Knock, Murderer, Knock! Read online

  A few hours before, Palk might have questioned this statement, but after his experience of the conversations of the Hydro visitors his sympathies were with Sir Humphrey on this point.

  “Did you actually see Miss Blake go through the door?”

  “N-no.”

  “So that she might quite easily have remained downstairs after you yourself had gone upstairs?”

  “Yes, I suppose so, but I don’t think she did.”

  “Did anyone see you leave the writing-room?”

  “No. At least, I saw nobody.”

  This form of reply always annoyed Palk. I only wish I had your eyes, he said to himself. To be able to see Nobody! Why, it’s as much as I can do to see real people by this light!

  “You didn’t see any of the staff on your way to your bed-room?” he continued.

  “No.”

  “You’re quite sure? There was a maid on duty in the corridor, waiting to turn out the lights.”

  “Well, she wasn’t in the corridor. I’m perfectly sure that I didn’t see her.”

  “You went straight up to your bedroom from the writing-room?”

  “Yes, yes. I didn’t hurry, though. I wanted to let Miss Blake reach her room first.”

  “What did you do when you reached your room?”

  “I went to bed and to sleep in the usual way.”

  “When did you first hear of Miss Blake’s death?”

  “At eight o’clock this morning. The maid brought my shaving-water up and told me that the doctor wanted us all down at once to breakfast because Miss Blake had been murdered.”

  Palk pursed his lips. He had given special instructions that the murder was not to be mentioned to the residents until he had seen them. It was evidently quite impossible to stop people talking in the Hydro. It seemed as if they must talk or die!

  “Sir Humphrey,” he asked, “do you know who killed Miss Blake?”

  Sir Humphrey clenched his fists till the knuckles were drained white.

  “I wish to God that I did!” he exclaimed fervently.

  Chapter 13

  In Winnie Marston, Palk found the first genuine liking for the dead girl by any one of her own sex, and his voice softened when he questioned her, as a tribute to her admiration. He discovered that although Winnie Marston was her mother’s “Yes-girl” for the sake of peace, she had opinions of her own to express and did express them very forcibly when the family were out of hearing.

  “Murder is always wicked, of course,” she said, “but somehow it seems more than wicked to kill Miss Blake. She was so lovely. It’s like destroying a beautiful painting or work of art.”

  Palk pointed out that the women he had already interviewed would not have agreed with her description of Miss Blake.

  “They didn’t understand,” replied Winnie. “You see, they never look under the surface to find out what people are really like. They just take them all the time at their face value. They assume that anyone who belongs to a different age and a different life from theirs must be inferior to them. They don’t bother about people’s hearts, except in the medical sense, and they’d never met anyone quite like Miss Blake before. But Miss Blake was a damned good sort, whatever they say. She was really sweet to all those old dames. They snubbed her to her face and talked behind her back, but she never got annoyed. They thought that her way of speaking to them was rude, but it wasn’t really. It was just her natural way, rather casual and outspoken, you know, but nothing personal about it. I think she had a beautiful face and a lovely nature, and they were all perfect beasts to her – except the men, of course. They all adored her.”

  “You think, then, that some woman in the Hydro might have killed her?” asked Palk.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t like to say that,” Winnie hastened to reply. “Being beastly to someone and murdering her are two different things, aren’t they? But I’ve certainly seen two people look at her as if they hated the sight of her, within the last two days.”

  Palk looked mildly interested.

  “Oh. Who were they?”

  “Nurse Hawkins and Lady Warme.” And she went on to give an accurate description of the scene in the lounge on the afternoon before the murder, culminating in Lady Warme’s indignant exit before tea, “looking as if she could murder Miss Blake.”

  Palk did not place too much significance on this, realizing by now that such scenes were of common occurrence in this strange hotel. He knew, however, that clues might be found in the most unlikely sequence of circumstances, and persisted, therefore, with his questions.

  “Which of the two do you consider would have been more likely to murder Miss Blake?”

  Winnie looked startled.

  “Oh, neither of them, Inspector Palk. I can’t imagine any woman being so vicious.”

  “You said that Nurse Hawkins looked as if she could have strangled Miss Blake –”

  “Yes, I know.” Winnie sounded confused. “We often do say things like that though, don’t we, without meaning them to be taken literally. One of my sister’s favourite expressions is: ‘Honestly, I could have killed her!’ but it doesn’t mean a thing. I’m quite sure she wouldn’t hurt a fly. It’s just a form of exaggeration, and we all do exaggerate things in this place. I don’t really believe that Nurse Hawkins would have touched Miss Blake, not even to smack her face, but she was just annoyed to hear that Admiral Urwin had been talking to her. It sounds rather funny to think of the nurse and the Admiral being in love – somehow love is more for –” she faltered and looked down at her hands, nervously plucking at the skirt of her frock, “– for younger people, but I believe that they’re really very fond of each other and they’d be well suited. I mean that Nurse Hawkins would look after him well and all that. But if the Admiral had preferred Miss Blake, I’m sure that Nurse Hawkins wouldn’t dream of killing her. She’d just wait for another man to turn up. Nurses are rather callous, I think. I suppose it’s all that training, operations and all that.”

  She paused.

  “And Lady Warme?” asked Palk softly.

  “Lady Warme? Oh, she’s not a bad sort really. She’s very touchy about a lot of things, like all the others here, and she likes to have her own way about everything. She’s a most frightful snob, but the others make her like that. They say that her husband was knighted after the Great War because he gave a lot of money to hospitals and things. They hate titles without pedigrees, although they’d rather have titles than good plain yeoman names. Because Lady Warme’s husband – that’s what they always call him – made his money in cornflour, they refer to her behind her back as ‘Lady Blancmange Mould’! But Miss Blake never said things like that behind her back. The only time I ever heard her say anything rude to anyone was when she read that book aloud the other day, and, really, Mrs. Dawson was quite right – they did ask for it. They were so rude to her first, and after all, she only did what they asked her to. I’ve never seen Lady Warme in such a flaming temper, and she might easily have slapped Miss Blake’s face or boxed her ears, but I’m sure she would never wait and plan to murder her, especially after Miss Blake had been so decent and helped her with the concert that night.”

  But, reflected Palk after he had dismissed her, Winnie Marston would never believe evil about anyone, and the fact still remained that someone in the Hydro had murdered Miss Blake, someone who had found it child’s play to camouflage his or her movements among the maze of the comings and goings of so many erratic people. And somewhere amongst this ever-increasing mass of irrelevant details there must lie at least one clue to the identity of that person, if only he could have the patience and skill to discover it.

  Chapter 14

  Lady Warme sailed in looking, as the Inspector thought, very much like an Elizabethan galleon, for she gave the impression of having sails trimmed and decks cleared for action. She was an imposing woman nearly six feet tall, and heavily built, with large, capable hands and feet. Her dark hair was beautifully dressed, and if she wore a wig, as some people thought,
no one in the Hydro had ever succeeded in discovering it. She either had good taste in clothes or the good sense to leave the choosing of them to an excellent dress-designer, for her black-and-white morning dress was well-cut and becoming, and she was exquisitely corseted. Yet, when she spoke, this illusion of femininity was somewhat marred by the masculine tones of a deep, resonant voice.

  She evidently believed that attack is the best form of defence, for before she reached the table at which the Inspector was seated, she had spoken.

  “You sent for me? No, I won’t sit down.”

  Almost before the Inspector’s brain had strummed a warning of “inferiority complex,” he had jumped to his feet and was pushing the chair towards her with the manner of an attentive shop-walker.

  “I could only request you to come, Lady Warme – my duty to question everyone – purely voluntary, of course. You won’t mind if I ask you for your help in this very serious matter?” he murmured, his voice falling into a perfect imitation of the staccato way of speaking so popular in the Hydro. He felt thankful that Sergeant Jago was not there to hear him.

  Lady Warme sat upright on the extreme edge of the chair.

  “It’s all very upsetting for a woman of my position, Inspector, to be mixed up with the police, and when it comes to my having to sit in a room for hours in the company of chambermaids, it becomes most embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve ever spent a more unpleasant morning since I came to live here.”

  “I’m sorry,” returned the Inspector, “but you will be quite free to go back to your own room after this interview. If I’d known, of course –”

  His vague words evidently possessed some meaning for Lady Warme, for she did not wait to hear the ending of his sentence, which was fortunate for the Inspector.

  “I always thought that the police had a system for questioning people,” she said, “and nothing annoys me more than to be kept waiting. But, after all, Sir Humphrey has been in the same position, I suppose. I reckon that I’m a public-spirited woman, Inspector, and if I can tell you anything, you have only to ask. But I must warn you that you will be wasting time because I know nothing whatever about Miss Blake’s death, and I’m sure that none of my friends here knows anything either. It must have been someone from outside. There are always a lot of tramps and gipsies about the place, but although I’ve complained to Dr. Williams about them, he never seems to do anything. Indeed, I’ve actually seen him give orders to have some food sent out to one awful man. No doubt this is the result.”

  “You don’t think that anyone in the Hydro murdered Miss Blake, then?” Palk asked, in some surprise.

  “Certainly not. They are all my friends. I’m quite sure that none of them would do such a terrible thing.”

  “But you understand that there is no doubt about her having been murdered? It couldn’t have been an accident.”

  “Certainly, I understand. I am a woman of average intelligence, although from your questions I must assume that you don’t think so. I tell you that you are simply wasting your time looking for the murderer inside this hotel, and you will only succeed in causing a considerable amount of annoyance to a number of innocent people.”

  “If your theory is correct,” said Palk patiently, “the murderer must have entered the drawing-room after the concert was over. Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what happened that evening. You organized the concert, I believe?”

  “Yes, I always organize concerts here. I suppose I have a certain reputation among the residents as a lover of music, and most English people are so unmusical. Now, in Italy –”

  “Yes, of course,” agreed Palk, a little too heartily. “They sing so prettily – er – that is to say, Italian tenors, of course.” He kicked himself mentally. “But to return to the concert. Miss Blake was the accompanist, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she took the organist’s place at a moment’s notice, and it was very good of her to volunteer, for, of course, you couldn’t have a concert without an accompanist, could you? I mean, Miss Astill’s voice, for instance. It’s good for a few bars, but after that it needs a little gentle drowning out, and I must say Miss Blake did it extraordinarily well. I was rather surprised, because you don’t really expect a low-born adventuress to know how to play the piano, do you?”

  Palk could have told her of several low-born adventuresses whose social accomplishments attained higher levels than the mere playing of a piano, but he refrained.

  “How do you know she was an adventuress?” he asked instead.

  Lady Warme regarded him with a pitying stare.

  “By the look of her, of course. Besides, she never said who she was. There are several good families of her name in this country, but she never admitted being related to any of them. There was Admiral Blake and Blake the poet, not that I rate poets very high in the social scale, but still they are known, and it does give one something to go on... Miss Blake never spoke of her home or her people, or any friends, and even when she left her handbag in the drawing-room once – well, no one ever got to know anything about her.”

  “Wasn’t it rather strange that she should volunteer to play for you after that quarrel you’d had in the lounge?” asked Palk.

  “Quarrel? In the lounge? Oh, you mean that ridiculous affair over the book. I suppose someone has given you all the details already – I must say I don’t like all this prying behind people’s backs. I should never have called it a quarrel myself, though I admit I was very much annoyed with Miss Blake at the time. Really, I shouldn’t like to repeat some of the words she used – it was all in very bad form indeed, but as I said before, you could hardly expect anything better from a low-born adventuress, and when she was so nice afterwards about my concert, I couldn’t very well remain annoyed, could I?”

  Palk found it difficult to reconcile Lady Warme’s present attitude with Winnie Marston’s words, “She looked as if she could have murdered her”; but as it was obvious that he could get no further information from her, he indicated as politely as possible that the interview was at an end.

  When Lady Warme had reached the door, she turned:

  “If you want to find out the real truth,” she said, “ask the doctor’s secretary. She always knows everything. That’s what she’s paid for.”

  Chapter 15

  In Palk’s estimation the doctor’s secretary, Miss Lewis, was the most attractive woman he had yet seen in the Hydro. She was small and slim, neatly costumed and shod. Her fair hair was parted in the middle and plaited into old-fashioned earphones. From the frill on her white blouse to the bows on her high-heeled suede shoes she looked the perfect stage secretary, and it seemed almost too good to be true that she could also be an intelligent stenographer. Palk expected her name to be Rosalind, and, surprised to find that it was, in fact, Gwynneth, guessed correctly the nationality which Christian and surname implied. Of all the people he had interviewed, she seemed to express the least emotion, sitting quietly on the chair in front of him and inclining an attentive secretarial ear. The only question Palk wanted to put to her was: “Are you doing anything tonight?” and he with difficulty restrained himself from dismissing her at once from his mind as a possible suspect. As it was, he began with an apology and again was thankful that Sergeant Jago was busy elsewhere, searching all the possible hiding-places in the hotel.

  “You understand, Miss Lewis, that I have to interview everyone who has access to the public rooms in the Hydro. I hope you won’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”

  As Miss Lewis’s present attitude already indicated her readiness to collaborate in anything the Inspector wished to say, she did not think it necessary to reply to his remarks, but her hands made a quick little movement as if they were about to flick open her shorthand book. Finding them empty, she sat restfully, waiting.

  “You knew Miss Blake?”

  “Very slightly. She wasn’t one of Dr. Williams’ patients, and those are the people I come into contact with chiefly. At the most I might have had five min
utes’ conversation with Miss Blake at a time.”

  “I see. So you can’t very well tell me whether you liked her or not?”

  Miss Lewis’s green eyes met his frankly.

  “I liked what I did see of her. She was always very pleasant and smiling, and seemed to like to pass the time of day with everyone from her chambermaid upwards, but apart from that, she was merely a name in the account-book to me.”

  “She didn’t have any medical treatment during her stay here?”

  “No, never. I should have known because I make all appointments for the doctor. I can let you have the books, if you would like to verify them.”

  “Thank you. I don’t doubt your word, but the books might prove of interest. I thought that, perhaps, you might have met Miss Blake in the lounge or dining-room. You’re both young, and if she was inclined to stop and talk, as you say –”

  “Oh yes, I’m sure she would have spoken to me, but you see, apart from arranging the flowers, I am so rarely in the public rooms in the daytime, and certainly never in the evenings as a general rule. The staff here are not encouraged to make use of these rooms – we have our own dining-room and sitting-room, and are expected to keep to those. There was a terrible outcry one day when Nurse Hawkins sat knitting in the drawing-room. I was kept busy all the next morning receiving complaints about it. Dr. Williams attends to all complaints personally, so that I have to make a note of them in a special book when they are reported. It wouldn’t be popular with the housekeeper, either, if she heard of my going too often into the public rooms. It’s her job to see that the maids do their work properly, and she would almost certainly think that I was trying to interfere in her department. This isn’t a very charitable establishment.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” replied Palk. “But you were at the concert last night, I believe.”

  “Oh yes, the staff is always invited to anything in the nature of an entertainment, but we always sit on hard benches at the back of the room, just to remind ourselves that we are only the staff, and we have our coffee and cakes in our own dining-room, although I actually helped to pour out coffee last night. I can’t think why I was asked, but I was.”