“And you were stuck.”
“Good and proper! That’s how I was placed when you came to my office for the second time. I’m going to be quite frank. Everything about this case was odd, and you seemed odd, so I decided to find out whether you could help. That’s why I told you confidentially that Enigma had been bought for cash. That’s why I asked you if Carol was an exceptionally tidy person. And that’s why I asked you to let me know at once if you discovered anything which seemed unusual.”
“And then I turned up with the Harcourt news. But, I say again, you owe the arrest of Harcourt to Mervyn Maitland.”
“Don’t you believe it! You didn’t make one mistake in your handling of Mr.—Harcourt. And, in view of what I now know about that gentleman, he took some handling. You were very astute. And, I assure you, he is no mean adversary. As you loathed the sight of him, it’s a miracle you didn’t kick him out. If you had, we should not be having this talk at this table.”
“Even if all that’s true, the fact remains that I should never have met Harcourt if it had not been for Maitland. Still, the point is that we’ve reached the second part of your story—the Harcourt part.”
“Yes—and it demands a drink. I’ll speak to Carlo. Sometimes he can produce something. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He returned almost immediately and announced:
“He’s bringing some brandy. It’s all he’s got and it probably won’t be much good, but it will have to do.”
The brandy appeared and, directly we were alone, Haimes drew his chair nearer the table, lit a cigarette, then said:
“You’re going to get some shocks, Arnold. And here’s the first: Hilary Harcourt isn’t Hilary Harcourt. He’s Eric Eaves.”
“Eric Eaves?”
“Yes. What do you know about him?”
“Not much. Years ago, he pretended to be an artist. And Lawless told me that Eaves was the first man for whom Carol sat. Then he disappeared and she never saw him again.”
“Did Lawless meet Eaves?”
“No. All he knows about him came from Carol.”
“It all fits in. Here’s your second shock: Eaves bought Enigma.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“That’s nothing to what’s coming. But, first, I’d better make one or two things clear.”
He put his cigarette in an ash-tray—thought for a minute—then said:
“The fingerprint on Carol’s bag was Eaves’s. Apart from that all-important fact, everything I’m going to tell you comes from Eaves.”
“Does he admit that he murdered her?”
“Oh, yes! He’s quite casual about that. If you want the whole story, you’ll have to read his notebooks. There are plenty of them. A colleague of mine, Duncan, has read them all—and he says he’s never struck anything in the least like them. And Duncan’s had plenty of experience.”
Pause.
“Better give you a summary of Eaves’s story. Interrupt whenever you want to. You won’t be surprised to hear that he’s a sex maniac, but that’s only one aspect, and the least interesting one. Eaves lived with Carol for about three weeks, then she threw him out. He was—literally—mad about her. All his life he’s been subject to what he calls a ‘certain mental state.’ Actually, he’s always been off his head, and ought to have been certified. But he’s very rich—and he had an aunt who brought him up and who thought he was a genius.”
“What happened when Carol threw him out?”
“He went crazy, but as he wasn’t violent and had plenty of money, he went to an expensive mental home in the country.”
“So that’s what he meant when he told me that he’d been a long way away—for a long time.”
“That’s what he meant. He was in that home for some years. He would go and stay at his aunt’s house for weeks at a time and she often visited him at the mental home—which he liked very much, because it was so orderly and because he met interesting people. Remember that the authorities at that home had no legal power over him. He hadn’t been certified, and the doctor thought he was only weak-minded. I fancy they all regarded him as a rich eccentric who gave very little trouble.”
“Go on!”
“Then two things happened: His aunt died and left him all her money; and he decided to murder Carol. The decision to murder her was a complex affair. Duncan says there’s no end about it in the notebooks. Apparently Eaves believes that absolute possession of a woman is achieved only at the moment when you murder her. Pleasant theory! Anyhow, that’s what he believes—and he wanted absolute possession of Carol.”
“You say there’s a lot about that in the notebooks?”
“No end, according to Duncan. One day, perhaps you’ll read them yourself. The notebooks start with his decision to murder Carol. Anyway, Eaves told the people who ran the home that he was going to London for some weeks to attend to legal matters relating to his aunt’s estate.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Three or four months.”
“And he came to London with the sole object of murdering Carol?”
“Yes. He calls it their ‘honeymoon.’ He chats about the murder in the most casual way imaginable. Duncan says that the notebooks record every thought and emotion experienced by Eaves from the moment he decided to murder her. Also, you will be interested to hear, there’s a devil of a lot about you.”
“About me?”
“No end! But that comes later. When Eaves got to London, it didn’t take long to find out that Carol was still at Mitre Street. Eaves did not join the Mirage Club till after her death—for the obvious reason that he did not want her to see him. He knew she loathed him, and was afraid of him. But he often went to a pub frequented by certain members of the club and picked up details of Carol’s life from them.”
“Where did Eaves live?”
“He owns several houses in Fulham. One was empty. God knows why it wasn’t requisitioned, but it wasn’t. He lived there alone—in the basement. And a hell of a state it was in, I can tell you!”
He leaned across the table, then exclaimed:
“Now, get this! It’s the only thing that pleases me in my handling of this case. D’you remember I said that, on the day of the murder, Carol might have seen someone of whom she was afraid?”
“I remember it perfectly.”
“I was right. She saw Eaves—in the street. I’ve only his word for that, but I’m certain it’s true. Carol was frightened when she wrote that letter. She didn’t say why, because she knew you didn’t know anything about Eaves—and it would have seemed childish if she’d said she had seen a man in the street, whom she’d known a long time ago, and of whom she was afraid.”
“Yes, that’s it. . . . God! It’s awful!”
“Eaves knew Carol had seen him—and that she was frightened. So he had to act quickly, or she might get a friend to live with her. But he had to wait for a fog! Apparently, fogs have almost a sexual attraction for Eaves. Anyhow, that night, there was a fog.”
Pause.
“I bet he went up those stairs very quietly and——”
“Just a minute! Eaves couldn’t have known that the doors would be ajar.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered if they hadn’t been. Eaves had lived in that flat—and still had the keys. Probably Carol remembered that.”
“Go on!”
“I’ve read his description of the murder. Not exactly pleasant reading! He says he made less noise on those stairs than a shadow. Up he went, wearing rubber gloves. This was the ‘pinnacle point’ of his life. He was about to achieve ‘absolute possession.’ She was asleep. He had intended to strangle her with his hands, but, when he saw the dagger, he changed his mind. Less risky—to use the dagger. Any one of a dozen people might use the dagger. That’s how he worked it out.”