Chapter 5
Making a cast
Bertie moved across to Ginger. "I think we'll need to do some sleuthing of our own, old boy," he murmured as the other guests gathered into groups to discuss the unexpected developments. "Constable Pearson doesn't strike me as the cream of his profession, if you see what I mean."
Nodding his agreement, Ginger turned to Celia. "Who was the last to arrive before us?" he asked. "Everyone was here when we came into the drawing room."
Celia wrinkled her brow in concentration. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I wasn't really paying attention. I had no idea it would be important."
Ginger drew in a deep breath. "Alright, let's approach it from a different angle. Was anybody else here when you came into the drawing room?"
Celia shook her head. "No," she told him, definitely. "I came in at about 7.30 and made sure everything was ready. Beech was just attending to the fire."
"I thought you said there was nobody else here," commented Ginger, puzzled.
"I meant the guests," explained Celia. "I don't count the servants."
Ginger sighed. "For the purposes of this investigation," he told her, "please let's count them as well. We need to know what everybody, including the servants, was doing."
"As you wish," replied Celia, "but most of the time, one doesn't notice them."
"Why was Beech attending to the fire, old girl?" queried Bertie. "I should have thought one of the maids would have done that."
Celia answered vaguely, "the parlour maid was taken ill, I believe. Really, girls these days aren't a patch on their elders," she added in a dismissive fashion.
"Who was the first guest to arrive?" specified Ginger.
Celia stared at the fire for a moment or two as she thought back. "Colonel Hitchcott," she said eventually. "He remarked on what a fine evening it was. Then my mother came in and the two of them began discussing bridge." She paused before continuing, searching her memory. "After that, Peregrine and Maria arrived together at the same time as Julian Simpson and Peter Fosdyke," she stated.
"That means that the Levy-Strauss couple must have been the last then," concluded Bertie. "Did they arrive together?"
"No, now you come to mention it," observed Celia. "Mrs Levy-Strauss didn't come in until just a few minutes before you arrived."
"How did she look?" asked Ginger. "Was she upset in any way?"
Celia looked at him wide-eyed. "You don't think that slip of a girl killed Cliffe, do you?" she asked him in amazement.
"The female is deadlier than the male, old girl," remarked Bertie facetiously. "You'd be surprised. It doesn't take a lot of physical force to pull a trigger, as you know yourself."
Celia nodded. She had been brought up to shoot, but the thought of turning a gun on another human being was repugnant to her. It went against everything she had been taught about the safety rules for shotguns.
Ginger repeated his question. "She always looks flustered," observed Celia, glancing at the person in question, who was now twisting a handkerchief nervously between her fingers as she talked to Lady Maria. "I don't think she was any more so than usual."
"We'll have to look into everybody's backgrounds," remarked Ginger. "There may be a link with Cliffe somewhere that would provide a motive."
"Other than sheer dislike, you mean," commented Celia. "The man was most unpleasant." When Bertie cocked a disapproving eye at her she continued with a sigh, "yes, I know - de mortuis nil nisi bonum, but he was a dreadful man. I can't think of one redeeming feature."
"Was he married?" Ginger wanted to know.
"A widower, I believe," answered Celia. "He did drop a few hints that he was on the lookout for another wife." She shuddered briefly at the memory. "Perhaps he murdered his wife and one of the suspects is a relation getting revenge," she speculated. "Or maybe his wife committed suicide because she couldn't face the prospect of living with that awful man any longer."
"She could have just left him," observed Ginger practically. "She didn't have to top herself."
"I think we need to stick to the facts," Bertie reminded them gently, "before we get too carried away. We'll have him a serial killer, a blackmailer and a swindler if we carry on like this, you know."
Celia's expression indicated her distaste. "I wouldn't put anything past him," she remarked caustically.
"This isn't helping, old girl," murmured Bertie, exasperated. "We need some hard evidence."
"Well, where do you suggest we start?" asked Ginger. "I think we're going to have to help Constable Pearson out."
Bertie polished his eyeglass mechanically as an aid to thought. "Let's have a word with Mrs Levy-Strauss," he suggested. "Do you mind if we use the morning room?" he requested to which Celia nodded.
"By all means. May I come with you?"
"I don't see why not, old girl," Bertie told her. "You can act as chaperone."
They went across to the sofa where Naomi Levy-Strauss was sitting prattling nervously to Lady Maria. She jumped when Bertie addressed her, but made no demur to accompanying them to the morning room to help them with their enquiries. Her husband looked for a moment as though he was about to protest, but changed his mind and murmured reassuringly, "Don't worry, darling, it's just a few questions. It won't take long."
Hesitantly, the petite brunette stood up. Bertie indicated the door and she followed him meekly. Ginger fell into step behind. The scent of Naomi's lily of the valley perfume surrounded her like a cloud and made him wrinkle his nose in distaste.
Once they had entered the morning room, Bertie invited her to sit down, but she insisted on pacing up and down the Turkey carpet. He sat on one of the chairs and looked at her sympathetically, thinking she reminded him of one of his hunters who had constantly box-walked, restlessly wandering round and round the stable. Celia and Ginger found seats at opposite ends of the table.
"We'd like you to tell us about this evening, before dinner," probed Ginger gently. "What did you do before you came down to the drawing room?"
Naomi Levy-Strauss looked at him sharply. "I had a bath and got dressed for dinner, of course," she said. "What else would I do?"
"What time was it when you came downstairs?" interposed Bertie.
Naomi Levy-Strauss looked from one to the other like a hunted animal. She had stopped pacing up and down. Ginger was reminded of the rabbits in the field near his childhood home; nervous, restless, whiskers and ears twitching for the first sign of danger from human or stoat.
"I didn't do anything," she said defensively, her voice small, like a child's. "I didn't kill that awful man."
"No one is accusing you of anything," Bertie reassured her. "We just want to ask you some questions about what you saw and heard. We need to establish a time frame for the events of the evening."
"I didn't see anything," she protested, almost sulkily. "Why are you picking on me?"
Bertie sighed, exasperated. Before he could make any comment, Ginger broke in.
"It's not a matter of picking on anyone," he told her gently. "We have to start somewhere and apart from us, you were the last person to arrive in the drawing room before dinner. We thought you might have some valuable information."
She glanced at him sharply again and he thought her pallor had intensified. For a moment it looked as though she was about to demand who had given that information, but after a glance at Celia she admitted, "I went back to my room. I'd forgotten something."
Ginger tried to remember where the Levy-Strauss' room was in relation to the dead man's. Celia came to his aid.
"So you would be nowhere near Cliffe's room in the East Wing," she remarked, "if you went straight to your room. Which staircase did you use?"
"I don't follow," murmured Naomi unconvincingly. "What do you mean, which staircase?"
"The main staircase or the one from the servants' quarters," clarified Celia.
Naomi hesitated and Ginger wondered why she did not answer immediately. It seemed a simple enough question.
"I don't remember," declared Naomi eventually.
Ginger frowned, Bertie snorted and Celia murmured, "Oh come now!"
"I don't!" exclaimed Naomi in the face of these expressions of disbelief. "I've been up and down to my room all day - it's a long way and I never seem to have everything I need. Sometimes I used one set of stairs and sometimes I used the other. How can you expect me to remember?" She seemed on the verge of hysteria.
"What did you go to fetch?" asked Bertie. "Or don't you remember that, either?" he added softly.
"My bag," came the prompt reply. "I had some pills in it. I need them for my nerves. I couldn't go through dinner without them."
Three pairs of eyes converged on the petite brunette. Naomi Levy-Strauss was twisting a handkerchief convulsively in her fingers, but of her evening bag there was no sign.
No one commented and Naomi herself appeared not to notice the lack.
"Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?" prompted Ginger. "While you were upstairs or on the way down, I mean."
"What sort of thing?"
"Noises, a shot, a scream, sounds of a struggle, running footsteps. The windows were open. Sounds travel a long way on a still night."
"No, nothing," declared Naomi, almost defiantly.
"Did you see anyone?" persisted Ginger. "That includes any of the servants," he added.
Naomi shook her head vehemently, but refused to meet his eyes. "No," she stated firmly. "Nobody."
Bertie and Ginger exchanged glances.
"I think," said Bertie finally, "perhaps you might take Mrs Levy-Strauss back to the drawing room, Celia. We may wish to talk to you again," he added as Naomi relaxed, relief evident in the slackening of tension. Thoughtfully he watched Celia escort the girl out of the morning room. As the door closed, his eyes met Ginger's. "She's lying," he stated positively. "She is definitely hiding something."
Ginger nodded. "That was the impression I got, too," he concurred. "The question is, why? Who is she protecting? What doesn't she want us to know?"
"Perhaps we'd better have a word with her husband before they get a chance to hold a jolly old confab and get their story straight," mused Bertie. "Just slip along and collect him, will you?"
Ginger nodded briefly and departed on his errand. As he strode swiftly along the corridor to the drawing room he reflected on Naomi's strange reluctance to admit to which staircase she had used. What did it matter? He tried to visualise the layout of the house and made a mental note to investigate later.
When he arrived in the drawing room, he was relieved to notice that Celia was still close beside Naomi, who was clinging to her husband's hand. Ginger caught the man's eye and requested an interview.
Levy-Strauss stood up. He was dark and swarthy; a tall, well built man who towered over Ginger. "Lady Celia tells me you're a policeman," he rumbled. When Ginger nodded, he continued, "you have been interrogating my wife. She is very upset."
"I would hardly call it an interrogation," protested Ginger. "We asked a few questions in a civilised manner, that's all." He explained that there had never been any intention to cause any distress, but as they were attached to Scotland Yard and a crime had been committed on the premises, they were duty bound to assist the local police in the pursuance of their duties.
"This dreadful man," stated Levy-Strauss as he accompanied Ginger along the corridor. "He committed suicide, I am convinced of it. There is no need for any investigation." He sounded very sure of himself.
Remembering the Colonel's mention of Cliffe's treatment for depression as a possible reason for suicide, almost against his will Ginger found himself drawn to ask the man why he was so certain, although he knew the lack of weapon made it impossible.
"When you investigate his dealings, as you will - you must - you will find he is …" he corrected himself, "he was a dishonest man. He could no longer live with himself."
Ginger forbore to ask why the man should have chosen that very time and place to suddenly become so overwhelmed by a sense of guilt that he could no longer face living and showed Levy-Strauss into the morning room.
