‘Of course you couldn’t baby,’ said Mr da Soto. Antoine smiled, and murmured unexpectedly:
‘Mail si quelqu’un venoit de la part de’Cassandre, Ouvre-luy tost la porte, et ne le fais attendre,
Soudain entre dans ma chambre, et me vien accoustrer.’
Harriet smiled back at him and then, struck with an idea, asked Leila:
‘When did the last of these letters arrive?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t friends with him any more after I got friendly with Luis. But I expect M Lefranc would tell you. There isn’t much goes on that M Lefranc doesn’t know about.’
‘Did you and Alexis live together when you were friendly?’ demanded Harriet,’ bluntly.
‘Of course not; what a dreadful thing to ask a girl.’
‘I mean, in the same house.’
‘Oh, no. We used to go and see each other quite often, but of course, after Luis and me became friends, I said for Paul that it would be better if we didn’t see each other any more. You see, Paul was so fond of me, and Luis would have been imagining things — wouldn’t you, Luis?’
‘You bet your life I would, honey.’
‘Haven’t you told the police about these: letters?”
‘No, I have not,’ replied Miss Garland, decidedly. ‘I don’t say I mightn’t have told them if they had asked properly, but the way that fat Umpelty went on, you’d have thought I wasn’t a respectable girl. So I said to him, “I know nothing about it,” I said, “and you’ve got nothing, against me,” 1 said, ‘and you can’t make me answer your silly questions unless you take me down to your dirty old police-station and charge me,” I said.’ Miss Garland’s carefully modulated tones escaped from control and became shrill. ‘And I said, “It wouldn’t be a scrap of good if you did,” I said, “because I know nothing about Paul Alexis and I haven’t seen him for months,” I said, “and you can ask anybody you like,” I said, “and what’s more, if you get bullying a respectable girl like this,” I said, “you’ll get yourself into trouble, Mr Rumpelty-Bumpelty,” I said, “so now you know where you, get off.” That’s what I said, and it’s a good thing there’s a law in this country to protect girls like I.’
‘Ain’t she the snail’s ankles?’ asked Mr da Soto admiringly.
There seemed to be no further information to be gathered from Leila Garland, whom Harriet put down in her own mind as ‘a regular little gold-digger and as vain as a monkey’. As for da Soto, he looked harmless enough, and did not seem to have any pressing reason for doing away with Alexis. One never knew, of course, with these slinky people of confused nationality, just as she was thinking this, da Soto drew out his watch.
‘You will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I have a rehearsal at two o’clock. As always, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
He bowed, and left them, with his lithe walk, between a lounge and a swagger. Had he deliberately mentioned Thursdays in order to direct attention to an alibi for Thursday, 28th? And how’ did he know the time for which an alibi was required? That particular detail had not been allowed to get into the papers, and it was not likely to do, so until the inquest. And yet — could one attach any importance to the remark? An alibi depending on an orchestra rehearsal was so easily established or refuted. Then an explanation occurred to her: the police would already have asked da Soto about his movement last Thursday. But surely they would not have emphasised the crucial time to that extent. They had agreed that the less anybody knew about the time the better — it would be helpful in the inquiry if anyone were to come, forward ostentatiously flourishing an alibi for two o’clock.
Harriet returned with, Antoine, still not quite knowing what to make of da Soto. It was still only a quarter past two; she had time to carry out a new plan which she had formed. She put some clothes in a suitcase and went round to interview’ Paul Alexis’ landlady, Mrs Lefranc.
The door of the cheap-looking lodging-house was opened to her by an ample personage with brazen hair, who was dressed in a pink wrapper, much-laddered artificial silk stockings and green velvet mules, and wore, about her heavily powdered neck a string of synthetic-amber beads hike pigeon’s eggs.
‘Good morning,’ said Harriet, ‘I’m looking for a room.’ The lady eyed her shrewdly and said: ‘Professional, dearie?’
To say ‘Yes’ was tempting but unsafe. Mrs Lefranc hooked as though what she did not know about professionals could have been written on a threepenny bit. Besides, Harriet was becoming well-known in Wilvercombe — she could scarcely hope to hide her identity for ever.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I write books. In fact, Mrs Lefranc, I’m the person who found poor Mr Alexis last week. I’ve been staying at the Resplendent, but it’s terribly expensive, and I thought, if your room was still vacant, I might be able to take it.’
‘Well, there!’ said Mrs Lefranc. She, opened the door a little wider, but seemed to be divided between suspicion and curiosity. ‘Well, there! I hardly know what to say. You ain’t one of these journalists?’
‘Oh, dear, no,’ replied Harriet.
‘Because,’ said Mrs Lefranc,’ ‘with those fellers you never know where you are. Worried to death I’ve been with them, poking their long noses into my private affairs:; But of course you can’t help but feel an interest, dearie, can you, seeing it was you that found him, poor boy. Come along in. Excuse my negleegy, won’t you? If I’m not up and down, up and down, keeping an eye on that girl, I don’t know where we’d all be. I don’t get time to posh myself up of a morning. How, long would you be wanting the room.for?’
‘I don’t quite know. It depends on when they have the inquest?’
‘Ah, yes — and they’ve got to find him first, poor lamb, ain’t they? You know, I’ve got such a warm heart, I can’t sleep at nights for thinking of him washing about in all that nasty sea. Mind the coal-scuttle, dearie; the times I tell that girl; not too leave it on the stairs. It’s a lovely room on the first floor — quite the best in the house, and you’ll find the bed comfortable. Poor Mr Alexis always said it was like a home to him and I’m sure he was like, a son to me.’
Mrs Lefranc led the way up, her green mules flapping and displaying large holes in the heels of her stockings.
There, dearie!’ said Mrs Lefranc, throwing open the door. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t find better in Wilvercombe, and it’s nice and quiet you’ll be able to do your writing beautiful. I’ve had it all cleaned up and his clothes and things put away — and if you was to dislike his books and bits of things about, I could easy put them to the one side. But there! I daresay you won’t mind them. It’s not as if he’d died in this room, is it, poor soul? And I’m sure Mr Alexis was far too much the gentleman to commit a rash act on anybody’s premises. That kind of thing do give a place a bad name, there’s no denying it, and one is apt to be blamed for things as aren’t in any woman’s control, try’ as she may to make her visitors happy. But as to the books, well, of course, if it had been anything infectious they’d have to have been destroyed, though as to who they belong to now I don’t know, I’m sure and the police can’t tell me either, and I daresay they’ve as, much right here as anywhere, with me being like a mother to him this year past and more. But anything infectious, there is not, for he never was subject to any such complaint, enjoying good health as a rule, barring the pain in his joints which he had to lay up for at times, and the agony he went through was cruel. I’m sure my heart bled for him, and the amount of antipyrin he took for it would surprise you and he never would have a doctor. But there! I don’t blame him. My sister had the rheumatics something cruel and the amount she spent on doctors’ and electric treatment and nothing to show for it, except, her knee swelled up like a pumpkin. And she lost the use of the limb altogether, which was a cruel thing for a woman in her profession. A trapeze-artist, she was; I’ve got her photograph in. my room; if you would like to see it one day, dearie, and the wreaths her old pals sent to her, funeral was beautiful to see. Covered the hearse, they did, and they had to have an extra carriage on purpose for them. But as I was saying, if you don’t care about the books I’ll take them away.’ I’m not going to have that Weldon woman or Leila Garland — the little cat coming here trying to get hold of them.’