A Nice Class of Corpse (6 page)

Read A Nice Class of Corpse Online

Authors: Simon Brett

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective

BOOK: A Nice Class of Corpse
12.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

* * *

After her excursions of the day before, Mrs Pargeter decided to stay in the hotel that morning. In her enquiries into Mrs Selsby's death, she still felt that listening was going to be the most productive approach.

Her first encounter did not prove very illuminating. Having finished her kipper and indulged in one final cup of tea, Mrs Pargeter took her
Daily Mail
into the Seaview Lounge, where she found Lady Ridgleigh wincing over half-glasses at her copy of
The Times
. The same strings of pearls, she noticed, hung around the thin neck, this time vying with a red and blue check patterned dress. After her expedition during the night, Mrs Pargeter found that she was thinking a lot about jewellery. Lady Ridgleigh's pearls, her expert eye reaffirmed, were exquisite and very valuable.

The Times
was ceremoniously folded and laid flat across bony knees. The half-glasses were placed in a monogrammed case. Lady Ridgleigh, it was clear, was about to make a conversational effort.

Assuming the expression of interest that the Queen adopts when asking Commonwealth leaders about new hydro-electric installations, she said, 'Well, I do hope you'll be very happy here, Mrs Pargeter.'

'I'm sure I will. I had a look round the town yesterday. Littlehampton seems a very nice little place.'

Lady Ridgleigh did not appear completely convinced of the truth of the assertion. 'Some of it is very pleasant, certainly. Not as select, perhaps, as Rustington or Middleton-on-Sea. Or, of course, dear Bognor. Still, some of it is quite adequate. Other parts, I fear, are rather less salubrious.'

'Oh?'

'I am afraid so. The summer can be very distressing.'

'Oh dear.'

'Bank Holidays are particularly unpleasant. I make a point of not stirring outside the hotel's doors on Bank Holidays.'

'Why?'

'The tone is lowered considerably. There have even been instances of violence on the front.'

'From whom?'

Lady Ridgleigh's bony shoulders shuddered. 'I believe they call themselves "Hell's Angels".'

'Oh dear.'

'Yes,' Lady Ridgleigh straightened her back. 'It makes me so thankful that we have the Royal Family.'

Mrs Pargeter could think of no appropriate rejoinder to this, and so started to read her
Daily Mail
. Lady Ridgleigh, feeling that she had displayed quite sufficient 'common touch' for one day, put her half-glasses back on, reopened her
Times
and found the 'Court and Social' page.

The next arrival in the Seaview Lounge was Colonel Wicksteed, returning rather earlier than usual from his 'constitutional'. He rubbed his hands together as he came in.

'Couldn't stay out long this morning. Damned cold.' He stopped short. 'Pardon my French, ladies.'

Lady Ridgleigh's bony hand waved gracious forgiveness, and the Colonel deposited himself in his customary armchair in the bay window. The binoculars, around his neck when he entered, were at once raised to scan the slaty expanse of the sea.

In a matter of moments, Mr Dawlish, somehow sensing his friend's return, entered and, with little bows to the ladies, took his seat opposite the Colonel. He arranged the rug about his thin knees.

'Anything?'

'No.' The Colonel lowered his binoculars to his lap. 'Not a thing.' He sighed. 'No.' Then a furtive expression crept across his face as, after looking round elaborately, he said in a hoarse whisper, 'Saw something this morning rather tickled me.'

'Oh?'

Mr Dawlish adopted an equally exaggerated whisper. The effect of both was to draw attention to what they were saying rather than to obscure it, but, with an amateur dramatic society prompter's confidence in his inaudibility, the Colonel continued.

'Saw it in the newsagent – went in there to buy the
Sporting
— erm, erm . . .
Horse and Hound
and—'

'Where is it?'

'What?'

'
Horse and Hound
.'

'Oh, erm, they hadn't got it. Anyway, in the newsagent, I happened to glance at some of those, er . . . you know, those things they have in there . . . bit near the knuckle . . .'

'Gloves?' Mr Dawlish offered helpfully.

'No, no. Postcards,' the Colonel hissed.

'Oh yes. Postcards.'

'Know the sort I mean?'

'Of course.' Mr Dawlish nodded contentedly. ' "View of West Beach", "View of the Arun Estuary", "View of—" '

'No, no, not those.' The Colonel leant forward and became even more elaborately conspiratorial. 'I mean, postcards with a bit of spice.'

'I've never come across those,' said Mr Dawlish. 'Whatever will they think of next?'

The Colonel shook his head impatiently, but decided to press on with his story. 'Anyway, one of these postcards had this picture of a . . . young woman . . . know what I mean?'

Mr Dawlish nodded.

'And she was extremely . . . what's the word?'

'I've no idea,' replied Mr Dawlish with disarming honesty.

'Well endowed . . . know what I mean?'

'Oh yes.' Mr Dawlish nodded. 'Got lots of money for her old age.'

'No, no. When I say "well endowed", I mean "well endowed" . . .' The Colonel dropped his voice even lower '. . .
physically
. Anyway, there she is, scantily clad, looking quite pleased with herself, sitting on the side of a bed – husband in bed asleep – and she's writing a letter . . . Bet you can't guess what the caption is . . . ?'

No, Mr Dawlish couldn't guess what the caption was.

' "Dear Sirs," ' Colonel Wicksteed hissed. ' "Last night I used some of your ointment on my husband's recommendation and there's been a great improvement." ' He stifled a guffaw. 'Do you get it?'

'No,' Mr Dawlish replied evenly.

The Colonel shook his head and sank back despairingly into his chair. 'No,' he echoed.

There was a long silence in the bay window.

Then Mr Dawlish volunteered that he had once used some ointment on his doctor's recommendation.

'Ah,' said Colonel Wicksteed.

'But there was no improvement.'

'Ah. Well . . .'

'No. Never cleared up. Still got the ruddy thing.'

'Oh.'

They lapsed again into silence. Mrs Pargeter, deciding that her investigation was not progressing much in the Seaview Lounge, rose and, with polite smiles of farewell, left the room.

CHAPTER 13

In the hall she met Miss Naismith, who had on her face an expression compounded of surprise, distaste and sheer triumph.

'Ah, Mrs Pargeter,' she said with a smile that made no attempt at geniality. 'I was just coming to look for you. I wonder if you would be so kind as to step into my Office for a brief word.'

Mrs Pargeter saw no objection to doing this. Inside the Office was a balding man wearing a pin-striped suit and a look of professional disapproval.

'Mrs Pargeter – this is Mr Holland. He is the late Mrs Selsby's solicitor, who has come down to take charge of her affairs.'

'How do you do?' Mrs Pargeter proffered a plump hand, which was shaken without enthusiasm.

'Shall we all sit down?' suggested Miss Naismith.

They sat, and she looked at Mr Holland to begin the proceedings.

'The fact is, Mrs Pargeter, that, as Miss Naismith said, I have, since the death of her husband – incidentally, her last surviving relative – handled Mrs Selsby's affairs. As soon as I could after hearing the sad news of her . . . er, passing-on . . .' (Mrs Pargeter had the feeling that this was not the expression he would instinctively have used. Maybe Miss Naismith had already rapped him over the knuckles that morning for insufficient delicacy.) '. . . I came down here to make suitable arrangements. Now I believe that you have only recently moved into the hotel . . .'

'That's right.'

'. . . but perhaps you are aware that Mrs Selsby was the owner of a considerable amount of jewellery.'

'I had heard that, yes.'

'Now, unwisely, and against my advice, Mrs Selsby was in the habit of leaving this valuable jewellery around her hotel room.'

'Against my advice, too,' Miss Naismith righteously interposed. 'I constantly recommended her to put such valuables in the hotel safe. As Lady Ridgleigh does with her extensive collection of jewellery. But Mrs Selsby wouldn't hear of it. "No," she would repeatedly say. "I like to have it near me, where I can look at it." '

'Which was rather ironic, wasn't it,' said Mrs Pargeter, 'considering that her eyesight was so bad?'

'Be that as it may . . .' Mr Holland's tone implied that he did not like having his monologue interrupted. 'Needless to say, one of my first actions on arriving here was to check the inventory of jewellery that I knew Mrs Selsby to possess.'

'Of course.' Mrs Pargeter smiled.

'Now, I asked Miss Naismith where Mrs Selsby kept her jewellery and discovered that it was her rather careless custom to leave it in unlocked drawers of her bureau.'

Mrs Pargeter nodded. She felt confident she knew what was coming.

But she was wrong. The words that did come took her breath away as if they had been physical blows.

'Imagine my surprise then, Mrs Pargeter, when I found all of Mrs Selsby's bureau drawers to be empty.'

Mrs Pargeter gaped.

'Needless to say, I immediately searched the rest of the room, but found nothing. Which leads me to the unpleasant conclusion that Mrs Selsby's jewellery has been stolen.'

'Which is a very regrettable word for me to hear used in this establishment,' said Miss Naismith. 'There have never been any thefts here before, and an uncharitable enquiry into the incident might first ask the question . . . who is the most recent arrival in the hotel?'

'If you are suggesting I stole the jewellery, Miss Naismith, I'd advise you to be careful. It's not the sort of accusation that should be thrown around lightly.'

Miss Naismith was enjoying herself. 'I agree. Nor would I throw it around lightly. However, when I have a witness to the fact that one of the hotel residents broke into Mrs Selsby's locked room at half-past two last night, I feel the circumstances may be a little different.'

Mrs Pargeter did not allow herself to be rattled. 'What are you saying?'

Mr Holland took over the indelicate situation. 'Miss Naismith is saying that
you
were seen breaking into the room last night. Since she checked that the jewels were in place before locking the room yesterday morning, there can be little doubt that you stole them. Which is why, I am afraid, we will be obliged to telephone for the police.'

Mrs Pargeter still did not reveal any emotion. Nor did she make any attempt to deny her actions. 'May I ask you who saw me enter Mrs Selsby's room?'

'Mrs Mendlingham. She was on the landing.'

Miss Naismith no longer attempted to hide her triumph. On first meeting Mrs Pargeter, she had recognised that conflict between them was inevitable. But she had expected that the conflict would be a long-drawn-out campaign of attrition. To have her adversary play so quickly and clumsily into her hands was more than the proprietress of the Devereux had dared hope for.

CHAPTER 14

Mrs Pargeter folded her plump hands on her lap.

'So . . . you are going to call the police?'

'Yes.' On the face of someone less genteel, Miss Naismith's expression would have been described as a leer. 'Can you tell me any reason why we shouldn't?'

'No. None at all. I'm sure, in the event of a robbery in a hotel like this, the police should definitely be informed.'

'Good. I'm glad you agree.' Miss Naismith nodded to Mr Holland, who reached towards the telephone on her desk.

'On the other hand,' Mrs Pargeter continued without raising her voice, 'I think you would be very ill-advised to make the same accusation to the police as you have to me.'

Mr Holland's hand stopped in mid-air.

'Oh. And why do you think that?' asked Miss Naismith, as usual accentuating the 'h' in 'why'.

'I think it because I did not take the jewels. I don't deny going into Mrs Selsby's room last night. I don't deny taking the jewels out of the bureau and looking at them. But I then put them back.'

'Well, of course you'd
say
that.'

'Anyway,
why
should you behave in the bizarre manner you describe?' asked Mr Holland, modelling himself on some severe barrister from a television court-room drama.

'That, for the moment, is my business.'

'If you aren't prepared to explain yourself, Miss Naismith and I can hardly be blamed for placing the construction that we have on your actions. I'm afraid I do feel obliged to call the police.'

Once again his hand reached for the telephone, but once again it was frozen by Mrs Pargeter's soft voice.

'I think you need rather more evidence for your accusation. If I did take the jewels, where do you think they are now?'

'Well, I hadn't really considered . . .'

'No. According to your theory, I stole the jewels at two-thirty this morning. Now the security in this hotel is good. The burglar alarm system works with pressure pads by the doors and windows of the front of the building and contact breakers on the doors at the back.'

'How do you know that?' asked Miss Naismith, surprised.

'I make a habit of being observant,' Mrs Pargeter replied evenly. She did not say that the habit of observing security systems was another of the useful things she had learnt from the late Mr Pargeter.

'I'm not quite clear where this is getting us,' said Mr Holland in a tone of professional impatience,

'What I am saying is that it would have been impossible for me to get out of the hotel quietly until after Newth had switched off the burglar alarm this morning. And since that time, as any of the residents can confirm, I have not left the premises.'

'So?'

Mrs Pargeter sighed with exasperation. The solicitor really was being very obtuse. 'So, since I haven't left the premises, if I stole the jewels, they can't have left the premises either.'

'Well . . .'

'Unless, of course, I had an accomplice . . . Yes, perhaps I took Newth into my confidence. He after all has the keys to the alarm system – not to mention a pass key to Mrs Selsby's room.'

Miss Naismith coloured. 'How dare you, Mrs Pargeter? I will not have such imputations made about one of my staff.'

'You seemed quite happy to make such imputations about one of your guests,' Mrs Pargeter observed mildly.

'So what you are saying . . . ?' asked Mr Holland.

Really he wasn't very intelligent. Still, Mrs Pargeter reflected, you didn't have to be very intelligent to be a solicitor. Just somehow scrape through a few exams in your twenties and then the British legal system saw to it that you had a meal ticket for life.

'What I am saying,' she explained patiently, 'is that, if you really believe I stole the jewels, all you have to do is to search my room, or – crediting me with a little subtlety – search the rest of the hotel, and you will find evidence to convict me, won't you?'

'Ye-es.' Mr Holland sounded uncertain.

'Such a search,' said Miss Naismith with distaste, 'would be very upsetting to the other residents.'

At this Mrs Pargeter finally lost her temper. Without forfeiting her considerable dignity, she snapped, 'Listen, if you're prepared to upset me so easily, I don't give a damn about your upsetting the other residents! You have to face the fact, Miss Naismith, that, repellent though it may be to your sensibilities, a robbery has taken place in the Devereux. And the circumstances of that robbery mean it was committed either by one of the residents or by one of the staff. Now it would be extremely convenient if I had committed it, because you could then quietly ask me to leave, and sweep the whole matter under the carpet.

'Unfortunately for you, I didn't do it, so you are faced with the unpleasant prospect of starting an enquiry into the activities of the other people who live in this hotel.'

'Ah, you
say
you didn't do it. . . .'

'Yes, and, as I mentioned before, a search of the premises will
prove
I didn't do it. And, if you once again make the accusation that I
did
do it, let me assure you I will get in touch with my solicitor and see to it that you pay me very substantial damages.'

At last Mr Holland felt they were on to a subject he knew something about. 'Might I ask,' he enquired superciliously, 'who your solicitor is?'

'I deal with the Justiman Partnership.'

'Oh.' He was impressed. 'Might I ask who in particular you deal with there?'

'I have always had my affairs handled by Arnold Justiman.'

This was another of her fortunate legacies from the late Mr Pargeter. Her husband had been a constant employer of Arnold Justiman, one of the most eminent of his profession, and Mrs Pargeter often reflected that she owed much of her conjugal happiness to Arnold Justiman. Without his good offices, Mr Pargeter's occasional necessary absences from the marital home would have been much longer.

'Oh. Arnold Justiman himself.' Mr Holland was now
very
impressed. He sat back in his chair with hands folded on his lap, as if to dismiss any idea that they might ever have contemplated reaching for a telephone. 'I think, Miss Naismith, we would be very ill-advised to pursue this line of enquiry.'

'What?' asked Mrs Pargeter with a hint of mockery. 'You don't want to find out who stole the jewels?'

'Well, yes, we do. Of course we do. And in the fullness of time, in consultation with the proper authorities, I am sure that we will. I was merely suggesting that we should not be too precipitate in our actions. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Naismith?'

'Yes, yes, I would.'

The proprietress looked as if she had just swallowed something singularly disgusting and was faced with more unpalatable mouthfuls ahead. Mrs Pargeter's openness and ready suggestion of a search had convinced her accuser that the blame for the theft lay elsewhere. That raised the unpleasant prospect of investigating the other residents of the Devereux.

And also Miss Naismith had the uncomfortable knowledge that she had overplayed her hand and allowed her antipathy to Mrs Pargeter to become too nakedly apparent.

'Well, don't let me keep you any longer.' Mrs Pargeter rose from her chair. 'On the strict understanding that the matter is never raised again, I am quite happy to forget what has been said here this morning.' She smiled sweetly at her accusers. 'And do let me know if there is anything I can do to help you in your investigations into this unfortunate incident.'

Other books

Blameless in Abaddon by James Morrow
Guardian by Mayer, Shannon
EMP (The Districts Book 1) by Orion Enzo Gaudio
Fudge-Laced Felonies by Hickey, Cynthia
Betrayal by Ali, Isabelle
Scarred Lions by Fanie Viljoen
The Italian Boy by Sarah Wise
Mine to Tarnish by Falor, Janeal