Race walked down the steps smiling.
From the nearest call-box he put through a call to Kemp.
Their interchange was brief but satisfactory.
Kemp said: "I'll send off a cable at once. We ought to hear by return. I must say it will be a great relief if you're right."
"I think I'm right. The sequence is pretty clear."
Chapter 8
Chief Inspector Kemp was not in a very good humour.
For the last half-hour he had been interviewing a frightened white rabbit of sixteen who, by virtue of his uncle Charles's great position, was aspiring to be a waiter of the class required by the Luxembourg. In the meantime, he was one of six harried underlings who ran about with aprons round their waists to distinguish them from the superior article, and whose duty it was to bear the blame for everything, fetch and carry, provide rolls and pats of butter and be occasionally and unceasingly hissed at in French, Italian and occasionally English. Charles, as befitted a great man, so far from showing favour to a blood relation, hissed, cursed and swore at him even more than he did at the others. Nevertheless Pierre aspired in his heart to be no less than the head waiter of a chic restaurant himself one day in the far future.
At the moment, however, his career had received a check, and he gathered that he was suspected of no less than murder.
Kemp turned the lad inside out and disgustedly convinced himself that the boy had done no less and no more than what he had said - namely, picked up a lady's bag from the floor and replaced it by her plate.
"It is as I am hurrying with sauce to M. Robert and already he is impatient, and the young lady sweeps her bag off the table as she goes to dance, so I pick it up and put it on the table, and then I hurry on, for already M. Robert he is making the signs frantically to me. That is all, monsieur."
And that was all. Kemp disgustedly let him go, feeling strongly tempted to add, "But don't let me catch you doing that sort of thing again."
Sergeant Pollock made a distraction by announcing that they had telephoned up to say that a young lady was asking for him or rather for the officer in charge of the Luxembourg case.
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Miss Chloe West."
"Let's have her up," said Kemp resignedly. "I can give her ten minutes. Mr Farraday's due after that. Oh, well, won't do any harm to keep him waiting a few minutes. Makes them jittery, that does."
When Miss Chloe West walked into the room, Kemp was at once assailed by the impression that he recognised her. But a minute later he abandoned that impression.
No, he had never seen this girl before, he was sure of that. Nevertheless the vague haunting sense of familiarity remained to plague him.
Miss West was about twenty-five, tall, brown-haired and very pretty. Her voice was rather conscious of its diction and she seemed decidedly nervous.
"Well, Miss West, what can I do for you?" Kemp spoke briskly.
"I read in the paper about the Luxembourg - the man who died there."
"Mr George Barton? Yes? Did you know him?"
"Well, no, not exactly. I mean I didn't really know him."
Kemp looked at her carefully and discarded his first deduction.
Chloe West was looking extremely refined and virtuous - severely so. He said pleasantly:
"Can I have your exact name and address first, please, so that we know where we are?"
"Chloe Elizabeth West. 15 Merryvale Court, Maida Vale. I'm an actress."
Kemp looked at her again out of the corner of his eye, and decided that that was what she really was. Repertory, he fancied - in spite of her looks she was the earnest kind.
"Yes, Miss West?"
"When I read about Mr Barton's death and that the - the police were inquiring into it, I thought perhaps I ought to come and tell you something. I spoke to my friend about it and she seemed to think so. I don't suppose it's really anything to do with it, but -"
Miss West paused.
"We'll be the judge of that," said Kemp pleasantly. "Just tell me about it."
"I'm not acting just at the moment," explained Miss West.
Inspector Kemp nearly said "Resting" to show that he knew the proper terms, but restrained himself.
"But my name is down at the agencies and my picture in Spotlight... That, I understand, is where Mr Barton saw it. He got into touch with me and explained what he wanted me to do."
"Yes?"
"He told me he was having a dinner party at the Luxembourg and that he wanted to spring a surprise on his guests. He showed me a photograph and told me that he wanted me to make up as the original. I was very much the same colouring, he said."
Illumination flashed across Kemp's mind. The photograph of Rosemary he had seen on the desk in George's room in Elvaston Square. That was who the girl had reminded him of. She was like Rosemary Barton - not perhaps startlingly so - but the general type and cast of features was the same.
"He also brought me a dress to wear - I've brought it with me. A greyish green silk. I was to do my hair like the photograph (it was a coloured one) and accentuate the resemblance with make-up. Then I was to come to the Luxembourg and go into the restaurant during the first cabaret show and sit down at Mr Barton's table where there would be a vacant place. He took me to lunch there and showed me where the table would be."
"And why didn't you keep the appointment, Miss West?"
"Because about eight o'clock that night - someone - Mr Barton - rang up and said the whole thing had been put off. He said he'd let me know next day when it was coming off. Then the next morning, I saw his death in the papers."
"And very sensibly you came along to us," said Kemp pleasantly. "Well, thank you very much, Miss West. You've cleared up one mystery - the mystery of the vacant place. By the way, you said just now - 'someone' - and then, 'Mr Barton.' Why is that?"
"Because at first I didn't think it was Mr Barton. His voice sounded different."
"It was a man's voice?"
"Oh, yes, I think so - at least - it was rather husky as though he had a cold."
"And that's all he said?"
"That's all."
Kemp questioned her a little longer, but got no further.
When she had gone, he said to the sergeant: "So that was George Barton's famous 'plan.' I see now why they all said he stared at the empty chair after the cabaret and looked queer and absent-minded. His precious plan had gone wrong."
"You don't think it was he who put her off?"
"Not on your life. And I'm not so sure it was a man's voice, either. Huskiness is a good disguise through the telephone. Oh, well, we're getting on. Send in Mr Farraday if he's here."
Chapter 9
Outwardly cool and unperturbed, Stephen Farraday had turned into Great Scotland Yard full of inner shrinking. An intolerable weight burdened his spirits. It had seemed that morning as though things were going so well. Why had Inspector Kemp asked for his presence here with such significance? What did he know or suspect? It could be only vague suspicion. The thing to do was to keep one's head and admit nothing.
He felt strangely bereft and lonely without Sandra. It was as though when the two faced a peril together it lost half its terrors. Together they had strength, courage, power. Alone, he was nothing, less than nothing. And Sandra, did she feel the same? Was she sitting now in Kidderminster House, silent, reserved, proud and inwardly feeling horribly vulnerable?
Inspector Kemp received him pleasantly but gravely. There was a uniformed man sitting at a table with a pencil and a pad of paper. Having asked Stephen to sit down, Kemp spoke in a strongly formal manner.
"I propose, Mr Farraday, to take a statement from you. That statement will be written down and you will be asked to read it over and sign it before you leave. At the same time it is my duty to tell you that you are at liberty to refuse to make such a statement and that you are entitled to have your solicitor present if you so desire."
Stephen was taken aback but did not show it. He forced a watery smile. "That sounds very formidable, Chief Inspector."
"We like everything to be clearly understood, Mr Farraday."
"Anything I say may be used against me, is that it?"
"We don't use the word against. Anything you say will be liable to be used in evidence."
Stephen said quietly: "I understand, but I cannot imagine, Inspector, why you should need any further statement from me? You heard all I had to say this morning."
"That was a rather informal session - useful as a preliminary starting-off point. And also, Mr Farraday, there are certain facts which I imagined you would prefer to discuss with me here. Anything irrelevant to the case we try to be as discreet about as is compatible with the attainment of justice. I daresay you understand what I am driving at."
"I'm afraid I don't."
Chief Inspector Kemp sighed.
"Just this. You were on very intimate terms with the late Mrs Rosemary Barton -"
Stephen interrupted him.
"Who says so?"
Kemp leaned forward and took a type-written document from his desk.
"This is a copy of a letter found amongst the late Mrs Barton's belongings. The original is filed here and handed to us by Miss Iris Marle, who recognises the writing as that of her sister."
Stephen read: "Leopard darling -"
A wave of sickness passed over him.
Rosemary's voice... speaking - pleading... Would the past never die - never consent to be buried?
He pulled himself together and looked at Kemp.
"You may be correct in thinking Mrs Barton wrote this letter - but there is nothing to indicate that it was written to me."
"Do you deny that you paid the rent of 21 Malland Mansions, Earl's Court?"
So they knew! He wondered if they had known all the time.
He shrugged his shoulders.
"You seem very well informed. May I ask why my private affairs should be dragged into the limelight?"
"They will not unless they prove to be relevant to the death of George Barton."
"I see. You are suggesting that I first made love to his wife, and then murdered him."
"Come, Mr Farraday, I'll be frank with you. You and Mrs Barton were very close friends - you parted by your wish, not the lady's. She was proposing, as this letter shows, to make trouble. Very conveniently, she died."
"She committed suicide. I daresay I may have been partly to blame. I may reproach myself, but it is no concern of the law's."
"It may have been suicide - it may not. George Barton thought not. He started to investigate - and he died. The sequence is rather suggestive."
"I do not see why you should - well, pitch on me."
"You admit that Mrs Barton's death came at a very convenient moment for you? A scandal, Mr Farraday, would have been highly prejudicial to your career."
"There would have been no scandal. Mrs Barton would have seen reason."
"I wonder! Did your wife know about this affair, Mr Farraday?"
"Certainly not."
"You are quite sure of that statement?"
"Yes, I am. My wife has no idea that there was anything but friendship between myself and Mrs Barton. I hope she will never learn otherwise."
"Is your wife a jealous woman, Mr Farraday?"
"Not at all. She has never displayed the least jealousy where I am concerned. She is far too sensible."
The inspector did not comment on that.
Instead he said: "Have you at any time in the past year had cyanide in your possession, Mr Farraday?"
"No."
"But you keep a supply of cyanide at your country property?"
"The gardener may. I know nothing about it."
"You have never purchased any yourself at a chemist's or for photography?"
"I know nothing of photography, and I repeat that I have never purchased cyanide."
Kemp pressed him a little further before he finally let him go.
To his subordinate he said thoughtfully,
"He was very quick denying that his wife knew about his affair with the Barton woman. Why was that, I wonder?"
"Daresay he's in a funk in case she should get to hear of it, sir."
"That may be, but I should have thought he'd got the brains to see that if his wife was in ignorance, and would cut up rough, that gives him an additional motive for wanting to silence Rosemary Barton. To save his skin his line ought to have been that his wife more or less knew about the affair but was content to ignore it."
"I daresay he hadn't thought of that, sir."
Kemp shook his head. Stephen Farraday was not a fool. He had a clear and astute brain. And he had been passionately keen to impress on the inspector that Sandra knew nothing.
"Well," said Kemp, "Colonel Race seems pleased with the line he's dug up and if he's right, the Farradays are out - both of them. I shall be glad if they are. I like this chap. And personally I don't think he's a murderer."
Opening the door of their sitting-room, Stephen said, "Sandra?"
She came to him out of the darkness, suddenly holding him, her hands on his shoulders.
"Stephen?"
"Why are you all in the dark?"
"I couldn't bear the light. Tell me."
He said: "They know."
"About Rosemary?"
"Yes."
"And what do they think?"
"They see, of course, that I had a motive... Oh, my darling, see what I've dragged you into. It's all my fault. If only I'd cut loose after Rosemary's death - gone away - left you free - so that at any rate you shouldn't be mixed up in all this horrible business."
"No, not that... Never leave me... never leave me."
She clung to him - she was crying, the tears coursing down her cheeks. He felt her shudder.
"You're my life, Stephen, all my life - never leave me..."
"Do you care so much, Sandra? I never knew..."
"I didn't want you to know. But now -"
"Yes, now... We're in this together, Sandra... we'll face it together... whatever comes, together!"
