'You've confided in him then?'
'Yes… I didn't want to at first – but Dr Gilchrist put it to me that I must. And then I found that he thought so too. He'd thought it all along but – it's rather funny really' – a rueful smile curled her lips again – 'he didn't want to alarm me by telling me. Really!' Marina sat up with a sudden vigorous movement. 'Darling Jinks! Does he think I'm a complete fool?'
'You haven't told me yet, Miss Gregg, why you should think anyone wanted to kill you.'
She was silent for a moment and then with a sudden brusque gesture, she stretched out for her handbag, opened it, took out a piece of paper and thrust it into his hand. He read it. Typed on it was one line of writing:
'Don't think you'll escape next time.'
Craddock said sharply, 'When did you get this?'
'It was on my dressing-table when I came back from the bath.'
'So someone in the house -'
'Not necessarily. Someone could have climbed up the balcony outside my window and pushed it through there. I think they meant it to frighten me still more, but actually it didn't. I just felt furiously angry and sent word to you to come and see me.'
Dermot Craddock smiled. 'Possibly a rather unexpected result for whoever sent it. Is this the first kind of message like that you've had?'
Again Marina hesitated. Then she said, 'No, it isn't.'
'Will you tell me about any others?'
'It was three weeks ago, when we first came here. It came to the studio, not here. It was quite ridiculous. It was just a message. Not typewritten that time. In capital letters. It said, 'Prepare to die.'' She laughed. There was perhaps a very faint tinge of hysteria in the laugh. The mirth was genuine enough. 'It was so silly,' she said. 'Of course one often gets crank messages, threats, things like that. I thought it was probably religious you know. Someone who didn't approve of film actresses. I just tore it up and threw it into the wastepaper basket.'
'Did you tell anyone about it, Miss Gregg?'
Marina shook her head. 'No, I never said a word to anyone. As a matter of fact, we were having a bit of worry at the moment about the scene we were shooting. I just couldn't have thought of anything but that at the moment. Anyway, as I say, I thought it was either a silly joke or one of those religious cranks who write and disapprove of play-acting and things like that.'
'And after that, was there another?'
'Yes. On the day of the fete. One of the gardeners brought it to me, I think. He said someone had left a note for me and was there any answer? I thought perhaps it had to do with the arrangements. I just tore it open. It said 'Today will be your last day on earth.' I just crumpled it up and said, 'No answer.' Then I called the man back and asked him who gave it to him. He said it was a man with spectacles on a bicycle. Well, I mean, what could you think about that? I thought it was more silliness. I didn't think – I didn't think for a moment, it was a real genuine threat.'
'Where's that note now, Miss Gregg?'
'I've no idea. I was wearing one of those coloured Italian silk coats and I think, as far as I remember, that I crumpled it up and shoved it into the pocket of it. But it's not there now. It probably fell out.'
'And you've no idea who wrote these silly notes, Miss Gregg? Who inspired them? Not even now?'
Her eyes opened widely. There was a kind of innocent wonder in them that he took note of. He admired it, but he did not believe in it.
'How can I tell? How can I possibly tell?'
'I think you might have quite a good idea, Miss Gregg.'
'I haven't. I assure you I haven't.'
'You're a very famous person,' said Dermot. 'You've had great successes. Successes in your profession, and personal successes, too. Men have fallen in love with you, wanted to marry you, have married you. Women have been jealous and envied you. Men have been in love with you and been rebuffed by you. It's a pretty wild field, I agree, but I should think you must have some idea who could have written these notes.'
'It could have been anybody.'
'No, Miss Gregg, it couldn't have been anybody. It could possibly have been one of quite a lot of people. It could be someone quite humble, a dresser, an electrician, a servant; or it could be someone among the ranks of your friends, or so-called friends. But you must have some idea. Some name, more than one name, perhaps, to suggest.'
The door opened and Jason Rudd came in. Marina turned to him. She swept out an arm appealingly.
'Jinks, darling, Mr Craddock is insisting that I must know who wrote those horrid notes. And I don't. You know I don't. Neither of us knows. We haven't got the least idea.'
'Very urgent about that,' thought Craddock. 'Very urgent. Is Marina Gregg afraid of what her husband might say?'
Jason Rudd, his eyes dark with fatigue and the scowl on his face deeper than usual, came over to join them. He took Marina 's hand in his.
'I know it sounds unbelievable to you, Inspector,' he said, 'but honestly neither Marina nor I have any idea about this business.'
'So you're in the happy position of having no enemies, is that it?' The irony was manifest in Dermot's voice.
Jason Rudd flushed a little. 'Enemies? That's a very biblical word, Inspector. In that sense, I can assure you, I can think of no enemies. People who dislike one, would like to get the better of one, would do a mean turn to one if they could, in malice and uncharitableness, yes. But it's a long step from that to putting an overdose of poison in a drink.'
'Just now, in speaking to your wife, I asked her who could have written or inspired those letters. She said she didn't know, but when we come to the actual action, it narrows it down. Somebody actually put the poison in that glass. And that's a fairly limited field, you know.'
'I saw nothing,' said Jason Rudd.
'I certainly didn't,' said Marina. 'Well, I mean – if I had see anyone putting anything in my glass, I wouldn't have drunk the stuff, would I?'
'I can't help believing, you know,' said Dermot Craddock gently, 'that you do know a little more than you're telling me
'It's not true,' said Marina. 'Tell him that that isn't true.'
'I assure you,' said Jason Rudd, 'that I am completely a absolutely at a loss. The whole thing's fantastic. I might believe it was a joke – a joke that had somehow gone wrong – that had proved dangerous, done by a person who never dreamt that it would be dangerous…'
There was a slight question in his voice, then he shook his head. 'No. I see that idea doesn't appeal to you.'
'There's one more thing I should like to ask you,' said Dermot Craddock. 'You remember Mr and Mrs Badcock's arrival, of course. They came immediately after the vicar. You greeted them, I understand, Miss Gregg, in the same charming way as you had received all your guests. But I am told by an eye-witness that immediately after greeting them you looked over Mrs Badcock's shoulder and that you saw something which seemed to alarm you. Is that true, and if so, what was it?'
Marina said quickly, 'Of course it isn't true. Alarm me – what should have alarmed me?'
'That's what we want to know,' said Dermot Craddock patiently. 'My witness is very insistent on the point, you know.'
'Who was your witness? What did he or she say she saw?'
'You were looking at the staircase,' said Dermot Craddock. 'There were people coming up the staircase. There was a journalist, there was Mr Grice and his wife, elderly residents in this place, there was Mr Ardwyck Fenn who had just arrived from the States and there was Miss Lola Brewster. Was it the sight of one of those people that upset you, Miss Gregg?'
'I tell you I wasn't upset.' She almost barked the words. 'And yet your attention wavered from greeting Mrs Badcock. She had said something to you which you left unanswered because you were staring past her at something else.'
