Why Didn't They Ask Evans Read online

  When you've lived at a place like the Grange your mind gets distorted and you do begin imagining things.' 'What about the brother Roger?' asked Bobby.

  'I don't know much about him. He's nice, I think, but he's the sort of person who would be very easily deceived. He's quite taken in by Jasper, I know. Jasper is working on him to persuade Mr Bassington-ffrench to come to the Grange. I believe he thinks it's all his own idea.' She leaned forward suddenly and caught Bobby's sleeve. 'Don't let him come to the Grange,' she implored. 'If he does, something awful will happen. I know it will.' Bobby was silent a minute or two, turning over the amazing story in his mind.

  'How long have you been married to Nicholson?' he said at last.

  'Just over a year -' She shivered.

  'Haven't you ever thought of leaving him?' 'How could I? I've nowhere to go. I've no money. If anyone took me in, what sort of story could I tell? A fantastic tale that my husband wanted to murder me? Who would believe me?' 'Well, I believe you,' said Bobby.

  He paused a moment, as though making up his mind to a certain course of action. Then he went on: 'Look here,' he said bluntly. 'I'm going to ask you a question straight out. Did you know a man called Alan Carstairs?' He saw the colour come up in her cheeks.

  'Why do you ask me that?' 'Because it's rather important that I should know. My idea is that you ^d know Alan Carstairs, that perhaps at some time or other you gave him your photograph.' She was silent a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she lifted her head and looked him in the face.

  'That's quite true,' she said.

  'You knew him before you were married?' 'Yes.' 'Has he been down here to see you since you were married?' She hesitated, then said: 'Yes, once.' 'About a month ago would that be?' 'Yes. I suppose it would be about a month.' 'He knew you were living down here?' 'I don't know how he knew - I hadn't told him. I had never even written to him since my marriage.' 'But he found out and came here to see you. Did your husband know that?' 'No.' 'You think not. But he might have known all the same?' 'I suppose he might, but he never said anything.' 'Did you discuss your husband at all with Carstairs? Did you tell him of your fears as to your safety?' She shook her head.

  'I hadn't begun to suspect then.' 'But you were unhappy?' Yes.' 'And you told him so?' 'No. I tried not to show in any way that my marriage hadn't been a success.' 'But he might have guessed it all the same,' said Bobby gently.

  'I suppose he might,' she admitted in a low voice.

  'Do you think - I don't know how to put it - but do you think that he knew anything about your husband - that he suspected, for instance, that this nursing home place mightn't be quite what it seemed to be?' Her brows furrowed as she tried to think.

  'It's possible,' she said at last. 'He asked one or two rather peculiar questions - but - no. I don't think he can really have known anything about it.' Bobby was silent again for a few minutes. Then he said: 'Would you call your husband a jealous man?' Rather to his surprise, she answered: 'Yes. Very jealous.' 'Jealous, for instance, of you.' 'You mean even though he doesn't care? But, yes, he would be jealous, just the same. I'm his property, you see. He's a queer man - a very queer man.' She shivered.

  Then she asked suddenly: 'You're not connected with the police in any way, are you?' 'I? Oh, no!' 'I wondered, I mean ' Bobby looked down at his chauffeur's livery.

  'It's rather a long story,' he said.

  'You are Lady Frances Derwent's chauffeur, aren't you? So the landlord here said. I met her at dinner the other night.' 'I know.' He paused. 'We've got to get hold of her,' he said.

  'And it's a bit difficult for me to do. Do you think you could ring up and ask to speak to her and then get her to come and meet you somewhere outdoors?' 'I suppose I could -' said Moira slowly.

  'I know it must seem frightfully odd to you. But it won't when I've explained. We must get hold of Frankie as soon as possible. It's essential.' Moira rose.

  'Very well,' she said.

  With her hand on the door-handle she hesitated.

  'Alan,' she said, 'Alan Carstairs. Did you say you'd seen him?' 'I have seen him,' said Bobby slowly. 'But not lately.' And he thought, with a shock: 'Of course - she doesn't know he's dead...' He said: 'Ring up Lady Frances. Then I'll tell you everything.'

  CHAPTER 19 A Council of Three

  Moira returned a few minutes later.

  'I got her,' she said. 'I've asked her to come and meet me at a little summer-house down near the river. She must have thought it very odd, but she said she'd come.' 'Good,' said Bobby. 'Now, just where is this place exactly?' Moira described it carefully, and the way to get to it.

  'That's all right,' said Bobby. 'You go first. I'll follow on.' They adhered to this programme, Bobby lingering to have a word with Mr Askew.

  'Odd thing,' he said casually, 'that lady, Mrs Nicholson, I used to work for an uncle of hers. Canadian gentleman.' Moira's visit to him might, he felt, give rise to gossip, and the last thing he wanted was for gossip of that kind to get about and possibly find its way to Dr Nicholson's ears.

  'So that's it, is it?' said Mr Askew. 'I rather wondered.' 'Yes,' said Bobby. 'She recognized me, and came along to hear what I was doing now. A nice, pleasant-spoken lady.' 'Very pleasant, indeed. She can't have much of a life living at the Grange.' 'It wouldn't be my fancy,' agreed Bobby.

  Feeling that he had achieved his object, he strolled out into the village and with an aimless air betook himself in the direction indicated by Moira.

  He reached the rendezvous successfully and found her there waiting for him. Frankie had not yet put in an appearance.

  Moira's glance was frankly inquiring, and Bobby felt he must attempt the somewhat difficult task of explanation.

  'There's an awful lot I've got to tell you,' he said, and stopped awkwardly.

  'Yes?' 'To begin with,' said Bobby plunging, 'I'm not really a chauffeur, although I do work in a garage in London. And my name isn't Hawkins - it's Jones - Bobby Jones. I come from Marchbolt in Wales.' Moira was listening attentively, but clearly the mention of Marchbolt meant nothing to her. Bobby set his teeth and went bravely to the heart of the matter.

  'Look here, I'm afraid I'm going to give you rather a shock.

  This friend of yours - Alan Carstairs - he's, well - you've got to know - he's dead.' He felt the start she gave and tactfully he averted his eyes from her face. Did she mind very much? Had she been - dash it all - keen on the fellow?

  She was silent a moment or two, then she said in a low, thoughtful voice: 'So that's why he never came back? I wondered.' Bobby ventured to steal a look at her. His spirits rose. She looked sad and thoughtful - but that was all.

  'Tell me about it,' she said.

  Bobby complied.

  'He fell over the cliff at Marchbolt - the place where I live.

  I and the doctor there happened to be the ones to find him.' He paused and then added: 'He had your photograph in his pocket.' 'Did he?' She gave a sweet, rather sad smile. 'Dear Alan, he was - very faithful.' There was silence for a moment or two and then she asked: 'When did this happen?' 'About a month ago. October 3rd to be exact.' 'That must have been just after he came down here.' 'Yes. Did he mention that he was going to Wales?' She shook her head.

  'You don't know anyone called Evans, do you?' said Bobby.

  'Evans?' Moira frowned, trying to think. 'No, I don't think so. It's a very common name, of course, but I can't remember anybody. What is he?' 'That's just what we don't know. Oh! hullo, here's Frankie.' Frankie came hurrying along the path. Her face, at the sight of Bobby and Mrs Nicholson sitting chatting together, was a study in conflicting expressions.

  'Hullo, Frankie,' said Bobby. 'I'm glad you've come. We've got to have a great pow-wow. To begin with it's Mrs Nicholson who is the original of the photograph.' 'Oh!' said Frankie blankly.

  She looked at Moira and suddenly laughed.

  'My dear,' she said to Bobby, 'now I see why the sight of Mrs Cayman at the inquest was such a shock to you!' 'Exactly,' said Bobby.

 
What a fool he had been. However could he have imagined for one moment that any space of time could have turned a Moira Nicholson into an Amelia Cayman.

  'Lord, what a fool I've been!' he exclaimed.

  Moira was looking bewildered.

  'There's such an awful lot to tell,' said Bobby, 'and I don't quite know how to put it all.' He described the Caymans and their identification of the body.

  'But I don't understand,' said Moira, bewildered. 'Whose body was it really, her brother's or Alan Carstairs?' 'That's where the dirty work comes in,' explained Bobby.

  'And then,' continued Frankie, 'Bobby was poisoned.' 'Eight grains of morphia,' said Bobby reminiscently.

  'Don't start on that,' said Frankie. 'You're capable of going on for hours on the subject and it's really very boring to other people. Let me explain.' She took a long breath.

  'You see,' she said, 'those Cayman people came to see Bobby after the inquest to ask him if the brother (supposed) had said anything before he died, and Bobby said, "No." But afterwards he remembered that he had said something about a man called Evans, so he wrote and told them so, and a few days afterwards he got a letter offering him a job in Peru or somewhere and when he wouldn't take it, the next thing was that someone put a lot of morphia ' 'Eight grains,' said Bobby.

  '- in his beer. Only, having a most extraordinary inside or something, it didn't kill him. And so then we saw at once that Pritchard - or Carstairs, you know - must have been pushed over the cliff.' 'But why?' asked Moira.

  'Don't you see? Why, it seems perfectly clear to us. I expect I haven't told it very well. Anyway, we decided that he had been and that Roger Bassington-ffrench had probably done it.' 'Roger Bassington-ffrench?' Moira spoke in tones of the liveliest amusement.

  'We worked it out that way. You see, he was there at the time, and your photograph disappeared, and he seemed to be the only man who could have taken it.' 'I see,' said Moira thoughtfully.

  'And then,' continued Frankie, 'I happened to have an accident just here. An amazing coincidence, wasn't it?' She looked hard at Bobby with an admonishing eye. 'So I telephoned to Bobby and suggested that he should come down here pretending to be my chauffeur and we'd look into the matter.' 'So now you see how it was,' said Bobby, accepting Frankie's one discreet departure from the truth. 'And the final climax was when last night I strolled into the grounds of the Grange and ran right into you - the original of the mysterious photograph.' 'You recognized me very quickly,' said Moira, with a faint smile.

  'Yes,' said Bobby. 'I would have recognized the original of that photograph anywhere.' For no particular reason, Moir;a blushed.

  Then an idea seemed to strike her and she looked sharply from one to the other.

  'Are you telling me the truth?' she asked. 'Is it really true that you came down here - by accident? Or did you come because - because' - her voice quavered in spite of herself 'you suspected my husband?' Bobby and Frankie looked at each other. Then Bobby said: 'I give you my word of honour that we'd never even heard of your husband till we came down here.' 'Oh, I see.' She turned to Frankie. 'I'm sorry. Lady Frances, but, you see, I remembered that evening when we came to dinner. Jasper went on and on at you - asking you things about your accident. I couldn't think why. But I think now that perhaps he suspected it wasn't genuine.' 'Well, if you really want to know, it wasn't,' said Frankie.

  'Whoof - now I feel better! It was all camouflaged very carefully. But it was nothing to do with your husband. The whole thing was staged because we wanted to - to - what does one call it? - get a line on Roger Bassingtonffrench.' 'Roger?' Moira frowned and smiled perplexedly.

  'It seems absurd,' she said frankly.

  'All the same facts are facts,' said Bobby.

  'Roger - oh, no.' She shook her head. 'He might be weak or wild. He might get into debt, or get mixed up in a scandal but pushing someone over a cliff - no, I simply can't imagine it.' 'Do you know,' said Frankie, 'I can't very well imagine it either.' 'But he must have taken that photograph,' said Bobby stubbornly. 'Listen, Mrs Nicholson, while I go over the facts.' He did so slowly and carefully. When he had finished, she nodded her head comprehendingly.

  'I see what you mean. It seems very queer.' She paused a minute and then said unexpectedly: 'Why don't you ask him?'

  CHAPTER 20 Council of Two

  For a moment, the bold simplicity of the question quite took their breath away. Both Frankie and Bobby started to speak at once: 'That's impossible -' began Bobby, just as Frankie said: 'That would never do.' Then they both stopped dead as the possibilities of the idea sank in.

  'You see,' said Moira eagerly, 'I do see what you mean. It does seem as though Roger must have taken that photograph, but I don't believe for one moment that he pushed Alan over.

  Why should he? He didn't even know him. They'd only met once - at lunch down here. They'd never come across each other in any way. There's no motive.' 'Then who did push him over?' asked Frankie bluntly.

  A shadow crossed Moira's face.

  'I don't know,' she said constrainedly.

  'Look here,' said Bobby. 'Do you mind if I tell Frankie what you told me. About what you're afraid of.' Moira turned her head away.

  'If you like. But it sounds so melodramatic and hysterical. I can't believe it myself this minute.' And indeed the bald statement, made unemotionally in the open air of the quiet English countryside, did seem curiously lacking in reality.

  Moira got up abruptly.

  'I really feel I've been terribly silly,' she said, her lip trembling. 'Please don't pay any attention to what I said, Mr Jones. It was just - nerves. Anyway, I must be going now.

  Goodbye.' She moved rapidly away. Bobby sprang up to follow her, but Frankie pushed him firmly back.

  'Stay there, idiot, leave this to me.' She went rapidly off after Moira. She returned a few minutes later.

  'Well?' queried Bobby anxiously.

  "That's all right. I calmed her down. It was a bit hard on her having her private fears blurted out in front of her to a third person. I made her promise we'd have a meeting - all three of us - again soon. Now that you're not hampered by her being there, tell us all about it.' Bobby did so. Frankie listened attentively. Then she said: 'It fits in with two things. First of all, I came back just now to find Nicholson holding both Sylvia Bassingtonffrench's hands - and didn't he look daggers at me! If looks could kill I feel sure he'd have made me a corpse then and there.' 'What's the second thing?' asked Bobby.

  'Oh, just an incident. Sylvia described how Moira's photograph had made a great impression on some stranger who had come to the house. Depend upon it, that was Carstairs. He recognized the photograph, Mrs Bassington-ffrench tells him that it is a portrait of a Mrs Nicholson, and that explains how he came to find out where she was. But you know, Bobby, I don't see yet where Nicholson comes in. Why should he want to do away with Alan Carstairs?' 'You think it was him and not Bassington-ffrench? Rather a coincidence if he and Bassington-ffrench should both be in Marchbolt on the same day.' 'Well, coincidences do happen. But if it was Nicholson, I don't yet see the motive. Was Carstairs on the track of Nicholson as the head of a dope gang? Or is your new lady friend the motive for the murder?' 'It might be both,' suggested Bobby. 'He may know that Carstairs and his wife had an interview, and he may have believed that his wife gave him away somehow.' 'Now, that is a possibility,' said Frankie. 'But the first thing is to make sure about Roger Bassington-ffrench. The only thing we've got against him is the photograph business. If he can clear that up satisfactorily -' 'You're going to tackle him on the subject? Frankie, is that wise? If he is the villain of the piece, as we decided he must be, it means that we're going to show him our hand.' 'Not quite - not the way I shall do it. After all, in every other way he's been perfectly straightforward and above board.

  We've taken that to be super-cunning - but suppose it just happens to be innocence? //he can explain the photograph and I shall be watching him when he does explain - and if there's the least sign of hesitation of guilt I
shall see it - as I say, if he can explain the photograph - then he may be a very valuable ally.' 'How do you mean, Frankie?' 'My dear, your little friend may be an emotional scaremonger who likes to exaggerate, but supposing she isn't - that all she says is gospel truth - that her husband wants to get rid of her and marry Sylvia. Don't you realize that, in that case, Henry Bassington-ffrench is in mortal danger too. At all costs we've got to prevent him being sent to the Grange. And at present Roger Bassington-ffrench is on Nicholson's side.' 'Good for you, Frankie,' said Bobby quietly. 'Go ahead with your plan.' Frankie got up to go, but before departing she paused for a moment.

  'Isn't it odd?' she said. 'We seem, somehow, to have got in between the covers of a book. We're in the middle of someone else's story. It's a frightfully queer feeling.' 'I know what you mean,' said Bobby. 'There is something rather uncanny about it. I should call it a play rather than a book. It's as though we'd walked on to the stage in the middle of the second act and we haven't really got parts in the play at all, but we have to pretend, and what makes it so frightfully hard is that we haven't the faintest idea what the first act was about.' Frankie nodded eagerly.

  'I'm not even so sure it's the second act - I think it's more like the third. Bobby, I'm sure we've got to go back a long way... And we've got to be quick because I fancy the play is frightfully near the final curtain.' 'With corpses strewn everywhere,' said Bobby. 'And what brought us into the show was a regular cue - five words - quite meaningless as far as we are concerned.' "'Why didn't they ask Evans?" Isn't it odd, Bobby, that though we've found out a good deal and more and more characters come into the thing, we never get any nearer to the mysterious Evans?' 'I've got an idea about Evans. I've a feeling that Evans doesn't really matter at all - that although he's been the starting point as it were, yet in himself he's probably quite inessential.