Nest of Vipers

Chapter Seven

Personal Questions

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(1)

‘IT may turn out to be rather a nuisance, George, if Mr Moore has recognised me,’ she said, as George waited on her at table that same evening. ‘I may have to take him into my confidence, and that is the last thing I want to do with anybody in that house, with the exception, I think, of Mr Evesham Evans.’

‘Would a face of brass and a policy of stout denial meet the case of Mr Moore, madam?’

‘I doubt it. He may be a poet in his own right, but he is also the son of a business man who went to Canada with almost nothing and now is a cattle baron. I do not think it would be easy to hoodwink him, and it might lead to unnecessary complications if I did.’

As it chanced, she had no need to contact Irelath, for he tapped at her door on the following morning and said:

‘Excuse the early call, but I knew you were up. I saw you go down to the hall for your letters. You wouldn’t care to put me wise, would you?’

‘I think you had better come in, Mr Moore,’ said Dame Beatrice. When she had admitted him, she added, ‘As you appear to surmise, there are reasons why we should not converse upon landings. There is also a good reason for keeping our voices low and for our seating ourselves as far as possible from the door.’

‘I get you,’ said Irelath, relaxing his long frame in the armchair which she indicated and his habitual expression to a grin of tolerant understanding. ‘The eyes and ears of this place are four feet six in height and have a complex about spies. Right?’

‘Right. Well, now, ask your question. It was good of you not to elaborate upon it last night.’

‘Oh, it is nothing to do with me if you change your name. Most of the folk here have changed theirs and, like you, I am sure, for the best of reasons.’

‘I am Mrs Farintosh only while I live here. Does that convey anything to you?’

‘Well, at a guess, I’d say you were here to look into the matter of the old lady’s death. That means you’re not sure Chelion Piper did for her.’

‘I keep an open mind. What is your own opinion?’

‘The one I gave the police when they came rooting around and questioned us. That bloke didn’t hold any old lady under water and drown her. Still less did he bash her over the head afterwards.’

‘She is said to have written some anonymous letters. Such letters can be hurtful and even dangerous.’

‘Sure. I got one myself. One was sent to my baby, too, but as in the ordinary way she never gets any letters—’

‘Not even from her editor?’

‘Bless you, she hasn’t got an editor. I’m Sumatra, except for the photograph at the top of the page. Su can’t write a word of English. She just gives me the low-down and I write it up. Simple as that.’

‘So when this anonymous letter came?’

‘I opened it as usual and found out it was some more of this pernicious muck about our not being married. Well, we are married, to all intents and purposes. What do a few formal words said in front of witnesses and the scribble on a dirty little piece of paper matter? I shall always stick to Su and she will always stick to me. I don’t keep an eye on her, you know, only on the fellows who’d like to muscle in on my patch. I’ll kill if I have to. Simple as that.’

‘Simplicity appears to be your strong suit, Mr Moore.’

‘Sure. With Su and me it’s like the old song says: I know where I’m going, and I know who’s going with me.’

‘It goes on: I know whom I love, but the Dear knows whom I’ll marry!

‘I shall never marry except in one eventuality, so let the Dear look after his own.’

‘His own, perhaps – or one of them – being Miss Minnie’s murderer?’

‘You said it. Simple as that. You know, Dame – OK Mrs Farintosh – I don’t understand about that old lady’s death. She was a bit off-beat, maybe even a little loose from the neck up, but I’ll swear she was harmless.’

‘The anonymous letters?’

‘Phooee! I don’t believe she wrote nary a one of ’em.’

‘Have you any grounds for that belief?’

Irelath grinned.

‘I haven’t the sort of proof a policeman would accept, but you might be willing to consider it. I guess that poor little runt Shard wrote them.’

‘There appears to be one, at least, which he did not write.’

‘Oh? Which would that be?’

‘The letter or, as I think, letters, which got Miss Kennett and Miss Barnes out of the house.’

‘Oh, you know about them, do you? That damned woman Constance Kent, I suppose, going all orthodox and righteous. Well, her heaven-made marriage doesn’t seem to go so very well. I suppose she couldn’t stand the sight of two people who could get on together. I suspect her of having had a go at Sumatra and me, but, although I tackled her, she denied it, and I could have been wrong.’

‘So what makes you think of Mr Shard?’

‘He’s a devious, listening-at-keyholes little bit of nonsense, and he’s got a permanent chip on his shoulder because of his lack of inches. But about poor old Minnie. Why should anybody kill her?’

‘The answer to that lies in what has been called “the psychology of the individual”.’

‘Well, that’s up your street rather than mine. Too bad, though, that Piper has to take the rap. Are you going to winkle him out of it?’

‘Your metaphors are deplorably mixed.’

‘It’s the Irish in me. Say, when you’re free, will you come to lunch with Su and me? She dishes up something pretty special in the way of a curry.’

(2)

‘To sum up’ (wrote Dame Beatrice to Laura) ‘the consensus of opinion here is that Chelion Piper is innocent. So far, I have come upon no evidence to show that this majority verdict is either right or wrong, I went to lunch yesterday with Irelath and Sumatra, ate a fearful and wonderful meal prepared and cooked by the latter and had further speech with Irelath while she was doing the washing-up. It was he who gave me the general opinion, but, of course, he may be mistaken.

‘This morning I issued my own invitation to Cassie McHaig and Mr Hempseed for cocktails in the bungalow. George will act as barman. My invitation has been accepted, so I will let you know later if any developments ensue. I have yet to talk to these two privately and also I want to see Mr Evans when his wife is not present.

‘After that, it will be necessary to trace Miss Kennett and Miss Barnes. I have been given (by Irelath Moore) the name of the newspaper for which Miss Kennett works, so it should not be a difficult matter to find out her new address. Irelath recognised me, but has remained most discreet about my identity. It seems that he was among my audience at a lecture somewhere or other. He further informs me that if Sumatra becomes pregnant he will marry her at once in case his “old man cuts up rough and acts sticky” about his inheritance. This statement was followed by what appears to be his verbal signature (if there can be such a thing; you may prefer to call it his signature tune). This consists of the words: “It’s as simple as that.” He added that if I recollected our previous conversation he would like to add that any stick will do if one intends to beat a dog. So far, I am of his opinion that Chelion Piper has been what the criminal classes called “framed”.

‘Opinions about Miss Minnie, incidentally, vary, but that is to be expected. After I have talked with the inhabitants past and present of Weston Pipers I must find out more about her from those who were part of her life before she took up residence in the bungalow. When I have seen the rest of the tenants, and before I interview these “outsiders”, I shall talk with Miss Niobe Nutley. She strikes me as a formidable young woman who will want to know (in your own phrase) what the hell I am up to, as, of course, these probings of mine must reach a point where they will be regarded as something more significant than the idle curiosity of a nose-poking old woman.’

(3)

Apart from the satisfaction which comes from returning hospitality, Dame Beatrice gained little from entertaining Cassie McHaig and Polly Hempseed. For one thing, they had quarrelled and at first found it difficult to be even civil to one another. Apart from that, it soon became clear that neither believed Chelion Piper to be guilty and both thought Miss Minnie to have written the anonymous letters. These, both were convinced, were what had led to her death, although neither was prepared to name her murderer.

‘Stands to reason,’ said Hempseed, swallowing his drink and reaching out for another, ‘that the police have fixed on Piper. After all, we know nothing of his life before he took over Nest of Vipers – yes, it is still funny and I shall call it that, Cassie, if I choose – except that he had lived for a year in Paris. In Paris! Well, I ask you! I bet he collected enough of a past there to last him a lifetime and somehow or other the police guess that Minnie got to know about it. Suppose he wronged her daughter—’

‘Oh, keep your sob-stuff for your Answers to Correspondents!’ said Cassie.

‘Stranger things have happened than people wronging other people’s daughters. You should see some of the letters I get. Heartrending!’ said Hempseed, pulling a face at her.

‘Nonsense! Just like to see themselves in print, that’s all. I’ve no patience with people who make a parade of their troubles.’

‘Not a parade of their troubles. A safety-valve for their emotions, if you like.’

‘All right, so long as you think so,’ said Cassie. ‘I’ll tell you who could do with a safety-valve for her emotions and that’s Niobe. She frets for Chelion. She may look like a taller edition of Lola Sapola, but she’s a pushover where Chelion is concerned. That’s a sob-story if you like.’

‘If you ask me, it’s not Niobe’s emotions that need an outlet. I think she’s gone off her rocker,’ said Hempseed.

‘Oh, rubbish! She’s as sane as you are,’ snapped Cassie.

‘Then why has she taken to walking about at night disturbing and frightening people? She’s got this master-key, which means she can get in anywhere. I don’t like it.’

‘I wonder you don’t have bolts put on your doors,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘That surely, would be the answer if you don’t want nocturnal visitors.’

‘It would if she would allow it, but she won’t,’ said Hempseed. ‘Says it would spoil the beautiful woodwork.’

‘Perhaps she should be confronted with a fait accompli.’

‘Put bolts on the doors without asking permission?’ said Cassie. ‘The next thing would be our notice to quit.’

‘I wanted to put a chair against the door at night,’ said Hempseed, ‘but madam here said that at least Niobe moved around quietly, whereas the chair would make a row if she shoved against it trying to get in. But then Niobe’s walkabouts at night don’t wake madam up. It’s only poor old light-sleeper me who gets disturbed.’

‘How often does she pay these visits?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

‘I don’t know about other people, but she has opened our door twice in the past ten days.’

‘What can be her object, I wonder?’

‘Just restlessness, I guess,’ said Cassie, ‘and perhaps nosiness about people sleeping together. I would say she has a fairly nasty mind, but I’m very sorry for her.’

‘We share a bed,’ said Hempseed, ‘being married and all that. I know it’s old-fashioned nowadays, but we tied ourselves up without thinking.’

‘I thought,’ said Cassie. ‘I come of Presbyterian stock and have my prejudices. Of course nobody here knows that we’re married, so we’d be glad if you kept it dark. Evesham and Constance don’t mind being known as a married couple, but we think in the modern way.’

‘Did you receive any of the anonymous letters which appear to have been distributed to some of the residents?’

‘Yes, we had a couple – one each. Why?’

‘You have not kept them, of course?’

‘We did at first,’ said Cassie, ‘because we thought of going to the police, but when old Minnie was killed we knew that it would be unnecessary, so then we destroyed them.’

‘Were you so sure that Miss Minnie wrote them?’

‘Well, nobody has had one since she went. We always thought she wrote them, but when no more came it seemed like proof.’

‘When Miss Nutley entered your bedroom, what did she do?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Hempseed. ‘When I sat up and switched on the light she murmured that she was sorry she’d mistaken the room. Very funny that she mistook it twice!’

‘You never wondered whether she and not Miss Minnie wrote the letters?’

‘We might have done,’ said Cassie, ‘but when she had one herself she asked every one of us except Latimer Targe, who doesn’t own a typewriter, to turn out a half-page of typing for us all to compare with the typing on her letter and on any which we had received.’

‘People made no secret of the fact that they had received these communications, then?’

‘Oh, no. Nobody here is particularly reticent about private matters except the two girls who have left. I believe everybody had at least one letter, except Evesham and Constance,’ said Hempseed.

‘And if we’d let it be known that we were married, instead of letting people think we are just living together, I don’t believe we would have had one,’ said Cassie. ‘That’s what I think. Minnie was just the kind of old party who would think cohabitation outside marriage was the blackest of sins. She worked for some peculiar religious group, you know.’

‘And did people co-operate by producing their specimens of typing?’ asked Dame Beatrice.

‘Everybody except Miss Minnie. There, according to Niobe, she met with a point-blank refusal. Latimer Targe even produced a page which his typist had done for him. Niobe had talked about bringing the police in, you see, so we all thought the sensible thing was to put ourselves in the clear.’

‘And the typings did not match with the typing of the anonymous letters?’

‘We even used a magnifying glass and they didn’t. Mind you, Chelion bought Niobe a new typewriter just about that time.’

‘But you assumed that Miss Minnie wrote the letters?’

‘She was the kind of queer old party who would,’ said Hempseed.

‘No mention was made at the inquest about a typewriter being found in the bungalow after Miss Minnie’s death,’ said Cassie, ‘but that proves nothing. She would have got rid of it as soon as there was talk about sending for the police. We made our intentions very clear, although we didn’t really mean to carry them out.’

‘Then they were hardly intentions. I have heard rumours of a ghostly visitant to some of the flats before Miss Minnie’s death. Was this another manifestation of Miss Nutley’s nocturnal wanderings?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Hempseed. ‘Niobe’s in-and-out-the-windows all happened after Chelion’s arrest, and were caused by that.’

‘So you didn’t have any night visitor while Miss Minnie was alive?’

‘No, we didn’t,’ replied Hempseed. ‘The ghost, so-called, seems to have intruded on Billie and Elysée and on Niobe herself. Otherwise it (or she) merely prowled up and down the stairs. I believe one or two people swore it had come into their rooms, but people will imagine anything when there’s a scare on.’

‘Was there really a scare?’

The couple exchanged glances and then Cassie said, ‘I think two people found the anonymous letters a lot more frightening than the ghost, although I suppose everybody has some skeleton or other in the cupboard.’

‘But nobody except the two young women was sufficiently disturbed by the letters to give up living here.’

‘Well, it’s not all that easy to find a decent place you can rent, and, as I say, people talked about getting the letters and that took the sting out of them, of course. And, by the way, I was not referring to the girls. Billie was livid, not scared.’

‘Do you know where the girls went?’

‘No. Niobe wanted to find out and to make a fuss about their going, but I suppose the lawyers told her to drop it.’

‘And they left before Miss Minnie was drowned?’

‘It doesn’t mean they couldn’t have sneaked back and drowned her,’ said Hempseed. ‘Billie Kennett struck me as a girl who was capable of anything if her precious Elysée was threatened.’

‘That’s an opinion,’ said Cassie, ‘that only a man would hold and it’s most unfair.’

(4)

‘You heard all that, I expect, George,’ said his employer, when the couple had gone.

‘Literary ladies and gentlemen seldom lower their voices, madam. I could not help overhearing what was said.’

‘Quite. Have you encountered any of the outdoor staff at this place, George?’

‘Yes, madam. There is a taciturn but knowledgeable individual who cleans the cars belonging to the establishment and in summer keeps the lawns in order. Other gardeners are employed on a part-time basis, but this man Penworthy is permanent.’

‘I wonder whether you could engage him in conversation on the subject of sea-bathing?’

‘Readily, madam.’

‘So far, you see, it appears that nobody except Mr Piper has used the beach here for swimming, and he only in the summer months.’

‘It is not, perhaps, the most attractive of beaches, madam.’

‘We are hardly seeing it at its best at this time of year, but even so, I think you are right.’

‘Would there be any specific question you want Penworthy to answer, madam?’

‘If my far-fetched theory should turn out to be a fact, there will be no need to lead him.’

Two days elapsed before George was able to make a report. When he did, he prefaced it by asking respectfully:

‘Had you anything to go on, madam, in forming your theory?’

‘Oh, yes, I suppose so,’ Dame Beatrice replied. ‘The woman had drowned; the body was fully-clothed; death by drowning in sea water had taken place some time previous to the discovery of the body, and the face had been badly disfigured after death. Well, what have you to tell me?’

‘Apart from Mr Piper, who swam every day up to about the middle of October, the only person to enquire about bathing from the beach here was a Miss Kennett, but she never actually took to the water. She and a woman friend, it seems, left the house before the murder was discovered.’

‘But not, perhaps, before it had been committed, one is left to infer.’

‘As to that, I could not say, madam. It seems that Miss Kennett and her friend ran a small car which Penworthy kept tuned up for them. They used it mainly for business purposes, and he got to know both ladies quite well. Miss Kennett asked about bathing from the beach and confided to him that it was (in her expression) mucky, a description with which he agreed, although he said it was safe enough for swimming.’

‘And nobody else swam from the beach?’

‘He says not, so far as his knowledge goes, and as he’s always about the place tending the lawn and tidying up those high banks behind this bungalow, I think he would know, madam.’

‘He did not mention Miss Niobe Nutley?’

‘He did, madam, but only to tell me that she did not fancy the beach here, either. Before Mr Piper took up residence, Penworthy says she used to drive once or twice a week to a beautiful clean beach over on the other side of the bay. She used to say she wanted to get away from all the noise and mess while the workmen were doing the repairs and alterations to the house. This, as I understand, was before Mr Piper returned from France. After he came back she never asked to be taken to the seaside at all and she certainly never bathed from the beach here.’

‘But that is not all you have to tell me, or you would not have asked me whether I had anything to go on in formulating my theory. There is one other point. I wonder whether they ever get trespassers? At low tide it must be quite easy for people to walk on the sands and find this bit of beach. Still, a complete stranger would hardly have murdered Miss Minnie. What else?’

‘In a word, madam, although the beach here was not used by any of the residents except Mr Piper, Miss Minnie was a great believer in sea water baths. It seems she suffered from rheumatism and she believed that hot sea water baths gave her relief.’

‘Ah, splendid! So that accounts for the sea water. I take it that this man Penworthy supplied it to the bungalow.’

‘Three times a week, for a small emolument, he was commissioned to bring her four buckets of sea water which she used to let stand for a day to let any sand settle and then she boiled three bucketfuls in kettles and a large iron saucepan kept for the purpose, and the other bucketful was used to cool the hot sea water when she had poured it into the bath.’

‘How does he know all this?’

‘I deemed it better not to enquire, madam.’

‘I suppose he took a peep through the kitchen window. I notice it is uncurtained. He could hardly have peered into the bathroom itself, as the window is of frosted glass. Possibly, of course, she described the process to him. She seems to have been a lonely person and may have been glad of someone to talk to. I suppose he didn’t murder her himself and make off with her money and valuables.’

‘He does not strike me as the type, madam,’ replied George gravely.

‘I was not entirely serious when I asked the question, George.’

She left the bungalow and, knowing that Constance was out, went to call on Evesham Evans. She found him frying sausages and bacon and apologised for disturbing him.

‘That’s all right,’ said Evesham. ‘Make yourself at home. I’m only frying for the need of something to do. Constance has gone up to Town to chivvy her publisher as usual, so, again, I’m on my own. Take a seat if you can find a sitting-room chair that isn’t cluttered, and I’ll bring this panful along. Any good inviting you to join me? I know it’s a bit early in the day, but I’ve got stuck with my book and can’t get on, so I thought I’d cook a bit of lunch while I waited for inspiration.’

Dame Beatrice said that she had been having cocktails and a snack in the bungalow and was hardly ready for her lunch. She asked whether she might come back later.

‘Sure, sure. Glad to see you,’ said Evesham, relieved, she thought, that he had no need to share his meal with her. ‘Come at three. I’ll have the place squared up a bit by then. Did you,’ he added suddenly, as she reached the door, ‘did you call about anything special?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but it may take a little time. I want to know all that you know about the death of Miss Minnie. Perhaps you would be willing to go over the salient facts in your mind while you are eating your lunch.’

(5)

‘Do I take it that you’re a relative?’ asked Evesham, when she arrived at three.

‘No, I am not a relative.’ She produced her official card. Evesham put on a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles which, coupled with two tufts of hair which stuck up like two little ears, gave him the appearance of a tolerant and sagacious owl, and studied the morsel of pasteboard. ‘Lestrange Bradley? Consultant psychiatrist to the Home Office, eh? So they think young Piper’s non compos, do they? I wouldn’t have thought that, you know. Still, I expect Broadmoor or Rampton, or whatever, is a shade preferable to the ordinary gaol, although personally I’d opt to be incarcerated with the thugs rather than with the loonies. All the same, I wouldn’t have thought Piper was either. A very decent, quiet fellow I found him. Not at all the type to resort to violence.’

‘Was Miss Minnie the kind of woman to invite violence?’

‘I wouldn’t have thought that, either, but I hardly knew her. Kept herself very much to herself, you know. Not exactly one of the gang.’

‘Do you look upon yourselves as a kind of family unit, then? Do people like to feel that they are members of a party? Was that, for instance, what made you choose to come here to live?’

‘Constance chose to come here. Suits her work, she says, although why she thinks so, when she’s always pinching the car and careering off to London, I can’t understand. Personally, I’d much prefer a flat more in the centre of things. Liverpool, now. I’d like to live in Liverpool. I like to be where there’s some action. I like noise and ships and docks and hordes of people.’

‘But your wife prefers Weston Pipers, and you are chivalrous enough to do as she wishes.’

‘Well,’ said Evesham, handing back the card and removing his glasses, ‘she earns about ten times as much money as I do, so she reckons to call the tune. Not that I’d want to write her kind of bilge, mind you. In fact, I doubt whether a man could write it.’

‘Mr Hempseed seems to do very well with his page on a woman’s paper, I believe.’

‘Oh, yes, but Polly writes tongue in cheek. He’s shown me some of the things he’d like to put in. He’s no end of a lad when you get him on his own. Not that that happens very often. Cassie McHaig keeps him on a very tight rein. I can’t think why he puts up with her. I can’t understand why he ever teamed up with her in the first place. Damn it all, she doesn’t hold the purse-strings, and heaven knows she’s got nothing in the way of looks or even talent to recommend her. Ask me what I think, and I’d say she caught him young and trained him early and now the poor devil can’t call his soul his own and doesn’t have the guts to up and leave her.’

‘I believe the theological view is that nobody can call his soul his own. We have elsewhere our sphere.’

‘Miss Minnie was some sort of hot gospeller, I believe. I went to the inquest. I was present when the body was found, you know. Some elderly bloke in a gown and a flowing white tie had to identify it. He described himself as Leader, I remember, and said that Miss Minnie was – had been – the editor of his – well, I forget what he called it, but it approximated to his parish magazine.’

‘It must have had an enormous circulation.’

‘How do you make that out?’

‘Well,’ said Dame Beatrice, glancing around the handsome apartment, ‘judging by the rent I pay, these flats are hardly what one might call inexpensive. Of course, Miss Minnie occupied the bungalow. That may make a difference. I pay less for my servant than for myself.’

‘I don’t know what the others pay, but I know I couldn’t afford to live here on my own. I’ve got a feeling, though, that there must be a scale of charges according to what people can pay. I can’t imagine, for example, how a couple of girls like Billie and Elysée could have managed the rent here and I reckon the same went for Miss Minnie. Targe, I believe, does very well and so does little Shard. Young Irelath Moore is heavily subsidised by his papa in Canada, so he’s well-heeled, but the three females, especially poor old Minnie, must have been given a pretty substantial rebate, I would think, to allow them to live on these premises.’

‘Perhaps no other prospective tenant wanted to rent the bungalow.’

‘So Minnie got it particularly cheap, you mean? Could be, I suppose. It may be damp, being so near the water.’

‘When you saw the body – I understand that you, together with Mr Piper and Mr Targe, broke into the bungalow—’

‘Yes, at Piper’s instigation, we did, and that’s a thing I don’t understand and that’s why I think, dotty or sane, he could have done it, hard though I find it to believe. For one thing, being the owner, he must have had a key to the bungalow, you see. What was to stop him opening up and having a look round on his own? Why go to the length of routing out Targe and me to abet him in smashing a window? Only because he knew the body was there and he didn’t want to be on his own when he found it, one would think.’

‘You are changing your mind about Mr Piper?’

‘Well, no, but one has to look on all sides.’

‘So, to finish the question I was about to ask, when you saw the body, what were your first thoughts?’

‘I didn’t have any. I mean, I didn’t have any feelings but revulsion and shock. Then Targe beat it back to the house to get to a telephone and left Piper and me on our own. Well, when I had pulled myself together, I realised that Piper couldn’t stand being in the room with the body, but, then, neither could I, for the matter of that, so when he suggested that we adjourn to the sitting-room, I thought it was a very sound idea. It was when I spotted this dirty great poker lying on the hearthrug in there that I—’

‘Leapt to the conclusion—?’

‘Well, you can’t help thinking things, can you? After all, the poor old dame’s head had been pretty severely battered, so, naturally, when I spotted the poker, it did occur to me to wonder whether I was in company with her murderer.’

‘So you picked up the poker?’

‘Well, what would you have done? I may write tough books, but I am by no means a tough character and I didn’t like the wild expression on Piper’s face.’

‘Don’t you think he was suffering from shock, just as you were?’

‘That didn’t occur to me at the time. I only know that I grabbed up that poker pretty damn quick, so that I was in a position to defend myself if he started anything, but all he said was that we might as well have the electric fire on. That’s my point about the poker, you see. Miss M. didn’t need one. It must have been brought there by the murderer.’

‘But why was she murdered?’

‘Oh, that’s simple enough. The old girl had been having a lot of fun writing nasty unsigned letters to the people who had flats in the house. Of course I don’t suppose anybody really had anything to hide. Writers get to know a lot of things about one another and I’d have heard any scandal that was going.’

‘Did you yourself receive one of the letters?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘You have not kept it, I suppose?’

‘Yes, I have, and I’ll show it you if you like.’

‘By the way, now that you know why I am here, may I trouble you to respect my alias for the time being? I do not want to cause alarm to a possibly guilty party. Now what about your anonymous letter?’

‘Oh, well, it’s rather a good specimen of so-called black humour. It says that I live on my wife’s immoral earnings. In a sense it’s so damn true when you know the bilge Constance writes and the sinful amount she gets paid for it. Immoral earnings? Well, they are! And I live on them? Up to a point, I suppose I do!’

‘What made you suppose that Mr Piper had a key to the bungalow and could let himself in whenever he chose?’

‘Oh, well, he was the landlord, wasn’t he?’

‘I understood that Miss Nutley was the possessor of a master-key.’

‘Somebody was. Did you hear about our ghost?’

‘It seems that Miss Minnie may have been the intruder.’

‘That was Niobe Nutley’s idea. Something about a missing will. If there was such a thing, and Piper knew of it, he might have wanted the old girl out of the way. The only thing is that I can’t imagine him smashing up her face after he had killed her. Very nasty, that, you know. Still, if he hasn’t got all his marbles, that might explain it.’

‘Black humour?’ said Dame Beatrice thoughtfully. ‘Not a perquisite of elderly women, one would have imagined.’ And her thoughts turned to the elfin Mandrake Shard again. He was a far more likely ‘black’ humorist than Miss Minnie, she decided.