Fault in the Structure (Mrs. Bradley) Read online

  “We still don’t know what happened to that parcel, ma’am.”

  “And if both are guilty, why move the body at all? Nobody used the cellar except themselves and Mrs. Lawrence. What is important, as I have said before—but it will bear repetition—is that the parcel which disappeared was never proved to have been delivered at the porters’ lodge at all. Besides, it would be interesting to know why it was not sent to the victim’s lodgings. One would have thought that a gift such as a valuable watch would have been sent straight there rather than to the College.”

  “Yes, indeed, ma’am, but the donor, the old gentleman who sent the watch, is gone where he can’t be questioned.”

  “Unfortunately that is so. You have questioned his servants, of course?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but they recollect little of the matter, except that, if such a parcel was sent, none of them was told to get it registered.”

  “What about Mr. Lawrence, the husband, Sir Anthony’s heir?”

  “He reckons to know nothing about the watch and, as you will have been told, we’ve checked his alibi for the time the doctors think the murder took place and it stands up, there’s no doubt about that. He’d come back from Norfolk and was with the old gentleman when he died and then went back to his digs up north, where his landlady swears he stayed put until well after the murder.”

  “Alibis are like promises and pie-crust,” said Laura, when they had parted from the inspector. “We ought to get on to that rascally College scout and turn him inside out about that meeting between Lawrence and Coralie St. Malo.”

  “If it was Coralie St. Malo whom he met in that public house,” said Dame Beatrice suddenly. “Have you ever visited Blackpool?”

  “No. My education has been faulty, I’m afraid.”

  “A matter which can readily be adjusted. Let us set out tomorrow for the famous resort.”

  “Then we had better set out this afternoon for the Stone House to collect a few necessities and I’d better ring up and engage a couple of rooms in Blackpool. Have you a favourite hotel?”

  “No, I have never been to Blackpool. My education has been as deficient as your own.”

  “The hotels may be full in a place like that at this time of year.”

  “That we can soon find out when we get home. We have a guide to hotels and the telephone is at our disposal.”

  “And we’d better stay the night at a half-way house; not that I can’t manage the distance in one day, but…”

  “Yes, a two-day journey will be more enjoyable in every way.”

  Laura, however, was fated not to make the journey to Blackpool. A telephone message to the Stone House informed her that measles had broken out at her daughter’s boarding school and that all pupils who were not affected were being sent home and should be met at Waterloo railway station.

  Before they left the inspector, Dame Beatrice had obtained from him the name of the concert-party which enjoyed Coralie St. Malo’s services and Dame Beatrice’s official card sent in at the morning rehearsal brought a beaming Coralie round to the hotel for lunch.

  She was somewhat of a surprise. She was a big woman, quietly dressed, and her make-up was discreet; also, although she spoke in a rather strident, self-assertive voice, her manners would have passed muster anywhere. She appeared to be about thirty years old and she gave an impression of toughness and natural self-confidence. She refused a cocktail and drank very little wine with her meal. They took this at twelve-thirty so that she could get back in good time for the afternoon performance.

  “That heel?” she said, when Dame Beatrice introduced Lawrence’s name. “Yes, I met him and we had a drink together. He wanted to re-marry me, but I thought, ‘Once bitten, twice shy.’ He said he was coming into a lot of money and couldn’t we try to make a go of it again.”

  “Re-marry?” asked Dame Beatrice.

  “Yes, of all the impudence.”

  “You mean that you had been divorced?”

  “I’ll say! I divorced him at the end of the time allowed for desertion. The suit was undefended. That’s why you won’t have heard of it, I expect.”

  “You know, of course, that he had married a Miss Caret?”

  “Told me his divorce from her was pending. Instead, he cut her throat.”

  “There is surely no evidence of that?”

  “Who needs evidence? You’ve only got to know him. My belief is he did that poor old gentleman, Sir Anthony, too, who was always so good to him.”

  “Oh, you knew Sir Anthony, did you?”

  “Of course not. Thaddy—he didn’t like me shortening his name, but how can you be expected to call anybody Thaddeus?—it wasn’t his real name, anyway. Well, Thaddy wouldn’t ever let me meet Sir Anthony. Kept me dark because I was common, you see. Thought perhaps he wouldn’t get Sir Anthony’s money if the old gentleman found out he’d married somebody on the concert-party stage and, like a fool, I played along with it and let him go off up north where he said he’s send for me when he’d saved enough to put down on a little house. Well, of course, that never came off, so when the time was up I divorced him for desertion and irretrievable breakdown, as they call it, but I didn’t know that in the meantime he’d taken up with this Caret girl. I found that out later.”

  “So his marriage to Miss Caret might have been bigamous if it took place before you divorced him?”

  “I suppose so. I wished her joy of him when I found out, which wasn’t until after my divorce, and much joy she’s had, poor girl, with her throat cut and buried in a nasty, dirty sack!”

  “I am interested in your opinion that Lawrence is a murderer. May I ask what may seem to be an impertinent and very personal question, Miss St. Malo?” said Dame Beatrice. Coralie looked anxious and, for the first time during the interview, her self-confidence seemed to falter.

  “I don’t take offence where there’s no call for it,” she said, twisting her hands together.

  “Thank you. We—the police and I—were told that after the meeting at the public house near Bicester you invited Mr. Lawrence to your lodgings, where he stayed for about an hour.”

  “He drove me home from the Bicester pub, same as he drove me out there, but I never asked him in and he never came in. Who told you he did?” Her tone was sharper than before.

  “One of the scouts at Wayneflete College. At least, he is no longer in service there. He resigned because of an accusation made against him by Mr. Lawrence.”

  “Oh, Alf Bird! He’s a snout and a liar. Everybody knows that. Never happy unless he’s got hold of some tit-bit of muck about somebody. He’s the original Little-Bird-Told-Me. Thaddy took me up to my front door, took my key like the gentleman he always pretended to be, let me in, and then handed back the key and drove off. Bird was just spreading dirt, as usual.”

  “Could be true, I suppose,” said Laura when Dame Beatrice, brought back to Stone House by her chauffeur George, had given an account of the interview. “Shall you see this man Bird?”

  “At this stage it would be useless. He will repeat his story, whether it is true or not. Miss St. Malo herself may be lying. Some of the time, in fact, I am sure she was. The next thing, as I see it, is to find that watch. Even if one of the porters did steal it—a matter difficult of credence in the case of men who held a position of such trust—it cannot still be in the possession of either Oates or Wagstaffe.”

  “No. I imagine their hut and their homes have had a pretty fair going-over by the police, and if either of them had sold or popped the watch locally, that would have come out long before this. Are you proposing to go and look for the watch yourself?”

  “No,” replied Dame Beatrice, pretending to take the question seriously. “That would be beyond my scope, I fear. I shall suggest to the Chief Constable that he put it to the inspector that another attempt be made to extract information from old Sir Anthony’s servants. It would not surprise me to learn that the watch was never posted at all, but was stolen from Sir Anthony’s own house.”


  “By Lawrence?”

  “According to Ferdinand’s report of his conversations with the Warden of Wayneflete College, it would be quite in keeping with Lawrence’s reputation. But, to turn to a pleasanter subject, what have you done with my rusticated god-daughter? I expected and hoped to find her here.”

  “Sorry, but I wasn’t sure how much we’d be here ourselves while this business was still going on, so as it is so near her school summer holiday I’ve shipped her up to my brother and his wife in Scotland. She was due to go there in a few days’ time, anyway.”

  “I am sorry to have missed her, but perhaps she is safer out of the way.”

  “Safer?”

  “I do not like this particular murder.”

  “I see. You mean we don’t need to offer hostages to fortune and all that. It hadn’t occurred to me that the murderer might know that we are interesting ourselves in his affairs.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Afraid of honest men with honest minds.

  Afraid, even, of an old woman like me.

  “That watch has turned up again, so the inspector informs me,” said the Chief Constable, when Dame Beatrice telephoned him again after her return to the Stone House. “You’ve been to Blackpool, have you? Any news?”

  “A little, but, so far as the College porters are concerned, perhaps yours is better worthwhile. Could you spare the time to come over and have a chat? I should like very much to hear about the watch.”

  “And I should like a detailed account of your visit to Blackpool. You gave me an outline, so perhaps you would be good enough to fill it in?”

  “Most willingly. May we expect you to lunch tomorrow?”

  “Could it be the following day? The inspector is planning an identity parade, putting both porters in it. It will take a bit of arranging because for obvious reasons he doesn’t want to call upon local people to join in. Following the message which you telephoned on your way home—from Preston, I think you said—he’s putting Lawrence in the parade, too, I believe—not that I can see much point in it—the parade, I mean.”

  “Still in Sir Anthony’s old house. He owns it, of course, and, although it is on the market, it had not been sold yet.”

  “Can the inspector insist that he appear in a parade?”

  “Oh, well, I suppose that so long as he has nothing to hide, there is no reason why he should refuse to appear. A police car will be sent to bring him here and take him home afterwards. If he has a guilty conscience he will hardly dare to refuse the inspector’s request. I have had a talk with the inspector and he has suggested that if Lawrence seems reluctant to appear in the identity parade, he should tell him that the man dragging the sack was seen and that it is necessary for him to prove that he was not that man. I’m dubious about the ethics of this, but it’s the inspector’s case now. I wish we hadn’t to divert Nicholl to this bank robbery.”

  “As I am certain that Lawrence was that man, the procedure does not affront me as it might do under other circumstances,” said Dame Beatrice, with an eldritch cackle which disconcerted her hearer at the other end of the line.

  When the Chief Constable arrived he was able to report that the Mrs. Lawrence case, as he called the murder of the second wife, had shown some interesting developments.

  “We photographed a similar sort of watch by permission of the horological section of the University Museum,” he said, “and got the BBC and ITV to put it out on all networks.”

  “Not merely in case of its having been stolen, I assume,” said Dame Beatrice.

  “Oh, no. We told them it was connected with a murder enquiry.”

  “And you obtained a result?”

  “Yes. An antique dealer in London rang us and said that he had purchased such a watch and gave us the date of the sale. It fitted well enough and it also fitted with the story told by the two porters when they were brought before the magistrates. Those, as you know, released them on bail while we continued our enquiries into the murder, for that, of course, far more than the theft of the watch, was a point of interest.”

  “And the porters’ reaction?”

  “They repeated what they had already told the magistrates: that they knew nothing about the watch. At last we believe them.”

  “What makes you believe their story now, whereas previously you doubted it?”

  “The identity parade. The antique dealer came along and scanned the ranks. He had, at our request, brought his woman assistant with him. The inspector had produced seven men and five women, let Lawrence and the two porters stand anywhere they liked in the line, and then had in the dealer and, after him, his assistant. When the dealer had made his pick he was not allowed to meet his assistant until she, too, had made her choice. Do you want to make a guess, Dame Beatrice?”

  “I would not, for the world, anticipate the dénouement.”

  “I see that you have made a guess. Yes, without hesitation, each picked out Lawrence. He won’t admit it, but we rather think he obtained the watch when, instead of entering Coralie St. Malo’s lodgings that evening, he went to those of his wife. Her landlady did not see him because she was already on holiday. We asked him how he had come by the watch. He said, ‘The watch? Good Lord! I thought you were sorting out my wife’s murderer! You won’t get the tabs on me for that! My dear old friend Sir Anthony gave me the watch, but it was much too ornate for me to wear. I much prefer a wristwatch, anyway. I was going on holiday with Sir Anthony the next day, so I sold the thing to get some holiday money, as I was a bit short. I didn’t tell the old boy what I’d done. I let him think my wife was minding the watch for me, as I thought he would be hurt to think I’d sold it.’ Lawrence is certainly a cool customer, Dame Beatrice, and no mistake.”

  “I suppose he swiped the watch,” said Laura. “What a specimen! Still, it lets out the porters, which is what the High Mistress wanted. I suppose you can’t arrest Lawrence for theft and so hold on to him until you can prove he’s a murderer?”

  “We can’t disprove his story about the watch, Mrs. Gavin. The servant at Mrs. Lawrence’s digs says that the lodgers always take in the post, so she has no knowledge of any parcels. In any case, to accuse a man of stealing from his own wife is a tricky business under any circumstances; impossible when she isn’t even alive to confirm or deny his account of the matter.”

  “I always thought that the theft, if it was a theft, took place at Sir Anthony’s own house,” said Dame Beatrice, “but I also think that Mrs. Lawrence’s accusation against the porters was made, however wrongheadedly, in good faith. Sir Anthony’s covering letter describing the watch has not been found among her effects, I suppose?”

  “No. We looked—the inspector looked—most carefully at all her papers and correspondence.”

  “I have no doubt that the letter was sent, or she could hardly have described the watch so exactly. However, one good thing has come out of all this, as Laura pointed out.”

  “Oh, yes, the porters are completely exonerated, so now we can turn all our attention to the murder. What impression did you get of the St. Malo girl?”

  “Not an impression of a girl, but of a mature, tough, self-reliant young woman. According to her account, the quarrel with Lawrence at the Bicester public house was soon resolved. He appears to have planned to divorce the second Mrs. Lawrence and to re-unite himself in matrimony with Coralie.”

  “I see. Could that constitute a motive for the murder?”

  “I hardly think so, for, if Miss St. Malo is to be believed, she would have nothing to do with the proposition, so I do not think the question of divorce, whether the second Mrs. Lawrence would have agreed to it or not, would have come up.”

  “But you still think Lawrence is our murderer?”

  “Failing any other candidates, I really think he must be. There is only one doubt in my mind.”

  “I know. He’s a devious, cowardly devil, as I read him, but not the type to go for the rough stuff.”

  “Exactly. He brought about
old Sir Anthony’s death, I believe, but by a method which can hardly be held against him, since there is no proof that he did not do his best (as he saw it) for the old gentleman in what turned out to be a fatal illness.”

  “That is true. We shall never get anywhere on those lines.”

  “But if Mrs. Lawrence had evidence that Lawrence had knowledge that a sudden shock would kill the old gentleman, especially if medical aid was not forthcoming as soon as the symptoms of a serious condition appeared…”

  “But we can never prove that Mrs. Lawrence did have any such knowledge.”

  “And, of course, Coralie St. Malo may have been lying when she told me that she had refused Lawrence’s offer of remarriage. After all, he is now a very wealthy man.”

  “And you summed her up as a bit of a gold-digger, did you?”

  “No, but certainly not the reverse. She struck me as a woman who (to repeat a vulgarism) would know on which side the bread was buttered.”

  “Well, the inspector will just have to press on with his enquiries. But to return to a point we agreed on a little earlier; Lawrence doesn’t strike either of us as the type who would drag a woman’s head back and slit her throat.”

  “Quite. What is entirely out of character is unlikely to be the truth. On the other hand, Lawrence could still have been the prowler who buried the body. Another thing is that he has what seems to be a complete alibi for the time the doctors agree that the murder was committed, even allowing for the limits they suggest. He was either with Sir Anthony is Norfolk and still with him when the old man died, or in his College lodgings. His landlady is prepared to swear that once he had returned to his northern digs, he did not leave them again until well after the time-limit which the doctors say is the latest date on which the murder could have been committed.”

  “It looks as though we’d better lean pretty heavily on the St. Malo woman, then, although throat-slitting hardly seems a woman’s crime.”