for coarse humour.'
'People are very insensitive.'
'Insensitive? Yes, one could say that, I suppose. Are you a Sensitive, Mrs Farintosh?'
'I thought it was an adjective, not a noun. What is a Sensitive?'
'I see you do not understand me. I had an idea that you were One of Us.'
'You still appear to use capital letters. One of whom?'
'Ah, well, obviously you do not understand. You don't belong to the Panconscious People, do you?' A waitress came up to the small table and, after consultation with his guest, Shard ordered and said nothing more until the tea arrived. Dame Beatrice took advantage of his silence (which was not absolute, for he was humming very softly, regardless of the indignant glare of a woman who was seated at the next table) to work out the meaning of his last question. He returned to it as soon as the tea was poured, but by that time she was ready for him.
'The Panconscious People,' she said, 'sound both strange and sinister. Pan is a terrifying and unpredictable god. One remembers a story by E.M. Forster.'
'Oh, I'm sure these people are sinister. I went, you know, but it alarmed me very much. Our own practices are pure and are for the benefit of mankind. Theirs are evil. Exciting, intoxicating, but - oh, yes, evil. So you are not a witch?'
'I am a psychiatrist.'
'Ah, then, to that extent, you are a Believer.'
'In what?'
'In the Power.'
'Of witchcraft?'
'In the power of the occult. In the power of some minds over others. In the power of the Old Gods.'
'With reservations, yes, I ascribe power to all those things, but whether one should meddle with them is another matter entirely. Aspirations, ideals and forms of worship may be excellent in themselves, but my work has led me to the conclusion that there can be a very narrow line between some forms of worship and some forms of mental instability - to put it as mildly as possible.'
'Yes, I know what you mean. I think some of the others have crossed that narrow line. I would not have thought Piper was one of them, though. It just shows how difficult it is to know what people really are like. Will you take more tea?'
'Thank you. By the way, I am invited to cocktails this evening.'
'Polly Hempseed and Cassie McHaig, yes. I shall be there, but I don't drink. Still, I shall go.'(5)
It turned out that all the tenants of Weston Pipers had been invited. They included the newly-returned Irelath Moore and his charming little companion, Sumatra. Mandrake Shard was present, as he had said he would be, and his tiny frame was installed at a table in a corner of the room well away from the cocktail bar which occupied the whole of one long wall. A coffee-pot and a plate of sweet biscuits were on a smaller table beside Shard and he appeared to be enjoying himself, for he waved a biscuit cheerily at Dame Beatrice as she entered, and called out, 'Meet the gang!'
Polly Hempseed proved to be a charming and courteous host, Cassie McHaig an assiduous and capable hostess and the party went well. Except that it gave her an opportunity of seeing all the tenants together, however, the evening was wasted from Dame Beatrice's point of view, since what she had hoped for was to have a word in private with Hempseed and Cassie.
As, on this occasion, there was no
