Death in High Heels (8 page)

“Be careful ’e don’t misunderstand you,” said Bedd, with a grin.

Arrived at the silver doors the sergeant remained in the car. “I got another idea, sir. I won’t say anythink about it at the moment, if you don’t mind, but you won’t be wanting me right away; will it do if I get back in ’alf an hour?”

“Yes, all right, if you feel that way about it. But I shan’t start on Cecil till you come back—I need a chaperon!”

Toria came forward again across the parquet and repeated her little joke. “Good God,” thought Charlesworth, “I never saw such eyes in all my days!” Aloud he asked if Mr. Bevan were in.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. Will you wait for him?”

“Yes, I’ve got to meet my sergeant here. Can I come and talk to the lovelies, do you think?”

They gave him a chair in their little cubby-hole. Toria and Rachel shared a table in one corner, Irene’s desk was in the other, with her back to them. They clustered round him in their turquoise overalls, two dark heads and one exquisitely fair.

“Is this where you were cleaning the hat?”

“Yes,” said Rachel. “I wish we’d never tried.”

“It ruined the hat too,” said Victoria. As though ashamed of her flippancy she added: “It’s terrible to think she’s actually dead!”

“Did you
like
her?” he asked them all, collectively.

“She was a funny soul,” said Victoria, slowly. “She was like oysters—you either loved her or you hated her.”

“I loved her,” said Rachel in her warm, sweet voice “She was so gay and big-hearted and generous; there wa nothing mean or petty about Doon.”

“I liked her too,” said Toria. “You didn’t though Rene, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Irene. “I can’t think how anyone can say she was kind. She said the most cruel things, sarcastic things, and she was always laughing at people and making fun of them. I don’t like that sort of person.”

“Macaroni adored her, and she should know, she worked for her.”

“Yes, but it was just a goofy, silly sort of affection.’ Victoria began to side with Irene. “She was often terribly rough and irritable to Macaroni, only Macaroni never saw when she was being sarcastic. Look at the way Doon treated her over that brooch affair; as if the ruddy kid would pinch a brooch.…”

“I thought the brooch was Mrs. ’Arris’s bit of trouble,” said Charlesworth.

“Oh, poor old Mother ’Arris got it too. Gregory started it, of course, but Doon joined in. The trouble with Doon was that she never stopped to think; she just said or did the first thing that came into her head—that was the secret of her generosity, really; it wasn’t a very deep quality—it was just that her first impulse was to give and she followed it without further to-do. In the same way, she’d have given the brooch to either of them, any day of the week; but if she loses it and Gregory says Mrs. ’Arris took it, she rushes off and accuses Mrs. ’Arris. I do think that was rotten of her and so did we all. Rachel was furious with her, weren’t you, Ray?”

“Yes, I was,” said Rachel, flushing at the memory of her own wrath. “It was most unjust and I told them so.…”

“Oh, she’s a tiger when she’s roused,” said Victoria, laughing. “She looks so sweet and gentle, Mr. Charlesworth, but you can’t trust her—she’s a tiger when she’s rou …” She broke off, looking rather uncomfortable at the implication of her words. Charlesworth changed the direction of the conversation.

“Was Miss Doon engaged or anything?”

There was a sudden silence. Rachel broke it, saying carelessly that she didn’t think so. “We didn’t know much about her outside Christophe et Cie.” The others looked relieved.

“What are you trying to hide from me?”

Toria looked at him and laughed. “Nothing that you’re not bound to find out for yourself very soon. We just don’t want to be the first people to tell you. It’s very mere, anyway.”

“Isn’t that your sergeant at the door?” said Rachel.

Charlesworth rose and went to meet him half-way across the showroom. “What have you been up to, Bedd?”

“Doing a little petty larceny, sir.”

“I thought it was something of the sort. Well, what are the proceeds?”

“’Alf a dozen grains of oxalic acid crystal out of the lining of a coat pocket, sir.”

“Good lord, Bedd, you’re a wonder. Where did you find the coat?”

“’Angin’ in a wardrobe of Mr. Cecil’s flat.”

“You figured that the elegant Cissie would wear his suits in strict rotation?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And you burgled the blinking flat?”

“I’ad to get the porter to let me go in and write a note to Mr. Cecil asking ’im to be there at seven o’clock tonight for an interview with you, sir,” said Bedd, with a great display of offended virtue.

“What am I supposed to say to him at seven o’clock this evening, may I ask?”

“You might arst ’im what he done with the rest of the poison, I suppose, sir,” suggested Sergeant Bedd, respectfully.

3

After an exhausting morning, Charlesworth had some lunch and, picking up the sergeant, headed the little car for Hampstead. “My brain’s whizzing round and round like a propeller,” he said. “Fresh air and solitude, that’s what we need … and I don’t want to set eyes on another woman for a month. Unless it’s Victoria David,” he amended, laughing, “or the adorable Mrs. Best or Rachel Gay, or even Judy, the Yorkshire lass, with her golden hair. I never saw so many lovelies as there are in that place in all my life.…” He rambled on happily until they came to the Vale of Health, and there, snuffing joyfully at the pleasant, clean air, he stopped the car and got down to business.

“Now, let’s try and get this thing straight. I’ve been concentrating most of this morning on how the stuff was administered, and altogether here’s what I’ve arrived at: it appears that the staff in this damn shop are paid so much, whatever their salaries are, inclusive of lunch on the premises; apparently quite a few of the big shops do it, and Bevan is very keen on it, the idea being that the girls have a good meal once a day at least, and don’t save up for silk stockings and what not at the expense of their little turns. He says that the output of work is a lot higher since he started this racket, especially, as a matter of interest, towards the end of the week, when it used to go down appreciably, for the simple reason that the kids had spent all their pennies and were living till Friday on buns and a cup of tea. Of course, it’s done chiefly for the workroom—they have about fifty girls up there—but as the food is being cooked for them, the executive staff may as well benefit too. The workroom girls are fed upstairs in relays and don’t come into this at all. Bevan has a tray sent up to his office and Cecil often has lunch with him there. Occasionally, however, he stays and eats with the girls and so it was on Monday.”

“Feels more at ’ome, I dare say,” suggested the sergeant, with a grin.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Also, on the rare occasions when the executives are indulged with a chicken or a duck or something like that, he presides over the fortunate fowl with a carving knife. I tell you this to explain that it was fairly normal for Cissie to have been messing about with the unmanly job of dishing out lunch for a pack of shop girls.”

“As far as the kitchen’s concerned, Bedd, you saw it for yourself, and I think we can wash that out as a possible source of infection. The meat and vegetables were handed out in bulk and a certain jelly was the only thing sent into the dining-room earmarked for Miss Doon. I think the crystals would have shown up on that, and anyway they would have tasted terribly bitter on such anæmic stuff as jelly. Apart from that, the cook and her little bottlewasher can give each other perfectly good alibis for the entire morning, and couldn’t possibly have got hold of any of the poison; and even granting the possibility of collusion, they were never seen outside their kitchen during the whole day; don’t you agree that the people in the kitchen and the workroom can be washed out entirely?”

“Yes, I do, sir. I think we can concentrate on the showroom, and, of course, Mrs. Harris and the seckerterry.”

“Good. Well, then I think we can start off with ten possibles and ten only. Mrs. Harris and Macaroni, as you say; Bevan, Cecil and Miss Gregory; the three salesgirls, Victoria, Rachel and Irene—I trust they’ll excuse my using their Christian names but it makes life so much less complicated—and the mannequins, Aileen and Judy. There’s a larger staff, actually, but a lot of them are away on their holidays, and I don’t think we need count them at all. So there we are, ten little nigger boys; and the more I think about it the more I’m convinced that one of them couldn’t resist the temptation of all that poison lying about, and that he or she deliberately and of malice aforethought pinched a little of it and sprinkled it on the poor girl’s food; but who it was, I haven’t the faintest idea!”

“She didn’t eat anything else during the day, sir?”

“No, I’ve got that pretty well set. She took nothing except the meat and vegetables; and the jelly which I think is obviously an innocent party. If she’d taken oxalic before she got to the shop, the symptoms would have come on much earlier and anyway the coincidence would have been a bit too much, wouldn’t it? She didn’t have any tea because she had already been taken ill; and she didn’t leave the place to get hold of any more poison outside; and, as far as I can make out, she didn’t eat anything in her own office; so we’re left with the meat and two veg.”

“It was curry, sir, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, curried rabbit and, of course, that was a gift to any poisoner, Bedd. It would absorb the crystals quite quickly, especially if they were rather fine as oxalic acid often is; and it would disguise the taste as much as anything could. It evidently didn’t disguise it entirely, because, according to Mrs. ’Arris, the girl did complain; but she was always a bit fussy about her food and nobody took any notice of her.”

“Bit of a coincidence, would you say, sir, having such a perfect dish to ’and, all ready for putting poison on? Couldn’t ’ave been arranged, could it?”

“I don’t think so. The cook makes up the menus and it was all fixed before ever the poison was brought into the place; in fact, it was already cooking by then. No, I think it was just a bit of luck and the murderer took advantage of it. I look at it this way; the whole thing was done on the spur of the moment; there was the poison lying about and it suddenly occurred to somebody that if they got hold of a little of it, a chance might come for them to use it; then they discovered that there was curry for lunch, and there was their opportunity sooner than they could have hoped. What we want to find out is, who had that opportunity, and who, out of all the people who had the opportunity to obtain it, had the opportunity to administer it; and out of them who had the motive.”

“Process of elimination, Mr. Charlesworth?”

“Well, I’m very fond of my process of elimination. I like to clear out the Might-have-done-its and the Would-have-done-its and the Look-as-if-they-done-its and get down to the
Could
-have-done-its; when I’ve done that I look for motive; and when I’ve got that, I look for proofs. I like to clear my decks for action. Unfortunately, in this case nearly every blighter in the cast seems to have been a Could-have-done-it.”

“They’d have to have the two opportunities, sir. One to obtain and one to administer.”

“Practically all of them had both.”

“That’s a pity, sir. Don’t leave the decks quite so clear for action, do it?” said Bedd, with a twinkle.

Charlesworth acknowledged this thrust with rueful good-humour and proceeded to relate the history of the luncheon hour as he had gleaned it from Bevan on the previous morning. Bedd listened acutely and at the conclusion emitted a heavy groan. “Decks don’t look too good now, sir! Wot a shambles!”

“You see what I meant? Every single soul went to the table or near the plate of food. Of course you can’t say that everyone would actually have been able to put anything on to the plate, but, on-the other hand, we can’t be sure that any of them would not have been able to. Certainly no one saw anything funny, but that means exactly nothing.”

They pondered in silence for a while. “Let’s make a list,” said Charlesworth at last.

“Three columns,” agreed the sergeant. “Opportunity to Obtain, Opportunity to Administer, and Motive. How’s that, sir?”

“Column number three’s going to look a bit thin, but never mind, go ahead. Let’s take Bevan first: he went up to the table when they were cleaning the hat; he even picked up some of the powder, though they say he threw it all down again … he might quite possibly have kept some in his hand, I suppose. As to putting it on the plate, he leant right across the table and spoke to Cecil—he could have dropped it on then.”

“What about motive?”

“None that I know of, unless there was some lovey-dovey going on what we know nothing about. Shove him down A + B — C. What about Cecil?”

“He’s very much plus A and B, sir. Only a matter of motive. He took charge of all the crystals that were swept up and, of course, he was dishing out before lunch.”

“Yes, we must check up carefully on a motive for him. Who else? Rachel Gay?”

“She could have taken the oxalic from the showroom and she helped with the serving out. Motive again.”

“The same applied to the two mannequins.”

“And to Mrs. David.”

“Not Victoria, sergeant!”

“She was cleaning the ’at, sir; in fact it was her that first brought the poison into the place, her and Rachel Gay. I don’t say that was deliberate, because it all seems to have grown up too natural like; but she could have taken some of it easy enough, and she went right up to the table, by all accounts, and put her ’and over that very plate of food, when she said, ‘I’ll ’ave that bit.’”

“Yes, but Bedd, don’t you
see
! She thought Miss Doon was going to be out to lunch; she couldn’t have poisoned her because she didn’t even know she was going to be there. The same goes for Mrs. Best, Irene Best. She didn’t come downstairs at all after it had been decided that Miss Doon was staying in to lunch.”

“Well, but Mrs. David did, sir. She came downstairs and went to the ’ot-cupboard and got her lunch, while Miss Gregory was with Miss Doon in her office.”