In Spite of Thunder (15 page)

“Have you got through accusing me of virtue? What
is
all this?”

Dr. Fell spoke with a sharpness much in contrast to the black worry and distress of his manner.

“Miss Catford is quite right,” he said. “Stop acting; come off your high horse and doff the buskins; or they will land you in prison for the rest of your natural life.”

“Get to hell out of my way,” said Ferrier, and strode towards the archway into the hall.

“One last question, then! All information from the police is not about crime or criminals. Hathaway was right on another point too: the key to this problem is in your late wife’s character. Why didn’t you tell me she had been married twice before she married you in 1943?”

Once more Brian had the feeling that his wits were flying loose and that nothing made reasonable sense.

This, apparently the most harmless and even irrelevant of questions, stopped Ferrier just under the archway.

“Why should I have told you?” He swung back again. “Those things are common knowledge. What difference does it make?”

“Still, you kept it to yourself?”

“I didn’t mention my opinion of the weather. It never occurred to me—”

“It has occurred to some others. Deputy Commander Elliot had a few remarks to make on the subject.”

“Such as?”

“About her first husband, whom she divorced in ’36, I have learned little so far. But there was a very good reason why she would not have announced her ‘engagement’ to Hector Matthews three years later.”

“Why?”

“Because her second husband, whom she married in ’37, was still alive and still her husband. On the outbreak of war he became a fighter-pilot in the R.A.F.; he was killed during the Battle of Britain in ’40. This does not seem to have been generally known. Certainly it did not affect Matthew’s legacy.”

For a short space it was so quiet that the clock in the hall, its pendulum, the fair-haired doll, cheerfully and idiotically swinging, marked the seconds in loud beats. Then Paula hurried towards Ferrier; she put her hand on his arm before she turned and faced Dr. Fell.

“Are you coming back to the accusation,” she cried, “that poor Eve in some way killed Mr. Matthews after all?”

“Ask Mr. Ferrier.”

“I won’t believe …!”

“Ask Mr. Ferrier. Ask him what it may well mean.”

“Paula,” said Ferrier, and added a word seldom heard in polite society, “you keep out of this.”

“Miss Catford may keep out of it. Oh, ah! So may you. If imprisonment means nothing, or unjust suspicion means nothing, is there no other consideration at all?”

Ferrier, lifting his shoulders, shook off Paula’s hand and pressed long fingers over his eyes.

“I don’t want more trouble, God knows. But there’s no danger of—”

“Of what? And are you sure of it?” roared Dr. Fell. “I have tried to use discretion so far. Hathaway may not be so discreet.”

“I don’t know,” said Ferrier. “I don’t know. I need five minutes, just five minutes, to think it over!”

Dr. Fell had moved towards him. So had Brian. All three heard the noise of motor-cars turning in at a gravelled drive and sweeping up outside the villa. Stephanie, the maid, anticipated anything else when she hastened into the drawing-room.

“Mr. Ferrier,” she said, “the police are here.”

E
IGHT O’CLOCK IN
the evening, growing dark again.

And he had hoped to see Audrey hours before this.

Heedless of the wet road’s slipperiness after the rain, Brian sent his car bucketing down towards the outskirts of Geneva.

The greatest wish of those who spend a good part of their lives in travelling, he had often reflected, is to hang or shoot or otherwise exterminate all people occupying any kind of official position.

This, admittedly, was unfair. The officials couldn’t help it. And, since the purpose of so many governments nowadays is to make life as complicated and irritating as possible, he should be grateful for the Swiss method of letting you do exactly as you pleased so long as you didn’t interfere with anyone else.

Nothing could have been more polite or considerate than the police questioning. But nothing could have been more thorough, over nearly ten hours. What the other witnesses said Brian did not know. They were kept in separate rooms like separate compartments. The tireless Stephanie got these witnesses a meal at half-past one. The thunderstorm, breaking in a deluge of rain shortly after the arrival of the police, made a background in accord with Brian’s mood.

His sense of frustration, he knew, came from another source.

“You tried to be too clever,” he thought bitterly. “And, as usual, you cut your own throat.”

So far as he could tell, nobody doubted his story—or, rather, Dr. Fell’s story—that he and Audrey had been together when they saw Eve Ferrier fall from the balcony. Nobody expressed surprise or wrath at the statement that Audrey had been sent away from the villa because she was suffering from shock.

M. Aubertin, suavely tri-lingual in French, English (and German as well, he understood), had merely nodded.

“But that is only natural, Mr. Innes.”

“Don’t you want to question her?”

“Presently, it may be. We have fully enough to occupy us for the moment.”

“I’ve told you everything I know, and told it twice over. Can’t you let me get away from here now?”

“In good time, Mr. Innes. You will appreciate the necessity for thoroughness. Of course you wish to—er—reassure yourself about the young lady?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Where is she now?”

“I am not sure. She may be at any one of a number of places.”

“Well, it is simple. Telephone to whatever place or places you think she may be, and say you will be delayed.”

But that was precisely what he couldn’t do. First consideration: he did not dare risk speaking to Audrey until he had seen her alone and they could arrange to tell the same story; this invitation might be a gentle trap. Second difficulty: if she had received his message from Madame Duvallon, she wouldn’t answer the ’phone even if he rang.

All sorts of other uncomfortable possibilities had occurred to him; certain further words of Dr. Fell, just before the entrance of the police, churned uneasily in his head.

The necessity for seeing Audrey, which he hid behind a manner of a suavity as great as M. Aubertin’s, had grown to something like a mania by the time they released him. He was also looking forward to the explanation Dr. Fell promised, when the Gargantuan doctor had said he would accompany Brian to the latter’s flat and explain the technique of a murder as soon as he had questioned Audrey.

And Dr. Fell couldn’t go with him.

“Sir, it is impossible! I cannot leave here just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Take my word for the fact that it is impossible. I will try to join you later.”

“Is there more trouble?”

“Not from the authorities, I hope. Let us trust there will be none from another quarter.”

At eight o’clock, through a new-washed world of wet foliage and dampness, he drove at high speed down the limestone ridge towards the lights of Geneva.

A few red embers of sunset, promising a fine day tomorrow, lay in the trees behind him. This promise concerned only the weather. People won’t behave as they ought to behave, or as they think they should. At least, he told himself when he slowed down to a decent observance of traffic-signals and turned at last into the Quai Turrettini, at least he would find Audrey.

Or would he?

His block of flats, a comparatively modern one, wore its usual stone face of dignity and somnolence. By craning his neck from the street, he could see a light burning in the two windows which marked his sixth-floor living-room.

He parked his car in the little cross-street beside the building, near a sign saying it was absolutely forbidden to leave vehicles there. In the darkish entry to the flats, the yellow metal surfaces of the letterboxes gleamed faintly.

He had given the key of his flat to Audrey. He had told Madame Duvallon to leave her latch-key inside the letter-box. His fingers shook as he fumbled in his pocket for the tiny key which opened the letter-box. If the latch-key wasn’t inside …

It was there.

He took the lift up through dead-quiet floors, where dim little lights in passages shone on rough-stucco walls painted dark grey.

And Audrey was there too. Her cry of, “Who’s there?” he heard at very nearly a scream as soon as he opened the outer door of the flat. She was in the little entrance hall, evidently ready to go out, but shrinking back at the noise of the key in the lock.

They looked at each other.

Instinctively Audrey began to run towards him. She had not taken a step before she checked herself; she paused, covered with the same sort of pouring self-consciousness he himself felt. Their eyes communicated; each knew, and was aware the other knew.

Instantly, of course, they both pretended they didn’t know.

“Take it easy,” said Brian, snapping out the words. “You’re not in any danger, you know.”

“I thought I was.”

“Danger from whom?”

“From her.”

“‘Her?’”

“
You
know. Eve. Or from—” Audrey stopped, eyes widening.

“Now just a minute! This is a worse case of nerves than I thought. Eve is dead.”

“I know she is. But I’ve been hearing her outside that door every time somebody walked past. What’s happened? Where have you been all day?”

“I couldn’t get away any sooner.”

“What’s going on at the villa? Do they think I did it?”

“No, they don’t. Get that notion out of your head once and for all. First, though, did you see Madame Duvallon? And have you had anything to eat?”

“Yes, yes, yes! There was a lot of food in the fridge. I couldn’t eat much, but your Madame Duvallon kept insisting and I had to.”

“In that case, you’re going to have a drink now. Then, after I’ve explained what you must tell the police when they do question you, we’re both getting out of here for a while.”

Except for small entrance-hall, kitchen, and bathroom, the flat contained only two smallish rooms, living-room and bedroom, set side by side. Brian had a studio at Vesénaz where he did his work. This flat, a symbol of his rootless life, only emphasized the presence of Audrey now.

She backed away from him into the little living-room, where the light of lamps shone against cream-coloured stucco walls. Again he was watching her as he went to the cabinet which contained the portable bar. She wore the same tweed suit, with tan stockings and crêpe-soled shoes.

“You got to town before the rain caught you, I see?”

“Yes.” Audrey watched him in turn. “And you—you’ve had a wash and brush-up since you climbed down to look … to look at what happened to her.”

“I have. By courtesy of the police.”

“What do they say? What do they think?”

“I wish I knew. Here.”

He poured out a brandy and soda and gave it to her. Between the two windows, above low bookshelves, hung a black-and-white sketch of Audrey he had done from memory. She carefully refrained from looking at this at any time while he told her everything.

“—so Dr. Fell’s conclusions, whatever they are, seem to have been based from the beginning on information he got from Scotland Yard before he left London.”

“Then Eve,” Audrey asked incredulously, “had two husbands before she married Mr. Ferrier?”

“That seems to surprise you.”

“It does, rather. I—I don’t know why it should.”

“Never mind that! Can you remember what you’re supposed to have said and done this morning? Can you repeat this new story without being caught?”

“Oh, I can repeat it. I ought to be used to lies and deceit by this time. And I’m not in the least frightened now you’re here.”

Audrey took a gulp of the brandy and soda, in some mood between bitterness and another he could not define. She set down the glass on a bookcase.

“I didn’t speak to Eve at all or go into the study at any time. Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“When we’d finished breakfast at half-past seven, I went up to my room. I was frightened of Eve. I did ’phone you and go for a walk afterwards. When I returned, I went straight to my room by that outside staircase. I was in my room, looking out on the balcony, when I saw Eve run out on the balcony. And you were with me when we both saw her fall. Dear God! That might almost have been true, everything about it! But …”

“But what?”

Audrey made a baffled gesture.

“Well, I keep thinking about Eve. Brian, why is so much being made of this second husband of hers?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“But surely Dr. Fell said something that would indicate—” She stopped.

“No. Dr. Fell didn’t give one detail about the second husband except that this chap had been killed in the war. He didn’t even mention the man’s name. Wait a minute, though! Just before Aubertin walked in, he did add that the second husband seemed to have been the one great love of Eve Eden’s life.”

Audrey’s eyes shifted, as though she were again running away. Brian, putting down the latch-key on the portable bar, poured whisky for himself and hesitated as he was doing so.

“Audrey, you had a lot of talk with Eve I didn’t overhear. Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No! Truly there isn’t!”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’m positive. But I was just wondering … is it possible this second husband could still be alive?”

Brian counted ten before he spoke.

“No, it’s not possible. It’s not possible Eve herself is alive, either. She struck head down between a couple of trees; she was dead a few seconds after I found her. You’re not being hypnotized by any kind of morbid fancy, are you? Or thinking Eve might come back after you and tap at the door?”

“No! No! Brian, you’ve got to listen to me.”

The odd thing, he decided, was that for all Audrey’s wild talk she seemed to have grown up a good deal since that morning. He could not define this sense of maturity which, rightly or wrongly, he felt was there. But he could have sworn to it.

“I was only wondering,” and Audrey seemed to grope among scattered impressions, “if I could have misunderstood what she said to me.”