Towards Zero (Superintendent Battle 5)

“Yes, I agreed…I didn’t feel—that I could very well refuse.”

“Why not, Mrs. Strange?”

But she was vague.

“One doesn’t like to be disobliging.”

“You were the injured party?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It was you who divorced your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Do you—excuse me—feel any rancour against him?”

“No—not at all.”

“You have a very forgiving nature, Mrs. Strange.”

She did not answer. He tried silence—but Audrey was not Kay, to be thus goaded into speech. She could remain silent without any hint of uneasiness. Battle acknowledged himself beaten.

“You are sure it was not your idea—this meeting?”

“Quite sure.”

“You are on friendly terms with the present Mrs. Strange?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes. I think she is very beautiful.”

“Well—thank you—I think that is all.”

She got up and walked towards the door. Then she hesitated and came back.

“I would just like to say—” she spoke nervously and quickly. “You think Nevile did this—that he killed her because of the money. I’m quite sure that isn’t so. Nevile has never cared much about money. I do know that. I was married to him for eight years, you know. I just can’t see him killing anyone like that for money—it—it—isn’t Nevile. I know my saying so isn’t of any value as evidence—but I do wish you could believe it.”

She turned and hurried out of the room.

“And what do you make of her?” asked Leach. “I’ve never seen anyone so—so devoid of emotion.”

“She didn’t show any,” said Battle. “But it’s there. Some very strong emotion. And I don’t know what it is….”

VIII

Thomas Royde came last. He sat, solemn and stiff, blinking a little like an owl.

He was home from Malaya—first time for eight years. Had been in the habit of staying at Gull’s Point ever since he was a boy. Mrs. Audrey Strange was a distant cousin—and had been brought up by his family from the age of nine. On the preceding night he had gone to bed just before eleven. Yes, he had heard Mr. Nevile Strange leave the house but had not seen him. Nevile had left at about twenty past ten or perhaps a little later. He himself had heard nothing during the night. He was up and in the garden when the discovery of Lady Tressilian’s body had been made. He was an early riser.

There was a pause.

“Miss Aldin has told us that there was a state of tension in the house. Did you notice this too?”

“I don’t think so. Don’t notice things much.”

“That’s a lie,” thought Battle to himself. “You notice a good deal, I should say—more than most.”

No, he didn’t think Nevile Strange had been short of money in any way. He certainly had not seemed so. But he knew very little about Mr. Strange’s affairs.

“How well did you know the second Mrs. Strange?”

“I met her here for the first time.”

Battle played his last card.

“You may know, Mr. Royde, that we’ve found Mr. Nevile Strange’s fingerprints on the weapon. And we’ve found blood on the sleeve of the coat he wore last night.”

He paused. Royde nodded.

“He was telling us,” he muttered.

“I’m asking you frankly: Do you think he did it?”

Thomas Royde never liked to be hurried. He waited for a minute—which is a very long time—before he answered:

“Don’t see why you ask me! Not my business. It’s yours. Should say myself—very unlikely.”

“Can you think of anyone who seems to you more likely?”

Thomas shook his head.

“Only person I think likely, can’t possibly have done it. So that’s that.”

“And who is that?”

But Royde shook his head more decidedly.

“Couldn’t possibly say. Only my private opinion.”

“It’s your duty to assist the police.”

“Tell you any facts. This isn’t facts. Just an idea. And it’s impossible, anyway.”

“We didn’t get much out of him,” said Leach when Royde had gone.

Battle agreed.

“No, we didn’t. He’s got something in his mind—something quite definite. I’d like to know what it is. This is a very peculiar sort of crime, Jim, my boy—”

The telephone rang before Leach could answer. He took up the receiver and spoke. After a minute or two of listening he said “Good,” and slammed it down.

“Blood on the coat sleeve is human,” he announced. “Same blood group as Lady T’s. Looks as though Nevile Strange is for it—”

Battle had walked over to the window and was looking out with considerable interest.

“A beautiful young man out there,” he remarked. “Quite beautiful and a definite wrong ’un, I should say. It’s a pity Mr. Latimer—for I feel that that’s Mr. Latimer—was over at Easterhead Bay last night. He’s the type that would smash in his own grandmother’s head if he thought he could get away with it and if he knew he’d make something out of it.”

“Well, there wasn’t anything in it for him,” said Leach. “Lady T’s death doesn’t benefit him in any way whatever.” The telephone bell rang again. “Damn this phone, what’s the matter now?”

He went to it.

“Hullo. Oh, it’s you, doctor. What? Come round, has she? What? What?”

He turned his head. “Uncle, just come and listen to this.”

Battle came over and took the phone. He listened, his face as usual showing no expression. He said to Leach:

“Get Nevile Strange, Jim.”

When Nevile came in, Battle was just replacing the phone on its hook.

Nevile, looking white and spent, stared curiously at the Scotland Yard superintendent, trying to read the emotion behind the wooden mask.

“Mr. Strange,” said Battle. “Do you know anyone who dislikes you very much?”

Nevile stared and shook his head.

“Sure?” Battle was impressive. “I mean, sir, someone who does more than dislike you—someone who—frankly—hates your guts?”

Nevile sat bolt upright.

“No. No, certainly not. Nothing of the kind.”

“Think, Mr. Strange. Is there no one you’ve injured in any way—?”

Nevile flushed.

“There’s only one person I can be said to have injured and she’s not the kind who bears rancour. That’s my first wife, when I left her for another woman. But I can assure you that she doesn’t hate me. She’s—she’s been an angel.”

The Superintendent leaned forward across the table.

“Let me tell you, Mr. Strange; you’re a very lucky man. I don’t say I liked the case against you—I didn’t. But it was a case! It would have stood up all right, and unless the jury happened to have liked your personality, it would have hanged you.”

“You speak,” said Nevile, “as though all that were past?”

“It is past,” said Battle. “You’ve been saved, Mr. Strange, by pure chance.”

Nevile still looked inquiringly at him.

“After you left her last night,” said Battle, “Lady Tressilian rang the bell for her maid.”

He watched whilst Nevile took it in.

“After. Then Barrett saw her—?”

“Yes. Alive and well. Barrett also saw you leave the house before she went in to her mistress.”

Nevile said:

“But the niblick—my fingerprints—”

“She wasn’t hit with that niblick. Dr. Lazenby didn’t like it at the time. I saw that. She was killed with something else. That niblick was put there deliberately to throw suspicion on you. It may be by someone who overheard the quarrel and so selected you as a suitable victim, or it may be because—?

??

He paused, and then repeated his question:

“Who is there in this house that hates you, Mr. Strange?”

IX

“I’ve got a question for you, doctor,” said Battle.

They were in the doctor’s house after returning from the nursing home, where they had had a short interview with Jane Barrett.

Barrett was weak and exhausted but quite clear in her statement.

She had just been getting into bed after drinking her senna when Lady Tressilian’s bell had rung. She had glanced at the clock and seen the time—twenty-five minutes past ten.

She had put on her dressing gown and come down. She had heard a noise in the hall below and had looked over the banisters.