Duplicate Death Read online

  At three o’clock, having been kicking his heels for some time in the waiting-room, he was ushered into Dr Westruther’s consulting-room, a gracious apartment, decorated in shades of grey, which ranged from palest pearl-grey on the walls and in the windows, whose lights were veiled by curtains of diaphanous chiffon, to a deep elephant-grey on the floor. A few chaste Chinese prints hung on the walls; and a magnificent screen of mutton-fat jade stood in the centre of the mantelshelf, flanked by two Blanc-de-Chine Kuan-Yin figures of the Ming period. Hemingway, his feet sinking into the heavy-pile carpet, found himself wondering whether the doctor’s more neurotic patients were soothed by this subdued but expensive décor. Dr Westruther enjoyed a reputation for dealing almost exclusively with wealthy, society women. He was not precisely known to the police, but once or twice the breath of ugly scandal had wafted perilously near to him. He had a controlling interest in an extremely luxurious Nursing Home, where the staff was paid with unusual generosity; he was always very well dressed, affecting the cutaway morning coat and butterfly collars of a more sartorial age; he owned, besides the house in Harley Street, a charming riverside residence at Marlow; and he generally managed to spend several weeks of the year at Biarritz, or Juan-les-Pins.

  He greeted the Chief Inspector with perfect sangfroid, apologising for having kept him waiting. He had been called away to a case, he said, and had only just returned to Harley Street. As Hemingway had expected, he told him nothing that he wanted to know. Lady Nest Poulton was a woman who, in lay parlance, lived on her nerves: he would not bemuse the Chief Inspector with technical terms, but he might rest assured that the condition was one well-known to every practitioner. He agreed that certain symptoms might be mistaken by the unlearned for the after-effects of drugs. In view of what the police had discovered in Seaton-Carew’s flat, he could pardon the Chief Inspector for having fallen into error, but he felt obliged to point out that such an allegation against a lady of his patient’s birth and breeding was a very, very serious matter. He quite appreciated the Chief Inspector’s wish to interrogate Lady Nest, and he hoped that within a week or so it would be possible for him to see her. At present he could not sanction any visits whatsoever. Rest and quiet were essential to her.

  The Chief Inspector returned in due course to his headquarters, and sent down a message to the Finger-print Department. When Inspector Grant at last joined him, he found him studying photographs through a magnifyingglass, a fair young man at his elbow. He glanced up as the door opened, and said: ‘Come and take a look at this, Sandy, and see what you make of it!’

  Grant trod over to the desk, nodding to the fair youth. ‘I am sorry to have been away for so long,’ he said. ‘The lassie was sleeping, but I said I would wait. She came down to the servants’ hall for her tea. In the meantime I had some talk with Mrs Haddington’s personal maid – making myself agreeable. What have you there? Is it the prints on the telephone?’

  ‘It is – by which I mean Yes! I knew I should go and catch it! Next thing I know I shall have people thinking I’m Scotch too!’

  ‘You will not, then,’ said the Inspector dryly. He bent over the desk, keenly surveying the several photographs laid out on it. ‘I have looked at these before: there is no trace of Seaton-Carew’s finger-prints upon the instrument.’

  ‘Never mind about that! Anything else strike you?’

  A frown creased the Inspector’s brow; he picked up one of the photographs, and scanned it more closely. The fair young man coughed behind a discreet hand. ‘It’s very blurred,’ he said apologetically. ‘I wouldn’t care to swear to it myself, sir.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to swear to anything. Don’t try to prejudice the Inspector!’

  The fair youth blushed hotly. ‘I’m sorry, sir! I’m sure I didn’t mean –’

  ‘Whisht!’ said Inspector Grant, casting an indulgent glance in his direction. He picked up two more photographs from the desk, and compared them with the one he still held in his right hand. ‘I see what I recall I saw before: there is a clear impression of Miss Birtley’s thumb, and first two fingers. It may be that all five fingers were laid upon the instrument, but there is a blur over the prints on the third and fourth finger. I observe one distinct impression of the butler’s index finger – but that, I am thinking, has no bearing on the case.’

  ‘None at all. Take a look at that blur through the glass!’ said Hemingway, handing it to him.

  The Inspector took it, focused it, and intently studied the photograph. He then discarded one of the photo graphs he held in his left hand, and subjected the other to a minute scrutiny. The Chief Inspector, observing which of the photographs had been rejected, drew a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and offered it to the young man beside him, saying: ‘There you are! Even a poor Scot can get on to what you fellows miss!’

  ‘We didn’t miss it, sir!’ protested Thirsk, drawing a cigarette from the packet. ‘Only it’s so indistinct no one could stand up in a Court of Law and swear to it!’

  The Inspector raised his eyes from the photographs, both now held fan-shaped in his hand. ‘You are thinking that there is an impression of Mrs Haddington’s finger, superimposed on Miss Birtley’s third and fourth fingers,’ he said. ‘I am of Thirsk’s opinion: I would not care to swear to it. The whole is verra much blurred.’

  ‘Not so blurred but what you saw what I was after,’ Hemingway pointed out.

  ‘Ma seadh! But it may be that Miss Birtley never had all five fingers on the instrument, and Mrs Haddington’s prints are what we would expect to find.’

  ‘Now tell me the story that girl told was all lies, and you’ll be happy!’ recommended Hemingway. ‘All right, Thirsk: I’ve done with ‘em for the moment! Take ‘em away!’ He waited until the young finger-print expert had withdrawn, and then said: ‘Let’s have it, Sandy! True, was it?’

  ‘I am of the opinion that it was true,’ Grant said. ‘I would not set great store by anything a lassie in her position would say, because well I know they will lie to one for no reason at all, unless it might be that they do not like the police. But I think Mrs Haddington looked into the cloakroom before any of the guests arrived, and I am verra sure that she scolded Elsie for taking the wrong towel from the linen cupboard. It is coloured towels that they use in that house, and Elsie took one of the peach ones that go in Miss Haddington’s room, instead of one of the apricot ones that are for the cloak room.’ He smiled. ‘I would not myself know the difference! Be that as it may, Elsie did not see any wire upon the shelf when she changed the towel. So she says, but that might not be true. There is no reason why she should deny that she saw it, if indeed she did, but och! Tha eagal oirre! – She is afraid we might charge her with the murder, the silly creature! Yet I do not think that she saw it. Now the other lass – Gwenny Mapperley – is not afraid: she is a bold one, and she would be glad to do her mistress as much harm as she can. She leaves, she tells me, at the month. She talked – och, how she talked! – of all the trouble there has been in the house, and how much to believe I will leave you to judge. There are first the servants, who will not stay with Mrs Haddington, except the butler and the chef, to whom she pays huge wages: there is then Miss Birtley, whom the servants do not like – but I think that is jealousy, for she is also in Mrs Haddington’s employment, and yet above them. When Mrs Haddington is rude to her, she gives her some verra sharp back-answers. Indeed, from all I hear she has a hot temper! There was a fine quarrel between them this morning! There has also been trouble with Miss Cynthia – I caught a wee glimpse of her, Chief: she is the bonniest lassie you ever did see! – but such tantrums, and such gallivanting about the town! She was not in her bed last night until past three o’clock, but dancing at some place or other with the young lord – Guisborough, is it? It is not decent! But for all Mrs Haddington has set her heart on making a grand match for the lassie, they say she doesn’t favour the lord, but it is Mr Harte she has in her eye. But the servants know as well as you or I that it is Miss Birtley and not M