They Do It With Mirrors (7 page)

“Try some of these,” she said breathlessly.

At that moment the fused lights came on again. The Hall sprang into life again after its eerie dimness.

Stephen Restarick began trying the keys.

They heard the inside key fall out as he did so.

Inside, that wild desperate sobbing went on.

Walter Hudd, coming lazily back into the Hall, stopped dead and demanded:

“Say, what's going on round here?”

Mildred said tearfully,

“That awful crazy young man has shot Mr. Serrocold.”

“Please.” It was Carrie Louise who spoke. She got up and came across to the study door. Very gently she pushed Stephen Restarick aside. “Let me speak to him.”

She called—very softly—“Edgar … Edgar … let me in, will you? Please, Edgar.”

They heard the key fitted into the lock. It turned and the door was slowly opened.

But it was not Edgar who opened it. It was Lewis Serrocold. He was breathing hard as though he had been running, but otherwise he was unmoved.

“It's all right, dearest,” he said. “Dearest, it's quite all right.”

“We thought you'd been shot,” said Miss Bellever gruffly.

Lewis Serrocold frowned. He said with a trifle of asperity:

“Of course I haven't been shot.”

They could see into the study by now. Edgar Lawson had collapsed by the desk. He was sobbing and gasping. The revolver lay on the floor where it had dropped from his hand.

“But we heard the shots,” said Mildred.

“Oh yes, he fired twice.”

“And he missed you?”

“Of course he missed me,” snapped Lewis.

Miss Marple did not consider that there was any of course about it. The shots must have been fired at fairly close range.

Lewis Serrocold said irritably:

“Where's Maverick? It's Maverick we need.”

Miss Bellever said:

“I'll get him. Shall I ring up the police as well?”

“Police? Certainly not.”

“Of course, we must ring up the police,” said Mildred. “He's dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” said Lewis Serrocold. “Poor lad. Does he look dangerous?”

At the moment he did not look dangerous. He looked young and pathetic and rather repulsive.

His voice had lost its carefully acquired accent.

“I didn't mean to do it,” he groaned. “I dunno what came over me—talking all that stuff—I must have been mad.”

Mildred sniffed.

“I really must have been mad. I didn't mean to. Please, Mr. Serrocold, I really didn't mean to.”

Lewis Serrocold patted him on the shoulder.

“That's all right, my boy. No damage done.”

“I might have killed you, Mr. Serrocold.”

Walter Hudd walked across the room and peered at the wall behind the desk.

“The bullets went in here,” he said. His eye dropped to the desk and the chair behind it. “Must have been a near miss,” he said grimly.

“I lost my head. I didn't rightly know what I was doing. I thought he'd done me out of my rights. I thought—”

Miss Marple put in the question she had been wanting to ask for some time.

“Who told you,” she asked, “that Mr. Serrocold was your father?”

Just for a second, a sly expression peeped out of Edgar's distracted face. It was there and gone in a flash.

“Nobody,” he said. “I just got it into my head.”

Walter Hudd was staring down at the revolver where it lay on the floor.

“Where the hell did you get that gun?” he demanded.

“Gun?” Edgar stared down at it.

“Looks mighty like my gun,” said Walter. He stooped down and picked it up. “By heck, it
is!
You took it out of my room, you creeping louse you.”

Lewis Serrocold interposed between the cringing Edgar and the menacing American.

“All this can be gone into later,” he said. “Ah, here's Maverick. Take a look at him, will you, Maverick?”

Dr. Maverick advanced upon Edgar with a kind of professional zest. “This won't do, Edgar,” he said. “This won't do, you know.”

“He's a dangerous lunatic,” said Mildred sharply. “He's been shooting off a revolver and raving. He only just missed my stepfather.”

Edgar gave a little yelp and Dr. Maverick said reprovingly:

“Careful, please, Mrs. Strete.”

“I'm sick of all this. Sick of the way you all go on here! I tell you this man's a lunatic.”

With a bound, Edgar wrenched himself away from Dr. Maverick and fell to the floor at Serrocold's feet.

“Help me. Help me. Don't let them take me away and shut me up. Don't let them….”

An unpleasing scene, Miss Marple thought.

Mildred said angrily, “I tell you he's—”

Her mother said soothingly,

“Please, Mildred. Not now. He's suffering.”

Walter muttered,

“Suffering cripes! They're all cuckoo round here.”

“I'll take charge of him,” said Dr. Maverick. “You come with me, Edgar. Bed and a sedative—and we'll talk everything over in the morning. Now you trust me, don't you?”

Rising to his feet and trembling a little, Edgar looked doubtfully at the young doctor and then at Mildred Strete.

“She said—I was a lunatic.”

“No, no, you're not a lunatic.”

Miss Bellever's footsteps rang purposefully across the Hall. She came in with her lips pursed together and a flushed face.

“I've telephoned the police,” she said grimly. “They will be here in a few minutes.”

Carrie Louise cried, “Jolly!” in tones of dismay.

Edgar uttered a wail.

Lewis Serrocold frowned angrily.

“I told you, Jolly, I did
not
want the police summoned. This is a medical matter.”

“That's as may be,” said Miss Bellever. “I've my own opinion. But I had to call the police. Mr. Gulbrandsen's been shot dead.”

I
t was a moment or two before anyone took in what she was saying.

Carrie Louise said incredulously:

“Christian shot? Dead? Oh, surely, that's impossible.”

“If you don't believe me,” said Miss Bellever, pursing her lips, and addressing not so much Carrie Louise, as the assembled company, “go and look for yourselves.”

She was angry. And her anger sounded in the crisp sharpness of her voice.

Slowly, unbelievingly, Carrie Louise took a step towards the door. Lewis Serrocold put a hand on her shoulder.

“No, dearest, let me go.”

He went out through the doorway. Dr. Maverick, with a doubtful glance at Edgar, followed him. Miss Bellever went with them.

Miss Marple gently urged Carrie Louise into a chair. She sat down, her eyes looking hurt and stricken.

“Christian—shot?” she said again.

It was the bewildered, hurt tone of a child.

Walter Hudd remained close by Edgar Lawson, glowering down at him. In his hand he held the gun that he had picked up from the floor.

Mrs. Serrocold said in a wondering voice:

“But who could possibly want to shoot
Christian?
”

It was not a question that demanded an answer.

Walter muttered under his breath:

“Nuts! The whole lot of them.”

Stephen had moved protectively closer to Gina. Her young, startled face was the most vivid thing in the room.

Suddenly the front door opened and a rush of cold air, together with a man in a big overcoat, came in.

The heartiness of his greeting seemed incredibly shocking.

“Hullo, everybody, what's going on tonight? A lot of fog on the road. I had to go dead slow.”

For a startled moment, Miss Marple thought that she was seeing double. Surely the same man could not be standing by Gina and coming in by the door. Then she realised that it was only a likeness and not, when you looked closely, such a very strong likeness. The two men were clearly brothers with a strong family resemblance, but no more.

Where Stephen Restarick was thin to the point of emaciation, the newcomer was sleek. The big coat with the astrakhan collar fitted the sleekness of body snugly. A handsome young man and one who bore upon him the authority and good humour of success.

But Miss Marple noted one thing about him. His eyes, as he entered the Hall, looked immediately at Gina.

He said, a little doubtfully:

“You
did
expect me? You got my wire?”

He was speaking now to Carrie Louise. He came towards her.

Almost mechanically, she put up her hand to him. He took it and kissed it gently. It was an affectionate act of homage, not a mere theatrical courtesy.

She murmured:

“Of course, Alex dear—of course. Only, you see—things have been happening—”

“Happening?”

Mildred gave the information, gave it with a kind of grim relish that Miss Marple found distasteful.

“Christian Gulbrandsen,” she said. “My brother Christian Gulbrandsen has been found shot dead.”

“Good God,” Alex registered a more than life-size dismay. “Suicide, do you mean?”

Carrie Louise moved swiftly.

“Oh no,” she said. “It couldn't be suicide. Not
Christian!
Oh no.”

“Uncle Christian would never shoot himself, I'm sure,” said Gina.

Alex Restarick looked from one person to the other. From his brother Stephen he received a short confirmative nod. Walter Hudd stared back at him with faint resentment. Alex's eyes rested on Miss Marple with a sudden frown. It was as though he had found some unwanted prop on a stage set.

He looked as though he would like her explained. But nobody explained her, and Miss Marple continued to look an old, fluffy and sweetly bewildered old lady.

“When?” asked Alex. “When did this happen, I mean?”

“Just before you arrived,” said Gina. “About—oh three or four
minutes ago, I suppose. Why, of course, we actually heard the shot. Only we didn't notice it—not really.”

“Didn't notice it? Why not?”

“Well, you see, there were other things going on …” Gina spoke rather hesitantly.

“Sure were,” said Walter with emphasis.

Juliet Bellever came into the Hall by the door from the library.

“Mr. Serrocold suggests that we should all wait in the library. It would be convenient for the police. Except for Mrs. Serrocold. You've had a shock, Cara. I've ordered some hot bottles to be put in your bed. I'll take you up and—”

Rising to her feet, Carrie Louise shook her head.

“I must see Christian first,” she said.

“Oh, no, dear. Don't upset yourself—”

Carrie Louise put her very gently to one side.

“Dear Jolly—you don't understand.” She looked round and said, “Jane?”

Miss Marple had already moved towards her.

“Come with me, will you, Jane?”

They moved together towards the door. Dr. Maverick, coming in, almost collided with them.

Miss Bellever exclaimed:

“Dr. Maverick. Do stop her. So foolish.”

Carrie Louise looked calmly at the young doctor. She even gave a tiny smile.

Dr. Maverick said:

“You want to go and—see him?”

“I must.”

“I see.” He stood aside. “If you feel you must, Mrs. Serrocold. But afterwards, please go and lie down and let Miss Bellever look after you. At the moment you do not feel the shock, but I assure you that you will do so.”

“Yes. I expect you are quite right. I will be quite sensible. Come, Jane.”

The two women moved out through the door, past the foot of the main staircase and along the corridor, past the dining room on the right and the double door, leading to the kitchen quarters on the left, past the side door to the terrace and on to the door that gave admission to the Oak Suite that had been alloted to Christian Gulbrandsen. It was a room furnished as a sitting room more than a bedroom, with a bed in an alcove to one side and a door leading into a dressing room and bathroom.

Carrie Louise stopped on the threshold. Christian Gulbrandsen had been sitting at the big mahogany desk with a small portable typewriter open in front of him. He sat there now, but slumped sideways in the chair. The high arms of the chair prevented him from slipping to the floor.

Lewis Serrocold was standing by the window. He had pulled the curtain a little aside and was gazing out into the night.

He looked round and frowned.

“My dearest, you shouldn't have come.”

He came towards her and she stretched out a hand to him. Miss Marple retreated a step or two.

“Oh yes, Lewis. I had to—see him. One has to know just exactly how things are.”

She walked slowly towards the desk.

Lewis said warningly:

“You mustn't touch anything. The police must have things left exactly as we found them.”

“Of course. He was shot deliberately by someone, then?”

“Oh yes.” Lewis Serrocold looked a little surprised that the question had even been asked. “I thought—you knew that?”

“I did really. Christian would not commit suicide, and he was such a competent person that it could not possibly have been an accident. That only leaves”—she hesitated a moment—“murder.”

She walked up behind the desk and stood looking down at the dead man. There was sorrow and affection in her face.

“Dear Christian,” she said. “He was always good to me.”

Softly, she touched the top of his head with her fingers.

“Bless you and thank you, dear Christian,” she said.

Lewis Serrocold said with something more like emotion than Miss Marple had ever seen in him before:

“I wish to God I could have spared you this, Caroline.”

His wife shook her head gently.

“You can't really spare anyone anything,” she said. “Things always have to be faced sooner or later. And therefore it had better be sooner. I'll go and lie down now. I suppose you'll stay here, Lewis, until the police come?”

“Yes.”

Carrie Louise turned away and Miss Marple slipped an arm around her.