Closed Casket: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery (Hercule Poirot Mystery 2) (13 page)

While Sergeant O’Dwyer conferred with the police doctor, and organized the local gardaí who were charged with searching Lillieoak, I went in search of Gathercole. I wanted to speak to him alone, and guessed that I would miss nothing that mattered if I left O’Dwyer to his own devices for the time being. After the gardaí, Orville Rolfe was next on his list. Rolfe was the one person who could not have killed Joseph Scotcher, as far as I could see. Between when I knocked on Scotcher’s door, finding him alive, and when I knocked on Rolfe’s and encountered him in his unwell state, there were no means by which Rolfe could have got downstairs without passing me, and I would certainly have noticed if he had done so.

He did not. And after that, either I or Poirot was with him, or else confining him to his room by means of a large chair outside his door, until Sophie Bourlet screamed. That seemed conclusively to rule out Orville Rolfe.

I searched the house for Gathercole and did not find him, so I went outside to stroll around the gardens. After about ten minutes of walking wherever the fancy took me, I saw him in the distance. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, staring down at a row of rose bushes. I approached slowly so as not to scare him away.

He looked up and almost smiled at me, then turned quickly to glance up at the house. Was he looking at a particular window, or at the house in general? I could not tell.

He stared at the building for some seconds before turning back towards me. At that moment, I was struck by an interesting notion. It was watching Gathercole that had put it into my mind.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked me.

‘Would you mind awfully if I tried out an idea on you?’ I said. ‘I had it only a moment ago, and I shall find it hard to think about anything else until I have discussed it with someone.’

‘By all means.’

‘When you looked up at the house just now, I remembered something that Lady Playford said when Sergeant O’Dwyer and I spoke to her.’

‘Go on.’

‘It was a question: why should Sophie Bourlet pretend she saw Claudia Playford murder Scotcher if in fact Dorro Playford was the one she saw?’

‘Dorro? I don’t understand. Has it been suggested that Dorro—’

‘No. The opposite,’ I assured him. ‘Lady Playford was telling us that Dorro was on her list of those who are innocent beyond doubt. In support of this, she asked her question: why should Sophie say she had seen Claudia clubbing Scotcher to death if in truth it was Dorro that she saw? Lady Playford asked this as if the answer were so obvious, it should not need stating: “Well, of course she would not!” That was what Sergeant O’Dwyer and I were supposed to think, and I duly did. Until a few moments ago.’

‘And now what do you think?’ Gathercole asked.

‘Shall we walk?’ I suggested. He shrugged, but followed me when I started to move.

I decided it could do no harm to share my ideas with him. I might even tell Poirot later that I had done so. ‘Let’s assume Sophie saw
someone
—we do not know whom—lift a club and bring it down once, twice, three times, maybe more, on poor Scotcher’s head. She is so horrified by the sight that she screams and screams, bringing everyone rushing down the stairs to see what is amiss.’

‘That is what she says happened,’ Gathercole agreed as we walked between two rows of lime trees.

‘Imagine the horror of witnessing such a thing happening to the person you love. Anyone might scream uncontrollably.’

‘I dare say.’

‘Imagine this too: in your state of shock, you make an almighty din. You can’t help it. Straight away, you hear footsteps and cries of, “What on earth is that?” Soon they will all be upon you, and you will have to explain that you witnessed a murder … and that’s when it dawns on you!’

‘What?’

‘That the person you saw clubbing Scotcher to death is
someone you cannot bring yourself to name
as his killer
,’ I said. ‘Someone you want to protect, would want to protect no matter what they had done. What do you do? Why, you tell as much of the truth as you can, and you simply substitute someone you dislike and regard as dispensable—Claudia Playford—for the real murderer. This was my brainwave when I saw you looking up at the window of Lady Playford’s study! I
saw
you, you see. There would have been no use in telling me you did not look, because I know you did.’

Why had he? I wondered. Did he want to make sure Lady Playford was not watching before he embarked upon a conversation with me?

‘In exactly the same way,
we all heard Sophie Bourlet witnessing the murder of Joseph Scotcher
,’ I went on.
‘She screamed because she could not help herself—but having done so, she could not pretend that she had
not
just seen someone kill Scotcher. There she was, frozen by the door, with his dead body in front of her! And if she was unwilling to name the true culprit, and decided to lie and say it was Claudia, well, then it might have been anyone. And the answer to Lady Playford’s question—why accuse Claudia if she saw Dorro do it?—is then perfectly simple: Sophie wanted to save the true murderer from the gallows.’

Gathercole came to an abrupt halt. ‘Will you pardon me if I point out an error in your reasoning?’

‘Please go ahead.’

‘If Sophie wanted to protect Scotcher’s killer, she needn’t have admitted she witnessed the murder. Her screams were adequately explained if she had simply found the battered body of the man she loved. We would all have accepted that without question.’

‘Indeed we would. But in her state of extreme shock and distress, that might not have occurred to her.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Gathercole conceded less than whole- heartedly.

‘Did you come down the stairs?’ I asked him as we began to walk again.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘When Sophie started to make her commotion—did you come down the stairs with the rest of us? Suddenly you were there, but you were dressed for outdoors, as I recall. And before that, I had been unable to find you.’

‘I went out. Walked all the way down to the river and back. I find water calming. Our evening so far had been … less so.’

‘If you don’t mind my asking, where were you when you heard Sophie scream?’

‘At the front door. I had returned to the house mere seconds before. I made my way to where the noise seemed to be coming from and there you all were. I think I was the last to arrive.’

Nervous about what I wanted to say next, I did my best to appear casual about it. ‘I say, do you mind if I ask you something else? It’s been on my mind since we all sat around the dining table together.’

‘What would you like to know?’

‘After Lady Playford left the room, there was a moment when you looked … well, quite beside yourself. Utterly desolate. It was as if something had upset or enraged you. I only wondered …’

‘I was concerned about Lady Playford,’ said Gathercole. ‘She had left the room in response to Dorro’s unkindness—which was unforgivable.’

I did not believe him. His voice had changed to something less natural than before.

‘Unforgivable? Dorro regretted saying it soon afterwards, you know. She was also in a state of shock, and frightened about her future, and Harry’s.’

‘Yes,’ Gathercole said briskly. ‘I might have judged her too harshly.’

He was withholding something important. The faster he walked, and the longer he kept his head turned away from me, the more certain I became.

I decided to take a risk. ‘Listen, I work for Scotland Yard. My job, whatever the crime, is to suspect everybody. In this case, I am guilty of negligence: I suspect everybody except you.’

‘Then you are foolish,’ he said. ‘You know nothing of my character.’

‘I believe I do. And I believe there is something you are keeping back, something relating to your expression of despair in the dining room—’

‘Expression of despair! You are too fanciful. May we please change the subject?’

I decided we might as well, since I was getting nowhere. ‘Do you know, or know of, a woman called Iris?’ I asked him.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe his face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not.’

It was vexing to have to ask everybody about Poirot’s Iris without knowing who she was, or why he thought her so important. When Sergeant O’Dwyer and I sat down with Harry and Dorro Playford in the library, I decided to get her out of the way first.

‘Iris is a pretty name,’ said Harry Playford. ‘Not sure I know any Irises. Do you, Dorro? Although, wait a second! What about the lady who made that hat for Mother? You know, with the pink lace. She had a little white terrier—Prince, was it? Yappy thing.’ Harry’s demeanour was relaxed and jovial. Murder in his home had not put a crimp in his mood, it seemed. If he was afraid of falling under suspicion, or if he was mourning the demise of Joseph Scotcher, he showed no sign of either.

His wife, by contrast, twitched like a frightened mouse. Her eyes would not keep still; it made me dizzy to look at her. ‘The hat lady’s name was Agnes,’ she said. ‘Did you mean Agnes, Mr Catchpool? Or is it definitely an Iris you want? Who is she? I can think of no one by that name. Has Athie talked about an Iris? Is she someone Joseph Scotcher knew?’

‘I’m afraid I know as little as you do,’ I told her. It was true that Agnes sounded a little like Iris. Could Hatton have misheard Poirot, or did Poirot mishear somebody else? It was safer not to assume it.

‘The dog was Prince, though, what?’ said Harry. ‘Or was it Duke?’

No answer came from Dorro, only a stampede of questions aimed at me. ‘Is it true what Sophie said—that she saw Claudia kill Joseph Scotcher? I have to say that I cannot see Claudia doing that at all. If she were to kill a person, she would not do it where anyone might wander in and see her. Tell them, Harry.’

‘Tell them what, old girl?’

‘That Claudia is innocent! That Sophie must be lying!’

‘I have never known Sophie to lie,’ said Harry thoughtfully. ‘Never known my sister to kill a man either. All very out of character,’ he concluded.

‘There is something that nobody seems to have considered, apart from me,’ said Dorro.

‘Tell us,’ I said.

‘If Claudia hangs for murder, Harry would then stand to inherit Athie’s estate in its entirety. I fear that an accident would then almost certainly befall him! He would become the killer’s next mark. Can you gentlemen truly not see what is happening in plain view?’

O’Dwyer opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by more frenzied babbling from Dorro. ‘Joseph Scotcher was to be the sole beneficiary, but he was murdered—mere hours after Athie changed her will in his favour! Then the next thing we hear is that
Claudia
, of all people, has been caught red-handed, clubbing him to death. Attempted murder by hangman, that’s what it is! And if it succeeds, who is left? Harry! I have no doubt that the killer would find a way to dispose of him without delay—and what I want to know is, why are you not finding out who would inherit if Harry and Claudia and Joseph Scotcher
are all dead
?’

‘Steady on, old girl.’ Harry looked dazed.

‘Ask that Michael Gathercole fellow and see what he says.’ Dorro sounded far from steady. ‘I don’t like him one bit. I shouldn’t be surprised if he were next in line. Athie is awfully fond of him. I can’t think why. But that is how you will find the murderer. I should not be surprised if it were Gathercole, or fat Orville Rolfe. Fat people are as greedy about money as they are about food, more often than not. It must be one of those two lawyers that did it, and you need to prove it. I cannot do it—what resources do I have at my disposal? Meanwhile, Claudia must be shown to be innocent. As soon as the killer sees that there is nothing but Harry standing between him and a vast fortune …’ Dorro buried her face in her hands and started to cry, and at last we were given some respite from the endless flow of words.

Her determination that Claudia be kept alive as protection for Harry meant, of course, that she would proclaim Claudia’s innocence whether she believed in it or not. Her theory left a lot to be desired, I thought. I was no aspiring murderer, but if I had been, I should certainly have had a go at Harry before Claudia. She was much more likely to be on her guard, whereas I imagined one might stroll up to Harry and say, ‘Any objection to getting murdered, old boy?’ and be met with an appreciative guffaw.

He placed his hand on his wife’s arm. ‘Remembering old Prince has started me thinking,’ he said. ‘Would it be jolly to have a little dog running about the place? I rather think it would.’

Dorro shook him off.

‘Where were you both on the evening that Scotcher was killed—between when we all left the dining room and when his body was found?’ I asked.

‘We were with you!’ Dorro said indignantly.

‘Not all the time,’ I reminded her.

‘Let me see,’ said Harry. ‘Well, first Mother shocked us all with her news, and nobody could really get to the bottom of it. Then there was a bit of a to-do, as you’d expect, and then Scotcher knocked us all sideways by asking Sophie to marry him. That was unexpected! Fellow only has a few months to live and he thinks about taking a wife. That’s love for you, I suppose.’

‘A few months?’ I said. ‘I had heard it was only weeks.’

‘I think you might be right,’ said Harry. ‘One never knows with an illness.’

‘Could you describe the to-do, Viscount Playford?’ asked O’Dwyer.

‘I dare say … let me see … Scotcher was terribly upset.’

‘He was pretending to be upset,’ Dorro said. ‘Do you want to know why he took such pains, always, to appear so concerned for the welfare of others? It was pure selfishness that drove him. Athie could never see it, but I saw it!’

‘Come now, darling. I’m not sure that—’

‘
I saw it
, Harry. As my husband you ought to take my word for it! Joseph Scotcher was a shrewd character if ever I met one. He had worked it all out, you see: appear to want nothing and people want to give you everything. It worked on Athie, like a charm. Of course he had to seem shocked and distressed at the announcement of the new will. What else could he say? “Oh, tip-top—this is what I have planned for all along”? And there is another one made in the same mould as Scotcher: Michael Gathercole! All his dutiful service over the years—self-interest is behind that, I can promise you.’

‘Dorro, you must not think the worst of everybody,’ said Harry firmly.

‘Not everybody, Harry. Take Brigid Marsh. I would trust Brigid with my life. Hatton the butler, and that ghoulish Phyllis—they are quite another matter, but Brigid is one in a million. And I have already said that Claudia is innocent. I could not say the same of Randall Kimpton with any certainty. Do we know how much of the Kimpton family fortune is at his disposal? I don’t mind admitting that I can picture Randall committing murder with no difficulty whatsoever. My family, the Sawbridges—we were wealthy landowners once. Did you know that, Sergeant? Mr Catchpool?’

Silently, we shook our heads.

‘My father contrived to lose the lot, silly old fool that he was! Harry might well have broken off his engagement to me. If he had had any sense—’

‘Wouldn’t hear of it!’ said Harry. To O’Dwyer and me he said, ‘Randall Kimpton could not have killed Scotcher. He was with me, Dorro and Claudia the whole time. We left the dining room with him, went to the drawing room with him. He only left us when summoned by you, Catchpool, to go and attend to Mr Rolfe.’

‘But who knows what happened after he and Claudia retired for the night?’ said Dorro. ‘He could easily have slipped downstairs to murder Joseph Scotcher.’

‘So could you, old girl.’ Harry grinned, as if he had scored a point in a game we were all playing.

‘Harry, have you gone
mad
? You can’t honestly believe that I would ever—’

‘Club a chap to death? Ha! Not a bit of it! I only meant that when you went to bed, I went outside for a while. Poirot asked me to. You could have scuttled off downstairs and done poor old Joseph in. I don’t believe you did, but you had as much of an opportunity as Randall did.’

Dorro’s face crumpled. ‘How can we bear this?’ she muttered. ‘Suspecting each other like … like …’ She had started to rub her hands together as if trying to wear the skin away. ‘I wish I could take back every word I have said! You must pay no attention to me, Sergeant, Mr Catchpool. None at all. Of course Harry is right. Randall—dearest Randall! Oh, I feel dreadful. I have accused half the household of murder, when really I don’t believe it of any of them. Nice sensible Mr Gathercole—I must have taken leave of my senses thinking ill of him. It’s only that I’m so
afraid
. I am not myself at all. You have no idea what it’s like! Athie is the only Lady Playford ever addressed or thought of as such. I too am Lady Playford, yet no one ever calls me that—oh, no, around here I am just plain old Dorro! I have no children, so I am accorded no respect or consideration. Lillieoak should be
ours
, mine and Harry’s.
She
arranged it all to thwart us! It would not have occurred to Guy in a hundred years to do such a thing—to humiliate us in this way! Athie underestimates Harry—she always has. And she had poor gullible Guy wound round her little finger. But that is the last word I shall say against anybody—I’m too kind-hearted, you see, to think ill of those I love for very long. Please, forget everything you have heard me say.
Please.
’

‘It is unthinkable that anybody in this house is secretly a murderer,’ said Harry.

‘And yet Joseph Scotcher was murdered, Viscount Playford,’ said O’Dwyer. ‘Somebody must have done it—someone who was here at Lillieoak that night.’

A shadow of something—it might have been anger, anxiety or any number of things—passed across Harry Playford’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said finally, with a sigh. ‘Because, after all, Scotcher was alive when we all sat round the dinner table together.’ He nodded, as if subjecting the fact to a process of internal verification. ‘And then, only a handful of hours later, he was … well, he was
dead
.’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Which means somebody here, in this house, killed him.’

‘Quite,’ Harry agreed. ‘When one approaches the matter from that angle, it’s rather hard not to be down in the dumps about it. We shall all need cheering up after this, that’s for sure.’ He turned to Dorro. ‘What about the idea of a dog, old girl? A dog like Prince—or was it Duke? House like this needs one, or else it feels empty. I don’t know why Mummy hasn’t … Oh, well, I suppose she’s so busy now. But when I was a boy there was always a dog dashing about the place—there could be again!’