Heirs of the Body(107)

“Mrs. Fletcher is always right. Almost always.”

“She’s right enough this time, Chief.” Tom’s rumble had a questioning note.

“Mea culpa. I was in a hurry to hunt for the knife, and then I just plain forgot about them. Not that—” He looked round as the door was flung open without ceremony.

Daisy took two hasty steps across the threshold. Urgently she begged Dr. Pardoe to come and see Martha, who was showing signs of miscarrying her baby. The doctor strode out. Without another word, Daisy dashed after him.

“Sounds like an emergency,” said Tom.

“Not one we have to deal with, thank heaven,” said Alec. “Now, where were we?”

“‘Anatomically impossible,’” Piper quoted. “I’d say that just about confirms your hunch, Chief.”

“Yes, I think so. It disposes of the biggest stumbling block, the supposed attacks on Vincent. Did you finish reading the reports from Scarborough and the Sûreté, Ernie?”

“The next to last page from Paris is an affidavit from the Valliers affirming that they sent copies of the letters to Vincent a couple of months ago.”

“Don’t tell me you read the affidavit, laddie,” Tom scoffed.

The young detective sergeant grinned. “Not me. I don’t parley-voo frog. The last page was a translation.”

“Ah!”

“And Scarborough?”

“Not quite on their uppers: The Castle Cliff Hotel is doing well. But Vincent’s father took out a whopping loan against the property towards the end of the war, when business was bad. It falls due next year. Vincent works like a dog, as both manager and maître d’, and his missus is housekeeper and consy-urge.”

“Then Vincent isn’t exactly leading a life of leisure, as he claimed! He said the place is run by a hired manager.”

“Not so, Chief. He does have a part-time undermanager, who’s taking care of the place while they’re here.”

“What about the kids? Prep school and governess is what they talked about.”

“The boy goes to a small private day school. The daughters’ governess is a French relative who also helps in the hotel. Paid a pittance because she came over to learn English as much as to teach the girls. She’s taken them—the boy too—to stay with her family in Paris. The French coppers missed that.”

“So much for the holiday on the Continent.”

“Ah.” Tom ruminated for a moment. “You reckon he killed Raymond and pretended to be attacked himself to divert suspicion? But the fake attacks on the kiddies, what were they supposed to prove? I still don’t get what his purpose was.” He took out a blue-and-white chequered handkerchief and mopped his shining dome of a head.

“Just to sow confusion, I think,” Alec said. “And he certainly succeeded. I still can’t be sure that Belinda’s accident wasn’t just that. We don’t even know that he caused Raymond’s fall. We haven’t got any evidence that’d hold up in court even for a manslaughter charge. Or any other charges, come to that.”

Tom grinned. “Wasting police time?”

“We’re wasting time, all right. What we do have is Lord Dalrymple’s permission to search the house, and that includes the Vincent Dalrymples’ bedroom. Time to lay down the law. Come on.”

Alec knew his way about the more populated part of the house, though he didn’t expect ever to master all its passages and stairways, nooks and crannies. He led the way up the stairs.

Though Tom trod lightly for his size and Ernie was slight and barely regulation height, three pairs of tramping feet made quite a racket. Alec wasn’t concerned about the noise alerting Vincent to their approach. Earlier, politely requested to answer a few questions, Vincent and Laurette had refused to open the door, let alone come down to the study or even let Alec interview them in their room. He doubted they’d bolt, and if they did they wouldn’t get far.

The three men had to pass Martha’s bedroom to reach Vincent’s. Alec was about to tell the other two to go singly, quietly, when the door opened and Dr. Pardoe came out, leaving it ajar.

“I thought I heard … Fletcher, Mrs. Dalrymple has been drinking pennyroyal tea. She told me it was peppermint, and it is a variety of mint, but the smell is quite distinctive. It’s an abortifacient, you know.”

“Great Scott, is she—has she—will she lose the baby?”

“Doubt it. The oil can be effective, an infusion rarely, especially after the first three months. And before you ask, in my opinion she is not responsible.”

“Daisy said Martha had complained about the taste.”