‘Whoof – now I feel better! It was all camouflaged very carefully. But it was nothing to do with your husband. The whole thing was staged because we wanted to – to – what does one call it? – get a line on Roger Bassingtonffrench.’ ‘Roger?’ Moira frowned and smiled perplexedly.
‘It seems absurd,’ she said frankly.
‘All the same facts are facts,’ said Bobby.
‘Roger – oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘He might be weak or wild. He might get into debt, or get mixed up in a scandal but pushing someone over a cliff – no, I simply can’t imagine it.’ ‘Do you know,’ said Frankie, ‘I can’t very well imagine it either.’ ‘But he must have taken that photograph,’ said Bobby stubbornly. ‘Listen, Mrs Nicholson, while I go over the facts.’ He did so slowly and carefully. When he had finished, she nodded her head comprehendingly.
‘I see what you mean. It seems very queer.’ She paused a minute and then said unexpectedly: ‘Why don’t you ask him?’
CHAPTER 20 Council of Two
For a moment, the bold simplicity of the question quite took their breath away. Both Frankie and Bobby started to speak at once: ‘That’s impossible -‘ began Bobby, just as Frankie said: ‘That would never do.’ Then they both stopped dead as the possibilities of the idea sank in.
‘You see,’ said Moira eagerly, ‘I do see what you mean. It does seem as though Roger must have taken that photograph, but I don’t believe for one moment that he pushed Alan over.
Why should he? He didn’t even know him. They’d only met once – at lunch down here. They’d never come across each other in any way. There’s no motive.’ ‘Then who did push him over?’ asked Frankie bluntly.
A shadow crossed Moira’s face.
‘I don’t know,’ she said constrainedly.
‘Look here,’ said Bobby. ‘Do you mind if I tell Frankie what you told me. About what you’re afraid of.’ Moira turned her head away.
‘If you like. But it sounds so melodramatic and hysterical. I can’t believe it myself this minute.’ And indeed the bald statement, made unemotionally in the open air of the quiet English countryside, did seem curiously lacking in reality.
Moira got up abruptly.
‘I really feel I’ve been terribly silly,’ she said, her lip trembling. ‘Please don’t pay any attention to what I said, Mr Jones. It was just – nerves. Anyway, I must be going now.
Goodbye.’ She moved rapidly away. Bobby sprang up to follow her, but Frankie pushed him firmly back.
‘Stay there, idiot, leave this to me.’ She went rapidly off after Moira. She returned a few minutes later.
‘Well?’ queried Bobby anxiously.
“That’s all right. I calmed her down. It was a bit hard on her having her private fears blurted out in front of her to a third person. I made her promise we’d have a meeting – all three of us – again soon. Now that you’re not hampered by her being there, tell us all about it.’ Bobby did so. Frankie listened attentively. Then she said: ‘It fits in with two things. First of all, I came back just now to find Nicholson holding both Sylvia Bassingtonffrench’s hands – and didn’t he look daggers at me! If looks could kill I feel sure he’d have made me a corpse then and there.’ ‘What’s the second thing?’ asked Bobby.
‘Oh, just an incident. Sylvia described how Moira’s photograph had made a great impression on some stranger who had come to the house. Depend upon it, that was Carstairs. He recognized the photograph, Mrs Bassington-ffrench tells him that it is a portrait of a Mrs Nicholson, and that explains how he came to find out where she was. But you know, Bobby, I don’t see yet where Nicholson comes in. Why should he want to do away with Alan Carstairs?’ ‘You think it was him and not Bassington-ffrench? Rather a coincidence if he and Bassington-ffrench should both be in Marchbolt on the same day.’ ‘Well, coincidences do happen. But if it was Nicholson, I don’t yet see the motive. Was Carstairs on the track of Nicholson as the head of a dope gang? Or is your new lady friend the motive for the murder?’ ‘It might be both,’ suggested Bobby. ‘He may know that Carstairs and his wife had an interview, and he may have believed that his wife gave him away somehow.’ ‘Now, that is a possibility,’ said Frankie. ‘But the first thing is to make sure about Roger Bassington-ffrench. The only thing we’ve got against him is the photograph business. If he can clear that up satisfactorily -‘ ‘You’re going to tackle him on the subject? Frankie, is that wise? If he is the villain of the piece, as we decided he must be, it means that we’re going to show him our hand.’ ‘Not quite – not the way I shall do it. After all, in every other way he’s been perfectly straightforward and above board.