Sudden death, p.17
Sudden Death, page 17
‘And you don’t know of anyone else who might have been awake or up?’
Mrs Meakin considered. ‘You’ve seen Miss Cheame, of course?’ she asked presently. ‘She was up getting herself some food in the middle of the night.’
This was news to French. However, he concealed his satisfaction.
‘No,’ he said, ‘not yet, but of course I’m going to. As a matter of fact, how did you know she was up?’
‘The food was gone, and I asked about it.’
French nodded. ‘Now was there anyone else? I knew about Miss Cheame.’
There was no one. Mrs Meakin could give no further help. But French could see that her sympathies had been with Sybil Grinsmead, and he felt convinced that if she had known anything, she would have told it.
With somewhat more interest, though still not expecting to learn anything, French next asked for an interview with Edith Cheame. She handed the children over to Anne and received him in the schoolroom.
‘As you see, Miss Cheame,’ he began, ‘I’m still carrying on inquiries about this unhappy tragedy. The police have got hold of some information which they don’t understand, and I have to report on it,’ and he mentioned that mysterious strangers had been in the grounds during the night. ‘Now I understand that you were about that night, and I should be glad to know if you heard or saw anything unusual?’
‘I was about, inspector?’ she returned, with evident surprise. ‘I don’t know what you mean by that. Are you suggesting that I was out during the night?’
French shook his head. ‘No, Miss Cheame, of course not. But I’m suggesting that you were downstairs. Were you not?’
A light seemed to dawn on Edith. ‘You’re quite right,’ she admitted, ‘I was. I couldn’t think at first what you meant. Yes, I was down in the pantry. But only for a minute or two. I went to get something to eat.’
‘Yes? You were hungry then in the night?’
‘Yes, I was hungry and I went down for food.’
‘I wish you’d give me all the details, Miss Cheame.’
Edith seemed still more surprised, but she answered without hesitation.
‘If you think it’s important, of course I will. As a matter of fact, I was unwell all that afternoon, a nasty bilious headache. I couldn’t eat anything either at tea or dinner. Then there was the bridge party afterwards, at which I relieved Mrs Grinsmead. That didn’t help it. Of course I could have said I was ill and gone to bed, but you know in these cases you’d rather put up with things than make a fuss. After the people went home I thought I shouldn’t be able to sleep, so I went and got a sleeping draught from Miss Day. She had gone up with Mrs Grinsmead, but I saw by the light under her door that she wasn’t asleep. She was in bed, but she gave me a draught. However, in the end I didn’t take it, as when I got into bed I began at once to feel drowsy. I fell asleep, but woke shortly. My headache was better, but I was hungry. I went down and got something to eat in the pantry. Then I went up to bed again and fell asleep and didn’t wake till morning.’
This was clear enough, and there was no reason to doubt it. French, however, made it an invariable rule to assume that all statements made to him were suspect, and to try to obtain corroborative details.
‘I follow,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Now, Miss Cheame, you went to bed, I suppose, shortly after midnight?’
‘About that, yes.’
‘And what time did you wake up and go for the food?’
‘About two. As a matter of fact it was just five minutes to two, for I looked at my watch.’
‘Now, did you look out of any of the windows when you were up?’
‘No. It was dark, you see.’
‘You saw no lights outside or any suggestion of people being about?’
‘Nothing of the kind.’
‘Did you hear anything?’
‘Not a sound.’
‘You neither saw nor heard anything, inside or out?’
Edith looked up sharply. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were asking me about people outside the house only. Inside, yes, I saw Mr Grinsmead.’
French was startled. Was he going to get something after all.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You saw Mr Grinsmead, did you? Where was he?’
‘In the corridor outside my door.’
French remembered that outside Miss Cheame’s door was also very nearly outside Sybil’s. The doors almost faced one another.
‘And when did you see him?’
‘When I opened my door.’
‘What was he doing?’
For the first time Edith hesitated. ‘Hadn’t you better ask him?’ she said.
‘I shall do so, but I want to hear your statement as well.’
‘I think he can tell you better about himself. I’ll tell you about myself.’
‘I appreciate your delicate feelings, Miss Cheame,’ French said dryly, ‘but unfortunately in a police inquiry they are out of place. I shall ask both of you the same questions and check your statements against one another. This does not mean that I doubt either of you; it is the police routine which must be carried out. You will therefore please tell me what Mr Grinsmead was doing when you saw him, and he shall tell me what you were doing at the same time.’
‘He can’t tell you what I was doing, because he didn’t see me.’
‘But didn’t he hear you opening your door?’
‘No, I opened it very quietly, so as not to disturb anyone.’
‘Very well, he didn’t see you, but you saw him. Just answer my question, please.’
‘He was standing in the corridor with his back to me. He was rolling up a piece of cord or wire.’
French’s heart gave a sudden leap. A cord or wire!
‘Yes? And what did you think the cord or wire was?’
‘I thought perhaps it might be an electric flex.’
‘And what did you think Mr Grinsmead might be doing with an electric flex at that hour of the night?’
‘I thought possibly he wanted to read and his light had failed, and he was getting current from the plug on the corridor, but I didn’t really know. I didn’t see that it was my business and I was only anxious that he should go away so that I could slip downstairs to the pantry.’
‘Quite. Well, that’s reasonable enough. And what did you do then?’
‘I drew back into my room and closed the door until he should go away.’
‘And he did go away?’
‘Yes, in a minute or two he went to his own room.’
‘I see. That may be a help to me, for he may have seen someone outside. What happened then?’
‘That was all. When he went away I went down and got the food.’
‘How did you know it was Mr Grinsmead?’ French went on.
‘I saw his dressing-gown,’ Edith answered. ‘It is a Chinese one with blue dragons on it.’
‘Did you not see his face?’
‘No, but I’m certain it was he from his figure. I couldn’t be mistaken.’
‘Oh,’ said French. He paused in thought, then resumed:
‘By what light did you see him?’
‘My torch.’
‘Was the light on in your room?’
‘No.’
‘Was the light on in the passage?’
‘No.’
‘Then how did he see to roll up the wire?’
‘He also had a torch.’
‘But could he hold a torch and roll up at the same time? I’m not trying to pick holes, Miss Cheame, but only to get the thing clear in my mind.’
Edith nodded. ‘He wasn’t holding the torch,’ she answered. ‘He had placed it on its side on the edge of the table, so that it would shine on to his hands.’
French remembered the table. It was a small one standing against the wall just beside Sybil’s door.
‘I follow,’ he said. ‘Did you happen to notice what colour the flex was?’
‘I couldn’t tell exactly. You see, it was between me and the wall, and it simply looked dark.’
French nodded and got up. ‘Well, thank you very much, Miss Cheame. I’m obliged for your statement, though I’m afraid it doesn’t help me as much as I had hoped. Now, I’d be glad if you could take the children again, so that I might ask the same questions of Miss Day.’
As French waited for Anne he found it hard to control his jubilation. But he fought it down and little trace of it remained in his manner as he repeated his questions, first to Anne, and then to Gladys. From neither, however, did he learn anything fresh.
To French this statement of Edith Cheame’s seemed about as important as any he could have well received, though it was evident that the governess did not realise its significance. Why, it was nothing more nor less than the proof he required! It practically amounted to taking Grinsmead in the act. French had him! The man would never be able to explain away so damning an action.
French was interested to notice how evenly divided was the responsibility for the evidence against his two suspects. From Anne Day had come the story of the conversation in the lane, from Hersey that of the woman shining the torch on the window, and now Edith Cheame had told of Grinsmead’s rolling up of the cord in the corridor. This spreading of the evidence over three witnesses undoubtedly added immensely to its strength.
In spite of his own common sense, French for a moment could not resist allowing himself to indulge in day dreams. If this really were the end, he had certainly handled the case well. It had been gone into by a quite efficient brother inspector, who had come to a reasonable, but entirely false conclusion. But when he, French, had come on the job, he had quickly discerned the true inwardness of the affair. He had seen it for what it really was—wilful murder. And now he had got his proof, and in an extraordinary short time at that! Moreover, it was a neat proof; one of the type everyone must admire. He had considered the circumstances, he had evolved a theory, he had tested it, and now he had proved it true. Some work!
The next thing was to get the credit for his work. He took the first bus to Ashbridge and saw the superintendent.
Godfrey was gratifyingly impressed by French’s story. He considered it for some minutes and then announced that there was now sufficient evidence to make the arrests. ‘I’ll just ring up Major Oliver,’ he went on. ‘He likes to be consulted in these matters.’
The chief constable was, it appeared, in full agreement with the proposal, and Godfrey began at once to arrange details. They would make the arrests late that night, so that the affair might be carried out secretly. Eleven o’clock, Godfrey thought, would be a suitable time. At that hour Kendal and a constable would take Mrs Holt-Lancing, while he, Godfrey, and French would bring in Grinsmead. After that, statements could be taken, if necessary.
French, full of self-satisfaction, went to his hotel for dinner and to kill time till he should be required again.
PART III
As Anne Day Saw It
14
Horror
The coming of Inspector French to Frayle had given Anne Day a nasty shock. Just when she and the other members of the household had come to believe that the dreadful episode of the death of Sybil Grinsmead was over and they were settling down into something like peace of mind, the whole horrible affair was reopened.
This reopening was terrible in its very vagueness. There were interrogations, there were suspicions, there were imaginings, but there was no knowledge of what was really going on. It was felt by all concerned that a blow was about to fall, but it was not known how, or from where, or of what kind. The atmosphere became tense, weighted with undefined ills, and the nerves of everyone suffered.
To Anne Day and Edith Cheame in particular the spectre of unemployment loomed up once more, not by any means in the distance, but close at hand. If their terrible suspicions were to prove well founded, it would mean the break up of the Grinsmead home, and for them the soul-destroying disappointments of the registry offices. Life at Frayle had indeed become a nightmare.
Inspector French himself was not without terror to Anne. While personally he was invariably polite and considerate, there was an insistent, remorseless fixity of purpose about him which amazed, even as it dismayed, her. She felt that he must inevitably get what he wanted, if only because of his unconquerable pertinacity. He had evidently got it into his head that the death of Sybil was no suicide, that it was murder, and that someone must be brought to book for it. Anne felt that someone would be; even, she almost imagined, if it were suicide after all. The man would not stop till he had found a victim. She shivered as she thought of it.
That Inspector French had already got some quite definite suspicions she felt sure, though she had no idea as to what form they took. He had interrogated her on different occasions. On all of these except one she had simply repeated what she had told the other inspector, Kendal. French had not on these occasions conveyed any special idea to her by his manner. But on one occasion he had done so. He had asked her to go into Sybil’s room one evening with Inspector Kendal and go through every operation which she had gone through on the night of Sybil’s death. That evening she could have sworn French had some quite definite motive behind his request. It had seemed to her that he had known something and was expecting confirmation of his theory from her actions. It had puzzled her, because he, French, had not seen what she did. He had remained outside the room. And when he dismissed her nothing seemed to have happened. However, something had probably happened after she had left, for the two inspectors had remained upstairs for a long time.
On this very afternoon French had had a further interview with her, at which he had definitely intimated that he was following some clue. He had asked her whether she had been awake on the night of the tragedy, and if so, whether she had heard or seen any movements inside or outside the house. Of course she had not. Then he had told her that there was evidence that people were about the grounds that night, and he was trying to find out if anyone had seen them from the house. This had surprised Anne extremely. Whatever she might herself have feared, it was not persons from without. But French had given no explanations, merely asking his questions in his unemotional, unhurried, painstaking way.
The whole thing had got badly on Anne’s nerves, and she knew that Edith Cheame was suffering in the same way. In fact, as the two women sat chatting in Anne’s room after tea on the same afternoon, Edith was the more outspoken of the two.
‘I can tell you, Anne,’ she was saying, ‘I’m about fed up with this place. I’ve got to hate the very sight of it, and of everyone in it. Suspicions and questionings and fears and doubts; there’s no end to it. God knows how I fear being out of a job, but I don’t believe I’ll be able to stick it here much longer. And we may be pretty sure there’s worse to follow.’
This was unlike Edith, who generally took calmly enough the evils which the gods sent other people.
Anne agreed.
‘In a way,’ Edith went on, moving restlessly in her chair, ‘I don’t suppose it matters whether we want to stay here or not. I don’t believe we’ll get the choice. Have you noticed how Grinsmead has been looking lately?’
‘Ten years older since Sybil’s death. Yes, I’ve noticed it. Every day he seems older and grimmer. Whatever the truth of this business, he’s feeling it terribly.’
‘That’s it. He’ll not stick it much longer. And then we’ll get the sack.’
‘You mean he’ll sell the place?’
‘Yes, sure. Don’t you think so?’
‘If he goes elsewhere he may ask us to go with him.’
‘Not on your life,’ Edith said. ‘He’ll want to see the last of us. And ’pon my soul, Anne, I’m not sure that I don’t want to see the last of him. I hate the sight of everything connected with the place. I want to get away. I want to see new people. Oh dear, how I would like a sea voyage!’
‘Not much chance of that,’ said Anne. ‘I feel just as you do. But we’d be silly to make any move at present. These feelings will pass away. Let’s just sit tight and say nothing.’
Edith agreed that this was undoubtedly wisdom, and they relapsed into one of their usual discussions of the crime.
‘What on earth has reopened the question?’ Anne wondered for the hundredth time. ‘It was found to be suicide by the coroner’s jury, and why can’t they let it stand at that?’
‘Heaven knows,’ Edith said uneasily. ‘I didn’t tell you I got another horrible fright this afternoon; I thought I’d told French something that would back up their suspicions.’
Anne looked up with troubled face. What fresh evil was coming now?
‘You didn’t, Edith? What on earth was that?’
Edith Cheame made a gesture of mystification. ‘It was something I saw that night,’ she answered, ‘and how I came to forget it I absolutely can’t think. The tragedy put it completely out of my head. It was Grinsmead. I saw him about two that morning. He was in the corridor with something like a cord in his hands. He was winding it up.’
Anne’s face expressed amazement.
‘Grinsmead!’ she repeated. ‘Winding up a cord in the corridor? Edith, you weren’t dreaming, I suppose? What on earth was he doing that for?’
‘My dear, ask me something easier. How should I know? I told French that I supposed his lamp had failed and that the cord was a flex which he was connecting to the landing plug. But, of course, I didn’t really know.’
Anne stared, while something like horror slowly grew in her eyes.
‘Edith, do you mean that you don’t see? Oh, dear, how awful! What do you really think he was doing?’
‘My dear Anne, as I say, how do I know? What do you think yourself?’
Anne shivered. She looked fixedly at Edith. Then she put her thought into words.
‘If they think him guilty,’ she said in low tones, ‘they must suppose he somehow turned on the gas without opening the door. I’ve wondered about that again and again. If so, don’t you see what follows? This’ll be the proof they want. A cord! Some apparatus for turning on the tap!’
Edith’s eyes dilated as she stared at Anne.
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ she cried in distress. ‘Oh, no, Anne; you’re wrong; you’re wrong! How horrible to suggest such a thing! I don’t believe it.’
