Find the Innocent (9 page)

“Veronica, dear, there's danger of a sordid little scandal. I'm trying to help you to watch your step.”

“I know!” Veronica melted. “I'm sorry I'm being such a curse.”

“You're not. But you mustn't mind my bullying you a bit for the good of the cause. I know it's a great strain for you … Did you pack your bromide?”

“No. And I shan't sleep tonight, anyway.”

“Yes, you will. I'll rush out before the shops shut and see what the chemist will yield under pressure.”

On the way down, Jill knew a moment of dark suspicion that Veronica and the “Mystery Girl” were one. She dismissed the thought as unworthy. If it were true, even Veronica would not be such a fool as to believe she could keep it from the police.

She stepped from the lift into a large hall, decorated on a coaching-house
motif
so strident that one could be startled to find it thronged with persons in modern dress—city dress, too, for Renchester was a town with a future.

As she threaded her way to the doors, she became aware of the close scrutiny of a personable young man with a clear eye and broad shoulders who did not look in the least like a reporter. This sort of thing happened to her too often to engage her attention. Nevertheless, when she returned from the chemist's, she knew it was the same man who approached her.

“Excuse me. Miss Aspland. Mr. Brengast was my chief. I've something to tell Mrs. Brengast which I'm sure she would wish to hear. Could I see her?”

“I'm acting as a buffer,” said Jill. “D'you care to tell me what it's about?”

“Awf'ly sorry, but I feel I'd have to have her permission. If I could see her for a couple of minutes—she could decide. May I ring your suite after dinner? I'm staying in the hotel.”

“I'll tell her what you've said,” hedged Jill. “You haven't given me your name.”

“I'm Arthur Stranack.”

The name reawakened the dark suspicion. But why, after all, should it be dark? Veronica's code of honour was nobody else's business.

“Arthur Stranack!” echoed Veronica, when Jill told her. “Oh well, I knew those scientific men couldn't really have killed WillyBee—he was very popular with his staff—they liked his sincerity. I wonder what Stranack wants?”

“Something so top-secret that he wouldn't give me a hint. I gather it's something about WillyBee, though I don't see how it can be. When he rings, shall I tell him you've gone to bed with a headache?”

Veronica was silent so long that Jill repeated her question.

“No,” said Veronica. “I was just thinking—if it's really about WillyBee I ought to hear it. And it can't do any harm if you are there too. Lucky I brought that dinner gown!”

That certainly made the dark suspicion ridiculous, thought Jill. Over dinner in the sitting-room she observed that Veronica had stopped fluttering and seemed to have thrown off her fatigue. All to the good—unless there was a catch in it somewhere.

“Before Stranack comes,” said Jill, feeling like a governess, “do remember to put your wedding ring on. Some men notice wedding rings.”

“Yes, I must have another look for it—it wasn't where I thought I had left it.”

In a dinner jacket Stranack looked slender and groomed—a standard pattern young man of the kind that knows its way about. His approach was impeccable.

“I'm deeply sorry to butt in at such a time, Mrs. Brengast. But I have what might almost be called a message for you.”

“Really?” Veronica was bristling. “Won't you sit down, Mr. Stranack.”

Veronica had taken the armchair next to the standard lamp though Jill knew she hated armchairs. The lamp had not been switched on and her face was in shadow, gravely beautiful.

“Thanks!” Stranack glanced at Jill, sat down and glanced at Jill again. The second glance—as her training in a good amateur dramatic society had taught her—was excellently timed. It virtually commanded her to leave the room. She sat down, too.

“Well, Mr. Stranack?” prompted Veronica.

“I am sure Miss Aspland will not resent my saying that—I mean, I think I ought to speak to you in private in the first instance.”

This man knew how to stand up to women, thought Jill.

“Shall I go, Veronica?”

“No!” Veronica was bristling again. “Miss Aspland is my late husband's niece and my own most intimate friend. No one could have anything to say to me which I would not wish her to hear.”

Stranack raised his eyebrows and compressed his lips as if struggling with his own astonishment.

“Caroline!”
exclaimed Stranack. “It's a much better name for you than Veronica. Sorry, darling, but I'm afraid you'll have to own up!”

Stranack let it hang in the air. Veronica was still and expressionless. Stranack had to break his own silence.

“I know I cut a pretty poor figure, giving you away like this. I would have left you out if I could. The trouble is, the police suspect that I was concerned in the murder of WillyBee. I must ask you to tell them that I was at the lockhouse last night and that you were with me.”

Jill waited for the outburst that did not come.

“Mr. Stranack, I have never set eyes on you before. Will you please look at me again!” Veronica revealed neither anger nor surprise. “Jill, dear—d'you mind switching on this lamp—and turn the shade so that I get the light full on my face.”

A false note, thought Jill. Veronica would never believe that she could be mistaken for someone else.

“Don't bother about the light, Miss Aspland. I wish I'd been allowed to speak to her alone. Veronica, if you will tell the police privately, in their office, or here with me present—that will almost certainly be the end. The moment they accept my statement I drop out of the news and you never enter it.”

“I don't know how to answer you,” said Veronica. “You make a lot of statements and I deny them all. It's ding-dong!”

Jill was bewildered. Stranack's forceful statement carried its own conviction—Veronica's cold efficiency shattered it. She had never known Veronica to be coldly efficient.

“Dear, you can't save face before Miss Aspland now. Denying things is childish. The police will make you account for every minute of your time yesterday. And you know you cannot.”

“Do you expect me to believe you've told the police that I was with you at that lockhouse?”

“I have told them only that a girl was with me. Not your name. But I shall have to tell them when I leave here—if you won't do it yourself. And that might mean publicity.”

There was still a little doubt—just enough to make Jill feel that she must go on backing Veronica.

“Publicity?” echoed Jill. “Wouldn't the newspapers ask for proof?”

Stranack gave her a friendly smile.

“Your loyalty to your friend may save us all. If I convince you that I'm not a lunatic, you will advise her to do as I ask.” He turned to Veronica.

“This is a beastly job, Veronica. Must I go through with it?”

“You cope with him, Jill. I've said all I can say.”

“No coping required!” Stranack spoke sadly. “Ready, Miss Aspland?” He pointed at Veronica's left hand. “Where is her wedding ring? You don't know. Last night, she allowed me to take it off. I threw it into the river. Before she left, in the small hours, she asked me to get it back for her, and I said I would dive for it in daylight and try to find it. I did try—before I knew about this wretched complication with the police.”

Veronica's silence nearly unnerved Jill.

“It could be that you thought up the river story when you noticed she was not wearing her ring. I don't say that it is so. I say only that you have not yet convinced me of anything.” Jill was groping her way. “I can't guess what your purpose may be but I believe you are putting up some kind of bluff.”

It was a chance shot and Jill herself was surprised by its success.

“I was afraid you'd spot it!” His self-assurance collapsed. “Yes—yes, I am putting up a bluff. And of course I've bungled it and made a fool of myself!” The rather pugilistic-looking face seemed to soften into weak self-pity.

“Then you admit that this abominable charge against Mrs. Brengast is pure invention?” demanded Jill.

“Charge? Meaning that she was at the lockhouse with me last night and won't own up? Good Lord, you can't think I meant that! She was there, right enough! And the wedding ring story is a factual report, though it has a romantic touch. Dammit, it was a romantic occasion! I wasn't talking about that! My bluff was pretending that the police were bound to find out the facts and expose Veronica as a liar. They won't. If they could break her tale about her movements they would have done so already. The result is that I shall never be able to make anyone believe me.”

“He accused me of saving face,” said Veronica. “He is trying to save face himself.”

“We will take it as saved,” said Jill. “Mr. Stranack, will you please leave us?”

“Veronica, I'll make one last appeal to your honour, your decency, your pity. Listen! If you don't wish to own up you were at that lockhouse last night, there is no means of making you. Your finger prints were wiped off. The police will soon be quite certain you were there—and you won't care! I expect you have told them dozens of small lies. They will expose the lot. And you will sit and smile at them, knowing they cannot prove the one thing that matters.”

“Am I expected to thank you for that?”

“Mr. Stranack—please!” Jill went to the door and opened it. She supposed Stranack had followed her to the door. But he had stopped by the standard lamp. She had a back view of Veronica, who had been sitting upright but now crouched as Stranack leant towards her.

“You and I snatched a few hours of happiness. You are safe, I am not.”

Jill saw Veronica raise her head and gaze up at him. As if discouraged, Stranack turned away.

“Sorry, Miss Aspland! I've wasted everybody's time. Goodnight!”

Jill shut the door slowly, absently. That wedding ring story! Veronica had been warned to wear her wedding ring—twice. Why did she keep forgetting it at a critical time like this? Oh, never mind details! Stranack had shaken her faith in Veronica, though more than once—especially in the last exchanges—Stranack had seemed to be repeating memorised “lines”. But it was all impression. She had nothing solid to work on. Veronica was chattering. Jill broke in.

“Did Stranack come here in the hope of getting you to admit you were lovers—when you were not?”

“How do I know what he hoped! I believe he's mad.”

“You know he was neither mad nor drunk nor drugged. Do you suggest that he came in here to tell a fantastic lie—knowing that we should kick him out very much as we did?”

“It might have been some kind of practical joke for a bet, or something.” As Jill made no response Veronica added, “If you think he was telling the truth, why don't you say so outright?”

“Try to see it from my angle! You tell me you were not at that lockhouse and I believe you. Stranack's behaviour very strongly suggests that you were there. You offer no explanation, but he gives quite a lot of proof. You are asking me to believe you blindly—and I can't.”

“What proof did Stranack give you?”

“That wedding ring story was very convincing—if only because it would have been such an utterly fatuous invention. And Stranack is not fatuous.”

“Damn
that wedding ring!” exploded Veronica. She got up, strode into her bedroom, slamming the door.

Slamming doors was not in Veronica's nature. She was deliberately working herself up. This, thought Jill, is where I get off. Just as well! It would be impossible to co-operate with Veronica, who did not know friend from foe and told the same silly lies to both. And then sulked.

But Veronica was not sulking.

“Sorry I was so rude, Jill!” She stood in the doorway, looking prettily penitent. Technique for an impressionable man. Jill sighed.

“But in a way it's a good thing I did lose my temper because it made me remember where I had put the ring.” She held up her hand, displaying her wedding ring.

Jill stared at the ring, feeling giddy.

“There's something wrong somewhere,” she said, as if to herself. “Something
seems
to be happening which
can't
be happening.”

“It'll soon pass.” Veronica was sympathetic. “I get that feeling sometimes. They say it's when one half of the brain thinks ahead of the other half—or something like that.” As to what you were saying about Stranack,” she went on, “I agree with you, really. But it's no use you and me trying to puzzle out what he's up to. Why don't we call the Inspector and leave it to him?”

Again Jill marvelled—this time, at Veronica turning briskly to the police to solve a problem so closely touching her own reputation.

“You're quite right, Veronica,” she said, humbly. “I'll call him.”

But the police called first. As Jill went to the telephone the intercom. buzzed.

Inspector Curwen had decided that duty virtually required him to dine at the Red Lion. The best dinner obtainable in Renchester was imperilled when Stranack approached the table.

“In half an hour, more or less, you'll know the name of the lady who was with me at the lockhouse last night—even if I have to tell you myself.” Without waiting for comment Stranack walked away in the direction of the lift.

“That chap is afraid we shall forget him!” said Benjoy, who released himself from the trappings of discipline on a social occasion.

They were taking coffee in the lounge when Stranack reappeared to announce that the lady was Mrs. William Brengast—who denied everything, though she did not offer to produce her wedding ring. His account was short and objective and was subsequently confirmed in detail by Jill Aspland.