‘Oh, there were suspicious circumstances, of course, but I am sure they will all be cleared up at the trial. It is the time of waiting that is so trying. I need – I need your sympathy, Mrs Farintosh, not a threat to leave me. I am having to cope all alone. It is not easy for me, this period of bearing full responsibility. I am accountable to Mr Piper – to Chelion—’ her eyes filled with tears – ‘while he is in this dreadful predicament. So far, I have been able to prevail upon most of the tenants to stay, and Mr Moore and his – er – his wife have even returned from America – he has been on a lecture tour over there, you know – and are taking up their option on their flat.’
‘I have met Mr and Mrs Moore, of course. They are a charming couple.’
‘He is the distinguished Canadian-Irish poet,’ Niobe wiped her eyes and essayed a smile.
‘Is he a descendant of the Thomas Moore who wrote the delightful Irish Melodies and was Lord Byron’s biographer?’
‘I could not say, but I should think it very likely.’
‘Did the Moores know that murder was committed here while they were away? It might have affected their willingness to return if they did know, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Niobe shortly. ‘The burglar or tramp, or whatever, killed that old lady in the bungalow, not in the house. The house is completely protected.’
‘Oh, but I was told that the poor woman was drowned in the sea.’
‘Oh, well, yes, of course, but the body was found in the bungalow. That is one of the reasons why the police thought—’ she sniffed dolorously – ‘they thought Chelion had done it. They said that an outsider would have left the body in the sea so that the outgoing tide could carry it away. We have thirty-foot tides here, you see. The water comes almost up to the lawn at high tide and then goes out ever so far.’
‘So I have noticed. You have not resolved my apprehensions. The house itself may be burglar-proof, but that is beside the point. One does not spend the whole of one’s time behind a locked door. You not only omitted to tell me that Mr Piper is a suspected murderer; you even allowed me to rent the bungalow for my manservant.’
‘You suggested it yourself! It was for your own convenience that you housed him in the bungalow. Good heavens,’ cried Niobe, beginning to weep again, ‘if every house which has had a dead body in it were never to be lived in again, more than half the population would be homeless!’
‘A dead body is one thing, Miss Nutley. A murdered body is quite another. You should have told me.’ (I am being completely unscrupulous, thought Dame Beatrice, but murder is not a thing to be too nice about.)
‘Well, I’m sure I’m very sorry you were not told, but I have a responsibility to Mr Piper – to Chelion – while this wretched time goes on. If everybody thought as you do, he would be coming back to an empty house, his livelihood gone,’ Niobe began to weep again.
‘Oh, the rents are his livelihood, are they? I was given to understand that he was a wealthy man in his own right,’ said the unsympathetic listener.
‘I don’t know who told you so, but, be that as it may, I am still responsible for the lettings,’ snapped Niobe, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Besides, that wretched dead woman was attempting to claim the property.’
‘It is interesting that all the tenants are writers. Is that merely a coincidence or is it an idiosyncrasy of Mr Piper’s?’ asked Dame Beatrice, on a different note.
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Niobe, who appeared to be relieved by the apparent change of subject, ‘I selected the tenants myself. Chelion had nothing to do with choosing them. He is an embryo author himself, you see, so I thought he would like to be surrounded by his own kind.’
‘An embryo author?’
‘By that I mean so far he has not had anything published.’
‘It must be very frustrating to get what I believe are called pink slips.’
‘That hasn’t happened – yet. Chelion is still working on his first novel.’
‘Oh, I see. So, to encourage him, you filled his house with other writers.’
‘All of whom are successful in their own sphere. Psychologically a very sound idea, don’t you think? I mean, you ought to know. You represented yourself in your letter as a contributor to psychiatric journals.’
‘Talking of letters, Miss Nutley, one or two of my fellow-tenants have referred to some unpleasant, unsigned missives which people here have received from time to time.’
‘Poor old Miss Minnie wrote them,’ said Niobe in a positive tone.
‘Can you be sure of that?’
‘Well, no more have been written since she died. Proof positive, I should say.’
‘Hardly proof positive, I would have thought. Did Mr Piper receive one?’
‘I don’t know. He has never said so.’ (Lie number one, thought Dame Beatrice.)
‘You yourself—?’
‘Oh, yes, I got one. I’ve destroyed it, of course.’
‘Oh, of course. Such pernicious things are apt to contain a grain of truth, are they not? In that case, to destroy them is the only possible course if one wants to restore one’s peace of mind.’
‘Mine did not contain any truth.’ Tears came into her eyes again. (How prophetic were her parents at her baptism! Or can it be that it pleases her to live up to her name? thought Dame Beatrice.) ‘It accused me of being Chelion’s mistress,’ Niobe went on, attempting a watery smile.
‘Oh, dear! How very annoying for you.’
‘We were engaged to be married before he came into money, but of course I released him when I realised how wealthy he was. There has been nothing between us since. As soon as I knew what had happened I offered him his freedom and he took it and went off to Paris.’ Here she broke down completely, put her head on the writing-table at which she was sitting and sobbed aloud. Dame Beatrice pursed up her beaky little mouth and waited until the paroxysm was over. Then she said:
‘I will not play cat and mouse with you any longer. I am here on official business. One of your tenants recognised me and, so far, has kept his own counsel. Another I have confided in. Now I feel it is your turn.’
Niobe, tear-stained, swollen-eyed and unattractively blotched, raised her head. ‘My turn for what?’ she asked.
‘To be put in the picture. As a psychiatrist – oh, yes, that is true enough – I entertain certain doubts about the wisdom of the county police in having arrested and charged Mr Piper, so I have decided to look into the case on behalf of the Home Office.’
‘But Chelion doesn’t plead – what do they call it? – diminished responsibility, does he?’ asked Niobe, staring at her visitor out of red-rimmed eyes.
‘No. He claims that he is completely innocent of the charge and I am inclined – I go no further than that – I am inclined to believe him now that I have his own account of the matter.’
There was no doubt that Niobe was able to recover quickly from her bouts of weeping. She looked alert, wary and interested.
‘Well, this is somewhat of a surprise and I find it rather disconcerting,’ she said. ‘I had no idea that he was in need of a psychiatrist, especially of one who is employed to visit prisons.’
This statement was made in so venomous a tone that it seemed she thought it best to qualify it by saying, ‘One feels so helpless when one comes up against the police and the law.’
‘I suppose so, yes. Most unfortunately there is a very strong piece of evidence against him which cannot be ignored or glossed over.’
‘I suppose you refer to the fact that Miss Minnie may have had claims upon Mrs Dupont-Jacobson’s fortune,’ said Niobe, nodding soberly and then shaking her head.
‘Exactly. It makes the case against him look very dark.’
‘I know.’ Niobe’s eyes filled with tears again, but this time she did not break down. ‘And, of course,’ she added, ‘she was drowned in the sea, and Chelion was the only one of us who ever used this little beach for bathing.’