Death of a Beauty Queen (10 page)

‘He didn't approve of her – didn't want there to be anything between them,' Sargent explained. ‘He felt quite strongly about it – thought she wasn't good enough for his precious boy; thought she was too frivolous and worldly and would ruin him, body and soul together. He is an awful old fanatic, you know. Sticks at nothing to get his own way, because he's so sure he's right and doing the work of the Lord, and everyone else is in outer darkness.'

Sargent spoke with some bitterness, for in the controversy about the Sunday opening of the cinemas in the Brush Hill district he had, from his point of view, considered some of the tactics and statements of the party led by old Mr Irwin distinctly unfair and even dishonest. Indeed there was possibly some foundation for his view that Mr Irwin was always so certain of the profound righteousness of his aims that he was apt to consider equally righteous all and every means for attaining them.

‘About what time was this?' Mitchell asked.

Sargent considered. He wasn't very sure. But Carrie had left the stage about ten, and Beattie had discovered her soon after the half hour. On the whole Sargent considered it must have been about a quarter past ten, though he couldn't be certain to a minute or two.

‘Where were you and Mr Irwin at the time?' Mitchell asked.

‘In the passage – just where it leads down to my office,' Sargent answered, though a little uneasily, as if he did not much like this close questioning. ‘We saw Leslie Irwin in the doorway, and when he saw us he cleared off quick. I expect he hoped his father hadn't seen him, and knew there would be a row if he had. Mr Irwin followed him – at least, that's what he said. I don't know how his hat got in the room, unless he went in. I'm sure he had it when he left me.'

‘What did you do?'

‘Nothing. I was only having a look round. I was looking for Martin – one of the staff – to speak to him, but I couldn't see him at first. After a time I found him. I was just beginning to speak to him when we heard a commotion, and someone told us there had been an accident and Carrie Mears had hurt herself.'

‘You didn't see either of the Irwins again?'

‘No. I thought most likely Leslie had gone home and the old man had followed him, I told him there was nothing to worry about, Carrie didn't want to have anything to do with Leslie. But I don't think he believed it. He thought everyone was as cracked about his boy as he was himself.'

'Had you any reason for saying Miss Mears didn't want anything to do with Leslie Irwin?'

‘Well, she told me so herself.'

‘I see. By the way, that reminds me. Isn't it a little unusual for one of the competitors to be assigned your private office for a dressing-room?'

‘Well, she had to go somewhere; everywhere else was full,' Sargent explained, but, though he answered readily and easily, Mitchell was aware of an impression that the question had been expected and prepared for. ‘You must remember what it's been like, fixing everything up,' Sargent went on. ‘I can tell you it's no joke finding places for all that tribe of girls and their mothers and their fathers and their uncles and their aunts – pandemonium, that's what it's been all night, a regular pandemonium.'

‘But why your private office for Miss Mears?' Mitchell insisted.

‘Well, it's this way,' Sargent answered. ‘Pandemonium, it was all right, all evening; and then, to make it worse, we found Miss Mears's name had been left out of the list, and she had been forgotten – no place provided for her. Naturally, she raised Cain, so I told them for the Lord's sake put her anywhere to keep her quiet, and when they said there wasn't anywhere that wasn't full up to the ceiling, I told them to shove her in my room – I had had it in my mind as a possible last resource all the time, of course.'

‘I'm told Miss Mears was the favourite; everyone expected her to win and be crowned Brush Hill Beauty Queen,' Mitchell said. ‘Rather odd she should be the very one to be overlooked?'

‘Well, you see, that's just why,' Sargent explained again. ‘We ticked them all off to different rooms in order of entry, but I remember telling Mr Martin, I think it was, that Miss Mears was quite likely to be the winner, and she had better have accommodation near – you see, some of them we had to put right down in the cellar, five minutes' walk from the stage. And so, I suppose, with her name being left out for the time, it got forgotten altogether, and we had to push her in at the last moment.'

‘I see,' said Mitchell. ‘Apparently the murderer knew just where to find her, too.'

‘What struck me,' observed Sargent, ‘is that perhaps it wasn't that. Perhaps it was some fellow taking advantage of the fuss and confusion – I told you there was a regular pandemonium behind, all evening – to have a go at the safe in my room. Then, when he found her there, he knifed her and ran for it.'

‘That'll have to be considered,' agreed Mitchell, ‘but there seems no reason for the knifing. If he hoped the room would be empty, and found her there instead, he need have merely said, “Beg pardon,” and gone away again. Was there anything in the safe?'

‘Well, no – not to-night,' Sargent confessed. ‘The takings are still in the box-office safe – we don't generally transfer them till after the place closes.'

‘There's no sign of the safe in your room having been tampered with, and there's nothing missing – except her own handbag. And she was already there in the room, so she can't have disturbed a thief at work and been stabbed while he was making his escape. If there was a thief, there doesn't seem any reason for him to have attacked her. I think you said she told you herself she didn't want to have anything to do with Leslie Irwin. You were on fairly intimate terms with her, then?'

‘Oh, no. Only in a business way,' Sargent protested, his voice sullen and hesitating now, as if he did not wish even to admit that much. ‘She was very keen on getting a start, acting for the films. She came to see me here once or twice, to know if I could help her.'

‘Did you try to in any way?'

‘Well, of course, there wasn't much I could do really. I told her – well, we talked it over once or twice, at dinner.' He added defiantly, ‘We went up West, now and then, to have dinner together. I tried to choke her off, but in the end I had to promise to introduce her to some of the big people.'

‘Did you do that?'

‘Well, no. You see' – Sargent stopped, and laughed in an embarrassed way – ‘I expect I blew a bit about my influence and the people I knew. Of course, I do know some, but just as an exhibitor. I don't reckon any introduction I could give would be much use. That's really what I wanted to explain – to let her down lightly, if you see what I mean, after she had got to expecting too much. That's why I treated her to a dinner or two, to ease her off.'

‘To ease her off,' repeated Mitchell doubtfully, thinking the method was one hardly likely to be successful, and wondering greatly how much this story meant. ‘Was it at one of these dinners she told you she didn't want to have anything to do with Leslie Irwin?'

‘Well, yes, it was.'

‘Do you know anything about a Claude Maddox?'

Sargent looked blank, and shook his head.

‘No. Who is he?' he asked.

‘Apparently he was engaged to her – at least, that's what he says.'

‘Oh, that's a lie,' Sargent protested, looking very much disturbed. ‘I'm sure... I never heard... I mean, she would have told me... I should have heard.'

‘Or Mr Beattie?' Mitchell asked.

‘Oh, I knew he was running after her,' Sargent answered. ‘There were plenty like that. This Maddox was most likely another of them – lots of them, I know. She hardly knew them all herself.'

‘She does seem to have been a busy young lady,' Mitchell agreed.

‘I don't want you to misunderstand me,' Sargent went on. ‘I just took a friendly interest in her, that's all. I wanted to help her if I could. That's why I hit on this idea of a Beauty Contest. I knew she would have a good chance of winning it. I thought it was a good publicity idea in itself, and if she won it she would have all the introductions she wanted. Of course, what she was after was to get out to Hollywood – that's what she was really keen on. Look here, I don't want any of this to get out. I suppose it needn't, need it? You see, Mrs Sargent... I didn't tell her about those dinners up West Carrie and I had together – no need to; there was nothing in them... Oh,' he added, with a touch of bitterness, ‘Carrie knew how to take care of herself – just how to keep you at arm's length.' He paused, and seemed to ruminate in silence on past experiences that had not been altogether flattering to his self-esteem. ‘Well, now then, I don't want anything said about it publicly, you understand? Not that it matters really, only it might lead to a little bit of bother at home – cost me a new diamond ring or a new fur coat to put it right,' he explained, with a somewhat feeble grin.

‘Nothing will be said that is not necessary, nothing will be kept back that is,' Mitchell assured him gravely; and, after a few more questions, Sargent was allowed to go, though not before he had reiterated once again that his friendship with Miss Mears had been of the most ordinary and innocent type.

‘Which I am inclined to think it was,' Mitchell commented, after his departure, ‘but more thanks to her than to him, I daresay. I'm beginning to think Miss Mears was a rather remarkable young lady in her way. I wish I knew what was keeping Penfold – have to send an expedition to look for him soon. You had better bring in that doorkeeper you were telling me about, Owen. Wood's his name, isn't it? We had better hear what he has to say.'

But Wood merely repeated the story already told – that a rough-looking man had asked for a Miss Quin, and while the list was being consulted for her name, which was not on it, had pushed by into the building.

‘Any other night,' declared Wood, ‘I'd have been after him like a shot, and had him out before he knew what was happening, but, to-night – well, a pantomime, that's what it's been; same as Mr Sargent said himself – a pantomime, he said, and so it was all the blessed evening, with all them blessed girls all rushing in and out same as they were, all mad together, and all their friends and relatives after 'em, brothers especial. If you ask me,' said Mr Wood solemnly, ‘every girl what entered for the competition to-night had ten brothers at the least, and most of 'em a good many more. Brothers – why, they sprout brothers, they do.'

‘Well, never mind that,' said Mitchell. ‘Did you see this man, you speak of, again?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Didn't see him go out?'

‘No; never set eyes on him again. But that's not to say he didn't go by without me noticing, harassed as I was with brothers and suchlike by the dozen and the score, so as it was all evening just a fair pantomime.'

‘So you said,' interposed Mitchell. ‘Can you describe him?'

But that was altogether beyond Mr Wood's powers, except for the bare facts that he was elderly, about middle height, was shabbily dressed, wore a cloth cap, and hadn't shaved that morning – or washed either, in Mr Wood's opinion. Also he had been drinking, for his breath smelt of beer, which Mr Wood considered a good smell in its time and place, but not in his little office at a moment and on an evening which was more like a pantomime.

‘Quite so,' agreed Mitchell, and, as there was apparently no more information to be got out of the worthy doorkeeper, dismissed him, with thanks and a cigarette, and then turned to Bobby. ‘Penfold must have got lost,' he said. ‘I–'

But then the door opened, and Penfold himself appeared. ‘Very sorry to have been so long, sir,' he said. ‘I couldn't get any answer at first, and then, when they did open the door, all I could get out of Mr Irwin was that he had nothing to say, and there was no object in coming to see you. He said we could arrest him if we liked, but short of that he wasn't going to stir. He just kept repeating he had nothing to say.'

Penfold was plainly very angry and disturbed – quite hurt indeed. To him Mr Irwin's attitude seemed simply deliberate insult to law and authority – not to mention Scotland Yard. Had it rested with him, Mr Irwin would promptly have been marched off, in custody, to the nearest police station, and deeply he regretted the pedantry of British law that made inadvisable such prompt handling of the situation.

‘That's all I could get out of him,' he repeated, and added darkly: ‘Means he knows a lot he doesn't want to say, most like. I put that to him, but I couldn't get a word more out of him, he just stuck to it he had nothing to say. So then I said he had better come and see you, and he said he was going back to bed, and off he went. Left me sitting there and walked off. Told me to stop as long as I liked, but when I did go would I put the light out and be careful to shut the door. “I mean, of course, if you do go,” he said, and cleared off.' Penfold paused, ruminating, indignant, and bewildered. ‘Jiggered, I was,' he concluded. ‘Fair jiggered.'

‘Were you, though?' said Mitchell sympathetically. ‘Well, I don't wonder. Still, if the mountain won't come to you, I believe precedent is that you go to the mountain.' But, though he spoke lightly enough, he was evidently almost as puzzled and surprised as Penfold himself by this new development. He began again his drumming with his finger-tips on the table, and then, noticing that Bobby was looking at the felt hat apparently identified as Mr Irwin's, he said: ‘Well, Owen, what do you make of that?'

‘There's evidence Leslie Irwin was seen coming out of the room where Miss Mears was found,' Bobby answered, ‘and apparently about the time of the attack on her, though there doesn't seem to be much to show whether it was before or – or just after. It seems he was in love with her, and she had just turned him down. Mr Irwin must have been in the room some time, as his hat was left there. He is said to be very fond and proud of his son. After Leslie was seen coming out of the room, apparently both father and son left here as quickly as possible.'