She had had a bad night. She had listened to the wind blowing in erratic gusts down the chimney, making the lulls between each onslaught less a relief than an ominous spell of unnatural calm. Anxieties and sinister presentiments kept flooding her brain.
And it all culminated in a dream.
Doctor Klein had been buried, but for some reason, the Home Secretary had given orders for the body to be exhumed. Romany was among the small group of people standing reluctantly beside the grave. When the coffin was unscrewed, they were faced with the ghoulish sight of Doctor Klein’s corpse, swollen to the point of bursting, a monstrous Michelin man with silver florins placed on his eyes and wearing a ball gown. Then a hissing sound was heard and the body started deflating. Foul gases emanated from the coffin, so powerful, so vile, it made Romany gasp and choke and stagger back. The next moment she had woken up, feeling terribly ill –
She blew her nose. Pull yourself together, Romany, she ordered herself. Snap out of it. Chin up. Put your best foot forward and not in it. But it was difficult getting the details of the nightmare out of her head. The ghastly gases – she could still smell them!
She reminded herself she was on a trail now. She needed to be disciplined. If someone came along at this very moment, she would tell them
exactly
what she was looking for and why. She would be blunt about it. She would say what it was she suspected.
Unless it was Feversham who appeared. Well, if Feversham turned up, she would tell him she was taking the air. She would say she was looking out for a boat.
Hearing a sound behind her, she turned round sharply.
‘Good morning, Mrs Garrison-Gore,’ Major Payne said with a pleasant smile. ‘I wonder if you and I might be looking for the same thing?’
‘Lovely morning, isn’t it, though there is a decided nip in the air,’ he went on. ‘The sea looks a lot calmer – and not a single seagull in view … Good lord, the library’s gone – completely gutted – what a waste – I thought there were some good books there …’
‘Terrible devastation. Brings to mind the worst excesses of a Baghdad or a Tripoli.’ Mrs Garrison-Gore harrumphed. ‘Shocking, simply shocking.’
‘Look at the broken glass … How curious.’ Major Payne frowned. ‘How terribly curious.’
‘What’s curious?’
‘Most of the glass is on the
outside
of the window. If it had been the wind that broke it, the pieces would have been on the
inside …
You know what that means?
’
‘I believe I do.’ Mrs Garrison-Gore took a deep breath. She looked like a woman who had suddenly found herself free from all doubt and indecision. ‘Major Payne, I have no doubt you are someone I can trust. May I talk to you? I mean in confidence?’
‘Of course you may. Absolutely. I am the soul of discretion.’
‘You wouldn’t think it an imposition?’
‘Not a bit of it.’
‘I think I know who the killer is,’ she said after a pause.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. I have had my suspicions for some time and now I am convinced, though the whole thing is – well, too fantastic for words! I am sure you will laugh at me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it … I also suspect someone,’ Payne said. ‘Could we, by any chance, be talking about the same man? It is a man, isn’t it?’
‘It is a man, yes,’ she breathed. ‘It’s all so terribly far-fetched …’
‘Shall we compare notes?’
‘I would like nothing better. You go first, Major, if you don’t mind frightfully. Shoot.’
‘Ladies first.’
‘Ladies? What ladies?’ She gave a loud laugh. ‘Shoot!’
Payne cleared his throat. ‘You told us something very interesting yesterday afternoon. You said that you didn’t have to provide any of the actors in the Murder Game since they were already here, on the island. The only exception was Feversham, who joined the “troupe” later – but he had nothing to do with you either. You said that Feversham had been Oswald Ramskritt’s idea. Those, I believe, were your precise words?’
‘That is correct.’
‘I didn’t pursue the subject – you seemed very upset – you said you were dog tired – but I have been meaning to ask you about it. I believe it is important to establish Feversham’s credentials. Did you mean Oswald Ramskritt had already contacted Feversham and asked him to join you on the island?’ Payne scanned the terrace as he talked. He kicked a stone.
‘Yes. That’s what I meant. Oswald told us he had a man in mind, who would be just right for the part of “John de Coverley”. It was someone who specialised in English gents. Who had the right air about him.’
‘I see. Well, Feversham told us a different story,’ said Payne. ‘He said that you and he went back a long way. He had taken part in previous Murder Weekends which you had organised.’
‘He said that? Well, that is simply not true,’ Mrs Garrison-Gore said vehemently. ‘I’d never met Feversham before … But what possible reason could he have had for lying to you? Was it because he didn’t want anyone to know that there was a link between him and Oswald Ramskritt?’
‘That seems to be the obvious conclusion. And, as it happens, I have an idea as to what that link might be –’ Payne broke off. Bending down, he picked up a shining object from under a piece of statuary. ‘Hallo. This, I believe, belongs to you?’
‘Yes! My silver bullet pen!’ Mrs Garrison-Gore gave a delighted cry. Internally she cursed herself for being the blindest of bats. ‘I thought I’d lost it! I’d lent it to Feversham, you see, but he
insisted
he’d given it back to me!’
Major Payne stroked his jaw with his forefinger. ‘I don’t think that without your pen Oswald Ramskritt’s murder would have taken place at all … At least not in the way it did … It was Antonia actually who hit on the idea … Does that make any sense?’
‘It most certainly does. I also worked it out.’ She took a step towards him and brought her face alarmingly close to his. ‘I know exactly what happened.
The pen was hurled across the library
. Like a mini missile. That’s what you mean, isn’t it? Isn’t it?’
‘Yes. That was the little light Maisie saw. A metal object flashing in the lamplight. Your silver pen. It was used as a missile, as you so aptly put it. Its target was the French window. When the window exploded,’ Payne went on, ‘everybody blamed the storm. We assumed the window pane had given way under the strong wind, while in actual fact, it was your pen that broke it.’
‘How did you work out it was my pen?’
‘We deduced it,’ said Payne. ‘It fitted the bill. We were there when you reminded Feversham that you’d lent him the pen, remember? We heard him say he’d already given it back to you.’
‘That was a lie! Another lie! I believe the man is a pathological liar!’
‘I believe you are right. I came down in the hope I might be lucky enough to find your pen, which I have now done. I also wanted to make sure the broken glass
was
on the outside – which it is.’ Payne weighed the pen in his hand. ‘Yes, it’s heavy enough to do the job.’
‘You remind me of Hal Jackson. That’s my detective. You speak like him, at least that’s how I hear him in my head, that’s exactly as I imagine him to be.’ Mrs Garrison-Gore made a self-deprecating grimace. ‘Feversham smashed the window to distract us, to divert our attention, so that he could drop the cyanide into Oswald Ramskritt’s glass of champagne unobserved. Simple, yet clever, in its own way.’
Payne nodded. ‘It did the trick all right … Everybody was compelled to fix their eyes on the window – we leapt back in shock and terror – staggered away from the mighty wind. Nobody was looking at Ramskritt’s glass. That was when the poisoning took place.’
‘And did he kill Doctor Klein as well?’
‘He did, yes. I found a fibre sticking to Doctor Klein’s teeth.
Green and yellow
.’ Payne made a significant pause.
‘The tartan gloves!’ Mrs Garrison-Gore gasped. ‘He pushed the cyanide into Doctor Klein’s mouth – he was wearing the gloves!
‘Yes.’
‘But why –
why
did
he do it? I can’t imagine Feversham in the grip of a single strong emotion. He is so sham and so shallow. Murder, the unique crime, should
always
arise from strong emotions!’
‘I see you know your Orwell.’
She gave a short laugh, which to Payne’s ears sounded like the bark of a walrus demanding to be fed. I mustn’t be unkind, he thought.
‘
Is
that Orwell? I always thought it was one of mine!’ She hooted with laughter. ‘I am
such
an incorrigible cribber! The thieving magpie, that’s me. But what, in heaven’s name, does Feversham gain from Ramskritt’s death?’
‘What did he gain? It’s more a question of what he is
about
to gain. The answer is money. A lot of money. Or so Antonia and I believe,’ said Payne. ‘Feversham is Oswald Ramskritt’s half-brother. Or so we believe.’
He stood before her as straight as a metal rule, which made him look taller. His chin was shaved to a millimetre of its life. He should grow one of those silver-bristle moustaches on his top lip, Sybil thought. It would be terribly becoming. A moustache would be
thrilling
.
Feversham’s neck was throttled by a stiff white collar attached, by a gold stud, to a raspberry-coloured shirt. Above the stud, knotted tightly, was his striped regimental tie. He wore a waisted double-breasted suit in discreet charcoal hues. A yellow silk handkerchief spilled rakishly out of his breast pocket. His stepped-bottom trousers were creased sharper than a knife’s edge and his elastic-sided boots would have shamed a mirror.
‘Why, Fever, you look exceedingly dashing, but then I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Sybil said. Her heart was beating fast. ‘A proper Beau Brummel.’
‘I was wondering if I might have a word?’
‘Of course. Won’t you sit down?’
‘No, thank you. I prefer to stand.’
‘I don’t suppose you slept well, did you? Or is it your back? You poor darling. I expect you were cold?’
‘Not really. Only a bit.’
‘I meant to give you an electric blanket, but it would have been no use since there is no electricity. You could have had a fire in your room of course, if only I’d thought about it!’
‘Look here, Sybil –’
‘I promised I would teach you to play “bumble-puppy” chess, didn’t I? It’s rather fun. Shall we have a game? Or is it too early in the morning for games? You look too solemn for words. Do you intend to propose to me?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I would very much like to do that – but I need to talk to you first.’
‘How infuriatingly intriguing. I need to have a cigarette, I simply must.’ She picked up the silver cigarette case from the desk and took out a cigarette. ‘De Retzke. They still make them, you know. A small shop in Bond Street. All right, Fever. Out with it.’ She flicked a lighter. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘I’ll come straight to the point. I am Oswald Ramskritt’s half-brother. Or rather was.’
‘Go on. Don’t stop! Why did you stop?’
‘It was Oswald who phoned me. He asked me to come over to Sphinx Island and take the part of your brother. He explained about the Murder Game you were putting on. Neither of us was to divulge that we were related. I was to say that it was Mrs Garrison-Gore who employed my services, that I’d done acting jobs for her in the past.’
‘Why didn’t Oswald want people to know you were his half-brother?’
Feversham inclined his head. ‘He wanted me to spy on Ella.’
‘Spy on Ella? Are you serious? Why in heaven’s name did he want you to do that?’
‘Oswald was an extremely controlling man. He had a very strange relationship with poor Ella, as you may have gathered. She had been his mistress. He no longer loved her, but he enjoyed maintaining a hold over her. Ella’s friendship with Doctor Klein bothered him. It annoyed him that they should have become so close. He talked to me about it. He said it disturbed him. I believe he was also jealous, in an odd kind of way. I don’t think he was entirely normal. He seemed to suspect Ella and Doctor Klein were having an affair.’
‘Did he really? Of all the grotesque ideas! Do be an angel and pass me that ashtray, would you?’
‘He believed they were conspiring against him. Oswald gave every impression of being as arrogant as hell, but I think that deep down he felt terribly insecure. He was keen to know what Ella and Klein did when they were alone together. What they talked about. What she said to Klein and what Klein said to her. He wanted me to eavesdrop on them. To watch them. He thought they would be less suspicious of me if they didn’t know I was his half-brother.’
‘What exactly
is
a “half-brother”?’ Sybil held the cigarette away from her eyes.’
‘We had the same mother – but different fathers. My mother is completely ga-ga these days, but she was married to a Ramskritt, then to a Bonwell. Clement Bonwell is my father. He is also still alive.’
‘Is your name really Bonwell?’
‘Yes. Do you like it?’
‘It’s a charming name, though I must admit I prefer “Feversham”. Do go on, don’t stop, don’t stop. The whole thing is so utterly, so deliciously bizarre. I don’t suppose you enjoyed being Oswald’s spy and spying on poor Ella?’
‘I didn’t spy on Ella. I said I would do it, but I hated the idea, you see, so I only
pretended
to be spying on Ella.’
‘I suppose he paid you?’
‘He paid me yes. He paid me extremely well.’
‘You are one of the most decent fellows I have ever met, Fever … Was that why I kept seeing you walk up and down the stairs and lurking in corridors? You invariably had an insouciant air about you. Hands in pockets, whistling
Ain’t Misbehavin’.
’
‘That was part of my spying act, yes. I did it
only
when Oswald was about. I didn’t really eavesdrop on Ella and Klein. When I reported back to Oswald, I said that their conversations were completely innocent and not of the slightest importance. They were most certainly
not
having an affair. Oswald seemed disappointed. I must admit I didn’t care for Oswald, but I wanted him to think I was doing exactly what he’d asked me to do … As I said, I needed the money.’