The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks (31 page)

'I realised in a flash what had happened. When I had seen Timothy leaving Clara's room, he had not at that moment killed her. He must have done it
earlier
, and then tried to think of a way to divert suspicion. He'd no doubt seen me going downstairs, slipped into my room, pinched one of my cufflinks and hidden it in Clara's room. When I saw him leaving, he'd just done that.'

'This is the most—' Timothy began, but Wilkins silenced him. 'Mr Saunders, please, I'll come back to you in a moment. Let Mr Carstairs finish.' Timothy gave a resigned shrug and sat down again on the sofa.

'For minutes I just couldn't think what to do at all,' Gregory continued. 'I couldn't go back and look for it. It might take half an hour, or I might never find it. But I couldn't let the police find one cufflink, my cufflink, in Clara's room. Then it came to me. If I could camouflage my link with lots of others, it wouldn't be recognised, wouldn't stand out. I remembered what George had been saying at dinner about having a good many pairs. So I went to his dressing-room and took them all - and gave the box a wipe over with my handkerchief. I kept the pair I'm wearing for myself, went back to Clara's room, opened the door and just threw them in. No doubt you think I've misled you, Chief Inspector, but I would say I was unmisleading you, even though it was confusing for you. If you had found that one cufflink by Clara's body, you would have been convinced I was the murderer. All I was doing was getting myself out of what I believe nowadays is called a frame-up. Well, that's just about it.'

'I don't think so, sir.'

'I'm sorry?

'Didn't you attempt to do a little framing yourself?'

'What do you mean?'

'The photograph. Mrs Clara never stole that from Mr Timothy's room. She would have had no earthly reason to think he would be carrying anything compromising with him. Anyway, while she may not have been averse to a little bribery, I don't believe she was actually a thief. What do you say, ladies?' He looked at the sisters.

Dorothy shook her head. 'No. Mother would never have done that.'

'I agree,' Agatha said. 'Everyone knows I was under no illusions about her, but she wasn't a criminal, for heaven's sake. Besides, I think she would have been far too afraid of being caught.'

'She knew she'd behaved very badly earlier,' Dorothy added, 'and she would never do anything that would make people think even worse of her, if it ever came to light.'

'Thank you. My thinking exactly. No, you're the only one who could have done that, Mr Carstairs. Now please remember what I said: I want the full truth.'

'All right. Yes, I did.'

'Why, you unmitigated cad!' Timothy shouted.

'Tit for tat, Timothy, tit for tat.' He looked at Wilkins. 'You must remember, Chief Inspector, that I saw him leaving Clara's room, and then discovered he had tried to frame me for the crime. I knew I had to put the police back on the right track. It was after I'd taken the cufflinks that it occurred to me to plant something of
his
in Clara's room. But it seemed impossible, as he was still in his room. But just as I was leaving George's dressing-room, I saw a shaft of light appear in the corridor from Timothy's door opening, and I dodged back in. I kept the door open a fraction of an inch, and watched him go past. I peered after him and saw that he went down the staircase. I guessed that, like me, he needed a drink. I knew that would give me a few minutes, so I hurried into his room. I couldn't see anything at first that would be suitable, on the dressing-table or bedside table. I had a quick rummage through his overnight bag, but there was nothing there, either. Then I saw his briefcase.

'And you forced the lock,' Timothy interrupted angrily.

'No, it was unlocked.'

'It wasn't - oh.' Timothy stopped short. For the first time he looked a little awkward. 'I must have forgotten to lock it after I took my writing-case out. And later I had other things on my mind.'

'Such as murder,' Gregory sneered.

'Mr Carstairs, please!' Wilkins said exasperatedly. 'Just carry on with your story.

'I had a rummage through the briefcase. And, no, I did not look at any of the papers in there. They were of no interest. I was looking for something like a fountain pen or propelling pencil, something that might easily fall out of a breast pocket if you were bending over somebody suffocating them with a cushion. But then I saw the corner of a photograph. I took it out and looked at it. I could hardly believe my luck. I hurried back to Clara's room and put it in her handbag. In my haste, I forgot the cufflinks, which were in my pocket, until I'd got back to the door. So, as I said, I chucked them from the doorway then went back to my room. It had only been about seven or eight minutes from the time I left it. And that, Wilkins, is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.'

'Thank you, sir. Mr Saunders, do you have any comments?

'At this time just one. When he saw me as he was coming up the stairs, I had not in fact been
in
Clara's room at that time. I had intended, as well as leaving the cufflink there, to retrieve the postcard, but as I was opening the door, I heard a slight sound from the east corridor, which could have been another door opening or closing. No doubt it was Miss Mackenzie, on her way to the art gallery, but I didn't know that then. So all I had time to do was throw the cufflink in blindly, before practically running back to my own room. When I got there, I suffered a quite severe attack of palpitations and had to sit down for five or ten minutes. Then I did decide I needed a drink, went downstairs and had a brandy, and then returned to my room, where I remained until I heard the commotion.'

'And that is everything you have to tell us, Mr Saunders?'

'Yes, but I do have a request.'

'And what would that be?'

'Perhaps this is not the best time, in the middle of your interviews, but I feel it may be the last opportunity, the last time we are all together. I would like you to show that photograph to everyone else.'

Wilkins raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure, sir.'

'Quite sure. I do not want everybody indulging in much fruitless speculation as to its nature.'

'As you wish.' Wilkins looked round the room, then took a few steps towards Julie and held it out to her.

There was a marked apprehension in her eyes as she took it and glanced down at it. Then her face changed. However, anyone who had expected an exclamation of disgust or horror was surprised.

She looked up. 'Is this it? Is this all?' she asked blankly.

'All?' echoed Timothy.

'But it's totally innocuous!'

She looked at it again. It showed Timothy lolling back in a chair. He was in evening dress, with his collar askew, and was wearing a barrister's wig sideways. He was holding an upturned champagne bottle to his mouth. On his lap, her arm around his neck, was an extremely attractive brunette.

'Yes,' Julie said, 'I think everybody should see this.' She handed it back to Wilkins.

He took it round the circle. Miss Mackenzie frowned with slight distaste, Agatha and Dorothy showed no emotion. Tommy started to give a grin, which he quickly stifled before handing it back.

Timothy meanwhile was talking, very quickly. 'I want to explain what happened, though I don't expect every one here will believe me. A few weeks ago, I went to a one-day legal conference in Oxford. It was to carry on into the evening, and I'd arranged to stay the night in my old college. After the events had finished, I was persuaded, somewhat against my better judgment, to go out for a drink with a few others to some club. It seemed a perfectly respectable place. I had one drink. And that is all I remember until I woke up in bed at home the next morning. How I got there from Oxford I have no idea. I must have let myself in, because none of the servants did; they were extremely surprised the next morning to find me home. They had heard nothing, perhaps not surprising as they sleep on the top floor, but neither had Penelope, whose bedroom is next to mine.'

'Some dirty rat slipped you a Mickey,' Julie said.

Timothy stared at her. 'I beg your pardon?'

'A Mickey Finn. A drink spiked with some fast-acting sedative.'

'Ah. Is that what they are called? Yes, no doubt. The photo arrived in the post a couple of days later. You will have seen that my eyes are closed. I realise it could be assumed that I was blinking, due to the flash. Actually, I was asleep or unconscious at the time. How it was arranged for my arm to be up, holding the bottle, I cannot explain. I was extremely perturbed. But I did not like to ask any of the fellows who were there what had happened, because I did not wish them to be aware of my ignorance. I was half-expecting some kind of blackmail demand, but there has been nothing. It has nonetheless caused me severe disquiet.'

Wilkins was looking at the picture again. 'I think the business of your arm and the bottle can be easily explained. Someone crouching down behind the chair, holding your arm aloft. A piece of thread attached to the bottle and it being dangled by someone standing on a chair, so that your hand was actually merely resting against it. I daresay if the picture was enlarged sufficiently the thread might become visible.'

'Do you really think so? I must certainly try that. It would prove, wouldn't it, that the whole thing was a frame-up. That would be wonderful . . .' His voice tailed away. Then he looked at Julie. 'You said it was quite innocuous. No doubt in theatrical or journalistic circles that would be the case. But imagine if a copy of that were sent to the Lord Chancellor, when he was considering my possible elevation to the bench. Or, almost worse, if it appeared on the front page of some scandal sheet immediately after my appointment was announced.'

'I can almost see the headline,' Tommy put in. "Sober as a Judge."

'I can imagine worse than that,' Timothy said.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

'Right,' Wilkins said, 'having got that little diversion out of the way, let me just run through your combined testimony. Mr Carstairs visited Mrs Clara, stayed about five or ten minutes and then went to his room. Mr Timothy saw him leaving. Some time later, he himself went to her room and put the postcard beside the bed before discovering the body. When leaving, to return to his own room, he saw Mr Carstairs going downstairs. Shortly afterward, he abstracted Mr Carstairs' cufflink from
his
room, returned to Mrs Clara's room, was alarmed by a sound, threw the cufflink in and hurried back to his room, where he remained. Mr Carstairs, on his way upstairs, saw him, went to Mrs Clara's room himself, saw the body, and after another ten minutes, returned to his own room, when he discovered his cufflink missing. He made his way to the Earl's dressing- room, took all the cufflinks he found there and was about to leave when became aware of Mr Timothy going downstairs. He went to Mr Timothy's room, found the photo, went back to Mrs Clara's room, put the photo in her bag and scattered the cufflinks, before finally returning to his own room. Is that it?'

'Congratulations, Chief Inspector,' said Timothy, 'a remarkably accurate summary of my movements.'

'And of mine,' said Gregory. 'So what does it tell you?'

'It tells me that, rather surprisingly, you're in total agreement. Neither of your accounts contradicts the other's. Only your assumptions differ. Nothing in Mr Timothy's account proves his own innocence or Mr Carstairs' guilt. And vice versa.'

He scratched his head. 'It's all very confusing. I think I'm going to have to move away from what happened in the night, to the following morning. Several quite noteworthy things occurred then, though you are probably not aware of them. The timing of them is important. And I need some help in working that out.' He took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. 'Miss Osborne, you were first down, I think.'

'I believe so.'

'What time would that have been?'

She screwed up her eyes. 'Let me see. A few minutes before seven.'

'And you went immediately and phoned your friend on the Evening News!

'Uh-huh:

'How long did the call take?'

'Well, they were a minute or two finding him, but when he came on I was able to give him the gist of the story in about four minutes.'

'So six minutes would be a fair estimate?'

'I guess so.'

'You didn't hear Miss Dorothy trying the door?'

'No.'

'And afterwards you returned to your room by the back stairs?'

'Yes, it was quicker.'

'And then it would have been five, six, seven minutes past the hour?'

'Around that.'

'Thank you. That's very helpful.' He made a brief entry in his notebook and then turned to Dorothy. 'Miss Dorothy, what time did you come down?'

'Just a minute or two after seven.'

'And you also went straight to the telephone room, found the door locked, returned to the great hall, and told Mr Merryweather about it.'

'Yes.'

'So it would have been about ten past by the time you eventually got through to her?'

'I suppose so.'

'And how long did your call last?'

'Oh, I really couldn't say.'

'Well, let's try to work it out. You told her first, of course, about your stepmother - that she was dead, murdered, almost certainly by one of the guests.'

'Yes.'

'And no doubt she had a number of questions.'

'Yes.'

'Did you mention Mrs Clara's outburst at the will-reading.'

'Just briefly, an outline.'

'So all that would have taken three minutes, at the very least, I should imagine.'

'I should think so.'

'And, naturally, you then told her about your inheritance.'

'Of course.'

'The money and the house, how much it was all worth?'

'Does that seem terribly heartless?'

'Not at all, miss. But it would have taken another minute or two. And then you asked her to come and she said she'd be here as soon as possible.'

'That's right.'

'Does that agree with your recollection, Miss Agatha?'

'Pretty well.'

'So that means we can say the call took a minimum of five minutes, probably longer. Are we agreed on that?'