“I’m sorry, I’ve got mixed.”
“Well, I was rather fond of Komski. And I did almost promise to live with him, till I found that his last three women had all got fed up with him and left him, and I felt there must be something wrong with a man who continually got left, and I’ve discovered since that he was a dreadful bully when he dropped that touching lost-dog manner of his. So I was well out of it. Still, seeing that Naomi had been going about for the last year nearly, looking at Dr. Penberthy like a female spaniel that thinks it’s going to be whipped, I can’t see why she need throw Komski in my face. And as for Ambrose Ledbury, anybody might have been mistaken in him.”
“Who was Ambrose Ledbury?”
“Oh, he was the man who had that studio over Boulter’s Mews. Powerfulness was his strong suit, and being above worldly considerations. He was rugged and wore homespun and painted craggy people in bedrooms, but his color was amazing. He really could paint and so we could excuse a lot, but he was a professional heartbreaker. He used to gather people up hungrily in his great arms, you know—that’s always rather irresistible. But he had no discrimination. It was just a habit, and his affairs never lasted long. But Ann Dorland was really rather overcome, you know. She tried the craggy style herself, but it wasn’t at all her line—she hasn’t any color-sense, so there was nothing to make up for the bad drawing.”
“I thought you said she didn’t have any affairs.”
“It wasn’t an affair. I expect Ledbury gathered her up at some time or other when there wasn’t anybody else handy, but he did demand good looks for anything serious. He went off to Poland a year ago with a woman called Natasha somebody. After that, Ann Dorland began to chuck painting. The trouble was, she took things seriously. A few little passions would have put her right, but she isn’t the sort of person a man can enjoy flirting with. Heavy-handed. I don’t think she would have gone on worrying about Ledbury if he hadn’t happened to be the one and only episode. Because, as I say, she did make a few efforts, but she couldn’t bring ’em off.”
“I see.”
“But that’s no reason why Naomi should turn round like that. The fact is, the little brute’s so proud of having landed a man—and an engagement ring—for herself, that she’s out to patronize everybody else.”
“Oh?”
“Yes; besides, everything is looked at from dear Walter’s point of view now, and naturally Walter isn’t feeling very loving towards Ann Dorland.”
“Why not?”
“My dear man, you’re being very discreet, aren’t you? Naturally, everybody’s saying that she did it.”
“Are they?”
“Who else could they think did it?”
Wimsey realized, indeed, that everybody must be thinking it. He was exceedingly inclined to think it himself.
“Probably that’s why she didn’t turn up.”
“Of course it is. She’s not a fool. She must know.”
“That’s true. Look here, will you do something for me? Something more, I mean?”
“What?”
“From what you say, it looks as though Miss Dorland might find herself rather short of friends in the near future. If she comes to you …”
“I’m not going to spy on her. Not if she had poisoned fifty old generals.”
“I don’t want you to. But I want you to keep an open mind, and tell me what you think. Because I don’t want to make a mistake over this. And I’m prejudiced. I want Miss Dorland to be guilty. So I’m very likely to persuade myself she is when she isn’t. See?”
“Why do you want her to be guilty?”
“I oughtn’t to have mentioned that. Of course, I don’t want her found guilty if she isn’t really.”
“All right. I won’t ask questions. And I’ll try and see Ann. But I won’t try to worm anything out of her. That’s definite. I’m standing by Ann.”
“My dear girl,” said Wimsey, “you’re not keeping an open mind. You think she did it.”
Marjorie Phelps flushed.
“I don’t. Why do you think that?”
“Because you’re so anxious not to worm anything out of her. Worming couldn’t hurt an innocent person.”
“Peter Wimsey! You sit there looking a perfectly well-bred imbecile, and then in the most underhand way you twist people into doing things they ought to blush for. No wonder you detect things. I will not do your worming for you!”
“Well, if you don’t, I shall know your opinion, shan’t I?”
The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said:
“It’s all so beastly.”
“Poisoning is a beastly crime, don’t you think?” said Wimsey.
He got up quickly. Father Whittington was approaching, with Penberthy.
“Well,” said Lord Peter, “have the altars reeled?”
“Dr. Penberthy has just informed me that they haven’t a leg to stand on,” replied the priest, smiling. “We have been spending a pleasant quarter of an hour abolishing good and evil. Unhappily, I understand his dogma as little as he understands mine. But I exercised myself in Christian humility. I said I was willing to learn.”
Penberthy laughed.
“You don’t object, then, to my casting out devils with a syringe,” he said, “when they have proved obdurate to prayer and fasting?”
“Not at all. Why should I? So long as they are cast out. And provided you are certain of your diagnosis.”
Penberthy crimsoned and turned away sharply.
“Oh, lord!” said Wimsey. “That was a nasty one. From a Christian priest, too!”
“What have
