At Bertram's Hotel (Miss Marple 11)

“She didn’t say she had.”

“But she didn’t say she’d come by air, did she?”

“No,” Bridget agreed. “But why should she come back by boat and train instead of by air?”

“Well, if she had found out what she wanted to know and had had nowhere to stay, she might think it would be easier to come back by the Night Mail.”

“Why, I suppose she might.”

Davy smiled faintly.

“I don’t suppose you young ladies,” he said, “think of going anywhere except in terms of flying, do you, nowadays?”

“I suppose we don’t really,” agreed Bridget.

“Anyway, she came back to England. Then what happened? Did she come to you or ring you up?”

“She rang up.”

“What time of day?”

“Oh, in the morning sometime. Yes, it must have been about eleven or twelve o’clock, I think.”

“And she said, what?”

“Well, she just asked if everything was all right.”

“And was it?”

“No, it wasn’t, because, you see, Mrs. Melford had rung up and Mummy had answered the phone and things had been very difficult and I hadn’t known what to say. So Elvira said she would not come to Onslow Square, but that she’d ring up her cousin Mildred and try to fix up some story or other.”

“And that’s all that you can remember?”

“That’s all,” said Bridget, making certain reservations. She thought of Mr. Bollard and the bracelet. That was certainly a thing she was not going to tell Chief-Inspector Davy. Father knew quite well that something was being kept from him. He could only hope that it was not something pertinent to his inquiry. He asked again:

“You think your friend was really frightened of someone or something?”

“Yes I do.”

“Did she mention it to you or did you mention it to her?”

“Oh, I asked her outright. At first she said no and then she admitted that she was frightened. And I know she was,” went on Bridget violently. “She was in danger. She was quite sure of it. But I don’t know why or how or anything about it.”

“Your surety on this point relates to that particular morning, does it, the morning she had come back from Ireland?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s when I was so sure about it.”

“On the morning when she might have come back on the Irish Mail?”

“I don’t think it’s very likely that she did. Why don’t you ask her?”

“I probably shall do in the end. But I don’t want to call attention to that point. Not at the moment. It might just possibly make things more dangerous for her.”

Bridget opened round eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“You may not remember it, Miss Bridget, but that was the night, or rather the early morning, of the Irish Mail robbery.”

“Do you mean that Elvira was in that and never told me a thing about it?”

“I agree it’s unlikely,” said Father. “But it just occurred to me that she might have seen something or someone, or some incident might have occurred connected with the Irish Mail. She might have seen someone she knew, for instance, and that might have put her in danger.”

“Oh!” said Bridget. She thought it over. “You mean—someone she knew was mixed-up in the robbery.”

Chief-Inspector Davy got up.

“I think that’s all,” he said. “Sure there’s nothing more you can tell me? Nowhere where your friend went that day? Or the day before?”

Again visions of Mr. Bollard and the Bond Street shop rose before Bridget’s eyes.

“No,” she said.

“I think there is something you haven’t told me,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.

Bridget grasped thankfully at a straw.

“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “Yes. I mean she did go to some lawyers. Lawyers who were trustees, to find out something.”

“Oh, she went to some lawyers who were her trustees. I don’t suppose you know their name?”

“Their name was Egerton—Forbes Egerton and Something,” said Bridget. “Lots of names. I think that’s more or less right.”

“I see. And she wanted to find out something, did she?”

“She wanted to know how much money she’d got,” said Bridget.

Inspector Davy’s eyebrows rose.

“Indeed!” he said. “Interesting. Why didn’t she know herself?”

“Oh, because people never told her anything about money,” said Bridget. “They seem to think it’s bad for you to know actually how much money you have.”

“And she wanted to know badly, did she?”

“Yes,” said Bridget. “I think she thought it was important.”

“Well, thank you,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. “You’ve helped me a good deal.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Richard Egerton looked again at the official card in front of him, then up into the Chief-Inspector’s face.

“Curious business,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “a very curious business.”

“Bertram’s Hotel,” said Egerton, “in the fog. Yes it was a bad fog last night. I suppose you get a lot of that sort of thing in fogs, don’t you? Snatch and grab—handbags—that sort of thing?”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” said Father. “Nobody attempted to snatch anything from Miss Blake.”

“Where did the shot come from?”

“Owing to the fog we can’t be sure. She wasn’t sure herself. But we think—it seems the best idea—that the man may have been standing in the area.”

“He shot at her twice, you say?”

“Yes. The first shot missed. The commissionaire rushed along from where he was standing outside the hotel door and shoved her behind him just before the second shot.”

“So that he got hit instead, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Quite a brave chap.”

“Yes. He was brave,” said the Chief-Inspector. “His military record was very good. An Irishman.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gorman. Michael Gorman.”

“Michael Gorman.” Egerton frowned for a minute. “No,” he said. “For a moment I thought the name meant something.”

“It’s a very common name, of course. Anyway, he saved the girl’s life.”

“And why exactly have you come to me, Chief-Inspector?”

“I hoped for a little information. We always like full information, you know, about the victim of a murderous assault.”

“Oh, naturally, naturally. But really, I’ve only seen El

vira twice since she was a child.”

“You saw her when she came to call upon you about a week ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that’s quite right. What exactly do you want to know? If it’s anything about her personality, who her friends were or about boyfriends, or lovers’ quarrels—all that sort of thing—you’d do better to go to one of the women. There’s a Mrs. Carpenter who brought her back from Italy, I believe, and there’s Mrs. Melford with whom she lives in Kent.”

“I’ve seen Mrs. Melford.”

“Oh.”

“No good. Absolutely no good at all, sir. And I don’t so much want to know about the girl personally—after all, I’ve seen her for myself and I’ve heard what she can tell me—or rather what she’s willing to tell me—”

At a quick movement of Egerton’s eyebrows he saw that the other had appreciated the point of the word “willing.”

“I’ve been told that she was worried, upset, afraid about something, and convinced that her life was in danger. Was that your impression when she came to see you?”

“No,” said Egerton, slowly, “no, I wouldn’t go as far as that; though she did say one or two things that struck me as curious.”

“Such as?”

“Well, she wanted to know who would benefit if she were to die suddenly.”

“Ah,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “so she had that possibility in her mind, did she? That she might die suddenly. Interesting.”

“She’d got something in her head but I didn’t know what it was. She also wanted to know how much money she had—or would have when she was twenty-one. That, perhaps, is more understandable.”

“It’s a lot of money I believe.”

“It’s a very large fortune, Chief-Inspector.”

“Why do you think she wanted to know?”

“About the money?”

“Yes, and about who would inherit it.”

“I don’t know,” said Egerton. “I don’t know at all. She also brought up the subject of marriage—”

“Did you form the impression that there was a man in the case?”

“I’ve no evidence—but—yes, I did think just that. I felt sure there was a boyfriend somewhere in the offing. There usually is! Luscombe—that’s Colonel Luscombe, her guardian, doesn’t seem to know anything about a boyfriend. But then dear old Derek Luscombe wouldn’t. He was quite upset when I suggested that there was such a thing in the background and probably an unsuitable one at that.”