II
Nobody could have been more ready to talk than Donald McNeil. He was
an
amiable1 red- headed young man. He greeted Dermot Craddock with
pleasure and curiosity.
“How are you getting along,” he asked cheerfully, “got any little special
titbit for me?”
“Not as yet. Later perhaps.”
“Stalling as usual. You’re all the same. Affable
oysters2! Haven’t you
come to the stage yet of
inviting3 someone to come and ‘assist you in your
inquiries’?”
“I’ve come to you,” said Dermot Craddock with a grin.
“Is there a nasty double entendre in that remark? Are you really suspi-
cious that I murdered Heather Badcock and do you think I did it in mis-
take for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder Heather Badcock and do
you think I did it in mistake for Marina Gregg or that I meant to murder
Heather Badcock all the time?”
“I haven’t suggested anything,” said Craddock.
“No, no, you wouldn’t do that, would you? You’d be very correct. All
right. Let’s go into it. I was there. I had opportunity but had I any
motive4?
Ah, that’s what you’d like to know. What was my motive?”
“I haven’t been able to find one so far,” said Craddock.
“That’s very gratifying. I feel safer.”
“I’m just interested in what you may have seen that day.”
“You’ve had that already. The local police had that straight away. It’s hu-
miliating. There I was on the scene of a murder. I practically saw the
murder committed, must have done, and yet I’ve no idea who did it. I’m
ashamed to confess that the first I knew about it was seeing the poor, dear
—and all that. But I’ll confess to you that I feel
humiliated10 that I don’t
know more. I ought to know more. And you can’t kid me that the dose was
meant for Heather Badcock. She was a nice woman who talked too much,
but nobody gets murdered for that — unless of course they give away
secrets. But I don’t think anybody would ever have told Heather Badcock a
secret. She wasn’t the kind of woman who’d have been interested in other
people’s secrets. My view of her is of a woman who invariably talked
about herself.”
“That seems to be the generally accepted view,” agreed Craddock.
“So we come to the famous Marina Gregg. I’m sure there are lots of won-
—all the stuff of drama. But who did it? Someone with a screw loose, I pre-
sume. There! You’ve had my valuable opinion. Is that what you wanted?”
“Not that alone. I understand that you arrived and came up the stairs
about the same time as the vicar and the mayor.”
“Quite correct. But that wasn’t the first time I’d arrived. I’d been there
earlier.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes. I was on a kind of roving commission, you know, going here and
there. I had a photographer with me. I’d gone down to take a few local
shots of the mayor arriving and throwing a hoopla and putting in a
peg6 for
buried treasure and that kind of thing. Then I went back up again, not so
much on the job as to get a drink or two. The drink was good.”
“I see. Now can you remember who else was on the staircase when you
went up?”
“Margot Bence from London was there with her camera.”
“You know her well?”
“Oh I just run against her quite often. She’s a clever girl, who makes a
success of her stuff. She takes all the fashionable things— First Nights,
Gala Performances — specializes in photographs from unusual angles.
Arty! She was in a corner of the half landing very well placed for taking
anyone who came up and for taking the greetings going on at the top. Lola
Brewster was just ahead of me on the stairs. Didn’t know her at first. She’s
got a new rust-red hairdo. The very latest Fiji Islander type. Last time I
saw her it was
lank14 waves falling round her face and chin in a nice shade
of auburn. There was a big dark man with her, American. I don’t know
who he was but he looked important.”
“Did you look at Marina Gregg herself at all as you were coming up?”
“Yes, of course I did.”
“She didn’t look upset or as though she’d had a shock or was
frightened?”
“It’s odd you should say that. I did think for a moment or two she was
going to faint.”
“I see,” said Craddock thoughtfully. “Thanks. There’s nothing else you’d
like to tell me?”
McNeil gave him a wide innocent stare.
“What could there be?”
“I don’t trust you,” said Craddock.
“But you seem quite sure I didn’t do it. Disappointing. Suppose I turn out
to be her first husband. Nobody knows who he was except that he was so
insignicant that even his name’s been forgotten.”
Dermot grinned.
“Married from your prep school?” he asked. “Or possibly in rompers! I
must hurry. I’ve got a train to catch.”
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