Джорджетт Хейер - Duplicate Death

The butler said, in a voice carefully devoid of ignoble triumph, that her ladyship left town on the previous evening. He regretted that he was unable to give the Chief Inspector her address, or to inform him when she would return. He suggested that these questions should rather be put to Mr.. Poulton.

"Oh, so he's not gone out of town too?"

"No," said the butler, raising his brows.

"Is he at home?"

"Mr.. Poulton is never at home during the day. You will find him at his office, Chief Inspector. Would there be anything further you would like to ask me?"

"Yes: Mr.. Poulton's City address!"

This was vouchsafed, and the two detectives returned to the waiting car. As it moved eastward, Grant said slowly: "It does not seem right to me that she should have gone away from her home just now, and not a word of it said to you yesterday!"

"No reason why she should have said anything to me: she isn't under suspicion. But you're quite right, Sandy: it smells remarkably fishy! She must know that husband of hers isn't by any means in the clear. Nice moment for her to be jaunting off to the country! Well, we'll see what our poker-faced friend has got to say about it."

Godfrey Poulton, at first declared by a competent secretary to be in conference, did not keep his visitors waiting long in the outer office. They were ushered in a few minutes into a large, turkey-carpeted room. Here, at a large knee-hole desk, sat Godfrey Poulton. He was speaking into one of the telephones on the desk, and merely nodded to his visitors, and made a slight gesture towards a couple of chairs. He did not show any signs of discomposure, but watched the detectives absently, while he listened to what was being said to him at the other end of the wire.

"Very well… I'm sorry: no!… I could give you -"He glanced down at the open diary before him - "twenty minutes, at 11.45 tomorrow morning… Yes? I shall expect you at that hour, then. Good-bye!" He laid down the instrument, and said: "I don't want to be disturbed until these gentlemen leave, Miss Methwold. Goodmorning, Chief Inspector! What can I do for you?"

"You can, if you will be so good, sir, tell me where I can find Lady Nest Poulton," replied Hemingway. "I understand she has gone out of town."

"Where you can find my wife?" said Poulton, an inflexion of surprise in his tone. "May I know what your business is with her? So far as I am aware, she has no possible connection with your case."

"Nevertheless, I should like her address, sir."

"I trust you will be able to manage to get on without it."

"Am I to understand that you refuse to disclose it, sir, or that you don't know what it is?" demanded Hemingway.

"The first," replied Poulton calmly. "You have already interrogated my wife once - with what object I am at a loss to know! - and she does not wish to be troubled any further about the affair."

"No doubt, sir, but -"

"Nor do I wish it for her," added Poulton. "If it were even remotely possible that she could have had something to do with the murder, the position would, of course, be very different, and I should not for a moment withhold her address from you. As it is, I rather think I am within my rights in refusing to disclose it."

"No, sir. No one trying to obstruct an officer of the law in the pursuance of his duty is within his rights!" countered Hemingway promptly.

"Did I say that? In what way does my wife's absence from home obstruct you, Chief Inspector?"

"That's for me to judge, sir. There are certain questions I wish to put to Lady Nest."

"That is unfortunate - but perhaps I can answer your questions?"

"Perhaps, sir, but I prefer to put them to her ladyship."

"I regret, Chief Inspector, I cannot permit you to see her. It will save time, and, I hope, argument, if I tell you that she is extremely unwell, and in no condition to receive visitors."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Very sudden, her illness, isn't it?"

"No," replied Poulton. "My wife has been on the verge of a nervous breakdown for weeks. The unfortunate affair in Charles Street merely precipitated a crisis. I am surprised that you should not have seen for yourself that she was far from well yesterday."

"I certainly got the impression that her ladyship was not herself," said Hemingway rather grimly.

"I imagine you might," was the imperturbable answer. "She is a very highly-strung woman, easily upset; and she has for some time been suffering from neurasthenia."

"That wasn't quite what I thought, sir."

Poulton looked faintly amused. "A medical man, Chief Inspector?"

"No, sir: merely a police-officer! There are certain symptoms we get to recognise in our job."

"Really? I haven't the least idea what you're talking about: it sounds very mysterious! But there is no mystery about my wife's illness, or about her whereabouts. I will tell you at once that she is in a Nursing Home, and that her doctor has forbidden even me to see her for the next week or so." He paused. "If you doubt that, I would suggest -"

"I don't doubt it, Mr.. Poulton. I believe Lady Nest is in a Nursing Home, and I believe she isn't allowed to see anyone. Which forces me to speak more frankly to you than I might have liked to do if I'd been able first to see her ladyship. But what I've got to say I don't think will be a surprise to you - the way things are. When I called on her ladyship yesterday morning, it was pretty plain to me, and to Inspector Grant here, who's had a good deal of experience in that branch, that she was in the habit of taking drugs."

"I believe," said Poulton, unmoved, "that she takes far more phenacetin than is at all good for her. Ah, yes, and also valerian - but that, I need hardly say, was prescribed for her."

"No, sir, not that kind of drug. What we call the White Drugs - cocaine, heroin, morphia. In your wife's case, cocaine."

Poulton had been playing idly with a pencil. He laid it down, saying icily: "That, Chief Inspector, is an infamous suggestion!"

"You can take it from me, sir, that it isn't a charge I'd bring against anyone without very good reason."

"It is a charge you may regret having brought against her ladyship!"

"If I were wrong I should regret it very much. I will tell you now, sir, that a considerable amount of cocaine has been discovered in Seaton-Carew's flat."

The impassive countenance before him betrayed nothing either of surprise or of alarm. Poulton was still frowning. "Indeed! I was too little acquainted with the man to know whether that was to be expected or not. I am quite sure my wife can have known nothing of it. You seem to imagine that he and she were close friends: they were not. This misapprehension, coupled with her ladyship's neurasthenic condition, has led you to assume that Seaton-Carew had been supplying her with drugs. I perceive, of course, that if that had been true I should have had an excellent motive for strangling the fellow. I may add, in view of this disclosure, that I have every sympathy for the man who did strangle him! That, however, is beside the point. You may search my house with my goodwill; and I recommend you to call on my wife's medical attendant. You have already met him: he is Dr Theodore Westruther. Pray ask him to explain to you the nature of my wife's illness! Now, since I am reasonably certain that you do not, on these fantastic grounds, hold a warrant for my arrest, I am going to request you to leave. I am a very busy man, and I have neither the leisure nor the inclination to listen to police theories which are nothing short of insulting! Good morning, gentlemen!"

When he stood upon the pavement outside the block of offices, the Inspector wiped his brow. "Phew!" he breathed.

"Good, wasn't he?" said Hemingway, bright-eyed and appreciative. "Carried on from the start as if we'd come to sell him a vacuum-cleaner he didn't want. Playing it very boldly, and very coolly. He had one advantage: he knew we'd be coming to question him. Something tells me you wouldn't easily catch that chap on the wrong foot."