Body in the Library - Agatha Christie [43]
Colonel Melchett leaned back, tapping the table with a paper cutter.
Superintendent Harper said:
“That is, assuming the girl was killed before midnight.”
“Haydock said she was. He’s a very sound fellow in police work. If he says a thing, it’s so.”
“There might be reasons—health, physical idiosyncrasy, or something.”
“I’ll put it to him.” Melchett glanced at his watch, picked up the telephone receiver and asked for a number. He said: “Haydock ought to be at home at this time. Now, assuming that she was killed after midnight?”
Harper said:
“Then there might be a chance. There was some coming and going afterwards. Let’s assume that Gaskell had asked the girl to meet him outside somewhere—say at twenty past twelve. He slips away for a minute or two, strangles her, comes back and disposes of the body later—in the early hours of the morning.”
Melchett said:
“Takes her by car thirty-odd miles to put her in Bantry’s library? Dash it all, it’s not a likely story.”
“No, it isn’t,” the Superintendent admitted at once.
The telephone rang. Melchett picked up the receiver.
“Hallo, Haydock, is that you? Ruby Keene. Would it be possible for her to have been killed after midnight?”
“I told you she was killed between ten and midnight.”
“Yes, I know, but one could stretch it a bit—what?”
“No, you couldn’t stretch it. When I say she was killed before midnight I mean before midnight, and don’t try to tamper with the medical evidence.”
“Yes, but couldn’t there be some physiological what-not? You know what I mean.”
“I know that you don’t know what you’re talking about. The girl was perfectly healthy and not abnormal in any way—and I’m not going to say she was just to help you fit a rope round the neck of some wretched fellow whom you police wallahs have got your knife into. Now don’t protest. I know your ways. And, by the way, the girl wasn’t strangled willingly—that is to say, she was drugged first. Powerful narcotic. She died of strangulation but she was drugged first.” Haydock rang off.
Melchett said gloomily: “Well, that’s that.”
Harper said:
“Thought I’d found another likely starter—but it petered out.”
“What’s that? Who?”
“Strictly speaking, he’s your pigeon, sir. Name of Basil Blake. Lives near Gossington Hall.”
“Impudent young jackanapes!” The Colonel’s brow darkened as he remembered Basil Blake’s outrageous rudeness. “How’s he mixed up in it?”
“Seems he knew Ruby Keene. Dined over at the Majestic quite often—danced with the girl. Do you remember what Josie said to Raymond when Ruby was discovered to be missing? ‘She’s not with that film fellow, is she?’ I’ve found out it was Blake, she meant. He’s employed with the Lemville Studios, you know. Josie has nothing to go upon except a belief that Ruby was rather keen on him.”
“Very promising, Harper, very promising.”
“Not so good as it sounds, sir. Basil Blake was at a party at the studios that night. You know the sort of thing. Starts at eight with cocktails and goes on and on until the air’s too thick to see through and everyone passes out. According to Inspector Slack, who’s questioned him, he left the show round about midnight. At midnight Ruby Keene was dead.”
“Anyone bear out his statement?”
“Most of them, I gather, sir, were rather—er—far gone. The—er—young woman now at the bungalow—Miss Dinah Lee—says his statement is correct.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing!”
“No, sir, probably not. Statements taken from other members of the party bear Mr. Blake’s statement out on the whole, though ideas as to time are somewhat vague.”
“Where are these studios?”
“Lemville, sir, thirty miles southwest of London.”
“H’m—about the same distance from here?”
“Yes, sir.”