In the library, Beulah, looking up defensively when the door opened, flew into young Mr.. Harte's arms. "Timothy! Oh God, what am I going to do?"
Mr.. Harte, trained by circumstance to act coolly in emergency, promptly cast a damper on what he correctly diagnosed to be rising hysteria. "Hallo, ducky!" he said, kissing his betrothed with great affection. "Don't knock me over! Have you got any face-powder in your bag?"
"Yes, of course, but -"
"Well, put some on your nose!" begged Mr.. Harte. "Begin as you mean to go on! What a heedless wench you are! Don't you know that the whole art of keeping a young husband happy is always to appear dainty in his eyes? That singularly repulsive adjective, let me inform you, embraces everything from face-powder to -"
"Thanks, I can fill in the rest for myself!" interrupted Beulah, slightly revived by this bracing treatment. "Don't laugh at me! I've never been in such a jam in my life! I was here, Timothy! I had a row with her this morning, which Thrimby overheard; and I had no business to be here!"
"Clearly booked for the scaffold. Calm yourself, my love!"
She drew herself out of his hold. "There's worse. I've never told you. I meant - but it's no use! If I don't tell you, that policeman will! You'd better hear it from me!"
"Hold all your horses!" commanded Mr.. Harte. "I don't deny that I should like to know exactly what is your grim past, but if you're labouring under the delusion that Hemingway will disclose some hideous secret to me, or to any other layman, rid yourself of it! He won't."
She opened her handbag, and took out her handkerchief. Having blown her nose with considerable violence, she said in a choked voice: "You're so incredibly nice! Your brother practically told me I was a filthy cad not to confide in you, and I suppose he was right."
"The only thing that deters me from instantly bursting off to offer Jim his choice between pistols and swords is my conviction that he never said anything of the sort," returned Timothy.
"Oh, he didn't say it in so many words, but that was what he meant! Well, here it is! - I'm a gaol-bird!"
The effect of this pronouncement was not quite what she had expected. She had been prepared to see Mr.. Harte make a chivalrous attempt to conceal his feelings; she had been prepared to see him recoil. What she had never visualised was that he would sink into a chair by the desk, drop his head in his hand, and utter in shaken accents: "But what a line! No, really, darling, it's terrific!"
"It's true!" she said desperately.
"Oh, no, I can't bear it! What did they jug you for, my sweet? Manslaughter, due to furious driving?"
"Forgery and embezzlement!" she shot at him.
That made him raise his head. He looked at her for a moment, and held out his hand. Almost without meaning to, she put one of her own hands into it. He pulled her down on to his knee. "My poor precious! Tell me all about it, then!" he said.
Instead of obeying this injunction, Beulah subsided on to his chest, and cried and cried. Mr.. Harte very wisely confined his remarks to such soothing utterances as Never mind! and There, there! at the same time rubbing his cheek against her already tousled locks, and patting her in a comforting way. This very sensible treatment presently had its effect: Beulah stopped weeping, and said in an exhausted whisper: "I didn't do it! I didn't do it, Timothy!"
"Look, ducky, don't start me off again!" begged Mr.. Harte. "You don't have to tell me that! Who on earth did you have to defend you?"
"I f-forget. I applied for legal aid, and they gave me an elderly man. They said he was a soup, or something."
"My darling, you need say no more! I have the whole picture!" Timothy said. "This is the first time in my legal career when I've wished I'd chosen to be an Old Bailey Tub-thumper! If only I could have defended you - !"
"Oh, Timothy! Oh, Timothy!" Beulah sobbed into his shoulder. "It wouldn't have been any use! I was such a little fool! No one believed me - I didn't think anyone ever would believe me! I couldn't bring forward anything to prove I hadn't done it, and that when I went to that office after hours, it was because he rang me up, and asked me to go there, and get that envelope out of the safe! He said he'd forgotten it, and he'd get into trouble with his uncle, and I was to post it to him - but it was only my word against his, and though I did think that man on the Bench half-believed me, the jury didn't, and if they didn't, why should anyone else?"
Mr.. Harte made no attempt to unravel this. Producing a large handkerchief, he mopped Beulah's cheeks with it, and said: "You shall tell me all about it, my pet, once we're through with this mess. Now, you sit up, and stop soaking me to the skin! We shall have my-friend-the Sergeant, alias Chief Inspector Hemingway, here at any moment, and you don't want him to find you in floods of tears! And don't run away with the idea that he'll arrest you for murder just because you were once convicted of embezzlement: he's far too downy a bird to do anything of the sort."
"I haven't told you the whole of it," Beulah said, apparently determined to make a clean breast of everything. "Birtley isn't my name! At least, it is, but not all of it!"
"Give me a moment to steel myself!" Timothy begged. "Because if it's Spooks, or something like that -"
She gave a shaky laugh. "No, no! It's Meriden!"
"And what could be nicer than that? Apart from the fact that the only Meridens I ever heard of are a rather stuffy Warwickshire family, full of Good Form and inhibitions."
"That's them," Miss Birtley said, into his coat.
"What you mean, my girl," said Timothy, "is Those are They. I'm sorry, but our engagement is Off! Half your value for me lay in the fact that you weren't cluttered up with that kind of relation. Kindly get off my knee!"
The haste with which Beulah complied with this injunction was due to the reappearance on the scene of Chief Inspector Hemingway. She betook herself to the mirror that hung over the fireplace, and proceeded to repair her damaged complexion, only very occasionally giving a convulsive sob.
"Come in!" said Timothy. "It'll probably clear the air if I tell you that I know All. So don't be shy, Chief Inspector! I've just been telling our entrancing gaol-bird that you won't arrest her merely because she got herself into a mess before she had the benefit of my acquaintance, counsel, and support."
"No, I shan't," replied Hemingway. "But I give you fair warning, Miss Birtley, that if you go on treating me as if you thought I was the whole Gestapo rolled into one, I'm liable to get very nasty, and quite likely I shall set Underbarrow on to you for not having reported yourself. So now you know!"
She turned, a little flushed, and said, with an attempt at a smile: "You can't help being prejudiced against me, and my experience of the police has not been such as to lead me to confide in them."
"The Chief Inspector will tell you, my love, that there are good and bad policemen," said Timothy. "Won't you Hemingway?"
"I shan't tell her anything of the sort," responded Hemingway. "The most I'll say is that some of us are better than others. However, just to show you that Himmler never was what you'd call a great pal of mine, I don't mind telling you, Miss Birtley, that I think your case could stand a bit of looking-into, and I happen to know that the partnership between Mr.. Harold Maxstoke and his uncle has been dissolved."
Light sprang to her sombre eyes; she exclaimed: "Oh, do you think - ?"
"I don't think anything at all," said Hemingway firmly. "In fact, I'm not interested, because it wasn't my case, and the only thing that interests me is homicide. Now, you tell me this! What brought you back to this house tonight?"
She glanced uncertainly at Timothy, who said at once: "Sit down, and answer the kind policeman truthfully, my child!"
She obeyed, but said reluctantly: "It sounds so unlikely!"
"Most of the stories I have to listen to do," observed Hemingway. "And they're not always lies either!"
"Well, Mrs. Haddington gave me a cheque this morning," she said. "She does it every week. I have to cash it, and pay all the household bills. I put it in a drawer of this desk, and forgot it. So I came back, because I'm supposed to pay the bills tomorrow morning, before I report for duty here."
"Can I see the cheque?"
She hunted in her bag. "Yes, it's here. I haven't got the books or the bills here: I left them at my digs. If you like to send someone to fetch them, I can tell you just where they are, though! The cheque's made out for the exact amount."
Hemingway took it from her, glanced at it, and handed it back. "A Bearer cheque: where do you cash it?"
"At Mrs. Haddington's Branch, in Piccadilly."
"Well, that seems all right. You've got a latch-key for this front door?"
"Yes."
"When did you let yourself into the house again?"
"I - I don't know! I never looked at the time!"
"Let's see if we can work it out! When did you first leave the house?"
"At six o'clock," she answered readily. "As the clock in the hall was striking. I had finished all I had to do ages before, but Mrs. Haddington won't let me go till six."
"What did you do then?"
"I walked to Green Park Station, and caught a train to Earl's Court."
"You live in Nevern Place, don't you? Say five to seven minutes walk each end. And then?"
She frowned in an effort of memory. "I lit the gas-fire in my room, and took off my - no, I didn't! I put the household books, and the loose accounts, into my bureau. It was then that I looked to make sure I'd got the cheque, and found I hadn't. I carried the books back in my attache-case, you see. It - it sounds silly, but I thought if I sneaked back here at once, Mrs. Haddington would be dressing for dinner, and wouldn't know anything about it. It was the kind of thing she used to be very unpleasant about, and I should never have heard the end of it if she'd caught me here tomorrow morning collecting the cheque. Wasting my employer's time through my own thoughtlessness. That sort of thing! So I came back."
"By tube?"
"Yes, by tube. I - I had a key, and I was able to slip in without anyone hearing, and come into this room."
"Not too fast!" said Hemingway. "Let's go back for a minute! Before you left the house at six o'clock, did anyone come to see Mrs. Haddington?"
She hesitated. "I didn't see anyone, but I did hear the front door bell ring once or twice."
"Anything else?"
Her eyes sought Timothy's; he said quietly: "Don't be silly, darling! What, if anything, did you hear?"
"It wasn't anything, really. I thought I recognised Mr.. Butterwick's voice. But I may easily have been mistaken! I wasn't paying much attention!"
Hemingway nodded. "And after that?"
Again she hesitated. "Well, Lord Guisborough arrived! But I knew he was expected: the servants were talking about it earlier in the day. There has been a lot of speculation amongst them about - well, about his intentions! I heard him holding forth - I mean, I heard him talking to Thrimby!"
"Do you know when Mr.. Butterwick left the house?" She shook her head. "Or when Lord Guisborough left?"
"No. He was still with Mrs. Haddington when I myself left: I saw his coat hanging up in the hall."
Hemingway glanced down at his own notes. "All right. Now let's get back to your second visit to the house. How long did you have to wait at Earl's Court for a train?"
"I didn't. I was lucky - in fact, I had to sprint to catch the train."
"How long do you reckon the train journey usually takes you?"
"A quarter of an hour to twenty minutes," she replied at once. "I usually allow half an hour from door to door."
"Any idea how long you spent at home?"
She reflected. "Not long. It's rather difficult - not more than ten or fifteen minutes, I should think."
"Well, we shan't be far out if we put the time of your arrival round about ten-past-seven, shall we?" said Hemingway.
"No, I should imagine it must have been about that time," she agreed, watching him nervously.
"Did you happen to notice whether there was still a coat in the hall?"
"No, I didn't think to look. I'm sorry. I came straight to this room. The only thing I did notice was that the light was on in the dining-room, but I didn't hear any sound of movement, and I hoped Thrimby was downstairs. He can't stand me at any price - or I him - and I knew he'd tell Mrs. Haddington, if he saw me. I opened that drawer -" she pointed to the top drawer of the desk - "took out the cheque, and - and tried to make an unobtrusive getaway. But Thrimby was in the dining-room, and he heard me. I expect you know the rest. Like a fool, I asked him not to give me away. I also tried to stop him going up to tell Mrs. Haddington I was on the premises. I knew she'd give me some wretched errand to do — But it's no use my telling you that! Even I can hear that it sounds thoroughly phoney!" Beulah said bitterly.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that!" responded Hemingway, jotting down another note in his pocket-book.
"Why the girl wanted me to come and hold her hand I shall never know!" remarked Timothy. "A good witness, Chief Inspector: I wouldn't have the slightest hesitation in putting her in the box."
Beulah smiled faintly. Hemingway said: "One more question, Miss Birtley. You might prefer me to put it to you without this legal adviser of yours standing around. He can go and talk to Mr.. Kane in the dining-room. You'd only have to scream, and I don't doubt he'd come bursting in to your rescue."
"What, more hideous revelations?" said Timothy.
Beulah shook her head. "No; I - I think probably I'd better not have any more secrets from Mr.. Harte," she said. "What is it?"
"What did you quarrel with Mrs. Haddington about this morning?"
She blushed. "Oh - !"
"Well, I did warn you!" Hemingway pointed out.
"Apparently you already know what I quarrelled about! I've no doubt Thrimby was listening to the whole affair. All right, I don't care! Mrs. Haddington had found out that I dined with Mr.. Harte last night, and - she was furious."
"Yes?" Hemingway prompted her.
She swallowed. "She - threatened to tell him - about me." She raised her eyes. "Well, more than that: she said she would tell him."
"And what did youu say to that?"
"Oh, why ask me? You know exactly what I said!"
"No, he doesn't," interposed Timothy. "All he knows is what Thrimby says you said, so you give him your version! I'll leave the room, if you like!"
"It isn't that! Only you're telling me to put a rope round my own neck!"
"God bless the girl!" ejaculated Timothy. "After that crack, my love, don't waste a moment in disclosing to the Chief Inspector exactly what you did say! It can't possibly be as damaging as the ideas you've put into his head!"
"I said I was going to marry you, and I'd go to any lengths to do it, or something like that! I don't really remember my precise words, because I was in a rage. I said I wouldn't let her stop me. I think I said there wasn't much I wouldn't do if she tried to interfere. But I didn't mean I'd kill her!"
"No?" said Hemingway. "Suppose you were to tell me just what it was that you did mean, Miss Birtley?"
She appeared a trifle discomposed. "Nothing! One says silly things like that - not thinking!"
"Think now!" recommended Hemingway. "It might be important. You uttered a threat: you've admitted that. If you didn't mean violence, what did you mean? What harm could you do Mrs. Haddington?"
Timothy, who had been watching him, turned his head. "I should answer this one," he said. "Did you know something she didn't want disclosed?"
"I - I had certain suspicions, but - Look here, I wasn't serious! I said it to frighten her! I wouldn't really blackmail even Mrs. Haddington!"
"What were your suspicions, Miss Birtley?"
"I'd rather not say. I've no proof, and - she's dead!"
"Yes, and I'm trying to find out who killed her," said Hemingway.
She stared at him for a moment. "I know you are," she replied slowly. "And if anything I said - caused you to discover her murderer -" She paused, and then added defiantly: "I should be sorry!"
"Never mind that!" said Timothy. "Your private sympathies don't come into it. I can guess what you suspected, and so, I fancy, can Hemingway. Had she any sort of a hold over Lady Nest Poulton?"
She regarded her clenched hands. "Yes. I think so. I once overheard something that was said. I couldn't help it: they were both standing in the back drawing-room, and I came into the front half of the room. They stopped as soon as they realised I was there, of course."
"What was said?" asked Hemingway.
She answered reluctantly: "Lady Nest said, I'm damned if I will! and Mrs. Haddington gave that hateful laugh of hers, and replied, I thinkyou'll do exactly what I askyou to do, dear Nest, because you'll certainly be damned ifyou don't!"
"Thank you," said Hemingway.
"It mightn't have meant what I thought it meant!" she said quickly.
"Never mind what it meant! That's my headache! Now, when you were sent to the late Seaton-Carew, you were sent by someone who didn't believe you'd been shopped, weren't you? Someone who thought you belonged to the criminal classes?"
"I suppose so," she said, rather drearily. "I thought she believed what I told her."
"Highly unlikely. But when he saw you, Seaton-Carew found you weren't the sort of girl he was after. That's what you told me, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Did you get any idea of the sort of job he did want a young lady like you for?"
"Not then. Only when I thought it over afterwards, and remembered the questions he'd asked me - not that there was anything in them, taken by themselves - I began to wonder if I was to have been a sort of informant."
Hemingway nodded. "Any reason to think he and Mrs. Haddington were in partnership?"
"I can't answer that. I honestly don't know. They were very intimate, that's all I can say."
He shut his notebook, and restored it to his pocket. "All right; I shan't keep you any longer tonight, Miss Birtley. I'm going to hand you over to your legal adviser, and I won't conceal from you that while he's giving you a bite of supper, I'm going to send one of my men to check up on your story. That's routine, as Mr.. Harte will tell you. I've got to be certain those accounts are where you say they are. I've no wish to start a lot of talk, so if you like to write a note to your landlady, authorising her to let the bearer take the books and the bills out of your bureau, he won't have to show her his card."
She got up, and went to the desk. "Thank you. Decent of you! I'll do that, only I can't leave this house before Miss Pickhill gets here. Cynthia Haddington might come in at any moment, and somebody ought to be here, besides the servants. Miss Pickhill has to come from Putney, you see."
The telephone-bell sounded as she picked up a pen. She made as if to lift the receiver, and then checked herself, looking enquiringly at Hemingway.
"Don't worry about that!" he said. "One of my chaps will deal with it."
She began to write. She was slipping the folded note into an envelope when a man in plain clothes came quietly in, and handed the Chief Inspector a scrap of paper torn from a notebook. He read it, and said: "All right, I'll take it in here, Snettisham. I want you to go to this address -" He handed the Sergeant Beulah's letter -"and give this to the landlady. No need to say you're a police-officer. She's to take you into Miss Birtley's room, and allow you to bring away with you a pile of bills and household books, in Mrs. Haddington's name, which you'll find in the bureau. It isn't locked, Miss Birtley?"
"No. The key is in it. He'll see the bills as soon as he opens the front. Could he - would he mind turning out the gas-fire? I left it on, and as I put a shilling in only this morning it'll still be burning."
"And turn out the fire!" said Hemingway. "I want you to go by the tube - Green Park station, and to come back the same way. Time it! That's all." He nodded dismissal, and turned to Beulah, "Do they have to switch the telephone through to this room, or can I get straight on?"
"Straight on. If Miss Pickhill arrives - can I go, or must I wait till that man gets back?"
"No, I'll trust Mr.. Harte to keep an eye on you," he replied, opening the door.
She lingered for a moment. "Thanks! I - I'm sorry I was rude to you before!"
"That's all right," he said. "You've been quite helpful."
He shut both her and Timothy out, and went to sit down at the desk, picking up the telephone. "Hallo?"
"Is it yourself, sir?" asked the voice of Inspector Grant.
"It is. Where are you speaking from?"
"From your office, sir. Mr.. Poulton was driven from Charles Street straight to Northolt Aerodrome, and has left for Paris."