Duplicate Death Read online

  ‘It is possible,’ Grant said. ‘But if it was she who killed Seaton-Carew, who was it who killed her? And why?’

  Nineteen

  There,’ said the Chief Inspector frankly, ‘you have me, Sandy! Nice set-out, isn’t it? First we get Mrs Haddington planning as neat a murder as you could wish for; and then we have someone unknown taking careful note of her methods, and coolly copying them to do her in! Banking on us thinking the same person was responsible for both deaths, which we might have if I hadn’t found that fan, and you hadn’t known the trick of that compact. We got motive and means in one fell swoop, as you might say, which is a piece of bad luck for Murderer No. 2. On the face of it, it looks a bit as if this bird was fitted out with a water-tight alibi for the first murder.’

  ‘That would rule out Poulton,’ said Grant.

  ‘It would, of course, and we haven’t reached the stage of ruling him out, not by a long chalk. What we’ve got to discover was what possible motive he can have had for wanting to dispose of Mrs Haddington good and quick. If he thought it was she who was giving his wife cocaine, I suppose he might have done it. You’d think, though, that a level-headed chap like him would have wanted some solid proof before committing a pretty nasty murder, let alone the foolhardiness of it!’

  ‘They say in the City that he is verra canny. It might be that he would bank on us believing he would not be so silly as to have done it.’

  ‘Yes, I always heard you Highlanders were an imaginative lot,’ commented Hemingway. ‘I’m bound to say I’ve never seen any signs of it in you before, and, if that’s a sample, I hope I never will again! If Poulton committed the second murder, he wasn’t banking on me getting any cockeyed ideas into my head, you can bet your life on that! What’s more, he must have had a damned good reason for doing it. It might be the one I’ve already suggested, and the more I think about that the less it appeals to me; it might be that Mrs Haddington knew of Lady Nest’s habits – which I don’t doubt – and was threatening exposure. If so, why?’

  ‘Not exposure: blackmail!’

  ‘Yes, that’s a possibility. He’s a very wealthy man: she may have over-reached herself. I shouldn’t think he’d part readily with any substantial sum. On the other hand, supposing she did demand a young fortune from him, and he’d come to us? What would we have done?’

  ‘We would have kept his name out, as far as was possible, but these things sometimes leak out, sir, and well you know it!’

  Hemingway nodded, but pursed his lips rather dubiously. ‘You may be right. All the same – Well, we’ll see! Meanwhile, as soon as we’ve had a bit of lunch, we’ll pay Dr Westruther another call. He’s got some explaining to do. He wasn’t looking altogether happy at the Inquest this morning, and I’m sure I don’t blame him. Sailing very near the wind, is Dr Westruther.’

  When they met again, it was nearly three o’clock, and the Inspector was able to report that his enquiries had elicited the fact that Mr Godfrey Poulton was a passenger on the aeroplane due at Northolt at about four o’clock.

  ‘Good!’ said Hemingway. ‘This time, perhaps I can get him to be a little more open with me than he was before.’

  ‘You saw the doctor, sir?’

  ‘I did. From his face, I should say he’d just as soon a polecat had walked in as me. Luckily I’ve never been one to set much store by popularity, otherwise my feelings might have been hurt. As it was, I was rather glad to see I wasn’t a welcome guest. It encouraged me to be a bit unconventional with him. He’s a slippery customer, but he doesn’t like this case. Talked the usual stuff about his duty to his patients, but when I pointed out to him that when we’d had two murders he was carrying that a bit far, he turned a very nasty colour. What he says, and, I don’t doubt, would swear to, is that he never connected Seaton-Carew’s death with the drug-traffic. Says he wasn’t told who’d given snow to the Haddington girl. Well, that’s quite likely, but I think he put two and two together. What’s shaken him is Mrs Haddington’s death. It’s in the cheaper papers, but he says he only sees The Times. Came as a shock to him. Sat there goggling at me like a hake. He hadn’t a clue, that I’m sure of. She did call him in to prescribe for the girl, and she told him the plain truth. You’ll probably like to know that he doesn’t think there’s been any irremediable harm done. As regards Lady Nest, he was a good deal less forthcoming, but I didn’t press him too hard on that. If Poulton goes on stone-walling, I’ve got enough evidence now to force him to disclose the address of the Home he’s put his wife in. Did I tell you I’d had a crack with Heathcote? He and Cathercott are hot on their trail, and just about as pleased as punch with themselves. Heathcote even spared me a pat on the back, but two chaps less interested in a brace of murders you’d never find! I’m going to have a talk with the AC now. You nip down to Northolt, and catch Poulton as he steps out of the ‘plane! Bring him here – all nice, and civil: wanted for further enquiries. Tell him there have been developments which make it necessary for me to ask him a few more questions, and watch his reactions. There won’t be any, so that won’t take you long!’

  It was nearly five o’clock when Inspector Grant ushered Godfrey Poulton into the Chief Inspector’s room. Mr Poulton appeared to be quite unperturbed, merely saying: ‘Good afternoon! I understand you want to ask me some more questions, Chief Inspector? I have no wish, of course, to impede the course of justice, but I should be glad if you would come to the point as quickly as possible! I’m expected at my office.’

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. I shan’t keep you longer than I need. It really depends on you,’ said Hemingway. ‘Will you sit down?’

  Mr Poulton seated himself without hesitation in a deep, leather-covered armchair. He did not seem to be in any way embarrassed by the necessity, thus imposed on him, of being obliged to look up to meet the Chief Inspector’s eyes. He merely glanced at his wrist-watch, and said: ‘Well, what is it?’

  ‘I think, sir, that you visited Mrs Haddington yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘Rather less than half an hour after your departure, sir,’ said Hemingway unemotionally, ‘Mrs Haddington was discovered dead in her boudoir. Strangled with a piece of wire,’ he added.

  ‘What? ‘ ejaculated Poulton, stiffening suddenly, in a way which made Inspector Grant think that the news came as a shock to him, but which only caused his superior, one of the pillars of an Amateur Dramatic Society, to consider that the exclamation had been well-rehearsed.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said phlegmatically.

  ‘Good God!’ Poulton paused. His eyes, under their level brows, lifted to the Chief Inspector’s face. ‘I see. I can only tell you that when I left Mrs Haddington she was alive, standing before the electric fire in her boudoir. She had just rung the bell, to summon her butler to show me out.’

  ‘Did you wait for the butler to appear, sir?’

  ‘No. I took my leave of Mrs Haddington, and left the room. The butler reached the hall as I was coming down the half-flight of stairs from Mrs Haddington’s sitting-room.’

  ‘And what, sir, was your reason for paying this call?’

  Silence followed this question. Poulton was frowningly studying his finger-tips. After a moment he again looked up. ‘Yes, I see. You are bound to ask me that. I shall make no secret of the fact that my call was not of a friendly nature. Mrs Haddington had been ringing up my house to ask for news of my wife: I went to Charles Street to inform her that my wife was unwell, and that it was my fixed intention to put an end to the intimacy that had hitherto flourished between them.’

  ‘Yes, sir? And why was that your fixed intention?’

  ‘I did not care for the connaissance.’

  ‘That, sir, is not quite a good enough answer.’

  Poulton smiled faintly. ‘I suppose not. Very well, Chief Inspector! I see that I must rely upon your discretion. Before she married me, my wife was one of the more prominent members of a set which prided itself on its total disregard for accepted conventions. I do not