Dance to Your Daddy

'I suggest,' said Dame Beatrice, ignoring Rosamund's outburst, 'that you rewrite this letter, leaving out all blood-thirsty sentiments-litera scripta manet, do not forget-and address yourself not to Humphrey but to Binnie.'

'He bullies her. He'd never let her do what she wanted to.'

'I have good reason to believe that, in the present case, she would have the whip hand. She is kindly disposed towards you, is she not?'

'Oh, yes. If it were left to her, I'm sure she'd have me.'

'Then it will be left to her. Go back to your room, rewrite your letter in the morning, but, if you will take my advice, do not post it until I have spoken to Humphrey on the telephone.'

'You'll really persuade them to take me?'

'I can but try.'

'You want to be rid of me, don't you? I know why you sent me up to Scotland.'

She retired to bed.

'So say all of us,' observed Laura. 'Nothing like bed!' At ten on the following morning Dame Beatrice put through her call to Humphrey's semi-detached house. She was connected; Binnie answered.

'Dame Beatrice? It's sweet of you to call me. Humphrey is in school. Oh, you thought he would be? Oh, you want to speak to me! Would I what? I don't think I can be hearing you properly. I thought you said I was to own a share in a school. You did? Oh, goody! And you can make Humphrey the headmaster? I can't believe it! Of course I'll tell him about it. There's something else? Rosamund? Poor little Trilby? Wants to come and live with us? Why, of course! I'd love to have her, if Humphrey agrees. Could she bring the baby? I love babies. Oh, didn't you know there was a baby? You ask her. She told Tancred all about it when she slept with him, and Tancred told me. Yes, all right, then. I'll tell Humphrey, but I expect he'll think half the school ought to be his, not partly mine. Oh, no, of course I shan't let him. It will be the first time I've had any money of my own, and I shouldn't let him take it away.'

'I wonder what else the little bird told Tancred that night,' said Laura, highly amused when Binnie's remarks were passed on to her. 'I say, I do hope the Provost couple will have her. It will be a weight off our necks, won't it?'

'Until Romilly is released.'

'You think he will be?'

'I see no reason against it, unless Detective-Inspector Kirkby has procured evidence of which I know nothing.'

'And you don't think that's very likely?'

'Who can say? He is a thoroughly painstaking officer and he firmly believes that Romilly is guilty.'

'And there's nothing in Romilly's character to make it seem unlikely, so far as we know.'

'I am not convinced of that. If we stand by our theory that Romilly intends to kill Rosamund at some time after she is twenty-five years old-and he may be in no particular hurry to do that, since, to do it too soon, might bring much stronger suspicion to bear on him than if he were to wait awhile-then surely the last thing it would be safe for him to do would be to commit another murder in the interval.'

'But if Willoughby had been in a position to expose him as an imposter, he was in a pretty sticky position so long as Willoughby was alive.'

There are two other thoughts about that, you know. We have not yet proved that Willoughby would have been in a position to expose him. We may know more about that when I have introduced Hubert to him, but, on present evidence, it seems most unlikely that his nephews had ever met him.'

'I thought you were against bringing Hubert over here.'

'To identify his brother's body, yes, I was. But once we have the responsibility of Rosamund off our hands, I should like to confront Romilly with him to test my conclusions.'

'Be that as it may, what's your second point?'

'That what I took, some time ago, to be Romilly's lies appear, with regard to the most important of them, to be somewhere in sight of the truth. From Binnie's artless prattle it seems to emerge that Rosamund did have a baby.'

'But do you think Binnie is to be relied on? I mean, she's such an absolute pinhead that she could easily get her facts mixed up.'

'In the ordinary course of events, I would agree with you. My experience goes to show, however, that one of the things which even the stupidest of women does not get wrong is whether or not a baby has been born, and the identity of the woman who has borne it.'

'She only got the information very much at second hand. And Tancred may have been leading Binnie up the garden. He's quite capable of it. I mean-would Rosamund have told him such a thing about herself?'

'In vino veritas, child, and I think the same may very well apply to the bed. In lecto veritas one would say, perhaps.'

'But then, surely, if that baby is still alive...'

'Which Binnie seems to think likely, and which Romilly denies...'

'It won't help Romilly if he kills Rosamund. The baby will inherit, won't it?'

'It will be the lawyers' business to decide that, I fancy. Rosamund has only a life-interest in the estate. That being so, I should imagine that, on her death, it passes to the person named in the Will, and that is Romilly Lestrange.'

'Who, as we know, is not Romilly Lestrange.'

'Who isn't Romilly Lestrange?' demanded Rosamund, entering the room. 'Have you telephoned yet? Has Humphrey answered? Am I really going to live with him and Binnie? Oh, isn't it all exciting!'

'I am happy to have you think so,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Yes, I have telephoned, but Humphrey was out of the house. However, I think you may post your letter. Binnie will be delighted to have you. Tomorrow we will go to see her. She will have heard from you by then.'

'We hope!' muttered Laura, a confirmed critic of the post-office and its ways. 'Did anything strike you as a sort of confirmation of what you'd just been saying?' she asked, when Rosamund had gone out with her letter.

'Quite a number of things are beginning to confirm me in my opinions,' Dame Beatrice replied, 'but, in case I misinterpret your question, pray expound.'

'Well, it's obvious Rosamund hasn't a clue that Romilly is an imposter. That being so...'

'Exactly. But pray continue.'

'That being so, it seems to follow that you are right. Willoughby wouldn't have rumbled him either, so why did he have to be murdered? I mean, it seems that Willoughby couldn't have been a menace. He'd have taken this Romilly at his face value, the same as Rosamund has done.'

'Yes, I deduced as much, some little time ago.'

(2)

There was no doubt about the warmth of Binnie's welcome. Even Humphrey, enjoying his mid-week half-holiday, contrived to smile at Rosamund. Binnie, in characteristic fashion, came straight to both her points.

'Humphrey says Rosamund can stay, and what's all this about a school?'

'My dear girl, give Dame Beatrice a chance to sit down,' protested Humphrey. 'Yes,' he went on, when she had done this, 'Binnie seems to have got hold of some extraordinary idea that you've promised us a part-share in a boarding-school.'

'I find,' said Dame Beatrice mendaciously, 'that Binnie is distantly related to me through my last husband. She has inherited the blood of the Bradleys.'

Binnie squeaked excitedly. Humphrey scowled at her.

'Related to you?' he said. 'Well, I'm sure that is a great surprise to her, and-er-a pleasure, no doubt.'

'Therefore,' Dame Beatrice continued, 'I have decided, as I have many nearer relatives who will benefit under my Will, to give Binnie something from which I hope she will derive a certain amount of consolation for being left out of it. I know the owner and sleeping partner of a prosperous little preparatory school in Somerset. The headmaster is retiring at Easter. My friend would like to offer you the first refusal of the headmastership, together with a one-eighth share of the profits (which, of course, would be additional to your salary), and Binnie a three-eighths share of the profits, subject to two conditions. First, that you will take Rosamund into your care for as long as she is prepared to stay with you, and secondly that Binnie, who would also receive a salary, albeit a considerably smaller one than your own, shall act as matron, a position for which I feel she is admirably suited. While you are thinking the matter over, you may care to go down and look over the school. Could you go, perhaps, this week-end, taking Rosamund with you?'

'You'll come as well, won't you?' said Binnie, anxiously.

'I should like to do so. I can introduce you to the present headmaster, and so forth.'

'And your friend will retain only a half-interest in the school?' said Humphrey. 'Well, I confess, I hardly know what to say, except that I feel somewhat overwhelmed. A headship! I can scarcely believe it!'

'You've always wanted to be a headmaster,' said Binnie, 'and if I were a shareholder it would he nice for both of us, wouldn't it? And I'd love to be matron and look after the boys and bandage them up and see to the housekeeping and the bedding and the garden and the school fete and the refreshments on Sports Day and give the new boys' mums cups of tea and...'

'Yes, yes, my dear. We may take all that for granted. Well, Dame Beatrice, it's very kind of you. Yes, we could manage this week-end, but, really-well, as I say, I am completely overwhelmed. What's more, it seems I owe it all to Binnie.'

Binnie turned to him and impulsively hugged him. In a sedate manner he kissed the top of her head. She began to cry. He sat down and pulled her on to his knee. Dame Beatrice leered maternally at them.

'I shall breakfast at half-past six and leave at a quarter-past seven on Saturday morning,' she said to Laura, when she had returned from her visit.

'Anyway, what is all this about a school? Do you really think Humphrey will make a go of it?' Laura demanded.

'I have hopes-more, I have expectations-that he will. Besides, I have an affection for Binnie, and I think she will have an affection for the children under her care.'

'But, if Humphrey bullies the boys as much as he bullies her, I don't see much future for the school with him as headmaster.'

'I think you will find that nothing is further from Humphrey's thoughts. It is no longer in the interests of preparatory schools for the headmaster to bully the boys, or to permit them to bully one another. Humphrey bullies Binnie because he is a thwarted, frustrated man and therefore is easily irritated. Binnie is irritating because she has always had far too little to occupy her mind...'

'Such as it is!'

'Very well-such as it is-and not nearly enough money to gratify her not unreasonable requirements. She is quite a pretty woman, and it irks her that she cannot dress prettily. I think you will find that everything will work out quite well, the marriage included. Nothing fails like failure, and now Humphrey will prove that nothing succeeds like success.'

'It's your pigeon, not mine, thank goodness, but why concentrate on Humphrey and Binnie?'

'Because they can further my plans. Altruism, as such, is not a feature of my character.'

'Thank heaven for that! If there's anybody I hate and distrust, it's an indiscriminating do-gooder, and I never did seem to see you in such a fearsome role.'

'Thank you. As soon as Humphrey and Binnie have seen the school and (I hope) approved of it, I think we may place Rosamund in their charge. Then for the second hearing before the magistrates. After that, we can decide what to do for the best.'

'If the magistrates throw out the case, as you seem to think they will, it won't do for Romilly to find out where Rosamund is.'

'Part of the bargain between myself and Humphrey will deal with that question. Have no fear for Rosamund's safety. I shall have none.

'Unless she gets some notion about running away from the school, the same as she did from my people at Moy.'

'Ah, well, whom the gods intend to destroy, they first make mad. At any rate, she will be safer with Humphrey and Binnie, in a place of which Romilly has never heard, than with us here, or even with your parents in Scotland.'

'You're so certain that the magistrates are going to dismiss the case against Romilly, aren't you? And you are equally certain that Romilly and Willoughby have never met.'

'I am not certain of it, and, as I said before, I cannot be certain until Hubert and Romilly have met.'

'I should say it's a foregone conclusion they've met. Rosamund should know. If they met nowhere else, they met at old Felix Napoleon's funeral. Ask Rosamund about it again. Didn't she say that Hubert conducted the funeral service? Willoughby, as the old man's secretary, would certainly have been present, too.'

'Ah, but we cannot show that Romilly was at the funeral, you see.'

'Oh, come, now! If he hadn't been, would Rosamund have gone off with him afterwards to Galliard Hall? She must have been pretty certain of his bona fides if she was willing to do that, surely?'

'There is much in what you say. However, to a subject of more immediate importance. We went to Scotland at Detective-Inspector Kirkby's request, to bring Rosamund home. He prefers, it seems, to question her on English soil.'

'Well, I hope she tells him what he wants to know, and I hope it will be the truth. She's a slippery young customer, to put it in the most charitable light, and I don't trust her an inch.'

'You make no allowance for one who knows that her life is in danger?'

'Oh, well, if you put it like that... All the same, I feel a violent antipathy to the wench. I suppose it makes me unfair to her, but I can't shake it off. When do you expect Kirkby?'

'I have already summoned him. He must speak to Rosamund before she takes up residence with Humphrey and Binnie.'

'For their sakes, you mean.'

'I have been told that he has already been to see them. They cannot be expected to welcome a second visit from him.'

Kirkby came that same afternoon. He talked to Rosamund in the presence of Dame Beatrice. This was at the girl's own request.

'Now, Miss Lestrange, I believe you knew Mr Willoughby Lestrange quite well,' Kirkby began.

'Well, he was my grandfather's secretary, and at one time I was engaged to be married to him.'

'Were you engaged at the time of his death?'

'Oh, no. I-we broke it off.'

'Why?'

'Look, what has that to do with Willoughby's death?'

'I don't know. I am still collecting evidence. It will help me if you will answer my questions. I am groping in the dark, you see.' He smiled reassuringly.

'Oh, well,' said Rosamund, capitulating to the smile, 'I was afraid grandfather would cut me out of his Will if he found out I was engaged to be married. He didn't approve of marriage. He liked Romilly and Caesar, his natural sons, much better than he liked my father, Harvard, who was his legitimate child.'

'I see. Were you surprised that neither Mr Willoughby nor his brother Hubert was ever invited to Galliard Hall?'

'I didn't think about it. I was glad I didn't have to meet Willoughby again. It would have been embarrassing.'

'Did you know that Hubert had been given charge of the English church in an Italian Riviera town?'

'I-no, I don't think so-that is, I may have known. I can't remember whether I knew or not.'

'That's a little strange, isn't it?'

'No, I don't think so. I've been living a strange and frightening life these last months, and, as Dame Beatrice will tell you, I'm still on the edge of a volcano.'

'I know what you mean, Miss Lestrange. Don't worry. We shall protect you. Now I have only one more thing to ask you, unless anything arises out of your answer to it. Can you remember exactly who were present at your grandfather's funeral?'

'Oh, yes, of course. I didn't go-I was too much upset by his death-and Binnie wasn't there, but otherwise all the relations went-well, I took it for granted they did.'

'All the relations? Dame Beatrice, for example, and her sister-in-law, Lady Selena?'

'Oh, I see. I really meant all the relations who were at Galliard Hall. I didn't know I had any others. Grandfather never mentioned any, and I was not the sort of child to ask questions.'

'And the Reverend Hubert Lestrange conducted the service?'

'So I understand. Anyway, I suppose he came back to the hotel afterwards to hear the Will read, and have something to eat and drink.'

'How did he appear to get on with his brother? What sort of feeling was there between them?'

'I don't know. I spent most of the time in my room, crying. Grandfather's death, you see, had turned my world upside down. I didn't even listen when the Will was read. That's why I went off with Romilly. He said I had to. He said it was in the Will. Willoughby tried to interfere, and they argued, but, in the end, Willoughby gave in, and I went off with Romilly and was shut up at Galliard Hall without any proper clothes or any hope of escape. I went in fear of my life until Dame Beatrice came along and rescued me. Oh, you won't let Romilly go free, will you? Please don't let Romilly go!'

'That doesn't rest with me, miss, but, whatever happens, we'll see you come to no harm. I understand you're going to stay for a bit with Mr and Mrs Humphrey Provost.'

'Oh, yes! Won't it be fun? Binnie telephoned me. They're going to have a school of their own, and I'm going to run the drama group.'

'Very suitable,' said Laura sourly, when this remark was reported to her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

COUNTRY DANCE-PARSON'S FAREWELL

'Say to her we have measured many miles

To tread a measure with her on this grass.'

Love's Labour's Lost.

(1)

The Reverend Hubert Lestrange was met at the airport by Dame Beatrice two days after Rosamund had gone to stay with Binnie and Humphrey. His resemblance to her son Ferdinand was so striking that she had not the least difficulty in picking him out.

'It was extremely kind of you to pay my fare,' he said, when the car was on its way to the Stone House. 'I understand that the police need my help, but I can't think of anything I can do. Willoughby and I have been largely out of touch for some time. I was rather disconcerted when he entered my grandfather's service, and then when he wrote to me and told me that an unmarried girl was to bear his child, I'm afraid my bump of Christian charity was considerably diminished. I have seen the English papers, of course, and I read the report of his death, but I can tell the police nothing at all about it.'

'It is not directly with reference to your brother's death that we want to see you,' said Dame Beatrice, 'but I will introduce you to Detective-Inspector Kirkby, and he will tell you what he hopes you'll be able to do.'

Kirkby had been in consultation with Dame Beatrice before she drove to the airport, and was at the Stone House at ten on the following morning, the day before Romilly was to appear before the magistrates for the second time. He was introduced to Hubert and greeted the swarthy young cleric cheerfully.

'I don't know whether Dame Beatrice has briefed you, sir,' he said, 'but, from what she tells me, you are the one person who may be able to help us.'

'No, I have told him nothing,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I thought it best that everything should be discussed at official level.'

'Well,' Kirkby went on, 'tomorrow, if you'll be good enough, we'd be glad if you'd accompany us to court. We've got a man coming before the justices accused of murdering Mr Willoughby Lestrange who, we understand, was your brother. This man represents himself to be your uncle, Mr Romilly Lestrange, but Dame Beatrice has reason to believe that he is nothing of the sort, but is a fortune-hunting imposter.'

'Then what do you require of me?' asked Hubert.

'Why, to tell us whether Dame Beatrice is right,' replied Kirkby, with an air of surprise. That is all, sir. There is no need for anything more.'

The clergyman shook his head.

'I am afraid you have had your trouble and expense, and I my journey, for nothing,' he said. 'To the best of my knowledge, I have never seen my uncle. He went out to Kenya before I was born.'

'Family photographs,' suggested Kirkby, hopefully. Hubert shook his head again.

'I have none. I was never shown any. You yourself, Dectective-Inspector, could pass yourself off as my uncle without my being able to contradict you. I am very sorry, but there it is. I can be of no help to you at all.'

'No help to us, sir, but possibly a very great help, then, to the man we are holding in custody,' said Kirkby, disguising his disappointment. 'Just one more question. To the best of your knowledge, would your late brother be similarly placed to yourself? By that, I mean, would he also have been unable to tell us whether our man is Romilly Lestrange or someone impersonating him?'

'I cannot answer for my brother. We have seen little of one another since he became my grandfather's secretary and I entered the Church. On the other hand, I imagine that his circumstances would be similar to my own. Willoughby was younger than myself by two years. Unless he saw my uncle very recently, he would not have been in a position to recognise him. Moreover, even if Willoughby had met him (assuming that Romilly had returned to England), he would have had to take his word for it that he was our Uncle Romilly. He could not possibly have been in a position to say whether Romilly was what he claimed to be, unless he had my grandfather's word for it.'

'I do not think he had that,' said Dame Beatrice.

'That settles it, then,' said Kirkby. 'We shall have to tell the beaks we have no case. The only motive this charlatan could have for getting rid of Mr Willoughby was that the poor gentleman might have given the game away. Take away that motive, and the ground disappears from under our feet. At least, that's the way I see it.'

'The motive would still hold if Romilly thought that Willoughby could unmask him,' Dame Beatrice pointed out.

'Yes, ma'am, I agree, but how are we going to prove that he did think it? If he was (as seems pretty certain) the real Mr Romilly's partner in the coffee plantation out in Kenya, he'd know there weren't photographs sent home, I take it, and he'd know that the nephews hadn't been born when Romilly emigrated. No doubt their father sent the news, and he may have sent photographs of them when they were children, but, as the Reverend Mr Lestrange has just told us, there was no reciprocation. Anyway, it seems to me now that there was no chance whatever that Mr Willoughby could have known that his so-called uncle was an imposter. What do you say to that, ma'am?'

'Several things,' replied Dame Beatrice, 'but perhaps the time is not ripe to say them. I will go so far as to point out, however, that, although it seems more than likely that this Romilly was the real Romilly's partner out in Kenya, even that is not an established fact. Secondly, if this Romilly supposed (mistakenly, as it turns out) that Willoughby could expose him, why did he not suppose that some one or other, or possibly all, of the other young relatives would be in a similar powerful position?'

'Yes, I had thought of that, ma'am, of course, and, so far, we don't know the answer.'

'Well, I have one more question to put to you, my dear Hubert. Is it true that you officiated at your grandfather's funeral?' asked Dame Beatrice.

'I? Oh, dear me, no. I had no idea he was dead until I had a letter from Willoughby to tell me so, and to inform me that we should get our father's share of the money left him in the Will. I was, even then, in Italy, and had been there for a couple of years. My grandfather was buried long before I got Willoughby's letter.'

'Pelion on Ossa,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I understood that you had been in Italy for merely a matter of months. However, it probably makes no difference, as neither you nor your brother was invited to the house-warming at Galliard Hall.'

'Pelion on Ossa?' repeated the Reverend Hubert. 'No, I assure you! My stipend is anything but large. The money came, after probate had been granted, and I was exceedingly grateful for it.'

'That was not what I meant,' said Dame Beatrice.

'What did you mean, ma'am,' asked Kirkby, 'apart from what you said about the house-warming?'

'Only that, if I were Willoughby's murderer, I would be inclined to exclaim, "How all occasions do inform against me!" I am not Willoughby's murderer, but what was a theory of mine is now in a fair way of becoming susceptible of proof. Tell me, Mr Kirkby, why do people lie?'

'From fear, in the hope of gain, for social reasons or just because they're made that way,' said Kirkby.

(2)

'Of course,' said Dame Beatrice to Laura, that same evening, 'we get a different and a more interesting picture if we reverse our point of view.'

'About what?'

'About which party to believe. Led partly by your almost violent antipathy to our fosterling, I long ago examined matters afresh. Let us look at them together. For some little time I accepted Rosamund's story as being true in the main. What if Romilly and, particularly, Judith, are speaking the truth, and Rosamund has been lying?'

'You mean that she is Romilly's wife?'

'That is a possibility, among other things.'

'What other things?'

'Let us go back to the beginning of my acquaintance with the inmates of Galliard Hall. Almost immediately I arrived there, I was given two versions of the same thing. A bevy of relatives had been invited as members of a house-party. Judith informed me that they had been invited by Rosamund. Rosamund insisted that they were Romilly's guests.'

'Well, on that, I should be prepared to accept Rosamund's version. It doesn't seem that she was in a position to invite hordes of relatives to the house.'

'I did accept her version, and I am inclined to continue to do so, but with certain mental reservations. She may not have issued the invitations, but I think she supplied the addresses.'

'So, on point number one, she wasn't lying.'

'On the second point, however, I think she was. She claimed to possess no modern clothes. She insisted that Romilly and Judith caused her to wear nothing but fancy dress so that she could not hope to escape from Galliard Hall without attracting so much attention that she would inevitably be traced and brought back. There is evidence, however, that she had a wardrobe filled with suitable attire which, for her own purposes, she declined to wear.'

'If so, she lied, and the score is one-all, but what makes you think she did lie?'

'There is the fact that I was never allowed to see Rosamund's room.'

'That was at Romilly's suggestion, though, didn't you tell me?'

'Oh, no. It was at Rosamund's own wish. Romilly merely pleaded that the room was very untidy.'

'Well, we'll keep an open mind about the clothes, then, with the balance in favour of a lie by Rosamund, but it's all very sketchy, you know.'

'I realise that. I am not trying to blacken Rosamund's character, but nothing is lost by going over the ground in a critical spirit, and it is always interesting to see what a thing looks like from another angle. Well, then came the rather odd affair of the picture which covered the squint in my bedroom wall. It was Rosamund herself who drew my attention to it.'

'Only because she said it had not been there before you came. You thought you'd been given that particular room because the squint was there, and you deduced that anybody in the adjoining room could hear what passed between Rosamund and yourself while she was having her treatment.'

'Yes, but suppose Rosamund drew my attention to the picture because she wanted me to take it down?'

'But why should she want that?'

'I have not yet made up my mind whether that is what she wanted, but there is something about which I have misled you. When I realised that a rifle-shot, fired through the squint, would have a fair chance of killing anybody lying in my bed, and when I discovered that the bed was clamped to the floor, so that its position could not be altered, I told you that I took the precaution of changing round the bedding, so that my head was out of range of a gunshot. My feet were in no danger, since I am considerably shorter than a full-length bed. Well, the disturbance I mentioned took place in my room.'

'Good Lord! You don't mean somebody did take a pop at you?' Laura looked so horrified that Dame Beatrice cackled. 'Do you know who it was?'

'No. However, I am very much obliged to you for saving my life.'

'When did I do that?'

'Well, as I said before, but for a long and fascinating study of your swashbuckling, romantic nature, I should never have envisaged the possibilities of that squint. Enough of that. Let us proceed. I realised, of course, that if Rosamund really needed psychiatric treatment, the atmosphere in a houseful of guests was the last which I would choose. I suggested to Romilly, therefore, that I should remove Rosamund to my own house and continue the treatment there. To my astonishment he consented, making no conditions and placing no obstacles in my way. I was suspicious of his attitude, I must confess. On the other hand, it hardly coincides with Rosamund's complaint that she was never allowed to leave Galliard Hall.'

'All the same, he did his best to persuade you not to take her to Swanage that first day.'

'I have thought about that, too. His concern for my safety may have been genuine.'

'But you had George with you.'

'Romilly does not know George as well as we do. Besides, a young woman who was prepared to murder me, would have no scruples about making sure that my chauffeur did not live to tell the tale. In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. Against a determined gunman, even the most resourceful and courageous of the unarmed are at a serious disadvantage.'

'But she didn't have a gun?'

'Oh, yes, she had a gun, child, but then, you see, so had I. The difference was that hers was an old flint-lock pistol-part of her costume, she assured me-and mine was a modern automatic.'

'So, in the country of the one-eyed, the two-eyed man was king. Well, all I can say is that, for my own sake, I'm glad I didn't know about this at the time. All the same, you can't mean that it was Rosamund who shot at you through the squint? Why should she, anyway?-not that I'm sticking up for her, of course.'

'The bullet came from a .22 rifle, so I keep an open mind. However, I was not sorry when the time seemed ripe for me to leave Galliard Hall.'

'I should think not, indeed! Of course, Rosamund could have had the horse-pistol merely for show, or to protect herself against Romilly and Judith, I suppose, and an old horse-pistol isn't a rifle.'

'One does not need to exaggerate the significance, if any, of the horse-pistol, and I did not do so. The next point of interest relates to Rosamund and the child, but, so far, the evidence we have is so conflicting that perhaps this is not yet the time to consider it.'

'Do you think there was a child?'

'If there was, it might account for Rosamund's conduct as reported by Romilly.'

'Conduct which she denies.'

'And if there was a child, it might be important to find out the identity of the father.'

'You mean it might have been the illegitimate baby mentioned by the Reverend Hubert?'

'Well, Rosamund lived in the same hotel for some years as Willoughby did, and Willoughby has been murdered. I thought at first that it was because Willoughby would have been able to certify that Romilly was an imposter, but, now we can be reasonably certain that Willoughby could not have known this, the picture alters. We have realised that.'

'That's if Hubert was telling the truth. As he's a clergyman, we're inclined to believe him without further proof.'

'Therefore, if we believe Hubert, Romilly was in no danger from Willoughby. Why, then, was not Willoughby invited to Galliard Hall along with the others? That is still the question to which we must find the answer.'

'Perhaps he was, and decided not to go.'

'If so, why did Luke lie about the number of letters he posted? On the other hand, if we suppose (merely for the sake of argument) that Judith was telling the truth when she said that Rosamund, and not Romilly, sent out the invitations, then Rosamund may have had a very good reason for excluding Willoughby.'

'You mean he may have been the father of her baby, and she hadn't forgiven him for seducing her?'

'We might entertain that as one theory, I think, but there could be others.'

'Meaning there is something you've guessed, and I haven't. Oh, well, that's nothing new. Are you going to tell me what it is? You don't think it was Judith who abstracted those two letters?'

'I know nothing now which you do not know. Did anything strike you about the remark made by the manager of the Carlisle hotel?'

'About the other girl, the little friend (as the French have it) of Felix Napoleon? What an old rip he must have been!'

'Yes, about the other girl. I wonder what has happened to her? It might be interesting to find out.'

'I suppose, when Felix Napoleon died, there was nothing for her to do but to fade out. Incidentally, what about the tale Rosamund told about Hubert's officiating at the funeral?'

'I do not suppose she envisaged the possibility of our approaching Hubert to ask whether it was true.'

'Any good confronting her with him?'

'It will not be necessary.'

'Well, what do we do now?'

'That will depend upon whether the magistrates decide in favour of Romilly (we must continue to call him that, I am afraid, although he has no right to the name) or against him. So far, the police have very little evidence for a committal.'

'There's the sword.'

'His prints would be on it in any case, since he picked it up from where it was lying in the grass.'

'That's his story-that he found it lying in the grass.'

'Judith is his witness.'

'Hopelessly biased in his favour, of course.'

'The fact that he reported having seen the body lying out on Dancing Ledge will also be in his favour. I really see no reason why the justices should commit him.'

Kirkby, however, was obstinately hopeful of a conviction.

'The evidence offered by the weapon is significant, in my opinion, ma'am. I know he says he picked it up on the cliff-top, but the coastguards to whom he reported spotting the body didn't see him with it. It wasn't until I visited Galliard Hall that he produced it and told us this tale about finding it above Dancing Ledge. Says he concluded the death was due to an accidental fall on to the rocks and that the sword had no connection with it. Affected to be quite astounded when he heard that the deceased had died of a stab wound. Then, if his prints (and he, and other members of the household, certainly let us take as many as we liked and made no objection), if his prints, I was saying, had been superimposed on any others, we might be disposed to believe his version, but his prints are the only ones on the hilt of the sword. Of course the defence will be that the murderer had wiped the weapon clean before Mr Romilly handled it, but the prints, taken in conjunction with the fact that he may have reported finding the body as a means of putting up a sort of screen, seem to me quite enough to justify a committal. Besides, there's no real evidence to show that Mr Willoughby could not have exposed Mr Romilly for the imposter he is. The clergyman, Mr Hubert, no doubt spoke in good faith when he told you that neither he nor his brother had ever met the real Mr Romilly, but he could only speak out of his own knowledge, and that may not be sufficient. I think we shall find that the magistrates decide there is a case to answer. I shall be very much surprised if they don't. There's the cook's evidence that the sword belonged to Mr Romilly, although he denies it.'

'I noticed that, at the interview in which you produced the sword, you pressed Rosamund very hard. Do you suspect her of the murder?'

'No, ma'am, not to say "suspect her." It was only that, as she was accustomed to wear fancy dress, it just made me wonder whether a sword went with it.'

'Ah,' said Dame Beatrice, 'that, as Laura would say, rings a bell. The first time I met Rosamund she was in costume-that is to say, in stage armour-as Joan of Arc. She was not wearing a sword. I noticed, by the way, that at the time you entirely disregarded my remark that, sword or no sword, she certainly was in possession of an old-fashioned pistol, which she was carrying in her pocket when we went to Swanage together.'

'I didn't disregard it, ma'am. I was on a different tack, that's all. It's not as though the bullet you found came from that pistol, and I didn't want to confuse the issue, me having only a single-track mind, as Mrs Gavin would put it. Moreover, you have never made any formal complaint about that shooting. You merely told me about it in the course of conversation. Whom do you suspect of taking a pot-shot at you?'

'How can I suggest any particular person? There were nine other people in the house, apart from the servants. Of course I think it was Rosamund or Romilly. The only other likely suspect is Judith, but I doubt whether she had murderous intentions towards me. All the same, it will not do, at present, to rule out anybody. No harm was done, as it happens, so the incident has little importance.'

'You can't expect me to agree about that, ma'am. But for the precautions you took, it might have had very great importance indeed.'

(4)

The failure of Hubert Lestrange to denounce Romilly as an imposter deprived the police of their principal weapon. He had briefed an efficient Counsel, and although the prosecution pressed home the incontrovertible evidence that his fingerprints, and his only, had been found on the hilt of the sword, his statement that he had done no more than pick up the weapon and hand it over to the police was accepted by the magistrates, particularly as he also claimed that as soon as he had seen the body lying out on Dancing Ledge he had immediately reported a drowning fatality (as he thought) to the authorities.

The medical evidence, which had been given at the inquest and repeated at the first hearing before the justices, had established that the sword could have been the means by which Willoughby had been killed, but the defence produced expert witnesses who questioned this. The upshot was that the magistrates, accepting Romilly's mistaken identification of the body as an error pardonable under the circumstances, and bearing in mind the absence of motive and that there was no evidence of opportunity, refused to commit him and dismissed the case.

'We'll get him later, on a charge of fraudulent misrepresentation, and see how we go from there,' said Kirkby grimly. He waylaid the Reverend Hubert as that mild cleric was about to step into Dame Beatrice's car to spend his last day and night at the Stone House before he returned to Italy. 'Might I have another word with you, sir? How can you be certain that your brother did not know Mr Romilly Lestrange?'

'Oh, I can't be certain. I can only speak to the best of my knowledge. I don't see how poor Willoughby could have known Uncle Romilly.'

'If both were present at your grandfather's funeral, sir?'

'I suppose they could have met like that, if Uncle Romilly had attended the funeral, but Dame Beatrice tells me that she is certain he did not. Lies have been told that I conducted the funeral service-why, I do not know.'

'As the so-called liar was not present at that ceremony, it was perhaps not so much a lie as a simple mistake,' said Dame Beatrice.

'You don't believe that, do you?' asked Laura, later.

'Not any more than I believe that this Romilly and Willoughby met at the funeral,' said Dame Beatrice cheerfully. 'Romilly could not possibly have attended that funeral. He did not even know that Felix Napoleon was dead until the lawyers sent out the news to him (or, rather, as they thought, to the real Romilly) in Africa, and that would have been after probate was granted.'

'Was it by accident or design that Rosamund went to live with Humphrey and Binnie before she had a chance to meet Hubert?'

'It would make no difference whether she met him or not. I am certain she does not know him,' said Dame Beatrice.

'She knew his brother Willoughby, and a bit too well, by all accounts.'

'That is a different story, and is the one which estranged the brothers, if you remember.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CALUSHARI DANCE-EVIL SPIRITS

And though the devil lead the measure, such are to be followed.'

All's Well That Ends Well.

'Surely you're not tailing me again?' said Romilly. The silvery, romantic portrait of a fashionable lady by Sir Peter Lely gazed down upon the scene with an equanimity at odds with Romilly's flushed and apprehensive countenance, Dame Beatrice's interested leer and Kirkby's massive masculinity. 'I've been acquitted. You've nothing on me now.'

'Just a continuation of my enquiries into the death of Mr Willoughby Lestrange, sir, together with a little matter of false pretences,' said Kirkby.

'You'd better come into the library,' said Romilly. 'Does Beatrice have to be present?'

'Yes, I do,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I can bring witnesses to prove that you are not what you represent yourself to be; that you are no relation of mine; that you have assumed the identity and have inherited the effects of a man you know to be dead. What do you say to all that?'

'Witnesses? What do you mean-witnesses?'

'It was very rash of you to bring me here before you had found out that my son knew the real Romilly Lestrange, and somewhat foolish to suppose that a man of your age could pass himself off as one who was at least twenty years younger than you are. Furthermore, I have noticed that you never wear, although you appear to possess, spectacles, whereas Romilly Lestrange was almost blind. Then, again, I doubt very much whether you can tell me the name of the sitter in a single one of the portraits in this house-and there are a dozen or more-or the name of the artist, unless the portrait is signed. Romilly Lestrange was a connoisseur of paintings. Apart from all this...'

'All right,' said Romilly, 'that's enough. I'll tell you everything. I've done nothing against the law. I haven't inherited anything except the ten thousand the lawyers sent me. That's in the bank, and, if you'll drop the matter, I'll pay it all back.'

'False pretences is a serious offence, sir,' said Kirkby. 'It isn't only the money you've taken out of the estate of the late Mr Felix Napoleon Lestrange which is involved. We believe that you have also been engaged in a conspiracy to kidnap the principal beneficiary and that you held her prisoner here until Dame Beatrice came along and rescued her. If you would care to make a statement-that is, if you have any explanation to offer...'

'May I write it in my own words? I give in. I think you've got me, but I'm not as much involved as you make out. If I could tell the story in my own words I think you'll see that I haven't done anything wrong except to pass myself off as poor old Romilly when, of course, as you say, I'm not Romilly. There's no law to say I can't call myself Romilly if I want to, is there?'

'Definitely, if fraudulent representation is involved, sir.'

'But it isn't. Give me a couple of hours or so, and I'll let you have the whole works.'

'Very well. My sergeant will sit in with you.'

'Oh, I shan't attempt to make a bolt for it, or kill myself, or anything of that sort.'

'I'll just fetch my sergeant, all the same, sir, but, before we leave you to it, perhaps you would answer a question Dame Beatrice wants to put to you.'

'I wonder that you believe I shall answer it truthfully!'

'It might very well be in your own interests to do so,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Besides-if I may anticipate my question a little-as Willoughby Lestrange was killed some days before your house-party guests arrived, a truthful answer, as you will perceive, can scarcely harm you. When I thought that you might have killed Willoughby because he was in a position to expose you, I could not believe that you would have drawn attention (as you did) to the fact that he had not turned up. Then I perceived a flaw in this reasoning. Suppose that Willoughby (as I now know to be the case) was not in a position to recognise that you were an imposter? I examined the facts, and discovered that it was more than probable that you and he had never met. In that case, you would have no more to fear from him than from any other of the young people you had invited to your house. My question, therefore, is-was Willoughby invited, or was he not?'

'Look,' said Romilly, 'you've got me in a cleft stick. I'll admit that, but, simply because of that, you'll have to believe what I say. I have no idea whether Willoughby was invited or not. I certainly thought he was, and his brother, too, but (as you've just pointed out) I wasn't related to the brothers, so I had to ask Trilby for their addresses because she knew them and I didn't. She wouldn't have them at the housewarming, but on this second occasion I insisted, and I thought-'

'Let's have that statement,' said Kirkby. He went to the door and summoned the sergeant.

'On second thoughts,' said Romilly, 'if the sergeant writes shorthand I may as well dictate it. It will save a lot of my time.'

'Far better, from my point of view,' said Kirkby. 'I can chip in if I want anything enlarged upon or explained. I note you haven't asked for your lawyer to be present.'

'No need. Now you know I'm not Romilly Lestrange I've nothing to hide. Here goes, then.'

'One moment,' said Dame Beatrice. 'As you have nothing to hide, we should like to know your name.'

'Groot de Maas. I'm Cape Dutch. That's one reason why I was able to stay in Africa until 1966. I joined forces with Romilly Lestrange as soon as he first came out to Kenya. He'd bought a half-share in my estate, so we were partners. Later on came the war. It was an odd sort of time, although, of course, the colony had always netted a mixed lot of fish. You'd find English, Poles, Scandinavians and South Africans, especially in Nairobi. The South Africans were mostly farmers. Lestrange and I were partners in a coffee plantation, but we went into town for stores or when we wanted some fun.

'The colony wasn't actively involved in the war. Some of the younger Englishmen volunteered, but, by and large, things didn't alter much until the war was over. When the end came, we seemed to become a dump for high-ranking officers who saw no future for themselves in Britain, I suppose, but had the chance of a good life with us. They weren't the only immigrants. So long as they had the necessary capital to be allowed in, we got other ex-servicemen who became traders, technicians and farm managers-neither fish, flesh nor good red-herring, you might say-and the old snobberies which had always obtained, and which had developed into a sort of feudal relationship between ourselves and our native servants and workers, were gradually overwhelmed. Now, to my mind, snobbery isn't always such a bad thing. It acted in Kenya much as I imagine it does among the so-called County families in England. That's to say, it involves people in a certain code of behaviour and lays certain responsibilities on them.

'Well, those soon went by the board. These newcomers had no feeling for the country as such; they had simply come out to grab what they could. They didn't dispossess us old hands, of course, but they embittered the relations between the whites and the blacks. Most of our work-people-Lestrange's and mine-were Masai, a peaceable, pastoral people, no trouble at all, but the dominant tribe were the Kikuyu, a very different sort of animal, and a lot of the newcomers, not being the best type of white man, put their backs up more than a little, and made them fighting fit.

'The tensions weren't improved by the Indians. There were a good many of these. Some were pedlars who used to go up-country and trade with the natives, but others were moneylenders, very extortionate and bitterly hated and resented. But you probably know all this.

'Well, so far as the blacks were concerned, things went from bad to worse. They were exploited and underpaid in the towns, and they got a pretty dirty deal over land-holding. I'm not saying they were good farmers-they were not. All the same, scientific methods were improving their stock, and health measures were increasing the population, and what they wanted was more land. It hadn't been so bad for the tribes in the old days, because they were partly nomadic and could follow the pasture around. But with these new whites also needing land, the tribes became legally bound to tribal territory, and as much as a quarter of the arable land, as distinct from pasture, was in the hands of Europeans.

'Well, that was the set-up when the Kikuyu got really restive, and the result, as everybody knows, was the emergence of Mau Mau. That came about in 1950, and we were in a right mess, I can tell you. Oaths were taken, all kinds of violence broke out and neither life nor property was safe. Every sort of bestiality was practised, cattle were stolen or killed, and not only Europeans, but fellow-Africans who didn't belong to Mau Mau, were butchered.

'Our own boys, being Masai, were not involved, but that didn't keep us out of trouble. Three times the plantation was overrun, and the third time Lestrange was killed and I was very lucky to escape before the evil business began to die down. Well, after a time, the thing was brought more or less under control. However, to us who knew the country, it was easy enough to see what was going to happen. African nationalism was up on its hind-legs, and by 1960 the political initiative was with the Africans. You'll have read or heard about all this, so I needn't elaborate. It's ancient history now.

'The next thing we feared was a new Mau Mau rising. Some of us sold up and went to Southern Rhodesia or South Africa. As I told you (I think), I was one of them. I settled in Natal. I came to England in 1966 when I heard that Felix Napoleon Lestrange, Romilly's father, had died, and the rest you know.'

'Now let's have the details,' said Kirkby. 'No doubt you have given us a very interesting potted version of the history of Kenya from 1938 to 1960 or so, but we are far more interested in the history of your dealings with Romilly Lestrange and his family during that time.'

'I'm coming to all that, but you had to get the set-up clearly in your mind. I wouldn't want you to think that I was responsible for Lestrange's death. I liked him. We got on well together.'

'Be that as it may-and it's not my purpose to enquire into it at present-what gave you the idea of impersonating him after he was dead?' asked Kirkby. 'We can see you did it to benefit yourself, but how did it begin? Let's have the whole story, shall we?'

'Oh, yes, if you wish it. You seem to know how bad Romilly's sight was. Well, on one occasion, he broke one pair of glasses and had mislaid the other pair, so he asked me to read his mail for him. It was rare enough for either of us to get letters. We didn't talk about the past, either. I knew he had a brother, and the letters I read on that first occasion came from the lawyers and from Lestrange's grandfather. Both were to tell him that his brother had died.'

'Did he seem distressed?' asked Dame Beatrice.

'No. He said, "Poor old Caesar," but that was about all. Oh, he added that he supposed he was now the only one left. He told me he was illegitimate, but had always got on well with his father. The legitimate son had been killed in the war, and old Felix Napoleon had gone on to say that he was acting as guardian to this son's daughter, a charge that would devolve on Romilly later.'

'And the lawyer's letter was to confirm this, I suppose,' said Kirkby. 'All clear so far. Then what happened?'

'Nothing, until Romilly got killed. We'd been overrun, as I said, but Lestrange and I had never had anything to do with politics, and Mau Mau was basically a political movement, although its bestialities had nothing to do with the government or the majority of Africans. Lestrange had been in Nairobi for two or three days. He and his party were ambushed and slaughtered on their way home. It wasn't Lestrange himself they were after. He simply happened to be there. Almost immediately after this particular "incident"-to use the cant phrase-troops were drafted in, and Mau Mau went under cover.

'Well, when I knew what had happened, I went through Lestrange's papers and began to pack up his personal belongings with a view to sending them to his relatives. Among the letters I found an old one from his brother Caesar in which he said that "the old man" was not going to forget the two of them in his Will, and, now that Harvard was dead, he thought it might be something substantial.

'Well, I knew who Harvard was, and I was tempted. I thought things over. I knew that Caesar himself was dead by that time, so I decided not to report Romilly's death to the relatives, but to hang on and see what transpired. Once the old man himself was dead-and that was the time for the benefits to be shared out-it seemed to me that, if I chose to represent myself as Romilly Lestrange, there wouldn't, most likely, be anybody to gainsay it.

'Well, as I told you, things didn't go any too well, and I cleared out of Kenya and went to Natal. I took care, when I got there, to let the lawyers know where I was. I knew that Lestrange had never communicated with them direct, so that there was no chance they'd recognise a forged signature. You can work out the rest for yourselves.'

'We'd rather hear it from you,' said Kirkby. 'Do go on. You chose to pretend that you were Romilly Lestrange.'

'Yes, well,' said the pretender, 'I couldn't see that it would do anybody any harm, and I thought it might do me quite a lot of good, if I could pass myself off as Romilly. Then came the business of the girl Trilby-Rosamund to you-who turned out to be the heiress. By the time I heard from her I'd bought a small property in Yorkshire (with my own money, I might tell you) and had decided to stay in England and settle down. I'd given the lawyers my address at their request, and they, it seems, had passed it on.'

'Miss Lestrange wrote to you, then?'

'She did. She pointed out that, with the exception of some cousins whom she didn't know, I was her only surviving relative, and she asked whether she could come and visit me. Naturally, I was a bit flummoxed by this, but, as I thought it might look suspicious if I refused to see her, I wrote back to say that she would be welcome, and she came along.'

'Was Judith living with you at the time?' Dame Beatrice asked.

'Yes. I met her and Luke, my servant, in South Africa. We're not married, neither is she anything more than my housekeeper, no matter what you may think. I suppose Trilby has told you something different, but that is the truth. Well, Trilby came to see us, but Judith didn't like the Yorkshire house, so when Galliard Hall came on to the market for rent, not purchase, we came down here, and Trilby came along with us. That was just over a year ago.'

'For rent?' repeated Dame Beatrice. 'Did that include the furniture and the fittings?'

'Yes. Why do you ask? It included everything. The lawyers gave me excellent references, especially as Trilby was with me.'

'It would account for the pictures which the real Romilly Lestrange would have recognised, although you did not. What made the owners leave such valuable paintings in the house?'

'They are travelling abroad, and are spending time with relatives in America and Australia. I have the house on a three-year lease and everything in it is fully insured, or so the owners told me. I've never bothered to check.'

'Clear, so far,' said Kirkby. 'Please go on.'

'I don't know what more there is to tell you.'

'Oh, surely!' protested Dame Beatrice. 'The mysterious letter summoning my assistance in treating Rosamund, the mysterious shot at me through the bedroom squint, the mysterious business of the death of Willoughby, the question as to whether he and his brother were or not invited to join the house-party, the mysterious assertion that Rosamund had formed the habit of drowning things...'

'Oh, well, as to all that,' said Romilly, 'I have no explanation to offer, except that I was in a pretty desperate strait when I sent for you. Trilby had already tried twice to kill me. That girl is utterly depraved and evil.'

'Tried to kill you, sir? Why haven't we heard anything about this before?' demanded Kirkby.

'Don't be a fool!' said Romilly roughly. 'How could I bring the police in on my affairs? Now that you know all the rest about me, I can tell you about the devilish girl, but I didn't want the police poking about while I was passing myself off as Romilly Lestrange. I knew he had relatives all over the place, and I thought the less publicity my affairs had, the better it would be for me.'

'Chapter and verse might be desirable, Mr de Maas. Will you tell us about the times when Miss Rosamund tried to kill you?'

'Once when she enticed me to bathe with her and then deliberately tried to drown me...'

'Do not tell me that you were the life-sized baby doll!' said Dame Beatrice. 'It seems a wildly inaccurate description, except for the first adjective.'

'And the other time was when she fired at Dame Beatrice, thinking it was at me,' went on Romilly. Then, perceiving his error, for he remembered that Rosamund had known perfectly well that his original room had been allocated to Dame Beatrice during her stay and that Rosamund had visited her there for the so-called treatment, he amended his statement hastily. 'No, I'm getting mixed up. Not that time. At an earlier date. That's why I hung the picture in front of the aperture. It could not be dislodged from behind, from the other side of the hole, you see.'

'You indicated to me that you knew nothing about the squint,' said Dame Beatrice mildly.

'I know, I know. One had to do some quick thinking.'

'I found the bullet. It came from a .22. How would Rosamund gain possession of a sporting gun?'

'How should I know? She's as cunning as a monkey. I searched her room, of course, and found nothing, but there are several guns in the smoking-room and she had the run of the house.'

'I wonder you risked allowing her another opportunity, sir, by filling the house with a number of her relatives, any one of whom might have been suspected.'

'What could I do? Besides, the more the family got to know me as their uncle, the safer my position became, I thought. In any case, on this second occasion, I took the best precaution I could. In fact, I was determined to bring matters to a head. I intended to have an experienced, unbiased witness present.'

'Oh, really, sir? Who was that?'

'On my own responsibility, and without reference to Trilby, I invited Dame Beatrice to join us. I knew that if anybody could put a spoke in Trilby's wheel, she could. Of course, I had to find some reason for inviting her, a reason I knew she would accept, so I told her Trilby needed psychiatric treatment, which, in my opinion, she does. The wretched girl must have seen through my little ruse, and took a pot-shot at Dame Beatrice through the hole in the wall. How did you manage to escape?' he asked, breaking off his narrative to ask the question.

'By a slight re-distribution of the effects of the bedroom,' she replied, 'that is all.'

'Well,' said Romilly, turning again to Kirkby, 'what are you going to charge me with this time?'

'Nothing, sir, if you pay back to the lawyers the sum which you say that they paid to you under the terms of Mr Felix Napoleon's Will, and which you state is lying untouched at your bank. My assignment at present is to find the murderer of Mr Willoughby, not to prosecute you for false pretences. That can come later, if need be.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

COUNTRY DANCE-MAGE ON A CREE

'He at Philippi kept

His sword e'en like a dancer.'

King Henry V.

(1)

'And how much of that tale do we believe?' asked Laura, when Dame Beatrice had described the interview.

'Time will tell us that, child. There are two things to be done at present, as I see it. The first is to talk to the man Luke.'

'But I thought you indicated that he is Romilly's tool. That being so, can we believe what he says?'

'In this instance I think we may.'

'You want to find out about the letters of invitation, I suppose?'

'Yes. It is not clear to me why he should have mentioned to the two maidservants that, so far as he knew, Hubert and Willoughby had not been invited.'

'You mean he must have had some reason for actually mentioning them by name? I expect it was because they were the two who hadn't been invited on the only other occasion when there had been a family gathering at Galliard Hall. He would have realised that those were the names on envelopes which must have disappeared.'

'I agree, and that raises an interesting point which I should like to have cleared up. We have enough to do without having minor mysteries cluttering up our path.'

'Do I go with you to Galliard Hall?'

'I see no reason why not, and I shall be glad of a verbatim report of what Luke says in answer to my questions.'

'The only thing is, won't he turn rather coy at the sight of a shorthand writer with a notebook?'

'That we shall need to find out. My impression is that the man, in this particular instance, can have nothing to hide, or he would not have spoken out as he did in the presence of Amabel and Violet.'

'By the way, do you attach any importance to the fact that none of the servants heard that pot-shot which somebody took at you through the squint in your bedroom wall?'

'As George did not hear it, any more than did the others, I attach no importance whatever to the fact. The Hall is solidly built, my room was on the first floor, and the servants sleep at the top of the house and in another wing.'

'Oh, well, that's that, then. I suppose you'll have to let Romilly (I still call him that) know that you want to talk to Luke?'

'I can hardly do anything else, but I cannot think that he will raise the slightest objection. Why should he? He knows that Luke will say nothing to his disadvantage. The man, although surly, is faithful. In fact, I want to talk to Romilly himself before I tackle Luke.'

(2)

Dame Beatrice had not announced their coming, but it came as somewhat of a surprise to find Galliard Hall deserted except for a caretaker, his wife and his two daughters. The latter turned out to be Amabel and Violet, who received Dame Beatrice and Laura with acclamation and carried them off for a cup of tea in the kitchen.

They were informed that Romilly, whom the servants still referred to as Mr Lestrange, since they had not been told his real name, had left Galliard Hall and did not propose to return. As the rent had been paid in advance and the maids had been given a month's wages in lieu of notice, nobody appeared to object to his sudden departure, and he had left a forwarding address.

'Not sorry, us beant, to see the back of hem and Messus Judeth,' Amabel confided to Dame Beatrice, 'what weth the police and all. And as for that there old Luke, fair gev ee the creeps, he ded.'

As a matter of fact, it was Luke I came to see,' said Dame Beatrice, seizing upon the opening, 'but I daresay you and Violet will do just as well.'

'About they envitation letters.'

'Yes.'

'Oi dedd'n ought to have let on to Mess Corenna. Oi know that. But you know how 'tes. Mouth opens and sommat comes out as you never entended.'

Dame Beatrice, whose own beaky little mouth did not play her this disconcerting trick, responded sympathetically and then added:

'But that's all over now, and no harm done, as I told you. What exactly did Luke say about the letters? Can you remember?'

Violet and Amabel could. They had the unspoilt verbal memories of those who have never had occasion for taking written notes to aid their natural faculties. Corroborating one another without difficulty, they told the artless but highly important story.

'Luke, he blamed us, you see, for tamperen, which us surely never ded. "Oi counted they letters as they laid there on hall table," he says to we. "What have you two gals been a-playen at? Report ee to Mester, Oi well," he says, "ef they letters ant put roight back be the toim Oi goes down to the postbox to catch the post," he says.'

'What did he mean, do you suppose?'

'Oh, he went all on about et, he ded. "There be two on 'em messen," he says. "Oi counted 'em careful as Oi laid 'em down. Eight there was, and sex there es," he says. "Who's been playen the fool, then?" he says.'

'He couldn't have made a mistake in his counting, I suppose?' suggested Laura.

'Hem? He used to fenger the letters loike as ef he couldn't hardly bear not to tear 'em open and read 'em. Oh, no, he wouldn't make no mestake, not old Luke wouldn't. And the job us had to convence un, then, ee'd never believe. Good as told us we'd penched 'em to foind out whether there was postal orders ensoide, ef ever you heard the loike!'

'Do you know whether he reported to Mr Romilly that two of the letters were missing?' Dame Beatrice enquired.

'For certain sure he ded not,' said Violet. 'Hem put hesself in the wrong? Not old Luke, no fear! What he ded say to us, when Mr Romelly was belly-achen about getten no answer from two of his relations, was as how he dedden see how Mester Romelly could expect to get answers to letters that hadden never been sent.'

'Was he still of the opinion that you had impounded the missing letters?'

'Oh, no. Us swore our Bible oath, so then he says, "Then et's that wecked Messus Trelby," he says. "Woulden put nothen past her, I woulden," he says.'

'Did you agree with him, I wonder?' 1

'Could have been Messus Trelby or Messus Judeth, I suppose, or even Mester Romelly hesself, come to that, as took 'em off hall table.'

'Yes, I suppose it could,' Dame Beatrice agreed. 'Can you give me his present address?'

Amabel applied to her father, who produced the piece of paper which Romilly had left with him.

'He told us you moight be comen,' he said. 'He said as how you moight care to see Messus Trelby's room. The gals could show ee whech one et were.'

Rosamund's room was on the second floor.

'Something a bit like Bluebeard's chamber about all this,' muttered Laura, as they traversed the gallery and followed their guide up the second flight of stairs. 'Of course, anything we find in the room could have been planted there since Rosamund left, I suppose.'

'What do you expect to find?' Dame Beatrice enquired. Laura laughed.

'The .22 rifle and a selection of modern clothes, perhaps,' she said.

'By the way, Amabel,' said Dame Beatrice, as the maid halted at a door on the second-floor landing, 'did Luke realise which particular letters were missing? Did he mention that they were those addressed to the Reverend Hubert and Mr Willoughby Lestrange?'

'I coulden say. He never mentioned any special names, Dame Beatrice, mum. He just said how could Mester Romelly expect eight to come when only sex had had the envoite.'

'What has happened to the cook?'

'Her wented home. Weren't no sense in her stoppen. Nothen for her to do weth our mam here.'

'I suppose it did not occur to Luke, or to either of you, that she might have purloined the letters?'

'What for would her do a theng loike that, then?'

'I cannot imagine. Well, let us take a look at Miss Rosamund's room. This is it, I assume?'

The room was large and gloomy. It was panelled in oak from the floor to within a foot or so of the ceiling, the woodwork topped by a plaster frieze. The ceiling itself was plain, unlike the heavily-decorated ceilings of the first-floor and ground-floor rooms. The furnishings consisted of a modern three-foot bed, a bedside cabinet, an enormous wooden chest, an armchair, a dressing-table with a low stool, a bookcase and a double wardrobe.

'Be locked, I daresay,' observed Amabel, as Dame Beatrice went towards the massive piece of furniture. This proved to be so. 'Don't ee fret, then,' the maid continued. There's the twen to thes un en Mester Romelly's room. Oi'll breng ee the key.'

Romilly's key fitted, and they soon had the wardrobe open. It contained a fair selection of dresses and suits and a couple of long coats. On the shelf above these were two or three hats.

'Can you date these garments?' Dame Beatrice asked Laura.

'Not the newest fashions, obviously,' Laura replied, 'but quite wearable if you shortened the skirts a bit, I suppose. The hats-well, they didn't come out of the ark.'

'You mean that anyone appearing in these garments in public at the present day would not cause hurtful comment?'

'Oh, no, of course not. You'd easily pass in a crowd if you went out in them.'

Dame Beatrice was looking for maker's tabs. There were none, but there was blood on one of the coats.

'Amabel,' she said, 'when you and your sister first came here, the family, I believe you once told me, were not already in the house.'

'That's roight, Dame Beatrice, mum. Our vecar, he come to our cottage and told our mam as he'd had a letter to say Galliard Hall was let at last, and there was a place for two maids, and he was be-en asked ded he know of any loikely young women, so he gev us first go, knowen us respectable, loike, and be-en chrestened in church and all that.'

'Were you out of a job at the time, then?' asked Laura.

'No, but us dedden loike et where us was, and me and Voilert, us allus wanted to be together, so both of us gev notece and vecar had been sent key of the house, so us went along and cleaned up and aired out, and our mam helped and so ded our dad.'

'You and Violet were here to receive the incoming tenants, then?' asked Dame Beatrice. 'Do you remember how Miss Rosamund was dressed?'

'Oh, yes, of course Oi do.' She touched a tweed costume and indicated a coarse straw hat. 'They there was what her had on.'

'What impression did you get of her?'

'Oh, quiet loike-nothen much to say. Her brought a rare lot of luggage, though-trunks and suitcases and packen cases-took our dad and Luke all their toime to get et all up the stairs.'

'Packing-cases?'

'Ah, too and all. What the fancy dresses come en, Oi daresay.'

'I suppose they are in that large chest.' They went over to it and Laura lifted the lid, for the chest had no lock. 'Did Miss Rosamund ever refer to these?' Dame Beatrice continued, indicating the theatrical costumes which lay neatly stowed away, with Joan of Arc's mimic armour on top.

'Oh, yes, her said her loiked to take part, but her dedden suppose there'd be much chance down in these parts.'

'She didn't say whether she had been on the professional stage, I suppose?'

'No. Come to thenk of et, her covered up a lettle bet, Oi reckon. When Oi was helpen her onpack and that, her says, "Fancy dress dances, Oi mean," her says. "London an't loike this old hole," her says. "Us be gay and happy, and there be noight loife, and all of that koind of theng," her says. "You don't lev down here; you be more loike cabbages," her says. "Oi don't thenk Oi'll be able to steck et," her says.'

Dame Beatrice closed the lid of the chest.

'Was she an untidy young woman?' she asked.

'Ontoidy? Oh, no, Dame Beatrice, mum, her wasn't ontoidy. Made her own bed, put away her thengs...'

'When did you first receive the impression that she was not quite like other people?'

'Not tell her started wearen they fancy dresses. That was after her cut and run, and Mester Romelly, he had to go after her to fetch her back, loike.'

'Oh, that actually happened, did it? Do you remember when it was?'

'Shan't never forget et. Upsoide down, the house was. Et was after her and Mester Romelly had their holleren match.'

'They quarrelled, did they?'

'Oi never heard the roights and wrongs. You can't hear all that much through these here old doors and walls. All us heard was Mester Romelly shouten out. Well, next theng us knowed, Luke had to get the car out, and they brought Messus Trelby back. Her had run away, so et seems, on account her coulden get her own way. Well, nothen else come about tell the toime you knows on. Mester Romelly wroites the letters and two of 'em gets lost off hall table, and then you come, and the relations come, and sence then there haven't been a menute's peace in the place. And now they've all gone, and you've come back, and what's to do now Oi don't know!'

(3)

'Well,' said Laura, as they drove back to the Stone House, 'that wasn't particularly helpful, was it-except to confirm that Rosamund had plenty of ordinary clothes if she chose to wear them. I mean, even if Romilly had locked the wardrobe and taken the key, she could easily have busted the lock if she'd really wanted to. I notice you didn't ask any questions concerning the attempts that Romilly claims Rosamund made on his life.'

'There was no need, child. For one thing, I doubt whether the servants knew anything about them. The attempt to drown him-if there was one-came to nothing, and if, as he alleges, she had already made an attempt to shoot at him through the bedroom squint, we have evidence to show that the servants would not have heard the shot.'

'If it was Romilly who shot at you, what motive could he have had? You weren't a menace to him at that time.'

'I think now that it was Judith who shot at me. Romilly's interests were hers, and she was always suspicious of my sessions with Rosamund. I think she feared lest Rosamund might let fall something which might suggest to me that Romilly was not what he represented himself to be. She and, at that time, she and Luke alone, knew that Romilly was, in actual fact, Groot de Maas.'

'I had an idea you thought it was Rosamund who took that pot-shot at you.'

'I did think so, for a time, and, of course, it may be so. Whoever was responsible for inviting the other guests, there can be no doubt that Romilly invited me, and that without the knowledge of either Judith or Rosamund, I feel sure. Rosamund may have seen me as an enemy, but, as she had other eliminations to plan, I hardly think, now that I have a more complete understanding of events than I had when I first went to Galliard Hall, that she would have risked killing me. To have done so might have put an end, not only to me, but to her more important schemes.'

'Well, what's the next move?'

'Since we now know that neither Willoughby nor his brother Hubert could have offered any threat to Romilly, the question still before us is the reason for Willoughby's death. I think our next assignment must be another interview with the manager of the Carlisle hotel, who, you will remember, not only gave evidence in court, but who made a most illuminating and helpful remark.'

'About old Felix Napoleon's little friend, you mean? Yes, we agreed we'd have to find her before we could tie up all the loose ends. When do we go?'

'Immediately. We must act before Rosamund leaves the care of Humphrey and Binnie.'

'You think she'll slip her collar and make off?'

'She still intends to kill Romilly Lestrange.'

'But now it's proved he isn't Romilly Lestrange, she's got nothing to fear from him. Why don't you tell her? He can't possibly inherit under Felix Napoleon's will, so there's no sense in either of them killing the other one, is there?'

'What you say is true, and very much to the point. Nevertheless, I have a fancy to go to Carlisle while Humphrey's zeal in keeping a sharp eye on Rosamund is still at boiling point. There will be plenty of time to talk to Rosamund when we come south again next week.'

(4)

'I particularly want you to accompany us,' said Dame Beatrice to Kirkby. 'To obtain the information which we must have if you are to make out a case against the murderer of Willoughby Lestrange, an official approach is indicated.'

'Just as you say, ma'am. Certainly, from what we've heard, there is no longer any occasion to suspect Mr de Maas of murder, and, now that he's paid back the legacy in full to the lawyers, there's not much point in charging him with false pretences. Merely to assume someone else's name, so long as he didn't benefit fraudulently, isn't such an offence as any magistrate would look at twice.'

'I hope, too-in fact, I confidently expect-that our visit to Carlisle will end in a peaceful settlement all round and put an end to all murderous plots and family disagreements.'

'You wouldn't care to confide in me, ma'am?'

'I think we should manoeuvre without prejudice. You will be fully enlightened, I trust, when we have spoken with the manager of the hotel.'

The manager remembered Dame Beatrice and Laura. Kirkby produced his credentials and asked for the privilege of a few words in private. The manager's apartment was on the first floor, to which he preceded them and, after offering them chairs, he closed the door and went over to the sideboard for drinks.

'I hope nothing wrong with the hotel,' he said, offering beer to Kirkby, sherry to Dame Beatrice and whisky to Laura.

'Nothing at all,' said Kirkby cheerfully, looking at the froth on his beer with a connoisseur's eye. 'Far from it, so far as I know. Actually, I'm here with what you might call a watching brief. I've come at Dame Beatrice's invitation. She wants to ask you some questions about a gentleman who was resident here up to the day of his death.'

'Mr Felix Lestrange, I take it,' said the manager. 'A lively old gentleman, if I may say so, but a generous guest. Lived here for years and became a law unto himself, as they will, you know, old people, especially when they're financially independent and in a position to pay for their fancies.'

'And Felix Napoleon's fancies lay in the direction of young women, I believe,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Oh, well,' said the manager, returning to his chair with a glass which contained a finger of whisky and a great deal of soda-water, 'I never believed the story that one was his granddaughter, and the other his great-niece, you know. Still, they all had separate rooms and I've no doubt he squared the chambermaids when necessary, and I will say that all three of them were very discreet. It was the secretary, who also claimed to be some sort of a nephew to the old gentleman, who was the cause of the upset, I imagine.'

'A granddaughter and a great-niece?' said Dame Beatrice. 'Yes, you appeared to mention two girls when we were here before. The trouble is, you see, that there is some confusion about the terms of the late Felix Napoleon's will. I am here to try to establish which of the two girls my late cousin intended should be his heiress, and which was to remain without benefit. I am hoping that you can help me.'

'Then why the detective-inspector?' asked the manager.

'I'm investigating a case of murder which may tie up in some way with Dame Beatrice's enquiry,' Kirkby replied. 'Oh, nothing whatever to do with you. This happened in Dorset, so it could hardly be further away from your hotel. Don't give it a thought.'

'I wish you to describe these girls,' said Dame Beatrice, 'and then to tell us what you meant by your reference to Willoughby Lestrange, the secretary.'

'Oh, if that's all-that's the young man who was murdered in mistake for his brother, or some such, isn't it? The head waiter drew my attention to a piece in the paper about it, but I can't say I took much notice. The two girls? Well, the one he brought with him-she was not much more than a child at the time-this would have been some years ago, of course- was a slightly-built, dark-haired, dark-eyed young thing, quite pretty and very shy. The two of them, she and Mr Lestrange, lived on terms of close relationship, and the girl, of course, was at boarding-school. It was during term-time that the old gentleman entertained his other ladies. As I said, he was very discreet. There was never any open scandal, and, until the granddaughter blotted her copybook with the secretary, there had never been any other ladies of her grandfather's fancy about the hotel when she came home for the holidays. Of course, the business with the secretary came long after she had left school.

'Well, she left school when she was, I should guess, seventeen or eighteen years of age, by which time Mr Lestrange had been resident here for some years. Then he took her travelling abroad for the best part of a couple of years and, when they came back, the party numbered four-the old gentleman, as lively and genial as ever, the secretary, the dark young lady, whose name was Rosamund, and a fair young lady of about the same age, who didn't sign the book because the old gentleman signed for the whole party, so we never found out who she was, except that he claimed she was his great-niece.'

'But you heard her name?' suggested Dame Beatrice.

'The old gentleman called her Trilby, but I think that was by way of being a joke between them, because the granddaughter and the secretary both called her Dora. Well, it was pretty clear that Mr Lestrange had picked her up somewhere on his travels. Mind you, she was a lady, if you understand me. She wasn't gutter-trash. She was polite and very correct in public, but there were rumours among the staff that I had to deal with pretty drastically, because the old gentleman, what with his regular payments, his drinks and his cigars, was a valuable guest and the last thing I wanted was to lose him.

'Well, there was no open scandal-never was, so far as the old gentleman was concerned-until it became pretty clear that there was something very wrong with the granddaughter. To begin with, the old gentleman neglected her in favour of the other girl, and she was thrown far too much into the society of the secretary. The parties would all go out together, but, after a time, they did not come home together. It was always Miss Rosamund with the secretary, whose name was Mr Willoughby Lestrange, and Miss Dora with the old gentleman. The secretary and Miss Rosamund were always back well before the other two, and reckoned to go up to the old gentleman's suite, but rumours began to circulate that they really went into the secretary's bedroom, because the desk had orders to put a call through to Number Thirty-six as soon as Mr Felix and Miss Dora arrived at the front door.

The next thing we knew was that there had been a terrible row and that Miss Rosamund had been sent packing. Miss Dora and Mr Willoughby stayed on, although Mr Willoughby looked pretty hang-dog for the next few weeks. However, a letter came for him one day with an Italian stamp on it, and that seemed to cheer him up no end.

'Well, as you know, in 1966 the old gentleman died. The funeral took place from here, and, when it was over, Mr Willoughby left, but Miss Dora stayed on until after probate was granted. What expectations she had I don't know, but she was in high feather until a gentleman turned up here, signing in as Mr Romilly Lestrange. He said he'd heard of the old gentleman's death, had been sent a copy of the Will, and had flown over from South Africa to see whether he could be of any help to his niece. The upshot was that he and Miss Dora went off together, and that's as much as I know.'

'You never believed that Dora was his niece, I suppose?' suggested Dame Beatrice.

'I was pretty certain she wasn't, but what was I to do? The new gentleman's name was Lestrange, and Mr Felix had always claimed that Miss Dora was his great-niece, so it wasn't up to me to say anything. None of it affected the good name of the hotel, and it was none of my business, anyway.'

'You never discovered what had become of Rosamund, of course?'

The manager shrugged.

'It was none of my business,' he repeated.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HORNPIPE-THE BOAT COMES HOME

Tell him there is measure in everything, and so dance out the answer.'

Much Ado About Nothing.

(1)

'But how did you tumble to it, ma'am?' asked Kirkby, when they were on their way home, having dined and spent the night at the hotel. 'It's very rich, I must say-almost Gilbertian, in fact-both Mr Romilly and Miss Lestrange being impostors and each taking the other for the genuine article. What put you on the trail?'

'Laura's unaccountable dislike of Rosamund, whom, I suppose, we had better call Dora or Trilby, the girl's own posing and play-acting, and, above all, the murder of Willoughby.'

'You mean she murdered him?'

'Well, someone did, and, so far as we know, she was the only person with a motive.'

'I see that now, ma'am, but you seem to have seen it all along.'

'By no means. It did not dawn on me until it was clear that Mr de Maas could not be Romilly Lestrange. When, however, I realised that not one of my younger relatives was able to expose him for the impostor that he was, I began to wonder why, on the two occasions on which he held a house-party, the same two young men were not invited. Hubert, of course, on both occasions, must have been abroad, but that did not apply to Willoughby.

'At the house-warming I understand that Dora made an issue of it, and insisted that neither brother was to be invited. The maid Amabel told me that there had been a quarrel and that the girl had tried to run away. On the second occasion Romilly seems to have put his foot down, obtained their addresses from her, and added them to his list of guests. He wanted to be sure that all the younger members regarded him as their uncle. As, of course, Willoughby would have been in a position to expose Dora as soon as he saw her, she abstracted the two letters from the pile before Luke took them down to the post-box, not realising that he had already counted the envelopes and read their superscriptions.

'Well, with Dora it was in for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. She wrote her own letter to Willoughby, and arranged to meet him. What she said in it we shall probably never know for certain (although I can guess) but, whatever it was, it was sufficiently threatening or persuasive to bring him to this part of the world. Realising that so long as he was alive her impersonation of Rosamund was a source of danger to herself, she met him, treacherously stabbed him to death and rolled the body down the cliff at or near Dancing Ledge.'

'We'll have a job proving it, ma'am.'

'I know, but I found bloodstains on her coat, and she would have known of the sword which was found. It had been used to cut the cake. I accept the cook's evidence as to that. She purloined it...'

'How did she manage to stab him with it, though? He was a tall young fellow and she's only a slip of a thing.'

'I think she stood at the foot of the steepest and most tricky part of the descent-you will know the bit I mean-called to him, and then, as he came bounding and sliding, in the usual careless, young-man sort of fashion, down the sharp and awkward slope, she picked up the sword from where she had hidden it in the grass, and spitted him on it,' said Laura. 'That's what I should have done.'

'Taking a big chance, Mrs Gavin,' said Kirkby critically. 'Suppose it had only grazed him, or bounced off a rib or something?'

'Well, the plain fact is that it didn't,' said Laura. 'Then, I suppose, she put her foot on the corpse-he'd have fallen backwards, most likely, if that's the way it was done, because of the force with which he was careering downhill-pulled out the sword, wiped it clean, got the corpse to the edge of the cliff and tumbled it over, leaving the sword in the grass, where Romilly (de Maas) found it.'

'Yes,' said Kirkby doubtfully, 'but we spoke to the people at the farm and they had seen nobody.'

'The chances are that there was nobody to see, because you can reach Dancing Ledge without going through the farmyard at all, so long as you don't mind a long cast round. You can reach the coast by various tracks over those hills,' argued Laura. Kirkby turned to Dame Beatrice.

'What I'd really like to know, ma'am, is what took Mr de Maas and Miss Judith there, the day they found the sword,' he said.

'Maybe nothing but chance, you know,' said Dame Beatrice. 'And, in spite of Laura's dramatic reconstruction of the event, I doubt very much whether it was the sword which killed Willoughby. I think he would have seen a thing that size in time to avoid it. I think Dora left it there as a blind, knowing perfectly well that if it was traced to anybody it would be traced to de Maas, as, of course, it was. Besides, although I greatly admire Laura's spirited picture of Willoughby galloping down the hill and spitting himself on the sword, I cannot help realising that, from the spot Laura means, to get to the edge of the cliff would involve a considerable effort if one were burdened with the corpse of a man considerably taller and heavier than oneself.'

'What is your theory, then, ma'am? I see the difficulty of accepting Mrs Gavin's reconstruction. What is yours?'

'Oh, I feel certain that they met on the cliff-top itself. No other theory is half as likely.'

'But what argument could she have used to persuade him to meet her there? It's a wild and desolate spot in mid-February.'

'He may not have known that until he got there. I think she probably wrote him to the effect that she was in durance vile and in fear of her life, and that old Felix Napoleon had given her a considerable sum of money before he died instead of mentioning her in his will. I think she may have told him that she was willing to share her gains with him in return for his help in getting free from Romilly, as she would have called him. She does not know, even now, that he is Groot de Maas.'

'Do you think that, when she wrote, she claimed to be Rosamund?' asked Laura.

'No, because I have an idea that she thought Willoughby knew quite well where Rosamund had gone when her grandfather turned her adrift, and that it was not to Galliard Hall. Of course, Dora could not meet Willoughby there, where she was masquerading successfully as Rosamund, but it was safe enough to assume her own identity at an assignation during which she knew she was going to kill him. As she saw it, so long as he was alive, he was a threat to her safety.'

'If he wasn't killed with that sword, Dame Beatrice, we shall have to find the weapon she used. Have you any theories about it?'

'Only that it was something short and handy. A fairly broad-bladed kitchen knife is the likeliest thing, unless she could get hold of a dagger. She denied ever having had a weapon as part of a fancy dress, but that assertion may well be disregarded, I think. I know that an eighteenth-century horse-pistol was in her possession, and we both know that there was at least one sword in the house. I think we may venture to say that you will trace the weapon in time, unless she flung it far out to sea, as well she may have done.'

'I can see why she decided to kill Willoughby,' said Laura. 'She was safe only so long as he never came to Galliard Hall. But she need not have given de Maas Willoughby's address. How did she know it, anyway?'

'I'll ask her,' said Kirkby. 'It's clear they must have kept in touch after the old gentleman's death.'

'She probably got it from the lawyers,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Willoughby is almost certain to have kept in touch with them in the hope that Felix Napoleon had left him some money.'

'Could he expect that, when he had caused so much trouble for his cousin, the real Rosamund?' asked Laura.

'Well, Felix Napoleon kept him on as his secretary after he had turned the girl out.'

'Yes, but that seems so unaccountable.'

'Not if you allow for Felix Napoleon's mentality. A pregnant unmarried granddaughter was one thing-a problem and an acute embarrassment, no doubt. A young man on whom he had grown to depend and who had done no more than take a leaf out of his own book, was quite another. However, we shall know more about all this when I have made contact again with the Reverend Hubert.'

'If Felix Napoleon had turned the real Rosamund adrift, you'd think he would have cut her out of his Will,' said Laura.

'May have meant to do it, but never got around to it,' said Kirkby. 'People do tend to put things off.'

'It is another point to which Hubert may be able to furnish an answer,' said Dame Beatrice. 'However, we have at least made sure that the scoundrelly de Maas will not carry out his former plan of murdering Dora after the twenty-ninth of May.'

'You'd better put her wise,' said Laura. 'So far, as you say, she hasn't a clue that de Maas isn't Romilly.'

'I'll be the one to let her know, ma'am,' said Kirkby. 'In view of what Dame Beatrice has told me, I have some awkward questions to put to that young lady.'

At this moment the telephone rang. Laura answered it, and came back almost at once.

'She's hopped it,' she said. 'That call was from Binnie. She wanted to say a lot more, but I cut her off. Dora's bed hadn't been slept in last night, and there's no sign of her or any message left. Binnie is naturally somewhat agitated.'

'I'll get along there at once, if you'll give me the address, ma'am,' said Kirkby. 'I don't want her to slip through my fingers, although I'm bound to say that the evidence I've got against her so far isn't going to get her convicted of murder.'

'There's blood on that coat,' said Laura.

'Meanwhile, I shall get on the track of the missing heiress,' said Dame Beatrice. 'She probably does not realise her good fortune. But first for Mr Hubert.'

(2)

The Riviera town just inside the Italian border was sheltered on the north by hills and even at the end of March was pleasantly warm. There was no difficulty in finding the English church, and the near-by vicarage proved to be a small, white villa set in a garden which overlooked the sea.

The door was opened by a smiling Italian maid to whom Dame Beatrice presented her card. They were invited to wait while the girl conveyed the card to her mistress. They were not kept more than a couple of minutes before the maid reappeared and ushered Dame Beatrice and Laura into a spacious room which seemed to combine the properties of drawing-room and study, for, in addition to deep armchairs, ornaments and vases of spring flowers, there was a roll-top desk in the window and shelves of books against the wall.

A tall, dark-haired girl almost ran to meet them, holding out both hands.

'Hubert got your letter,' she said. 'He's told me all about you. I am so glad to see you. Have you anywhere to stay? If not, I can find you beds.'

Thank you, but we are off again almost at once, my dear Rosamund,' said Dame Beatrice. 'We are putting up at the Splendide for a day or two, but my work does not permit me to make a longer stay.'

'Well, do sit down, and I'll get Lucia to bring us some tea. We keep English customs here. I'll go and wake Hubert. I make him take a siesta. He works very hard, and needs the rest. I won't wake the baby, but after tea I'll take you up to have a peep at him. I'm going to have another one in October-Hubert's baby this time.'

(3)

'So you guessed all the time that Hubert had married Rosamund,' said Laura, as they made their way back to their hotel. 'He didn't tell you so, when he came over to England, did he?'

'No, he did not. I think he believes in doing good by stealth, and probably would be among the first to blush when he found it fame. Having learned of his brother's importunity and Rosamund's plight, he felt he must come to her rescue.'

'And Rosamund, armed with her birth certificate and other proofs of identity is coming back with us to England to see the lawyers and claim her rights.'

'Together with Hubert and the baby, yes. She will want to have him with her, and, of course, he may be needed as a witness.'

'But if he married Rosamund after Felix Napoleon turned her out, why didn't you get him to denounce Dora? She was in as much danger from him as from Willoughby, wasn't she? After all, who would know better than Hubert that she was an impostor?'

'Yes, but I was not sure of that at the time. Besides, I should have been unwilling to expose him to danger, and Dora is an extremely dangerous person.'

'Wonder where she is? Did you expect her to leave Humphrey's house?'

'Well, certainly not quite so soon. Romilly must have got in touch with her and told her that I had unmasked him, so that she had no need to fear him any longer. I wonder where she has gone?'

'Oh, Kirkby will find her and charge her, I suppose.'

'With the murder of Willoughby, you mean?'

'Well, I know he needs more evidence than he has at present, but it can only be a question of time before he collects it. There are the bloodstains, and now we know she had proper clothes to wear, she could have slipped out of the house at any time.'

'I am not at all sanguine as to the outcome of his enquiries. As you know, proof of motive is not nearly as important in a criminal court as proof of means and opportunity.'

'Well, as I say, those won't be difficult to establish, surely? To go on to another point, why was Willoughby against marrying Rosamund himself? Why leave his brother to hold the baby? After all, it was his child. He wrote to Hubert to confess that he was the father. That's what estranged the two brothers.'

'I should not be at all surprised to find that Willoughby was already secretly married.'

'To Dora?'

'Yes. It would explain, better than anything else I can think of, why he was willing to meet her at such an out-of-the-way spot as Dancing Ledge.'

'I don't suppose we can ever prove that they were married, though. He could have used a false name.'

'I see no need to prove it. I am concerned only to see that Rosamund gets her rights. I confess, though, that I should like to know where Dora is.'

'Do you want her to get a life-sentence, then? Personally, I should think that a rotter like Willoughby, married to one girl and getting another one into trouble, is better out of the way.'

'The law would hardly agree with you.'

'Willoughby seems to have been his great-uncle all over again. How much of a villain was old Felix Napoleon, do you suppose?'

'We have only my sister-in-law's word for it that he was a villain at all.'

'I think it was terrible to turn Rosamund away at a time when she needed all the help she could get. Apart from that, though, didn't you tell me that he was lucky to escape a charge of fraudulent conversion or something?'

'Ah, yes, of course. And Ferdinand connived at this piece of immorality by showing him a loophole in the law.'

'You said just now that you hadn't expected Dora to run away from Humphrey and Binnie quite so soon. You did expect she would leave them, then?'

'Oh, yes, I knew she would, once she had received my letter.'

'What letter?'

'I wrote to her just before we left England to inform her that on the day she received my letter we should be on the boat-train for the Continent to pay a visit to Hubert and his wife.'

'You think she knew that Hubert had married Rosamund? I thought you said...'

'Oh, my letter to Dora was a shot in the dark-or, let us say, in the half-light-but there does not seem any doubt that it found its mark.'

(4)

The last word, in a sense, was with de Maas. Some months later Hamish was at home for the school summer holiday. Kirkby had not found Dora, neither had he uncovered any real evidence against her except bloodstains whose origin he could not check. When the post came one morning, Hamish, accompanied by his Irish wolfhound and his Yorkshire terrier, picked up his baby sister and went dashing out of the room to collect the letters from Celestine. He came bounding into the breakfast room, the baby gurgling, the terrier barking, the dignified wolfhound at his heels, put down his sister, took the letters from between his teeth and handed them over to Laura, whose job it was to sort them.

'Hullo,' she said, 'there's one from the Argentine.'

'Yes, for Mrs Dame. I saw there was. Please may I have the stamp?' asked Hamish. The letter was from the erstwhile Romilly. It read: If you can't murder 'em, marry 'em. Love from Groot and Dora de Maas, Judith and Luke.

'Well!' said Laura. 'Back to Square One with a vengeance! How on earth did he get her to marry him? She was always scared stiff of him, I thought.'

'Like most actresses, she is a realist,' said Dame Beatrice. 'There was no need any longer for her to fear de Maas, and she was penniless, with all her plans gone awry. Besides, she knew that Kirkby would be on her track. It is notoriously difficult to extradite criminals from South America, and contrary to legal practice to obtain evidence from a husband against his wife.'

'I see another of your letters is postmarked Duncastle,' said Laura. 'Is it from...'

'Yes.' Dame Beatrice opened it. 'It is from Binnie. The school is flourishing, Humphrey is nice to her, and they are expecting their first baby in December.'

'I suppose you're asked to be godmother.'

'Well,' said Dame Beatrice, 'practice makes perfect, they say, and by now I have lost count of the number of my god-children.'

'In The Merchant of Venice,' said Hamish, 'Gratiano wished Shylock's godfathers were jurymen.

'"Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more,

'"To bring thee to the gallows, not the font."

'Mamma, are you glad or sorry they've done away with hanging people?'

'It depends on the people,' replied Laura. 'In this particular case, the question doesn't appear to arise, I'm pleased to say.'

End