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  “Has it occurred to you, Mr. Rudd, that the poisoning of Heather Badcock may have been entirely accidental? That the real intended victim was your wife?”

  There was a silence. Jason Rudd’s face did not change its expression. Dermot waited. Finally Jason Rudd gave a deep sigh and appeared to relax.

  “Yes,” he said quietly, “you’re quite right, Chief-Inspector. I have been sure of it all along.”

  “But you have said nothing to that effect, not to Inspector Cornish, not at the inquest?”

  “No.”

  “Why not, Mr. Rudd?”

  “I could answer you very adequately by saying that it was merely a belief on my part unsupported by any kind of evidence. The facts that led me to deduce it, were facts equally accessible to the law which was probably better qualified to decide than I was. I knew nothing about Mrs. Badcock personally. She might have enemies, someone might have decided to administer a fatal dose to her on this particular occasion, though it would seem a very curious and far-fetched decision. But it might have been chosen conceivably for the reason that at a public occasion of this kind the issues would be more confused, the number of strangers present would be considerable and just for that reason it would be more difficult to bring home to the person in question the commission of such a crime. All that is true, but I am going to be frank with you, Chief-Inspector. That was not my reason for keeping silent. I will tell you what the reason was. I didn’t want my wife to suspect for one moment that it was she who had narrowly escaped dying by poison.”

  “Thank you for your frankness,” said Dermot. “Not that I quite understand your motive in keeping silent.”

  “No? Perhaps it is a little difficult to explain. You would have to know Marina to understand. She is a person who badly needs happiness and security. Her life has been highly successful in the material sense. She has won renown artistically but her personal life has been one of deep unhappiness. Again and again she has thought that she has found happiness and was wildly and unduly elated thereby, and has had her hopes dashed to the ground. She is incapable, Mr. Craddock, of taking a rational, prudent view of life. In her previous marriages she has expected, like a child reading a fairy story, to live happy ever afterwards.”

  Again the ironic smile changed the ugliness of the clown’s face into a strange, sudden sweetness.

  “But marriage is not like that, Chief-Inspector. There can be no rapture continued indefinitely. We are fortunate indeed if we can achieve a life of quiet content, affection, and serene and sober happiness.” He added. “Perhaps you are married, Chief-Inspector?”

  Dermot Craddock shook his head.

  “I have not so far that good, or bad fortune,” he murmured.

  “In our world, the moving picture world, marriage is a fully occupational hazard. Film stars marry often. Sometimes happily, sometimes disastrously, but seldom permanently. In that respect I should not say that Marina has had any undue cause to complain, but to one of her temperament things of that kind matter very deeply. She imbued herself with the idea that she was unlucky, that nothing would ever go right for her. She has always been looking desperately for the same things, love, happiness, affection, security. She was wildly anxious to have children. According to some medical opinion, the very strength of that anxiety frustrated its object. One very celebrated physician advised the adoption of a child. He said it is often the case that when an intense desire for maternity is assuaged by having adopted a baby, a child is born naturally shortly afterwards. Marina adopted no less than three children. For a time she got a certain amount of happiness and serenity, but it was not the real thing. You can imagine her delight when eleven years ago she found she was going to have a child. Her pleasure and delight were quite indescribable. She was in good health and the doctors assured her that there was every reason to believe that everything would go well. As you may or may not know, the result was tragedy. The child, a boy, was born mentally deficient, imbecile. The result was disastrous. Marina had a complete breakdown and was severely ill for years, confined to a sanatorium. Though her recovery was slow she did recover. Shortly after that we married and she began once more to take an interest in life and to feel that perhaps she could be happy. It was difficult at first for her to get a worthwhile contract for a picture. Everyone was inclined to doubt whether her health would stand the strain. I had to battle for that.” Jason Rudd’s lips set firmly together. “Well, the battle was successful. We have started shooting the picture. In the meantime we bought this house and set about altering it. Only about a fortnight ago Marina was saying to me how happy she was, and how she felt at last she was going to be able to settle down to a happy home life, her troubles behind her. I was a little nervous because, as usual, her expectations were too optimistic. But there was no doubt that she was happy. Her nervous symptoms disappeared, there was a calmness and a quietness about her that I had never seen before. Everything was going well until—” He paused. His voice became suddenly bitter. “Until this happened! That woman had to die—here! That in itself was shock enough. I couldn’t risk—I was determined not to risk—Marina’s knowing that an attempt had been made on her life. That would have been a second, perhaps fatal, shock. It might have precipitated another mental collapse.”

  He looked directly at Dermot.

  “Do you understand—now?”

  “I see your point of view,” said Craddock, “but forgive me, isn’t there one aspect that you are neglecting? You give me your conviction that an attempt was made to poison your wife. Doesn’t that danger still remain? If a poisoner does not succeed, isn’t it likely that the attempt may be repeated?”

  “Naturally I’ve considered that,” said Jason Rudd, “but I am confident that, being forewarned so to speak, I can take all reasonable precautions for my wife’s safety. I shall watch over her and arrange that others shall watch over her. The great thing, I feel, is that she herself should not know that any danger threatened her.”

  “And you think,” said Dermot cautiously, “that she does not know?”

  “Of course not. She has no idea.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Certain. Such an idea would never occur to her.”

  “But it occurred to you,” Dermot pointed out.

  “That’s very different,” said Jason Rudd. “Logically it was the only solution. But my wife isn’t logical, and to begin with she could not possibly imagine that anyone would want to do away with her. Such a possibility would simply not occur to her mind.”

  “You may be right,” said Dermot slowly, “but that leaves us now with several other questions. Again, let me put this bluntly. Whom do you suspect?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Rudd, do you mean by that you can’t or that you won’t?”

  Jason Rudd spoke quickly. “Can’t. Can’t every time. It seems to me just as impossible as it would seem to her that anyone would dislike her enough—should have a sufficient grudge against her—to do such a thing. On the other hand, on the sheer, downright evidence of the facts, that is exactly what must have occurred.”

  “Will you outline the facts to me as you see them?”

  “If you like. The circumstances are quite clear. I poured out two daiquiri cocktails from an already prepared jug. I took them to Marina and Mrs. Badcock. What Mrs. Badcock did I do not know. She moved on, I presume, to speak to someone she knew. My wife had her drink in her hand. At that moment the mayor and his wife were approaching. She put down her glass, as yet untouched, and greeted them. Then there were more greetings. An old friend we’d not seen for years, some other locals and one or two people from the studios. During that time the glass containing the cocktail stood on the table which was situated at that time behind us since we had both moved forward a little to the top of the stairs. One or two photographs were taken of my wife talking to the mayor, which we hoped would please the local population, at the special request of the representatives of the local newspaper. Whi
le this was being done I brought some fresh drinks to a few of the last arrivals. During that time my wife’s glass must have been poisoned. Don’t ask me how it was done, it cannot have been easy to do. On the other hand, it is startling, if anyone has the nerve to do an action openly and unconcernedly, how little people are likely to notice it! You ask me if I have suspicions; all I can say is that at least one of about twenty people might have done it. People, you see, were moving about in little groups, talking, occasionally going off to have a look at the alterations which had been done to the house. There was movement, continual movement. I’ve thought and I’ve thought, I’ve racked my brains but there is nothing, absolutely nothing to direct my suspicions to any particular person.”

  He paused and gave an exasperated sigh.

  “I understand,” said Dermot. “Go on, please.”

  “I dare say you’ve heard the next part before.”

  “I should like to hear it again from you.”

  “Well, I had come back towards the head of the stairs. My wife had turned towards the table and was just picking up her glass. There was a slight exclamation from Mrs. Badcock. Somebody must have jogged her arm and the glass slipped out of her fingers and was broken on the floor. Marina did the natural hostess’s act. Her own skirt had been slightly touched with the liquid. She insisted no harm was done, used her own handkerchief to wipe Mrs. Badcock’s skirt and insisted on her having her own drink. If I remember she said ‘I’ve had far too much already.’ So that was that. But I can assure you of this. The fatal dose could not have been added after that for Mrs. Badcock immediately began to drink from the glass. As you know, four or five minutes later she was dead. I wonder—how I wonder—what the poisoner must have felt when he realised how badly his scheme had failed….”

  “All this occurred to you at the time?”

  “Of course not. At the time I concluded, naturally enough, this woman had had some kind of a seizure. Perhaps heart, coronary thrombosis, something of that sort. It never occurred to me that poisoning was involved. Would it occur to you—would it occur to anybody?”

  “Probably not,” said Dermot. “Well your account is clear enough and you seem sure of your facts. You say you have no suspicion of any particular person. I can’t quite accept that, you know.”

  “I assure you it’s the truth.”

  “Let us approach it from another angle. Who is there who could wish to harm your wife? It all sounds melodramatic if you put it this way, but what enemies had she got?”

  Jason Rudd made an expressive gesture.

  “Enemies? Enemies? It’s so hard to define what one means by an enemy. There’s plenty of envy and jealousy in the world my wife and I occupy. There are always people who say malicious things, who’ll start a whispering campaign, who will do someone they are jealous of a bad turn if the opportunity occurs. But that doesn’t mean that any of those people is a murderer, or indeed even a likely murderer. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I agree. There must be something beyond petty dislikes or envies. Is there anyone whom your wife has injured, say, in the past?”

  Jason Rudd did not rebut this easily. Instead he frowned.

  “Honestly, I don’t think so,” he said at last, “and I may say I’ve given a lot of thought to that point.”

  “Anything in the nature of a love affair, an association with some man?”

  “There have of course been affairs of that kind. It may be considered, I suppose, that Marina has occasionally treated some man badly. But there is nothing to cause any lasting ill will. I’m sure of it.”

  “What about women? Any woman who has had a lasting grudge against Miss Gregg?”

  “Well,” said Jason Rudd, “you can never tell with women. I can’t think of any particular one offhand.”

  “Who’d benefit financially by your wife’s death?”

  “Her will benefits various people but not to any large extent. I suppose the people who’d benefit, as you put it, financially, would be myself as her husband, from another angle, possibly the star who might replace her in this film. Though, of course, the film might be abandoned altogether. These things are very uncertain.”

  “Well, we need not go into all that now,” said Dermot.

  “And I have your assurance that Marina will not be told that she is in possible danger?”

  “We shall have to go into that matter,” said Dermot. “I want to impress upon you that you are taking quite a considerable risk there. However, the matter will not arise for some days since your wife is still under medical care. Now there is one more thing I would like you to do. I would like you to write down for me as accurately as you can every single person who was in that recess at the top of the stairs, or whom you saw coming up the stairs at the time of the murder.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I’m rather doubtful. You’d do far better to consult my secretary, Ella Zielinsky. She has a most accurate memory and also lists of the local lads who were there. If you’d like to see her now—”

  “I would like to talk to Miss Ella Zielinsky very much,” said Dermot.

  Eleven

  I

  Surveying Dermot Craddock unemotionally through her large horn-rimmed spectacles, Ella Zielinsky seemed to him almost too good to be true. With quiet businesslike alacrity she whipped out of a drawer a typewritten sheet and passed it across to him.

  “I think I can be fairly sure that there are no omissions,” she said. “But it is just possible that I may have included one or two names—local names they will be—who were not actually there. That is to say who may have left earlier or who may not have been found and brought up. Actually, I’m pretty sure that it is correct.”

  “A very efficient piece of work if I may say so,” said Dermot.

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose—I am quite an ignoramus in such things—that you have to attain a high standard of efficiency in your job?”

  “One has to have things pretty well taped, yes.”

  “What else does your job comprise? Are you a kind of liaison officer, so to speak, between the studios and Gossington Hall?”

  “No. I’ve nothing to do with the studios, actually, though of course I naturally take messages from there on the telephone or send them. My job is to look after Miss Gregg’s social life, her public and private engagements, and to supervise in some degree the running of the house.”

  “You like the job?”

  “It’s extremely well paid and I find it reasonably interesting. I didn’t however bargain for murder,” she added dryly.

  “Did it seem very incredible to you?”

  “So much so that I am going to ask you if you are really sure it is murder?”

  “Six times the close of di-ethyl-mexine etc. etc., could hardly be anything else.”

  “It might have been an accident of some kind.”

  “And how would you suggest such an accident could have occurred?”

  “More easily than you’d imagine, since you don’t know the setup. This house is simply full of drugs of all kinds. I don’t mean dope when I say drugs. I mean properly prescribed remedies, but, like most of these things, what they call, I understand, the lethal dose is not very far removed from the therapeutic dose.”

  Dermot nodded.

  “These theatrical and picture people have the most curious lapses in their intelligence. Sometimes it seems to me that the more of an artistic genius you are, the less common sense you have in everyday life.”

  “That may well be.”

  “What with all the bottles, cachets, powders, capsules, and little boxes that they carry about with them; what with popping in a tranquillizer here and a tonic there and a pep pill somewhere else, don’t you think it would be easy enough that the whole thing might get mixed-up?”

  “I don’t see how it could apply in this case.”

  “Well, I think it could. Somebody, one of the guests, may have wanted a sedative, or a reviver, and whipped out his or her little container
which they carry around and possibly because they hadn’t remembered the dose because they hadn’t had one for some time, might have put too much in a glass. Then their mind was distracted and they went off somewhere, and let’s say this Mrs. What’s-her-name comes along, thinks it’s her glass, picks it up and drinks it. That’s surely a more feasible idea than anything else?”

  “You don’t think that all those possibilities haven’t been gone into, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not. But there were a lot of people there and a lot of glasses standing about with drinks in them. It happens often enough, you know, that you pick up the wrong glass and drink out of it.”

  “Then you don’t think that Heather Badcock was deliberately poisoned? You think that she drank out of somebody else’s glass?”

  “I can’t imagine anything more likely to happen.”

  “In that case,” said Dermot speaking carefully, “it would have had to be Marina Gregg’s glass. You realise that? Marina handed her her own glass.”

  “Or what she thought was her own glass,” Ella Zielinsky corrected him. “You haven’t talked to Marina yet, have you? She’s extremely vague. She’d pick up any glass that looked as though it were hers, and drink it. I’ve seen her do it again and again.”

  “She takes Calmo?”

  “Oh yes, we all do.”

  “You too, Miss Zielinsky?”

  “I’m driven to it sometimes,” said Ella Zielinsky. “These things are rather imitative, you know.”

  “I shall be glad,” said Dermot, “when I am able to talk to Miss Gregg. She—er—seems to be prostrated for a very long time.”

  “That’s just throwing a temperament,” said Ella Zielinsky. “She just dramatizes herself a good deal, you know. She’d never take murder in her stride.”

  “As you manage to do, Miss Zielinsky?”