“Yes, I think it might be quite possible,” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
Bess Sedgwick was looking at him very intently. He almost fancied the motion of her lips saying “later.”
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “we’d better get down to some more facts now. Where had you come from tonight? What were you doing walking along Pond Street on such a foggy evening?”
“I came up for an Art class at the Tate this morning. Then I went to lunch with my friend Bridget. She lives in Onslow Square. We went to a film and when we came out, there was this fog—quite thick and getting worse, and I thought perhaps I’d better not drive home.”
“You drive a car, do you?”
“Yes. I took my driving test last summer. Only, I’m not a very good driver and I hate driving in fog. So Bridget’s mother said I could stay the night, so I rang up Cousin Mildred—that’s where I live in Kent—”
Father nodded.
“—and I said I was going to stay up overnight. She said that was very wise.”
“And what happened next?” asked Father.
“And then the fog seemed lighter suddenly. You know how patchy fogs are. So I said I would drive down to Kent after all. I said good-bye to Bridget and started off. But then it began to come down again. I didn’t like it very much. I ran into a very thick patch of it and I lost my way and I didn’t know where I was. Then after a bit I realized I was at Hyde Park Corner and I thought ‘I really can’t go down to Kent in this.’ At first, I thought I’d go back to Bridget’s but then I remembered how I’d lost my way already. And then I realized that I was quite close to this nice hotel where Uncle Derek took me when I came back from Italy and I thought, ‘I’ll go there and I’m sure they can find me a room.’ That was fairly easy, I found a place to leave the car and then I walked back up the street towards the hotel.”
“Did you meet anyone or did you hear anyone walking near you?”
“It’s funny you saying that, because I did think I heard someone walking behind me. Of course, there must be lots of people walking about in London. Only in a fog like this, it gives you a nervous feeling. I waited and listened but I didn’t hear any footsteps and I thought I’d imagined them. I was quite close to the hotel by then.”
“And then?”
“And then quite suddenly there was a shot. As I told you, it seemed to go right past my ear. The commissionaire man who stands outside the hotel came running down towards me and he pushed me behind him and then—then—the other shot came…He—he fell down and I screamed.” She was shaking now. Her mother spoke to her.
“Steady, girl,” said Bess in a low, firm voice. “Steady now.” It was the voice Bess Sedgwick used for her horses and it was quite as efficacious when used on her daughter. Elvira blinked at her, drew herself up a little, and became calm again.
“Good girl,” said Bess.
“And then you came,” said Elvira to Father. “You blew your whistle, you told the policeman to take me into the hotel. And as soon as I got in, I saw—I saw Mother.” She turned and looked at Bess Sedgwick.
“And that brings us more or less up-to-date,” said Father. He shifted his bulk a little in the chair.
“Do you know a man called Ladislaus Malinowski?” he asked. His tone was even, casual, without any direct inflection. He did not look at the girl, but he was aware, since his ears were functioning at full attention, of a quick little gasp she gave. His eyes were not on the daughter but on the mother.
“No,” said Elvira, having waited just a shade too long to say it. “No, I don’t.”
“Oh,” said Father. “I thought you might. I thought he might have been here this evening.”
“Oh? Why should he be here?”
“Well, his car is here,” said Father. “That’s why I thought he might be.”
“I don’t know him,” said Elvira.
“My mistake,” said Father. “You do, of course?” He turned his head towards Bess Sedgwick.
“Naturally,” said Bess Sedgwick. “Known him for many years.” She added, smiling slightly, “He’s a madman, you know. Drives like an angel or a devil—he’ll break his neck one of these days. Had a bad smash eighteen months ago.”
“Yes, I remember reading about it,” said Father. “Not racing again yet, is he?”
“No, not yet. Perhaps he never will.”
“Do you think I could go to bed now?” asked Elvira, plaintively. “I’m—really terribly tired.”
“Of course. You must be,” said Father. “You’ve told us all you can remember?”
“Oh. Yes.”
“I’ll go up with you,” said Bess.
Mother and daughter went out together.
“She knows him all right,” said Father.
“Do you really think so?” asked Sergeant Wadell.
“I know it. She had tea with him in Battersea Park only a day or two ago.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Old lady told me—distressed. Didn’t think he was a nice friend for a young girl. He isn’t of course.”
“Especially if he and the mother—” Waddell broke off delicately. “It’s pretty general gossip—”
“Yes. May be true, may not. Probably is.”
“In that case which one is he really after?”
Father ignored that point. He said:
“I want him picked up. I want him badly. His car’s here—just round the corner.”
“Do you think he might be actually staying in this hotel?”
“Don’t think so. It wouldn’t fit into the picture. He’s not supposed to be here. If he came here, he came to meet the girl. She definitely came to meet him, I’d say.”
The door opened and Bess Sedgwick reappeared.
“I came back,” she said, “because I wanted to speak to you.”
She looked from him to the other two men.
“I wonder if I could speak to you alone? I’ve given you all the information I have, such as it is; but I would like a word or two with you in private.”
“I don’t see any reason why not,” said Chief-Inspector Davy. He motioned with his head, and the young detective-constable took his notebook and went out. Wadell went with him. “Well?” said Chief-Inspector Davy.
Lady Sedgwick sat down again opposite him.
“That silly story about poisoned chocolates,” she said. “It’s nonsense. Absolutely ridiculous. I don’t believe anything of the kind ever happened.”
“You don’t, eh?”
“Do you?”
Father shook his head doubtfully. “You think your daughter cooked it up?”
“Yes. B
ut why?”
“Well, if you don’t know why,” said Chief-Inspector Davy, “how should I know? She’s your daughter. Presumably you know her better than I do.”
“I don’t know her at all,” said Bess Sedgwick bitterly. “I’ve not seen her or had anything to do with her since she was two years old, when I ran away from my husband.”
“Oh yes. I know all that. I find it curious. You see, Lady Sedgwick, courts usually give the mother, even if she is a guilty party in a divorce, custody of a young child if she asks for it. Presumably then you didn’t ask for it? You didn’t want it.”
“I thought it—better not.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t think it was—safe for her.”
“On moral grounds?”
“No. Not on moral grounds. Plenty of adultery nowadays. Children have to learn about it, have to grow up with it. No. It’s just that I am not really a safe person to be with. The life I’d lead wouldn’t be a safe life. You can’t help the way you’re born. I was born to live dangerously. I’m not law-abiding or conventional. I thought it would be better for Elvira, happier, to have a proper English conventional bringing-up. Shielded, looked after….”
“But minus a mother’s love?”