Agatha Christie - Towards Zero

"I was just going up to change — "

Leach interrupted: "Excuse me, Mr. Strange. Change into what? Into evening dress, or out of evening dress?"

"Neither. I was wearing a blue suit — my best, as it happened, and as it was raining a bit and I proposed to take the ferry and walk the other side — it's about half a mile, as you know — I changed into an older suit — a grey pin-stripe, if you want me to go into every detail."

"We do like— to get things clear," said Leach humbly. "Please go on."

"I was going upstairs, as I say, when Barrett came and told me Lady Tressilian wanted to see me, so I went along and had a — a jaw with her for a bit."

Battle said gently: "You were the last person to see her alive, I think, Mr. Strange?"

Nevile flushed.

"Yes — yes — I suppose I was. She was quite all right then."

"How long were you with her?"

"About twenty minutes to half an hour, I should think, then I went to my room, changed my suit and hurried off. I took the latchkey with me."

"What time was that?"

"About half-past ten, I should think. I hurried down the hill, just caught the ferry starting and went across to the Easterhead side. I found Latimer at the hotel, we had a drink or two and a game of billiards. The time passed so quickly that I found I'd lost the last ferry back. It goes at one-thirty. So Latimer very decently got out his car and drove me back. That, as you know, means going all the way round by Saltington — sixteen miles. We left the hotel at two o'clock and got back here somewhere around half-past, I should say. I thanked Ted Latimer, asked him in for a drink, but he said he'd rather get straight back, so I let myself in and went straight up to bed. I didn't see or hear anything amiss. The house seemed all asleep and peaceful. Then this morning I heard that girl screaming and — "

Leach stopped him.

"Quite, quite. Now to go back a little — to your conversation with Lady Tressilian — was she quite normal in her manner?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"What did you talk about?"

"Oh, one thing and another."

"Amicably?"

Nevile flushed.

"Certainly."

"You didn't, for instance," went on Leach smoothly, "have a violent quarrel?"

Nevile did not answer at once. Leach said: "You had better tell the truth, you know. I'll tell you frankly some of your conversation was overheard."

Nevile said shortly: "We had a bit of a disagreement. It was nothing."

"What was the subject of the disagreement?"

With an effort Nevile recovered his temper. He smiled.

"Frankly," he said, "she ticked me off. That often happened. If she disapproved of anyone she let them have it straight from the shoulder. She was old-fashioned, you see, and she was inclined to be down on modern ways and modern lines of thought — divorce — all that. We had an argument and I may have got a bit heated, but we parted on perfectly friendly terms — agreeing to differ." He added, with some heat: "I certainly didn't bash her over the head because I lost my temper over an argument — if that's what you think!"

Leach glanced at Battle . Battle leaned forward ponderously across the table. He said: "You recognised that niblick as your property this morning. Have you any explanation for the fact that your fingerprints were found upon it?"

Nevile stared. He said sharply: "I — but of course they would be — it's my club — I've often handled it."

"Any explanation, I mean, for the fact that your fingerprints show that you were the last person to have handled it."

Nevile sat quite still. The colour had gone out of his face.

"That's not true," he said at last. "It can't be. Somebody could have handled it after me — someone wearing gloves."

"No, Mr. Strange — nobody could have handled it in the sense you mean — by raising it to strike — without blurring your own marks."

There was a pause — a very long pause.

"Oh, God," said Nevile convulsively, and gave a long shudder. He put his hands over his eyes. The two policemen watched him.

Then he took away his hands. He sat up straight.

"It isn't true," he said quietly. "It simply isn't true. You think I killed her, but I didn't. I swear I didn't. There's some horrible mistake."

"You've no explanation to offer about these fingerprints?"

"How can I have? I'm dumbfounded."

"Have you any explanation for the fact that the sleeves and cuffs of your dark blue suit are stained with blood."

"Blood ? " It was a horror-struck whisper. "It couldn't be!"

"You didn't, for instance, cut yourself — "

"No. No, of course I didn't." They waited a little while.

Nevile Strange, his forehead creased, seemed to be thinking. He looked up at them at last with frightened, horror-stricken eyes.

"It's fantastic!" he said. "Simply fantastic. It's none of it true."

"Facts are true enough," said Superintendent Battle.

"But why should I do such a thing? It's unthinkable — unbelievable! I've known Camilla all my life."

Leach coughed.

"I believe you told us yourself, Mr. Strange, that you come into a good deal of money upon Lady Tressilian's death?"

"You think, that's why — But I don't want money! I don't need it!"

"That," said Leach, with his little cough, "is what you say, Mr. Strange." Nevile sprang up.

"Look here, that's something I can prove. That I didn't need money. Let me ring up my bank manager — you can talk to him yourself."

The call was put through. The line was clear and in a very few minutes they were through to London . Nevile spoke: "That you, Ronaldson? Nevile Strange speaking. You know my voice. Look here, will you give the police — they're here now — all the information they want about my affairs — yes — yes, please."

Leach took the phone. He spoke quietly. It went on, question and answer. He replaced the phone at last. "Well," said Nevile eagerly.

Leach said impassively: "You have a substantial credit balance, and the bank have charge of all your investments and report them to be in a favourable condition."

"So, you see, it's true what I said!"

"It seems so — but, again, Mr. Strange, you may have commitments, debts — payment of blackmail — reasons for requiring money of which we do not know."

"But I haven't! I assure you I haven't. You won't find anything of that kind."

Superintendent Battle shifted his heavy shoulders. He spoke in a kind, fatherly voice.

"We've sufficient evidence, as I'm sure you'll agree, Mr. Strange, to ask for a warrant for your arrest. We haven't done so — as yet. We're giving you the benefit of the doubt, you see."

Nevile said bitterly: "You mean, don't you, that you've made up your minds I did it, but you want to get at the motive, so as to clinch the case against me?"

Battle was silent. Leach looked at the ceiling.

Nevile said desperately: "It's like some awful dream. There's nothing I can say or do. It's like — like being in a trap and you can't get out."

Superintendent Battle stirred. An intelligent gleam showed between his half-closed lids.

"That's very nicely put," he said. "Very nicely put indeed. It gives me an idea …"

Sergeant Jones adroitly got rid of Nevile through the hall and then brought Kay in by the trench window, so that husband and wife did not meet.

"All the better," said Battle . "It's only this one I want to deal with whilst she's still in the dark."

The day was overcast, with a sharp wind. Kay was dressed in a tweed skirt and a purple sweater, above which her hair looked like a burnished copper bowl. She looked half frightened, half excited. Her beauty and vitality bloomed against the dark Victorian background of books and saddleback chairs. Leach led her easily enough over her account of the previous evening.