A Murder Is Announced (21 page)

“Did it now? That helps a lot. Of course, I was upstairs putting a wash basin in the passage where the rain always comes through. And it was coming through so fast that I guessed at once that the gutter was stopped up again. So I came down and got my mackin
tosh and rubber boots. I called Edmund, but he didn't answer, so I thought perhaps he'd got to a very important place in his novel and I wouldn't disturb him, and I've done it quite often myself before. With the broom handle, you know, tied on to that long thing you push up windows with.”

“You mean,” said Craddock, noting bewilderment on his subordinate's face, “that you were cleaning out the gutter?”

“Yes, it was all choked up with leaves. It took a long time and I got rather wet, but I got it clear at last. And then I went in and got changed and washed—so
smelly,
dead leaves—and then I went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was 6:15 by the kitchen clock.”

Constable Edwards blinked.

“Which means,” finished Mrs. Swettenham triumphantly, “that it was exactly twenty minutes to five.”

“Or near enough,” she added.

“Did anybody see what you were doing whilst you were out cleaning the gutter?”

“No, indeed,” said Mrs. Swettenham. “I'd soon have roped them in to help if they had! It's a most difficult thing to do single-handed.”

“So, by your own statement, you were outside, in a mackintosh and boots, at the time when the rain was coming down, and according to you, you were employed during that time in cleaning out a gutter but you have no one who can substantiate that statement?”

“You can look at the gutter,” said Mrs. Swettenham. “It's beautifully clear.”

“Did you hear your mother call to you, Mr. Swettenham?”

“No,” said Edmund. “I was fast asleep.”

“Edmund,” said his mother reproachfully, “I thought you were
writing.
”

Inspector Craddock turned to Mrs. Easterbrook.

“Now, Mrs. Easterbrook?”

“I was sitting with Archie in his study,” said Mrs. Easterbrook, fixing wide innocent eyes on him. “We were listening to the wireless together, weren't we, Archie?”

There was a pause. Colonel Easterbrook was very red in the face. He took his wife's hand in his.

“You don't understand these things, kitten,” he said. “I—well, I must say, Inspector, you've rather sprung this business on us. My wife, you know, has been terribly upset by all this. She's nervous and highly strung and doesn't appreciate the importance of—of taking due consideration before she makes a statement.”

“Archie,” cried Mrs. Easterbrook reproachfully, “are you going to say you weren't with me?”

“Well, I wasn't, was I, my dear? I mean one's got to stick to the facts. Very important in this sort of inquiry. I was talking to Lampson, the farmer at Croft End, about some chicken netting. That was about a quarter to four. I didn't get home until after the rain had stopped. Just before tea. A quarter to five. Laura was toasting the scones.”

“And had
you
been out also, Mrs. Easterbrook?”

The pretty face looked more like a weasel's than ever. Her eyes had a trapped look.

“No—no, I just sat listening to the wireless. I didn't go out. Not then. I'd been out earlier. About—about half past three. Just for a little walk. Not far.”

She looked as though she expected more questions, but Craddock said quietly:

“That's all, Mrs. Easterbrook.”

He went on: “These statements will be typed out. You can read them and sign them if they are substantially correct.”

Mrs. Easterbrook looked at him with sudden venom.

“Why don't you ask the others where they were? That Haymes woman? And Edmund Swettenham? How do you know he
was
asleep indoors? Nobody saw him.”

Inspector Craddock said quietly:

“Miss Murgatroyd, before she died, made a certain statement. On the night of the hold-up here,
someone
was absent from this room. Someone who was supposed to have been in the room all the time. Miss Murgatroyd told her friend the names of the people she
did
see. By a process of elimination, she made the discovery that there was someone she did
not
see.”

“Nobody could see anything,” said Julia.

“Murgatroyd could,” said Miss Hinchcliffe, speaking suddenly in her deep voice. “She was over there behind the door, where Inspector Craddock is now. She was the only person who could see anything of what was happening.”

“
Aha! That is what you think, is it!
” demanded Mitzi.

She made one of her dramatic entrances, flinging open the door and almost knocking Craddock sideways. She was in a frenzy of excitement.

“Ah, you do not ask Mitzi to come in here with the others, do you, you stiff policemen? I am only Mitzi! Mitzi in the kitchen! Let her stay in the kitchen where she belongs! But I tell you that Mitzi, as well as anyone else, and perhaps better, yes, better, can see things. Yes, I see things. I see something the night of the burglary. I see
something and I do not quite believe it, and I hold my tongue till now. I think to myself I will not tell what it is I have seen, not yet. I will wait.”

“And when everything had calmed down, you meant to ask for a little money from a certain person, eh?” said Craddock.

Mitzi turned on him like an angry cat.

“And why not? Why look down your nose? Why should I not be paid for it if I have been so generous as to keep silence? Especially if some day there will be money—much
much
money. Oh! I have heard things—I know what goes on. I know this Pippemmer—this secret society of which
she
”—she flung a dramatic finger towards Julia—“is an agent. Yes, I would have waited and asked for money—but now I am afraid. I would rather be
safe.
For soon, perhaps, someone will kill
me.
So I will tell what I know.”

“All right then,” said the Inspector sceptically. “What
do
you know?”

“I tell you.” Mitzi spoke solemnly. “On that night I am
not
in the pantry cleaning silver as I say—I am already in the dining room when I hear the gun go off. I look through the keyhole. The hall it is black, but the gun go off again and the torch it falls—and it swings round as it falls—and I see
her.
I see
her
there close to him with the gun in her hand. I see Miss Blacklock.”

“Me?” Miss Blacklock sat up in astonishment. “You must be mad!”

“But that's impossible,” cried Edmund. “Mitzi couldn't have seen Miss Blacklock.”

Craddock cut in and his voice had the corrosive quality of a deadly acid.

“
Couldn't she, Mr. Swettenham? And why not?
Because it
wasn't
Miss Blacklock who was standing there with the gun? It was
you,
wasn't it?”

“I—of course not—what the
hell!
”

“
You
took Colonel Easterbrook's revolver.
You
fixed up the business with Rudi Scherz—as a good joke. You had followed Patrick Simmons into the far room and when the lights went out, you slipped out through the carefully oiled door. You shot at Miss Blacklock and then you killed Rudi Scherz. A few seconds later you were back in the drawing room clicking your lighter.”

For a moment Edmund seemed at a loss for words, then he spluttered out:

“The whole idea is
monstrous.
Why
me?
What earthly motive had
I
got?”

“If Miss Blacklock dies before Mrs. Goedler, two people inherit, remember. The two we know of as Pip and Emma. Julia Simmons has turned out to be Emma—”

“And you think I'm Pip?” Edmund laughed. “Fantastic—absolutely
fantastic!
I'm about the right age—nothing else. And I can prove to you, you damned fool, that I
am
Edmund Swettenham. Birth certificate, schools, university—everything.”

“He isn't Pip.” The voice came from the shadows in the corner. Phillipa Haymes came forward, her face pale. “
I'm Pip,
Inspector.”

“
You,
Mrs. Haymes?”

“Yes. Everybody seems to have assumed that Pip was a boy—Julia knew, of course, that her twin was another girl—I don't know why she didn't say so this afternoon—”

“Family solidarity,” said Julia. “I suddenly realized who you were. I'd had no idea till that moment.”

“I'd had the same idea as Julia did,” said Phillipa, her voice trem
bling a little. “After I—lost my husband and the war was over, I wondered what I was going to do. My mother died many years ago. I found out about my Goedler relations. Mrs. Goedler was dying and at her death the money would go to a Miss Blacklock. I found out where Miss Blacklock lived and I—I came here. I took a job with Mrs. Lucas. I hoped that, since this Miss Blacklock was an elderly woman without relatives, she might, perhaps, be willing to help. Not me, because I could work, but help with Harry's education. After all, it
was
Goedler money and she'd no one particular of her own to spend it on.

“And then,” Phillipa spoke faster, it was as though, now her long reserve had broken down, she couldn't get the words out fast enough, “that hold-up happened and I began to be frightened. Because it seemed to me that the only possible person with a motive for killing Miss Blacklock was
me.
I hadn't the least idea who Julia was—we aren't identical twins and we're not much alike to look at. No, it seemed as though I was the only one bound to be suspected.”

She stopped and pushed her fair hair back from her face, and Craddock suddenly realized that the faded snapshot in the box of letters must have been a photograph of Phillipa's mother. The likeness was undeniable. He knew too why that mention of closing and unclosing hands had seemed familiar—Phillipa was doing it now.

“Miss Blacklock has been good to me. Very
very
good to me—I didn't try to kill her. I never thought of killing her. But all the same, I'm Pip.” She added, “You see, you needn't suspect Edmund any more.”

“Needn't I?” said Craddock. Again there was that acid biting tone in his voice. “Edmund Swettenham's a young man who's fond of money. A young man, perhaps, who would like to marry a rich
wife. But she wouldn't be a rich wife
unless Miss Blacklock died before Mrs. Goedler.
And since it seemed almost certain that Mrs. Goedler would die before Miss Blacklock, well—he had to do something about it—
didn't you, Mr. Swettenham?
”

“It's a damned lie!” Edmund shouted.

And then, suddenly, a sound rose on the air. It came from the kitchen—a long unearthly shriek of terror.

“That isn't Mitzi!” cried Julia.

“No,” said Inspector Craddock, “it's someone who's murdered three people….”

W
hen the Inspector turned on Edmund Swettenham, Mitzi had crept quietly out of the room and back to the kitchen. She was running water into the sink when Miss Blacklock entered.

Mitzi gave her a shamefaced sideways look.

“What a liar you are, Mitzi,” said Miss Blacklock pleasantly. “Here—that isn't the way to wash up. The silver first, and fill the sink right up. You can't wash up in about two inches of water.”

Mitzi turned the taps on obediently.

“You are not angry at what I say, Miss Blacklock?” she asked.

“If I were to be angry at all the lies you tell, I should never be out of a temper,” said Miss Blacklock.

“I will go and say to the Inspector that I make it all up, shall I?” asked Mitzi.

“He knows that already,” said Miss Blacklock, pleasantly.

Mitzi turned off the taps and as she did so two hands came up
behind her head and with one swift movement forced it down into the water-filled sink.

“Only
I
know that you're telling the truth for once,” said Miss Blacklock viciously.

Mitzi thrashed and struggled but Miss Blacklock was strong and her hands held the girl's head firmly under water.

Then, from somewhere quite close behind her, Dora Bunner's voice rose piteously on the air:

“Oh Lotty—Lotty—don't do it … Lotty.”

Miss Blacklock screamed. Her hands flew up in the air, and Mitzi, released, came up chocking and spluttering.

Miss Blacklock screamed again and again. For there was no one there in the kitchen with her….

“Dora, Dora, forgive me. I had to … I had to—”

She rushed distractedly towards the scullery door—and the bulk of Sergeant Fletcher barred her way, just as Miss Marple stepped, flushed and triumphant, out of the broom cupboard.

“I could always mimic people's voices,” said Miss Marple.

“You'll have to come with me, Madam,” said Sergeant Fletcher. “I was a witness of your attempt to drown this girl. And there will be other charges. I must warn you, Letitia Blacklock—”

“Charlotte Blacklock,” corrected Miss Marple. “That's who she is, you know. Under that choker of pearls she always wears you'll find the scar of the operation.”

“Operation?”

“Operation for goitre.”

Miss Blacklock, quite calm now, looked at Miss Marple.

“So you know all about it?” she said.

“Yes, I've known for some time.”

Charlotte Blacklock sat down by the table and began to cry.

“You shouldn't have done that,” she said. “Not made Dora's voice come. I loved Dora. I really loved Dora.”

Inspector Craddock and the others had crowded in the doorway.

Constable Edwards, who added a knowledge of first aid and artificial respiration to his other accomplishments, was busy with Mitzi. As soon as Mitzi could speak she was lyrical with self-praise.

“I do that good, do I not? I am clever! And I am brave! Oh, I am brave! Very very nearly was
I
murdered, too. But I was so brave I risk
everything.
”

With a rush Miss Hinchcliffe thrust aside the others and leapt upon the weeping figure of Charlotte Blacklock by the table.

It took all Sergeant Fletcher's strength to hold her off.

“Now then—” he said. “Now then—no, no, Miss Hinchcliffe—”

Between clenched teeth Miss Hinchcliffe was muttering:

“Let me get at her. Just let me get at her. It was she who killed Amy Murgatroyd.”

Charlotte Blacklock looked up and sniffed.

“I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to kill anybody—I had to—but it's Dora I mind about—after Dora was dead, I was all alone—ever since she died—I've been alone—oh, Dora—Dora—”

And once again she dropped her head on her hands and wept.