‘Jeez! Did you ever think you’d see anything like that? Just like the Brides in the Bath case.’
‘Not quite—she was fully dressed.’
‘Well, hell! It woulda been easier to drown her than to try to undress her.’
‘And did you see the way her ankles were sticking up out of the other end of the tub? That was the way they did it, all right. Pushed her in, then gave her ankles a quick jerk and pulled her under the water. She’d have gone out like a light.’
‘What do you mean they? They who?’
‘Maybe … the Chandler they? They—she’s crazy enough for anything.’
‘I don’t know …’ Dix shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as perhaps too obvious an answer? Perhaps … what someone wanted us to think?’
‘Huh? You mean—?’
‘That’s right. He means it’s all too pat. The Chandler dame, in one personality or the other, locked Amaryllis in—and admits it. So we’re supposed to think that the other one—or whichever one she thought she was at the moment—went ahead and finished the job. Talk about the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing—’
They could still eat, Midge thought incredulously, watching them wade into the Swedish meatballs, the mounds of mashed potatoes, the green beans and cauliflower flowerets.
Of course, it was easier for them. Most of them had caught no more than a glimpse of Amaryllis in the bath before Reggie had herded them out of the Barbour suite and locked the door. To them, it was almost an extension of the game they had been playing.
They had not had to help lift the dripping body from the bath, swathe it in towels, carry it down through the narrow service passages and, finally, set it down beside Brigid’s body in the outside store cupboard.
Midge felt that she might never eat again.
‘I suppose it was too late for the Kiss of Life?’ asked someone at another table who had missed all the excitement.
‘Far too late.’ Bertha wielded the gravy boat with a lavish hand, pouring the rich brown fluid over everything on her plate. ‘Anyway, I’m of the generation that never did catch up with such newfangled notions. The last time I took a First Aid Course, we were taught the old roll-’em-over-on-their-stomach technique. Then we straddled them and began the old one-two routine.’
‘Artificial respiration,’ Haila supplied. ‘I should think that would still be more sensible for drowning cases. It would pump the water out at the same time it was pushing the air in.’
‘No, thank you—’ Cedric shuddered as Bertha offered him the gravy boat. ‘I have enough.’ He had scarcely touched his food.
‘All right?’ Reggie asked in passing.
‘I think so.’ Midge gave him a wan smile. They were the only two serving. Lettie was upstairs with a shocked and stunned Bramwell. The Barbour suite had been locked until the police could examine it and Bramwell had transferred, at her suggestion, to the spare bedroom in Evelina’s suite. It would save opening up and heating another room; besides which, Bramwell was in no condition to be left alone. Unlike the remaining Chandler, he had not the capacity to absorb the missing personality into his own.
‘I’ve said it before—’ At Dix’s table, the argument was still raging. ‘And I’ll say it again: cui bono?’
‘I don’t think she’s wealthy in her own right,’ Asey said. ‘All the money comes from Bramwell’s books. The only benefit anyone would get from her death is peace and quiet.’
‘Precisely,’ Dix said. ‘And who needs that most?’
‘Oh, now, wait a minute,’ Stan protested. ‘You can’t mean that. Poor old Bram’s all broken up about it.’
‘Is he? I wonder how long he’ll remain that way. He’s got Lettie to comfort him, hasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but how about Roberta?’ Stan was going down fighting. ‘She’d have a lot more peaceful life without that old bat flitting around. I happen to know she haunted Death On Wheels, always complaining that they hadn’t ordered enough of Bram’s books, pulling them off the shelves and trying to sneak them into the window, hiding other authors’ books and generally making a damned nuisance of herself. Besides, it would have been easier for another woman to walk into the bathroom with Amaryllis there. She could have suggested Amaryllis have a nice soothing bath before she came downstairs again. Amaryllis wouldn’t think anything of her staying there talking to her while the bath filled, maybe sitting on the edge of the tub—’
‘She would have been a pushover,’ Asey agreed. ‘Literally. On the other hand, Dix mentioned Lettie just now. With his mother gone, she’d have a clear field with Bramwell—and she’s kind of sweet on him. And then, it’s always possible that it was the Chandler woman. We all know she’s crazy.’
They covertly observed Lauren, who was sitting between Ned and Algie at a nearby table. At the moment, their demeanour was more that of jailers than of suitors. It was clear that they did not quite trust Lauren themselves. Nor did anyone else; the table was otherwise deserted.
‘I think this is awful,’ Alice Dain complained as Reggie set her dessert before her. ‘When are the police going to get here? The proper police. There must be some way we can call them.’
‘We don’t have a radio transmitter, madam,’ Reggie said coldly.
‘Well, there must be something we can do. Why don’t we go out and trample a message in the snow? We can stamp out: HELP. And then any helicopters flying overhead would see it and know we were in trouble.’
‘They’d probably drop a bale of hay,’ her husband said gloomily.
‘Not if we stamped out the word POLICE, too. Then they’d know we needed them.’
‘An excellent idea, madam.’ Reggie forbore to ask when she had last seen a helicopter overhead. ‘We’ll attend to it first thing in the morning.’
Midge met Reggie’s eyes over their heads. With any luck, he’d be in the town by the time the guests were stirring in the morning. Perhaps she could set some of them to trampling messages in the snow. It would keep them occupied.
Meanwhile, there was the long evening to be got through. The guests adjourned to the drawing-room for coffee and liqueurs. Lingering over the port had lost its charm for the gentlemen after the first evening, perhaps because they craved something stronger, or perhaps because they were afraid of missing something. They arranged themselves around the room in small companionable groups.
‘Sit beside me, Norman.’ Alice clutched her husband’s arm suddenly as he was about to take another seat and pulled him down beside her on the sofa, cutting out Haila, who had been about to sit there. Something in her tone made Midge look at the groupings more closely.
Were they so companionable, after all? Or were they just clinging to the people they knew best with the object of mutual protection?
The actors had volunteered to give an impromptu entertainment to while away the evening. An offer gratefully accepted. A Musical Evening was also in keeping with the Thirties theme and, perhaps not so curiously, the guests seemed determined to cling to that theme. Perhaps because they felt it distanced them from the actual murders. Some of them still seemed inclined to consider them part of the game. There was time enough for reality to burst in upon them in the morning.
‘How’s Bramwell?’ Midge asked as Lettie came down to do her turn, a slightly bawdy Music Hall song.
‘Still in a state of shock,’ Lettie said. ‘It’s too bad he had to be the one to find her. He keeps brooding that, if he’d only gone up earlier—’
‘Are you sure he didn’t?’ Haila had overheard. ‘Some people think maybe he did.’
‘What?’ For a moment, Lettie did not seem to understand, then she paled with rage. ‘That’s a rotten thing to insinuate! His own mother—’
‘That’s why.’ Haila shrugged. ‘You can’t deny that life is going to be a lot easier for him without her around. Maybe—’ Pointedly, she did not look at Lettie. ‘Maybe a lot easier for other people, too. He can do what he wants now.’
Wisely, she did not wait around for Lettie’s reaction, but hurriedly returned to the drawing-room.
‘Is that what they’re all saying?’ Lettie demanded of Midge. ‘Do they all believe that Bram—’ She caught herself. ‘Of course, they’d rather believe that than that one of themselves did it.’
‘I’m sure they don’t all believe it,’ Midge said quickly. ‘One or two of them were discussing that possibility, but quite a few of them favoured other candidates—’ She broke off awkwardly.
‘Yes,’ Lettie said reflectively. ‘I suppose my name is being bandied about.’
‘Well… er …’ Lettie would not be fobbed off with a lie, however well-intentioned. ‘Among others.’
‘That tears it!’ Ned was playing Lettie’s introduction; she swept off to make her entrance.
‘Are we holding the line?’ In the lull of business, Reggie came out from behind the bar to stand beside Midge watching the entertainers at the far end of the drawing-room.
‘What line?’ Midge leaned against him briefly. ‘Reggie, what are we going to do? What if … if there’s another murder?’
‘Steady on.’ He looked out over the audience. ‘Cedric can take over the bar shortly. I’m not going to wait for daybreak, I’m going to start for town as soon as the party breaks up. Some of you can get out in the snow first thing in the morning before the guests are stirring and stamp out the suggested message. Be sure to spread out and leave lots of footprints all over the area—that ought to cover my tracks. It will be safer if no one suspects that real help may be on the way.’
‘Holding the line,’ Midge said bitterly. ‘Oh, Reggie, I wish you didn’t have to go. I … I’m afraid.’
There was a burst of applause as Lettie finished her song and shouts of ‘Encore’. But Lettie shook her head. She crossed over to have a quiet word with Grace Holloway, then bore down on Midge and Reggie, the light of battle in her eye.
‘Where are you going?’ Midge asked uneasily.
‘I’m going to fight!’ Lettie declared. ‘I’ve had enough. It was all very well when it was part of the game, but the game is over. They’re playing with life and death now—Bramwell’s life. And mine. I’m not having it!’
Miss Holloway took her place at the piano and ran a few trills before announcing: ‘The actors have entertained us so splendidly during this weekend, I think it’s time we returned the compliment. I happen to know that Colonel Heather does a stirring rendition of Mandalay—perhaps we can persuade him to oblige …’ She led the applause as the Colonel rose and went over to stand by the piano.
‘Grace is going to keep watch,’ Lettie said. ‘She’ll signal me if anyone leaves the room.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Reggie asked.
‘It’s time for me to turn down the beds—’ Lettie smiled innocently, then her smile hardened. ‘I’m also going to turn over their rooms. There must be something to find that will give us a clue to this whole thing. There has to be.’
‘You can’t get through them all by yourself,’ Reggie said. ‘There are too many of them, but that’s not a bad idea. I’ll come along and help.’
‘So will—’ Midge began.
‘No, you stay here. We can’t all go missing. They’ll suspect something.’
While Colonel Heather was looking eastward to the sea, Lettie and Reggie disappeared to begin searching the rooms. Midge perched on the arm of a chair just inside the doorway and tried to look absorbed in the entertainment and not as though she were keeping a lookout.
An air of unreality settled over her. They were all such pleasant people as, in her experience, keen mystery fans usually turned out to be. They were intelligent, friendly, literate—and one of them was deadly. But which one? It was impossible to tell just from their appearance or demeanour.
‘I can do card tricks—’ Stanley Marric jumped up eagerly as the Colonel took his bow. ‘If I could just have the assistance of someone in the audience. Bertha—how about you?’
‘Oh, why not?’ She pushed herself out of her chair and lumbered over to stand beside him resignedly.
‘Great!’ A pack of cards had materialized, seemingly from nowhere. ‘Now, if you just take a card—any card—’
Stanley Marric? He’d claimed to be a lawyer, but he seemed occasionally to lack the polish one usually associated with lawyers. Perhaps that was why he identified with Arthur Crook. Yet why should he want to kill Brigid Chandler and Amaryllis Barbour?
Why should any of them? It kept coming back to that. Both women were undoubtedly irritating nuisances—pains in the neck, their compatriots would say—but that was scarcely sufficient reason to murder them.
Cui bono? Dix’s repetition of the question was having its insidious effect. A truthful answer had to be: Bramwell Barbour and/or Lettie. It was axiomatic that most murders were domestic affairs. Was Bramwell the worm that had finally turned? Had Lettie chosen the Lady Macbeth rôle, urging him to it, acting as accomplice?
‘We can play Chopsticks,’ Lauren announced as Stan’s card tricks ended and Bertha resumed her seat.
An embarrassed silence followed this revelation, then everyone spoke as one.
‘I used to do Casey at the Bat,’ Norman said. ‘I think I can still remember it.’
‘Perhaps we’ve had enough music for a while, dear,’ Miss Holloway said hastily.
‘I’ll see your Casey at the Bat and raise you The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck,’ Asey challenged Norman.
Midge was aware of a sudden movement in the doorway behind her. The back of her neck prickled as the hairs rose. She turned and went limp with relief to find Reggie there.
‘I didn’t like leaving you alone,’ Reggie said. ‘Suddenly, I got nervous about it, so I came back.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ She sank back in her chair. ‘Have you found anything?”
‘Not so far. I’ve had a word with Dad. He’s taking over my part of the search. What’s going on here?’
‘Amateur night, but it’s keeping them amused.’
‘That’s the main concern.’ There were footsteps on the stairs and Reggie turned quickly.
‘We thought we’d come down for a while—’ Evelina T. Carterslee was leading an unseeing Bramwell Barbour. ‘Bramwell had some tea and toast earlier, but I’m sure he could use a drink … or two.’
Evelina looked as though she could use a couple herself. Was it her idea to bring Bramwell down? Or had Lettie, determined to spare no one in her efforts to clear Bramwell’s name, persuaded them to leave Evelina’s suite so that she could also search that?
‘Sit here, Bram—’ Midge rose hastily and guided Bramwell into the armchair. He didn’t look as though he could walk much farther. ‘All right?’
‘Thank you.’ He sank into the chair and looked up at her as though she could supply an explanation. ‘I just don’t understand it. Why should anyone want to kill Mother?’
‘It was a great tragedy.’ Inured by decades of purveying fiction, Evelina was able to utter the line without a visible qualm. ‘But you mustn’t let it crush you. Your mother would have been the last person in the world to wish to see you so upset.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Bramwell took a deep breath. ‘I’ll try to pull myself together.’
‘Let me get you that drink,’ Reggie said.
‘Hey,’ someone called, ‘is the bar open?’ Several of them fled the recitation as others had fled the burning deck. Reggie was caught and kept busy filling orders. Midge went and collected the drinks for Bramwell and Evelina.
‘We want to play Chopsticks,’ Lauren-Brigid pouted. ‘We won a prize for it at school.’
‘You can do it later, dear,’ Miss Holloway said firmly. ‘It’s the Interval now—and the bar is open.’
The audience retreated en masse to the bar, giving point to her words. Midge made a mental bet that they were not going to reassemble for further entertainment without a fight. Especially if that entertainment were to include Chopsticks.
‘It’s not fair—’ She was not the only one to have come to that conclusion, Haila Bond had also reached it. ‘I didn’t get to do my party piece—and I’m pretty damned good at it.’
‘What do you do?’ Alice Dain asked cautiously.
‘Magic—I’m an amateur magician. And nothing like your lousy card tricks, either. Real mystifying stuff.’
‘What’s wrong with card tricks?’ Stanley was stung. ‘They’re good clean fun—and they don’t need a lot of equipment.’
‘I don’t need equipment. All it takes is just a few simple donations from the audience, things everybody carries around with them anyway. For instance, somebody let me have a lipstick—’
‘Don’t you have one?’
‘Of course I do, Alice. That’s not the point. The idea is to get the audience involved. Come on, give me your lipstick.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Alice rummaged in her handbag and produced a lipstick.
‘Thank you. And now, I need a gentleman’s handkerchief. Come on, boys, don’t be shy. It won’t come to any harm. How about this gentleman here—?’
She reached out and twitched Dix’s handkerchief from his breast pocket. Something fell to the floor as she did so.
‘Oops, sorry—’ She stooped to pick it up. So did Dix.
‘What’s this?’ Norman was swifter than either of them. He retrieved it and held it up with a puzzled expression. ‘Some kind of good luck charm?’
‘No—’ Reggie moved out from behind the bar and snatched the small segment of wire from Norman’s hand. ‘I’m afraid it’s just brought Dix some very bad luck. That’s the piece of telephone wire the murderer cut out of our line to disable it.’
‘That’s the evidence we’ve been looking for!’ Lettie cried from the doorway. ‘Only the murderer could possess it. He killed Brigid and Amaryllis!’
