Ordeal by Innocence

Chapter 19
"I want to talk to you, Kirsty," said Philip. "Yes, of course, Philip."

Kirsten Lindstrom paused in her task. She had just brought in some washing which she was putting away in the chest of drawers.

"I want to talk to you about all this business," said Philip. "You don't mind, do you?"

"There is too much talk already," said Kirsten. "That is my view."

"But it would be as well, wouldn't it," said Philip, "to come to some conclusion among ourselves. You know what's going on at present, don't you?"

"Things are going wrong everywhere," said Kirsten.

"Do you think Leo and Gwenda will ever get married now?"

"Why not?"

"Several reasons," said Philip. "First of all, perhaps, because Leo Argyle being an intelligent man, realises that a marriage between him and Gwenda will give the police what they want. A perfectly good motive for the murder of his wife. Or, alternatively, because Leo suspects that Gwenda is the murderer. And being a sensitive man, he doesn't really like taking as a second wife the woman who killed his first wife. What did you say to that?" he added.

"Nothing," said Kirsten, "what should I say?" "Playing it very close to your chest, aren't you, Kirsty?" "I don't understand you." "Who are you covering up for, Kirsten?"

"I am not 'covering up,' as you call it, for anyone. I think there should be less talk and I think people should not stay on in this house. It is not good for them. I think you, Philip, should go home with your wife to your own home."

"Oh, you do, do you? Why, in particular?"

"You are asking questions," said Kirsten. "You are trying to find out things. And your wife does not want you to do it. She is wiser than you are. You might find out something you did not want to find out, or that she did not want you to find out. You should go home, Philip. You should go home very soon."

"I don't want to go home," said Philip. He spoke rather like a petulant small boy.

That is what children say," said Kirsten. "They say I don't want to do this and I don't want to do that, but those who know more of life, who see better what is happening, have to coax them to do what they do not want to do."

"So this is your idea of coaxing, is it?" said Philip. "Giving me orders."

"No, I do not give you orders. I only advise you." She sighed. "I would advise all of them the same way. Micky should go back to his work as Tina has gone back to her library. I am glad Hester has gone. She should be somewhere where she is not continually reminded of all this."

"Yes," said Philip. "I agree with you there. You're right about Hester. But what about you yourself, Kirsten? Oughtn't you to go away too?"

"Yes," said Kirsten with a sigh. "I ought to go away."

"Why don't you?"

"You would not understand. It is too late for me to go away."

Philip looked at her thoughtfully. Then he said: "There are so many variations, aren't there - variations on a single theme. Leo thinks Gwenda did it, Gwenda thinks Leo did it. Tina knows something that makes her suspect who did it. Micky knows who did it but doesn't care. Mary thinks Hester did it." He paused and then went on, "But the truth is, Kirsty, that those are only variations on a theme as I said. We know who did it quite well, don't we, Kirsty. You and I?"

She shot a quick, horrified glance at him.

"I thought as much," said Philip exultantly.

"What do you mean?" said Kirsten. "What are you trying to say?"

"I don't really know who did it," said Philip. "But you do. You don't only think you know who did it, you actually do know. I'm right, aren't I?"

Kirsten marched to the door. She opened it, then turned back and spoke.

"It is not a polite thing to say, but I will say it. You are a fool, Philip. What you are trying to do is dangerous. You understand one kind of danger. You have been a pilot. You have faced death up there in the sky. Can you not see that if you get anywhere near the truth, you are in just as great danger as you ever were in the war?"

"And what about you, Kirsty? If you know the truth, aren't you in danger too?"

"I can take care of myself," said Kirsten grimly. "I can be on my guard. But you, Philip, are in an invalid chair and helpless. Think of that!

Besides," she added, "I do not air my views. I am content to let things be - because I honestly think that that is best for everyone. If everyone would go away and attend to their own business, then there would be no further trouble. If I am asked, I have my official view. I say still that it was Jacko."

"Jacko?" Philip stared.

"Why not? Jacko was clever. Jacko could plan a thing and be sure he would not suffer from the consequences. Often he did that as a child. After all, to fake an alibi. Is that not done every day?"

"He couldn't have faked this one. Dr. Calgary -"

"Dr. Calgary - Dr. Calgary," said Kirsten with impatience, "because he is well known, because he has a famous name, you say, 'Dr. Calgary'

as though he were God! But let me tell you this. When you have had concussion as he had concussion, things may be quite different from the way you remember them. It may have been a different day - a different time - a different place!"

Philip looked at her, his head slightly on one side.

"So that's your story," he said. "And you're sticking to it. A very creditable attempt. But you don't believe it yourself, do you, Kirsty?"

"I've warned you," said Kirsten, "I can't do more."

She turned away, then popped her head in again to say in her usual matter-of-fact voice: "Tell Mary I have put the clean washing away in the second drawer there."

Philip smiled a little at the anti-climax, then the smile died away...

His sense of inner excitement grew. He had a feeling he was getting very near indeed. His experiment with Kirsten had been highly satisfactory, but he doubted that he would get any more out of her. Her solicitude for him irritated him. Just because he was a cripple did not mean that he was as vulnerable as she made out. He, too, could be on his guard - and for heaven's sake, wasn't he watched over

incessantly? Mary hardly ever left his side.

He drew a sheet of paper towards him and began to write. Brief notes, names, question marks A vulnerable spot to probe...

Suddenly he nodded his head and wrote: "Tina..."

He thought about it...

Then he drew another sheet of paper towards him.

When Mary came in, he hardly looked up.

"What are you doing, Philip?"

"Writing a letter."

"To Hester?"

"Hester? No. I don't even know where she's staying. Kirsty just had a postcard from her with London written at the top, that was all."

He grinned at her.

"I believe you're jealous, Polly. Are you?"

Her eyes, blue and cold, looked into his.

"Perhaps."

He felt a little uncomfortable.

"Who are you writing to?" She came a step nearer.

"The Public Prosecutor," said Philip cheerfully, though within him a cold anger stirred. Couldn't a fellow write a letter, even, without being questioned about it?

Then he saw her face and he relented.

"Only a joke, Polly. I'm writing to Tina."

"To Tina? Why?"

"Tina's my next line of attack. Where are you going, Polly?"

"To the bathroom," said Mary as she went out of the room.

Philip laughed. To the bathroom, as on the night of the murder... He laughed again as he remembered their conversation about it.

II

"Come on, sonny," said Superintendent Huish encouragingly. "Let's hear all about it."

Master Cyril Green took a deep breath. Before he could speak, his mother interposed.

"As you might say, Mr. Huish, I didn't take much notice at the time. You know what these children are. Always talking and thinking about space ships and things. And he comes home to me and he says, 'Mum,

I've seen a sputnik, it's come down.' Well, I mean, before that it was flying saucers. It's always something. It's these Russians that go putting things into their heads."

Superintendent Huish sighed and thought how much easier it would be

if mothers would not insist on accompanying their sons and talking for them.

"Come on, Cyril," he said, "you went home and told your Mum - that's right, isn't it? - that you'd seen this Russian sputnik - whatever it was."

"Didn't know no better then," said Cyril. "I was only a kid then. That's two years ago. Course, I know better now."

"Them bubble cars," his mother put in, "was quite new at the time. There hadn't been one about locally, so naturally when he saw it - and bright red too  -  he didn't realise as it was just an ordinary car. And when we heard the next morning as Mrs. Argyle had been done in, Cyril he says to me, 'Mum,' he says, 'it's them Russians,' he says, 'they come down in that sputnik of theirs and they must have got in and killed her.' 'Don't talk such nonsense,' I said. And then of course later in the day we hear her own son has been arrested for having done it"

Superintendent Huish addressed himself patiently once more to Cyril.

"It was in the evening, I understand? What time, do you remember?"

"I'd had me tea," said Cyril, breathing hard in the effort of remembrance, "and Mum was out at the Institute, so I went out again a bit with the boys and we larked around a bit up that way down the new road."

"And what was you doing there, I'd like to know," his mother put in.

P.N Good, who'd brought in this promising piece of evidence, interposed. He knew well enough what Cyril and the boys had been doing down the new road. The disappearance of chrysanthemums had

been angrily reported from several householders there, and he knew well enough that the bad characters of the village surreptitiously encouraged the younger generation to supply them with flowers which

they themselves took to market. This was not the moment, P.C. Good knew, to go into past cases of delinquency. He said heavily: "Boys is boys, Mrs. Green, they gets larking around."

"Yes," said Cyril, "just having a game or two, we were. And that's where I saw it. 'Coo,' I said, 'what's this?' Of course I know now. I'm not a silly kid any longer. It was just one of them bubble cars. Bright red, it was."

"And the time?" said Superintendent Huish patiently.

"Well, as I say, I'd had me tea an' we'd gone out there and larked around - must have been near on seven o'clock, because I heard the clock strike and 'Coo,' I thought, 'Mum'llbehome and won't she create if I'm not there.' So I went home. I told her then that I thought I'd seen that Russian satellite come down. Mum said it were all lies, but it wasn't. Only o' course, I knows better now. I was just a kid then, see."

Superintendent Huish said that he saw. After a few more questions he dismissed Mrs. Green and her offspring. P.C. Good, remaining behind, put on the gratified expression of a junior member of the force who has shown intelligence and hopes that it will count in his favour.

"It just come to me," said Good, "what that boy'd been around saying about Russians doing Mrs. Argyle in. I thought to myself, 'Well, that may mean something.'"

"It does mean something," said the superintendent. "Miss Tina Argyle has a red bubble car, and it looks as though I'd have to ask her a few more questions."

Ill

"You were there that night, Miss Argyle?"

Tina looked at the superintendent. Her hands lay loosely in her lap, her eyes, dark, unwinking, told nothing.

"It is so long ago," she said, "really I cannot remember." "Your car was seen there," said Huish. "Was it?"

"Come now, Miss Argyle. When we asked you for an account of your movements on that night, you told us that you went home and didn't go out that evening. You made yourself supper and listened to the gramophone. Now, that isn't true. Just before seven o'clock your car was seen in the road quite near to Sunny Point. What were you doing there?"

She did not answer. Huish waited a few moments, then he spoke again.

"Did you go into the house, Miss Argyle?" "No," said Tina. "But you were there." "You say I was there."

"It's not just a question of my saying so. We've got evidence that you were there."

Tina sighed.

"Yes," she said. "I did drive out there that evening."

"But you say you didn't go into the house?" "No, I didn't go into the house." "What did you do?"

"I drove back again to Redmyn. Then, as I told you, I made myself some supper and put on the gramophone."

"Why did you drive out there if you didn't go into the house?"

"I changed my mind," said Tina.

"What made you change your mind, Miss Argyle?"

"When I got there I didn't want to go in."

"Because of something you saw or heard?"

She did not answer.

"Listen, Miss Argyle. That was the night that your mother was murdered. She was killed between seven and half past that evening. You were there, your car was there, at some time before seven. How long it was there we do not know. It is possible, you know, that it may have been there for some time. It may be that you went into the house - you have a key, I think."

"Yes," said Tina, "I have a key."

"Perhaps you went into the house. Perhaps you went into your mother's sitting-room and found her there, dead. Or perhaps -"

Tina raised her head.

"Or perhaps I killed her? Is that what you want to say, Superintendent Huish?"

"It is one possibility," said Huish, "but I think it's more likely, Miss Argyle, someone else did the killing. If so, I think you know - or have a very strong suspicion who the killer was."

"I did not go into the house," said Tina.

"Then you saw something or heard something. You saw someone go into the house or someone leave the house. Someone perhaps who was not known to be there. Was it your brother Michael, Miss Argyle?"

Tina said: "I saw nobody."

"But you heard something," said Huish shrewdly. "What did you hear, Miss Argyle?"

"I tell you," said Tina, "I simply changed my mind."

"You'll forgive me, Miss Argyle, but I don't believe that. Why should you drive out from Redmyn to visit your family, and drive back again without seeing them? Something made you change your mind about that. Something you saw or heard." He leaned forward. "I think you know, Miss Argyle, who killed your mother."

Very slowly she shook her head.

"You know something," said Huish. "Something that you are determined not to tell. But think, Miss Argyle, think very carefully. Do you realise what you are condemning your entire family to go through?

Do you want them all to remain under suspicion - for that's what's going to happen unless we get at the truth. Whoever killed your mother doesn't deserve to be shielded. For that's it, isn't it? You're shielding someone."

Again that dark, opaque look met his.

"I know nothing," said Tina. "I didn't hear anything and I didn't see anything. I just - changed my mind."