"Well, that's excellent from our point of view, Miss Shannon," said the Chief Inspector. "And I can only hope that you will have seen something that may help us solve our problem."
Christine shook her blonde head.
"I've no idea who bumped the old boy off - no idea at all. He just took a drink of champagne, went purple in the face and sort of collapsed."
"Do you remember when he had last drunk from his glass before that?"
The girl reflected.
"Why - yes - it was just after the cabaret. The lights went up and he picked up his glass and said something and the others did it too. Seemed to me it was a toast of some kind."
The Chief Inspector nodded.
"And then?"
"Then the music began and they all got up and went off to dance, pushing their chairs back and laughing. Seemed to get warmed up for the first time. Wonderful what champagne will do for the stickiest parties."
"They all went together - leaving the table empty?"
"Yes."
"And no one touched Mr Barton's glass."
"No one at all." Her reply came promptly. "I'm perfectly certain of that."
"And no one - no one at all came near the table while they were away."
"No one - except the waiter, of course."
"A waiter? Which waiter?"
"One of the half-fledged ones with an apron, round about sixteen. Not the real waiter. He was an obliging little fellow rather like a monkey - Italian I guess he was."
Chief Inspector Kemp acknowledged this description of Giuseppe Balsano with a nod of the head.
"And what did he do, this young waiter? He filled up the glasses?"
Christine shook her head.
"Oh, no. He didn't touch anything on the table. He just picked up an evening bag that one of the girls had dropped when they all got up."
"Whose bag was it?"
Christine took a minute or two to think.
Then she said: "That's right. It was the kid's bag - a green and gold thing. The other two women had black bags."
"What did the waiter do with the bag?"
Christine looked surprised.
"He just put it back on the table, that's all."
"You're quite sure he didn't touch any of the glasses?"
"Oh, no. He just dropped the bag down very quick and ran off because one of the real waiters was hissing at him to go somewhere or get something and everything was going to be his fault!"
"And that's the only time anyone went near that table?"
"That's right."
"But of course someone might have gone to the table without your noticing?"
But Christine shook her head very determinedly.
"No, I'm quite sure they didn't. You see Pedro had been called to the telephone and hadn't got back yet, so I had nothing to do but look around and feel bored. I'm pretty good at noticing things and from where I was sitting there wasn't much else to see but the empty table next to us."
Race asked: "Who came back first to the table?"
"The girl in green and the old boy. They sat down and then the fair man and the girl in black came back and after them the haughty piece of goods and the good-looking dark boy. Some dancer, he was. When they were all back and the waiter was warming up a dish like mad on the spirit lamp, the old boy leaned forward and made a kind of speech and then they all picked up their glasses again. And then it happened."
Christine paused and added brightly,
"Awful, wasn't it? Of course I thought it was a stroke. My aunt had a stroke and she went down just like that. Pedro came back just then and I said, 'Look, Pedro, that man's had a stroke.' And all Pedro would say was, 'Just passing out - just passing out - that's all' which was about what he was doing. I had to keep my eye on him. They don't like you passing out at a place like the Luxembourg. That's why I don't like Dagoes. When they've drunk too much they're not a bit refined any more - a girl never knows what unpleasantness she may be let in for."
She brooded for a moment and then glancing at a showy looking bracelet on her right wrist, she added, "Still, I must say they're generous enough."
Gently distracting her from the trials and compensations of a girl's existence Kemp took her through her story once more.
"That's our last chance of outside help gone," he said to Race when they had left Miss Shannon's flat. "And it would have been a good chance if it had come off. That girl's the right kind of witness. Sees things and remembers them accurately. If there had been anything to see, she'd have seen it. So the answer is that there wasn't anything to see. It's incredible. It's a conjuring trick! George Barton drinks champagne and goes and dances. He comes back, drinks from the same glass that no one has touched and Hey Presto it's full of cyanide. It's crazy - I tell you - it couldn't have happened except that it did."
He stopped a minute.
"That waiter. The little boy. Giuseppe never mentioned him. I might look into that. After all, he's the one person who was near the table whilst they were all away dancing. There might be something in it."
Race shook his head.
"If he'd put anything in Barton's glass, that girl would have seen him. She's a born observer of detail. Nothing to think about inside her head and so she uses her eyes. No, Kemp, there must be some quite simple explanation if only we could get it."
"Yes, there's one. He dropped it in himself."
"I'm beginning to believe that that is what happened - that it's the only thing that can have happened. But if so, Kemp, I'm convinced he didn't know it was cyanide."
"You mean someone gave it to him? Told him it was for indigestion or blood pressure - something like that?"
"It could be."
"Then who was the someone? Not either of the Farradays."
"That would certainly seem unlikely."
"And I'd say Mr Anthony Browne is equally unlikely. That leaves us two people - and affectionate sister-in-law -"
"And a devoted secretary."
Kemp looked at him.
"Yes - she could have planted something of the kind on him - I'm due now to go to Kidderminster House - What about you? Going round to see Miss Marle?"
"I think I'll go and see the other one - at the office. Condolences of an old friend. I might take her out to lunch."
"So that is what you think."
"I don't think anything yet. I'm casting about for spoor."
"You ought to see Iris Marle, all the same."
"I'm going to see her - but I'd rather go to the house first when she isn't there. Do you know why, Kemp?"
"I'm sure I couldn't say."
"Because there's someone there who twitters - twitters like a little bird... A little bird told me - was a saying of my youth. It's very true, Kemp - these twitterers can tell one a lot if one just lets them - twitter!"
Chapter 4
The two men parted. Race halted a taxi and was driven to George Barton's office in the city. Chief Inspector Kemp, mindful of his expense account, took a bus to within a stone's throw of Kidderminster House.
The inspector's face was rather grim as he mounted the steps and pushed the bell. He was, he knew, on difficult ground. The Kidderminster faction had immense political influence and its ramifications spread out like a network throughout the country. Chief Inspector Kemp had full belief in the impartiality of British justice. If Stephen or Alexandra Farraday had been concerned in the death of Rosemary Barton or in that of George Barton no "pull" or "influence" would enable them to escape the consequences.
But if they were guiltless, or the evidence against them was too vague to ensure conviction, then the responsible officer must be careful how he trod or he would be liable to get a rap over the knuckles from his superiors. In these circumstances it can be understood that the Chief Inspector did not much relish what lay before him. It seemed to him highly probable that the Kidderminsters would, as he phrased it to himself, "cut up rough."
Kemp soon found, however, that he had been somewhat na?ve in his assumption. Lord Kidderminster was far too experienced a diplomat to resort to crudities.
On stating his business. Chief Inspector Kemp was taken at once by a pontifical butler to a dim book-lined room at the back of the house where he found Lord Kidderminster and his daughter and son-in-law awaiting him.
Coming forward, Lord Kidderminster shook hands and said courteously:
"You are exactly on time, Chief Inspector. May I say that I much appreciate your courtesy in coming here instead of demanding that my daughter and her husband should come to Scotland Yard which, of course, they would have been quite prepared to do if necessary - that goes without saying - but they appreciate your kindness."
Sandra said in a quiet voice: "Yes, indeed, Inspector."
She was wearing a dress of some soft dark red material, and sitting as she was with the light from the long narrow window behind her, she reminded Kemp of a stained glass figure he had once seen in a cathedral abroad.
The long oval of her face and the slight angularity of her shoulders helped the illusion. Saint Somebody or other, they had told him - but Lady Alexandra Farraday was no saint - not by a long way. And yet some of these old saints had been funny people from his point of view, not kindly ordinary decent Christian folk, but intolerant, fanatical, cruel to themselves and others.
Stephen Farraday stood close by his wife. His face expressed no emotion whatever. He looked correct and formal, an appointed legislator of the people. The natural man was well buried. But the natural man was there, as the Chief Inspector knew.
Lord Kidderminster was speaking, directing with a good deal of ability the trend of the interview.
"I won't disguise from you, Chief Inspector, that this is a very painful and disagreeable business for us all. This is the second time that my daughter and son-in-law have been connected with a violent death in a public place - the same restaurant and two members of the same family. Publicity of such a kind is always harmful to a man in the public eye. Publicity, of course, cannot be avoided. We all realise that, and both my daughter and Mr Faraday are anxious to give you all the help they can in the hope that the matter may be cleared up speedily and public interest in it die down."
"Thank you, Lord Kidderminster. I much appreciate the attitude you have taken up. It certainly makes things easier for us."
Sandra Farraday said: "Please ask us any questions you like, Chief Inspector."
"Thank you, Lady Alexandra."
"Just one point, Chief Inspector," said Lord Kidderminster. "You have, of course, your own sources of information and I gather from my friend the Commissioner that this man Barton's death is regarded as murder rather than suicide, though on the face of it, to the outside public, suicide would seem a more likely explanation. You thought it was suicide, didn't you, Sandra, my dear?"
The Gothic figure bowed its head slightly.
Sandra said in a thoughtful voice: "It seemed to me so obvious last night. We were there in the same restaurant and actually at the same table where poor Rosemary Barton poisoned herself last year. We have seen something of Mr Barton during the summer in the country and he has really been very odd - quite unlike himself - and we all thought that his wife's death was preying on his mind. He was very fond of her, you know, and I don't think he ever got over her death. So that the idea of suicide seemed, if not natural, at least possible - whereas I can't imagine why anyone should want to murder George Barton."
Stephen Farraday said quickly: "No more can I. Barton was an excellent fellow. I'm sure he hadn't got an enemy in the world."
Chief Inspector Kemp looked at the three inquiring faces turned towards him and reflected a moment before speaking. "Better let 'em have it," he thought to himself.
"What you say is quite correct, I am sure, Lady Alexandra. But you see there are a few things that you probably don't know yet."
Lord Kidderminster interposed quickly: "We mustn't force the Chief Inspector's hand. It is entirely in his discretion what facts he makes public."
"Thanks, m'lord, but there's no reason I shouldn't explain things a little more clearly. I'll boil it down to this. George Barton, before his death, expressed to two people his belief that his wife had not, as was believed, committed suicide, but had instead been poisoned by some third party. He also thought that he was on the track of that third party, and the dinner and celebration last night, ostensibly in honour of Miss Marle's birthday, was really some part of a plan he had made for finding out the identity of his wife's murderer."
There was a moment's silence - and in that silence Chief Inspector Kemp, who was a sensitive man in spite of his wooden appearance, felt the presence of something that he classified as dismay. It was not apparent on any face, but he could have sworn that it was there.
Lord Kidderminster was the first to recover himself. He said:
"But surely - that belief in itself might point to the fact that poor Barton was not quite - er - himself? Brooding over his wife's death might have slightly unhinged him mentally."
"Quite so, Lord Kidderminster, but it at least shows that his frame of mind was definitely not suicidal."
"Yes - yes, I take your point."
And again there was silence. Then Stephen Farraday said sharply:
"But how did Barton get such an idea into his head? After all, Mrs Barton did commit suicide."
Chief Inspector Kemp transferred a placid gaze to him.
"Mr Barton didn't think so."
Lord Kidderminster interposed.
"But the police were satisfied? There was no suggestion of anything but suicide at the time?"
Chief Inspector Kemp said quietly: "The facts were compatible with suicide. There was no evidence that her death was due to any other agency."
He knew that a man of Lord Kidderminster's calibre would seize on the exact meaning of that.
