Джорджетт Хейер - Duplicate Death

"Och, I am sorry for the lassie!" said Grant, as they passed out of the house.

"Well, I'm not!" said Hemingway. "A proper little detrimental, that's what she is, and she's getting off lightly! Sandy, what we've discovered this morning is nobody's business! Haven't I told you, time and again, that when a case gets properly gummed up something'll break?"

"You have," agreed the Inspector gravely. "Now, I have not had the opportunity to look at that fan you gave me. What is it you have in your head?"

"You'll see!" Hemingway said. "We're going to do a little experiment with that fan and a bit of wire, my lad!"

"Ah!" said the Inspector. "I thought it would be that, maybe." He added, with a half-smile: "You have always believed it was Mrs. Haddington murdered Seaton-Carew, have you not?"

"I never believe anything until I get proof," replied Hemingway. "But what I've got is flair!"

"I have heard you say so," meekly responded his subordinate.

The experiment, conducted in the Chief Inspector's room, with a length of wire and Mrs. Haddington's fan, caused the cautious Gael to say: 'Gle mhath! I do not doubt it was the fan she used for her tourniquet. That -" he pointed to where Cynthia's compact lay - "gives us the motive, which before we never had. But what possessed that man to give snow to a bit lassie like yon?"

Hemingway shrugged. "I daresay we shall never know. My guess is that he fell heavily for her, and she wasn't having any. He didn't give her much of the stuff — just enough to make her dependent on him. May have meant to break her of it, once he had her where he wanted her; may not have cared, as long as he did have her. You ought to know what effect the stuff would be likely to have! Only he reckoned without her mother. Now, you may think Miss Pickhill's nothing more than a pain in the neck, but that's because you haven't got flair! I got a lot of very valuable information out of Miss Pickhill, and the most important was that the late Mrs. Haddington pretty well doted on that daughter of hers. All right! Nobody knew better, if you were to ask me, than Mrs. Haddington what becomes of people who get the drug habit. Don't you run away with the idea that she was a plaster-saint! She wasn't! She knew what Seaton-Carew's little racket was, and cashed in on it! She knew the signs all right, and I'd be willing to stake a month's pay she spotted them in the fair Cynthia! It wouldn't surprise me if I had proof given me - which I shan't have, the way things are — that she'd made up her mind to eliminate the boy-friend long before that party of hers." He paused. "No, I'm wrong there. Didn't that silly girl say she only lost the compact on the day of the party? All the same, Mrs. Haddington may have had her suspicions before that. Why else did she pinch the compact? For what we can't doubt she did! She found what she was looking for, and she knew there was only one thing to be done: wipe out Seaton-Carew!

And she was longheaded enough to see that she couldn't have a better opportunity than at her own Bridge-party! I daresay she got the idea as soon as he told her he was expecting a 'phone-call. She was clever enough to have staged that, I daresay, but maybe she didn't. Lots of other ways of getting him away from the rest of the party. As for the wire, I always did think it must have been she who took it out of the cloakroom. Whether she did that only to tidy the place, which seems likely; or whether she did it with the murder in her mind is another of the things we shall never know. Bit of both, perhaps."

"It is possible," Grant said. "But if it was she who killed Seaton-Carew, who was it who killed her? And why?"

"There," said the Chief Inspector frankly, "you have me, Sandy! Nice set-out, isn't it? First we get Mrs. Haddington planning as neat a murder as you could wish for; and then we have someone unknown taking careful note of her methods, and coolly copying them to do her in! Banking on us thinking the same person was responsible for both deaths, which we might have if I hadn't found that fan, and you hadn't known the trick of that compact. We got motive and means in one fell swoop, as you might say, which is a piece of bad luck for Murderer No. 2. On the face of it, it looks a bit as if this bird was fitted out with a water-tight alibi for the first murder."

"That would rule out Poulton," said Grant.

"It would, of course, and we haven't reached the stage of ruling him out, not by a long chalk. What we've got to discover was what possible motive he can have had for wanting to dispose of Mrs. Haddington good and quick. If he thought it was she who was giving his wife cocaine, I suppose he might have done it. You'd think, though, that a level-headed chap like him would have wanted some solid proof before committing a pretty nasty murder, let alone the foolhardiness of it!"

"They say in the City that he is verra canny. It might be that he would bank on us believing he would not be so silly as to have done it."

"Yes, I always heard you Highlanders were an imaginative lot," commented Hemingway. "I'm bound to say I've never seen any signs of it in you before, and, if that's a sample, I hope I never will again! If Poulton committed the second murder, he wasn't banking on me getting any cockeyed ideas into my head, you can bet your life on that! What's more, he must have had a damned good reason for doing it. It might be the one I've already suggested, and the more I think about that the less it appeals to me; it might be that Mrs. Haddington knew of Lady Nest's habits - which I don't doubt — and was threatening exposure. If so, why?"

"Not exposure: blackmail!"

"Yes, that's a possibility. He's a very wealthy man: she may have over-reached herself. I shouldn't think he'd part readily with any substantial sum. On the other hand, supposing she did demand a young fortune from him, and he'd come to us? What would we have done?"

"We would have kept his name out, as far as was possible, but these things sometimes leak out, sir, and well you know it!"

Hemingway nodded, but pursed his lips rather dubiously. "You may be right. All the same - Well, we'll see! Meanwhile, as soon as we've had a bit of lunch, we'll pay Dr Westruther another call. He's got some explaining to do. He wasn't looking altogether happy at the Inquest this morning, and I'm sure I don't blame him. Sailing very near the wind, is Dr Westruther."

When they met again, it was nearly three o'clock, and the Inspector was able to report that his enquiries had elicited the fact that Mr.. Godfrey Poulton was a passenger on the aeroplane due at Northolt at about four o'clock.

"Good!" said Hemingway. "This time, perhaps I can get him to be a little more open with me than he was before."

"You saw the doctor, sir?"

"I did. From his face, I should say he'd just as soon a polecat had walked in as me. Luckily I've never been one to set much store by popularity, otherwise my feelings might have been hurt. As it was, I was rather glad to see I wasn't a welcome guest. It encouraged me to be a bit unconventional with him. He's a slippery customer, but he doesn't like this case. Talked the usual stuff about his duty to his patients, but when I pointed out to him that when we'd had two murders he was carrying that a bit far, he turned a very nasty colour. What he says, and, I don't doubt, would swear to, is that he never connected Seaton-Carew's death with the drug-traffic. Says he wasn't told who'd given snow to the Haddington girl. Well, that's quite likely, but I think he put two and two together. What's shaken him is Mrs. Haddington's death. It's in the cheaper papers, but he says he only sees The Times. Came as a shock to him. Sat there goggling at me like a hake. He hadn't a clue, that I'm sure of. She did call him in to prescribe for the girl, and she told him the plain truth. You'll probably like to know that he doesn't think there's been any irremediable harm done. As regards Lady Nest, he was a good deal less forthcoming, but I didn't press him too hard on that. If Poulton goes on stone-walling, I've got enough evidence now to force him to disclose the address of the Home he's put his wife in. Did I tell you I'd had a crack with Heathcote? He and Cathercott are hot on their trail, and just about as pleased as punch with themselves. Heathcote even spared me a pat on the back, but two chaps less interested in a brace of murders you'd never find! I'm going to have a talk with the AC now. You nip down to Northolt, and catch Poulton as he steps out of the 'plane! Bring him here - all nice, and civil: wanted for further enquiries. Tell him there have been developments which make it necessary for me to ask him a few more questions, and watch his reactions. There won't be any, so that won't take you long!"