Джорджетт Хейер - Duplicate Death

"But there was another Christian name, foreign, I think; and Birtley wasn't the surname."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yes, you do," Hemingway said. "I've got a good memory for faces, and yours isn't one I'd forget easily."

"You are mistaken. You may think you know me, but I've never seen you before in my life!"

"No, you wouldn't have noticed me: I wasn't concerned in your case. But I happened to be in Court that day. So now let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? It doesn't do you any good to tell me lies, and it's very wearing for me. Name?"

She looked for a moment as though she did not mean to answer, but in the end she said sullenly: 'Francesca Beulah Birtley Meriden."

"I thought there was a foreign name in it," commented Hemingway, writing it down. "You got nine months, didn't you? Embezzlement?"

"Also forgery."

"How old are you?" he asked, glancing shrewdly at her. "Twenty-four."

"Parents?"

"Both dead."

"Any other relatives?"

"I have an uncle - though he would prefer me not to say so. I've neither seen him nor heard from him since my imprisonment. He's probably forgotten my existence by now: he's very good at forgetting unpleasantness." She shot him a darkling look. "What has all this got to do with what happened here tonight? I suppose you think that because I was convicted of theft and forgery you can pin this murder on to me?"

"Not without a bit of evidence I can't. Though it'd be just like the wicked police to fake up a lot of evidence against you, wouldn't it? Let's cut that bit! You'd be surprised the number of times I've listened to it before. How long had you known Seaton-Carew?"

"Since I came out of prison."

"Oh? How did you get to know him?"

She hesitated.

"Come on!" Hemingway said. "What was he up to? Giving a helping hand to lame ducks? Or did you meet him socially?"

"No, I didn't. Someone told me to go to him. Said he'd find me a job."

"Who was that?"

"A woman."

"Probation officer, by any chance?"

"No. A fellow convict!"

"Now, that's very interesting," said Hemingway. "Don't bother to tell me you didn't go to the Probation officer, or report yourself at any police station, because I can guess that, and it isn't what I want to talk about, anyway. What made this woman think Seaton-Carew would find you a job?"

She gave a short laugh. "I don't know. At least, I didn't know at the time. There were still quite a lot of flies on me six months ago! I don't really know now - but it wasn't because he was a philanthropist! She apparently thought he would find a use for me. He did: he sent me to Mrs. Haddington. That was very nice for all of us. He got her gratitude; she got a secretary who wouldn't give notice, however poisonous she was; and I got a fixed wage."

"Well, that sounds like philanthropy, doesn't it? What was Seaton-Carew's job in life?"

"I have no idea."

"Now, look here!" said Hemingway. "You've thrown out a few hints that he was up to no good, so presumably you have got an idea! Suppose you were to stop behaving as though you thought you were Little Red Ridinghood and I was the Wolf! If I were, I should start getting nasty about your failure to report yourself while on licence, whereas I'm not saying anything about that at all. At the same time, you're on a sticky wicket, and the best thing you can do is to come clean."

"I thought it wouldn't be long before we reached threats!" Beulah said, her lip curling.

Hemingway sighed. "Have sense!" he begged. "So far, the only member of this outfit who's got a record is you. You haven't got an alibi; you bought the wire which was used to strangle him. If you can add that lot up to a different total than what I come to you're a darned sight smarter than I think! Which isn't saying much," he added caustically.

Her eyes narrowed. "Look!" she said, between closed teeth. "Once upon a time Little Red Ridinghood thought the police were her guardian angels, and that all she had to do was always to tell them the truth. Then she discovered her error, and, being several darned sights smarter than you think, she didn't fall into it again! I'm not spilling my heart out to you, Chief Inspector! The only thing I'm going to tell you is that I didn't murder Seaton-Carew - though I rather wish I'd thought of it - and if you can pin it on to me, good luck to you! I don't care a damn! I know what kind of a merry hell one can live through if one is a released convict, and I'd a lot rather be dead! I haven't the slightest doubt that you'll tell the world my record, so you may as well make a clean sweep, and arrest me for murder while you're about it!"

"Yes, but, you know, I'm handicapped," objected Hemingway. "We do have to be so careful in the Force. Telling the world about your record would be clean against regulations."

She looked up quickly, but only said: "Well, I don't care. I don't know anything about Dan Seaton-Carew."

"All right, we'll leave it at that," said Hemingway. "Tell me something you do know! When you took that call, what did you do with the receiver?"

"What did I do with it? Put it on the table, of course!"

"Just show me, as near as you can, will you?"

She looked frowningly at him, as though suspicious of a trap. After a moment, she rose, and went to the table, lifting the receiver from the rest with her left hand, and laying it on the table.

"No nearer to the edge than that?"

"I don't think so. I'm not sure, but I think this is how I left it."

"Thanks; you can put it back now. Who was on the landing outside the drawing-room when you took the call for Seaton-Carew last night?"

"My employer."

"No one else?"

She frowned. "No. Not at once. Mr. Butterwick came out of the room, but he wasn't there at first."

"Did he come out in time to hear your conversation with Mrs. Haddington?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying much heed to him."

"Did you see him again while Seaton-Carew was in this room?"

"I saw him in the dining-room, but I didn't speak to him."

"Did you notice whether he was what you might call normal, or a bit upset?"

"No. I didn't."

"You're a great help, aren't you?" said Hemingway.

"I've got no wish to help the police."

"Go away before I lose my temper with you!" recommended Hemingway.

He succeeded in surprising her. She looked astonished and blurted out: "Is that all? Don't you want to know what I did with the spare coil of wire?"

"You left it on the shelf in the cloakroom, where no one, not even Mrs. Haddington, happened to catch sight of it."

"So likely that anyone would admit to having seen it! And if Mrs. Haddington didn't, it must have been the only thing that did escape her eye in the house! She saw that one of the unfortunate servants had put out the wrong kind of towel in the cloakroom fast enough!"

"Oh, she saw that, did she? Careful housewife?"

"Extremely so! Capable of drawing her finger along the tops of things to be sure there's no dust there!" said Beulah, with a short laugh. "Anything more?"

"Not at present. You go home, Miss Birtley, and think things over a bit! Then perhaps we'll get on much better when next we meet."

Inspector Grant rose quietly, and opened the door. Beulah hesitated, looking from him to Hemingway, and then went quickly from the room.

The Inspector closed the door with deliberation. His chief, regarding him with the eye of experience, said: "All right, I can see you're bursting with something! Let's have it!"

"A verra dour witness," said the Inspector.

"Well, if that's all - !"

The Inspector's slow, shy smile lit his eyes. "Och, I saw nothing you did not see yourself! You will not thank me for pointing out to you that Mrs. Haddington stated that she had not entered the cloakroom; nor that she has it in her, that lassie, to murder a man."