Sleeping Murder (16 page)

He hesitated a moment.

“Twice—perhaps three times. Just dropped in.” He nodded with sudden finality. “Sorry I can't help you.”

Giles got up.

“We must apologize for taking up so much of your time.”

“That's all right. Quite a change to talk about old times.”

The door opened and a woman looked in and apologized swiftly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry—I didn't know you had anyone—”

“Come in, my dear, come in. Meet my wife. This is Mr. and Mrs. Reed.”

Mrs. Afflick shook hands. She was a tall, thin, depressed-looking woman, dressed in rather unexpectedly well-cut clothes.

“Been talking over old times, we have,” said Mr. Afflick. “Old times before I met you, Dorothy.”

He turned to them.

“Met my wife on a cruise,” he said. “She doesn't come from this part of the world. Cousin of Lord Polterham's, she is.”

He spoke with pride—the thin woman flushed.

“They're very nice, these cruises,” said Giles.

“Very educational,” said Afflick. “Now, I didn't have any education to speak of.”

“I always tell my husband we must go on one of those Hellenic cruises,” said Mrs. Afflick.

“No time. I'm a busy man.”

“And we mustn't keep you,” said Giles. “Good-bye and thank you. You'll let me know about the quotation for the outing?”

Afflick escorted them to the door. Gwenda glanced back over her shoulder. Mrs. Afflick was standing in the doorway of the study. Her face, fastened on her husband's back, was curiously and rather unpleasantly apprehensive.

Giles and Gwenda said good-bye again and went towards their car.

“Bother, I've left my scarf,” said Gwenda.

“You're always leaving something,” said Giles.

“Don't looked martyred. I'll get it.”

She ran back into the house. Through the open door of the study she heard Afflick say loudly: “What do you want to come butting in for? Never any sense.”

“I'm sorry, Jackie. I didn't know. Who are those people and why have they upset you so?”

“They haven't upset me. I—” He stopped as he saw Gwenda standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Mr. Afflick, did I leave a scarf?”

“Scarf? No, Mrs. Reed, it's not here.”

“Stupid of me. It must be in the car.”

She went out again.

Giles had turned the car. Drawn up by the kerb was a large yellow limousine resplendent with chromium.

“Some car,” said Giles.

“‘A posh car,'” said Gwenda. “Do you remember, Giles? Edith Pagett when she was telling us what Lily said? Lily had put her money on Captain Erskine, not ‘our mystery man in the flashy car.' Don't you see, the mystery man in the flashy car was Jackie Afflick?”

“Yes,” said Giles. “And in her letter to the doctor Lily mentioned a ‘posh car.'”

They looked at each other.

“He was there—‘on the spot,' as Miss Marple would say—on that night. Oh Giles, I can hardly wait until Thursday to hear what Lily Kimble says.”

“Suppose she gets cold feet and doesn't turn up after all?”

“Oh, she'll come. Giles, if that flashy car was there that night—”

“Think it was a yellow peril like this?”

“Admiring my bus?” Mr. Afflick's genial voice made them jump. He was leaning over the neatly clipped hedge behind them. “Little Buttercup, that's what I call her. I've always liked a nice bit of bodywork. Hits you in the eye, doesn't she?”

“She certainly does,” said Giles.

“Fond of flowers, I am,” said Mr. Afflick. “Daffodils, buttercups, calceolarias—they're all my fancy. Here's your scarf, Mrs. Reed. It had slipped down behind the table. Good-bye. Pleased to have met you.”

“Do you think he heard us calling his car a yellow peril?” asked Gwenda as they drove away.

“Oh, I don't think so. He seemed quite amiable, didn't he?”

Giles looked slightly uneasy.

“Ye-es—but I don't think that means much … Giles, that wife of his—she's frightened of him, I saw her face.”

“What? That jovial pleasant chap?”

“Perhaps he isn't so jovial and pleasant underneath … Giles, I don't think I like Mr. Afflick … I wonder how long he'd been there behind us listening to what we were saying … Just what did we say?”

“Nothing much,” said Giles.

But he still looked uneasy.

I

“W
ell, I'm damned,” exclaimed Giles.

He had just torn open a letter that had arrived by the after-lunch post and was staring in complete astonishment at its contents.

“What's the matter?”

“It's the report of the handwriting experts.”

Gwenda said eagerly: “And she
didn't
write that letter from abroad?”

“That's just it, Gwenda.
She did.
”

They stared at each other.

Gwenda said incredulously: “Then those letters
weren't
a fake. They were
genuine.
Helen
did
go away from the house that night. And she
did
write from abroad. And she wasn't strangled at all?”

Giles said slowly: “It seems so. But it really is very upsetting.
I don't understand it. Just as everything seems to be pointing the other way.”

“Perhaps the experts are wrong?”

“I suppose they might be. But they seem quite confident. Gwenda, I really don't understand a single thing about all this. Have we been making the most colossal idiots of ourselves?”

“All based on my silly behaviour at the theatre? I tell you what, Giles, let's call round on Miss Marple. We'll have time before we get to Dr. Kennedy's at four thirty.”

Miss Marple, however, reacted rather differently from the way they had expected. She said it was very nice indeed.

“But darling Miss Marple,” said Gwenda, “what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, my dear, that somebody hasn't been as clever as they might have been.”

“But how—in what way?”

“Slipped up,” said Miss Marple, nodding her head with satisfaction.

“But how?”

“Well, dear Mr. Reed, surely you can see how it narrows the field.”

“Accepting the fact that Helen actually wrote the letters—do you mean that she might still have been murdered?”

“I mean that it seemed very important to someone that the letters should actually be in Helen's handwriting.”

“I see … At least I think I see. There must be certain possible circumstances in which Helen could have been induced to write those particular letters … That would narrow things down. But what circumstances exactly?”

“Oh, come now, Mr. Reed. You're not really thinking. It's perfectly simple, really.”

Giles looked annoyed and mutinous.

“It's not obvious to me, I can assure you.”

“If you'd just reflect a little—”

“Come on, Giles,” said Gwenda. “We'll be late.”

They left Miss Marple smiling to herself.

“That old woman annoys me sometimes,” said Giles. “I don't know now what the hell she was driving at.”

They reached Dr. Kennedy's house in good time.

The doctor himself opened the door to them.

“I've let my housekeeper go out for the afternoon,” he explained. “It seemed to be better.”

He led the way into the sitting room where a tea tray with cups and saucers, bread and butter and cakes was ready.

“Cup of tea's a good move, isn't it?” he asked rather uncertainly of Gwenda. “Put this Mrs. Kimble at her ease and all that.”

“You're absolutely right,” said Gwenda.

“Now what about you two? Shall I introduce you straight away? Or will it put her off?”

Gwenda said slowly: “Country people are very suspicious. I believe it would be better if you received her alone.”

“I think so too,” said Giles.

Dr. Kennedy said, “If you were to wait in the room next door, and if this communicating door were slightly ajar, you would be able to hear what went on. Under the circumstances of the case, I think that you would be justified.”

“I suppose it's eavesdropping, but I really don't care,” said Gwenda.

Dr. Kennedy smiled faintly and said: “I don't think any ethical principle is involved. I do not propose, in any case, to give a promise of secrecy—though I am willing to give my advice if I am asked for it.”

He glanced at his watch.

“The train is due at Woodleigh Road at four thirty-five. It should arrive in a few minutes now. Then it will take her about five minutes to walk up the hill.”

He walked restlessly up and down the room. His face was lined and haggard.

“I don't understand,” he said. “I don't understand in the least what it all means. If Helen never left that house, if her letters to me were forgeries.” Gwenda moved sharply—but Giles shook his head at her. The doctor went on: “If Kelvin, poor fellow, didn't kill her, then what on earth did happen?”

“Somebody else killed her,” said Gwenda.

“But my dear child, if somebody else killed her, why on earth should Kelvin insist that he had done so?”

“Because he thought he had. He found her there on the bed and he thought he had done it. That could happen, couldn't it?”

Dr. Kennedy rubbed his nose irritably.

“How should I know? I'm not a psychiatrist. Shock? Nervous condition already? Yes, I suppose it's possible. But who would want to kill Helen?”

“We think one of three people,” said Gwenda.

“Three people? What three people? Nobody could have any possible reason for killing Helen—unless they were completely off their heads. She'd no enemies. Everybody liked her.”

He went to the desk drawer and fumbled through its contents.

He held out a faded snapshot. It showed a tall schoolgirl in a gym tunic, her hair tied back, her face radiant. Kennedy, a younger, happy-looking Kennedy, stood beside her, holding a terrier puppy.

“I've been thinking a lot about her lately,” he said indistinctly. “For many years I hadn't thought about her at all—almost managed to forget … Now I think about her all the time. That's
your
doing.”

His words sounded almost accusing.

“I think it's
her
doing,” said Gwenda.

He wheeled round on her sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. I can't explain. But it's not really us. It's Helen herself.”

The faint melancholy scream of an engine came to their ears. Dr. Kennedy stepped out of the window and they followed him. A trail of smoke showed itself retreating slowly along the valley.

“There goes the train,” said Kennedy.

“Coming into the station?”

“No, leaving it.” He paused. “She'll be here any minute now.”

But the minutes passed and Lily Kimble did not come.

II

Lily Kimble got out of the train at Dillmouth Junction and walked across the bridge to the siding where the little local train was waiting. There were few passengers—a half-dozen at most. It was a slack time of day and in any case it was market day at Helchester.

Presently the train started—puffing its way importantly along a winding valley. There were three stops before the terminus at Lonsbury Bay: Newton Langford, Matchings Halt (for Woodleigh Camp) and Woodleigh Bolton.

Lily Kimble looked out of the window with eyes that did not see the lush countryside, but saw instead a Jacobean suite upholstered in jade green….

She was the only person to alight at the tiny station of Matchings Halt. She gave up her ticket and went out through the booking office. A little way along the road a signpost with “To Woodleigh Camp” indicated a footpath leading up a steep hill.

Lily Kimble took the footpath and walked briskly uphill. The path skirted the side of a wood, on the other side the hill rose steeply covered with heather and gorse.

Someone stepped out from the trees and Lily Kimble jumped.

“My, you did give me a start,” she exclaimed. “I wasn't expecting to meet you here.”

“Gave you a surprise, did I? I've got another surprise for you.”

It was very lonely in among the trees. There was no one to hear a cry or a struggle. Actually there was no cry and the struggle was very soon over.

A wood-pigeon, disturbed, flew out of the wood….

III

“What can have become of the woman?” demanded Dr. Kennedy irritably.

The hands of the clock pointed to ten minutes to five.

“Could she have lost her way coming from the station?”

“I gave her explicit directions. In any case it's quite simple. Turn to the left when she got out of the station and then take the first road to the right. As I say, it's only a few minutes' walk.”

“Perhaps she's changed her mind,” said Giles.

“It looks like it.”

“Or missed the train,” suggested Gwenda.

Kennedy said slowly, “No, I think it's more likely that she decided not to come after all. Perhaps her husband stepped in. All these country people are quite incalculable.”

He walked up and down the room.

Then he went to the telephone and asked for a number.

“Hullo? Is that the station? This is Dr. Kennedy speaking. I was expecting someone by the four thirty-five. Middle-aged country woman. Did anyone ask to be directed to me? Or—what do you say?”

The others were near enough to hear the soft lazy accent of Woodleigh Bolton's one porter.

“Don't think as there could be anyone for you, Doctor. Weren't no strangers on the four thirty-five. Mr. Narracotts from Meadows, and Johnnie Lawes, and old Benson's daughter. Weren't no other passengers at all.”

“So she changed her mind,” said Dr. Kennedy. “Well, I can offer
you
tea. The kettle's on. I'll go out and make it.”

He returned with the teapot and they sat down.

“It's only a temporary check,” he said more cheerfully. “We've got her address. We'll go over and see her, perhaps.”

The telephone rang and the doctor got up to answer.

“Dr. Kennedy?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Inspector Last, Longford police station. Were you expecting a woman called Lily Kimble—Mrs. Lily Kimble—to call upon you this afternoon?”

“I was. Why? Has there been an accident?”

“Not what you'd call an accident exactly. She's dead. We found a letter from you on the body. That's why I rang you up. Can you make it convenient to come along to Longford police station as soon as possible?”

“I'll come at once.”

IV

“Now let's get this quite clear,” Inspector Last was saying.

He looked from Kennedy to Giles and Gwenda who had accompanied the doctor. Gwenda was very pale and held her hands tightly clasped together. “You were expecting this woman by the train that leaves Dillmouth Junction at four-five? And gets to Woodleigh Bolton at four thirty-five?”

Dr. Kennedy nodded.

Inspector Last looked down at the letter he had taken from the dead woman's body. It was quite clear.

“There was no question of her coming by an earlier train?”

“An earlier train?” Dr. Kennedy looked astonished.

“Because that's what she did. She left Coombeleigh, not at three thirty but at one thirty—caught the two-five from Dillmouth Junction and got out, not at Woodleigh Bolton, but at Matchings Halt, the station before it.”

“But that's extraordinary!”

“Was she consulting you professionally, Doctor?”

“No. I retired from practice some years ago.”

“That's what I thought. You knew her well?”

Kennedy shook his head.

“I hadn't seen her for nearly twenty years.”

“But you—er—recognized her just now?”

Gwenda shivered, but dead bodies did not affect a doctor and Kennedy replied thoughtfully: “Under the circumstances it is hard to say if I recognized her or not. She was strangled, I presume?”

“She was strangled. The body was found in a copse a short way along the track leading from Matchings Halt to Woodleigh Camp. It was found by a hiker coming down from the Camp at about ten minutes to four. Our police surgeon puts the time of death at between two fifteen and three o'clock. Presumably she was killed shortly after she left the station. No other passenger got out at Matchings Halt. She was the only person to get out of the train there.

“Now why did she get out at Matchings Halt? Did she mistake the station? I hardly think so. In any case she was two hours early for her appointment with you, and had not come by the train you suggested, although she had your letter with her.

“Now just what was her business with you, Doctor?”

Dr. Kennedy felt in his pocket and brought out Lily's letter.

“I brought this with me. The enclosed cutting and the insertion put in the local paper by Mr. and Mrs. Reed here.”

Inspector Last read Lily Kimble's letter and the enclosure. Then he looked from Dr. Kennedy to Giles and Gwenda.

“Can I have the story behind all this? It goes back a long way, I gather?”

“Eighteen years,” said Gwenda.

Piecemeal, with additions, and parentheses, the story came out. Inspector Last was a good listener. He let the three people in front of him tell things in their own way. Kennedy was dry, and factual, Gwenda was slightly incoherent, but her narrative had imaginative power. Giles gave, perhaps, the most valuable contribution. He was clear and to the point, with less reserve than Kennedy, and with more coherence than Gwenda. It took a long time.