Dance to Your Daddy

'He has disappeared. As he is Hubert's brother, I am wondering whether he also has been murdered.'

'You mean that this clergyman was murdered?'

'The police appear to think so. I do not know yet what evidence they have. One more question, and then I will go. Do you know anything about a family named Provost?'

'Provost? Do you mean the Marshall-Provosts? They are some sort of connections of Sally's husband, John Ponsonby-Marshall, I believe, but they are rather poor and obscure and are not really recognised as relatives by John's family. Why?'

'They seem to be well known to Romilly Lestrange, that is all, but they seem to be called, simply, Provost.'

'I will ring for tea,' said Lady Selina in a tone which indicated, beyond all reasonable doubt, that this nuisance must now cease.

(2)

Armed with such information as Lady Selina had been able to supply, Dame Beatrice rang up her son on Lady Selina's telephone and was invited to dinner and asked to stay for the night.

'Well, mother,' said the eminent man, when dinner was over and he had taken her off to his study for a private chat, 'what mischief have you been getting into this time?'

'I seem to be mixed up, to some extent, in the murder of a member of the family.'

'Don't tell me that somebody has had the public spirit and general goodwill to bump off Aunt Selina!'

'No. I came here from her house and she appears to be alive and well.'

'Who's been murdered, then?'

'A young man-well, I assume that he is young, or comparatively so-named the Reverend Hubert Lestrange.'

'A parson murdered? Rather unusual, what? What did he do? Rush in where angels fear to tread, and get himself clobbered?'

'I have no idea what he did. I have a feeling, however, that he was killed because of something he knew.'

'That sounds as though he'd uncovered the family skeleton. Have we one?'

'I hoped you would be able and willing to tell me that. What do you know of Felix Napoleon?'

'Oh, that old rip! I got him off on a charge of fraud once, but haven't seen or heard of him for ages.'

'When was this?'

'Oh, donkey's years ago, of course. It was before I was called to the Bar, as a matter of fact. I was up at Cambridge. How the old boy had found out I was reading law I've never discovered, or even how he knew where I was, but he wrote to me and asked me to suggest a line of defence, as he trusted neither his solicitor nor the chap who was to be briefed on his behalf. He told me his side of the story, I saw a loophole, pointed it out and the result was that the case never came up for trial. The beaks threw it out, and quite right, too, on the evidence, although, personally, I wouldn't be surprised if the old reprobate was guilty.'

'How did Selina come to hear of all this?'

'The man who was to be briefed was old John Marshall-Provost, Sally's father-in-law.'

'It seems to be a family affair all round.'

'Yes, all sorts of daddies involved. Where do you come in, though?'

Dame Beatrice gave him an account of Romilly's letter and of what had happened, and outlined the course she had followed since she had received the letter.

'I'm afraid for the girl,' she said in conclusion. 'When I heard that she was the heiress and was made cognisant of the conditions which were attached to the inheritance, and when I realised that Romilly (who, by his virtual incarceration of her, must be a resolute and unscrupulous man) was the next in line according to Felix Napoleon's Will, I removed the child from Galliard Hall and have despatched her, with Laura's help, to a place of safety. When I learned of Hubert's death...'

'If I may butt in at this point, mother, I think you should keep an eye lifting on your own account, you know. Some people can't be all that pleased with your machinations, and yet-'

'I shall take precautions, particularly as I am returning tomorrow to Galliard Hall. All the same, so far as anybody is aware, I am simply keeping the girl under treatment.'

'Well, beware of how you enter the cockatrice's den, that's all. A man with his eye on a fortune is not going to be too nice about the methods he uses to get his hooks on it, you know, especially if he's old Felix Napoleon's natural son. For one thing, he may well feel that, as the first-born, and of an earlier generation than the girl, he has the prior claim, and, for another, he may now take after his father, who struck me as a plausible and blackhearted scoundrel, if ever there was one.'

'Yet you did him a very great favour.'

'Oh, no, it certainly wasn't meant as a favour. It was just a very young man's conceit. I spotted the flaw and nothing pleased me better than to point it out to him and his solicitor. It was just one of those odd things which come along when one's looking up something quite different. I was in love with my own cleverness in those days and, after all, the old villain was a Lestrange.'

'Exactly what I feel about Rosamund, La famille oblige. Selina had some story that he had murdered his mistress.'

'One of his mistresses, she meant. He was notorious for his harem, I believe. I never heard that he murdered anybody, though. I think Aunt Selina must have got the wires crossed. She probably heard of this fraud thing I mentioned, and stepped up the details.'

'Did you ever hear of an illegitimate son?'

'He had two, but I don't know whether they had the same mother.'

'Would you know their names?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Why "of course"?'

'Well, because I knew them both at Cambridge. Romilly was my year and happened to be on my staircase, and Caesar came up when Romilly had gone down and I was at the beginning of my fourth year. I didn't have a lot to do with them, but when I found their name was Lestrange I felt I had to be civil. It was Romilly who put his father's case before me, as a matter of fact, and asked me what I thought, as he knew my intended profession.'

'So Romilly would be about your age?'

'Just about, I suppose. Small, dark chap and wore very powerful glasses. Blind as a bat without them, he once told me, and, on another occasion, I had evidence of it.'

'Did you know anything of his life after he left the University?'

'Yes, he wrote to me twice while I was still up, once to send me five pounds he'd borrowed the previous term, and once to tell me that he was emigrating to Kenya, as his father had bought him a half-share in a coffee plantation. I never heard from him again.'

'What about the younger brother, Caesar?'

'He got himself rusticated in his second year. Started an undergraduate paper and printed some fairly actionable items about some of the dons. Was chewed up by the Dean, but persisted in his naughty ways, so Cambridge's loss became somewhere else's gain. I believe he got into Fleet Street later on, but I didn't really know him. Different faculties, and three years' difference in our ages, you see.'

'Do you remember what he was like to look at?'

'Not very clearly. The most noticeable thing about the poor chap was that he had one leg shorter than the other and had to wear a surgical boot.'

'How did you know they were illegitimate?'

'Romilly told me. He was bleating about it in a mild sort of way, and saying that he didn't suppose his old man would leave him anything worth talking about, although he'd always acknowledged him and kept him and his brother, and all that.'

'What kind of man was Romilly?'

'As I remember him, he was diffident, kindly, a bit vague, but a completely harmless chap. He was a connoisseur of pictures, I remember. Spent all his money on good copies of old masters and said he intended to collect the real things when he could afford it. My five-pound loan, I remember, went to make up the price of a very fine copy of Francesco di Giorgio's Saint Dorothy walking with the Holy Child. I must say that he's just about the last man I should think of as a murderer, but, of course, when it's a question of money-'

'Did you ever hear whether Felix Napoleon's legitimate union was blest with children?'

'Yes, there was a son named Harvard, some years younger than Caesar, but he was killed in the war in 1944. I knew about him because he came up once or twice to see the other two, and I was invited to cocktails.'

'Would you know Romilly again, if you saw him?'

'I might, of course, but a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since my undergraduate days.'

'You knew that Felix Napoleon was dead?'

'I'd never thought about it. I don't read the obituary columns and I don't suppose his wife would have thought of inviting me to the funeral.'

'She may have pre-deceased him.'

'Yes, of course. Well, mother, I must say that your account of Romilly really does surprise me. He must have altered a very great deal since I knew him.'

'I am suffering from dear Laura's complaint, no doubt,' admitted Dame Beatrice.

'What's that?'

'A pricking of the thumbs. Besides, now that you have described your Romilly to me, I do not see how he could be (however much his nature may have changed) my Romilly.'

'Physical description doesn't fit?'

'You said that Romilly was small.'

'And dark. Of course, he's probably grey-haired by now.'

'How small was he?'

'Oh, almost a head shorter than I am, and I am six feet one and a half. I should say he stood about five feet four-call it five five with his shoes on.'

'And was very short-sighted?'

'So much so that, when he mislaid his glasses one day-took them off to have a bath-I had to find them for him because he usually put them in their case on the bathroom stool, but this time had left them in his room and had been groping about for them in there for ages before he heard me on the stairs and yelled for my assistance.'

'Short sight is not usually a disability which cures itself as the years roll by. The younger brother, you tell me, had a club foot.'

'Yes. I wonder whether it had warped him a bit. His writings for his unofficial rag were extremely spiteful.'

'So, if my host at Galliard Hall is not the real Romilly, neither is he likely to be Romilly's brother Caesar. I did well to go to Selina and be referred to you. These are deeper waters than I had suspected. However, nothing is lost by making sure. Could you make it convenient to call at Galliard Hall at some time during the next few days so that you can meet this pseudo-Romilly?'

'On what pretext?'

'That you have heard from me that he has some very fine pictures, and you are wondering whether he would be willing to part with the Raeburn, as you particularly want to give it as an anniversary present to your wife, whose negotiations for a Raeburn have recently broken down. You are safe enough in making this offer. The pictures are not his to sell, as he is not the owner of Galliard Hall.'

'I wouldn't recognise a Raeburn if you handed one to me on a plate.'

'With watercress round it, as Laura's favourite author would remark. The Raeburn is the first portrait you come to as you enter the hall.'

'Very well. I can manage tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right.'

'Do not mention, of course, that you knew Romilly at Cambridge, unless you believe that this man really is Romilly Lestrange.'

'Now what do you take me for, mother!'

'I apologise.'

'Good. Let's rejoin the family, or they'll be complaining that I keep you all to myself. You look as though you're enjoying all this Romilly business, though. Are you?'

'The plot thickens in the most agreeable way. I am no longer able to keep Laura's fingers out of the pie.'

'Of course, the obvious point to consider is this: if Romilly isn't Romilly, who the devil is he?'

'If you can tell me who Felix Napoleon's lawyers were, I hope to be able to find that out.'

'Well, I'll enquire around. I know he'd chucked the Marshall-Provost gang-their solicitors, I mean.'

(3)

The older members of Snapp, Snapp and Bacon had preceded their client to the grave, but, although there were no Snapps left, a scion of the Bacons was senior partner in the firm, and had brought a son and a nephew into the business. It was the older Bacon who received Dame Beatrice.

'Upon receipt of your letter,' he said, 'I looked up the relevant facts. In 1960, on the death of his natural son Caesar, Mr Felix Napoleon Lestrange altered his Will. Up to that time the provisions were not quite as they are at present. For one thing, they made Caesar a beneficiary to the same extent as his brother. Both, as you know, were born out of wedlock, so, until 1944, when the legitimate son Harvard was killed in the war, Harvard had been in the position of sole heir in respect of his father's property, with the exception of legacies of five thousand pounds each to his half-brothers, Romilly and Caesar.

'Upon Harvard's death, however, the Will was somewhat materially changed. For one thing, at her father's death, which occurred in January, 1944, Rosamund, who, from the twenty-ninth of May next, will have a life-interest in her grandfather's wealth, irrespective of her possible marriage, was still en ventre sa mère. The new Will, therefore, gave her a life-interest after she had attained the age of twenty-five. Up to that time we, as Felix Napoleon's solicitors, were empowered to maintain her and her mother in the event of Felix Napoleon's dying before she reached her twenty-fifth year, but, as it happened, the mother died in giving birth, and Felix Napoleon assumed full responsibility for the baby and had her to live with him until his death, a couple of years ago.'

'Did you approve of her going to live with Romilly Lestrange after her grandfather's death?'

'We made careful enquiries, but there seemed nothing we could object to in the scheme and, in any case, as the young lady was of age, we could have acted in an advisory capacity only, which is exactly what we did. We advised against it, but she was obdurate.'

'What was the reason for your advice?'

'The fact, which we felt bound to point out to her, that Romilly Lestrange, under the terms of Felix Napoleon's last Will, had an interest in her death, once she had attained the age of twenty-five years. The money, as you probably know, Dame Beatrice, was left in trust for Miss Rosamund Lestrange. She could not touch the capital. After her death, however, or if she were proved incapable of managing her affairs, Romilly became the heir. We had to choose our words, of course, very carefully, but I think we made it clear to her that these provisions might make it highly unsatisfactory for her to become a member of Mr Romilly's household.'

'There was never any suggestion that Romilly had married her, of course?'

'My dear lady, how could there be? She is his half-brother's daughter.'

'Of course,' said Dame Beatrice meekly. 'Was your advice given to her by word of mouth?'

'No. She refused to come and see us, or to let us go and see her. The first letter we received about the new arrangement came from Romilly, and merely informed us that as he was now domiciled permanently in England, he proposed to ask Rosamund to share his home. Upon this we wrote to ask the young lady for an interview, but this she refused to grant us. There was nothing, therefore, for us to do but to send her our extremely carefully-worded warning that her uncle's plans to give her a home might not he completely altruistic, pay her her quarterly allowance, and leave it at that. I do not see how we could have taken any more definite a course. As I pointed out, she was of age and, in a sense, we were not her lawyers. By that, of course, I mean that we had no powers, except to make sure that the terms of the bequest were carried out.'

'You mentioned that Romilly wrote to say that he was now permanently domiciled in England. I understood that, soon after he left the University, Romilly emigrated to Kenya.'

'Oh, yes, he did. Mr Felix Napoleon put up the money for him to buy a half-share in a coffee plantation there.'

'Did you ever meet Romilly?'

'Before he emigrated to Kenya with his natural father's assistance, I had nothing to do with him at all, nor with his brother Caesar. I do know, however, that Caesar left two sons. One of them went into the Church, I believe, and Felix Napoleon employed the other as his secretary, but, again, I never had any occasion to meet either of them.'

'Were these sons close friends? How did they get on together?'

'I have no idea. I have read, of course, in the newspapers, of the tragic death of one of them, and I believe the other is missing.'

'Yes. In my capacity of psychiatric adviser to the Home Office, I am semi-officially engaged in helping with the police investigation into these matters, and I am most grateful to you for giving up your time to me and providing me with so much useful information.'

'Yes,' said the solicitor dubiously. 'Of course, when you came, I had no idea that it was on police business. I trust that you will not need to involve us. We have always had the reputation...'

'I understand that, and I see no need whatever to involve you. I needed to be certain of my facts, that is all. I wonder whether you will be kind enough to tell me one more thing. Have you any idea of Felix Napoleon's last address?'

'I have the last letter he wrote us. It was from a hotel in Carlisle, if my memory serves me.' He touched the buzzer. 'Mr Felix Napoleon Lestrange's file, Pearson, if you please... Yes, here we are. He wrote a vile hand, but you can probably make out the address at the top of the letter.'

CHAPTER TEN

ST VITUS' DANCE-THREE WISE MONKEYS

'One three of them, by their own report, sir, have danced before the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot and a half...'

The Winter's Tale.

'Well!' exclaimed Romilly, extending both hands. 'So you have returned to the fold, my dear Beatrice!'

'Are you still in the hands of the police?' asked his visitor, ignoring those he was stretching out to her and speaking with a calculated lack of tact.

'Oh, they are occupying themselves with the concerns of Corin and Corinna, who are closeted with them now for the third time. Giles also has been questioned. Come into the library, where we can chat. The detective-inspector and his sergeant are in the drawing-room and Judith is about her duties in the stillroom, so we are not likely to be disturbed. Have you come to report upon Trilby?'

'She seems well and has settled down with us. I must return the clothes which Binnie so kindly lent her. Can you give me Humphrey's address?'

'Certainly. I will write it down for you.' He did this as soon as they reached the library. 'I take it that you are following my plan to keep Trilby within doors. It is really not safe for her to be allowed out, if there is water in the vicinity.'

'In the vicinity of the Stone House there is nothing but the shallow and narrow upper waters of the Lymington River, and a few of the New Forest ponds. There is no fresh light to be shed on Hubert's death, I suppose?'

'The police at present are baffled, I think.'

'They are often thought to be so, when the truth is that they have discovered valuable clues which it would not be in the public interest (as they put it) to reveal.'

'Do you really think they are on to something?'

'Who can say? If they are, they certainly have not confided in me. There is no news of Willoughby, I suppose?'

'I have heard none. One hesitates to wonder whether...'

'Does one? I have wondered it. He and Hubert are brothers, are they not?'

'You are thinking of Cain and Abel, but is that fair? There may be some utterly innocent reason for Willoughby's disappearance, or, of course (although one hardly cares to frame the words), the murderer may have made away with both the brothers.'

'I have envisaged that possibility also. In fact, I am inclined to put it more positively. I think there is a strong probability that such is the case.'

'But what would be the reason for so dastardly a deed? Neither was a wealthy man and both seemed the last types to make enemies. I should be interested to hear what you, as a psychiatrist, make of it.'

'I cannot make bricks without straw. I have never so much as met either of the young men.'

'Have you not? You would have found them charming fellows, I am sure, and I would have said that there was the closest friendship between them, a happy state of things which one does not always find where brothers are concerned.'

'How right you are. There was no question, I suppose, of there being a woman in the case? Sometimes, between even the best of friends, or between relatives with the closest family ties...'

'Oh, as to that, I have no information. Hubert, of course, being a priest of the English Church, would not have been bound to celibacy. I wonder...'

The library door opened and Amabel came in.

'The police gentlemen be feneshed, sir,' she announced. They said as how they would be glad to speak to ee afore they go. Should Oi show 'em en here, sir?'

'Yes, of course show them in here. Do you care to stay, Beatrice, and hear what they have to say?'

'No. I expect they would prefer to see you alone. I will have a little chat with Corin and Corinna, of whom I was able to see almost nothing when I was here before, and then I will take myself off. I had better say goodbye now, in case your session with the police officers is a long one.' She thought it better not to meet Kirkby in front of Romilly, in case the latter should deduce that they were old acquaintances. She met the detective-inspector in the hall, bowed and then walked straight past him. Kirkby accepted her lead, returned her bow with a slight inclination of the head, and went on to the library where Amabel was waiting to show him in. Dame Beatrice herself went to the drawing-room.

Corin and Corinna were seated on either side of the fireplace and appeared to be dejected. Giles, looking tired, was with them. All three of the young people looked towards the door when Dame Beatrice entered. Giles and Corin stood up politely, but Corinna, with an exclamation, went towards her.

'The very person!' she said. 'A very present help in time of trouble, as the psalmist said.'

'He wasn't talking about Aunt Adela,' said Corin dispiritedly.

'We may as well unload the trouble, anyway,' said his sister. 'Have a seat, Aunt Adela, and hear us our prayers.'

'It might be more to the point were I to hear your confessions,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I take it that you have news of Willoughby.'

'What on earth makes you think that?' demanded Corinna, suddenly looking agitated. 'What can have put such an idea into your head?' She ruffled the short hair on her own head until it stood almost on end. Her brother put his face between his hands and groaned.

'Now you have torn it!' he said. 'I knew you would!'

'No, I haven't. Somebody had to know, and Aunt Adela is much the best person, because she'll tell us what to do.'

'If you have found out anything about Willoughby, the people who need to know are the police,' said Dame Beatrice. 'As they are in the house at this very moment, there is nothing to prevent you from waylaying them as they leave and cleansing your bosoms of this perilous stuff.'

'Well, there you are,' said Corinna. That's what I've been saying all along.'

'But they may suspect us of killing him,' exclaimed her twin. 'I would agree if Hubert's body hadn't already been found.'

'Well, we didn't kill Hubert, or Willoughby, so what?'

Dame Beatrice interposed.

'Am I to be let into the secret, or am I not?' she demanded. 'Having said so much, would it not be better to tell me all?'

The twins looked at one another, and Corin shook his head. His unkempt hair fell across his brown face. He looked like Mowgli, Dame Beatrice thought, with his expression of wariness, animal shyness and a kind of innocent cunning. He was, according to the fashion of the day, a handsome, attractive boy.

'I'm not saying anything more,' he said truculently. 'Corinna, blast her, has given you a nod and a wink, so now it's up to you.'

'But she isn't a blind horse!' said Giles quietly. 'Don't you see we can't leave it like this? It would have been better to say nothing at all.'

'Which is what I wanted. You know it is! We've argued about it enough! Corinna will rush in and say things in a panic. Shut up, Corinna! Believe me, I know what's best.'

'Very well. I'm sorry, Aunt Adela, very sorry, but if Corin won't listen to reason, well, he won't.'

'He can't afford to,' muttered Corin. 'In a case of murder, it isn't a good thing to know too much.'

'Well, that would appear to be that,' said Dame Beatrice equably. 'You surely do not mean that Willoughby has been murdered, too, and that you have seen the body? Do you want someone else-myself, for preference-to report it?'

'Oh, no! Goodness me, no!' cried Corinna. 'It's not that at all! No, really, Aunt Adela, it's nothing as bad as that!'

'Look here,' said Giles, 'having said so much, don't you think it might be better to say the rest?'

'No, I don't! I've changed my mind. Oh, dear!' cried Corinna, pushing her hand through her short, fair hair. 'After all, it's not as though we've seen or, really, heard anything-anything which points to anybody's wickedness, I mean-so it would be awful of us to say anything. Anyway, we've got no proof.'

'No proof of who must have murdered Hubert, no,' said her cousin, 'but we can trust Great-aunt to do the best thing. I suggest we tell her, and then leave it to her.'

'We can't tell her something that I was told in confidence. I'm sorry I ever suggested we should.'

'You know,' said Giles, 'on thinking it over, I'm inclined to agree with Corinna. What she was told-in confidence, as she says-doesn't really amount to a hill of beans. It proves nothing except that people can be mistaken, or that they think they know something when, all the time, they don't. I don't think we ought to point the finger. The truth will come out at some time or another. It isn't for us to dirty our hands.'

'That's what I've been saying all along,' said Corin.

'On the other hand,' said Corinna, wavering, 'perhaps we should tell Great-aunt and leave her to see what she makes of it. After all, she's had lots of experience of these things, and we don't owe all that much to old Romilly.'

'It may not concern him,' said Giles. 'He may have had nothing to do with it. He talked as though he was as surprised as anybody.'

'He's a cagey old bird,' said Corin. 'I wouldn't trust him an inch. We really know nothing about him.'

'I myself,' admitted Dame Beatrice, 'knew nothing about him either before I was invited here.'

'Did he make you any promises?' asked Corin. 'Poor old Humphrey was livid about that job he was promised...'

'Not a job; only an interview, wasn't it?' said Giles. 'I'm not too pleased with Romilly myself.'

'He lent you a horse.'

'He promised to lend me enough to buy a share in some racing-stables.'

'Tancred isn't very pleased with him, either,' said Corinna, forgetting her agitation and beginning to giggle. 'He's terribly funny when he's cross. But you haven't given Great-aunt a chance to answer the question. Do tell us, Aunt Adela. Did he promise you anything?'

'Not in the sense you mean, but I feel that my visit here has been amply rewarded. I have made the acquaintance of Rosamund.'

'How delightful for you,' said Corin ironically. 'To my mind, she's just about the most fishy young female I've ever encountered. I'm pretty sure that at some time or other she's been on the stage. She's the hammiest half-baked pro who ever gave up the business to become an old man's darling. Once you've been on the stage yourself, you can't be deceived by another who has ever worn the buskins.'

'I myself have sometimes thought that Rosamund was putting on the motley for our benefit. How long have you known Romilly Lestrange?' asked Dame Beatrice, apparently changing the subject. 'You say you know nothing about him, and you are certainly not old enough to have known him before he emigrated to Kenya. I wonder whether Luke was in service with him there?'

'It's no good, Great-aunt Adela,' said Corinna, looking alarmed. 'You can't get us back to the subject of-to the subject that way. We're not going to say any more. It's my secret, and, although I've told the boys about it, they can't, in decency, give it away unless I agree, and I don't agree, and I'm sorry I said as much as I did. Corin's right, I am a panicky fool.'

'I myself had come to the conclusion that there is a secret,' said Dame Beatrice, 'and I have already set my wits to work. You see, perhaps there are three other wise monkeys in this house besides yourselves.' She leered benignly at Corinna, who said, nervously:

'Maybe there are, and maybe there aren't, but, if there are, I don't believe they'll be much inclined to talk, either. It isn't their business, anyway. I just got in a panic.'

'You were asking how long we'd known Uncle Romilly,' said Corin, under the impression that he was changing the subject. His sister scowled at him, but he went on: 'Not so very long, actually. We've been here once before, that's all, to what he called his house-warming. He'd just rented Galliard Hall and wanted to show it off.'

'And were all his relatives invited?'

'I suppose all the younger ones were, except for Willoughby and Hubert. At any rate they didn't turn up. Mother and father weren't asked, I do know that, because we had rather a toss-up with mother about it, and grandma sent for us and read us the riot act, and said what a scoundrel Uncle Romilly was. I asked whether he was rich, and she said that his gains, whether considerable or not, were bound to be ill-gotten. I said that wouldn't matter, provided he cut us in on them. She wasn't pleased, and Corinna and I were shown the door, and got very sticky letters from grandma later on.'

'Did you know the late Felix Napoleon Lestrange?'

'Never heard of him,' said Corin.

'Oh, I have!' exclaimed Corinna. 'Grandma once let fall a derogatory remark about him when I was about ten and she didn't know I was in the room. I had hidden behind the curtains while they were having dinner, in the hope of sneaking out and securing some of the marrons glacés and crystallised ginger and grapes and things, before the servants came in to clear the table.'

'Greedy little beast!' said Corin. 'I don't remember that you shared anything with me. Marrons glacés, indeed!'

'I didn't get what I was after. Pilbrick spotted the bulge behind the curtain and said, "Now just you come out of there, Miss Clotilda, and pop straight up to bed, else I'll tell your mamma about you, see if I don't." Pilbrick was an old beast.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Corin. 'He lent me five pounds once, when dad had already supplemented my allowance and I dared not go to him for any more. Speak as you find is my motto. Anyway, I'd prefer Pilbrick any day to the Sweeny Todd they've got here.' As he made this statement, he winked conspiratorially at Dame Beatrice. His sister intercepted the wink and confirmed Dame Beatrice's suspicions by shouting:

'You promised! You promised! Don't you dare give me away!'

'Of course I shan't,' said Corin. 'Soit tranquille. Je suis chevalier d'honneur, moi.'

'I've never noticed it. Oh, Lord! I wish that wretched policeman would take himself off. I want to get out of this house! We simply must rehearse that new number, and there isn't a piano in the place except for the one Judith plays, and she won't let us touch that.'

At this moment Kirkby knocked at the door and was invited to come in.

'If you'll give me a list of your theatrical engagements for the next few weeks, sir,' he said, addressing Corin, 'I need not keep you any longer.'

'You mean we can just simply go?' asked Corinna.

'That is what I mean, miss. I see no reason at present to trouble you any further, but I must know where I can find you if I want you. I may say that the same applies to you, Mr Provost. I have your address. You won't change it without letting me know, I hope.'

'Are you leaving the house, then?' asked Giles.

'For the moment, yes, sir, but my enquiries will still be centred on the neighbourhood.'

'Oh, well, of course.'

'I, too, will leave you,' said Dame Beatrice.

'You've nothing to report, I suppose?' asked Kirkby, when he and she were in the hall.

'Ask me again tomorrow. I make no promises, but there is a small matter I wish to investigate. It may lead to nothing, but I have a faint hope that it may be a little bit of help. However, it is not a thing capable of proof, so it can be nothing but a pointer, I fear.'

Hearing their voices, Romilly came into the hall.

'You are off, then, Inspector?' he said. Are we to expect you tomorrow?'

'Not unless anything else turns up, sir. You say you've still no news of Mr Willoughby Lestrange, so there's nothing more I can do until we trace him. You may be wanted when they resume the inquest, sir.'

'Whatever for? I have already identified the body! What more can I do?'

'The poor young gentleman was not in clerical garb, sir. What made you so certain that he was the Reverend Hubert? Did you know him very well?'

'Not to say very well, but well enough to know who he was,' said Romilly. 'Most young clergymen on holiday leave the dog-collar at home nowadays.'

'Oh, yes, sir, that's right, of course. They do.'

'I'll see you to your car,' said Romilly affably. Dame Beatrice waited until he and Kirkby were descending the broken steps which led to the drive, and then she made a bee-line for the kitchen, where lunch was being prepared. She was warmly greeted by Amabel.

'Well, Oi declare now, ef et eddn' Dame Beatrice! Anythen us can do, mum? Be ee stayen or goen?'

'Going, I'm afraid. This is only a flying visit. I wonder whether, when you tidied my room, you found my fountain pen? It was a particular favourite of mine, although I have others. I may have dropped it somewhere else, of course, but, as I wanted to visit Mr Romilly and let him know at first hand how Rosamund was getting on, I thought I would ask you whether you had seen it.'

'No, that Oi haven't, mum, and oi'm sure our Voilert haven't, neether, else her'd have told Oi. Can you get on with they veg, Voilert, whoile Oi goes up to help Dame Beatrice have a search round, loike?'

'Ent no pen up there,' said Violet flatly, 'else Oi'd a-found et, wouldn't Oi? But go up and see, for your satesfaction, loike. Eddn nothen to do but they tetties.'

Arrived in the room which Dame Beatrice had occupied, she told Amabel to close the door.

'Now,' she said loudly, 'if you wouldn't mind having an extra good look round. As I say, it's quite likely I did not leave it here, but I wish to be certain. A fountain pen is such a small thing that it could slip down anywhere.'

'Very good, Dame Beatrice, mum,' said Amabel. 'Let's have the bed to bets first.'

Dame Beatrice allowed her to begin stripping the bed and then she stepped across to the shutter which blocked out the squint. As she did so, there was the slight sound of a door being very softly closed. She darted to her own door, opened it and was in time to see the back of Judith as its owner reached the main staircase. She allowed several seconds to go by, then she tip-toed to the door of the adjoining room. There had been no sound of a key, but the door, it seemed, was self-locking and she found that she could not open it. She went back to her room and said:

'Go on with what you are doing. There is something I want to ask you which I do not wish anyone to overhear. Amabel, you are hiding something from me. At least, you think you are. I am going to tell you what it is, so that, if ever the subject comes up, you will be able to say, with truth, that you did not tell me about it.'

'Oh, no, please, now, Dame Beatrice, mum! Oi don't want to get into no trouble!'

'Were you in service when Mr Romilly gave what he called his house-warming party?'

'When he first took over Galliard Hall? Why, yes, mum, me and Voilert and cook, we was all here, haven been bespoke by Messus Judeth to get the house ready for hem and Messus Trelby.'

'Do you remember who came to the party?'

'Why, the same as this toime, 'cepten for yourself, Dame Beatrice, mum.'

'I see. So the Reverend Mr Lestrange was not present?'

'No, mum. I reckon he weren't envoited.'

'Nor his brother, Mr Willoughby?'

'No, mum. It were loike Oi say.'

'Yes, I see. And the Reverend Hubert and Mr Willoughby were not invited this time, either, were they?'

'Oh, Dame Beatrice, mum, how would Oi know a theng loike that, then? Teddn no business of moine who get envoited to the house!' Her voice held a pleading tone.

'Is it Luke's business, then? Luke takes the letters down to the post-box at the gates, doesn't he?'

'That eddn nothen to do with Oi!' But Amabel looked scared.

'Look, Amabel, a man has been murdered.'

'That eddn nothen to do with Oi, neether!'

'It will be, you know, if you withhold information from the police. Luke made a remark, didn't he, before anything dreadful happened? He meant no harm by it, I'm sure. I want you to tell me what it was.'

Amabel had given up stripping the bed. She now sat down upon the mattress.

'Oi don't want nothen to do with the police,' she said sullenly. 'Oi don't know nothen, so I can't say nothen, can Oi?'

'Then I shall ask Violet.'

'Her won't say nothen, neether. Teddn no business of ourn, I tell ee. Best ee leave et alone.'

'And Luke won't admit to me what he said to you both, of course. Luke is Mr Romilly's creature. Did cook hear the remark Luke passed?'

'No, her was haven her afternoon off.'

'So Luke did pass a remark.'

'You're setten traps for me!'

'I'll tell you what Luke said, if you like. You can confirm it, or you can deny it. It will not make the slightest difference because, you see, I know.'

'Well,' said Amabel, 'ef ee knows, ee knows, so what call have ee to bidger-badger me loike thes here? Oi never thought, when Oi just mentioned it casual-loike to Mess Corenna-'

'I won't badger you any more, Amabel. At some time or other-it is immaterial when- Luke overheard Mr Romilly say that he could not understand why the Reverend Hubert and Mr Willoughby had neither turned up nor sent a note of explanation, but Luke remarked to you and Violet that he did not see why they should have done either, since he knew for a fact that neither of them had been sent a note of invitation to join the house-party. That is so, isn't it? He always reads the envelopes before he posts the letters, and he knew that nothing had been sent to Mr Hubert or Mr Willoughby Lestrange. Why, then, should Mr Romilly have appeared so concerned at their non-appearance when he knew perfectly well that they had not been invited? That was the substance of Luke's remark, I think, and that is what you told Miss Corinna, isn't it? Well, you've done more good than harm to Mr Romilly, so do not worry any more about it.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

OXDANSEN-CROWNER'S QUEST

'He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps.'

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.

(1)

'An odd circumstance has cropped up, Dame Beatrice,' said Kirkby. 'You remember, I suppose, that Mr Romilly Lestrange identified the body as that of Mr-or, rather, the Reverend-Hubert?'

'Indeed I do.'

'Well, it seems much more likely to have been that of his brother, Mr Willoughby.'

'Really?'

'You don't seem particularly surprised. Don't tell me you'd thought so, all along.'

'Oh, no, I certainly had not thought that. As to my not appearing to be surprised, well, when we were told that Willoughby had disappeared, I assumed that he, too, had been murdered, because, according to my reading of the case, that would have been the obvious thing to have happened. As I told you, I made it my business to find out why neither of the brothers, the sons of the illegitimate Mr Caesar Lestrange, had attended the family reunion. It seems clear that they did not go for the very obvious reason that they had not been invited.'

'You told me that that is what you thought. The interesting thing now, in view of this violent death, is to find out why they, among all the members of both families, should have been left out.'

'Exactly. And why, having been left out, one of them should have been more or less in the vicinity of Galliard Hall and should have been murdered. What makes you think that the body is that of Mr Willoughby and not that of the Reverend Hubert?'

'Because a member of his parish, which was in Buckinghamshire, has come to us with evidence that the Reverend Hubert went out to take up a position as vicar of the English church in Bella Luganti, on the Italian Riviera, where there is a flourishing community of English exiles in retirement. We've checked on this, and it's true. He's there, all right, and is greatly concerned to learn of his brother's death.'

'Is he returning to this country?'

'We shall ask him to attend the inquest and positively identify the body, as Mr Romilly seems to have been in error.'

'In that case, I hope you will promise him police protection when he comes.'

'You think that will be necessary?'

'I think it would be a wise precaution.'

'Against whom? I can see that you have somebody very much in mind, Dame Beatrice.'

'Yes, I have. In fact, I have three persons in mind, two who might be in collusion, and the third who might be unconnected with them, in so far as motive is concerned.'

'No use asking you, I suppose, who they are?'

'Well, I hesitate to name persons against whom I have no real evidence. I can merely think of a possible motive for their wishing to have the two brothers out of the way.'

'But evidence of motive would help us enormously, Dame Beatrice.'

'When I used the words I was ill-advised. Evidence of motive is too strong and exact a term. All I meant was that, if certain suppositions of mine are right, then a motive would appear to emerge, but that is as far as I ought to go. The evidence given at the inquest I should make the issue clearer.'

'And with that I shall have to be satisfied, I suppose.'

'Only for the time being. I must confess, though, that, in the interests of his own safety, I wish you could have found some evidence of the identity of the corpse other than the testimony of the Reverend Hubert.'

'You don't mean he'll say it's his brother's body if it isn't, surely! You don't mean he's your lone wolf of a suspect? It's established that he's been on the Riviera for quite a little time, you know.'

'No, he is not my third suspect, but I fear for his safety, even if you give him police protection, should he put in an appearance at the inquest.'

'If we protect him, Dame Beatrice, he'll be all right, I assure you.'

'In England, yes. In Italy?'

'Oh, I see. But to whose advantage would it be to liquidate him?'

'I am still not prepared to mention names, but you can see that it might be to the advantage, perhaps, of the person or persons who killed his brother.'

'If it is his brother, as I say. The next problem is that, if Romilly Lestrange was wrong, why was he wrong?'

'Presumably because he did not know either of the brothers particularly well, and that is readily conceivable, especially if he had been introduced to both of them, we will say, at the same time, and a great number of years ago, perhaps. He has been living in Kenya until fairly recently, you know.'

'His story about the finding of the body is pretty fishy, don't you think?'

'I have an open mind about that. It is only fishy if he is the murderer, wouldn't you say? And, of course, suspicion must rest on him if, as the servants think likely-I will not put it more strongly than that, although, of course, they did-neither Hubert nor Willoughby was invited to join the house-party.'

'Could you make that a bit clearer, ma'am?'

'Yes. I mean that, if they were not invited, why should Romilly insist that they were, and make such a point of not having had a letter of explanation to account for their non-appearance? But, to return to my previous point, surely a routine enquiry will unearth somebody as capable as Mr Hubert of identifying the body?'

'I know you well enough to take as broad a hint as that, Dame Beatrice. Right! We'll scrub the Reverend Hubert and find another witness. The lawyers can do that for us, most likely.'

'I do not think you need trouble them. If it is Mr Willoughby, I have the witness you need in my own care.'

'Miss Rosamund Lestrange, you mean, ma'am? I'd sooner find a man. I don't think the corpse is something a young lady ought to be asked to identify. The doctors couldn't make it look exactly pretty, you know, after the bashing it got on those rocks. No, we'll find someone, all right. We'll track down somebody on the staff of the last hotel his grandfather stayed at. That should do the trick, I think. Mr Willoughby was Mr Felix Napoleon's secretary until the old gentleman's death, I think you said, so there will be a number of people in the Carlisle hotel who'll remember him.'

(2)

'The police don't accept Romilly's identification of the body?' said Judith. 'But why not?'

'The brothers were much alike, from what I remember of them,' said Romilly, 'and, of course, the face was in a dreadful mess. It would be easy enough to make a mistake, and, apparently, that is what I did. So Hubert is in Italy, is he? Oh, well, that settles it. Shall I still have to appear at the inquest?'

'I'm afraid so, sir,' said Kirkby. The jury will want to hear about your discovery of the body.'

'The jury? But this is a coroner's court! It isn't a court of justice!'

'In cases of violent death, sir, the coroner sits with a jury composed of seven to eleven persons. Their verdict need not be unanimous, but can be accepted provided that the minority does not number more than two persons. That is the law as it stands at present.'

'I don't care about this idea of a jury. It seems to me to smack of the criminal courts.'

'Well, those will have to come into it in due course, sir, won't they? This was not an accidental death.'

'Is that quite certain, though, Detective-Inspector? Those cliffs are very dangerous.'

'You will hear the medical evidence at the inquest, sir.'

'Well, Romilly,' said Dame Beatrice, when Kirkby had gone, 'it is as well that the mistake in identification was discovered in time, before the funeral took place. It is a grisly matter disinterring a corpse. What made you think it was Hubert?'

'I had not seen Caesar's boys except in the photographs he sent out to Kenya. I confused one with the other, that's all. Are they bringing Hubert over here to identify the body, do you know?'

'I doubt it,' said Dame Beatrice obliquely. 'There must be numbers of people who knew Willoughby.'

She was aware of Romilly's sigh of relief. She caught up with Kirkby. He was strolling towards the gates of Galliard Hall, outside which he had left the car which had brought him from Dorchester.

'Well?' he said. 'Any signs of guilt?'

'Nothing but signs of relief that he will not come face to face with Hubert at the inquest.'

'Oh, well, families being what they are, that's understandable, perhaps. It need not be a sign of guilt. Well, my next job is to find a reliable witness. The inquest is to be on Thursday, and it may have to be adjourned. It just depends upon what I can ferret out in the next couple of days, although I haven't much hope at present of anything new turning up in such a short time. You'll come along, I hope?'

'Most certainly. Where will it be held?'

'In the great hall of Galliard Hall itself. Mr Romilly has no objection to that, and it will be the most convenient place, as it is the only room in the neighbourhood, apart from a church hall, large enough for the purpose. I'll hope to see you at ten o'clock on Thursday morning, then.'

(3)

Kirkby's car was out of sight, and Dame Beatrice was about to enter her own, when a third car descended the long slope, a car which she recognised as that of her son Ferdinand. He was with his wife, and, with a wave of the hand to Dame Beatrice, he drove through the lodge gates and up to the house, presumably to carry out his assignment.

'Drive to the top of the hill, George,' said Dame Beatrice to her chauffeur, 'and find a place where we can park the car off the road. We will wait for Sir Ferdinand. I hope that he may have something interesting to tell me.'

George did as he was ordered, and they waited for the better part of an hour before Ferdinand's car came round the bend of the narrow road and pulled up on the grass verge just in front of them. Ferdinand got out. Dame Beatrice lowered the back-seat window.

'Give you lunch at Sandbanks, mother, and drop you at the Stone House afterwards,' he said, when he came up.

Dame Beatrice accepted this invitation, climbed into his car and left him to tell George to take her own car home.

'Well?' she said, when they were headed for Studland and the car ferry. 'What of Romilly?'

'Only that he isn't. There is not the very faintest resemblance. This fellow is too tall, too old and doesn't need glasses. I put my own on to look at the Raeburn, and he took a pair from its case, but put them back again and returned the case to his pocket. I received the impression that he was accustomed to produce them merely in order to demonstrate that he possessed a pair, which seems to indicate that he knows (or knew) the real Romilly.

'He doesn't know much about pictures, either. He didn't know which was the Raeburn, for one thing. To test him, I went first to another picture-you had described the position of the Raeburn and had said that it was a portrait, and it was exactly as you had told me-and began to eulogise it, and then I produced a handwritten letter of introduction cooked up, as a matter of fact, by my clerk, and asked him whether he was prepared to sell. He read it without using his glasses, and then explained that the pictures were heirlooms, so then I went over and scrutinised the Raeburn and asked him whether it was one of his ancestors. He agreed that it was. I ventured to say that it was from Reynold's best period, to which he agreed. Oh, there's no doubt about it, mother. He's an imposter all right. I wonder what's happened to the real Romilly Lestrange?'

(4)

The coroner was a solicitor and he sat with a jury of seven, two of whom were women. Kirkby had found three unbiased and reliable witnesses who, shown the body separately and being given no chance to communicate with one another until all had expressed an opinion as to the identity of the dead man, had severally asserted that it was Willoughby Lestrange. Only one of them was needed to testify in court, so Kirkby had selected the hotel manager. His evidence was clear and unchallenged. The deceased, he stated, had been a guest in his hotel in Carlisle for some years and had left it soon after the demise of Mr Felix Napoleon Lestrange, who had employed Mr Willoughby as secretary and to whom he was distantly related. They were known at the hotel as Mr Lestrange and Mr Willoughby respectively, to avoid confusion.

The manager was succeeded by Romilly, who gave evidence of the finding of the body. Judith was also called, as she had been with him at the time, and she substantiated his account. After this came the medical evidence. Doctor Gerald Randall was called.

'You are Doctor Gerald Randall?'

'That is my name.'

'When did you see the body of the man whom you now know was Mr Willoughby Lestrange?'

'I saw it, and examined it, on the afternoon of March 4th at about six-thirty.'

'What, in your opinion, was the cause of death?'

'I found that the deceased had been stabbed through the heart.'

'Were there any other marks of violence on the body?'

'Yes, but I formed the opinion that these had been inflicted after death had taken place. The head and limbs had been battered from having been in contact, I assumed, with the rocks among which, I understand, the body was found.'

'Did you form any opinion as to the length of time the man had been dead?'

'It is an opinion only, but I should say he had been dead for at least a week. I am not prepared to be more specific than that.'

'He could not have been dead for a lesser time than that?-say, three to four days?'

'To the best of my knowledge and belief, he had been dead for not less than a week, but not as long as a fortnight. The neck and face were discoloured and swollen, and the body, I was told, had been found floating. These symptoms occur when a body has been found in water in cold weather, between five and eight days after death. I am inclined to suggest the longer period, as decomposition of the trunk, with little distension, was already apparent.'

'You conducted an autopsy?'

'I did, with the assistance of my colleague, Mr Percy Mansel, the surgeon, who agrees with my findings.'

'I do not think we need call him, although I understand that he is available. Now, Doctor, I note that you do not rule out the possibility of suicide. However, that is a matter over which I need not detain you. Call Detective-Inspector Kirkby.'

Kirkby was sworn and agreed that he was the person he represented himself to be.

'Now, Detective-Inspector, I understand that you are making some enquiries as to how Mr Willoughby Lestrange met his death. You have heard the medical evidence. Have you any comment to make, as a result of your investigations?'

'No, sir, except to say that, at first, the body was wrongly identified.'

'Wrongly identified? By whom?'

'By Mr Romilly Lestrange, sir. He was mistaken in thinking that the body was that of the deceased's brother, the Reverend Hubert Lestrange.'

'Dear me! That seems to have been a strange error. Perhaps we had better recall Mr Romilly Lestrange, so, if you would stand down for a few minutes, Detective-Inspector, we will hear you again when we have heard what Mr Romilly has to say.'

'Very good, sir.'

'Call Mr Romilly Lestrange. Now, sir, remember that you are still under oath. Can you tell us why you should have thought that the deceased was the Reverend Hubert Lestrange?'

'I can't really say. I had not seen either of my nephews, except in photographs, as I had been living abroad for some years.'

'Why, though, did you suppose the dead man to be Mr Hubert, and not Mr Willoughby?'

'I was expecting them both to visit me, and I thought it more likely, when I found the body, that an absent-minded clergyman would have taken a wrong turning to my house and fallen over the cliff, than that a business-like young man, such as a secretary, would have done so.'

'Had you any reason to think that Mr Hubert was absent-minded?'

'It is a thing one connects with scholars and clergymen.'

'You thought, then, that the deceased had missed his way and fallen over the cliff?'

'Yes, it was the obvious thing to think.'

'What did you do, after you had found the body?'

'I returned to my car and drove to the nearest coast-guard station.'

'Were you present when the body was recovered?'

'Yes, I came back with assistance, and pointed out where the body was lying.'

'Did you do anything more?'

'Oh, I knew that the doctor would see to anything that was necessary. The police sent for Dr Randall at once, of course, and he had the body moved to the infirmary, where Detective-Inspector Kirkby saw it.'

'But you still did not realise that the death was not accidental, but was caused by suicide or murder?'

'No, of course I did not realise it. There was no reason, so far as I knew, for one of my nephews to commit suicide, particularly as I was still convinced that the body was that of Hubert, to whom, with his beliefs, suicide would have been a deadly sin, and one hardly thinks of one's close relatives being murdered.'

'Suicide is indeed a "deadly" sin. I think we may agree with you there. When you heard that the body had received a stab wound, what were your reactions?'

'Until much later, I had no idea in what form death had taken place, except that I concluded it was either from the fall from the cliffs or by drowning. It was a great surprise to me, and I may say a considerable shock, when I knew that Detective-Inspector Kirkby was treating the case as one of murder. He has haunted my house continually since I reported the discovery of the body, but gave me no details as to the cause of death. I had assumed, of course, that it was accidental.'

'You have heard now that death was the result of a wound caused by stabbing.'

'Yes.'

'Did you pick up a sword which you found lying in the grass on the cliffs above the part of the coast known as Dancing Ledge?'

'Yes.'

'Did you show it to the police?'

'Yes. I thought it might be dangerous if children got hold of it.'

'Did you recognise it as being your property?'

'No, it doesn't belong to me.'

'Thank you, Mr Lestrange. Call Marlene Cobb.'

This woman was Romilly's cook. The sword was handed to her.

'Do you recognise this weapon?'

'That I do.'

'You have seen it before, then?'

'Ah, at Christmas time.'

'Under what circumstances, Mrs Cobb?'

'Beg pardon?'

'Why do you relate this sword to Christmas time?'

'Because the master cut the cake with it. Very lively and many goings-on had there been atween him and Mrs Judith, so-calling herself housekeeper, and very blaspheemious he was.'

'Indeed? What do you mean by that?'

'He told me to ice the cake with the words, "The family, God bless 'em," which I done.'

'That doesn't-that is not blasphemous, is it?'

'No, but after the goings-on-something shocking they was-he cuts the cake with this 'ere knife what you're showing me, and as he does it he gives a kind of a nasty giggle and he says, "I come not to bring peace, but a sword." Wouldn't you call that blaspheemious?'

'And you are certain that this is the same sword? How can you be sure?'

'Because I be sure. That's how.'

'Well,' said the coroner, when Marlene Cobb had been dismissed, 'I will now ask the jury to retire and consider their verdict, reminding them that this is primarily an enquiry into the cause of death. It is not a criminal court.'

'Might I ask a question?' said a woman juror. 'There is a point I'd like to clear up. The defendant-I mean Mr Lestrange-identified the body as that of the Reverend Hubert. Isn't it equally likely that Mr Rose, the hotel manager, is mistaken in thinking it was Mr Willoughby? I mean, it's simply one word against another, isn't it?'

'Mr Rose is not unsupported in his assumption, madam. Two members of his staff have asserted, independently of him and of one another, that the body is that of Mr Willoughby. Moreover, Mr Romilly is prepared to agree that the mistake was his,' said Kirkby.

The verdict of the jury was unanimous and was never in doubt. As he left the court, Romilly found himself touched on the shoulder by Kirkby.

'I'm sorry, sir,' said the latter, 'but I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to come with me. There will be a formal charge, and you have the right to ask for your lawyer to be present.'

CHAPTER TWELVE

ZAPATOS-GOODY TWO-SHOES

And he that will caper with me for a thousand marks, let him lend me the money, and have at him!'

Henry IV,Part 2.

(1)

At the police station Romilly was formally charged and two days later he was brought before a magistrate who, in view of the nature of the charge, was sitting alone, and the examination was held in private, reporters and the general public being excluded.

The charge was read, and then Kirkby said:

'If it please Your Worship, the police ask that the accused may be remanded for two weeks pending further enquiries.'

'Remanded in custody, you mean?'

'In view of the nature of the charge, yes, Your Worship.'

'What reason have you for asking that the prisoner be remanded?'

'As I stated, Your Worship, the police wish to make further enquiries into this case. We hope to have further evidence available at the next hearing.'

The magistrate, who was a woman, glanced across at Romilly's solicitor, but he made no sign.

'Very well,' she said, 'but first I should wish to hear the evidence upon which the defendant has been brought here.'

The evidence, given in the usual police-court parrot-utterance, did not seem particularly impressive.

'You accuse him of murder, and of giving a false identification of the dead person, do you, Detective-Inspector?'

'Yes, Your Worship, of deliberately making a misleading statement on the second matter, with intent to defeat the ends of justice.'

'And he was the person who discovered the body?'

'Under what we believe to be suspicious circumstances, Your Worship. There seems to be good reason to suppose that the accused wanted the victim out of the way, and that is the line along which we should like to acquire more evidence. Further to that, the accused has stated, in front of witnesses, that he believes his own life to be in danger. If he is right...'

'Why should he suppose a thing like that?'

'There is a great deal of money involved, Your Worship, and there again we need to probe into the facts.'

The magistrate turned to Romilly.

'Is there anything you wish to say?' she asked. The solicitor was the one to answer her.

'Not at this stage, Your Worship, thank you. We have no objection to a remand, and we realise that, on a charge of this nature, there can be no question of bail. We reserve our defence, both now and at the next hearing.'

'Very well. I order that the accused be remanded in custody for fourteen days, after which time he will again appear before the court to make an answer to the charge of wilful murder. The court will then decide whether the police have made out a case sufficiently strong to warrant a committal to the Assizes.'

(2)

The next thing I've got to do,' said Kirkby to Dame Beatrice, 'is to rustle up something a lot stronger and more telling than anything I've got at present. We're batting on a very sticky wicket.'

'I am not batting at all,' said Dame Beatrice.

'I can't count on your help? I was hoping you'd turn Miss Rosamund inside out for me.'

'I will do that, if you like, but I must warn you that I think you're got the wrong murderer.'

'Oh, come now, Dame Beatrice! If Sir Ferdinand is right, and Romilly Lestrange is an imposter, surely the first thing he'd want to do is to eliminate the one person who could discredit him.'

'But Willoughby was not that one person. You yourself have already mentioned my son.'

'Ah, yes, I know. But my contention is that Romilly hasn't a clue that your son was acquainted with the real Romilly, whereas the latter would almost certainly have been acquainted with his brother's children. It seems to me that the answer lies in Kenya.'

'Lies dead in Kenya,' amended Dame Beatrice. 'The real Mr Romilly, I mean.'

'Murdered, you think, ma'am?'

'Not necessarily by his partner, whom I take this Mr Romilly to have been. Either he died a natural death, or he may well have been murdered by the adherents of Mau-Mau, in which case you are unlikely to be able to get at all the facts.'

'Anyway, a likely review of the situation might be as follows: the real Mr Romilly, subsidised by old Mr Felix Napoleon, his natural father, sets up in Kenya with a partner, this man who calls himself Romilly Lestrange. At some point-we don't know when and, for present purposes, it doesn't much matter-the real Mr Romilly either dies or is killed. In the early 1960's Kenya becomes independent.'

'In the December of 1963.'

'Oh, was it? Well, perhaps at that time, or maybe earlier, or maybe later, the surviving partner, this Mr Romilly, comes back to England. Well, men in a foreign country, perhaps living mostly among natives, with the nearest English neighbours miles away, no doubt get to know a fair amount about one another and about one another's business. They also get letters, we'll say, from home, perhaps regularly, perhaps once in a while. One of the letters, I don't mind betting, was to tell Romilly of his brother's death. Another, written, no doubt, by Mr Willoughby in his capacity of secretary to Mr Felix Napoleon, was to tell him that the old gentlemen, too, had died.'

'You think, then, that this pseudo-Romilly was still in Kenya in 1966? It is quite likely, in spite of the troubles there, I suppose.'

'Whether he was still there or not, ma'am, I bet he knew his partner had expectations under the old gentlemen's Will.'

'Yes, and very considerable expectations, if certain eventualities came to pass.'

'Those being?'

'That if the heiress presumptive died at any time after her twenty-fifth birthday, he, in his impersonation of Mr Romilly, inherited the fortune.'

'Didn't you also tell me that if she could be proved incapable of managing her own affairs, Mr Romilly would also benefit?'

'Yes, that, I think, is why he called me in in my professional capacity. He knew that I should find her completely capable, in spite of his own insincere insinuations to the contrary. He also...' she cackled mirthlessly... 'realised that I am incapable of murdering the girl before she reaches her twenty-fifth birthday. If she died now, you see, I myself would become the legatee. Mr Romilly-we must call him that, until we know his real name-does not want to administer the inheritance on Rosamund's behalf. He wants the money to be his entirely. For that reason, I believe that Rosamund is in no danger from him until after the 29th of May, so, although I believe he will make an attempt on her life after she passes the age of twenty-five, I do not believe he murdered Mr Willoughby. There is no evidence that he had ever seen him.'

'Oh, but, look at it this way, ma'am. He's lived and worked with the real Mr Romilly over a number of years. How many years we don't know, but if, as Sir Ferdinand suggested to you, they went out to Kenya soon after Mr Romilly left the University, it must have been a fairly considerable number. He'd surely have known of Mr Romilly's relatives, including his two nephews, Mr Hubert and Mr Willoughby. Likely enough, he'd been shown their photographs. That means he would have been in a position to recognise them, whereas they wouldn't know him from Adam.'

'All this is nothing but surmise, you know-that he would have seen their photographs, I mean.'

'Granted, ma'am, but it's a probable and workable hypothesis. Besides, he claims he had seen photographs. Well, now, his partner dies. All he has to do is to keep that fact dark, so far as relatives in England are concerned-it isn't as though there were any women to poke and pry...'

'Except Rosamund, of course.'

'Too young to be interested in an uncle I don't suppose she'd ever met. I think we can leave her out of my argument. Well, the partner comes home when he gets a letter addressed to the dead man reporting the death of old Mr Felix Napoleon, assumes Mr Romilly's identity, buries himself down at Galliard Hall, adopts the heiress and knows that all will be well so long as he can choke off Mr Hubert and Mr Willoughby, the only relatives who might possibly realise that he wasn't their uncle. He stages this house-party, so as to have plenty of suspects on the spot, entices Mr Willoughby down, murders him and makes himself, as he thinks, secure.'

'Yes,' said Dame Beatrice doubtfully, 'but we have no evidence to show that Mr Hubert and Mr Willoughby had ever met their uncle or seen a photograph of him. Men do not usually send photographs of themselves or their grown-up nephews to other men. We may assume, too, that both nephews were very young when Mr Romilly emigrated. They may not even have been born, in fact. Their father was younger than Romilly. I do not see why they should have been in any better position to expose the imposter than Rosamund was, and she, it is quite clear, has no idea that her guardian has no right whatever to claim kinship with her. He made a very bad slip when he told me he was married to her.'

'There's this fact that neither Mr Hubert nor Mr Willoughby was invited to join the house-party, ma'am.'

'Yes, but thereby hangs a tale. It seems that they were invited, but the letters did not reach them.'

'Sabotage, eh? Miss Rosamund, do you think? Well, then, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to allow me to question her.'

'I myself would like to hear what she has to say. She is staying with Laura's family in the Highlands. When could you make it convenient to accompany me there?'

'I'd much sooner talk to her down here, ma'am.'

(3)

Laura's father worked for the North of Scotland HydroElectric Board, and the family occupied a pleasant, fair-sized house at Moy, about a mile beyond the point where the River Spean emerges from Loch Laggan. Laura, who had spent only a couple of days in Scotland, and had returned with Gavin and the nurse, sent word that she would be visiting the family with the object of returning to the Stone House with Rosamund, whose stay in the Highlands had never been intended to be other than temporary. She and Dame Beatrice were met on their arrival with the news that Rosamund had vanished.

'It was as though she was getting an awful fright when I told her you were coming,' explained Laura's mother, 'and this morning, when I went up to wake her, as she wasna down to her breakfast, I found her gone, and her wee kist with her.'

'Oh, if she's taken her suitcase, she must have intended to hop it for good,' said Laura. 'I suppose you've sent the bloodhounds after her?'

'Och, she'll not have gone far,' said Mrs Menzies. 'Your father and the lads are away to Spean Bridge. That's where she'll likely make for. She could get a lift from there to Fort William, or maybe even as far as Glasgow, although I dinna care to think of a young lassie stopping a stranger, with so many droch weans about the place.'

'Yes, and from Glasgow,' said Laura, 'she'd go to Carlisle, I don't mind betting. Anyway, I wouldn't worry about her safety. She's well able to take care of herself, if you ask me.'

'An interesting side-light on her abilities,' said Dame Beatrice, 'and an opinion with which I find myself in tentative but increasing agreement.'

'Well, I vote we make for Carlisle and wait for her to turn up. She'd hardly know of anywhere to go except the hotel there, where she lived with old Felix Napoleon,' said Laura. 'She told me quite a bit about it while we were together. Oh, I'll bet she's in Carlisle all right.'

'Your idea has much to recommend it. We can safely leave the search at this end to your father and his helpers,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Aye, you can that,' agreed Mrs Menzies. 'But I dinna ken why the thought of you, Dame Beatrice, should have given the caileag a fright.'

'No, I can't either,' said Laura. 'But she isn't such a "caileag," you know. She's nearly twenty-five. I say, mother, you won't call the police in, will you, if she doesn't turn up? I mean...'

'Is it the police!' exclaimed Mrs Menzies, with as much horror as if she had been born in the west of Ireland. 'Indeed I will not, then! My Cruachan! The police! Whatever next!'

'Oh, that's all right, then. Well, we'd better stay the night here, and tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new.'

There was no very direct route to Carlisle. George, who wanted to avoid Glasgow, drove to Fort William (Laura and Dame Beatrice looking out for Rosamund the while), and then made for Stirling by way of Lochearnhead and Callander. From Stirling the road went through Airdrie and Lanark to Beattock, and thence to Lockerbie and Carlisle. The journey was one of more than two hundred miles, but they made it, with a stop for lunch at Stirling, in very good time.

Enquiry at the reception desk failed to produce any information. If Rosamund had booked in at the hotel, she had not done so under the name of Lestrange. Laura, who had undertaken the enquiries, pursued them.

'This girl lived here for some years-anyway, up to 1966-with an old gentleman named Felix Lestrange. She is his granddaughter.'

'Oh, I wouldn't know,' said the receptionist. 'I wasn't here then.'

'Can you find rooms for us for one night? Two singles?'

As she signed the register, Laura looked down the list of names and addresses, but there was none which indicated that Rosamund had made an entry in the book. She was given keys and the suitcases were taken upstairs. She saw Dame Beatrice settled, and then went out to the hotel parking yard to find George. He was seated in the car.

'Had something to eat, George?'

'Yes, thank you, madam.'

'We're staying the night. Can you fix yourself up, as usual?'

'Certainly, madam. I have bespoke a room on the off-chance already, as I guessed you wouldn't be proceeding any further today. May I ask if there's any news of the young lady, madam?'

'No, George, I'm afraid there isn't. I would have betted any money that she'd come to this hotel, but, so far, there isn't a sign of her.'

'What time will you be requiring the car in the morning, madam?'

'I'm not sure. I haven't asked. Better be ready to start off at ten, anyway. I don't know what the plans are, but I should imagine we'll go straight home from here, unless we hear something about Miss Lestrange.'

Dame Beatrice was in the hotel lounge when Laura returned.

'I have spoken to the hotel manager,' she said. 'He, of course, knows Rosamund quite well. It is certain that she is not here.'

'What do we do next?'

'I have engaged our rooms for the next two nights. It is possible, if Rosamund is reduced to asking for lifts on the road, that she is still bound for Carlisle, but has not yet arrived. Your dear mother has the name of this hotel, and will send me a telegram if Rosamund returns to Moy.'

'You think of everything,' said Laura, tongue in cheek. She was not surprised, however, when, at lunch-time on the following day, Rosamund walked into the dining-room under the solicitous escort of the head waiter and was given a corner table with her back to the rest of the room.

'Looks a bit the worse for wear,' commented Laura, regarding the drooping shoulders and the general air of limpness which Rosamund displayed. 'She'll have a nasty shock when she finds us here, I shouldn't wonder.'

They administered this shock some half-an-hour later. Outside the dining-room swing doors was a small ante-room which, in its turn, opened into the cocktail bar. In this ante-room Dame Beatrice took up her position, bidding Laura to leave her there alone. Laura sought the lounge, found a seat by the fire and a magazine, lit a cigarette and waited upon events.

She had discarded her second magazine and was looking through the pile for a third, when the two came in.

'Well, here we are,' said Dame Beatrice, smiling like a replete python. 'I have asked for coffee, and now we can have a cosy little chat.'

'Hullo, Rosamund,' said Laura, without enthusiasm. 'Where did you spring from? We left you in Scotland with my people. How come that you're here?'

'Oh, I was homesick, and I have to see my lawyers,' said the girl. She was looking strained and tired. 'Please don't pester me. I'm ill.'

'Rosamund walked from Moy to Spean Bridge, and from there obtained a lift to Inverness,' said Dame Beatrice. 'From Inverness she got a train to Edinburgh, but there her money ran out, so she has alternately walked and thumbed lifts from there.'

'I threw away my suitcase,' said Rosamund. 'I got a lift as far as Peebles, and then I began to walk, and the suitcase was just simply too heavy. At last I got to Galashiels and a lorry-driver took me the rest of the way.'

'Well, I should say you'd been pretty lucky,' said Laura.

'My feet are blistered, and I've lost my luggage, and I haven't any money,' said Rosamund. 'I don't know whether you call that being pretty lucky.'

'All's well that ends well,' said Laura, 'but I do think you might have let my people know you intended to sling your hook. They've been somewhat worried about you.'

'Yes, I know. I'm sorry about that. Your mother has been very kind to me. But I was afraid she wouldn't let me go, if I told her I wanted to leave.'

'Good heavens, of course she'd have let you go! You're a free agent, aren't you?'

'For the past year I haven't thought so.'

'Ah,' said Dame Beatrice, 'here comes the coffee. Speaking of the past year, my dear Rosamund, you will like to know what has happened to Romilly. He has been arrested and has been brought before the Bench and remanded in custody for a fortnight. After that, he will again appear in court, when it will be decided whether or not he is to be sent for trial.'

'Romilly?'

'Romilly.'

'Do they really think he killed Hubert?'

'It turns out not to be Hubert, but Willoughby.'

'Willoughby is dead?'

'Yes. His was the body which Romilly and Mrs Judith saw at Dancing Ledge. How well did you know Willoughby?'

'Pretty well, in a way. He was my grandfather's secretary, you know.'

'Yes, I did know that. Did you like him?'

'Oh, yes, I suppose so. At least, I didn't dislike him. But, of course, I didn't have a great deal to do with him. I was away at school a lot of the time between the ages of nine and eighteen, and in the summer holidays I was sent away to the seaside, and at Christmas time Willoughby was given a fortnight's leave of absence, and grandfather and I usually went to London.'

'That leaves the Easter vacations. Did you see much of him then?'

'No. Grandfather used to take me to Rome or Santiago. He was very devout.'

'Did the Reverend Hubert ever come to see his brother?'

'Not that I can remember, but I believe they kept in touch.'

'So you have never seen Hubert?'

'If ever I did, I was so young that I don't remember it. Oh, I forgot. Of course I saw him at grandfather's funeral.'

'So if you had been called upon to identify the body, you would not have made the mistake which Romilly seems to have done?'

'No, of course not. I should have known it was Willoughby. After all, it was only just over a year since I had seen him.'

'Quite so. Well, now, Laura and I are staying here for two nights. I propose that you do the same, and then we can all travel back to the Stone House together.'

'But it's three hundred and fifty miles! When Romilly kidnapped me, we stayed a night on the way.'

'Yes, we will spend a night in Birmingham. I have friends there. They are related to Laura through her husband. They will find us an hotel. Laura will telephone them forthwith.'

'Sure,' said Laura. 'I expect they will put us up in their own house, though.'

'But I don't want to go back to the Stone House. I'm not safe there,' protested Rosamund urgently. 'It's much too near Galliard Hall.'

'Well, I can hardly ask Mrs Menzies to take you in again at Moy, after you left her house without even the ceremony of a leave-taking,' Dame Beatrice pointed out in mild tones. 'You would not expect me to do that, I'm certain.'

'I shall stay in Carlisle. I like it here.'

'I thought you had spent all your money,' said Laura brusquely.

'I have only to telephone grandfather's lawyers. My allowance is already overdue.'

'Very well. You are of age and I have no jurisdiction in the matter,' said Dame Beatrice, 'so you must do as you please. You had better make sure of your standing with the management of the hotel, though, had you not, before you decide to stay? I fear they may expect to be paid before your allowance comes through.'

'Couldn't you advance me a few pounds to be going on with?'

'I could, but I do not propose to do so. If you are determined to be independent, you must not begin by living on borrowed money.'

'No, I suppose not. I see you intend to force me to come to the Stone House with you.'

'Not at all. On the other hand, I am under no obligation to support your intention of remaining here.'

'I thought you were my friends.'

'Be that as it may,' said Laura, 'it wasn't very friendly on your part to cut your stick and vanish the moment you heard that we were coming to Moy. Oh, well, I'll go and telephone Gavin's brother in Birmingham.'

She went out, humming a tune. Dame Beatrice, who still had faith in many of Freud's theories, recognised it as the Esther and Abi Ofarim number, Darling, go home. It ended, she remembered, What's that you said?-The Will's to be read... I must go weep for my poor old man. She had realised, from the beginning, that Laura, always prone to strong and uninhibited emotions, had disliked Rosamund, but this expression of cynicism was sufficiently remarkable to be worthy of notice. As soon as Laura was out of the room, Rosamund said:

'It's Laura I'm afraid of. That's why I ran away from Moy, and that's why I didn't want to go back with you to the Stone House. Do you realise that I've almost worn out my shoes walking all those miles to escape from her? That shows you how scared I am of her. I have bad dreams about her every night-dreadful dreams.'

'These remarks,' said Dame Beatrice calmly, 'are on a par with your impersonation of Ophelia, are they not? As such, they do not impress me. To quote the classic Campbell of Kilmhor, I would just counsel you to be candid. Whatever you have to fear, it can scarcely be Laura, and so long as Romilly is in custody you have nothing to fear from him, either. Why do you not tell me what is really in your mind?'

'I am quite safe from Romilly until after the end of May, so I don't mind about him any longer, but Laura hates me. I suppose it's because you take an interest in me, isn't it? I suppose she's jealous. Oh, well, I can understand it, I suppose, but it doesn't make things easier.'

'My interest in you is purely professional. Go along now, and make sure of your room for tonight, and then I should lie down and rest those blistered feet, if I were you.'

'Do you think Romilly killed Willoughby?'

'I think it is just as likely as that any other member of the family killed him, not less and not more.'

They don't hang people now, though, do they?-so, even if Romilly is convicted, he'll still be alive and I shall still be in danger.'

'I have a plan for dealing with the situation,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Go and get some rest.' She sent for the hotel manager when Rosamund had gone to her room.

'You recognised the young woman who booked in this morning?' she asked. The manager hesitated a moment before he replied. Then he said:

'Oh, yes, I recognised the young lady, madam, but I was under a misapprehension. This young lady was certainly here under Mr Felix Lestrange's protection, but she is not the young lady I thought you had in mind.'

Dame Beatrice nodded. Felix Napoleon's reputation had rested on solid evidence, she thought. His wild oats, self-sown, had produced another crop, even though, in his dotage, it must have been a thin one.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BASSE DANSE-CONFRONTATION

The prince discovered to Claudio that he loved my niece, your daughter, and meant to acknowledge it this night in a dance.'

Much Ado About Nothing.

(1)

Dame Beatrice had left Rosamund little choice, and so was not at all surprised when the girl indicated that she was ready and willing to return to the Stone House. In the car she sat in front, next to George, and the journey was uneventful. They were accommodated, that night, in the Birmingham, or, to be exact, the Solihull house belonging to Laura's husband's brother. The household consisted of the man and wife and their daughter, aged sixteen. This child went to a day school, and her homework occupied her for most of the evening. She had done well in her ordinary level examinations and was now halfway through the first of the two years she would spend in studying for her advanced work.

There was high tea at six, followed by supper at ten, and between these meals the girl went up to her room to study and Rosamund elected to rest. The others chatted, looked at a television programme and played a rubber of bridge. After supper, to which the two girls were called down, the schoolgirl, Kirstie, requested Laura to go up and say goodnight to her, for, although they saw little of one another, there was a strong bond of sympathy between aunt and niece.

At half-past eleven the bedtime nightcaps were drunk and, Rosamund having retired soon after Kirstie, the older members went to bed. Laura followed Dame Beatrice to her room.

'Kirstie seems a bit browned-off,' she observed. 'Rosamund doesn't appear to have left her much time for work this evening. She seems to have been unburdening herself to the kid. Wish I'd known. I'd have gone along and broken up the party.'

'Unburdening herself? Dear me! To what extent?'

'According to Kirstie, to some considerable extent. She has told her the whole history of the toy trumpet, the radio set, the cat, the monkey and the baby doll. Kirstie, who's a sensible, level-headed kid, as befits Gavin's niece, dismissed the revelations as a lot of boloney, but what do you think?'

'That Rosamund, lacking the stimulus of being the misunderstood and persecuted heroine, is seeking compensation.'

'I thought you liked her, and felt sorry for her.'

'I feel sorry for anybody who is under sentence of death. As for liking her, well, as you know, I like very few people, and poor Rosamund has never been among them.'

'Well, you could have fooled me. In fact, you jolly well did. I thought you disapproved of my disapproval of her.'

'I have overwhelming faith in your intuition.'

'Well, be that as it may-and there's no need to pull my leg-what do we do, if anything, about these disclosures? Kirstie, far from being sworn to secrecy, was told that it had been great fun leading us up the garden and that she could jolly well tell us so. When did you begin to rumble Rosamund?'

'First, when it was clear that she had the run of Galliard Hall. Secondly, when she refused to allow me to see her room there.'

'Well, Romilly thought it was dreadfully untidy, you told me.'

'I think the real reason was that she had plenty of ordinary clothes locked away there, as well as her fancy costumes.'

'Wouldn't Romilly and Judith have known that?'

'Judith did know it. She mentioned the matter to me. At first I think they must have believed she was playing into their hands by her eccentric behaviour in the matter of dress. Later, of course, it was borne in upon Romilly that for him to inherit the fortune outright would be infinitely preferable to administering it on Rosamund's behalf if she were found incapable of managing her own affairs. At that stage I was called in for the purpose of certifying that she was of sound mind. Rosamund, whose intelligence is not to be gainsaid, had realised that this was the plan and that, if it succeeded, her life was in danger once she attained her twenty-fifth birthday. I will now confront her with what she has told Kirstie, and see how she reacts, but I shall not do this until we are back at the Stone House.'

They left immediately after breakfast, reached Salisbury at lunch-time, visited the Cathedral, which Rosamund had not seen before, and then made uneventful progress to Ringwood and Brockenhurst, and, from there, to the village of Wandles Parva and so home.

'Did you finish giving me your reasons for thinking that Rosamund isn't the sweet, persecuted innocent she pretends to be?' asked Laura, late that night, after Rosamund had gone to bed.

'Not quite. I was unfavourably impressed by her unnecessary histrionics.'

'Oh, you mean when she took Ophelia on her. Yes, that was rather on the lines of gilding the lily, wasn't it. Anything else?'

'It is understandable that she confessed to your niece the very things which she denied when I talked to her.'

'Yes. What do you make of that?'

'That she was play-acting again. There are matters on which I should like more information. I may get it when I question her tomorrow.'

'What sort of things do you want to know?'

'Details of her life with Felix Napoleon and what was her relationship with Willoughby Lestrange.'

'You think Romilly may have killed Willoughby not only because he was in a position to expose him as an imposter, but because Willoughby would champion Rosamund and see that she came to no harm? Well, that's quite possible, I suppose, isn't it?'

'Decidedly possible, but not, I fancy, very probable. If that were the case, one would be justified in wondering why Willoughby had not come to the girl's rescue long ago, and removed her from Romilly's jurisdiction.'

'Well, I suppose it was difficult, if Romilly had made himself her guardian.'

'We have no proof that such was the case, you know. On the contrary, Rosamund appears to have gone with him willingly.'

'But we've always kept in mind the possibility that Romilly may have kidnapped her after Felix Napoleon's death.'

'Yes,' said Dame Beatrice doubtfully. 'Is it really so simple a matter to run off with an heiress without her consent? After all, it isn't as though Rosamund had been alone in a private house. She was staying-living, in fact-at an hotel. There was plenty of assistance at hand. An abduction, as such, was surely out of the question.'

'She may have been tricked into going off with Romilly, I suppose, without realising what she was letting herself in for.'

'Tomorrow I shall ask her to tell me all about it.'

'Do you want me to sit in on the interview and take notes?'

'I think it might answer my purpose better if you were not present. The antipathy between you and Rosamund is mutual, if I am any judge, and she is likely to speak more freely in your absence.'

'Just as you say. When do you want to have her to yourself?'

'Immediately after breakfast. At the conclusion of the meal I shall send you on some errand which will ensure your absence for at least a couple of hours. That should give me all the time I need.'

'But you do still think she is in danger from Romilly?'

'I am sure she is, and from that hazard I shall protect her.'

'She's an odd bod. Do you think she will tell you the truth about herself?'

'I know enough of it, I think, to be able to decide whether she is telling the truth or not.'

Laura, according to plan, was despatched to Bournemouth with a shopping list, and left the Stone House in her own little car at half-past ten. Rosamund was still at breakfast, and poured herself a last cup of coffee as Dame Beatrice came back into the pleasant morning-room after having seen Laura off.

'It's going to be a nice day, Dame Beatrice,' she said. 'Couldn't we go for a drive into the Forest?'

'I think I am a little tired of the car,' Dame Beatrice responded. 'I seem to have used it so much during the past week.'

'Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Of course, at your age, you must get worn out rather easily. I don't stop to think. Well, do you suppose George could take me on my own? I had such a dreadfully boring time in Scotland.'

'It is better, perhaps, to be bored than dead, although not much, I suppose. Would you like to return to Galliard Hall?'

'Return there? But I thought...'

'Romilly is no longer there, of course.'

'No, but Judith is.'

'Did you know Judith before Romilly took you to live there?'

'No, of course I didn't. How could I? I didn't know Romilly himself until after grandfather died.'

Dame Beatrice picked up the newspaper which was delivered from Brokenhurst each morning by a boy on a bicycle.

'Dear me! The Ides of March!' she observed, placing a thin yellow forefinger on the date at the top of the front page. Rosamund was unimpressed.

'Is it?' she said. 'Less than a month until Easter. Do you have Easter eggs?'

'No, it is not a custom I observe.'

'Why do you want me to go back to Galliard Hall?'

'I do not want you to go back to Galliard Hall. I asked whether you would like to return. I gather that you would not, neither have you chosen to remain in Scotland.'

'I don't want to stay here, either. It's Laura. I tell you I'm scared of her. I know she doesn't like me. Do you think I could go and stay with Binnie?'

'That is hardly for me to decide. It would depend on Mr Humphrey's views, would it not?'

'They're rather poor. I could pay them well.'

'Why not write to them?'

'I don't know their address.'

'I have it, but, before you put your suggestion to them, we had better find out what the legal position is.'

'The legal position? Oh, you mean consult grandfather's lawyers. Yes, I could do that, I suppose. They are the people who pay me my allowance.'

'I do not know whether that constitutes them your guardians under the terms of your grandfather's Will. Technically, of course, you are of age, but doubtless conditions will have been laid down for their guidance. That can be discussed later. As you will have guessed, I have sent Laura out on an errand, which will take her the rest of the morning to execute, so that you and I may have plenty of time for a chat.'

'What about?'

'Laura's niece told her of the conversation you had in her parents' house in Solihull.'

'Yes, I'm sorry about that. I'm afraid I interrupted her school work.'

'That is not my concern. Why did you confess to her that Romilly's story of your having thrown various articles into the sea was a true one?'

'Oh, that? I thought it might interest her.'

'It did. Where did you obtain the monkey?'

'Oh, I didn't, of course, or the cat or the baby doll.'

'How old were you when Willoughby became Felix Napoleon's secretary?'

'How old? I don't remember. I suppose I was about fifteen. We weren't living in Carlisle then. Grandfather never stayed long in one hotel. He said the staff got used to you, and the service became unsatisfactory and they thought they wouldn't get as much in tips as they did from people coming and going.'

'How old were you when Felix Napoleon adopted you?'

'I was ten when my father died.'

'Did you ever meet Hubert, Willoughby's brother?'

'Oh, yes. I told you. He conducted grandfather's funeral service and came back to the hotel to hear the Will read.'

'Did you know that he went to Italy?'

'Italy? No, I had no idea of that. To live, do you mean? But he's a clergyman.'

'He went out to take charge of an English church.'

'Oh, so that's why he didn't come to Galliard Hall.'

'I think he did not come to Galliard Hall for an equally cogent reason. I do not think he was invited.'

'Oh, but Romilly said...'

'And others said something different.'

'You don't need to believe that man Luke. He's an awful creature. Anyway, Romilly may have been telling lies about Hubert, mayn't he? I expect he knew he'd gone to Italy, so, of course, he wouldn't have invited him.'

'My information is that he did not invite Willoughby, either.'

'But how can you be sure? After all, Willoughby's body wasn't all that far from the house when Romilly and Judith found it. You know, I've been wondering about that. Do you think they knew where to look?' She gave the last three words considerable and conspiratorial emphasis.

'I think it more than likely,' said Dame Beatrice, giving her a hard look. 'That does not prove that they killed him.'

'Well, one mustn't say so, I suppose. Do you know when he'll be brought to trial?'

'Romilly? It may not come to that. He is remanded in custody and will make a second appearance before the magistrates in about a week's time.'

'I don't understand these things. I thought he was in prison for killing Willoughby, and would be brought to trial. You see, it's very important to me that Romilly should be locked up for the rest of his life. It is the only thing, except his death, which would make my own life safe.'

'Yes. Your present plan, then, is to stay with Humphrey and Binnie, if they are willing to have you, and if your grandfather's lawyers agree. Have you any plans for the more distant future, in case they do not see their way to having you as a permanent guest?'

'I expect I shall marry Tancred.'

'When I saw Tancred last, he seemed very well satisfied with his present domestic arrangements.'

'You mean he's living with a girl?'

'So it seemed to me.'

'Has she any money?'

'I did not think to ask.'

'You're being sarcastic. If she hasn't any money, I shall have an advantage over her. I like Tancred. He's kind and I think he's very clever. With my money he could write as much poetry as he wanted to, and he wouldn't have to work for a living.'

'Does he work for a living?'

'I think he's in advertising. I think he writes rhymes for soaps and cereals and things. He told me something about it the night he slept with me at Galliard Hall.'

'Tell me about the toy trumpet.'

'The toy trumpet?'

'The one which was used at the séance.'

'Oh, that! How did you know about the séance? Did Romilly tell you?'

'Yes, he mentioned it. It seems that it made him very angry.'

'How could it? It was his idea, his and Judith's, and they both were present at it.'

'And the nurse?'

'What nurse?'

'The nurse who suggested that the séance should be held.'

'There wasn't any nurse. Why should there be? There was the medium, of course, and Judith and Romilly and me. That was all.'

'I see. So Romilly and Judith suggested that the séance should be held?'

'Judith, actually. At least, I think it was her idea. She wanted to call up my grandfather.'

'Did this thought alarm you?'

'It didn't alarm me, but I didn't think it right to meddle in such matters.'

'But you attended the séance.'

'I had no choice. They made me do it. They said it wouldn't be any good without me, so I had to go.'

'What did Judith wish Felix Napoleon to tell her?'

'I don't know. The séance broke up. I broke it up. I snatched the toy trumpet out of the medium's hand and dashed out of the house and flung the trumpet and the medium's tape-recorder into the sea.'

'I thought it was a transistor radio set.'

'Oh, no, it was a tape-recorder. As soon as I saw it, I knew there was going to be trickery.'

'Indeed? What trickery did you suspect?'

'That Romilly had secretly taped some talk of grandfather's about the Will, and that I was not to have the money, but it was to be divided among Romilly, Willoughby and Hubert.'

'But a recording of such a conversation would have no significance, since Felix Napoleon had left a valid Will.'

'They wanted to prove that I had used undue influence. They intended to upset the Will, you see.'

'I think you must be mistaken. They would never have thought that such a means would be tolerated by the courts.'

'That lot would do anything for money. I think, if you'll excuse me, I'll write to Humphrey and Binnie to find out whether they will have me. You did say you had their address?'

'There is one other thing,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Who was the other young woman who lived with Felix Napoleon Lestrange?'

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'So what was the upshot?' asked Laura.

'Nothing emerged that I did not know or had not guessed. She denied all knowledge of Felix Napoleon's young paramour.'

'A bit silly of her. Maiden modesty, just plain ignorance-no, it couldn't be either of those. On her own admission she went to bed with Tancred at Galliard Hall.'

'Yes, it seems she did,' Dame Beatrice agreed.

'I should think the best plan would be to get Hubert over here, and confront Romilly with him. Then we could at least note their reactions.'

'Yes. My good opinion of Rosamund was not enhanced by our interview.'

'I didn't think your opinion of her was good. Didn't you say...'

'Yes, I did. I think I must go and see Judith.'

'She won't tell you anything to Romilly's detriment.'

'We shall have to find that out.'

'You'll look out for yourself, won't you? They seem an odd lot at Galliard Hall. Do I go with you?'

'It depends upon whether Humphrey and Binnie agree to take Rosamund unto themselves. That is the first consideration.'

'Do you really think they will?'

'I believe I can find means to see to it that they do, on the understanding, as with your parents, that it will be no more than a temporary arrangement.'

'And meanwhile?'

'Meanwhile, I find out whether Humphrey and Binnie are prepared to have Rosamund to stay with them. She herself proposes to write to them, and I have furnished her with their address. Before they receive her letter, I shall have spoken to them on the telephone.'

'What do you suppose their reaction will be?'

'I am in a position, as I say, to make it almost certain that it will be favourable.'

'Bribery?'

'Let us call it by a pleasanter name. I am about to play the part of fairy godmother.'

'It comes to the same thing.'

'A cynical observation, surely? There will be (in your phrase) no strings tied to the benevolence I propose to extend. I have already bespoken a partnership in a small but flourishing preparatory school. This I shall have considerable pleasure in presenting to them.'

'In return for services rendered? I can hardly believe it of you!'

'I am sorry that my altruistic actions should be misconstrued.'

'Well, I suppose the guardianship of Rosamund will crop up in the course of your next conversation with Romilly. Shall you go to see him?'

'We shall see. I am sorry for Humphrey and Binnie. I should like to do something for them.'

There was a sound of footsteps.

'Herself, not a picture,' said Laura, as Rosamund, in dressing-gown and slippers, entered the room.

'Here's my letter to Humphrey. 'You may care to read it,' she said. Dame Beatrice cackled harshly, took the letter and glanced it over.

'I see,' she said, 'that you mention you were once engaged to Willoughby. That would have been before your grandfather's death, of course. Did he know of the engagement?'

'No. We kept it secret, but I think Romilly found out. That's why he killed Willoughby. As for Humphrey, he hates Romilly as much as I do, so, now that Willoughby's dead, I'm going to plot and plan. If Romilly escapes the law, he's not going to escape me!'

'Oh, don't be such a nit!' said Laura.

'I mean it! I mean it! Of course, you're so stupid you wouldn't understand! It's Romilly or me, I tell you! Kill or be killed! Well, I'm not going to be the one to die!'

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DANSE CHAMPÊTRE-JOY IN THE MORNING

'Make tigers tame and huge leviathans

Forsake unsounded deeps and dance on sands.'

Two Gentlemen of Verona.

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