The Scandal at 23 Mount Street (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 9) (8 page)

‘After presumably going to bed and getting a good night’s sleep first,’ Willis could not help pointing out. ‘She didn’t call us until this morning, and her bed looked as though it had been slept in.’

‘It’s easy enough to rumple up a bed,’ said Scott dismissively.

‘But why did she wait so long before she called us?’

‘Who knows?’ said Scott. ‘Perhaps she spent the whole night looking for somewhere to dispose of the gun.’

‘Easy enough to get rid of a heavy object in London,’ said Willis. ‘You just drop it in the Thames.’

‘I expect that’s what she did in the end,’ said Scott. ‘But who’s to say how long it took her to come up with that idea? I don’t suppose she was thinking straight. Or perhaps I’m wrong—perhaps she’s just cold-hearted and callous enough to have got rid of the gun immediately and come home again. Perhaps she slept the sleep of the just all night while her husband lay in a pool of blood on the parquet in the next room.’

Willis opened his mouth to argue but closed it again. He was a good policeman and knew that he must not let his liking for Mrs. Marchmont obscure the facts, which, he had to admit, all pointed to her guilt.

‘I wonder what the money was for,’ went on Scott thoughtfully. ‘It was a tidy sum. I wonder whether he mightn’t have been blackmailing her. We’ll have to look into that. Something like that would be a big enough motive for murder.’

‘But she’d already paid him,’ said Willis.

‘Yes, but we don’t know whether he’d already cashed the cheque,’ said Scott. ‘Perhaps she decided to put him out of the way before he could do it. Or perhaps he’d come to ask her for more money. That’s the trouble with blackmailers: they never know when to stop. It might be that he pushed her a little too far, and she decided to put an end to it once and for all. I dare say it will all come out when we look more deeply into the thing. So, then,’ he went on, with a cheerfulness that was entirely misplaced, in Willis’s view, ‘I suppose we’d better take the lady in. I only wish all cases were as easy as this one. If we hurry, we can get back to the Yard and finish those reports by the end of the day.’

Willis thought of Inspector Jameson, away in Scotland with his new wife, and wished he had been the one to take the call. But no, he corrected himself; the Jamesons were friends of the chief suspect, and the inspector would never be allowed to investigate this case. Willis wondered what he would say when he found out what had happened. It was likely to be a shock to everyone, he thought.

The two men entered the flat and found Angela Marchmont and the police constable both sitting in silence. The other men had packed up and left, and but for the bloodstains behind the sofa and the hole in the wall one would never have known that a violent death had occurred here. Mrs. Marchmont looked up expectantly and showed no surprise as Scott announced that he was arresting her on suspicion of the murder of her husband and gave her the usual warnings.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I didn’t do it, but I quite understand why you have to arrest me.’

She stood up and accepted the coat and hat that Sergeant Willis brought her. He still looked very uncomfortable.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to him, and meant it sincerely.

She took one last glance around the flat—it would be some time before she saw it again—and then the four of them left together and descended to the police-car that was waiting for them outside. As they drove off it began to rain again.

Mr. Addison, of Addison, Addison and Gouch, sat at the bare wooden table and tried his best not to look uncomfortable, although his chair was hard and he was generously built and he was worried that he might not be doing a very good job of it. He shifted slightly and glanced at his notebook.

‘I am glad you agree with our choice of defence counsel,’ he said to his client, Angela Marchmont, who was sitting at the other side of the table. ‘Mr. Travers is the very best there is. He could not be here today as he is in court for the poisoning case, but he has asked me to assure you that he believes there to be several weak points in the prosecution’s argument, and he will come to see you to discuss them as soon as he is able.’

‘I look forward to seeing him,’ said Mrs. Marchmont. ‘I have met Mr. Travers once or twice in company and have always judged him to be a most capable man. I shall be interested to hear what he has to say.’

Angela was bearing up to the indignities of incarceration as well as might be expected in the circumstances, and was as politely interested as possible in what Mr. Addison was telling her, but in reality she had assumed the worst almost from the moment she had found her husband’s body. Even she had to admit that all the evidence pointed to her being the murderer, and more than once, in the middle of the cold, dark night, she had reached such a low pass as to wonder whether perhaps she
had
done it while in the grip of some sort of brainstorm, and had somehow forgotten it afterwards. Of course, she knew logically that whoever had killed Davie Marchmont, it was not she, and outwardly she tried to remain brisk and optimistic that some evidence would emerge to prove her innocence, but deep down she was racked by pangs of guilt over the lies she had told the police, and she could not silence the murmurings of the small voice in her head which told her repeatedly that she deserved everything she got.

Of all the incredible things about the case, it seemed to her that the
most
incredible was the fact that the only person who might give her an alibi for the fatal hour was the one man whose help she could not request, for he was far away—who knew where?—and to whom she had no means of sending a message. But even if she could somehow manage to get word to him, then what could he be expected to do? Present himself and confess cheerfully that at the fatal time the two of them had been driving into Kent to return a ruby brooch he had stolen to its rightful owner? Why, the very idea was absurd! And how would the court look upon her association with a notorious jewel-thief? She could hardly suppose that they would view it favourably, for, as she herself had to admit, most people would quite rightly say that there was no innocent reason at all for a married woman—even one separated from her husband—to spend the night in the company of a known criminal. Even though her intentions had been good, the whole incident appeared distinctly fishy and was likely to make her look even more guilty than she already did, since the proper thing to do, of course, would have been to report Valencourt to the police. Although, as she had said, she considered herself free of her husband following their separation, it was unlikely that the man in the street would find anything to approve of in her friendship (if so it could be called) with Edgar Valencourt—indeed, she did not particularly approve of it herself and had done her best to fight against it, albeit with mixed success. But leaving aside all selfish considerations, there still remained one thing above all which meant she would never be induced to speak, and that was the fact that her sense of honour would not allow her to break a promise and give Valencourt away. He had told her that he was going to try and give up his old ways, but whether that were true or not did not matter. They had had an understanding, and that being so she could not betray him, even to save herself.

Still, she could not help but kick herself at her insistence on giving him her gun. She had no idea whether or not her revolver was the weapon which had killed her husband, but had she not given the thing to Valencourt then it might have proved her innocence in one way or another. For example, if the gun could be produced then the bullets inside it could be examined. If they were different from the one which had killed Davie, then that would indicate that some other weapon had been used, and, by implication, that someone else had done the deed. If, on the other hand, it turned out that her gun
was
the weapon which had been used to kill him, then someone else’s finger-prints would presumably be on it, again pointing to her innocence. But all the vital evidence had now been destroyed, for she had herself taken the gun out of the drawer and given it to him, and now both their finger-prints would be on it. That being so, perhaps it was better that the gun was now safely out of the way, for who knew what conclusions might be drawn if it were produced now?

Mr Addison was speaking again, and Angela forced her attention back to the present.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘You said something about Freddy?’

‘I said that Mr. Pilkington-Soames has asked me to pass on his regards. We have every reason to be grateful to him, for he has been working tirelessly to find witnesses to support our case.’

‘It’s terribly kind of him,’ said Angela dutifully.

‘It is. As he said, it is cheaper than employing a private detective, and as a reporter he is in a position to ask questions that others may find difficult to countenance. I am glad, now, that we agreed to let him look into the matter. There is no doubt at this point that we need some help on our side, for the police believe they have a strong enough case and so they are not inclined to look too hard for any other evidence, but there are a few leads we should like to follow. For example, we are trying to find the boys who were presumably letting off fireworks on the night of your husband’s death. If it can be demonstrated that all the explosions which were heard after midnight were in fact made by fireworks, then that may go some way towards strengthening your case, for it will at least imply that the shot was fired before midnight—a time for which, of course, you have an alibi.’

‘It doesn’t sound like much,’ said Angela.

‘No, but every little helps, as they say, and if we can find enough small pieces of evidence, we may be able to build them into a solid case for the defence. Don’t forget, the jury must find you guilty “beyond reasonable doubt.” Our task is to introduce that doubt into their minds and thus force them to acquit you.’

‘I see,’ said Angela.

Mr. Addison puffed up a little with excitement, for he had been saving a piece of news.

‘By the way, I think you will be very pleased when you hear of another witness your friend has found,’ he said.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. As a matter of fact, he has spoken to someone who claims he saw a man threatening your husband on the steps of Burkett’s on the very day of the murder.’

Here he paused to observe the effect of his words. Angela looked duly impressed and invited him to continue.

‘Yes,’ he went on. ‘You may remember I told you that a person had come forward and told the police that he had something of importance to say about the case. Scotland Yard took down his story but disregarded it, for they do not consider the man to be a reliable witness, as he is already known to them. He is one Josiah McLeod, of no fixed abode, and he spends most of his days standing outside the clubs of St. James’s, where he ekes out a small living from the generosity of the clubs’ patrons. Mr. Pilkington-Soames brought the man to me, and we both agree that he tells a most interesting tale. According to his story, he was outside Burkett’s at about four o’clock on the Saturday afternoon in question when he saw two men emerge from the building in conversation, one of whom was Mr. Marchmont. He knew your husband’s name because he knows most of the members of the club by sight, and he had remarked upon the appearance only a few days earlier of an unfamiliar face—one, moreover, with an American accent—so he had been paying particular attention and had soon overheard the commissionaire address him as Mr. Marchmont. Jos did not know the other man at all, and could only say that he was youngish and smartly dressed. He also said that there was something slightly foreign about him, although he was unable to explain what he meant by that; it was certainly not the man’s accent, which was an English one. It is not a particularly helpful description, but I am afraid it is the only one we have.’

‘Go on,’ said Angela in sudden interest.

‘According to Jos, the men appeared to be having some kind of altercation, although he was unable to hear exactly what it was about. As he describes it, the second man said something in a low voice to Mr. Marchmont, who heard him with a sort of incredulous smile upon his face and made some scornful reply. They were just walking down the steps then, and Jos says he distinctly heard the foreign-looking man say, “I won’t dirty my hands trying. I shall simply shoot you as I would a dog.”’

‘Goodness me,’ said Angela, in whose mind an awful thought was forming. She quickly quashed it and inquired, ‘And what did Davie say to that?’

‘He was not given the opportunity to reply, for the other man then walked away.’

‘I see,’ said Angela.

Mr. Addison was a little disappointed. He had expected his client to be more excited at this sensational new evidence, and could not help saying so.

‘Of course, Jos is hardly the most reliable of witnesses,’ he said, ‘but we shall clean him up and make sure he stays sober, and I am confident that he will do well in court.’

‘Oh, I have no doubt of it,’ said Angela. ‘Of course, this is an extremely valuable piece of evidence, and I’m tremendously grateful to Freddy for finding this fellow. I don’t mean to be a pessimist—it’s just that I rather fear we won’t be able to find the man who is supposed to have threatened Davie at the club. If he is a foreigner, then perhaps he has already gone back to wherever he came from.’

‘Well, young Freddy is going to speak to the people at Burkett’s to see if anyone can shed any light on the man’s identity,’ said Mr. Addison. ‘Let us hope he is successful.’

‘Yes, let’s,’ said Angela. ‘Excuse me, but are you sure this Jos has no better description to give of the second man? He cannot say whether he was tall or short, for example? “Youngish, with something slightly foreign about him” is not exactly helpful.’

‘I believe his exact words were that the man was “a smart-looking gent, a bit too got up to be English,”’ said Mr. Addison. ‘I am afraid that Jos is not particularly known for his sobriety during the day, so the fact that we have got even this much out of him is a small miracle. He did say, however, that he thought the man might have dropped something, for he saw your husband bend down and pick up an object from the steps shortly after the other had left. That might mean anything or nothing, though. It was most likely something your husband had dropped himself.’