Postern of Fate Read online

  'A naval scandal, plans of a submarine or something, that's talked about still,' said Tommy. 'Several people keep mentioning it. But nobody seems to know anything really about it.'

  'Yes, well, that's a good starting point. It was round about then Jonathan Kane lived in that part, you know. He had a cottage down near the sea and lie ran his propaganda campaign round there. He had disciples who thought he was wonderful, Jonathan Kane. K-a-n-e. But I would rather spell it a different way. I'd spell it C-a-i-n. That would describe him better. He was set on destruction and methods of destruction. He left England. He went through Italy to countries rather far away, so it's said. How much is rumour I don't know. He went to Russia. He went to Iceland, he went to the American continent. Where he went and what he did and who went with him and listened to him, we don't know. But we think that he knew things, simple things; he was popular with his neighbours, he lunched with them and they with him. Now, one thing I've got to tell you. Look about you. Ferret out things, but for goodness' sake take care of yourselves, both of you. Take care of that - what's-her-name? Prudence?'

  'Nobody ever called her Prudence. Tuppence,' said Tommy.

  'That's right. Take care of Tuppence and tell Tuppence to take care of you. Take care of what you eat and what you drink and where you go and who is making up to you and being friendly and why should they? A little information comes along. Something odd or queer. Some story in the past that might mean something. Someone perhaps who's a descendant or a relative or someone who knew people in the past.'

  'I'll do what I can,' said Tommy. 'We both will. But I don't feel that we'll be able to do it. We're too old. We don't know enough.'

  'You can have ideas.'

  'Yes. Tuppence has ideas. She thinks that something might be hidden in our house.'

  'So it might. Others have had the same idea. Nobody's ever found anything so far, but then they haven't really looked with any assurance at all. Various houses and various families, they change. They get sold and somebody else comes and then somebody else and so they go on. Lestranges and Mortimers and Parkinsons. Nothing much in the Parkinsons except for one of the boys.'

  'Alexander Parkinson?'

  'So you know about him. How did you manage that?'

  'He left a message for someone to find in one of Robert Louis Stevenson's books. Mary Jordan did not die naturally. We found it.'

  'The fate of every man we have bound about his neck - some saying like that, isn't there? Carry on, you two. Pass through the Postern of Fate.'

  Chapter 6

  POSTERN OF FATE

  Mr Durrance's shop was half-way up the village. It was on a corner site, had a few photographs displayed in the window; a couple of marriage groups, a kicking baby in a nudist condition on a rug, one or two bearded young men taken with their girls. None of the photographs were very good, some of them already displayed signs of age. There were also postcards in large numbers; birthday cards and a few special shelves arranged in order of relationships, To my Husband. To my Wife. One or two bathing groups. There were a few pocket-books and wallets of rather poor quality and a certain amount of stationery and envelopes bearing floral designs. Boxes of small notepaper decorated with flowers and labelled For Notes.

  Tuppence wandered about a little, picking up various specimens of the merchandise and waiting whilst a discussion about the results obtained from a certain camera were criticized, and advice was asked.

  An elderly woman with grey hair and rather lacklustre eyes, attended to a good deal of the more ordinary requests. A rather tall young man with long flaxen hair and a budding beard seemed to be the principal attendant. He came along the counter towards Tuppence, looking at her questioningly.

  'Can I help you in any way?'

  'Really,' said Tuppence, 'I wanted to ask about albums. You know, photograph albums.'

  'Ah, things to stick your photos in, you mean? Well, we've got one or two of those but you don't get so much of them nowadays, I mean, people go very largely for transparencies, of course.'

  'Yes, I understand,' said Tuppence, 'but I collect them, you know, I collect old albums. Ones like this.'

  She produced, with the air of a conjuror, the album she'd been sent.

  'Ah that goes back a long time, doesn't it?' said Mr Durrance, 'Ah, well now, over fifty years old, I should say. Of course, they did do a lot of those things around then didn't they? Everyone had an album.'

  'They had birthday books, too,' said Tuppence.

  'Birthday books - yes, I remember something about them. My grandmother had a birthday book, I remember. Lots of people had to write their name in it. We've got birthday cards here still, but people don't buy them much nowadays. It's more valentines, you know, and Happy Christmases, of course. '

  'I don't know whether you had any old albums. You know the sort of things people don't want any more, but they interest me as a collector. I like having different specimens.'

  'Well, everyone collects something nowadays, that's true enough,' said Durrance. 'You'd hardly believe it, the things people collect. I don't think I've got anything as old as this one of yours, though. However, I could look around.'

  He went behind the counter and pulled open a drawer against the wall.

  'Lot of stuff in here,' he said. 'I meant to turn it out sometime but I didn't know as there'd really be any market for it. A lot of weddings here, of course. But then, I mean, weddings date. People want them just at the time of the wedding but nobody comes back to look for weddings in the past.'

  'You mean, nobody comes in and says "My grandmother was married here. I wonder if you've got any photographs of her wedding?"'

  'Don't think anyone's ever asked me that,' said Durrance. 'Still, you never know. They do ask you for queer things sometimes. Sometimes, you know, someone comes in and wants to see whether you've kept a negative of a baby. You know what mothers are. They want pictures of their babies when they were young. Awful pictures, most of them are, anyway. Now and then we've even had the police round. You know, they want to identify someone. Someone who was here as a boy, and they want to see what he looks like - or rather what he looked like then, and whether he's likely to be the same one as one they're looking for now and whom they're after because he's wanted for murder or for swindles. I must say that cheers things up sometimes,' said Durrance with a happy smile.

  'I see you're quite crime-minded,' said Tuppence,

  'Oh well, you know, you're reading about things like that every day, why this man is supposed to have killed his wife about six months ago, and all that. Well, I mean, that's interesting, isn't it? Because, I mean, some people say that she's still alive. Other people say that he buried her somewhere and nobody's found her. Things like that. Well, a photograph of him might come in useful.'

  'Yes' said Tuppence.

  She felt that though she was getting on good terms with Mr Durrance nothing helpful was coming of it.

  'I don't suppose you'd have any photographs of someone called - I think her name was Mary Jordan. Some name like that. But it was a long time ago. About - oh, I suppose sixty years. I think she died here.'

  'Well it'd be well before my time,' said Mr Durrance. 'Father kept a good many things. You know, he was one of those - hoarders, they call them. Never wanted to throw anything away. Anyone he'd known he'd remember, especially if there was a history about it. Mary Jordan. I seem to remember something about her. Something to do with the Navy, wasn't it, and a submarine? And they said she was a spy, wasn't she? She was half foreign. Had a Russian mother or a German mother - might have been a Japanese mother or something like that.'

  'Yes. I just wondered if you had any pictures of her.'

  'Well, I don't think so. I'll have a look around sometime when I've got a little time. I'll let you know if anything turns up. Perhaps you're a writer, are you?' he said, hopefully.

  'Well,' said Tuppence, 'I don't make a whole-time job of it, but I am thinking of bringing out a rather small book. You know, recalling the times o
f about anything from a hundred years ago down till today. You know, curious things that have happened including crimes and adventures. And, of course old photographs are very interesting and would illustrate the book beautifully.'

  'Well, I'll do everything I can to help you, I'm sure. Must be quite interesting, what you're doing. Quite interesting to do, I mean.'

  'There were some people called Parkinson, said Tuppence. 'I think they lived in our house once.'

  'Ah, you come from the house up on the hill, don't you? The Laurels or Katmandu - I can't remember what it was called last. Swallow's Nest it was called once, wasn't it? Can't think why.'

  'I suppose there were a lot of swallows nesting in the roof,' suggested Tuppence. 'There still are.'

  'Well, may have been I suppose. But it seems a funny name for a house.'

  Tuppence, having felt that she'd opened relations satisfactorily, though not hoping very much that any result would come of it, bought a few postcards and some flowered notes in the way of stationery, and wished Mr Durrance goodbye, got back to the gate, walked up the drive, then checked herself on the way to the house and went up the side path round it to have one more look at KK. She got near the door. She stopped suddenly, then walked on. It looked as though something like a bundle of clothes was lying near the door. Something they'd pulled out of Mathilde and not thought to look at, Tuppence wondered.

  She quickened her pace, almost running. When she got near the door she stopped suddenly. It was not a bundle of old clothes. The clothes were old enough, and so was the body that wore them. Tuppence bent over and then stood up again steadied herself with a hand on the door.

  'Isaac!' she said. 'Isaac. Poor old Isaac. I believe - oh I do believe that he's dead.'

  Somebody was coming towards her on the path from the house as she called out, taking a step or two.

  'Oh Albert, Albert. Something awful's happened. Isaac, old Isaac. He's lying here and he's dead and I think - I think somebody has killed him.'

  Chapter 7

  THE INQUEST

  The medical evidence had been given. Two passers-by not far from the gate had given their evidence. The family had spoken, giving evidence as to his state of health, any possible people who had had a reason for enmity towards him (one or two youngish adolescent boys who had before now been warned off by him) had been asked to assist the police and had protested their innocence. One or two of his employers had spoken including his latest employer, Mrs Prudence Beresford and her husband, Mr Thomas Beresford. All had been said and done and a verdict had been brought in: Wilful Murder by a person or persons unknown.

  Tuppence came out from the inquest and Tommy put an arm round her as they passed the little group of people waiting outside.

  'You did very well, Tuppence,' he said, as they returned through the garden gate towards the house. 'Very well indeed. Much better than some of those people. You were very clear and you could be heard. The Coroner seemed to me to be very pleased with you.'

  'I don't want anyone to be very pleased with me,' said Tuppence. 'I don't like old Isaac being coshed on the head and killed like that.'

  'I suppose someone might have had it in for him,' said Tommy.

  'Why should they?' said Tuppence.

  'I don't know,' said Tommy.

  'No,' said Tuppence, 'and I don't know either. But I just wondered if it's anything to do with us.'

  'Do you mean - what do you mean, Tuppence?'

  'You know what I mean really,' said Tuppence. 'It's this - this place. Our house. Our lovely new house. And garden and everything. It's as though - isn't it just the right place for us? We thought it was,' said Tuppence.

  'Well, I still do,' said Tommy.

  'Yes,' said Tuppence, 'I think you've got more hope than I have. I've got an uneasy feeling that there's something - something wrong with it all here. Something left over from the past.'

  'Don't say it again,' said Tommy.

  'Don't say what again?'

  'Oh, just those two words.'

  Tuppence dropped her voice. She got nearer to Tommy and spoke almost into his ear.

  'Mary Jordan?'

  'Well, yes. That was in my mind.'

  'And in my mind too, I expect. But I mean, what can anything then have to do with nowadays? What can the past matter?' said Tuppence. 'It oughtn't to have anything to do with - now.'

  'The past oughtn't to have anything to do with the present - is that what you mean? But it does,' said Tommy. 'It does, in queer ways that one doesn't think of. I mean that one doesn't think would ever happen.'

  'A lot of things, you mean, happen because of what there was in the past?'

  'Yes. It's a sort of long chain. The sort of thing you have, with gaps and then with beads on it from time to time.'

  'Jane Finn and all that. Like Jane Finn in our adventures when we were young because we wanted adventures.'

  'And we had them,' said Tommy. 'Sometimes I look back on it and wonder how we got out of it all alive.'

  'And then - other things. You know, when we went into partnership, and we pretended to be detective agents.'

  'Oh that was fun,' said Tommy. 'Do you remember -'

  'No,' said Tuppence, 'I'm not going to remember. I'm not anxious to go back to thinking of the past except - well, except as a stepping-stone, as you might say. No. Well, anyway that gave us practice, didn't it? And then we had the next bit.'

  'Ah,' said Tommy. 'Mrs Blenkinsop, eh?'

  Tuppence laughed.

  'Yes. Mrs Blenkinsop. I'll never forget when I came into that room and saw you sitting there.'

  'How you had the nerve, Tuppence, to do what you did, move that wardrobe or whatever it was, and listen in to me and Mr What's-his-name, talking. And then -'

  'And then Mrs Blenkinsop,' said Tuppence. She laughed too. 'N or M and Goosey Goosey Gander.'

  'But you don't -' Tommy hesitated - 'you don't believe that all those were what you call stepping-stones to this?'

  'Well, they are in a way,' said Tuppence. 'I mean, I don't suppose that Mr Robinson would have said what he did to you if he hadn't had a lot of those things in his mind. Me for one of them.'

  'Very much you for one of them.'

  'But now,' said Tuppence, 'this makes it all different. This, I mean. Isaac. Dead. Coshed on the head. Just inside our garden gate.'

  'You don't think that's connected with -'

  'One can't help thinking it might be,' said Tuppence. 'That's what I mean. We're not just investigating a sort of detective mystery any more. Finding out, I mean, about the past and why somebody died in the past and things like that. It's become personal. Quite personal, I think. I mean, poor old Isaac being dead.'

  'He was a very old man and possibly that had something to do with it.'

  'Not after listening to the medical evidence this morning. Someone wanted to kill him. What for?'

  'Why didn't they want to kill us if it was anything to do with us?' said Tommy.

  'Well, perhaps they'll try that too. Perhaps, you know, he could have told us something. Perhaps he was going to tell us something. Perhaps he even threatened somebody else that he was going to talk to us, say something he knew about the girl or one of the Parkinsons. Or - or all this spying business in the 1914 war. The secrets that were sold. And then, you see, he had to be silenced. But if we hadn't come to live here and ask questions and wanted to find out, it wouldn't have happened.'

  'Don't get so worked up.'

  'I am worked up. And I'm not doing anything for fun any more. This isn't fun. We're doing something different now, Tommy. We're hunting down a killer. But who? Of course we don't know yet but we can find out. That's not the past, that's now. That's something that happened - what - only days ago, six days ago? That's the present. It's here and it's connected with us and it's connected with this house. And we've got to find out and we're going to find out. I don't know how but we've got to go after all the clues and follow up things. I feel like a dog with my nose to the ground, following a t
rail. I'll have to follow it here, and you've got to be a hunting dog. Go round to different places. The way you're doing now. Finding out about things. Getting your - whatever you call it - research done. There must be people who know things, not of their own knowledge, but what people have told them. Stories they've heard. Rumours. Gossip.'