Before the Fact (27 page)

Sipping her coffee, she tried to tackle the problem. This was no fit of silly panic; she ought to be able to see things in their right perspective now. Lina was quite sure (she kept telling herself how sure she was) that everything was quite all right; but the problem was, ought one not, with Johnnie, to be
prepared
for the worst?

Lina felt dispiritedly that one ought. Everything was quite all right, of course. But one
ought
to insure against the worst by speaking the right word now.

But to whom should one speak it, Beaky or Johnnie?

How on earth could she say to Beaky: “Just be careful of Johnnie. Keep your eye on him. It’s quite on the cards that he’s made up his mind to kill you.” Impossible.

And even less could one say to Johnnie: “I know you were responsible for Father’s death. I’ve a suspicion that you may be planning something of the same kind against Beaky. You’d better not; that’s all.”

No. That would mean the end of everything between herself and Johnnie, if he once knew what she thought he had done – whether he had really done it or not. Their marriage could not continue.

On the other hand ...

“Oh, God,” said Lina wretchedly.

She wished she had a stronger mind. She wished she was one of those people who always know exactly what to do, whatever the emergency.

In her bath she tried to persuade herself that there was no emergency at all. She tried to recapture her happy conviction of yesterday. But it would not come. There was probably no emergency, but there
might
be. That was as near as she could get to it.

And all the time she was busy stifling the horrid, heart-pumping dread, growing nearer to certainty every minute, that there
was
an emergency – a terrible emergency. And that she herself was too cowardly to face it.

All the morning the feeling grew on her. What was she going to do? The normal tasks, which yesterday had restored her sanity, to-day seemed grimly ironical, in comparison with the horror that was fermenting.

She was alone in the house, except for the servants.

Johnnie and Beaky had gone off in the car, to look at some land that was for sale on some cliffs somewhere by the sea. They were to be back for lunch.

Suddenly the thought pierced her:
why
had Johnnie taken Beaky to look at more land, when he had already decided that the land scheme was a failure?

Why
had he taken Beaky to some cliffs?

Lina started up from the chair on which she had been sitting. Her sewing was strewed, unregarded, on the floor. She pressed her hand to her aching forehead. She knew now. The time had come. Johnnie was going to push Beaky over the cliff.

The time had come, and here was she in Upcottery, unable to prevent it. She did not even know where they had gone. But she must do something. Anything. She could not sit here while somewhere else Johnnie was committing murder. Johnnie
must
be saved from committing murder. What was she to do – what was she to do?

In a panic of indecision a dozen hopeless plans flashed across her mind. She would ring up the police; she would borrow someone’s car and drive like mad to the likeliest place; she would get the B. B. C. to broadcast an S O S, she would ...

She made little darting runs, towards the telephone, towards the front door, towards the kitchen.

This would not do. This was utter idiocy. If Beaky was to be saved, she must keep calm. She
must
keep calm. She must think, calmly and coolly, what was best to do.

She could not keep calm. Across her distracted vision the whole scene passed, in a series of horrid little vignettes: the car running smoothly over the turf as it drew off the road, Beaky, appreciative and loudly old-beaning, Johnnie inviting him to look over the edge of the cliff at the rocks below, that sudden thrust in the small of Beaky’s back, Beaky dropping, dropping, dropping, turning leisurely over in the air, until ...

Lina screwed her knuckles into her eyes. What was she to do?

It was half-past twelve.

She could do nothing.

In an apathy of despair she sat down again. Well, she would know soon enough now. They were to be back for lunch. If within the next half hour they had not returned....

They did not return within the next half hour.

At half-past one Lina, pale and trembling but with a composed face, lunched alone, for the benefit of the servants. She had thought it all out. At the inquest it would be fatal, quite fatal, if there appeared any hint that she had been anticipating what happened. That would at once throw doubt on its being an accident at all. Lina quite understood that. She was calm now, and she knew that Johnnie’s life depended on her keeping her head.

As she drank her soup she thought:

“Beaky’s dead now.”

It was strange that she could think that with so little emotion.

At ten minutes to two Johnnie and Beaky drove up to the front door.

Lina ran out to meet them and fell into Johnnie’s arms, sobbing.

“Oh,
Johnnie!
”

“Sorry we’re so late, darling. Hullo, what’s up?”

“I’ve been imagining the most
dreadful
things,” Lina wept, with truth.

Actually the truth was just as far as it could have been from Lina’s imaginings. So far from Johnnie ever having contemplated killing Beaky, he had saved Beaky’s life; and at the greatest danger to his own.

“The old bean won’t tell you a word about it himself, I’ll bet,” Beaky bubbled, “so you can have it straight from the horse’s mouth, what? Damned close shave. We both of us nearly conked, I can tell you. Good God! Bit of a hero, old bean, aren’t you? What?”

“Oh, shut up, you ass,” Johnnie grinned.

What had happened was that they had run the Bentley onto the turf bordering the cliffs, exactly as Lina had imagined, while they looked round. When they were ready to leave Beaky, who was driving, had turned the car round while Johnnie stood by the edge, idly watching the waves among the rocks at the bottom. He had glanced up, to see Beaky still backing and Beaky’s back wheels within a foot of the edge. With completely characteristic asininity, Beaky was manœuvring on the very limited piece of turf without even looking towards his rear.

Johnnie had to act in a flash. There was no time to warn Beaky. Before his shout could penetrate Beaky’s understanding, the car would be over the cliff. He leapt forward, bounded onto the running board, and clutched the hand brake. The engine stalled, there was a lurch and a thud, and the car had come to rest with its back wheels spinning free in the air. It was half over the cliff, but it stopped there. Johnnie and Beaky climbed very gingerly out, to find labourers and a horse to drag the car into safety.

The chances had been about even whether Johnnie, clinging desperately to the hand brake, might not have gone over the cliff with the car.

“I tell you, the old bean’s a pukka hero!” spluttered Beaky.

Lina looked at Johnnie, her eyes wet. How could she have thought such things about him? It would have served her right if Johnnie had been killed in trying to do the very opposite from what she had so wickedly thought.

“Oh,
Johnnie!
” she muttered.

That evening the rescue of Beaky was celebrated.

Never had Johnnie been merrier or Beaky more boisterous.

Lina felt as if years had been taken off her age.

“Well, cheer-oh,” said Beaky, extending a large hand. “Thanks frightfully, and all that sort of rot. What?”

Johnnie was peering into the radiator of Beaky’s Bentley. “Hullo, you’re a bit short of water. I’ll get a can while you’re making your farewells to Lina.”

“Will you really? I say, thanks frightfully.”

“And you’re going straight up to Yorkshire?” Lina said conversationally.

“That’s the idea.”

“But you’ll never do it in a day, from here.”

“What? Oh, I say, draw it mild. Only about three hundred, to my place. Bit boring though, alone. May stay a night in some pub. See what happens. What? Here, I say, don’t stand out here. Too parky, what?”

“I’m quite all right,” Lina smiled. “And when are we going to see you again, Beaky?”

“What, me? God knows. I mean.... Oh, I’ll tootle along sometime, I expect. Depends when you ask me, doesn’t it? What? Eh?” Beaky evidently considered this a joke and paid tribute to it heartily.

Something said clearly in Lina’s mind: “You’ll never see Beaky again. Never! Unless ...”

The blood drained from her face. She stared at him.

A terrible thought had come to her.

Johnnie had saved Beaky’s life because he had not been ready for him to die.

The money was in a Paris bank, under an alias. Only Beaky could draw a cheque for it. Until Johnnie had Beaky’s cheque, Beaky must not die.

Lina knew that this revelation meant that she could delude herself no longer. She had two minutes in which to act. And if she did not act, Beaky’s life might be the price of her complacence.

It was her last chance. And his.

Johnnie
did
mean to kill Beaky – sometime. Lina knew it. She always had known it, really.

Once Beaky drove away from here ...

“Beaky!” she gasped out. Her teeth were chattering, and the skin of her face felt as if it had been drawn tight, like parchment on a drum.

“Hullo? Here, I say, you are cold. I knew you were. What? You hop indoors.”

“Yes, but Beaky ...” She must stop him going – detain him somehow, till she could decide what to do.

“Consider it said,” replied Beaky firmly, and propelled her through the doorway. “Anyhow, here comes the old bean with the water. I’ll be pushing off in a minute. Well, good-bye, and all that sort of rot. I mean, cheer-oh. What?”

Through the morning-room window, a minute later, Lina watched him drive away.

The next morning Johnnie had a telegram.

It came over the telephone, and Lina herself received it.

It was from Johnnie’s brother, Alec, asking Johnnie to meet him in London for dinner that evening on urgent business.

“Damn!” said Johnnie. “That’s a bit inconvenient. I’ve been putting off a lot of jobs till Beaky went. Think I ought to go, monkeyface?”

“Yes,” said Lina. “Of course you must. How long will you be away?”

“Oh, not more than a couple of nights, if that. Well, I suppose I’d better pack.”

Lina was not sorry that Johnnie was going away for two days. She wanted to be alone. It would help her to get things into their right perspective and rid herself of the lingering shadow of the bogey. She knew now that that moment of absurd panic on the doorstep yesterday morning had been caused by a last flick of the bogey’s tail. It had been extremely lucky that Beaky pushed her indoors before she said anything too dreadful.

And in any case Beaky was safe enough in Yorkshire, with Johnnie under Alec’s eye in London.

Not of course that there was any question of safety, really. Had not Johnnie actually saved his life?

Still, Beaky was safe.

She went upstairs to see what Johnnie was forgetting to pack.

Lina forced herself to read the little paragraph again.

The Englishman who was found dead in a house of amusement in Paris, as reported in our later editions yesterday, has now been identified as Mr. Gordon Cochrane Thwaite, of Penshaze Court, Yorkshire. Further details are now to hand of the manner in which the tragedy occurred.

It appears that Mr. Thwaite visited the resort, which has a questionable reputation, in the company of another Englishman. Both men had evidently been drinking during the evening, and on arrival Mr. Thwaite ordered a bottle of brandy. They then passed into a smaller room, together with two young women belonging to the establishment, and all four partook of the brandy. According to the statement of one of the girls, the brandy being of a good brand, Mr. Thwaite’s companion asked for it to be served in large beakers, and these were provided. In a spirit of bravado, Mr. Thwaite filled one of these to the brim and drank it off. Owing to the fact that neither of the girls understands more than a few words of English, it is not clear how Mr. Thwaite came to perform such a foolhardy action, but their impression is that the men were having a bet on whether Mr. Thwaite would do it or not.

Mr. Thwaite’s companion was not present when the tragedy happened, having left the house a few moments after the incident of the brandy. The French police have not yet succeeded in establishing his identity. They would be grateful if he would communicate with them, in order that he may confirm the young women’s account of what took place. His name would appear to be Allbeam, or Holebean.

We understand that Penshaze Court is entailed and will pass to a distant cousin of the deceased.

Lina was searching feverishly in Johnnie’s desk in the morning room.

Johnnie was out. She had not seen him since she had read the paragraph in the newspaper in bed, after her breakfast.

How she had managed to get up, dress, talk to the cook, and perform her other routine jobs just as if this was a morning exactly like any other morning, she hardly knew. She hoped dully that the servants had got no inkling of the panic, the horror, and the sick despair through which her mind had had to fight as she talked with them.

Now she was free; and, outraging every canon of her upbringing, she was searching Johnnie’s private papers. She searched partly in a desperate hope that she might find proof that the man in Paris had not been Johnnie, and that it really had been Alec himself and not poor, unsuspecting Beaky who had sent that telegram; partly in a still more desperate fear that she would find proof of quite another sort. In any case she must know.

She found her proof.

Among the old receipts, the letters, and all the other unsorted rubbish of years, in a little drawer by itself, there was a small black account book. Lina looked at it cursorily at first, and then, because she did not understand the entries, more carefully. It was full of lists of curious names, preceded each by a date and followed by a sum in pounds; and in front of the pounds there was a plus or a minus sign, in red ink.