Sparkling Cyanide - Agatha Christie [74]
‘Really—and whose ghost is that?’
‘Rosemary Barton’s. You can laugh if you like. I’ve not seen her—but I’ve felt her presence. For some reason or other Rosemary, poor soul, can’t stay dead.’
‘I could suggest a reason.’
‘Because she was murdered?’
‘To put it in another idiom, because she was bumped off. How about that, Mr Tony Morelli?’
There was a silence. Anthony sat down, chucked his cigarette into the grate and lighted another one.
Then he said:
‘How did you find out?’
‘You admit that you are Tony Morelli?’
‘I shouldn’t dream of wasting time by denying it. You’ve obviously cabled to America and got all the dope.’
‘And you admit that when Rosemary Barton discovered your identity you threatened to bump her off unless she held her tongue.’
‘I did everything I could think of to scare her into holding her tongue,’ agreed Tony pleasantly.
A strange feeling stole over Colonel Race. This interview was not going as it should. He stared at the figure in front of him lounging back in its chair—and an odd sense of familiarity came to him.
‘Shall I recapitulate what I know about you, Morelli?’
‘It might be amusing.’
‘You were convicted in the States of attempted sabotage in the Ericsen aeroplane works and were sentenced to a term of imprisonment. After serving your sentence, you came out and the authorities lost sight of you. You were next heard of in London staying at Claridge’s and calling yourself Anthony Browne. There you scraped acquaintance with Lord Dewsbury and through him you met certain other prominent armaments manufacturers. You stayed in Lord Dewsbury’s house and by means of your position as his guest you were shown things which you ought never to have seen! It is curious coincidence, Morelli, that a trail of unaccountable accidents and some very near escapes from disaster on a large scale followed very closely after your visits to various important works and factories.’
‘Coincidences,’ said Anthony, ‘are certainly extraordinary things.’
‘Finally, after another lapse of time, you reappeared in London and renewed your acquaintance with Iris Marle, making excuses not to visit her home, so that her family should not realize how intimate you were becoming. Finally you tried to induce her to marry you secretly.’
‘You know,’ said Anthony, ‘it’s really extraordinary the way you have found out all these things—I don’t mean the armaments business—I mean my threats to Rosemary, and the tender nothings I whispered to Iris. Surely those don’t come within the province of M.I.5?’
Race looked sharply at him.
‘You’ve got a good deal to explain, Morelli.’
‘Not at all. Granted your facts are all correct, what of them? I’ve served my prison sentence. I’ve made some interesting friends. I’ve fallen in love with a very charming girl and am naturally impatient to marry her.’
‘So impatient that you would prefer the wedding to take place before her family have the chance of finding out anything about your antecedents. Iris Marle is a very rich young woman.’
Anthony nodded his head agreeably.
‘I know. When there’s money, families are inclined to be abominably nosy. And Iris, you see, doesn’t know anything about my murky past. Frankly, I’d rather she didn’t.’
‘I’m afraid she is going to know all about it.’
‘A pity,’ said Anthony.
‘Possibly you don’t realize—’
Anthony cut in with a laugh.
‘Oh! I can dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Rosemary Barton knew my criminal past, so I killed her. George Barton was growing suspicious of me, so I killed him! Now I’m after Iris’s money! It’s all very agreeable and it hangs together nicely, but you haven’t got a mite of proof.’
Race looked at him attentively for some minutes. Then he got up.
‘Everything I have said is true,’ he said. ‘And it’s all wrong.’
Anthony watched him narrowly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re wrong.’ Race walked slowly up and down the room. ‘It hung together all right until I saw you—but now I’ve seen you, it won’t