Tour de Force (21 page)

‘To do up your shoe-laces,' she said.

He bowed his head. ‘Well – that I suppose I deserve. But in fact it's nothing to do with my bloody arm.'

‘Or
my
bloody money?' said Helen.

His face grew black as thunder. ‘Or with your money. After all,' he said, with ugly self-mockery, matching his cynicism with her own, ‘Louvaine's rich. And you've got me conditioned to living on my wife's money, haven't you?'

‘The only trouble with your wife's money this time is that it now appears that the goose that really laid the golden eggs is dead.'

‘Well, you needn't worry,' he said. ‘We won't trouble
you
.'

Her finger-tips whitened with the pressure as she steadied herself, half fainting, against the dressing-case. Then she lifted it off its chair, opened another and tumbled in the contents of another drawer. He bent to untie his shoe-laces, and she thought: When he comes to do them up again, he won't be able to. He could go to Louvaine; but Louvaine would not know the special way of doing them so that they could be easily untied with one hand. Never mind, she thought, bitterly, that'll be a happy excuse to go to Louvaine again. She closed the case and put it on the floor beside the other. ‘I'll leave the rest of my things; I take it you can bear to have them around till we leave to-morrow. If we leave to-morrow.'

‘Why shouldn't we leave to-morrow? The Grand Duke's arranged it.'

‘The Grand Duke hasn't yet had a chat with your girl friend.'

‘She was overwrought,' said Leo, briefly. ‘She said what came into her head.'

‘She said it very convincingly. She said that I went up to the room that afternoon to have it out with her; and saw Vanda Lane standing in the doorway, and thought it was
her
.'

‘She couldn't see herself,' said Leo. ‘She couldn't see her own hair. Even with it pulled back, you couldn't mistake the colour. You wouldn't really have been taken in for a minute. And anyway, as you rightly say, the Grand Duke has not had a chat with Louvaine about it; and can't wait to get rid of us all to-morrow morning. You are in no danger whatsoever.' He flung himself back on the bed, put his arm over his face and composed himself to sleep. ‘Now, if you've finished your furniture removals I will take my siesta. I hope you'll be comfortable in number five.
Au revoir
.'

She picked up the cases and went into the little passage leading past the bathroom to the corridor. After a moment she returned, still carrying them. She opened the balcony door and looked out, but she did not go. He roused himself to say, with calculated irritability: ‘Well, what is it now?'

She had put the cases down, one on either side of her, and she stood very still. The light from the half-closed shutters threw narrow lines of shadow across the white dress and the set white face; and for a moment he had the ugly fancy that it looked as though she stood behind prison bars.

And outside the door, open upon freedom – shiny black hat, dark cape, gleam of silver inlay on old black steel, drowsing at his post in the heat of the afternoon sun, stood a guard of the San Juanese politio – caging her in.

Chapter Twelve

I
NSPECTOR
C
OCKRILL,
with Fernando as interpreter, rushed up to the prison. The Gerente, a sick and sorry man, turfed Lollita off his knee and held out the hand of fellowship to his blood brother. For now, said the Gerente, things were very bad for them all, they were all at the mercy of El Exaltida and who could fathom the capricious vagaries of the great ones of the earth? Two days ago he, the Gerente, had been under orders, upon pain of God knew what appalling penalties peculiar to San Juan el Pirata, to produce from among the Inglese a subject suitable for immediate execution upon not too outrageously inadequate grounds; to-day he had presented himself, a-quiver with excitement, before the Exalted One and confided all he had seen and heard as he followed Senor Rodd up the steps to the balcony on their return from the palace. And behold! – were there thanks, was there praise, had there been perhaps a hint or two of splendid decorations to follow? – no, indeed, cried the Gerente, hammering himself upon the forehead and chest with such knock-out blows that he was obliged to resort to reviving sips of
arguardiente
, no indeed! El Exaltida it seemed, had meanwhile made other arrangements. Was he, was the Gerente, a magician that he should see through walls, listen across the vast acres of the Grand Ducal palace, read himself into the secret mind of authority? – or what mystical attribute was to divine for him the reasons why Senor Rodd had looked pleased with himself as, nursing his golden bird-cage, he had sat silent through the homeward drive. For the senor could speak no Juanese, as they all knew, and the Gerente no English, and nothing had therefore been explained to El Gerente of the plot hatched up in the Grand Duke's room. What more natural therefore than that, ceaselessly alert in the service of the Politio, the Gerente should seize upon the proof of guilt exposed before his very eyes at the moment of their return to the hotel, and, pausing only to share it with such friends and members of his family as he encountered upon the way, rush up to the Palace with the news. But, El Exaltida … He shuddered at the bare memory of the great jewelled fists raised above the splendid head and brought crashing down among pens and papers and exquisite
bric-à-brac
on the wooden desk. ‘He says El Exaltida was angry,' translated Fernando,
en précis
, for the Inspector. ‘He says that he smashed a golden bird-cage like the one Senor Rodd had. He says El Exaltida keeps a stock of birdcages, to hand out as favours to visiting foreigners. He says some are gold and some are silver gilt, according to the status of the expected visitor. He says …'

‘What did the Exleteeder say, that's all
I
care,' said Cockie.

‘He says El Exaltida said that he must tell no one about the Senora Rodd being the murderer, that if nobody knew, they could keep to the suicide theory still, and let us all go.'

Cockrill raised his head with the light of hope in his eye. ‘Well, then, what's he worrying about? Let him tell no one.'

‘He says he's already told everyone,' said Fernando simply.

The Grand Duke, upon hearing this had, it appeared, sworn for ten full minutes by the Gerente's own watch, reaching such heights of inventive invective as had made the blood run cold; had thrown a blotter, an inkwell and a carved jade ash-tray at the Gerente's head and, scoring a near miss with this last, had suddenly recovered his temper and lapsed into a sort of bland affability which for some reason had been far more frightening. Very well then, said the Grand Duke, let the Gerente continue with the affair of the Senora Rodd. True, a reason had been found for letting the Inglesi go, an outwardly tenable solution had presented itself and he, the Grand Duke, had taken advantage of it to rid the island of a troublesome business which might interfere with the tourist, and so indirectly with the smuggling, trade. But now, thanks to the – initiative – of el Gerente, said the Grand Duke, smiling terribly upon his hapless servant, this solution was no longer useful. San Juan had her reputation to uphold, she was not to be presented in the world's press as a poor little backward island, unable to manage her own legal and criminal affairs, permitting the escape of a murderer through over-long adhering to a suicide theory which – through el Gerente's initiative, repeated the Grand Duke, smiling again into the Gerente's bleached face – everyone now knew to be nonsense. Let the Gerente handle the affair in his own way as he had taken it upon himself to interfere – er, to intervene. And this time,
let there be no mistake
. Let the Gerente walk carefully until he had arranged for such proofs as would satisfy any future enquiries from abroad; let a guard be set over them all, until the woman could reasonably be arrested and thrown into prison and the rest be packed off home. In due course, they would hang her or, if the British wished otherwise, simply forget her and let her die a natural death – they never lasted long under prison conditions, said the Grand Duke comfortably, especially the women; and thus the whole wearisome business would be closed, and demonstration made to the outside world that here in San Juan el Pirata, they were not barbarians.…

‘You are going to arrest Mrs Rodd?' said Cockrill, horror-stricken.

Fernando translated. The Gerente shrugged helplessly. Orders was orders, Fernando translated back.

‘But the whole thing is nonsense.' He pursued, with elaborations, the argument Leo Rodd had put before Helen earlier that afternoon. ‘Tell him Mrs Rodd couldn't possibly have mistaken Miss Lane for Miss Barker. Point out to him about the colour of the hair. The conditions were the same on each occasion, there was strong sunlight, if Miss Lane had answered her door, she would have been standing just as Louvaine Barker was standing to-day. She wore her hair scraped back into a bun as a rule, you might not have seen much of it; though even when Miss Barker pulled hers back, you could still clearly see its colour. But Miss Lane had been bathing, she'd pulled off her bathing cap, her hair was all about her shoulders, the Gerente saw it for himself when she lay on the bed; and all the darker for being wet – you couldn't in that light, even in the light of the room, have mistaken it for red hair. And Mrs Rodd would be looking for a girl whose most noticeable feature is a thick head of flaming red hair.'

Mr Fernando looked down uncomfortably at the stolid gold rings on his fingers with their diamond and ruby chips. ‘I confess, Inspector – this morning,
I
thought she was Miss Lane.
I
did not observe the colour of the hair.'

‘Then you must be colour-blind,' said Cockie, coldly.

‘Perhaps Mrs Rodd is colour-blind?'

‘Women are never colour-blind,' said Cockrill. ‘Or practically never. It's a rule of nature. And anyway, Mrs Rodd isn't: I've checked.'

The Gerente spoke in Juanese. Cockrill said quickly: ‘Anyway, say nothing about it to him. It won't help in getting Mrs Rodd out of this mess and that's all we want for the moment. Just say what I told you.'

Fernando translated obediently in his stumbling Juanese, the Gerente replied, Fernando gabbled back excitedly, the Gerente flung helpless hands wide and shrugged hopeless shoulders. ‘He says, Inspector, that he cares nothing for red hair or dark hair, he saw for himself that Miss Lane looked like Miss Barker, he saw that Miss Barker was accusing Mrs Rodd, he has orders to arrange the whole thing by day after to-morrow.' The Gerente spoke again and he translated solemnly: ‘He asks me to request you not to make things more difficult for him, by bringing forward these facts which do not fit in with his case.' He too shrugged helplessly. ‘I'm afraid they have quite decided it shall be Mrs Rodd.'

‘Well, I've quite decided it shall not be Mrs Rodd,' said Cockie. He thought it over unhappily. ‘Of course he doesn't know … I suppose we'd better.… Yes: tell him, Mr Fernando, tell him about the attack yesterday, on Mrs Rodd.'

The Gerente was perfectly delighted with the story of the attack on Mrs Rodd. He listened with unimpaired gravity to the account of Inspector Cockrill's investigations at the shop and scribbled a hasty note to the proprietor informing him that a tall, slim, English lady had on the afternoon of the funeral purchased a Toledo steel knife there, and that he would be required to remember the incident when called upon and to have witnesses ready. ‘A pity the poor lady did not succeed,' he said to Fernando. ‘It would have put an end to her troubles and ours, with one blow.' Why Mrs Rodd should have aimed a suicidal blow at her right shoulder, or how, having aimed it at her heart, she could have missed that fairly easily located organ by about eighteen inches, need not concern him, for El Exaltida was predisposed to theories of suicide and certainly would not enquire. As far as he was concerned, said the Gerente, contentedly smiling, this evidence of the murderer's remorse and fear, rounded off the whole business. Meanwhile, if the Inspector would be so good as to hand over the dagger …?

‘Very well,' said Cockie. ‘You can send down a man for it.' He slammed his white hat on his head and marched off out of the prison without farewell. The Gerente looked sorrowfully after one who, as a brother, must hereafter be lost to him, and sent for a selection of witnesses who might be persuaded to have seen Mrs Rodd creep up to the balcony on the afternoon of the murder and come away afterwards, wiping a bloodstained knife.… But no, no, the knife had been still in the body. He amended his notes on the subject. One must walk with extraordinary care in a matter like this: it was one thing to have proof of things which might not have happened, but to prove things that
could
not have happened might well, with the Grand Duke in his present mood, be a foolish mistake. After all, as El Exaltida had said, here in San Juan they were not barbarians.

Down at the hotel, Miss Trapp had made her diffident way to room number five, and there offered comfort. She knew Mrs Rodd was alone; for, after begging in vain to be allowed to come in and speak to her, Leo Rodd had flung away from the locked door and down the curved steps to the terrace; Miss Trapp had seen him there later, talking to Louli, he with a face of set, cold anger, she with the new look of terror and dread which now came all too often to those blue eyes that had once been so blithely gay. ‘You will not think I am intruding, Mrs Rodd?' said Miss Trapp nervously, sitting on the little wooden chair, hugging the bag. ‘I thought, perhaps, another woman …'

‘It's very kind of you, Miss Trapp,' said Helen, longing only to be left alone.

‘You won't misunderstand me?' pleaded Miss Trapp humbly. ‘I didn't come to interfere or to ask impertinent questions or to seek any confidence from you. It was only that – it's a dreadful thing, Mrs Rodd, not to know who are one's true friends: nobody knows that better than I do; and though, of course, I wouldn't presume to consider myself a friend of yours, I would just like to tell you that if – if you should need a friend, and, since you have no one else here, I – I am quite at your service.'