“Let’s cut out everything that’s irrelevant,” urged Rollison. “Renfrew may come in at any moment and we want to get this ironed out quickly. Mrs. Barrington-Ley employed you to watch her husband, did she?”
“Yes.”
“For what reasons?”
“She was pretty vague. She said she thought he was worried and being blackmailed, but I soon found out she was afraid he was having an affaire and planning to murder her,” said Farrow. He joined Rollison and spoke in a low-pitched voice, glancing at the door from time to time. “I haven’t found a thing against Barrington-Ley. Absolutely nothing at all. The little fat swab, Pomeroy, has fooled B.-L., I know that, but I don’t know what he’s after. I do know that Renfrew tried to do away with Mrs. B.-L. I went into her room soon after he’d come out, after the first attack, and if I hadn’t made it plain that I had suspected him, I think she would have died. He pulled her round, and I let him think that I would keep my mouth shut for a share of the spoils. I’m here to collect— information, not spoils! I’ve made a full report in writing to the office, I’m not putting anything across you. I’ve come across a lot of people in my time, but I’ve never met a woman with more guts than Mrs. B.-L. That’s the truth, Mr. Rollison, and if I can put this clever doctor on the spot, that’s where he’s going.”
“He’s on it,” said Rollison.
Farrow snapped: “Are you sure?”
“Yes, quite sure. Have you got anything else?”
“Renfrew’s up to his neck in debt,” said Farrow. “He thinks he can put himself right by marrying Gwendoline. She’s lent him a small fortune already, but he just can’t hold money, his fingers are greased. His only hope is to get a bumper marriage settlement, and he’ll get a better one if Mrs. B.-L. is dead. The daughter will inherit all there is, then, and Renfrew will be on a good thing.” Farrow scowled. “I think he’s going to have a cut at polishing off Barrington-Ley when Mrs. B.-L. is dead and buried, but I can’t be sure of that. What are your ideas?”
“Not far removed from yours,” said Rollison, softly. “I didn’t see that motive, but I certainly should have done. Do you know anything about Pomeroy and the Yugo-Slav Relief Fund?”
“Not much,” said Farrow. “Pomeroy’s as slippery as they come. All I know is that he’s an outsize crook, and Barrington-Ley has been taken in by him—and I don’t mean maybe! Does that Fund matter?”
“Yes,” said Rollison. “And I think I see where it comes in. I”
He broke off, for Farrow, looking at the door, suddenly backed away and sat down. But it was only the receptionist, who looked even more sour.
“Dr. Renfrew will see Mr. Farrow,” she said, with a sharp glance at Rollison, “and you afterwards. He says he may be some time.”
“I think we’ll see him together,” said Rollison. He took the receptionist’s arm and she resisted in a flurry of alarm. “We’re on police business.”
“Police!” she gasped.
She stared at them, white-faced, as they crossed the hall to a room marked Dr. Renfrew—Surgery. But she made no effort to interfere, and Rollison, with a detaining hand on. Farrow’s arm, waited until she had disappeared through another door. Then he said softly:
“Go in and leave the door ajar, will you?”
“Any special questions?” asked Farrow.
“No, but speak clearly.”
Farrow was as helpful now as he had been hostile before, and he managed to leave the door unlatched without it being noticed, so that Rollison could hear every word that was said. He realized that someone else was in the room besides Renfrew, but did not yet know who it was.
Renfrew said: “I told you to come to-morrow, Farrow.”
“It wasn’t soon enough,” said Farrow, “I’m taking enough chances as it is.” He played up well, adding nervously: “How do I know I won’t be arrested for that murder?”
“She’s not dead yet,” said Renfrew, damning himself utterly. “I’ll see that you’re all right, Farrow, but not now. Did you see Rollison in the waiting-room?”
“Yes.”
“Did he speak?”
“No, but I don’t like the way he looks at me.”
“You fool!” came a woman’s voice, with a note of searing contempt which probably made Farrow flinch. You don’t like the way he looks at you! Why”
“Be quiet, Gwen,” said Renfrew, nervously.
Rollison, standing quite still, was aghast at the truth which was now all too evident. Gwendoline was in that room. She was a party to all that Renfrew had done, was in his full confidence and intent on keeping Farrow quiet.
So many puzzles were solved with that realization. Gwen’s manner before the attack on her; she was afraid he suspected the truth and in a mad moment, had thought of killing him. Her lies about seeing the Lady of Lost Memory, her hatred— to provide grounds for her behaviour—her anxiety to keep the a” air from the police, her complaisance with Pomeroy, who was a party to the plot; all those things fell into place.
There were others.
Everything Gwen and Renfrew had told him could be discounted. He should have realized before then Gwen had cut his hand to try to send him to his death. Renfrew had not been near enough to the window to use a knife. Her professed anxiety for her father and her carefully prepared story of her suspicions of him—all was false. She had once called at the Strand office of Pomeroy, Ward & Pomeroy, but he had not paid that enough attention.
How she had lied!
All that passed through Rollison’s mind as he stood in the hall. Then he pushed the door open slowly, and could sense the sudden tension which had sprung into the room, but he could not hurry; in whatever else he had been right, he had completely misjudged Gwendoline.
He went in.
Renfrew was sitting at a bureau desk in a large, plainly furnished surgery, and Gwendoline was by his side. When she saw Rollison she jumped to her feet, and into her eyes sprang an expression which he had seen before, at the time when she had drawn an automatic from her pocket. Then he had thought her overwrought and hardly responsible for her actions, but now fear made her desperate.
Renfrew backed further away. Gwendoline snatched her bag from the table and opened it.
Rollison said: “I shouldn’t do that.” The words were the same as he had used before, only their tone was different. She kept her hand inside her bag, and glared at him, while Renfrew, making a desperate effort to regain his self-control, stepped forward and slammed the door, avoiding Farrow who tried to stop him.
“It’s all right,” said Rollison to Farrow. He was still looking at Gwendoline, and she returned his stare with all the malignance of which she was capable, cold, murderous, utterly evil. “So this is how it is! With Hilda dead you would be worth a fortune on your father’s death.”
She said: “Don’t move an inch.”
He stood quite still.
“And I thought Renfrew was the evil genius! I almost wish that Hilda would die; you would then be hanged, the pair of you—hanged by the neck until you are dead”
“Be quiet!” screamed Gwendoline.
“With a bandage over your eyes and only the hangman on the gallows with you,” said Rollison, in a voice low-pitched with cold fury. “Clever Gwendoline! You showed Hilda that letter you found, didn’t you? You made her suspicious of David, you tortured her mentally and you tortured him, setting one against the other while you stood by and gloated, seeing your plans maturing and your hopes increasing, with your lover aiding and abetting. How long would you have waited before killing David?”