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20: Eyewitness

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« on: November 28, 2023, 05:26:46 am »

THE READING lamp on the desk in Eustace’s study cast a small bright pool of light on the polished wood, and the reflected glow struck upwards on the faces of the earnest men who stood round it looking down at Mrs. Broome, who sat in the writing chair.

Luke was there and Campion, Munday, and Stockwell, a solid bunch of human heads intent and silent save for the occasional murmur of assent.

For once Nanny Broome had no illusions. She was frightened and completely in the picture. She had no time to be self-conscious.

“We were nearly an hour I should think, me and Mr. Tim, getting him off.” Her voice was very quiet, almost a whisper, but she was keeping to the point remarkably well and they were all too experienced to distract her. “He’d been up and down, up and down, until he drove you crazy. But he dropped off at last and we tiptoed out into the passage and Mr. Tim went off downstairs, and I waited about for a bit in case Mr. Basil woke again. I did one or two little jobs. I turned Mr. Tim’s bed down and looked in on Mr. Eustace to see if he’d got everything. He was reading; he always does. Miss Alison had finished her bath; I could hear the waste running. And so I went across the hall to the other three rooms and saw Miss Julia’s bed was all right. Mrs. Telpher wanted me to help her close her window which was stuck, and I did that and went next door to Miss Aich but I didn’t go in.”

“Did you attempt to?” Luke’s tone was carefully lowered to match her own so that there was no physical interruption, as it were, to the flow of her thought.

“Not really. I knocked and she said, ‘All right, all right’ in her way, so I thought: ‘very well.’ And I didn’t disturb her. Then I came back and listened to Mr. Basil’s door. He was snoring quite regularly so I went and sat down on the window bench at the end of the passage and looked out into the street. I sat there for a long time. I often do. It’s my seat. I’m not in the way because I’m behind the velvet curtains and the light is up the other end of the passage and doesn’t really reach to where I am. I sat looking out at the police for a long time. I thought the plain-clothes chaps were just ordinary men hanging about for a while but presently, when they kept speaking to the copper in uniform and looking about as if they weren’t doing it, I guessed who they were and I wondered if Miss Julia could have telephoned them after all.”

“Why should she?”

“Because I’d had my coat cut when I came in after seeing you, Mr. Luke. I told her we’d report it in the morning.”

“Very well.” Luke was holding himself on a tight rein. “Then what happened?”

“Nothing for a long time. I was wondering if I dare go to bed and leave those two young monkeys up downstairs. You can’t really trust anybody at that age. It’s not right to ask it of them. Then I heard someone and I peeked out through the curtains and saw a woman come along and go into Mr. Basil’s room. I was so angry I could have smacked her because we’d only just got him to sleep, but there was no noise and after quite a few minutes she came out again and went back to her room, and I sat listening with my heart in my mouth because, I thought, ‘Well, if he’s going to start all his tricks again it will be now that he’ll begin.’ There was no sound, though, and presently I got up and listened at his door and he was snoring.”

“Did you go in?”

“No. I only opened the door a foot and put my head in. The street lamps shine into that room. I could see him. He was all right. Sleeping like a great grampus. Poor, poor chap.”

“Don’t think of that now. What did you do?”

“I went back to my seat and watched the detectives fidgeting about across the road. A police car came crawling by and one of them went off after it down the side street. To make his report I expect. There was no one else at all about. We don’t have many people pass at night although it’s so crowded in the day time. I might easily have gone to bed then but I didn’t. I waited to see the detective come back and that was why I was still there when the person came again. I could hardly believe it when I saw her, but she went straight into Mr. Basil’s room and she was there five or six minutes. Then she came out again.”

“The same woman as before?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Are you sure you could identify her?” In his effort to keep his voice level and in tone Luke exerted so much strength that he set the entire group trembling.

“Well, one never is absolutely sure, not at night, is one? I wasn’t sure who it was. I had to satisfy myself. That was why I spoke to her.”

Munday made a little strangled sound deep in his throat and turned it into a cough whilst everybody else held his breath.

“I said, ‘Is he all right?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say. She didn’t jump, she just turned round and came up to me. ‘There are lights on downstairs,’ she said. I said, ‘I know: it’s all right. How is Mr. Basil?’ ” Miraculously Mrs. Broome’s urgent whisper had never faltered but, now, remembered indignation interfered with her clear picture. “She said, ‘I never went in.’ The cheek of it! ‘Tim put him to bed,’ she said. ‘I never went in.’ Of course I didn’t know then what she’d been up to or I’d have given her something to go on with! . . .”

“Wait.” Luke dropped a hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath.” He was treating her as he treated child witnesses and she responded, obeying him literally.

“I’ve done that.”

“Right. Now go back. You spoke to her. She answered you. You were sure who it was. When she said she had not been in, what did you do?”

“I stared. ‘I thought you had,’ I said. ‘Goodnight.’ Then I sat down again and looked out of the window. She stood there waiting for a second and I thought she was going to explain, but she didn’t. She just turned round and went straight back to her room and I stayed where I was, never dreaming he was in that thing.”

“How long before you looked at him?”

“Several minutes.” It was an appalled whisper. “I sat behind the curtains getting warmer and warmer. My mind was easy, you see. She hadn’t woken him the first time and I didn’t expect her to do it on the second. I sat wondering why she’d gone in and why she’d been so silly as to try to pretend she hadn’t with me actually sitting there, and I almost dozed!”

“Never mind. Keep on the ball. When did you look?”

“After about ten minutes. I’d meant to go down and call the children because they’re only young and enough is enough. When I got up I listened at Mr. Basil’s door and I couldn’t hear him. It was as silent as the grave in there. I didn’t think much about it but it did strike me as extraordinary and I wondered if he was lying awake. I opened the door very softly and looked in. The reading lamp was on and there he was, shining like a great pool of water in the bed. I told one of you, didn’t I? I lost my head and began to scream and because I knew you were all there outside the window I shouted to you.”

“Because you thought it was a crime?”

“No. Because I wanted help. I don’t think of policemen as always having to do with crime.”

“The trusting public,” murmured Mr. Campion under his breath as Luke spoke.

“You’ll have to give us her name,” Luke said gently. “Loyalty and long service and the respectability of the house, all those things are important, but not important enough at this point. Who was it Mrs. Broome? Just the name?”

“It was that old girl who was shouting when I came into the bedroom, wasn’t it?” Stockwell could contain himself no longer. “What’s her name? Aicheson? She’s pretending to be absorbed by the attack on the old sister of the householder.”

Nanny Broome stared at him.

“Oh no,” she said. “Miss Aich wouldn’t hurt a fly and couldn’t without it getting away! No. It was Mrs. Telpher. I should have guessed that without seeing her, once I’d noticed the likeness between Mr. Basil’s colour and Miss Saxon’s.”

“Mrs. Telpher? Who’s she? I haven’t even heard of her!” Stockwell was already halfway to the door and Mrs. Broome’s unnaturally quiet voice arrested him.

“When you first came over the road who let you in, young man?” she demanded. “I’ve been wondering that ever since I came in here. There wasn’t anybody else. She must have been going out as you came in. She’s bolted. As soon as I spoke she knew she was found out, see? Even if she had been able to get back for the bag before I found him I’d have known she was to blame in the morning when it came out he was dead!”

In the moment of silence while her meaning became clear, there was an abrupt tap on the door and the little doctor came hurrying in, brusque and important.

“I’ve an announcement,” he said to nobody in particular. “He’ll do. He’s just spoken. I don’t think the brain is impaired. The last thing he remembers is Miss Alison Kinnit bringing him a drink in bed.”

There was a long silence broken by a deep intake of breath by the Chief Inspector.

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “That has torn it every which way,” he said. “Now what? I’m glad he’s alive but I wish he’d stopped talking.”

“But it was Mrs. Telpher who gave him the drink. That was the first thing I noticed.” Nanny Broome was so excited that she was on the verge of incoherence. “Miss Julia was with me when we saw her bring the glass upstairs and I mentioned it. I said, ‘She must have half a tumbler of neat spirit there.’ ” She paused and turned to Luke again with one of the sudden outbursts of utter frankness which were her most alarming characteristics. “That was the real reason why I went to her room when she caught me to help with the window. She was taking a long woolly dress out of a plastic bag then. I wanted to see if she really had drunk all that stuff. It’s not only that I’m inquisitive, but if I’m to look after the house I must know what’s going on.”

“And she hadn’t?” Luke pounced on the thread before it got away.

“No. There it was untouched on the dressing table. She’d put a tissue over it but you couldn’t miss it, it was smelling the place out. Later on, when I saw her taking it in to Mr. Basil, I guessed what she was up to. ‘You’re going to make sure he passes right out so there won’t be any more disturbances tonight,’ I thought. ‘You selfish thing! Serve you right if he gets delirium and the whole place turns into a madhouse.’ I remember his Papa, you see.”

Luke ignored the historical reference.

“Can you swear on oath it was Mrs. Telpher you saw in the passage and not Miss Alison Kinnit? They’re very alike.”

“Of course they’re alike! That’s what muddled Mr. Basil in the state he was in. All the Kinnits are alike; the family flavour is very strong. Their natures are alike. When she tried to put the whole thing on to Mr. Tim she was exactly like any other Kinnit. I thought that at the time.”

“When?” Luke leapt on the flaw. “When you were speaking to Mrs. Telpher in the passage you didn’t know that anything had happened to Mr. Toberman.”

Nanny Broome’s innate honesty shone through the clouds of wool.

“No, but as soon as I saw Mr. Basil all glistening like that I realised that whatever had happened to him it must be Mrs. Telpher who’d done it, and that she’d clearly meant to put the blame on Tim. That’s why I screamed and called the police. I’m not very easily upset, you know. I don’t scream for nothing. I usually know what I’m doing. Where would Tim and I be now, let me ask you, if I hadn’t screamed and you weren’t all here but it had been left to the family to decide what story to tell? I knew she’d have to run because I’d spoken to her and she knew I knew who’d been into Mr. Basil’s room. She’s got away. Good riddance! I’ve been thinking she would if I gave her time enough.”

“You be careful what you’re saying, missus!” Munday intervened despite himself. “The lady hasn’t a chance of getting far. Meanwhile, have you ever heard of an Accessory after the Fact?”

“Only in tales,” said Mrs. Broome contemptuously. “Catch her if you think you can, but don’t bring her here near my kiddiewiddies!”

“Who are they?” Munday was beginning with interest, but Luke signalled to him hastily.

“Forget it,” he muttered. “We’ve only got one life. Sergeant Stockwell, you ought to have noticed the lady at the door. You put out the call. Wait a minute. She has a child at St. Joseph’s. You might try there first. I think we can take it that she’s not normal. It’s the old psychiatric stuff. There’ll be no very definite motive. I mean, and . . .”

“I rather think there is, you know.” Mr. Campion, who had taken no part in the proceedings and who had been forgotten by everybody, now ventured to intervene a trifle apologetically.

“She was the only person who had sufficient motive, or so it seemed to me. Fear is the only adequate spur for that sort of semi-impulsive act, don’t you think? Fear of loss. Fear of trouble. Fear of unbearable discovery. Especially when backed by the glimpse of definite gain.”

Luke stared at him.

“ ‘Oh my prophetic soul,’ your telegram!” he said. “I might have known! She is not Mrs. Telpher, I suppose?”

“Oh, but she is.” Mr. Campion appeared unhappy. “That is her true name and she is the Kinnit niece. The telegram was a reply to a routine enquiry I made about her through the Petersen agency in Jo’burg.” He paused, looking awkward. “It’s one of those sad, silly, ordinary explanations which lie behind most criminal acts,” he went on at last. “I suppose her secret is the most usual one in the world and she hid it successfully from everybody except Basil Toberman, who is the kind of man who spends his life making sure he is not deceived on that particular point.”

Luke’s eyebrows rose to peaks.

“Money?”

Mr. Campion nodded. “I’m afraid so. She simply isn’t rich. It is as easy as that. She isn’t even badly off, hard up or in straitened circumstances. She is simply not rich. She never has been rich. The deceased Telpher was an accountant but not a financier.”

“But the Kinnit family must have known this?”

“Why should they? There are people who make a habit of keeping an eye on the financial positions of their various relatives, but with others, you know, complete ignorance on the subject is almost a cult. Mrs. Telpher was a distant relative. Distant in miles. The Kinnits were aware of her but not at all curious about her. How the idea that she was extremely wealthy was implanted in their minds originally I do not know. It may have started with some trifling mistake, or be based merely on the simple fact that they are extremely wealthy and she had never let them know that she was not. At any rate, when she had to come to London she found it very easy to make use of them. Her success lay in the fact that she understood them so well. They are all alike. Cold, incurious, comfort-loving, and deeply respectful towards money, and yet in an odd inhuman way hospitable and aware of the duties of hospitality.”

“That woman only lives for one thing and that’s cash,” said Mrs. Broome unexpectedly. “If she hasn’t got a fortune already her main reason for coming here was to make sure of an inheritance when the time came. You can be sure of that! Don’t forget she’s the only Kinnit relative except for Mr. Tim and she probably thought he ought not to count, being merely adopted. Her idea was to oust him, take it from me. Meantime, here she got her living free, and Miss Saxon’s.”

This prosaic thought, which had been in the minds of everybody present, passed entirely without comment.

Luke was still waiting for Mr. Campion, who finished his interrupted statement.

“The one great risk she took never materialised,” he said. “No one insisted on visiting the child. Knowing the family she did not think they would.”

“I insisted and was soon told where I got off!” the irrepressible Mrs. Broome put in tartly. “The poor little mite was ‘far too ill to see strangers! Doctors’ orders.’ As if a visit from me would hurt a kiddie!”

Luke flapped a silencing hand at her and continued to watch his friend. “Isn’t there a child?”

“Oh, yes, there’s a child.” Mr. Campion spoke sadly. “And its condition is just as she said---silent, incurable, unconscious. A heart-rending sight, too terrible for anyone very close to sit and watch for long. Mrs. Telpher is not very close. She is the governess. She was driving when the accident occurred. She was sent by her employers to London with the child and her nurse, Miss Saxon, when every other hope of cure had failed. The child’s name is Maria Van der Graff. She is registered under it at the hospital. Anyone could have discovered it had they thought to ask.”

The story struck the depressingly familiar note with which true stories ring in the tired ears of experienced policemen. No one queried it. It was in the classic pattern of human weakness, mean and embarrassing and sad. The second note, the high alarum, not so familiar and always important since it indicates the paramount sin in Man’s private calendar, took most of them by surprise although they had been well prepared.

“Attempted murder,” said Luke. “She did it to avoid discovery and the failure of her plans, and when she saw she was caught she made a definite attempt to incriminate the young man who stood between her and an inheritance. That covers the present charge.” He hesitated and they waited, the same thought in every mind.

Mrs. Broome’s eyes met Luke’s.

“If Miss Saxon was the nursie, that was why she was so fond of the kiddie and why she tried to tell me about the diamonds.”

“The diamonds?” He was as amazed as if she had attempted to introduce elephants.

“The diamonds in the safe deposit,” said Mrs. Broome placidly. “In the beginning, when Mr. Eustace wrote in his fussy way and told Mrs. Telpher not to bring a lot of jewellery to the house but to put it in a safe deposit, he put an idea in her head. She invented some diamonds because she saw that he expected her to have some with her, and pretended she’d put them under lock and key. When she mentioned them in front of me Miss Saxon told me---in front of her---that they were so big that she wouldn’t have believed they were real if she hadn’t known. Well, she did know, didn’t she? If they were in service together she’d have known Mrs. Telpher wasn’t wealthy. She knew the diamonds weren’t real and probably weren’t even there. She was on the verge of telling me the joke. We were getting far too friendly, Miss Saxon and me; that was why she had to have her head put in a bag! It was aspirin, not drink, that was used that time I expect!”

“Quiet!” Luke’s big hand thumping on the desk silenced her. “You open your mouth once more, my girl, and it’s you and no one else who’ll be inside! Doctor, suppose the gentleman upstairs had died what would the autopsy have shown?”

The doctor glanced over at him in astonishment.

“Oh, I don’t think there would have been any need for an autopsy, Superintendent. It was perfectly clear what had happened to him.”

“Yes, I know, sir. It’s a hypothetical question. What would have been the finding if the man had died and the bag been removed and hidden?”

“If I hadn’t known? If I had simply been presented with the corpse and not told about the bag?”

“That’s it, sir.”

The little man hesitated. “Well, I don’t know,” he said irritably. “How can I know? There might be any sort of condition which could account for death. We’re a bit more complex inside even than a television set, Superintendent. I certainly shouldn’t be able to tell that he had suffocated, if that’s what you mean.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No. There might be a slight increase in the carbon monoxide in the blood but---no, I couldn’t be expected to diagnose suffocation. There’d be no foreign matter in the mouth or windpipe, no bruising, no marks of any kind. No, I should not have thought of suffocation. Fortunately it doesn’t arise.”

“Exactly,” said Luke and scowled at Mrs. Broome. “And it mustn’t,” he said, “or we’ll all be in the bag! Don’t you forget it! Chief Inspector, has your sergeant gone to put out that call? Where will you take Leach?”

“Ebbfield, I think,” Munday said seriously. “We’ll sort out the charges down there on the home ground, don’t you agree?”

Luke’s reply was forestalled by a knock on the door, and the Chief Inspector, who was nearest it, pulled it open to reveal a sleepy-eyed, yet harassed looking young man whom he welcomed with relief. There was a hasty conference on the mat whilst the noises from the excited house swept in to them from the well of the staircase. After a moment or so the Chief Inspector turned back into the room and leant across the table to Luke.

“There’s a question of a glove which Leach was thought to have with him. It’s missing.”

The doctor snorted with impatience but the Superintendent was very interested. He turned to Mrs. Broome.

“You said you had your coat cut tonight. What did you mean?”

She caught her breath. “Oh, I wasn’t going to think about that until the morning!”

Luke’s bright teeth flashed in his dark face and the look he gave her was positively affectionate.

“In case you got frightened of the dark, I suppose? You’ll do! Run along with the gentleman at the door. He’s not a policeman, he’s a probation officer. Tell him everything he wants to know. He’s trying to help someone before they break his heart for him, poor chap.”

Mrs. Broome had the final word. She was bustling to the doorway when it occurred to her and she looked back.

“You could have a very nice nature if you weren’t so cheeky,” she said and went out, Munday after her.

Charlie Luke, reduced to half-pint size, flushed and turned sharply on the doctor, who was making noises. “Now, sir?”

“I want to get that man in a nursing home.” The statement was aggressive. “He won’t die now but he’s still ill. He’s still confused. Some of it may be alcohol, you understand. Professional nursing at this stage is essential.”

Luke stepped back.

“Excellent idea,” he said briskly. “As soon as possible. You make the arrangements and as soon as the Chief Inspector returns he will make provision for a preliminary statement. Nothing detailed. Just enough to take us through the next phase. We’ve got to charge the lady when we find her, you see.”

“Of course.” The doctor was satisfied and busy. “Fortunately there’s a telephone in Mr. Eustace Kinnit’s bedroom.”

Luke smiled at him without irony. “Fortunate indeed, sir,” he said cheerfully and turned to Mr. Campion as the man hurried off leaving the door open.

“It could be a long trial, you know,” he said presently. “She might get away with it on the medico’s evidence of Toberman’s first waking words. I can just hear Sir Cunningham cross-examining Mrs. Broome about what she saw on the landing, can’t you? That’ll be murder, if you like!”

Mr. Campion was still standing by the table, looking into the limpid mahogany.

“The world is certainly going to hear about the Kinnit family and their governesses, alas!” he said at last. “No one on earth can prevent that now, I’m afraid. There’ll be no more hushing up Miss Thyrza. She’s out of the grave. She wins after all.”

“Murder doesn’t hush,” Luke had moved over to the doorway. “My old copy-book was dead right. Murder will out. There’s something damn funny about it. The desire to pinpoint the blame gets out of the intellect and into the blood. I’ve known murderers give themselves away rather than leave it a mystery!”

Mr. Campion was thinking along other lines.

“It’s very odd how the word ‘governess’ is a guilty one in this particular history,” he remarked. “Just before we came in here I had an account from Julia of the row in the kitchen tonight. Apparently Eustace Kinnit’s father tried to suppress the truth about a governess. Eustace himself went to considerable lengths to prevent the word ‘Kinnit’ and the word ‘governess’ appearing together. Mrs. Telpher was responsible for a fearful accident whilst acting as governess and she came over here, deceiving her relatives and bringing an assistant whom she said, quite unnecessarily, was a governess. To the Kinnits it has become an evil word which is always accompanied by trouble. Miss Thyrza is not so much a ghost as their minds playing the goat.”

Luke laughed briefly. “I know which one frightens me the most!” he said. “Mr. Eustace and Miss Alison are going to need their adopted boy’s support. It’s a merciful thing he has a sound young woman.”

He went out into the corridor and when Mr. Campion joined him he was standing in the shadow by the balustrade.

They paused together, looking down at the curious scene which the old house presented with its open doors and lighted alcoves. It was strongly reminiscent of one of the early Netherlandish mystery paintings; little bright unrelated groups were set about in the dark and tortuous background of the carved staircase, and its several stages and galleries.

From where they stood they had a foreshortened view of a knot of men below in the hall. Munday was speaking to a constable and a plain-clothes man down there while a dejected black wand, bent like a question mark, wavered between them like some spineless overgrown plant.

On the next floor, through the open doorway of the drawing room, they could see Julia talking to Eustace. She appeared to be comforting or reassuring him, for he was leaning back in one of the pink sofas looking up at her while she talked, emphasising her words with little gestures. It was a very clear scene, the colours as vivid as if they were painted on glass.

On the upper floor, in the corridor to their right, Mrs. Broome was showing her coat to the probation officer. She had carried it to the baluster rail to catch the light from the candelabra, and the purple folds gleamed rich and warm out of the shadow. Miss Aicheson, wearing a plaid dressing gown and carrying a tray with a white jug and a cup upon it, was coming up the kitchen staircase, and opposite them, across the well, the doctor, stepping out of Eustace’s bedroom, paused a moment to look across at Luke and give an affirmative sign.

Mr. Campion was comforted. It was a picture of beginnings, he thought. Half a dozen startings: new chapters, new ties, new associations. They were all springing out of the story he had been following, like a spray of plumes in a renaissance pattern springs up from a complete and apparently final feather.

The murmur of voices from the corridor directly below them caught his attention. Luke was already listening. Councillor Cornish was talking to Timothy.

“It was very good of you and I know how you felt,” he was saying earnestly. “But if you do happen to know where this glove weapon is I think we’d better go and pick it up and let the police have it. We’re not the judges, you see. That’s one of the very few things I’ve learned in the last twenty years. We’re simply not omniscient. That seems to me to be the whole difficulty. We haven’t got all the data, any of us. When we do gang up and make a concerted effort to try to get it, and in a trial of justice, that’s the thing which becomes most apparent. As I see it now, anything we suppress may turn out to be the one thing absolutely vital to the lad’s safety or salvation. We have absolutely no sure way of telling, that I can see. Life is not predictable.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything.” Timothy’s young voice, which possessed so much the timbre of the other, was vehement. “I was merely not rushing at them with it. I didn’t want to be the one who damned him, that was all.”

“Oh, my boy, don’t I know!” The older voice was heartfelt. “That state of mind has dogged me all my life!”

There was a long pause before a laugh, curiously happy, floated up to the two men by the banisters.

“We may not see much of each other,” the Councillor was saying as he and his companion began to move away towards the lower floor, and his voice grew fainter and fainter. “You’re going to have your hands full with your commitments here, I can see that. But now that we have an opportunity there is just one thing I wanted to say to you. It---er---it concerns my first wife. She was just an ordinary London girl, you know. Very sweet, very brave, very gay, but when she smiled suddenly, when you caught her unawares, she was so beautiful . . .”

The sound faded into a murmur and was lost in the general noises of the busy household.

THE END
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