Agatha Christie - Sparkling Cyanide

Sergeant Pollock made a distraction by announcing that they had telephoned up to say that a young lady was asking for him or rather for the officer in charge of the Luxembourg case.

"Who is she?"

"Her name is Miss Chloe West."

"Let's have her up," said Kemp resignedly. "I can give her ten minutes. Mr Farraday's due after that. Oh, well, won't do any harm to keep him waiting a few minutes. Makes them jittery, that does."

When Miss Chloe West walked into the room, Kemp was at once assailed by the impression that he recognised her. But a minute later he abandoned that impression.

No, he had never seen this girl before, he was sure of that. Nevertheless the vague haunting sense of familiarity remained to plague him.

Miss West was about twenty-five, tall, brown-haired and very pretty. Her voice was rather conscious of its diction and she seemed decidedly nervous.

"Well, Miss West, what can I do for you?" Kemp spoke briskly.

"I read in the paper about the Luxembourg – the man who died there."

"Mr George Barton? Yes? Did you know him?"

"Well, no, not exactly. I mean I didn't really know him."

Kemp looked at her carefully and discarded his first deduction.

Chloe West was looking extremely refined and virtuous – severely so. He said pleasantly:

"Can I have your exact name and address first, please, so that we know where we are?"

"Chloe Elizabeth West. 15 Merryvale Court , Maida Vale. I'm an actress."

Kemp looked at her again out of the corner of his eye, and decided that that was what she really was. Repertory, he fancied – in spite of her looks she was the earnest kind.

"Yes, Miss West?"

"When I read about Mr Barton's death and that the – the police were inquiring into it, I thought perhaps I ought to come and tell you something. I spoke to my friend about it and she seemed to think so. I don't suppose it's really anything to do with it, but –"

Miss West paused.

"We'll be the judge of that," said Kemp pleasantly. "Just tell me about it."

"I'm not acting just at the moment," explained Miss West.

Inspector Kemp nearly said "Resting" to show that he knew the proper terms, but restrained himself.

"But my name is down at the agencies and my picture in Spotlight… That, I understand, is where Mr Barton saw it. He got into touch with me and explained what he wanted me to do."

"Yes?"

"He told me he was having a dinner party at the Luxembourg and that he wanted to spring a surprise on his guests. He showed me a photograph and told me that he wanted me to make up as the original. I was very much the same colouring, he said."

Illumination flashed across Kemp's mind. The photograph of Rosemary he had seen on the desk in George's room in Elvaston Square . That was who the girl had reminded him of. She was like Rosemary Barton – not perhaps startlingly so – but the general type and cast of features was the same.

"He also brought me a dress to wear – I've brought it with me. A greyish green silk. I was to do my hair like the photograph (it was a coloured one) and accentuate the resemblance with make-up. Then I was to come to the Luxembourg and go into the restaurant during the first cabaret show and sit down at Mr Barton's table where there would be a vacant place. He took me to lunch there and showed me where the table would be."

"And why didn't you keep the appointment, Miss West?"

"Because about eight o'clock that night – someone – Mr Barton – rang up and said the whole thing had been put off. He said he'd let me know next day when it was coming off. Then the next morning, I saw his death in the papers."

"And very sensibly you came along to us," said Kemp pleasantly. "Well, thank you very much, Miss West. You've cleared up one mystery – the mystery of the vacant place. By the way, you said just now – 'someone' – and then, 'Mr Barton.' Why is that?"

"Because at first I didn't think it was Mr Barton. His voice sounded different."

"It was a man's voice?"

"Oh, yes, I think so – at least – it was rather husky as though he had a cold."

"And that's all he said?"

"That's all."

Kemp questioned her a little longer, but got no further.

When she had gone, he said to the sergeant: "So that was George Barton's famous 'plan.' I see now why they all said he stared at the empty chair after the cabaret and looked queer and absent-minded. His precious plan had gone wrong."

"You don't think it was he who put her off?"

"Not on your life. And I'm not so sure it was a man's voice, either. Huskiness is a good disguise through the telephone. Oh, well, we're getting on. Send in Mr Farraday if he's here."

Outwardly cool and unperturbed, Stephen Farraday had turned into Great Scotland Yard full of inner shrinking. An intolerable weight burdened his spirits. It had seemed that morning as though things were going so well. Why had Inspector Kemp asked for his presence here with such significance? What did he know or suspect? It could be only vague suspicion. The thing to do was to keep one's head and admit nothing.

He felt strangely bereft and lonely without Sandra. It was as though when the two faced a peril together it lost half its terrors. Together they had strength, courage, power. Alone, he was nothing, less than nothing. And Sandra, did she feel the same? Was she sitting now in Kidderminster House, silent, reserved, proud and inwardly feeling horribly vulnerable?

Inspector Kemp received him pleasantly but gravely. There was a uniformed man sitting at a table with a pencil and a pad of paper. Having asked Stephen to sit down, Kemp spoke in a strongly formal manner.

"I propose, Mr Farraday, to take a statement from you. That statement will be written down and you will be asked to read it over and sign it before you leave. At the same time it is my duty to tell you that you are at liberty to refuse to make such a statement and that you are entitled to have your solicitor present if you so desire."

Stephen was taken aback but did not show it. He forced a watery smile. "That sounds very formidable, Chief Inspector."

"We like everything to be clearly understood, Mr Farraday."

"Anything I say may be used against me, is that it?"

"We don't use the word against. Anything you say will be liable to be used in evidence."

Stephen said quietly: "I understand, but I cannot imagine, Inspector, why you should need any further statement from me? You heard all I had to say this morning."

"That was a rather informal session – useful as a preliminary starting-off point. And also, Mr Farraday, there are certain facts which I imagined you would prefer to discuss with me here. Anything irrelevant to the case we try to be as discreet about as is compatible with the attainment of justice. I daresay you understand what I am driving at."

"I'm afraid I don't."

Chief Inspector Kemp sighed.

"Just this. You were on very intimate terms with the late Mrs Rosemary Barton –"

Stephen interrupted him.

"Who says so?"

Kemp leaned forward and took a type-written document from his desk.

"This is a copy of a letter found amongst the late Mrs Barton's belongings. The original is filed here and handed to us by Miss Iris Marle, who recognises the writing as that of her sister."

Stephen read: "Leopard darling –"

A wave of sickness passed over him.

Rosemary's voice… speaking – pleading… Would the past never die – never consent to be buried?

He pulled himself together and looked at Kemp.

"You may be correct in thinking Mrs Barton wrote this letter – but there is nothing to indicate that it was written to me."

"Do you deny that you paid the rent of 21 Malland Mansions, Earl's Court?"

So they knew! He wondered if they had known all the time.