Death with Blue Ribbon Page 6

  She went out by the street entrance of the bar.

  ‘It’s a nasty scratch,’ said Gloria. ‘However did you get it?’

  Not tactful, Carolus thought. Miss Trudge writhed.

  ‘It’s nothing, really. Just a little … scratch. Miss Marvell needn’t have bothered. Must have been my brooch …’

  ‘Your brooch? But how …’ began Gloria till she caught Carolus’s discouraging eye.

  Grace returned.

  ‘Come on,’ she said briskly to Miss Trudge. ‘The chemist was just closing but I managed to get some alcohol and plaster.’ They went out.

  ‘She’s really very kind,’ commented Gloria. ‘Only it’s her manner. I’m sorry for Miss Trudge, though. I suppose it was that Imogen who scratched her arm?’

  Presently Miss Trudge returned.

  ‘I don’t think I quite finished my …’ She blushed violently. ‘No, there it is… So kind…’

  ‘Have another?’ said Carolus.

  ‘You are kind … I wonder whether … just for once … it’s not as though I … She told me not to come back for half an hour…’

  Evidently the brandy was what is called ‘doing her good’.

  But Grace Marvell when she came in was in a very downright mood.

  ‘We must phone the local doctor,’ she said. ‘He’ll have to give her a shot of something to put her out for a few hours. She’ll have convulsions if he doesn’t. I don’t mind her yelling at me but this has gone past all bounds. You know the doctor’s number, Trudge. Get him round here as soon as possible.’

  ‘You really think?’

  ‘Certain. It’s the only thing to do. She’ll burst a blood vessel.’

  ‘She may not like having an injection…’

  ‘I don’t suppose she will. But it’s for her own good. You don’t know what she’s like in this condition.’

  ‘If you’re sure it’s the right thing,’ Miss Trudge said dubiously.

  ‘Go and phone!’ retorted Grace and Miss Trudge went. A few minutes later Grace followed her out.

  ‘It’s not the first time,’ said Gloria. ‘Dickie Biskett was telling me they had the same thing with her about three months ago. Then it was about a recipe she had written in a newspaper. She’d said two hours in the oven by mistake and people were writing in from everywhere saying it was burnt to a cinder. They had her London doctor then and he put her to sleep.’

  ‘Your friend’s very informative. You seem to get on with him.’

  Gloria jerked her head back.

  ‘He thinks too much of himself,’ she said. ‘I don’t like anyone who presumes.’

  Carolus went into the dining-room for dinner and looked about him. There was plenty to observe. The florid man was dining alone and apparently enjoying his food. He made no attempt to disturb the other diners of whom there were perhaps two dozen. At the table occupied previously by Imogen Marvell, her sister and husband sat facing one another and eating in silence. Stefan seemed sober and there was no sign of Miss Trudge.

  He was surprised at the quiet behaviour of the florid man, who had almost finished his dinner. Had Rolland capitulated?

  Miss Trudge came in and spoke to Grace Marvell.

  ‘The doctor’s coming at nine o’clock,’ she said.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I must get back to her.’

  Mr Smithers gave no sign of interest, but continued to masticate complacently.

  Looking back on that evening and the night that followed Carolus thought that events moved with a certain crescendo from the arrival of Miss Trudge with a scratched arm to the moment when death was discovered.

  There was first of all the appearance of Dr Jyves. Carolus was sitting alone in the Residents’ Lounge when Grace Marvell came in with a small dusty-looking man in a soiled raincoat. He carried a bag and his face twitched at intervals. Cocaine, Carolus decided.

  Either the two of them did not know Carolus was there, or their business was so urgent that they decided to ignore him.

  ‘She needs an injection. If she’s not put to sleep at once she’ll drive us all mad. Miss Trudge, her secretary, is nearly out of her mind already.’

  ‘I’ll see her at once,’ said the doctor, twitching violently.

  ‘What will you give her? Dormodina?’

  ‘If it’s necessary.’

  ‘It is necessary. She’s been hysterical all day. We’ve had this before, doctor, when she doesn’t get her own way. Her own doctor injected Dormodina. She was all right next morning.’

  ‘Very well. Let me see her,’ said Dr Jyves.

  They went out, leaving the door open, and Carolus heard them going upstairs.

  It was a quarter of an hour at least before Grace Marvell returned and spoke to Carolus.

  ‘Out like a light,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s the only way when she’s like that. We had a terrible job to persuade her to take the injection. I nearly told her it was that or a strait-jacket. But in the end we persuaded her.’

  ‘And you think she will have recovered by the morning?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The next act will be a wistful one. Alone in the world. No one cares whether I live or die. Then she’ll pack up and return to London and give hell to her staff and if he’s anywhere about to her husband.’

  ‘Mr Smithers seems quite unperturbed by it all,’ observed Carolus.

  Grace did not seem to find this an impertinent remark from a stranger.

  ‘He’s a funny little man. No one knows what he does think. He came down of his own accord after he had read in the papers about her collapse. They haven’t lived together for ten years, you know.’

  She rang the bell and, when one of the two Moroccans appeared, ordered coffee. She seemed ready to go on chatting with Carolus.

  ‘A funny thing happened upstairs just now,’ she said. ‘You noticed that rather beefy looking man who dined alone this evening, at the table next to ours? He’s staying in the hotel, I think.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Carolus encouragingly.

  ‘He seemed to be waiting on the landing when I came out of Imogen’s room with the doctor. He stopped us and asked how she was. I told him she had just had an injection and was sleeping soundly. He said, “That’s good. We shall all get some sleep now.” I thought it was rather cheek but I suppose she has been making rather a noise.’

  ‘Is his room near hers?’

  ‘He didn’t say. I suppose he’s on the same floor. I think the top floor is only for the staff.’

  ‘There are some staff quarters across the yard, though,’ said Carolus.

  ‘Oh, are there? I really don’t know. I shall be glad to get back to my own flat, anyway. I hope my sister’s better tomorrow.’

  At twenty past ten Miss Trudge appeared.

  ‘I sat with her for a time,’ she said, ‘but she is sleeping so peacefully now that I felt I could leave her.’

  She spoke as much to Carolus as to Grace. He gathered that the two women communicated only when it was necessary.

  Miss Trudge sighed.

  ‘It’s been such a day,’ she said.

  ‘What you need, what we all need, is a drink,’ said Carolus confidently. ‘Let me…’

  He rang the bell.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Miss Trudge. ‘You are really too kind … I don’t feel I should … Perhaps the weeniest … I do feel a little exhausted.’

  ‘You, Miss Marvell?’

  ‘Cointreau,’ said Grace briefly.

  Carolus ordered three doubles. He had stayed in the Residents’ Lounge too long.

  ‘I wonder where Mr Smithers is,’ said Miss Trudge. ‘I think I ought to warn him that she is sleeping in case he should look in.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ said Grace. ‘Nothing would wake her.’

  ‘I think I really ought … Perhaps he is in the bar. I’ll just run and see. In case.’

  She was gone for about ten minutes.

  ‘Yes, he did happen to be in the bar. Talking to another gentleman. The one who is s
taying here. I told him Imogen was fast asleep.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘You know him. He scarcely seemed to notice what I said at first. Then he asked me if I was going to sit up with her.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ said Grace. ‘Sit up with her? Whatever for? She’ll sleep like a log all night. You go to bed. You’ve got tomorrow to face.’

  ‘But I think I should be near her,’ said Miss Trudge. ‘Suppose she wakes up and wants something.’

  ‘You’re in the next room.’

  ‘I scarcely know what to do for the best. I really am rather exhausted, but she might not like it if I left her on her own.’

  ‘She won’t know. You can go in in the morning. For goodness’ sake stop being tragic about it. She’s got a constitution like a horse.’

  ‘But if she were to wake … alone … However, I shall be next door, after all. Perhaps I might take advantage … a sleep certainly will be welcome.’

  Grace gave an exasperated sigh but said no more.

  When Carolus reached his room at something past eleven he found Rolland waiting for him there. The proprietor made desperate signals for silence then spoke in a voice scarcely above a whisper.

  ‘I had to see you. Daren’t ask you to the office.’

  ‘That’s all right. What is it now?’

  ‘Rivers was on the phone again. Offering me yet another chance. I said they had done all they could and the business was ruined. He laughed, of course. “AD we can?” he said. “We’re only just starting.” ’

  ‘What was the particular threat this time?’

  ‘He didn’t say at first. He said they were making it easy for me. They had their representative on the spot.’

  ‘The man who made the fuss the other night?’

  ‘Yes. His name’s Mandeville, apparently. If I decide to “employ” them, as Rivers calls it, I must see him. Only he has had to put the price up, he says. Expenses and delay. They now want £1250.’

  ‘You mean he admitted that he was part of their organisation?’

  ‘Yes. It seems a most extraordinary thing that they should work in this blatant way. They threaten quite openly. They must be very sure of themselves.’

  ‘So long as you don’t go to the law obviously they won’t. They wanted you to hand £1250 to the man they call Mandeville. When?’

  ‘This evening, presumably. I don’t know whether they think I keep that sort of money in the till.’

  ‘I expect they thought you had it ready. And if not?’

  ‘If not Rivers found this very funny—disasters never come at once. Only this time it would be more serious. I asked what he meant and he said, really serious. “Life and death sort of thing,” he said. Then added, “Yes, death. You know what death is?” I asked him whose death but he only laughed again.’

  ‘So once again you refused?’

  ‘Yes. £1250 is a lot of money. And how could I account for it in income tax returns? I refused but I don’t know how long I can hold out. It’s bad enough to have Imogen Marvell in hysterics. Saying I was a cook in the army.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘Officers’ Mess,’ said Rolland briefly. ‘She’s a dreadful woman. I wish she was dead.’

  ‘She may be,’ said Carolus quietly.

  Rolland jumped up.

  ‘What?’ he said, forgetting to keep his voice down.

  ‘She has enemies enough,’ explained Carolus.

  Rolland very cautiously began to move towards the door.

  ‘Which room is Mandeville in?’

  ‘Six. On this floor.’

  ‘What about the floor above?’

  ‘All single rooms.’

  ‘Any of the staff sleep there?’

  ‘Only the bar manageress. The men have quarters across the yard.’

  He began to open the door very cautiously peering out. Suddenly he drew back like a tortoise and shut the door. The two men waited without speaking while footsteps went by.

  ‘Bridger,’ explained Rolland. ‘Coming down from the floor above. I don’t think he saw me.’

  He seemed unduly agitated. ‘There’s only Gloria up there. He must have been with her.’ The officious hotel proprietor of other days seemed to awaken in him. ‘I won’t have that. It’s forbidden for any of the male staff to go up there. I shall deal with this in the morning.’

  ‘Haven’t you got other things to think about?’

  ‘I won’t have it,’ he said but with less resolution, then again opened the door and with great caution slipped out.

  But Carolus did not go to bed. He sat motionless in an armchair, not even smoking. The house was centrally heated and it was a fad of his to detest this. But it was not only the stuffy atmosphere which troubled him. Something was very much amiss here, something more than the blackmailing of Rolland. He went over scraps of talk he had heard that day, trying to find pieces of the jigsaw which puzzled him. Perhaps it was an instinctive sense of apprehension. He was supposed to have instincts which warned him of violence, cruelty, horror, death before any of them were evident to others.

  Then, at some time after one o’clock, he suddenly grew alert and strained to listen. Yes, footsteps again and this time cautious ones.

  He crossed to the door and did as Rolland had done, opened it silently and no more than a crack. He heard the footsteps going towards the head of the wide stairway which went down to the hall. Only at the moment when whoever had passed was descending the first stairs did he open his door enough to recognise him by the dim landing light. It was the man known as Mandeville and he carried a small suitcase.

  Carolus closed his door, switched off the light and went to the window. As he expected, after a few moments he heard the front door being opened and though he could see almost nothing in the darkness he felt sure that the man had gone out.

  He waited. There was no moon and the night was black and still but once he heard footsteps on the gravel and gathered that Mandeville was making for the road.

  Nothing was moving. No sound came from the hotel or from the night about him. Traffic had ceased and there was not even the bark of a dog.

  Then a car approached. He could see its headlights at some distance. He waited expectantly and sure enough it stopped, not within his range of vision but a few yards from the front of the hotel. Its door slammed and it drove on, past the hotel, on the road to London.

  ‘Nice timing,’ thought Carolus. Looking at his watch he saw it was one thirty-one.

  Eight

  Carolus was awakened by Mrs Boot.

  ‘She’s dead,’ she announced.

  Carolus sat up abruptly.

  ‘Who’s dead?’ he asked obligingly though there was little need for the question.

  ‘Ur, in number four, the cookery book woman.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘How do I know? With the doctor examining her and the secretary in hysterics and her sister sending for the police …’

  ‘Why the police?’

  ‘She’d been murdered, hadn’t she?’ asked Mrs Boot, ‘At least that’s what it looks like to me. Suffocation, they call it, while she was sleeping off that injection the doctor gave her, but I’d call it something else. Well, I told them. You can’t go on speaking evil about people without something happening. And look at her husband! Creeping round like a cat. A lot he cared when she was taken bad. Nor her sister either. It wasn’t natural. Not when anyone might be dying for all they knew.

  ‘There isn’t one of them that may not have done it,’ went on Mrs Boot rapturously. ‘I wouldn’t put it past a single one. All they had to do was strangle her while she was asleep.’

  ‘That would leave evidence,’ pointed out Carolus.

  ‘Who’s to say there isn’t? And proof too, if it comes to that. What about those Arabians? They could have slinked up, slipped in and squeezed the life out of her in next to no time, couldn’t they? And you can’t tell me they’re not the right ones for the job. You’ve only got to see
the way they pick up a knife to know what they are.’

  ‘But what motive would they have?’ asked Carolus patiently.

  ‘Who’s to say with foreigners like that? It’s a good job we haven’t all been strangled. Then what about her sister? Or her secretary, if it comes to that? They say she’d got plenty of money and there’s no telling what people will do for that. What’s more there was a man staying in number six last night who’s gone off without paying his bill. Must have got up before it was light and crept off without anyone seeing him. What d’you say to that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Carolus replied meekly.

  ‘The boss caught that Bridger over here last night. What was he doing, I should like to know!’

  ‘I could tell you,’ said Carolus.

  ‘Now. Now. I didn’t ask for any vulgarity. He had only to nip into her room on the way out and suffocate her without a soul being the wiser. Or that Stefan hadn’t done it. There isn’t one of them you can trust. As for Antoine, what was to stop him? The apprentice is a little fiend, too. But it’s not to say it was a man. A woman could have done it just as easily and that Gloria was on the spot, as you might say.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Carolus, seeing she was running out of possibilities.

  ‘Well,’ considered Mrs Boot. ‘I’m not saying anything. I hope you’d be too much of a gentleman for anything like that, but who’s to say what might come over anyone when you think of the way she behaved. Well, she’s gone now, whoever it was, and the whole place upside down. I suppose we shall have a inquest.’

  When Carolus came downstairs he found things a good deal more calm than Mrs Boot had led him to expect. Imogen was dead but there was no reason to suppose that she had not died by the unfortunate accident of turning on her face while unconscious and being suffocated—an outcome of the very heavy sleep induced by the injection of Dormodina. Such at least was the opinion of Dr Jyves, Carolus was told.

  It was true that Miss Trudge had behaved somewhat melodramatically when she made the discovery in the early morning and had seemed almost as convinced as Mrs Boot that someone was responsible, if only herself for leaving her or the doctor for giving her an injection. But she had locked herself in her room now, and could be heard weeping.