II
The big handsome Negro looked from one to the other of the men sitting at the table.
“Ah declare to God,” he said. “That’s all I know. I don’t know nothing but what Ah’ve told you.”
The perspiration stood out on his forehead.
Daventry sighed. The man presiding at the table, Inspector Weston of the St. Honore C.I.D., made a gesture of dismissal. Big Jim Ellis shuffled out of the room.
“It’s not all he knows, of course,” Weston said. He had the soft Island voice. “But it’s all we shall learn from him.”
“You think he’s in the clear himself?” asked Daventry.
“Yes. They seem to have been on good terms together.”
“They weren’t married?”
A faint smile appeared on Lieutenant Weston’s lips. “No,” he said, “they weren’t married. We don’t have so many marriages on the Island. They christen the children, though. He’s had two children by Victoria.”
“Do you think he was in it, whatever it was, with her?”
“Probably not. I think he’d have been nervous of anything of that kind. And I’d say, too, that what she did know wasn’t very much.”
“But enough for blackmail?”
“I don’t know that I’d even call it that. I doubt if the girl would even understand that word. Payment for being discreet isn’t thought of as blackmail. You see, some of the people who stay here are the rich playboy lot and their morals won’t bear much investigation.” His voice was slightly scathing.
“We get all kinds, I agree,” said Daventry. “A woman, maybe, doesn’t want it known that she’s sleeping around, so she gives a present to the girl who waits on her. It’s tacitly understood that the payments for discretion.”
“Exactly.”
“But this,” objected Daventry, “wasn’t anything of that kind. It was murder.”
“I should doubt, though, if the girl knew it was serious. She saw something, some puzzling incident, something to do presumably with this bottle of pills. It belonged to Mr. Dyson, I understand. We’d better see him next.”
Gregory came in with his usual hearty air.
“Here I am,” he said, “what can I do to help? Too bad about this girl. She was a nice girl. We both liked her. I suppose it was some sort of quarrel or other with a man, but she seemed quite happy and no signs of being in trouble about anything. I was kidding her only last night.”
“I believe you take a preparation, Mr. Dyson, called Serenite?”
“Quite right. Little pink tablets.”
“You have them on prescription from a physician?”
“Yes. I can show it to you if you like. Suffer a bit from high blood pressure, like so many people do nowadays.”
“Very few people seem to be aware of that fact.”
“Well, I don’t go talking about it. I—well, I’ve always been well and hearty and I never like people who talk about their ailments all the time.”
“How many of the pills do you take?”
“Two, three times a day.”
“Do you have a fairly large stock with you?”
“Yes. I’ve got about half a dozen bottles. But they’re locked up, you know, in a suitcase. I only keep out one, the one that’s in current use.”
“And you missed this bottle a short time ago, so I hear?”
“Quite right.”
“And you asked this girl, Victoria Johnson, whether she’d seen it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said the last time she’d seen it was on the shelf in our bathroom. She said she’d look around.”
“And after that?”
“She came and returned the bottle to me some time later. She said was this the bottle that was missing?”
“And you said?”
“I said ‘that’s it, all right, where did you find it?’ And she said it was in old Major Palgrave’s room. I said ‘how on earth did it get there?'”
“And what did she answer to that?”
“She said she didn’t know, but—” he hesitated.
“Yes, Mr. Dyson?”
“Well, she gave me the feeling that she did know a little more than she was saying, but I didn’t pay much attention. After all, it wasn’t very important. As I say, I’ve got other bottles of pills with me. I thought perhaps I’d left it around in the restaurant or somewhere and old Palgrave picked it up for some reason. Perhaps he put it in his pocket meaning to return it to me, then forgot.”