Ever After (51 page)

“Bracken, I’ll never be beautiful or clever. Are you sure you’re not making a mistake?”

“Quite sure.”

“But I’m not at all the sort of woman I thought you’d marry!”

“What sort was that?” Bracken inquired with interest.

“You ought to have a princess, at least—beautiful and strange.”

“But that’s what I’m going to have.”

She shook her head.

“It’s just me, Bracken.”

“Some day—not in a hansom cab—I shall really exert myself, Dinah, and tell you all the things you are to me. Meanwhile, will you just take my word for it that you’re everything I want in the world?”

They dined very well and unobserved at a corner table at Antoine’s in Compton Street, and Bracken ordered champagne. Dinah said she felt as though they were married already, and Bracken suspected that the waiter was convinced it was a honeymoon.

“I’ve always wondered what people talked about after they were married,” Dinah confessed as the meal went on. “I always thought they must run out of things to say. But now it all looks so
easy
!”

It was nearly ten when they got back to St. James’s Square after a roundabout drive home because there was still so much to say. They would not be able to see each other again before she was banished to Gloucestershire, except perhaps a few minutes at the wedding with everybody looking. Bracken was firm against stolen meetings from now on, feeling that he must pull up somewhere until after the divorce became a fact, or at least a
decree
nisi.
He had laughed when Partridge cautioned him against becoming Involved, as
Partridge
put it, with another woman. He had laughed still more when Partridge explained further that by English law one adultery might make a divorce but two cancelled out and no divorce was possible. And it was just that sort of thing, said Partridge gloomily, that the Queen’s Proctor dearly loved to ferret out. None of it made any sense. But at least the Queen’s Proctor must not be allowed to
take an interest in his meetings with Dinah. She might be permitted to see Virginia after she returned to the Hall, and they could send each other letters that way. Virginia would love carrying messages.

Bracken stood at the bottom of the steps and waited till the
footman
had let her into the house. Then he walked slowly back to Ryder Street, thinking what a day it had been.

As he put his key into the lock a man stepped out of the shadows on his right and said, “Mr. Murray?”

“Yes,” said Bracken. “Who are you?”

“Inspector Evans, of Scotland Yard.”

“Well, come in!” said Bracken cordially, beyond surprise. “Let’s have a drink!”

W
HEN
Bracken had turned on the lights and glanced at the man’s card, he said, “Well, Inspector—what’s on your mind?”

“I’m afraid it’s rather a—difficult subject,” said the Inspector delicately, and Bracken stared at him.

“Don’t be tactful,” he said. “Why have you come to see me?”

“Are you aware, Mr. Murray, that a woman calling herself your wife has been living in a Bloomsbury lodging-house?”

“I am since this afternoon,” Bracken admitted, while his insides went into a cold, tight knot. “Why?”

“You saw her this afternoon?”

“She came to my office. First I knew she was in England. We—haven’t been living together.”

“When did she leave your office
today?”

“About five, I think it was.”

“Did you accompany her?”

“No. I left quite a bit later. Why?”

“Have you seen her since then?”

“No.
Why?
”

“She has been murdered.”

There was silence. Then—

“Let’s have that drink,” said Bracken, going to the sideboard. As he handed the Inspector his glass he said, “Where and how? Or can’t you say? Am I under suspicion?”

“It would be just as well if you can account for your time during the last four hours.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Can’t. So what’s next?”

“I think I’d better warn you, Mr. Murray, that you’re putting yourself in rather a serious position.”

“Yes. What next?”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to hold yourself available for further questioning.”

“I’m afraid you will. Does that mean jail?”

“No,” said the Inspector, and added reassuringly, “Oh, no,” and left it at that.

“You mean not yet,” Bracken suggested. “Mind if I get my solicitor around here before we go any further?”

“No objection to that,” said the Inspector.

“You see, just to make it look worse,” said Bracken, going to the telephone on the desk, “I had started divorce proceedings. Hullo, I say, Partridge—I’m frightfully sorry I didn’t keep that
appointment
. Would you mind coming round to Ryder Street now?—Well, as a matter of fact, Scotland Yard is here, and I think I’m going to need legal advice.—Thanks very much.” He hung up. “Lives in Dover Street Be here in a few minutes. Do you think in the meantime you could tell me a little more about what has
happened
?”

“May I ask you, Mr. Murray, why you are wearing a coat that doesn’t match your trousers?”

“Oh, well, that I can explain. I got wet coming home from the office. Before I went out again in rather a hurry I changed my damp coat without stopping to change my trousers. It’s in the other room, in case you want to examine it for bloodstains?”

“We aren’t looking for bloodstains. She was strangled.”

“In broad daylight?”

“Some time between six and nine
P.M
.”

Bracken looked down at his own right hand, flexing the fingers thoughtfully.

“That wouldn’t be easy to do,” he said. “Lisl is—was a tall,
extremely
able-bodied woman. It would be like tackling a wildcat.”

“Unless of course it was someone she knew well,” the Inspector suggested quietly. “Someone who could come quite close to her, perhaps take her in his arms, without arousing her suspicions.”

Bracken nodded.

“Such as a husband. Yes, I can quite see that,” he said.

There was a silence, while the Inspector sipped his whisky
appreciatively
and Bracken sat staring into his own glass.

“Who found her?” he asked then.

“She had struck up an acquaintance with a woman named Levine who lived across the passage—a woman of rather questionable
character
,” said the Inspector apologetically. “Apparently Mrs. Murray had confided in her. She knew that Mrs. Murray intended to see you today, and they had arranged to dine together so that Mrs. Murray could tell her about the interview. She heard Mrs. Murray come in about six o’clock and set her own door ajar to show that she was in and waiting to join her. A little later she heard Mrs. Murray’s door open and assumed that she was coming to keep their engagement.
Instead, she reached her own door just in time to see Mrs. Murray’s door closing behind a man, She saw only his back.”

“Well?” Bracken queried as the Inspector paused. “Didn’t she listen at the keyhole?”

“Since it appeared to her that Mrs. Murray had company, and she supposed it was yourself, the Levine woman says she went out to a place near by where they had dined together before. Mrs. Murray did not join her there. When she went back to the house an hour or so later she knocked on Mrs. Murray’s door and got no answer. She waited another hour, feeling, she says, vaguely uneasy—knocked again and still got no answer. Then she tried the door, thinking Mrs. Murray might have left a message for her inside. The door was not locked. Mrs. Murray was lying across the sofa, dead.”

“So Levine is ready to put the rope around my neck,” said Bracken.

“No, it’s not as bad as that,” the Inspector objected mildly. “But we would like to know—”

“Where I was at the time. No one could blame you for that. The Levine didn’t happen to notice whether the man was wearing a coat that didn’t quite match his trousers?”

“The passage was quite dark by then. Mrs. Murray’s room was lighted. She saw his silhouette—a tall man with broad shoulders.”

“Six feet two, one hundred and eighty-five pounds. Or if you prefer, thirteen stone three.”

The Inspector smiled indulgently.

“You needn’t take too grim a view, Mr. Murray. Not yet.”

“If I had ever wanted to murder my wife, Inspector—and I don’t say I never have—I don’t think I should have attempted it with my bare hands. Strangling—as I understand it—requires time. It almost requires that the murderer should, as it were, enjoy his work.” In spite of himself his shoulders hunched nervously. “I just wouldn’t have the guts,” he said.

Partridge arrived then and was given a tall tumbler while events were explained to him. Tongue-tied in the presence of the
Inspector
, he looked guardedly at Bracken, who laughed recklessly and said, “All right,
tell
him! I can’t see any sense in trying to be discreet about this thing. I’m in it just about up to my neck! What Mr. Partridge hesitates to mention,” he added to the Inspector, “is that I asked him to dine with me at my club to discuss the interview with my wife which took place this afternoon, and then I didn’t turn up!”

The Inspector began to look severe.

“I must say, Mr. Murray, you’re not making it easy for us,” he said disapprovingly.

“Oh, I thought I was. Have another drink?”

“You’re making it very easy for him to get a wrong impression, if I may say so,” Partridge rebuked him. “Surely you can say where you did have dinner.”

“At a pub in Kensington,” said Bracken, too promptly.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Is there someone there, such as a barmaid, who could identify you?”

“No.”

“You are not on oath now,” said Partridge, frowning at him. “But you may be. Where did you have dinner tonight?”

“Meaning you don’t like the pub in Kensington? I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”

“Mr. Murray—” The Inspector cleared his throat. “Is it your firm resolve not to account for your whereabouts during those four hours?”

“Nothing firmer.”

And now, for the first time, the shadow of doubt dwelt on the Inspector’s face, and Partridge looked quite apprehensive.

“About the divorce,” said the Inspector. “You mentioned, didn’t you, that you had started proceedings. Was everything in order on that? Were there any hitches?”

“None. The evidence was quite clear against her,” Bracken stated definitely.

“The case would have come up after the Long Vacation,” said Partridge. “There wasn’t much doubt of the verdict. He would have had his freedom. So you see there was no motive.”

“But now there isn’t any case!” Bracken pointed out wilfully and both of them turned on him looks of grave reproof.

Bracken stood on the hearthrug holding his glass, the evening with Dinah still bubbling in him like champagne, producing in him what seemed to him extraordinary clarity, complete detachment, utter reason, with regard to the fantastic circumstances he faced. He felt no grief for Lisl—only horror at the ugly thing that had happened to her. He did acknowledge a kind of guilt. She had told him she was afraid, and he had dismissed that as part of her game. But it was very fresh in his mind that the last words she spoke to him in the office were an implicit threat to Dinah.

“My dear Partridge—my dear Inspector Evans—can either of you seriously contemplate the possibility of my being such a
blithering
fool as to murder Lisl now? I’d have everything to lose and nothing to gain! You say yourself I’d have been free in a few months’ time. Or do I seem to you the sort of man who could so hate a woman he once loved that he could lose sight of everything
else in a brutal desire to choke the life out of her? Do you think perhaps I am not quite sane? Because if I am sane, I am not the man you are looking for! The man you want, Inspector, is the man who still loves her, who cares what she does, or has done in the recent past. A man who might even dread a reconciliation with me, if she came to see me as she did today.”

“Is there such a man?” the Inspector queried alertly.

“I think there is. Name of Hutchinson. The fellow she left me for, several years ago.”

“Where was he last heard of?”

“That I don’t know, except that she told me this afternoon he followed her everywhere she went after she had left him in his turn, for someone else. It seems most likely that he has trailed her to England. She said he had made threats. She said she was afraid of him. I blame myself very bitterly now for not taking her apprehension more seriously. Apparently she had good reason to fear him.”

“Well, that’s something to go on with.” The Inspector rose, visibly relieved that Bracken had been able to offer even this glimmering hope of a solution which might absolve himself. “We’ll have to try to find him. Could you identify him?”

“Yes, I could, though I haven’t seen him for three years. He’s about my size, but heavier, grizzled hair and moustache. He’s a Californian, so his speech would be noticeable here.”

The Inspector was writing down notes.

“Well, I think that’s all for now, Mr. Murray. If you will kindly come to my office tomorrow morning at ten, I’ll have the Levine woman there. I want her to see you, from behind. And we’ll want to go into this matter of Hutchinson further.” He looked back gravely from the doorway. “We’re still interested in where you were tonight, you know,” he said, and went.

When the door had closed Partridge said worriedly, “My dear boy, you are asking for it, you know, with that story about the pub. What happened?”

“Not even for you, Partridge, will I name names tonight.”

Partridge looked more worried still.

“It is most indiscreet of you to be involved with another woman just now.”

“So you’ve said, and I didn’t mean to be. Indiscreet is a most inadequate word for what I did this evening—and I won’t part with it unless they’ve got me right up there on the gallows!”

“It won’t come to that, of course, but—”

“You mean you hope it won’t, but you aren’t quite sure,” Bracken grinned. “Hutchinson is their man. It could be Serrano, or it could be somebody since Serrano, but I’m betting on Hutchinson.
Of course if they can’t find him, or anybody else but me, it begins to be awkward. But I’m also betting on Scotland Yard. At least they didn’t clap me in jail!”