Ladies’ Bane

CHAPTER 38

Mrs. Robinson opened the door of her ground floor flat and beamed at Ione. She was one of those large shapeless women who must have been quite ravishingly pretty at seventeen before the apple-blossom colour had deepened to a universal flush and spread with all that spreading fat. She had on a short-sleeved overall, and the skin on the inside of the arm above the elbow was still as white as milk. And her eyes as blue as a baby’s. Straw-coloured hair in a kind of demented haycock completed the picture.

“Miss Muir?” she said in a slow, pleasant voice. “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. And a good thing you sent that wire, or I’d have been out as sure as anything. And you needn’t to bother about the key, because the other lady has just gone up with it.”

“The other lady?”

Mrs. Robinson nodded.

“Miss Blunt’s cousin-elderly lady. Said Miss Blunt asked her to meet you here and explain about one or two things she was to look after for her.”

Really Louisa was too inconsequent! “An elderly cousin” sounded like Lucy Heming, and if ever there was a bore and a person you couldn’t get rid of, it was Lucy.

She took herself up in the automatic lift with the feeling that Lucy Heming on the top of Miss Wotherspoon was just about the last straw. She would expect to be provided with cups of tea, and she would cling. Useless optimism to imagine that she would vanish from the scene when Jim Severn walked in.

The door of the flat was ajar. She closed it behind her, slipping up the safety catch so that Jim would not have to ring. Four doors opened upon the little hall-bathroom and kitchenette straight ahead, each of them just a slip, bedroom to the left, and sitting-room to the right. The sitting-room door stood half-way open. It disclosed Louisa’s rather oddly assorted furniture. She was at the moment devoted to peasant arts and crafts, but had not gone so far as to divest herself of inherited Chippendale and Dresden. A tall grey-haired woman in old-fashioned clothes was looking out of the farther window. She turned as Ione came in, and she was not Lucy Heming.

There was a moment of bewilderment. Then, as the dark eyes met hers, Ione knew. A bare right hand came up out of a ramshackle old bag, and it held a revolver. Incredibly, but as it seemed actually, the revolver was pointed at Ione’s head. The grey-haired woman said,

“Stay just where you are and put up your hands, or I shall shoot!”

The voice was, without any disguise, the voice of Jacqueline Delauny. It was all quite unbelievable, but it was happening. You can’t argue with a revolver at point-blank range. Ione put up her hands.

“That’s better!”

“I can’t keep them like this for very long, you know.”

“It won’t be for long-you needn’t worry. Throw your bag over on to that sofa! Not anywhere in my direction now, or this little toy will go off!”

The bag was in her left hand. She threw it on to the sofa, and saw Jacqueline Delauny edge round until she could reach it. The catch was a stiff one, and she could only use the fingers of her left hand, but she got it open, backed with it to her original position, and turned the contents out upon a small table without for a moment changing her steady aim. Purse, compact, handkerchief, shopping-list-she could only afford the swiftest glance, but she knew at once that what she wanted was not there.

“What have you done with them?”

“What have I done with what?”

“As if you didn’t know!” Jacqueline’s voice was deadly.

“Perhaps if you were to tell me-”

“I tell you you know-you know-you know! Pages from that damned diary! You found them!”

“Yes, I found them.”

With the first shock over, thought had steadied. She must play for time. Jacqueline would not shoot her whilst there was something she wanted to find out. She went on in just her ordinary voice.

“How did you know that I had found them?”

Jacqueline’s voice dropped.

“Do you think I didn’t watch you? Every night when you went to bed-every morning when you got up. There’s a very good spy-hole in that room-you’d never notice it was there. They knew how to hide things in those days. And I saw you find the diary. I always knew it was somewhere in the room, but I never thought of there being a hiding-place in the bed. I saw your veil catch and the door fly open. And I couldn’t do anything about it-there wasn’t time. I had to take the long way round to Wraydon, and change into these things, and catch the fast train up. A bit of luck your getting into the slow one. That’s what you did, wasn’t it? But you wouldn’t have given me a second’s thought if you had seen me on the platform like this-now would you? I had it all planned before you found the diary. You had to go because of the money-for Geoffrey.” Her voice changed again. “Where are those papers?”

Something very heavy was passing along the road. There was so much noise that it was useless to speak until it had gone by. As the rumbling died away, Jacqueline laughed and nodded.

“That is when I shall shoot you, my dear Ione-when something like that is passing. And I shall go away and tell Mrs. Robinson how frightened I am about lifts-I walked down the stairs, and there was such a very odd-looking man coming up-I was quite glad when I got past him.”

Ione wasn’t sure-she couldn’t be sure-but she had an odd sense of not being alone any more. She couldn’t say that she had heard a sound from the hall-no one could have heard anything while that great lorry went by. But Jim could have opened the outer door on its safety catch and walked in. He could be standing behind her now in the little hall with no more than the slant of the door between them. It had been half open when she came into the flat, but she had begun to close it before she recognized Jacqueline Delauny. Nobody in the hall could now be seen from where Jacqueline stood.

Into these thoughts there thrust with harsh insistence,

“What have you done with those torn-out leaves?”

Ione allowed her voice to waver.

“Jacqueline, I really can’t go on standing with my hands above my head like this. If you want me to answer your questions you’ll just have to let me sit down.”

There was a small gimcrack chair with a brocade seat about a yard away on the left. Jacqueline considered it. Nothing within throwing distance. She nodded briefly.

“You can sit on that chair-until I’ve finished with you. Keep your hands in your lap, and don’t try anything on, or you’ll be dead before you know what is happening!”

It was a relief to sit down, and she was clear of the door. She didn’t quite know why, but that seemed important. If Jim was there in the hall… She began to wonder why she had thought that he might be there. If he was, then it could be very important indeed. They mustn’t be in the same line of fire. Yes, that was the thing that was eluding her. She must hold on to it. Jacqueline must not be able to hold them both up at once. If she showed any sign of firing at one, the other must be able to rush her. That was it-keep taut, be ready to spring and spoil the aim. And meanwhile time-time-time-

If she could be sure about Jim.

She wasn’t sure. When she had rung him up from the station there had been a kind of leaping gladness in his “Ione!” She had kept her own voice quiet.

“I’m in a call-box on my way to Louisa Blunt’s flat. She’s really gone at last, and I’ve got to measure things up. I suppose you couldn’t-”

“But of course I could! Just give me the address, and I’ll be right along!”

That was the way it had gone. And if “right along” meant what it sounded like, he could have been here by now. But was that the reason why she had thought there was someone in the hall? He could have been there. It mattered so much-but was he?-

It was no more than the faintest of faint hopes.

Out in the hall Jim Severn was standing within touching distance of the partly open sitting-room door. He had walked in whilst the heavy lorry was passing, checked at the sudden rush of noise, and as it died down, heard Jacqueline Delauny laugh and say, “That is when I shall shoot you, my dear Ione-when something like that is passing.” The words were quite incredible, but they froze him where he stood. He listened to Ione saying that she could not go on standing with her hands above her head. He listened to Jacqueline telling her that she might sit. As she moved to do so, he was aware that she was no longer in a direct line between him and Jacqueline. If he couldn’t think of anything better before another of those heavy lorries came by, he could try what a sudden rush would do. The chances were that Jacqueline would swing round, and that meant she would swing away from Ione.

She might not-she might fire first-the revolver might just go off-he might have to take that risk. An agony like cramp took hold upon his mind. He would have to take a chance, and the thing with which he would have to take that chance was Ione’s life.

In this moment, and once and for all, he knew just what it meant to him. He faced it as people do face unescapable danger, and with that the thing that was like cramp let go. He heard the women’s voices and what they said. He would be able to repeat what they said. But it did not take up all his mind. Thoughts and plans came and went there. He thought about standing at the front door and ringing the bell. But Jacqueline had gone too far. She had said what could never be taken back. There would be no way out for her except by shooting, and she would shoot Ione first. No, his original idea of a desperate rush was better than that. Better still, something that could be thrown.

He looked about him. An umbrella-stand-an oak chest-a thin salver of pseudo-oriental brass… With infinite caution he began to move in the direction of the bedroom.

Inside the sitting-room Ione sat with her hands in her lap and thought about time-how it galloped-how it lagged-

Jacqueline’s voice broke in.

“Where are those papers? Have you got them pushed down inside your things? Pull open your shirt and let me see!”

Ione undid the soft white bow at her neck and pulled the shirt away on either side. Even from across the room it was obvious that no pages from a schoolgirl’s exercise-book were concealed there.

Jacqueline spoke angrily.

“Then where are they?”

Ione was doing up her shirt, tying the bow again.

“They’re not here.”

“What have you done with them?”

“They are in a safe place. You won’t really expect me to tell you where, will you? But I can tell you what is in them if you like.”

Jacqueline stamped her foot.

“You read them?”

“Oh, yes.”

“In the taxi-in the train? There wasn’t time before you left the house! What did you do with them?”

Ione kept her voice level.

“Don’t you want to know what Margot said?”

The foot was stamped again.

“What did she say?”

“That you told her Geoffrey said she could have one of the old ropes from the potting-shed. I don’t wonder you were anxious to find those torn-out pages.”

“Where are they?” The words came quick and panting.

“I told you-in a safe place. If you shoot me, the police will have them.”

Jacqueline came a step nearer-a step-and another step. Under the grey wig and old-fashioned bonnet her eyes flared. Then with an unbelievable effort she controlled herself and took two slow paces back again. Her mind worked on the things which Ione could have done with those pages. Cloakroom at Wraydon-at the terminus-she could have made them up in a packet. Or she could have bought an envelope and posted them-to herself-to Geoffrey. If it was the cloakroom, there would be a ticket-it would be in her bag-she could use it when Ione was dead. She said,

“The cloakroom-you put them in the cloakroom!”

“Oh, no.”

“Then you posted them! You wouldn’t let a weapon like that right out of your hand, would you? You posted them to yourself! Or to Geoffrey! Yes, to Geoffrey, so that you could make him send me away! Very clever, but not quite clever enough, because I shall see to it that the letter never reaches him! And even if it did-even if it did-I shall have done too much for him-a great, great deal too much! He can never do without me now!”

Ione’s hands held one another. They must not shake. Her voice sounded cool and sceptical as she said,

“That sounds very grand, but what exactly have you done besides telling Margot she could take that rope? And supplying Allegra with morphia?”

For a moment she thought that the revolver would go off-there was such a blazing fury in Jacqueline’s eyes. And then quite suddenly she laughed.

“Margot put that down? She had been hinting about it on and off for quite a time, but I wasn’t sure how much she knew until just at the end. She would have had to go some time, but that meant I had to get on with it. You see, she was threatening to go to you. Oh, you can look at me, but if you knew how sick I was of the creature-her tricks, her slyness, the way she came between us! I tell you it was she who made Geoffrey break off with me! He was afraid she might notice something! As if I cared!”

Ione said,

“He was fond of her.”

Jacqueline laughed scornfully.

“That’s Geoffrey to a T! Don’t you know him yet? He is fond of people. It makes life so easy and pleasant. He was fond of Margot-he is fond of Allegra. He was getting quite fond of you. He was even kind enough to be fond of me!”

“Yes-he told me so.”

Under the elderly make-up Jacqueline had turned quite white. The effect was rather dreadful.

“I’ve done everything for him!” she said. “Just everything! He couldn’t have settled up Edgar’s affairs without me. I knew them inside out. I could have done more if I had gone out with him to Alex. He wouldn’t take me-because of Margot. But I got him to put in Muller as manager, and we were able to carry on with the dope business without Geoffrey knowing. Of course Muller had to go slow and watch his p’s and q’s, and there wasn’t much for me to do on the receiving end for a bit, but we were getting going again, and Geoffrey thought his affairs were looking up. And then that fool Muller had to go and get himself arrested!”

Ione looked at her and said,

“Why did you meddle with Allegra? What harm had she done you?”

“What harm! She had taken Geoffrey, hadn’t she! But that wasn’t the reason. I may have my emotions, but I don’t let them interfere with business. We had to have money. And then it turned out that there was not so much as we thought, and that Allegra couldn’t even leave her share to Geoffrey whilst you were alive. So you came into it. She had to have your money, and then Geoffrey would have it all.”

“When Allegra had been got out of the way?”

“Oh, yes. An overdose-so easy with a morphia addict.”

“And me? That push in the back on the island at Wraydon-that wasn’t really meant for Allegra, was it? It was meant for me.”

“Clever, aren’t you!” said Jacqueline Delauny. Her whole voice and manner had coarsened. “But I wasn’t on the island, you know.”

“The Professor was,” said Ione-“Professor Regulus Mactavish-The Great Prospero. And now I will tell you something you don’t know. I heard him talking in a London fog. He had his foot in a half-open door, and he was saying that he wouldn’t risk his neck for less than two thousand pounds.”

It was a shot in the dark, but when Jacqueline caught her breath and came out with “Where-where were you?” she knew that it had come off. She said,

“I followed him-we met Jim Severn. You gave the Professor his orders, but he wasn’t very good at carrying them out, was he?”

“He’s a fool!” Jacqueline’s voice was full of scorn. “I was born in the show business, and he has been useful once or twice. His daughter can’t do without our stuff, and he’ll do most things to get it for her. But when the island business didn’t come off he wouldn’t go on-said it wouldn’t be lucky for any of us.” Her voice went down into sombre depths. There was a silence before she said in quite a casual tone. “So I had to take it on myself. And meanwhile Flaxman started in to blackmail Geoffrey. He heard Margot say that he had told her she could have the rope. Well, he had to be got out of the way before I could deal with you. Child’s play of course. The fool was running after Nellie Humphreys-I knew he slipped out to see her most nights. Easy enough to get word to her father-of course he never knew it came from me. After that I only had to watch my opportunity. Actually it fell out better than even I could have planned. The violent row and the charge of shot-well, they were just plain gifts from the gods. I’m born lucky, you know. Whatever Prospero may say! So that finished up the Flaxman business, and I was ready to deal with you.”

Ione had become less and less able to feel anything at all, but at this moment she felt a crawling horror. It might have been the matter-of-fact way in which Jacqueline spoke of Flaxman’s death as a slight but necessary preliminary to her own murder, or it might have been that the shock which she had received was passing, and with it the merciful numbness it had induced. She said,

“You can’t reckon up your luck till the end-and the Professor warned you.”

Jacqueline had a sudden startled look. There was angry protest in her voice.

“Prospero! I tell you he had cold feet! Him and his Scotch second sight! He can’t come that sort of stuff over me-I’ve known him too long! I tell you I was born in the show business! And I’d have been there still if I hadn’t had the wits to climb out of it! Prospero’s my uncle-do you hear? He’s my mother’s brother, and that poor girl his daughter is what I might have been if I hadn’t got out! Fell from the high wire when she was no more than a kid! And a cripple for life! That’s why she has to have the dope! You and your smug complacency, what do you know about the way people live? You’ve always had money-background-security, where I’ve only had what I could get for myself! And what I’m going to get is everything that you have always had! And I’m going to enjoy shooting you to get it! There’s something heavy coming now-as soon as it is right under the windows I shall shoot! I hope you’re ready-“ The jeering note slackened on the last word and petered out.

Through the noise of the approaching lorry Ione was aware of movement in the hall. She did not hear Jim Severn’s hurried tread, but she felt it. All lesser sounds were lost in the approaching roar, but under her feet the floor-boards shook.

Things take so long to tell, and they happen so quickly. What had reached Ione reached Jacqueline a bare second later. Her voice failed. The door, already partly open, was kicked wide. A large bright green earthenware jug came hurtling through the air to send Jacqueline Delauny crashing back against the wall. The noise of the breaking china with all the weight of a full jug of water behind it was joined with the appalling racket outside. The solitary shot which missed everything except a hideous Majorcan vase was hardly noticeable in the general din.

Jim Severn, having swung his missile, followed it. Jacqueline lay crumpled up at the foot of the wall with sherds of green pottery scattered about her and a copious flood of water soaking into everything within reach. The revolver had flown out of her hand and lay between the windows. Jim Severn went across and picked it up. He remembered to use a handkerchief to wrap it in.

Ione got to her feet and went slowly across to where Jacqueline lay. She had not known whether her legs would carry her. They did, but she couldn’t feel them. First she was sitting on Louisa’s little upright chair whilst Louisa’s bedroom jug flew past her and the shot which was meant to put an end to Ione Muir went off harmlessly and only broke a vase. Then she was standing looking down at Jacqueline and wondering if she was dead. Wig and bonnet had slipped. A strand of wet black hair clung to the old-fashioned coat. There was blood from a deep fast-bleeding cut. It crossed an outflung wrist, and the blood ran down into Jacqueline’s hand. Did people bleed when they were dead? She didn’t think they did. She went down on her knees in the wet and began to knot her handkerchief round the arm above the cut. Jim Severn was ringing up the police.