Duplicate Death Read online

  ‘Hi!’ exclaimed Jim.

  Timothy released the tourniquet. ‘Sorry! Wouldn’t take many seconds, if that was round your neck, would it? In the actual murder, picture-wire was used – bought, earlier in the day, by Beulah, on Mrs Haddington’s instructions, and left on a shelf in the cloakroom. No secret about that – a fact which I trust our old friend has assimilated. I should think he would have: he’s got a damned intelligent face.’

  ‘Hemingway? Got any reason to think he suspects the girl?’

  ‘Not sure. He came here to get the low-down on what he calls the dramatis personæ. Noticeable that he asked me no questions about Beulah. That might be because he guessed I was an interested party, or it might be that your arrival interrupted him. If Beulah treated him to her talented impersonation of a clam, which is all too likely, I should imagine that he’s fairly bristling with suspicion. I wanted to muscle in on that interview, just to prevent her behaving like the silly little cuckoo she is, but she wasn’t having any. What happened I really don’t know. I motored her home to her digs when it was over, but she wasn’t com municative, and I didn’t press her. I’m going round to Charles Street this afternoon, ostensibly to make kind enquiries. If I can do it, I shall get Beulah to dine with me tonight. Some quiet place – Armand’s. You come and join us, Jim! Eightish, and morning dress. I’ll be there anyway.’

  ‘All right,’ Jim said, hoisting himself awkwardly out of his chair. ‘I’ve got to meet a man at the Savoy for lunch, but I don’t think my business with him will take me long. If I get away in decent time, I’ll nip down to Chamfreys this afternoon, administer a large soporific to Mother, and come back.’

  ‘What a bloody pest I am to you!’ said Timothy remorsefully.

  ‘You are, and always have been. I’m punch-drunk!’ said Mr Kane. ‘I’ll tell Mother I’m going to see Beulah for myself: that’ll hold her for a bit. But she’ll want to know what I made of her, so bring her along tonight! She sounds pretty alarming, but better than the blonde, if Mother’s description is anything to go by!’

  ‘Good God, did Mamma get the wind up over Cynthia Haddington? What a rare turn she is, to be sure! The mildest of flirtations! She wouldn’t look at me anyway: out for big game, Cynthia Haddington!’

  This lighthearted conviction was destined to be shaken. Upon his presenting himself in Charles Street that afternoon, at an hour when he judged that Mrs Haddington would still be resting, Timothy was led by Thrimby to the drawing-room, where he found Cynthia huddled in a chair beside the fire, a litter of periodicals at her feet, and an expression of the deepest discontent on her lovely face. At sight of Timothy, she sprang up, and flung herself in an embarrassingly uninhibited way upon his chest. ‘Oh, Timothy, thank God you’ve come!’ she cried, and burst into tears.

  Young Mr Harte blenched, but he kept his head. Bracing treatment seemed to be called for, and he applied it. ‘Well don’t make such a song and dance about it!’ he said. ‘Pull yourself together, Cynthia!’

  ‘It’s all been so awful !’ sobbed Cynthia, unresentful of this cavalier response.

  ‘I’m sure it has,’ said Timothy, detaching her clasp about his neck. ‘You’d better not cry about it, though: it’ll make your nose red. Sit down, and tell me what’s been happening since last night!’

  ‘Nothing! ‘ she said. ‘That’s what makes it utterly frightful ! Everything’s ghastly, and Mummy wouldn’t let me go to Meg’s party, and she says I’ve got to wear this filthy black frock, which makes me look a hag, and Aunt Violet’s here, and I can’t find my powder-compact anywhere, and there’s nothing to do, and that beastly radio’s got nothing but Choral Services and Forces’ Educational, and I wish I was dead ! And on top of that I’m so utterly upset about Dan, but nobody understands, or cares! He wouldn’t have wanted me not to go to any parties! It isn’t as though he was a relation! Mummy ought to want me to go out, to take my mind off it all!’

  She then dragged her reluctant visitor to the sofa by one hand, pulled him down on to it, and sobbed gustily into his shoulder. It was quite impossible to discover which item of the catalogue of disasters, so movingly recited, affected her most. Timothy did not even try, but applied his energies to the task of soothing her distress. To his intense discomfort, she acquired a limpet-like grip on the lapel of his coat; he guessed that the shoulder of his coat would shortly become impregnated with her expensive powder, and mentally registered a resolve to send the coat to the Express Cleaners without loss of time. She said that if she had to wear black until after the funeral Mummy might at least buy her some new frocks, instead of sending for that dim Miss Spennymoor to convert two frocks of her own to her daughter’s use; she said that even Aunt Violet, whom she detested, thought it was ridiculous to wear mourning for anyone outside one’s family; she said that in all probability Mummy’s disgusting maid had stolen her favourite powder-compact; and she demanded corroboration from Timothy that she was quite too terribly sensitive, and liable to be upset by the least little thing. Whether she included the ugly murder of an old friend in this category, Timothy did not trouble himself to enquire. He assured her that no one could doubt her sensibility, and tried to induce her to sit up. She said: ‘Oh, Timothy, you’re so sweet ! I do love you so! I thought I was going mad, till you walked in, and now I feel quite different!’

  Mr Harte was convinced that he felt the hair rising on his scalp. His saner self told him that it would be foolish to refine too much upon this artless speech; but his male instinct bade him fly from such a dangerous locality. He was never more glad to be interrupted in the middle of a tender passage. Interrupted he was: the door opened to admit Mrs Haddington, and her sister; and, since Cynthia relaxed her grip on his coat sufficiently to enable her to turn to see who had come into the room, he was able to free himself from her hold, and to rise from the sofa.

  It was evident that both the elderly ladies had had ample opportunity to observe the touching scene, and equally evident that both regarded Timothy with approval. Mrs Haddington, trailing clouds of black chiffon, smiled, and put out her hand, saying: ‘How sweet of you to have come, dear Timothy! No one could do more good to my poor little daughter, I know! The child is dreadfully upset: Dan was like an uncle to her!’

  ‘Mummy, he was not!’ hotly declared Cynthia.

  ‘Nonsense! Of course he was, and if he wasn’t he ought to have been!’ said Miss Pickhill sharply. ‘So you are Mr Harte, are you? I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’m very glad to meet you, very! Goodness, child, dry your face! That disgusting stuff you put on your eyelashes has made a black mark on your cheek! I’m sure I don’t know what young girls are coming to! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Lily, encouraging her to ruin the face the Almighty gave her!’

  ‘You simply don’t understand !’ Cynthia said.

  ‘Very likely I don’t, or want to!’ said her aunt, the asperity of her voice tempered by the indulgent gleam in her eyes as they rested on the lovely but woe-begone countenance before her. ‘All I understand is that you’ve plunged yourself into the most disgraceful scandal, just as I always knew you would! Whatever my private feelings may be, blood is thicker than water, and I sent a message to dear Mr Broseley, excusing myself from attending the Meeting today, and came straight up to London. I some times think my poor father must turn in his grave!’

  ‘Lord Guisborough!’ announced Thrimby from the doorway, enacting providence.

  ‘Lance!’ shrieked Cynthia, hurling herself upon him, to the profound relief of Mr Harte. ‘You angel !’

  ‘Cynthia dear!’ said Mrs Haddington, her smile more than ordinarily mechanical.

  Miss Pickhill grasped the pince-nez which hung from a sort of button pinned to her spare bosom, pulled out a length of gold chain, and fixed the glasses on the bridge of her nose. ‘Oh!’ she said discouragingly. ‘So this is the young man I’ve heard so much of, is it? Well!’

  Her tone led no one to suppose that his lordship met with her approval, but, happily for his self-estee