think a certain lady walked up to the front door and rang the bell, quite calm and smiling, the afternoon caller... Maybe she asked for Miss Holland, or for Miss Megan, or perhaps she had brought a parcel. Anyway Agnes turns around to get a salver for cards, or to take the parcel in, and our ladylike caller bats her on the back of her unsuspecting head.”
“What with?”
Nash said, “The ladies around here usually carry large sizes in handbags. No saying what mightn't be inside it.”
“And then stabs her through the back of the neck and bundles her into the cupboard? Wouldn't that be a hefty job for a woman?”
Superintendent Nash looked at me with rather a queer expression. “The woman we're after isn't normal - not by a long way - and that type of mental instability goes with surprising strength. Agnes wasn't a big girl!” He paused and then asked, “What made Miss Megan Hunter think of looking in that cupboard?”
“Sheer instinct,” I said.
Then I asked, “Why drag her out of the way? What was the point?”
“The longer it was before the body was found, the more difficult it would be to fix the time of death accurately. If Miss Holland, for instance, fell over the body as soon as she came in, a doctor might be able to fix it within ten minutes or so - which might be awkward for our lady friend.”
I said, frowning, “But if Agnes was suspicious of this person -”
Nash interrupted me: “She wasn't. Not to this pitch. She just thought it 'queer' shall we say? She was a slow-witted girl, I imagine, and she was only vaguely suspicious with a feeling that something was wrong. She certainly didn't suspect that she was up against a woman who would do murder.”
“Did you suspect that?” I asked.
Nash shook his head. He said, with feeling:
“I ought to have known. That suicide business, you see, frightened Poison Pen. She got the wind up. Fear, Mr. Burton, is an incalculable thing.”
Yes, fear. That was the thing we ought to have foreseen. Fear - in a lunatic brain...
“You see,” said Superintendent Nash, and somehow his words made the whole thing seem absolutely horrible. “We're up against someone who's respected and thought highly of - someone, in fact, of good social position!”
Presently Nash said that he was going to interview Rose once more. I asked him, rather diffidently, if I might come too. Rather to my surprise he assented cordially.
“I'm very glad of your co-operation, Mr. Burton, if I may say so.”
“That sounds suspicious,” I said. “In books when a detective welcomes someone's assistance, that someone is usually the murderer.”
Nash laughed shortly. He said, “You're hardly the type to write anonymous letters, Mr. Burton.” He added: “Frankly, you can be useful to us.”
“I'm glad, but I don't see how.”
“You're a stranger down here, that's why. You've got no preconceived ideas about the people here. But at the same time, you've got the opportunity of getting to know things in what I may call a social way.”
“The murderer is a person of good social position,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“I'm to be the spy within the gates?”
“Have you any objection?”
I thought it over. “No,” I said, “frankly I haven't. If there's a dangerous lunatic about, driving inoffensive women to suicide and hitting miserable little maid-servants on the head, then I'm not averse to doing a bit of dirty work to put that lunatic under restraint.”
“That's sensible of you, sir. And let me tell you, the person we're after is dangerous. She's about as dangerous as a rattle-snake and a cobra and a black mamba rolled into one.”
I gave a slight shiver. I said, “In fact, we've got to make haste?”
“That's right. Don't think we're inactive in the force. We're not. We're working on several different lines.”
He said it grimly.
I had a vision of a fine, far-flung spider's web...
Nash wanted to hear Rose's story again, so he explained to me, because she had
“What with?”
Nash said, “The ladies around here usually carry large sizes in handbags. No saying what mightn't be inside it.”
“And then stabs her through the back of the neck and bundles her into the cupboard? Wouldn't that be a hefty job for a woman?”
Superintendent Nash looked at me with rather a queer expression. “The woman we're after isn't normal - not by a long way - and that type of mental instability goes with surprising strength. Agnes wasn't a big girl!” He paused and then asked, “What made Miss Megan Hunter think of looking in that cupboard?”
“Sheer instinct,” I said.
Then I asked, “Why drag her out of the way? What was the point?”
“The longer it was before the body was found, the more difficult it would be to fix the time of death accurately. If Miss Holland, for instance, fell over the body as soon as she came in, a doctor might be able to fix it within ten minutes or so - which might be awkward for our lady friend.”
I said, frowning, “But if Agnes was suspicious of this person -”
Nash interrupted me: “She wasn't. Not to this pitch. She just thought it 'queer' shall we say? She was a slow-witted girl, I imagine, and she was only vaguely suspicious with a feeling that something was wrong. She certainly didn't suspect that she was up against a woman who would do murder.”
“Did you suspect that?” I asked.
Nash shook his head. He said, with feeling:
“I ought to have known. That suicide business, you see, frightened Poison Pen. She got the wind up. Fear, Mr. Burton, is an incalculable thing.”
Yes, fear. That was the thing we ought to have foreseen. Fear - in a lunatic brain...
“You see,” said Superintendent Nash, and somehow his words made the whole thing seem absolutely horrible. “We're up against someone who's respected and thought highly of - someone, in fact, of good social position!”
Presently Nash said that he was going to interview Rose once more. I asked him, rather diffidently, if I might come too. Rather to my surprise he assented cordially.
“I'm very glad of your co-operation, Mr. Burton, if I may say so.”
“That sounds suspicious,” I said. “In books when a detective welcomes someone's assistance, that someone is usually the murderer.”
Nash laughed shortly. He said, “You're hardly the type to write anonymous letters, Mr. Burton.” He added: “Frankly, you can be useful to us.”
“I'm glad, but I don't see how.”
“You're a stranger down here, that's why. You've got no preconceived ideas about the people here. But at the same time, you've got the opportunity of getting to know things in what I may call a social way.”
“The murderer is a person of good social position,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“I'm to be the spy within the gates?”
“Have you any objection?”
I thought it over. “No,” I said, “frankly I haven't. If there's a dangerous lunatic about, driving inoffensive women to suicide and hitting miserable little maid-servants on the head, then I'm not averse to doing a bit of dirty work to put that lunatic under restraint.”
“That's sensible of you, sir. And let me tell you, the person we're after is dangerous. She's about as dangerous as a rattle-snake and a cobra and a black mamba rolled into one.”
I gave a slight shiver. I said, “In fact, we've got to make haste?”
“That's right. Don't think we're inactive in the force. We're not. We're working on several different lines.”
He said it grimly.
I had a vision of a fine, far-flung spider's web...
Nash wanted to hear Rose's story again, so he explained to me, because she had
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