Coroner's Pidgin (17 page)

Campion said nothing, and Johnny nodded towards the case of phials.

“You sniff those,” he said. “Five are
Zo-zo,
the other two, one at each end, are
Bromot.
The third which Theo took was
Bromot
too. Devilish, isn't it?”

“Didn't he notice the taste?”

“He must have done. The famous palate can't have been as bad as that, but he took it at a gulp, you see. They both looked vaguely alike, muddy and uninviting. He did say it was different, I remember, but it would never have occurred to him to doubt me. I mean, why should I kill him?”

“Yes,” said Campion gravely. “Why should you kill him? Why should anybody kill him, for that matter?”

Johnny stirred. “It's all part of this other damned business,” he began, and was silent.

Campion let him wait for a long time.

“I think I should tell it all,” he ventured at last. “It's
just an opinion, but I think I would. As the story stands there's not a Counsel in England who'd touch it.”

Carados lay back in the chair. “I know it,” he said. “I've been sitting here thinking it. It's frightful. You don't know the full strength of this business. The devil of it is that it keeps coming back to me. Whichever way one turns, whatever new line one takes, all paths lead back to me. To
me
, mind you. Whenever I get a thread and follow it up and see a vague figure disappearing at the end of it, and I press on until I see his face, whom do you think it turns out to be? Me, Campion. Myself. My God, it would almost be a relief to think I was mad.”

Behind his spectacles Mr. Campion blinked. There had been times of late when he had thought that he was getting old and that there were no more thrills, no more surprises in the bag for him. But now, as he sat looking into those cold steady eyes and heard the terrible confession, the half-forgotten trickle ran down his spine again.

Johnny went on talking. “I don't think I'm permitted to tell you anything,” he said. “We'd better have Oates up here, I suppose, but he's not sure of me, at least I don't think he is.”

“No policeman is ever sure of anybody. That's the first thing they learn at the college,” said Campion. “Let me get one part of the story clear in my own mind. Where did you get this
Zo-zo
stuff today? My dear chap, you'll have to explain that. Whatever else you choose to be chivalrous about you can't leave that in the air.”

Carados eyed him. “You're very shrewd, aren't you?” he said savagely. “I'm not shielding anyone, at least not anyone in particular, but I've got to be sure. You must see that. I got that packet of
Zo-zo
off the table in the back hall of my own house just before I went out with the Admiral this morning.”

Campion's face remained blank.

“Just like that?” he enquired. “You just saw it and picked it up?”

“No, not quite. Look here, Campion, if I tell you this you've got to treat it as confidential until I give you the
word. I'll tell you exactly what happened. I was in London all day yesterday; I came up on Sunday, as a matter of fact, and at midday I looked in at the Junior Greys where I found about a dozen enquiries for me from Bush. It seemed urgent and I got hold of him. We had a chat and fixed up this gathering this evening. It was then he mentioned the
Zo-zo.
Later on in the afternoon I went to my own house taking Eve with me. No one was in at all, not a servant, not a soul. I made a note of the
Zo-zo
so that I shouldn't forget it and left it on the pad on that table in the back hall where I always did leave notes. It was a custom of the house in the old days. I'd write down what I wanted and whoever knew something about it would see to it that the thing was got or done or seen to somehow.”

“Things like ‘Ink on the study carpet', or ‘Gone to Scotland' or ‘Out of toothpaste',” suggested Campion with interest.

“Yes. That sort of thing. Everybody did it, not only me. I suppose the butler used to dole out the jobs in the days when we had a butler. I never thought any more about it, I'm afraid. If it was on the pad no one could say they hadn't been told, it saved time and argument. That was the idea.”

“I see. And yesterday you left a message there in the ordinary way. Is that message still in existence?”

“I expect so. I didn't notice, I just happened to see the stuff lying on the table when I went to get my coat and I pocketed it.”

“I see. Can you remember the message you left?”

“Yes, I can. I just wrote: ‘Please see if there is any
Zo-zo
in the house'. I think I probably added ‘Burp mixture', or something like that, to remind whoever it was what the stuff was like.”

“Did you say it was for Bush?”

Carados raised his eyes and blushed. “I did, you know,” he said. “I did, I know I did. It's so darned kiddish, isn't it, so silly? I didn't want anyone to think it was for me, I suppose. I know I added: ‘Mr. Bush wants it', like a school child. I've been sitting here remembering that and cursing.”

“It's human enough,” said Campion. “It'd pass, I think.”

He sat quiet for some time, frowning. They were undisturbed, no sound reached them from the floor above and there was no traffic in the street outside. There was a blankness in the situation, a sense of frustration and defeat. At length he asked the inevitable question.

“Which one of them put it there?”

“I don't know.” Carados spoke so softly that his voice scarcely reached across the hearthrug. “That's the hell of it. I have no idea whatever. I can't believe it of any one of them. There's only one really reckless damned fool in the whole gathering, I should have said, and that's—me.”

Campion cocked an eye at him. “That way the loony bin lies,” he said. “You have no idea when the stuff was left on the table except that it must have been some time between three or four yesterday afternoon and about twelve-thirty this morning. Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“And during that time all the old gang has been in the place, not to mention the Admiral, myself, Susan, and, of course, Eve?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone who knew the house well could have got at your
Bromot
dregs?”

“Anyone. They and the
Zo-zo
were probably on the same shelf. It only needed the necessary filthy idea.”

“I see.” The scene of the morning with the odd incident of the rose and the pearls returned vividly to Mr. Campion's mind. That remarkable package also had been found upon a hall table, as far as he remembered.

“Who knew you were going to have this bottle party with Bush?” he enquired.

“Half London,” said Carados wearily. “Bush made such a set-out about getting hold of me that I should think everybody knew that he wanted my opinion on a bottle of wine. He seems to have said everything except the actual name of the stuff. How much do you know about it, Campion?”

“I know what the wine is and where it came from. I
know about the loss of the lorry and the two men in it.”

“And that's all you know?”

“Practically all. Is there much more?”

Carados looked away. “Quite a bit,” he said briefly. “Lives, and treasure, and something rather more important. It's Oates's pidgin. If he hasn't told you, I can't. Oh, Lord,” he said, “I wish this hadn't happened to Bush. I don't know what they think they're doing upstairs. Gold is helping Dion, you know. They wouldn't have me. They must have washed him out by this time. They're trying artificial respiration, I suppose, but it's no good, I saw what he took.”

Mr. Campion got up. One of the principal mysteries of the past twenty-four hours had been explained to him. His suspicions had been confirmed; whatever might be the precise nature of the nightmare which had overtaken him so suddenly the previous evening, it was no simple story of theft and murder. He felt like an actor who had stepped on to the stage half-way through some considerable drama. He was far too experienced a performer to attempt to do any more just then than to play his part blindly.

“I'll go up and see,” he said. “Where are they? At the back of the house?”

“Yes. You'll see when you get up there. Tell them to come down. I'll have to do some explaining to Dion, I suppose. He's been dragged out here without ceremony.”

With his hand on the latch, Campion turned and looked back. “One other thing, Johnny.” he said. “Did your mother come to the house last night?”

As soon as he had spoken he saw the change in the man. His strong heavy body sagged. “I can't tell you,” he said. “I don't know. She may have done, I can't tell you. Someone else may remember.”

Mr. Campion was sorry for him. “If she was there, someone else will, you know,” he said awkwardly, and opened the door.

The Dowager Lady Carados was standing outside.

MR.
CAMPION KNEW
just enough of the Dowager Marchioness not to be surprised by her. He felt he had had that. He stood looking at her with defensive vacancy, and she smiled at him frankly, as he thought she might.

“I heard you talking, and didn't like to disturb you,” she said outrageously, “but I had to come and find Johnny. I telephoned the Minoan and they told me he was here.”

“Mother, my dear girl!” Johnny appeared in the doorway behind Campion. He was very startled, and Campion, who had no wish to play Polonius to anybody's Hamlet, edged out of the way. “What on earth are you doing here, darling?”

“Oh, there you are at last. I'm so glad.” She moved over to him looking remarkably youthful and feminine in her blue fur coat. “I felt somebody must warn you and it didn't seem wise to talk on the 'phone. My dear, they've found that awful woman's clothes.”

“The police have?”

“Yes, and I'm afraid they're going to be very difficult. They're so—so stodgy, aren't they? There's a little person called Yeo, I think, who has no sense of humour whatever. He's been following me about with a pair of corsets which must have come out of the Ark. I told him they were probably Ricky Silva's and he took me quite seriously.”

“Oh, God!” said Johnny, without impiety. “Look here, dearest, where did they find these things? In your house?”

“No, darling, they didn't.” She linked her arm through his and stood looking up at him as once she must have looked at his father who could refuse her nothing. “I have been foolish. I do see that, so there's no use you or anybody else pointing it out again. I've been very foolish and rather vulgar too, I'm afraid. It's fashionable to be a go-getter and full of action, and all that, but I don't think it really suits us older women. I'm sorry I did it. I'm afraid I've got that man of yours into trouble too, Mr. Campion, and it really is a pity because he's an excellent old fellow and so faithful. What did you say?”

“I didn't,” said Mr. Campion idiotically. “It didn't mean anything, I was only muttering. Where did you say you'd found the murdered woman's clothes?”

“Murdered? She wasn't murdered. She committed suicide, poor beastly woman.”

“The police . . .” Carados began.

“Oh, the police,” she said with relief, “I don't take any notice of the police. They're always so dramatic and gloomy, and stodgy at the same time. Oh, no, she committed suicide.”

“Where did they find her clothes?” Johnny repeated very slowly and distinctly.

“In your bedroom, dear,” said his mother. “I couldn't see them anywhere, but they found them. Apparently they were on the window seat of all places wrapped up in a shawl from the chair. I must have seen the bundle and not noticed it. It's all terribly awkward and difficult. Now, what we've got to do is all to get together and make up our minds exactly what we're going to do, and even more important, what we're going to say.”

“Darling.” Johnny took her elbow firmly and led her back into the room. Campion followed them and closed the door.

When she was safely in the fireside chair, her son released her and stood back on the hearthrug.

“Don't look like that, my pet. You're like your father,” she said, “and he used to get enraged with me. I know I've been stupid and I've said I'm sorry. Can't we leave it like that? I only did it for you, dearest, only for you, silly. Now we must all act for the best.”

“Now we must all tell the absolute truth, mother.”

“Yes, between ourselves, but not to everybody; that would be insane. No, we've got to be sensible.”

“Of course we have, and that's why we're going to have a complete showdown.” He spoke very gently, almost casually, and certainly reassuringly. Campion gave him full marks, but recognized the method by which Lady Carados had been able to survive so long; evidently this was the treatment to which she was used.

“What a dear you are, Johnny,” she said, “so comforting. Give me a cigarette. We are in Theodore Bush's house, aren't we? He just isn't here, I suppose.”

“That's right,” said Carados, and the hand in which he held the match for her was perfectly steady. “Now, look here, darling, last night—my hat! was it only last night?—you told me that you'd been very silly and stupid and that you'd made a mistake when you first told me the story of Campion's flat. Last night, when we all got back, leaving that poor woman in the flat, you told me that you had found her dead in the basement of your own house and that was the story you told the police this morning, wasn't it?”

“Yes, I did.” She was prettily business-like, and emphasized her words with little stabs in the air with her cigarette. “I did, and I do reproach myself. Not for what I told the police because I think they're blunted and warped, and no good anyway; but I do reproach myself for not telling you everything, darling. I wanted to spare you. . . . Your leave and your wedding! Oh, it is insufferable, just when we were all going to be so happy.”