Death in High Heels (24 page)

“Victoria—why isn’t she there?”

“She isn’t very well,” said Charlesworth, hurriedly. “Come along, now, Miss Wheeler, we mustn’t stay any longer. No point upsetting her,” he went on as he and Aileen left the ward. “She’s had a bad time and she would be miserable at this suggestion against Mrs. David.”

“They can’t really imagine that Toria had anything to do with it?” asked Aileen in her languid Mayfair voice. “It’s simply silly, Mr. Charlesworth. It was Rachel that suggested giving Irene anything at all in the first place; Gregory offered the sleeping powder and also said she could take more. Victoria had nothing to do with it, except that she did mix up the dose in the milk. Gregory told her at the time only to put one powder in—she couldn’t have made a mistake.”

Charlesworth looked down at her, walking so carelessly along in her close-fitting silk frock (bought for a guinea from Christophe’s at the end of the previous season), her gay little hat and her faultless stockings and shoes. “This girl is a marvel,” he thought. “At home her mother probably takes in washing for a living—and except for the twang in her voice, I’m hanged if you could tell her from a debutante. She looks as if she hadn’t got a thought in her head, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth: and yet Bevan could buy her for money, and a ghastly plump youth called Arthur has her heart on a string.” He took her arm in a rather uncomfortable grip and marched her along Mortimer Street.

“I’m glad to have this opportunity to talk to you, Miss Wheeler. Do you remember the first time I saw you? You said then that you’d never seen Miss Doon outside the shop. Was that strictly true?”

“Of course it was,” said Aileen, trying to wriggle free her arm.

“I don’t think it was,” said Charlesworth, gripping hard, “I think you’ll remember that Doon actually came to your house, at least once, and saw you there. She said it was very urgent. Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“She may have—I believe I remember that she did once. Not for anything in particular, though. Just to see me.”

“She could see you at the shop, couldn’t she?”

“Yes, but she came round to—to have a drink, and so on. There’s nothing very odd about that, is there? We often go to each other’s homes.”

“I understand that you weren’t very fond of Miss Doon?”

“No, I wasn’t very fond of her. Everyone’s free to know that. But I didn’t particularly dislike her, and I certainly had no reason to kill her, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Is it true that your fiancé was at one time rather attracted to her?” asked Charlesworth, ignoring this sally.

Aileen went scarlet. “No, it is not,” she said, sharply, and back came the Hoxton edge to the Mayfair voice. “My young man has never seen Miss Doon in his life, unless it might be at Christophe’s, when he called for me. He certainly never spoke to her.” She added naively, “I wouldn’t of let him—she was much too dangerous for that.”

“How do you mean—dangerous?”

“I mean nothing. Simply that Doon was a girl that couldn’t keep her claws off other girls’ boys. She took away Judy’s fellow and I wasn’t going to take any chances with mine. If you think I was jealous of Doon, Mr. Charlesworth, you’re wrong; I saw to it that I had nothing to be jealous about.”

“But your young man did go to Doon’s funeral.”

“Good lord, that’s nothing to get het up about. Mr. Bevan said I was to go in a taxi with some of the other girls, but there was no call for us to go home that way. I knew it would be depressing and horrible and I didn’t want to go back with Macaroni snivelling like a drain, so I asked Arthur to come along in the car and fetch me home. He never came near the place; he stood at the gate and it was only—only when I passed out that he came in and looked after me. You’re all wrong about this, Mr. Charlesworth, honestly you are.”

They turned down Upper Regent Street. “About this passing out,” said Charlesworth, thoughtfully. “Why should you have fainted at that particular moment, Miss Wheeler? If you weren’t much attached to Miss Doon, it seems odd that you should have been so much upset.”

Aileen was steadily losing poise. “That wasn’t anything either,” she said, uncertainly. “The girls’ll tell you—I’m just an easy fainter, that’s all. Some are and some aren’t. I’ve fainted several times in the shop, bang in front of the customers, and I’m always passing out at fittings; they keep a bottle of sal volatile in the workroom for me, special, and they’d always rather have Judy to model on; she can stand for hours. I suppose it was so depressing in the graveyard and there was nowhere to sit down in that little chapel place; I’d ’ve been surprised if I
had
n’t ’ve fainted.”

Across the Circus and down Regent Street. “One thing more, Miss Wheeler. Don’t mind my asking this—I have to know, you know. Just what were your relations with Mr. Bevan before you became engaged to your present fiancé?”

“My relations with Mr. Bevan?” cried Aileen, apparently overcome with astonishment. “Whatever do you mean? You don’t think I’d let that beast mess about with
me
, do you? How dare you say such a thing—I shall tell Arthur, I shall.…” Her voice faltered but after a moment she said more quietly: “You’ve got it all wrong, Mr. Charlesworth, honest you have. I never spoke to Mr. Bevan outside Christophe’s in all my life; except the very first time I met him, at a party that was, and he said he had a job going and that I would do for it. I went round next morning and saw him in his office and he gave me the job; I’ve never spoken to him outside the place ever since. You may believe that, Mr. Charlesworth; I didn’t tell you the truth about Miss Doon, she did come to my place once, and had a bit of a talk with me; but it’s true about Mr. Bevan. Don’t go suggesting that sort of thing, Mr. Charlesworth,
please
. Arthur’d never forgive me if he thought I’d got me name mixed up in anything like that, and I couldn’t explain to him, I don’t see how I ever could. He’s ever so perticalar and I just don’t know what ’e’d say. Mr. Charlesworth, you do believe me? You must believe me!”

All Aileen’s languor and gentility had deserted her now. She was back in Hoxton, a little guttersnipe with a voice like tearing linen and hardly an aitch to her name, and Charlesworth liked her all the better for it. It was impossible to doubt the passionate sincerity of what she said. He patted her gently on the arm. “All right, don’t worry, Aileen. I won’t let a whisper of it reach Arthur’s ears, if I can possibly help it. It was only an idea I had. I expect I was wrong.”

But was he wrong? Bevan himself had admitted to an affair with the girl; he remembered the interview in the dead Doon’s flat… “but you had dismissed at least one young lady in Miss Doon’s favour?”

“Ah, but that was different,” Bevan had said.

“The redhead?”

“The redhead,” Bevan had agreed, mildly astonished.

“Miss Wheeler?”

“Miss Wheeler, yes.” He had added later, “Filthy Lucre are, I regret to say, Miss Wheeler’s first and second names.” Charlesworth remembered how surprised he had been at this sidelight upon Aileen’s character. Perhaps, after all, she had led him up the garden path; perhaps she was just a damn good little actress.… He watched her run down the area steps and, sighing, went his way.

2

Smithers and Charlesworth together escorted Victoria to the little chemist shop where the mysterious ounce of oxalic acid had been purchased on the day of the murder. It was a neat, clean room, lined with glass cupboards and decorated with innumerable boxes and bottles, packets and jars, and printed promises of relief from every known disease. Charlesworth, in the presence of his beloved, turned his back upon one embarrassing article only to find another staring him in the face; his eyes seemed powerless to fix themselves anywhere but on a large structure of toilet rolls and he was much relieved by the chemist’s invitation to step into the back room and carry on their conversation there. Under the gaze of a weedy youth with his mouth permanently ajar, they sat down on three wooden chairs and Smithers, taking the initiative, asked the chemist to remember whether he had ever seen Victoria before.

To Charlesworth the first denial was conclusive. Who that had once seen it could ever forget that lovely face and those great blue eyes? Smithers, however, remained unconvinced. Mr. Brown confessed that his recollection of the whole transaction was extremely dim.

“I have a note that a young lady came in and bought an ounce of oxalic acid; and I do remember now that a girl came in on that day … she was a very pretty young lady, but it wasn’t
this
pretty young lady …” he made a courtly little bow to Victoria. “I can’t tell you the time of day and I can’t tell you anything else about it; a police officer came round here and showed me some photographs and I thought I recognized one; that’s all I can say.”

Charlesworth fished out a sheaf of Press cuttings. “These are the other girls—just see if you can pick her out again.” Two of Rachel, with her mouth open; one of Aileen, immaculate and exquisite; three of Judy, looking furious; one of Victoria, with her eyes shut, and one coming out of the shop with Gregory, both with their hands over their faces; several of Macaroni, giggling or in tears; and one of Mrs. ’Arris, shaking her fist at the photographer. Finally one of Irene, looking nervously at the crowd around the court-room door after the inquest, her mouth rounded in protest and distress. “There she is,” said the chemist, without hesitation. “It isn’t very good, and perhaps that’s why I didn’t recognize her before when I saw it in the papers—but that’s the girl.”

Charlesworth was triumphant, Smithers still unconvinced; they parted from Victoria, and Charlesworth rushed round to the hospital. After a stormy scene with the Sister he was allowed to go up to Irene’s bed; here, however, Irene emphatically denied that she had bought any poison, or even thought of buying any poison, on the day in question. “How could I!” she pointed out. “I was in the showroom the entire morning; first in our room with Victoria and Rachel and then helping Cecil with a customer. Then I went downstairs and had my lunch right under Mrs. ’Arris’s nose; then I helped her to put the things out for one o’clock lunch; then I went up to a customer, and
then
I went out with Cissie. It’s simply silly.”

Charlesworth was tired of being told by young women that he was simply silly. He left her abruptly and went back to the chemist, and as he went a wonderful idea began to take form in his bewildered mind. He thought over the events of that Monday morning: Aileen had been in the workroom, Judy had been …? Well, never mind Judy for the moment, she had known nothing about the proposed purchase of oxalic acid … say that she had just been sitting quietly in the mannequins’ room. And what had happened then? Irene had advised the two girls to buy some oxalic acid and had
sent them out to buy it
. How long had they taken over their purchase? Quite a little while, he imagined, knowing their easy, pleasant ways. Would it have been possible for Irene to have slipped out of the empty showroom, run down the back streets to this other little chemist’s and brought back some oxalic acid for another purpose than that of cleaning a hat? But wait a minute—could she have got past Judy, sitting in the mannequins’ room? Wouldn’t the risk have been too great?

His mind took another turn. Judy herself. Perhaps she
had
heard the conversation about the crystals, perhaps she had watched the two girls go off across the road, and Irene retire to the salesgirls’ room. Perhaps it was she who had skipped through the showroom door and run down the back streets with murder in her heart. But here again he was up against the same thing; what a risk! Supposing Irene had seen her … supposing Irene had seen her coming back … was that perhaps why Irene had had to die?

“Oi, now, this is ridiculous,” said Charles to himself, firmly. “Judy couldn’t have got at Irene, it just wasn’t possible.” He thought carefully over the events of the previous night and confirmed: “It just wasn’t possible. No, Irene herself is involved in this somehow…. My God! I’ve got it … the back door of Bevan’s office! Judy couldn’t have passed Irene, sitting in her little room; but Irene could have gone out that way and Judy need never have known she was not in the showroom. Irene saw those two off the premises and hopped out through Bevan’s office and through that back door, and down the street to Brown’s. All I want is proof of the time, and we’re off. Fool that I was not to see it … fools that we all were.…” His long legs broke into a run.

The chemist smiled politely and concealed any impatience he might have felt at the repeated visits of the police, but he could remember nothing more than he had already told. “I wouldn’t have remembered it at all,” he said, “except that I have a habit of making a little note in a business diary of every time I sell an unprotected poison … that is to say, a poison that can be sold across the counter without formality.”

“Your diary wouldn’t help, I suppose?” said Charlesworth, clutching at a straw. “Couldn’t you work out, from the other entries, about what time the sale was made?”

They fell to work upon the little book. Here was a note: “Low in AgNO
₃
” He knew he had written that first thing in the morning. This was the amount that was to be banked that afternoon, but it might have been put down any time. Here was an address of a customer who wanted something special, there was another; they didn’t help at all. Nothing else but, immediately before the entry about the oxalic acid, a couple of capital letters, F. R. “What’s this?” asked Charlesworth. “Initials? I suppose they wouldn’t help you.”

The chemist grew quite excited. “I do believe they might. That’s a gentleman who comes in for—well, for a drug, Inspector. It’s quite all right and all above board, but he seems to have been in rather frequently lately, and I kept a little private mark of it, just in case I was asked. Now what time would that be that he came in? Percy, come here a minute,” he called to the adenoidy youth who had watched them that morning. “You don’t remember the gent from number 12 coming in last Monday, a week ago, do you?”

“Do, I doat, sir,” said Percy, appearing at the door. “He bust of cub id after I’d god hobe, sir; I saw id the diary next bordig that he’d beed id, and I thought that you was od the right track there, sir, I rebbeber thickig so; but it wasn’t id the diary wed I left to go hobe, Bister Browd, of that I’b sure.”