telephone. Oh, well, we're getting on. Send in Mr Farraday if he's here.'
Chapter 9
Outwardly cool and unperturbed, Stephen Farraday had turned into Great Scotland Yard full of inner shrinking. An intolerable weight burdened his spirits. It had seemed that morning as though things were going so well. Why had Inspector Kemp asked for his presence here with such significance? What did he know or suspect? It could be only vague suspicion. The thing to do was to keep one's head and admit nothing.
He felt strangely bereft and lonely without Sandra. It was as though when the two faced a peril together it lost half its terrors. Together they had strength, courage, power. Alone, he was nothing, less than nothing. And Sandra, did she feel the same? Was she sitting now in Kidderminster House, silent, reserved, proud and inwardly feeling horribly vulnerable?
Inspector Kemp received him pleasantly but gravely. There was a uniformed man sitting at a table with a pencil and a pad of paper. Having asked Stephen to sit down, Kemp spoke in a strongly formal manner.
'I propose, Mr Farraday, to take a statement from you. That statement will be written down and you will be asked to read it over and sign it before you leave. At the same time it is my duty to tell you that you are at liberty to refuse to make such a statement and that you are entitled to have your solicitor present if you so desire.'
Stephen was taken aback but did not show it. He forced a watery smile. 'That sounds very formidable, Chief Inspector.'
'We like everything to be clearly understood, Mr Farraday.'
'Anything I say may be used against me, is that it?'
'We don't use the word against. Anything you say will be liable to be used in evidence.'
Stephen said quietly: 'I understand, but I cannot imagine, Inspector, why you should need any further statement from me? You heard all I had to say this morning.'
'That was a rather informal session – useful as a preliminary starting-off point. And also, Mr Farraday, there are certain facts which I imagined you would prefer to discuss with me here. Anything irrelevant to the case we try to be as discreet about as is compatible with the attainment of justice. I daresay you understand what I am driving at.'
'I'm afraid I don't.'
Chief Inspector Kemp sighed.
'Just this. You were on very intimate terms with the late Mrs Rosemary Barton –'
Stephen interrupted him.
'Who says so?'
Kemp leaned forward and took a type-written document from his desk.
'This is a copy of a letter found amongst the late Mrs Barton's belongings. The original is filed here and handed to us by Miss Iris Marle, who recognises the writing as that of her sister.'
Stephen read: 'Leopard darling –'
A wave of sickness passed over him.
Rosemary's voice… speaking – pleading… Would the past never die – never consent to be buried?
He pulled himself together and looked at Kemp.
'You may be correct in thinking Mrs Barton wrote this letter – but there is nothing to indicate that it was written to me.'
'Do you deny that you paid the rent of 21 Malland Mansions, Earl's Court?'
So they knew! He wondered if they had known all the time.
He shrugged his shoulders.
'You seem very well informed. May I ask why my private affairs should be dragged into the limelight?'
'They will not unless they prove to be relevant to the death of George Barton.'
'I see. You are suggesting that I first made love to his wife, and then murdered him.'
'Come, Mr Farraday, I'll be frank with you. You and Mrs Barton were very close friends – you parted by your wish, not the lady's. She was proposing, as this letter shows, to make trouble. Very conveniently, she died.'
'She committed suicide. I daresay I may have been partly to blame. I may reproach myself, but it is no concern of the law's.'
'It may have been suicide – it may not. George Barton thought not. He started to investigate – and he died. The sequence is rather suggestive.'
'I do not see why you should – well, pitch on me.'
'You admit that Mrs Barton's death came at a very convenient moment for you? A scandal, Mr Farraday, would have been highly prejudicial to your career.'
'There would have been no scandal. Mrs Barton would have seen reason.'
'I wonder! Did your wife know about this affair, Mr Farraday?'
'Certainly not.'
'You are quite sure of that statement?'
'Yes, I am. My wife has no idea that there was anything but friendship between myself and Mrs Barton. I hope she will never learn otherwise.'
'Is your wife a jealous woman, Mr Farraday?'
'Not at all. She has never displayed the least jealousy where I am concerned. She is far too sensible.'
The inspector did not comment on that.
Instead he said: 'Have you at any time in the past year had cyanide in your possession, Mr Farraday?'
'No.'
'But you keep a supply of cyanide at your country property?'
'The gardener may. I know nothing about it.'
'You have never purchased any yourself at a chemist's or for photography?'
'I know nothing of photography, and I repeat that I have never purchased cyanide.'
Kemp pressed him a little further before he finally let him go.
To his subordinate he said thoughtfully,
'He was very quick denying that his wife knew about his affair with the Barton woman. Why was that, I wonder?'
'Daresay he's in a funk in case she should get to hear of it, sir.'
'That may be, but I should have thought he'd got the brains to see that if his wife was in ignorance, and would cut up rough, that gives him an additional motive for wanting to silence Rosemary Barton. To save his skin his line ought to have been that his wife more or less knew about the affair but was content to ignore it.'
'I daresay he hadn't thought of that, sir.'
Kemp shook his head. Stephen Farraday was not a fool. He had a clear and astute brain. And he had been passionately keen to impress on the inspector that Sandra knew nothing.
'Well,' said Kemp, 'Colonel Race seems pleased with the line he's dug up and if he's right, the Farradays are out – both of them. I shall be glad if they are. I like this chap. And personally I don't think he's a murderer.'
Opening the door of their sitting-room, Stephen said, 'Sandra?'
She came to him out of the darkness, suddenly holding him, her hands on his shoulders.
'Stephen?'
'Why are you all in the dark?'
'I couldn't bear the light. Tell me.'
He said: 'They know.'
'About Rosemary?'
'Yes.'
'And what do they think?'
'They see, of course, that I had a motive… Oh, my darling, see what I've dragged you into. It's all my fault. If only I'd cut loose after Rosemary's death – gone away – left you free – so that at any rate you shouldn't be mixed up in all this horrible business.'
