‘All right then,’ said the Inspector sceptically. ‘What do you know?’
‘I tell you.’ Mitzi spoke solemnly. ‘On that night I am not in the pantry cleaning silver as I say—I am already in the dining-room when I hear the gun go off. I look through the keyhole. The hall it is black, but the gun go off again and the torch it falls—and it swings round as it falls—and I see her. I see her there close to him with the gun in her hand. I see Miss Blacklock.’
‘Me?’ Miss Blacklock sat up in astonishment. ‘You must be mad!’
‘But that’s impossible,’ cried Edmund. ‘Mitzi couldn’t have seen Miss Blacklock.’
Craddock cut in and his voice had the corrosive quality of a deadly acid.
‘Couldn’t she, Mr Swettenham? And why not? Because it wasn’t Miss Blacklock who was standing there with the gun? It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘I—of course not—what the hell!’
‘You took Colonel Easterbrook’s revolver. You fixed up the business with Rudi Scherz—as a good joke. You had followed Patrick Simmons into the far room and when the lights went out, you slipped out through the carefully oiled door. You shot at Miss Blacklock and then you killed Rudi Scherz. A few seconds later you were back in the drawing-room clicking your lighter.’
For a moment Edmund seemed at a loss for words, then he spluttered out:
‘The whole idea is monstrous. Why me? What earthly motive had I got?’
‘If Miss Blacklock dies before Mrs Goedler, two people inherit, remember. The two we know of as Pip and Emma. Julia Simmons has turned out to be Emma—’
‘And you think I’m Pip?’ Edmund laughed. ‘Fantastic—absolutely fantastic! I’m about the right age—nothing else. And I can prove to you, you damned fool, that I am Edmund Swettenham. Birth certificate, schools, university—everything.’
‘He isn’t Pip.’ The voice came from the shadows in the corner. Phillipa Haymes came forward, her face pale. ‘I’m Pip, Inspector.’
‘You, Mrs Haymes?’
‘Yes. Everybody seems to have assumed that Pip was a boy—Julia knew, of course, that her twin was another girl—I don’t know why she didn’t say so this afternoon—’
‘Family solidarity,’ said Julia. ‘I suddenly realized who you were. I’d had no idea till that moment.’
‘I’d had the same idea as Julia did,’ said Phillipa, her voice trembling a little. ‘After I—lost my husband and the war was over, I wondered what I was going to do. My mother died many years ago. I found out about my Goedler relations. Mrs Goedler was dying and at her death the money would go to a Miss Blacklock. I found out where Miss Blacklock lived and I—I came here. I took a job with Mrs Lucas. I hoped that, since this Miss Blacklock was an elderly woman without relatives, she might, perhaps, be willing to help. Not me, because I could work, but help with Harry’s education. After all, it was Goedler money and she’d no one particular of her own to spend it on.
‘And then,’ Phillipa spoke faster, it was as though, now her long reserve had broken down, she couldn’t get the words out fast enough, ‘that hold-up happened and I began to be frightened. Because it seemed to me that the only possible person with a motive for killing Miss Blacklock was me. I hadn’t the least idea who Julia was—we aren’t identical twins and we’re not much alike to look at. No, it seemed as though I was the only one bound to be suspected.’
She stopped and pushed her fair hair back from her face, and Craddock suddenly realized that the faded snapshot in the box of letters must have been a photograph of Phillipa’s mother. The likeness was undeniable. He knew too why that mention of closing and unclosing hands had seemed familiar—Phillipa was doing it now.
‘Miss Blacklock has been good to me. Very very good to me—I didn’t try to kill her. I never thought of killing her. But all the same, I’m Pip.’ She added, ‘You see, you needn’t suspect Edmund any more.’
‘Needn’t I?’ said Craddock. Again there was that acid biting tone in his voice. ‘Edmund Swettenham’s a young man who’s fond of money. A young man, perhaps, who would like to marry a rich wife. But she wouldn’t be a rich wife unless Miss Blacklock died before Mrs Goedler. And since it seemed almost certain that Mrs Goedler would die before Miss Blacklock, well—he had to do something about it—didn’t you, Mr Swettenham?’